UC-NRLF ^B 751 ETl ifir ^V^j»«^^ y^zC^L^ ^i' <:^^^^:^W^ -«i»f- BURNET'S LIVES, &c. Published by the same Author, I, SERMONS on Subjects chiefly Practical ; with illustrative Notes, and an Appendix, relating to the Character of the Church of England, as distinguished, both from other Branches of the Reformation, and from the modem Church of Rome. Fourth Edition. II. SACRED LITERATURE : comprising a Review of the Principles of Composition laid down by the late Robkrt Lowth, D. D. , in his Praslections and Isaiah: and an Application of the Principles so re- viewed, to the Illustration of the New Testament. New Edition. III. PRACTICAL THEOLOGY. 2 vols. IV. PASTORAL INSTRUCTIONS on the Character and Principles of the Church of England ; selected from his former Publications. Edited by him, V. THE PROTESTANT KEMPIS; or. Piety vtithoct Asceticism. VL PRACTICAL DISCOURSES, by Thomas Townson, D.D., with a Biographical Memoir. VIL THE REMAINS OF WILLIAM PHELAN, D.D., with a Biographical Memoir by the Editor. 2 vols. 8vo. London ; Printed by A. !k R. S|H)Ul«woodc, Ncw-Strect-Square. LIVES, CHARACTERS, AND AN ADDRESS TO POSTERITY, BY GILBERT BURNET, D.D. LORD BISHOP OF SARUM. WITH THE TWO PREFACES TO THE DUBLIN EDITIONS. One of the late poets feigneth, that, at the end of the thread, or web, of every man's life, there was a little medal, containing the person's name; and that Time waited upon the shears, and, as soon as the thread was cut, caught the medals, and carried them to the river of Lethe ; and about the bank, there were many birds flying up and down, that would get the medals, and carry them in their beak a little way, and then, let them fall into the river : only, there were a few swans, which, if they got a name, would carry it to a temple, where it was consecrated. Lord Bacon. EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION, AND NOTES, BY JOHN JEBB, D.D. F.R.S. BISHOP OF LIMERICK, ARDFERT AND AGHADOE. LONDON: JAMES DUNCAN, 37. PATERNOSTER-ROW AND JOHN COCHRAN, 108. STRAND. 1833. ^o ^^:a>^ Equidem, ex omnibus rebus, quas mihi aut fortuna, aut natura tribuit, nihil habeo, quod cum amicitia Scipionis possim comparare. In hac mihi de republicil consensus, in hac rerum privatarum consilium : in eadem requies plena oblectationis : nunquam ilium, ne minima quidem re, offendi, quod quidem senserim ; nihil audivi ex eo ipse, quod nollem : una domus est, idem victus, isque communis : etiam peregrinationes, rusticationesque conmiunes. Nam quid ego de studiis dicam, cognoscendi semper aliquid, atque discendi ? in quibus, remoti ab oculis populi, omne otiosum tempus contrivimus. CiCKRO. TO MY DAILY COMPANION, MINE OWN FAMILIAR FRIEND, CHARLES FORSTER, B.D., THESE EXAMPLES OF LIFE, ARE, FROM THE HEART, INSCRIBED : J. L. DEC. XII. MDCCCXXXII. The eyes of Jehovah are upon them who love him ; He is their mighty protection, and strong stay : A defence from the burning wind, and a covert from the mid-day sun ; A preservation from stumbling, and a help from falling: He raiseth up the soul, and enlightenetli the eyes ; He giveth health, and life, and blessing. The Son of Sirach. CONTENTS. 1. Introduction _ _ - - Page i. 2. Preface to the first Dublin Edition - - - xliii 3. Preface to the second Dublin Edition - - xlvii 4. Bishop Burnet's Preface to the Life of Hale - 1 5. Life of Sir Matthew Hale - - - - 11 6. Baxter's Appendix to Ditto - - - 135 7. Bishop Burnet's Preface to the Life of Rochester - 169 8. Life of John, Earl of Rochester - - - 173 9. Appendix, from Robert Parsons, M.A. - - 265 10. Character of Archbishop Leigh ton - - - 281 11. Characters of Messrs. Nairn and Charteris - - 303 12. Characters of eminent Clergymen - - - 308 13. Character of Queen Mary IL - - - 321 14. Character of the Hon. Robert Boyle - - - 325 15. Address to Posterity, by Gilbert Burnet, D.D. - 377 * Tku is an honour due lo the dead ; and a generous debt, to those tliat shall live, and succeed us.' IzAAK Walton. INTRODUCTION. In presenting to the British public, for the first time, a complete collection of bishop Burnet's smaller biographical pieces, it seems proper to men- tion what has been attempted, in it. The life of sir Matthew Hale, with the additions of Richard Baxter ; and that of lord Rochester, with an extract from his funeral sermon, . . have, after collating several editions, been carefully re- printed. Some interesting ' characters,' have been given 5 originally extracted from Burnet's history of his own times : the Oxford edition, by Dr. Routh, has been consulted ; and a few suppressed pas- sages have been thence supplied. The peculiar merits of Robert Boyle, have, in later times, been more praised, than known : ca- nonized, rather, by the discerning few, than justly estimated, by the ' unreflecting many. His works, indeed, still occupy a space, though seldom fre- quented, in the collections of the learned ; but, even the truly philosophic delineation of his cha- racter, . . the ablest, probably, and most finished, of 11 INTRODUCTION. Burnetts many writings, because, in this instance, peculiarly, * the pen that he wrote with, was dipt in his heart,* . . has, in this country, been suffered to remain many years out of print. This, also, is included in the present volume. Bishop Burnet's short, but exquisite, * address to posterity,' can never be antiquated. So long as the English language lasts, it will be read, and re-read, with fresh improvement, and delight ; and, perhaps, it will be found most instructive and effi- cacious, when detached from the main body of his history. This closes the volume. And it ends, as such a document should end, with the words of holy writ : that * port and sabbath of all human contemplations.' * Throughout this reprint, the intrusion of a single phrase not sanctioned by the author, has been reli- giously avoided : omission, too, has been extremely rare. Not more, probably, than six lines in the entire, have been silently passed by. And these are precisely of that kind, (a tendency quite un- suspected by the excellent author,) which must have offended just moral taste, without conveying a particle of solid information. In pointing the text, and ordering the com- mencement and close of paragraphs, so nnicli * Lord Bacon. INTRODUCTION. Ill scrupulosity has not been observed. In these technical, but surely not unimportant, though, hitherto, much neglected matters, considerable freedom has been used. The fact is, at the time when Burnet wrote, the principles of punctuation were ill understood, and seldom reduced to prac- tice. And, from that day, to the present, successive publishers have, so far as in them lay, not only perpetuated old errors, but added a fresh, and plentiful growth of their own : while not so much as an effort has, commonly, been made, to attain general correctness. Carelessness in this respect, will not, it is hoped, be imputed to the present edition. And, among other things, the attentive reader is in treated to observe, how distinctly the interlocutors are marked out, in the argumentative portions of lord Rochester's life. This may con- duce, in no shght degree, to their being intel- ligently, and, therefore, profitably read. It is a considerable advantage, to get notice, by frequent breaks, and by transitions visible to the eye, that here we ought to pause, and here to reflect. Some illustrative, and occasional notes have been added : and these, it is hoped, will not be altogether unacceptable. In selecting them, it certainly has been the object, not so much to swell their number, as to weigh their value. And young persons, espe- cially, will pardon the suggestion, that, in no way, a 2 IV INTRODUCTION. perhaps, can their store of applicable knowledge be more certainly, though at first almost imperceptibly increased, than by habitually reading with a pen in the hand. There is much good sense in the doggrel verses, for which we are indebted to no ordinary thinker : • . < In reading authors, when you find Bright passages, that strike your mind. And which, perhaps, you may have reason To think on, at another season, Be not contented with the sight. But take them down in black and white : Such a respect is wisely shown. As makes another's sense one's own.* One caution, however, is here indispensable, that, by deep and diligent meditation, we acquire some- thing which may truly be called our own : . . for, as Milton says, • Who reads Incessantly, and to his reading brings not A spirit and judgement equal or superior, Uncertain and unsettled still remains. Deep versed in books, and shallow in himself.* And here, this introduction would naturally close; if a duty did not remain to be performed, which, in the editor's opinion, he owes to the dead ; and the performance of which, will, he trusts, be grate- ful to many of the living ; while, he is persuaded, it will, in several respects, be useful to the rising generation. INTRODUCTION. V This impression, then, of Burnet's lives, has been formed on the basis of an edition, published in Ireland, in the year 1803., and since frequently reprinted there, under the direction of the Associa- tion for discountenancing vice, &c. To the first and second Dublin editions, and to all subsequent ones, two prefaces were given, by the late Alexander Knox, Esq. ^ : and, several years ago, the present writer, asked, and obtained permission, from Mr. Knox, to republish in London, the lives, &c., accom- panied by those prefaces. Circumstances inevitably postponed the fulfilment of this purpose ; but they only postponed it. And the editor has, now, the melancholy gratification, of presenting that, as a tribute to the memory of his friend, in which, he once fondly hoped, that friend might have afforded counsel by his judgment, and, perhaps, encourage- ment by his approbation. The wish, rather than design, which Mr, Knox entertained, of publishing Burnet's lives, was first expressed, and as the editor believes, conceived, in an early letter, addressed to him, at Swanlinbar, in the county of Cavan. That letter, besides con- taining several remarks illustrative of Burnet's plan, is, so far as the editor may presume to judge, within a short compass, the best provision extant, towards * He died, June 18.1831. a 3 VI INTRODUCTION. rightly forming the mind and heart, of a young clergyman. In publishing it, therefore, he seems to himself engaged, in the discharge of a very sacred duty : and he shall be amply recompensed, if it does but half the service to any one individual, which Mr. Knox benevolently wished, and intended, it might do to him. Without further preface, then, here it is : . . * Shrewsbury y Jan. 29. 1801. My dear Mr. Jebb, I THANK you much, for your last letter : I sat down to answer it, several days ago ; but I began, on a larger scale, than I was able to accomplish : I must, therefore, be content, to take in my sails ; not, as is customary, because there is too much wind, . . but, because there is not enough to fill them. What you say of is just, in every re- spect : he is an uncommonly good man ; and you cannot do better, than keep up a correspondence with him. The grand deficiencies in right temper and conduct, arise, much more, from want of right feelings, than from want of knowledge : and right feelings cannot, so certainly, be either obtained, or improved, as by communication, and close inter- course, with those who possess them. • As iron sharpeneth iron, so doth the countenance of a man, his friend : ' Solomon said some true things ; and this is not the least important of them. You say, that, * it is nearly impossible, that many INTRODUCTION. Vll of those, who attend 's divinity lectures, should not imbibe some of his spirit, and be warmed by a portion of his zeal.' It is, indeed, impossible. True religion is happily contagious : and, I am sure, it owed its rapid progress, in the early ages of the church, infinitely more, to the divine infection, (if I may use such an expression,) that attended the spirit of the apostles, than to the demonstrative evidence of their miracles. I believe, there never yet was a really good man, I mean, a zealous, de- cided christian, whose lively expression of his own feelings, did not, more or less, reach the hearts of those who heard him. And this, in some degree, answers your question, * What christian preaching should be' ? At least, it points out an indispensable pre-requisite : . christian preaching can arise, only, from a christian mind and heart. This is the great want in the preaching of to-day : there is no spirit in it. It is the result of a kind of intellectual pumping; there is no gushing from the spring. Our Saviour, speak- ing to the woman of Samaria, of the happiness which his religion would bring, into the bosoms of those who cordially embraced it, elegantly and ex- pressively represents it, by a well of water in the breast, < spring:ing up into everlasting life.' Where this is in a minister, it will spring out, as well as spring up : and it will be felt to be living water, from the pleasure and refreshment which it conveys, almost even to minds hitherto unaccustomed to such communications. Vlii INTRODUCTION. What Horace says, is quite in point : . . Non satis est pulchra esse poemata, dulcia sunto : ' Et, quocunque volunt animum auditoris agunto. Ut ridentibus arrident, ita flentibus adsunt Humani vultus. Si vis me flere, dolendum est Primurn ipsi tibi ; tunc tua me infortunia laedent: . . the PULCHRA, is all, that a man who does not him- self feel, can attain to : the dulcia, is the offspring of an impressed, and interested heart. But, if such effects were to be produced, by the mere feeling exhibition of human distress, what may not be looked for, from divine truths ? . . interesting to the hearer, no less than to tlie speaker ; and interesting, beyond all that can be conceived, to every natural sentiment of man, . . when done justice to, in the same way, that Horace here demands for the drama. A witty poet has well said, . . The specious sermons of a worldly mart. Are little more, than flashes in the pan : The mere haranguing upon what men call Morality, is powder without ball : ' But he, who preaches with a christian grace, Fires at our vices, and the shot takes place. But you also ask, < What do I conceive to be the mean, between cold morality, and wild enthusiasm' ? To this, I answer, that the mean between all ex- tremes, is Christianity, as given in the new testa- ment. An attention to the exhibition of Christ's religion, as taught, by himself; as exemplified, in the acts of the apostles; and as expanded and ramified, in the epistles, particularly of Saint Paul, . . is the best, and only preservative, against cold- INTRODUCTION. IX ness, against fanaticism, and against superstition. But, let me tell you, that this simple, direct view of Christianity, has very seldom been taken. Most men, in all ages, have sat down to the gospel, with a set of prejudices, which, like so many inquisitors, have laid the christian religion on a bed like that of Procrustes ; and, as it suited them, either muti- lated it by violence, or extended it by force. I agree, however, wdth Mrs. Chapone, in her ingenious essay on the subject, that coldness is a far more dangerous extreme, than over much heat. The one, may consist with real goodness : nay, may be the consequence of real goodness, commixing with a perturbed imagination, or an ill-formed judge- ment. But coldness, can be resolved, only, into an absolute want of feeling. Enthusiasm is excess, but coldness is want of vitality. The enthusiast, in a moral view, is insane ; which implies the possibility of recovery, and perhaps, a partial or occasional recurrence of reason. The cold person is like the idiot, where reason never shows itself^ and where convalescence is desperate. But, let it ever be remembered, that he who has really found the mean, between the two extremes, will, and must, be reckoned enthusiastic, by those who are in the extreme of coldness. You can easily conceive, that, when any one stands on a middle point, between two others, who are, with respect to him, strictly equidistant, he must, from the inevitable laws of perspective, appear to both. y X INTRODUCTION. not to be in the middle, but comparatively near the opposite party, He therefore, Auream quisquis medlocritatem DiUgit,.. must make up his mind, to be censured on both sides : by the enthusiast, as cold ; by those who are really cold, as an enthusiast. This, however, is a digression. I return, to the new-testament view of Christianity. Now this, I repeat, (for the reasons above given,) is most surely, to be sought, in the new testament itself. And the representation given of Christianity there, differs, in my mind, from that given, in most pulpits, in very many, and very important instances. I shall notice two instances particularly : . . I. Christianity is represented, in most pulpits, rather as a scheme of external conduct, than as an inward principle of moral happiness, and moral rectitude. In modern sermons, you get a great many admo- nitions and directions, as to right conduct: but, what David asked for, so earnestly, is seldom touched upon, . . * Create in me a clean heart, O God ! and rene\v a right spirit within me.* Now, the new testament dwells on this, as its main object : * make the tree good,* says Christ, * and its fruit will, also, be good' : . . « Except ye be con- verted, and become as little children, you can, in no wise, enter into the kingdom of heaven.' These expressions evidently imply, that, in order to be christians, persons must undergo a moral INTRODUCTION. XI change ; that Christianity is designed to make them something, which they are not, by nature ; and, that, the alteration produced, in the mind, the affections, and the conduct, by a right, and full, acquiescence in the gospel, is so radical, so striking, and so efficacious, as to warrant the strongest imagery, in order to do it justice, that language can furnish. * Except a man,' says our Lord, * be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.' . . * If any man,' says saint Paul, * be in Christ, he is a new creature : old things are passed away ; behold all things are become new\' . . ' If ye, then, be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above : for ye are dead, and your life is hid, with Christ in God.' . . * Being justified by faith, we have peace with God, by our Lord Jesus Christ ; for the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts, by the Holy Ghost, which is given unto us.' And, to quote but one passage more, from saint Paul, . . * They that are Christ's, have crucified the flesh, with the affections and desires.' Now, what, I ask, do these expressions imply ? After every fair allowance for figure, and metaphor, do they not convey a far deeper, and more mys- terious view of Christianity, than is, commonly, adverted to ? Some divines, I know, endeavour to explain these, and similar passages, as if they re- ferred, rather to a relative and extrinsic, than to a real and internal change ; as if they meant, merely proselytism from heathenism, to Christianity, and Xll INTRODUCTION. initiation into outward church privileges. But this miserable mode of interpretation, is flatly incon- sistent with the whole tenor of the new testament- It is not HEATHENISM, but MORAL EVIL, which is here pointed out, as the grand source of human misery : and the aptitude of the gospel, to over- come and extirpate this moral evil, is what is dwelt upon, as its great, and leading excellence. These, therefore, and all similar passages, must be under- stood in a moral sense : and, when so understood, how deep in their import ! To suppose that there is not a strict appositeness, in these figurative ex- pressions, would be to accuse the apostles, and Christ himself, of bombastic amplification : but, if they have been thus applied, because no other ones were adequate, to do justice to the subject, I say again, what a view do they give of Christianity ! It may be said, that enthusiasts have abused these expressions. True : but what then ? What gift of God, has not been abused ? And the richest gifts, most grossly ? Meanwhile, the scriptures remain unadulterated; and, abused as they may have been, by perverse misrepresentation, on the one side, or on the other, we have no right to go to any other standard. /U hr,r^ fUrJU^yJ^h..^^ i^ly*.. t "^ . With these passages of scripture, then, and many similar ones, . . nay, with the whole tenor of the new testament, in my view, I hesitate not to say, that christian preaching consists, first, in representing man to be, by nature, (I mean in his present fallen state,) a weak, ignorant, sinful, and, of course, INTRODUCTION. XIU miserable being ; as such, to be liable to God's displeasure ; and to be absolutely incapable of en- joying any real happiness, either here or hereafter. The passages of scripture which prove this, are innumerable : I shall give but a few. * You hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins. The carnal mind is enmity against God. The car- nal man knoweth not the things of the Spirit of God, neither can he know them ; because they are spiritually discerned. They that are in the flesh, cannot please God. Having the understanding darkened ; being alienated from the life of God.' Nor, are we to suppose, that these texts speak, only, of the grossly wicked. Saint Paul repeatedly explains such statements, to belong to all mankind, until they are brought to repentance, and are in- wardly, as well as outwardly, changed by divine grace. And, in fact, our own experience confirms the truth of this. For, if we look around us, whom do we see, either truly good, or truly happy ? Some there are, unquestionably ; though, too gene- rally, in a very low, and imperfect degree. But, how rarely do we discover, what saint Paul calls, • the FRUIT OF THE SPIRIT, . . . lovc, joy, pcacc, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meek- ness, temperance.' Yet, surely, the possession of these tempers, is just as essential to Christianity now, as it was in the days of saint Paul : now, as well as then, it is an immutable truth, that, * If any man have not the spirit of Christ, he is none of his.' XIV INTRODUCTION. To shew, then, strongly, and feelingly, the misery, not only of sinful actions, but, of that car- nal, worldly, indevout, unfeeling state of mind, in which, most men are content to live ; and to point out the absolute necessity, of a change from that state, into an humble, watchful, spiritual, devout, filial frame of mind, is, in my opinion, the very foundation of all christian preaching ; as it is, in truth, the key-stone of Christianity. The very word for repentance, points out the reality, and depth of this change ; [xsravoia, a transformation of mind. And our Lord's words to saint Paul, clearly explain wherein that change, that [xsrdvoiot consists : * To open their eyes ; to turn them from darkness, to light ; and from the power of Satan, unto God : ' that is, to enlighten them, with a divine and saving knowledge, of what is true, and good ; to fill their hearts, with the love of it ; and to furnish them with the power, to per- form it. The blessings consequent upon this change, immediately follow : ' That they may re- ceive forgiveness of sins ; and an inheritance among them that are sanctified ; through faith, that is in ME.* Christianity, then, in this view, is really what saint Paul calls it, . . the power or God unto sal- vation. When thus pursued, I mean, when a deep sense of inward depravity and weakness ex- cites a man, to seek divine knowledge, and divine grace, in order to the enlightening of his mind, and the renewing of his heart, . . when this view INTRODUCTION. XV produces conscientious watchfulness ; excites to fervent, habitual devotion ; and presents to the mind, in a new light, God's inestimable love, in the redemption of the world by his son, . . then, by degrees, sometimes more rapidly, sometimes more slowly, the true christian character begins to form itself in the mind. Then, the great things spoken of Christianity, in the new testament, begin to be understood, because they begin to be felt. The vanity of earthly things, becomes, more and more apparent : that divine faith which gives victory over the world, begins to operate : religious duties, once burthensome, become delightful : self- government, becomes natural and easy : reverential love to God, and gratitude to the Redeemer, pro- ducing humility, meekness, active, unbounded benevolence, grow into habitual principles ; private prayer is cultivated, not merely as a duty, but, as the most delightful exercise of the mind : cheer- fulness reigns within, and diffuses its sweet influ- ence, over the whole conversation, and conduct : all the innocent, natural enjoyments of life, (scarce- ly, perhaps, tasted before, from the natural relish of the mind being blunted by artificial pleasures,) become inexhaustible sources of comfort : and the close of life is contemplated, as the end of all pain, and the commencement of perfect, everlasting felicity. This, then, I conceive, is a faint sketch, of that state of mind^ to which, the christian preacher, should labour to bring himself and his hearers. XVI INTRODUCTION. This, I take to be, * true religion ; ' our Saviour's, * well of water, springing up into everlasting life ; * saint Paul's, * new creature,' and * spiritual mind ; ' and saint John's, * fellowship with the Father, and with his Son, Jesus Christ.* These points, therefore, I take to be the great features of christian preaching : . . 1. The danger and misery of an unrenewed, un- regenerate state ; whether it be of the more gross, or of the more decent kind. 2. The absolute necessity of an inward change: a moral transformation of mind and spirit. 3. The important and happy effects which take place, when this change is really produced. But, how little justice have I done the subject ! what a meagre outline have I given you ! But, if it sets you on thinking for yourself, and leads you, like the Bereans, to search the scriptures, * whether these things be so,' it is the utmost 1 can look for. I knt^ not any place, in which, the view of practical Christianity I have been giving, is, either so clearly, or so compendiously set forth, as, in that collect of the afternoon service, * O God, from whom all holy desires, &c.' It seems, as if that prayer were peculiarly fitted for those, who feel in themselves the marks of sincere repentance ; but whose change, from the influence of the carnal mind, to that of the spiritual mind, is not yet completed. It, therefore, begins with a scriptural enumeration, of the component parts, and effects, pf true repentance ; and an ascription of these to INTRODUCTION. Xvii the God of grace, as their only source. * Holy desires,' answer to saint Paul's * opening of the eyes ;' 'good counsels,' or resolutions, to the * turn- ing from darkness, unto light;' and 'just works,' are the certain consequences, of being brought « from the power of Satan, unto God.' St. Paul was directed, to inculcate this [xstoluqiol, in order to the receiving of ' remission of sins, and an inherit- ance among them that are sanctified ' : and, on exactly the same principle, this admirable collect directs the penitent to ask from God, ' that peacCj which the world cannot give.' This is what the true penitent looks for ; and it embraces, in the largest sense of the word, both the blessings, which the apostle speaks of : ' remission of sins,' that is, well-grounded peace in the conscience ; and * an inheritance among them that are sanctified,' that is, the blessed peace of a pure, holy, benevolent^ pious, mind; living by faith, above the world ; and^ having its conversation (its TroA/rsyjoia, citizenship, Phil. iii. 20.) in heaven. Both these, are contained in the nature of that ' peace of God, which passeth all understanding ;' and its effects are beautifully expanded, in the words which immediately follow : • that, both our hearts may be set to obey thy commandments, and also, that, by thee, we, being defended from the fear of our enemies, may pass our time in rest and quietness, through the merits of Jesus Christ our Saviour.' This determinateness of heart, . . as, by a second nature, more fixed, even, than the first, . . to keep God's commandments, and b XVlll INTRODUCTION. the consequent freedom from all fear, external and internal, being the perfection of Christianity. And see, how scriptural all this is : . . * The work of righteousness, shall be peace; and the effect of righteousness,' (its less immediate, but not less cer- tain, consequence,) ' quietness and assurance for ever.' Zacharias, in his hymn, states it to be, the very matter, and substance of the mercy promised to the fathers, . . * That we, being delivered out of the hand of our enemies, might serve him with- out fear, in holiness and righteousness before him, all the days of our life.' And saint John expressly says, * Perfect love casteth out fear ; for he that feareth, is not made perfect in love.' Now, only compare this collect, with my statement above, and say, whether they do not suggest the identical same view of Christianity. Let me observe, however, that the change I speak of, must, from variety of circumstances, vary in conspicuousness. Some, have pleased God from their youth; have never lost a sense of duty: in these, of course, there cannot, in the nature of things, be that deep compunction, which penitents feel, who have been rescued from a lower depths Nay, some even, are gently and gradually, reclaimed from a course of vice, and folly ; so that, their final safety, may be the result of an almost imper- ceptible advance, through many years. But, the change itself, from the dominion of the carnal mind, to that of the spiritual mind, must be wrought : because, * If ye live after the flesh, ye INTRODUCTION. XIX shall die ; but, if ye, through the spirit, mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live.' To insist, therefore, on the change itself: to lead men into their own bosoms, to inquire, what most prevails with them ; this world, or the next : to ascertain, what spirit they are of j of the self-denying spirit of Christ, or the self-indulging spirit of the world : to ask, whether, like David, they love God's law ; or whether their obedience is the result of servile fear : to examine, whether they have any sense, of * God's inestimable love, in the redemption of the world, by his Son' ; or whether they are conscious, that they would have been just as happy, if such a thing never had taken place : to seek, finally, whether they feel the need of the aid and con- solations of God's Spirit; and, therefore, find prayer as necessary to their mental comfort, as food is, to their bodily strength : . . to urge such inquiries, I take to be christian preaching : to insist on circumstances, . . such as, a moment of conversion, known, and remembered ; certain depths of distress ; strongly marked, instantaneous consolations, . . as if these had been necessary, I humbly conceive to be enthusiasm. I have, now, said enough, of the Jirst error in preaching : that of making Christianity to consist^ rather in outward performances, than in an inward change. II. The second error, according to my appre- hension, is, that preachers exhort men to do, with- out impressing on them a sense of their natural b 2 XX INTRODUCTION. inability, to do any thing that is right; and their consequent need of divine grace : first, to create them anew unto good works; and, then, to strengthen them, by daily and hourly assistance. Our blessed Saviour begins his sermon on the mount, by pronouncing, not certain actions, but certain dispositions happy ; to shew, that, right dispositions are the only source, whence right actions can proceed. And, in order to the attain- \ ment of those right tempers, he directs to earnest prayer, for God's holy Spirit ; with this encourage- ment, . . ' If ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more, will your Father, who is in heaven, give his holy Spirit, to them that ask him.' But, the second error, is, in fact, the natural consequence of the first. For, where an inward, spiritual principle, is not insisted on, as primarily^ and essentially, requisite in rehgion, there, the whole system must be vague, extrinsic, and super- iieial. It is remarkable, but, I believe, it will be found a fact, that the meditations of Marcus Antoninus contain a much stricter plan of moral self-govern- ment, than is set forth, by most modern christian preachers. He seems to have looked, much more to the state of his mind and temper^ than the gene- rality of pulpit instruction insists upon. And cer- tainly, Cicero's beautiful picture of a virtuous man, (de legib. lib. i. ad fin.) comes nearer the new testament, than the view taken, by the far greater /^ INTRODUCTION. XXI number of existing christian moralists. But, can this be just, and right? If Christianity amounts to no more, than a heathen moralist could, by philo- sophic discipline, attain to, we may well ask, to what purpose did the Son of God, take our nature upon him ? Why, did he suffer death upon the cross ? To some, I doubt not, this whole scheme would appear enthusiastic, and be set down, as rank me- thodism. If so, I can only say, it is such methodism, as was taught by the great divines of our church, from the reformation, until the latter end of the seventeenth century. Then, some of the most popular divines, took up a mode of moral preaching, which they seem to have learned from Episcopius, and the other Dutch remonstrants ; and to which, Tillotson's over-disgust at his own puritanic educa- tion, very much contributed. This mode became more and more general ; until, at length, little other w^s to be met with. And yet, were I to point out authors, whose works, as most nearly agreeing with the views given above, I am most disposed to recommend to you, as part of your first studies, I should nafne some of that very period, the latter end of the seventeenth century. Two laymen of that time, may be set down, as, in their lives, among the brightest examples of Christianity, that ever the church afforded : I mean. Judge Hale, and Robert Boyle. The life of the former, by bishop Burnet, ought to be in every one's hands. But his ' Con- templations on moral and religious subjects', is b H XXU INTRODUCTION. the work I particularly refer to : wonderfully plain, and simple ; but exquisitely christian. There is a work, also, of that time, which contains, perhaps, the finest view of practical religion, the most re^ moved, from coldness, on the one hand, and over- heat, on the other, that is to be found in the christian world, . . Scougal's life of God, in the soul of man. The author was a Scotch episcopal clergyman ; and died at a very early age. This, every christian ought to have, as a sort of manual. Another composition of that day, I would ear- nestly recommend to your perusal ; bishop Burnet's conclusion of his own life and times. It, also, contains, in a small compass, as fine a view of prac- tical Christianity, as almost ever was composed. Burnet, both in his pastoral care, and in his own life and times, speaks much about, and be- stows the highest encomiums upon, archbishop Leighton. He was a pattern of christian perfection. His writings bear a close resemblance to early English divinity : but, in sublime piety, and oflen in genuine strokes of natural, but most exalted eloquence, they are not excelled, but by the sacred writers. Lucas's inquiry aflor happiness, especially his second volume, is peculiarly, of that kind, which avoids both coldness and enthusiasm. And to these, I would add Dr. Worthington's book on self-resignation.* • Republished, with his other practical works, by Messrs. Riringtons. INTRODUCTION. XXlll Burnet's life of bishop Bedel ; his account of lord Rochester ; and his funeral sermon for Mr. Boyle, ., deserve, also, to be placed in the highest rank. I wish much, that all Burnet's lives, includr ing the sermon, were to be republished in Ireland ; except his large one of bishop Bedel, which is easily come at, and peculiarly worth having. Burnet's most interesting anecdotes of arch- bishop Leighton, given in his own life and times, should, also, be extracted, and introduced into such a volume. Archbishop Leighton, however, on second thoughts, I do not recommend to you, as just for your purpose now ; because I wish to mention those, only, who completely occupy that middle place you speak of; and on whom, of course, you may safely rely. But Leighton had a leaning to Calvinism : which places him in a different class. Hereafter, when your theological knowledge is somewhat more advanced, and you are able to ex- ercise the eclectic faculty, he ought to make a part of your library: for, a more apostolic man never lived ; and his genius was not only vivid, but sublime. In the far greater part of his works, he really deserves to stand very near the inspired writers. But there are two authors, whom I would cer- tainly wish to occupy a place in your earliest course. One, more ancient, whom, I fear, it may not be easy to come at, in Ireland. The other, modern. The ancient one lies, at this moment, before me : it is entitled, ' Select discourses by John Smith, b 4 XXIV INTRODUCTION. late fellow of queen's college, Cambridge:' a quarto, of the smaller size, printed at Cambridge, in the year 1660.* His editor was the Dr. Wor- thington, already mentioned. Of this volume, all is learned, liberal, ingenious, and eminently pious: but the latter part is the most interesting, * A discourse of legal and evangelical righteousness, &c.', and all those that follow, to the end. The first short treatise in the volume, however, on the true method of attaining divine knowledge, ought, by no means, to be passed over. The other, the wise and excellent Doddridge, was a man, who, though a dissenter from our church, would have done any church the highest honour. Pure conscience kept him from conform- ing ; his early views having been formed on another plan : though, there can be little doubt, that, in our establishment, his transcendent merits would have raised him to the highest dignities. He is not exactly of the description of writers I have been mentioning : but he is, indeed and in truth, a com- bination of all excellencies. Scougal, Burnet, Lucas, and John Smith, excelled in their views of the religion of the heart, as embracing habitual devotion, internal purity, and active charity. In these respects, they are, perhaps, the first writers in the world. But, the excesses of some of the puritanical men of that age, led them to be much on the reserve, as to some of the peculiar doctrines • Since rrpublithcd, by Mcnn. Rlvingtont and Cochran. INTRODUCTIOM. XXV of Christianity. On what concerns the Christian [xsTOLuoia, and its most precious fruits, they are un- rivalled : respecting the Christian tt/o-t;^, its nature, and its exercise, they are perhaps, somewhat defi- cient. Who is perfect ? Our Saviour says, * Ye believe in God ; believe, also, in Me.' The former duty, they well under-^ stood, and nobly inculcated, from well-experienced hearts : the latter, they themselves professed and practised ; but not with equal clearness. Here, the Calvinistic puritans have been somewhat wild ; and their wildness, perhaps, occasioned over-caution, in these excellent men. But Doddridge is as perfect here, as in every other respect. Instead of shunning puritanism, to which extreme, some of his connec- tions might rather have given him an over-inclin- ation, he extracts all its excellencies, and leaves behind all its feculence. Never was there a better- ^ informed divine, a more judicious casuist, or a more evangelic christian. His theological lectures, though in some measure deformed, by the strange adoption of a mathematical form in demonstrating his propositions, are a complete body, and most candid treasury, both of theoretic, and practical instruction ; both of questionable opinions, and of unquestionable truth. His family expositor, is, iq most parts, a perfectly sound, fair, pious, and! rational interpreter of the new testament. And y^^ his sermons on regeneration, are, of all practical works, that which, perhaps, comes nearest what you mention as a desideratum, . . the fulness of XXVI INTRODUCTION. evangelical truth, without the alloy of enthusiasm. His rise and progress of religion, has been un- usually read, and approved. It is a capital work, but, I think, it involves this defect, that, its plan, almost necessarily leads to an insisting on one mode of passing, from a thoughtless, to a religious life ; and, therefore, seems to lay stress on a certain method, where both reason and religion would seem to point out an infinite variety. From this, which, however, he meant, as much as possible, to guard against, his sermons on regeneration, (which, also, he intended as a kind of elementary work on practical religion,) are admirably free.* I have now, my good friend, nearly executed what I intended : and have only to make a few ob- servations, to prevent any possible misconception of the plan I have dwelt upon. If you do not, many would, think the view I have given of religion, as implying an inward change, and an habitual devotion, 1. too strict : 2. somewhat fanatical. 1. As to the first objection, I would desire any candid person, seriously to consider our Lord's view of religion, in the parable of the sower ; and ask • In later years, I have good reason for knowing, that, respecting the writings of tlie excellent Doddridge, Mr. Knox's views underwent some modification. He would, especially, have guarded youthful readers, against, what he was obliged to think, educational prejudices, on the subject of church-government : and, of some circumstantial errors, even in his tlieology, he became duly sensible. But, with few drawbacks, (as few, perhaps, as often fall to the lot of humanity,) he continued, and most justly, to account Dod- dridge a burning and a shining light ; which, in days of more than ordinary coldness, Divine Providence was pleaatd to enkindle, in order to impart both warmth, and illumination, to the profetaing christian world. INTRODUCTION. XXVll his own reason, whether, in the distinction made, between the thorny-ground, and the good-ground hearers, there is not an awful indication of the strictness of his reUgion. I would recommend to attention, also, the truths suggested in the parable of the man who came into the marriage feast, not having on a wedding garment. But, above all, the parable of the ten virgins : this, to my apprehen- sion, is the most awful of all our Lord's discourses, Where, it may be asked, lay the difference between those individuals ? It was not external : they were all called virgins ; they all appeared in equal readiness ; they had all had their lamps burn- ing ; which must mean, that they all maintained an equally promising character, as far as human eyes could go. The difference, then, is internal : the foolish, had oil in their lamps, for the present ; but no supply, no reservoir, in their vessels. Can this mean any thing short, of what I have been stating above ; that Christianity implies, (J use the words of Scougal,) * a real participation of the divine nature; the very image of Christ, drawn upon the soul ; or, as it is in the Apostle's phrase, Christ FORMED WITHIN us'? 2. As to the second objection, that this view is somewhat fanatical, . . I would answer, that the divines above mentioned are deservedly esteemed among the wisest, and most rational, in our church. And, so far as I can understand them, it is precisely their view. But, there is another divine, whom I have not yet named ; and to whom I may safely XXVlll INTRODUCTION. appeal ; the judicious Hooker. Turn to the tracts, at the end of his ecclesiastical polity, and read the thirteenth and fourteenth sections of the first of the two sermons, on part of St. Jude's epistle; compare what he there says, with my statements, and see, whether he does not, in using language bolder, and more unqualified, go beyond my view of the question. And yet, no one ever charged Hooker with being an enthusiast, or fanatic. The truth is, that what he there delivered, was no more, than what was daily taught in the churches : only. Hooker expresses himself in stronger terms, and with more fiery eloquence. I hope you will excuse the incoherencies, and indigested manner, of the above. Your question appeared to me a weighty one : and I wished to answer it as well as I could. But I could not do it, as I wished. Besides, I have been obliged to do it by snatches, when bad health, and bad spirits, permitted me. It is now, full time to have done : you will con- sider this poor attempt, as, at least, a small mark of the real regard, with which I am. My dear Mr. Jebb, Your affectionate. And faithful friend, Alex. Knox. Feb. IS. 1801. The Rev. John Jebb, Swanlinbar, Ballyconnel, Ireland. INTRODUCTION. XXIX The above letter, is almost the earHest of a series, terminating only with the year of Mr. Knox's death, (1831.) which the editor has long cherished, among his choicest treasures. How much he owes to this correspondence, . . how much to the free, famiUar, yet paternal converse, of many thousand happy hours, . . how much to the uniform example of this true-hearted christian philosopher, * will not be known, until the secrets of all hearts are dis- closed. But thus much he can say, with certainty, that, scarce a day elapses, in which some energetic truth, some pregnant principle, or some happy illustration, (and those illustrations were always powerful arguments,) does not present itself, for which he was primarily indebted, to the ever-salient mind of Alexander Knox. A picture of that mind, I feel myself utterly incompetent to draw : the subject, indeed, is so wound up with the tenderest recollections, that, were my fitness ever so great, I should fear to trust myself with it. But the difficulty is, in a considerable degree, obviated, by my having, at this moment, a masterly sketch of his interior cha- racter before me, which, some years ago, was given unawares, by De G6rando, in depicting the mental image of Plato. There are many now living, who will, at once, recognize the likeness : . . * See the character of Dr. H. More, in this volume, p. 311. XXX INTRODUCTION. • II poss^dait, au plus haut degr6, ces facultes brillantes qui president aux arts d'imagination, mais qui constituent aussi, ou qui ftcondent, I'esprit d*in- vention, dans tous les genres ; cette vivacit6, et cette Anergic de conception, qui rendent une nou- velle vie aux objets, en les exprimant, et qui les embellissent encore, en les faisant r^vivre. Toute- fois, et par une rencontre aussi heureuse que rare, il ^tait 6galement dou6 de ces qualit6s 6minentes, qui forment les penseurs. Exerc6 aux meditations profondes, il 6tait capable de suivre, avec incroy^. able pers6v6rance, les deductions les plus 6tendues: il savait atteindre, par un regard p^n^trant, les dis- tinctions les plus d61icates, et quelquefois les plus subtiles. Surtout, il avait re9u le don d'une sensi- bility exquise, d'une chaleur, et d'une cl6vation de Tame, d*un enthousiasme r6fl6chi, qui dirigeaient constamment vers I'image du beau et du bon, et qui s'alimentaient des plus pures Emanations de la morale.'* But the most faithful portrait of his mind, will undoubtedly be found, in the writings which he has left behind him. These are^ chiefly, letters, or rather dissertations, (some of them unfinished,) on the most important questions, which it is possible for man to investigate. These papers are now the * Biogn Univ. torn. xxzv. S8. INTRODUCTION. XXXI pit)perty of two excellent persons, who affection- ately revere his memory ; and who, questionless, will, in due time, gratify their friends, and the public, with such a selection of them, as deep in- terest, guided by sound judgement, will be sure to dictate. In the letter on clerical pursuits and studies, which the editor has deemed it right to publish, a fair specimen has been afforded of his corre- spondence. But his powers of conversation were yet more extraordinary; It has been the writer's fortune, often to be in his company, with some of the most i-emarkable persons of the past and pass- ing age. It was on such occasions, that his genius pre-eminently shone forth. It is little to say, that he never failed to acquit himself with ability : he actually astonished, and sometimes overpowered, the ablest minds, by the force of his eloquence ; while it was uniformly subservient to the highest purposes, and amenable to a jurisdiction, at once more authoritative, and more gentle^ than the re- ceived rules of ordinary discussion, . . to the un- deceptious logic, of a holy, and a pure heart. In the year 1809., the editor had abundant op- portunities, of seeing him at the very height of his conversational powers. At that period, my friends and medical advisers thought me in a precarious state of health, and recommended, that, for a time. XXXU INTRODUCTION. I should absent myself from Ireland, and try the air and climate of this country. Mr. Knox, with his usual kindness, accompanied me ; and, in the course of that excursion, I saw his varied, and transcendent abilities drawn forth, in a manner altogether different from any thing I had expe- rienced, during twenty years' previous knowledge of him : some of them, years of the closest inti- macy. It seemed impossible, for persons of any mind, to pass a single day in his company, without feeling, that they had met a most remarkable man ; and I have lately been astonished, to find, that, after the lapse of three and twenty years, (for, since 1809., he never visited England,) his appearance, his voice, his manner, his very words, were most vividly present, in the recollection of those, who had never once seen him during that interval. Fortunately, he was one day engaged to dine, in company with Mr. Parkyn, a highly intellectual barrister, since deceased. I was not present, being detained at our lodgings, by indisposition. But, as will presently appear, I was richly indemnified. Mr. Parkyn, I was told by a friend, was attention itself : but, at the same time, he knew how, and he took care, to elicit Mr. Knox's mind : and, in the evening, he wrote down his immediate impressions, of what had passed. Never, before, or afterwards, did he meet Mr. Knox j who, indeed, on the very IN^TRODUCTION. XXXlll next day, took a final leave of London. But, such was the impression made on him, by this one short interview, that, in person, in mind, in manners, and in principles, he was enabled to embody the very image, of this eminent, and remarkable man ; and a more perfect, and graphical description I never saw. By the kindness of my friend Mrs. But- terworth, I have, for many years, possessed a copy of this precious document ; and (with her permis- sion,) I hasten to give it, in Mr. Parkyn's exact words : . . " Sept. 5. 1809. This afternoon, at Mr. Butter- worth's*, I had the happiness to dine in company with Alexander Knox, Esq. of Dublin. His per- son is that of a man of genius. He is rather below the middle size ; his head not large ; his face rather long, rather narrow, and more rectangular than oval ; his features interesting, rather than pleasing; his forehead high, but not wide ; his eye quick, his eye-brow elevated ; his nose aquiline ; his under lip protruded ; his muscles very full of motion ; his complexion pale, apparently from ill health, but susceptible of a fine glow, when the subject of con- versation became animating. His expression of face not unlike Cowper's. He is small-limbed, and thin. He wears spectacles, which very much be- • The late Joseph Butterwortli, Esq. M. P. C XXXIV INTRODUCTION. come him. When highly interested, his counte- nance is full of action, his eye piercing, his cheek suffused, his gestures profuse and energetic, his whole form in motion, and ready to start from his seat. His manner of expression is natural and easy ; fluent, in general, but not very fast ; he hesitates, occasionally, for a word ; and encumbers his diction with long, explanatory parentheses, from which, however, he returns duly to his proper topic. His language is commonly appropriate, and almost invariably pure; sometimes, exquisitely elegant: his imagery is copious, original, very suitable, and, mostly, well made out ; occasionally, it is quite sublime. His voice is clear and pleasant, with a very little of the Irish tone. We sat from three, to half past eight. Too much of the afternoon was occupied with contro- versy, between Mr. Knox, and Dr. Adam Clarke, on certain topics connected with the methodist institutions. Mr. Knox maintained the necessity of episcopal ordination, as the only regular mode of constituting ministers of religion; but acknow- ledged the value and necessity, of the labours of methodist and other teachers. He strongly maintained the necessity of an es- tablishment of religion, as a means of perpetuating the profession of Christianity. He very eloquently maintained, that the want of discipline in the INTRODUCTION, XXXV church, so much complained of, was one of its happy features. His reason for so regarding it, was, that reHgion was thus presented to the view and accept- ance of men, without any obtrusion of human in- terference ; without any offence, to the scrupulous- ness of a hesitating and bashful mind; without any violation, to that sort of nervous delicacy, which was peculiar to some constitutions ; without interposing any mediator, between man, and his God. He was glad, that, in one place, Christianity appeared free to all -, unfettered by any laws, unfenced with any preliminary examinations, or me- naces of disciplinary infliction. He thought, that any kind of impediment, thrown in the way even of profligates, coming to the participation of chris- tian ordinances, would operate, as a hinderance and repulse, to timid, though honest votaries. He mentioned the case of lord chancellor Clare ; who, toward the close of his life, went to a village church, (where he might not be known,) to take the sacrament. He thought, that the advantage of an establish- ment was twofold : . . 1. It diffused, universally, a low form of religion ; overspread the land, with a weak, but pervading light ; preserved in the minds of all men, the idea, that there was a God to go to, and such general notions respecting him, as might, afterwards, be c 2 XXXVl INTRODUCTION. made efficient, by any casual misfortune, or event occasioning serious consideration. This was a light, into which every man was born ; he found himself enveloped in it, without any effort of his own ; he had it in his power, to make all the use he pleased of it ; but was not disgusted, by its obtrusive, and imperious implicitness. 2. The other advantage, was that, of enabling men of higher intellectual powers, to frame their N^ own religion, without the intervention of any human guides ; to become acquainted with God, for them- selves, through the medium, only, of the esta- blished formularies, and ordinances ; cultivating a deep, inward, spiritual, philosophical, cordial piety, of a more refined, and sublime nature, than could be produced, under the agency of religious instruc- tion. An establishment, therefore, was suited to the diffusion of important general notions, and to the promotion of a sublime piety. Between the two extremes, it was very desirable, that there should be an energy, an explicitness, a forwardness, and familiarity, of religious instruc- tion, adapted to produce strong, though not refined feelings of devotion ; and suited to train up the less abstracted and contemplative mind. This object he considered to be best attained, by sects and societies. INTRODUCTION. XXXVII The general and vague nature of the established service, harrowed the ground, he said, which in- fidels would be apt to contest. In the English establishment, there was every thing to command respect ; but there was not that impertinent, vul- gar obtrusiveness, which disgusted and hardened the infidel. Hence, infidels were much more ^ common in Scotland, than in England: hence, Shakspeare speaks of religion with reverence ; Burns, with ridicule. He considered the liturgy of the English church, ^ as an invaluable fence against heterodoxy. The reformed churches on the continent, were in- undated with error : the Lutheran, with deism ; the Calvinistic, with Socinianism. The English church maintained the doctrine of Christ's Divinity, in a form, more explicit, and unquestionable, than it could be found subsisting in the scriptures j and was, therefore, a more tenable ground, a more decisive authority to appeal to, for all who pro- fessed to be its members. It kept up, in the minds of all its adherents, a steady antipathy to Arian, and Socinian error. It was in this respect, that popery had been, and continued to be, useful j it was the repository of that essential doctrine j and was now a sort of rear-guard to the church of England. It was for this reason, he conceived, ^ that it had been providentially permitted to con- c 3 y^ XXXVIll INTRODUCTION. tinue so long. On its being suggested, that the important doctrines of regeneration, the atonement, &€., though equally maintained in the established service, had slipped from the minds of its adher- ents, he observed, that no person, really believing the Divinity of Christ, could be so entirely an enemy to these doctrines,' as a Socinian ; that no one, seriously keeping Christmas, could become very latitudinarian ; that whoever believed the messenger to be a divine person, must, on reflec- tion, feel, that the errand must be of vast import- ance ; that this doctrine was the root, which might be buried for a time, and apparently barren, but which, from accidental circumstances, might be made to germinate, and throw up a luxurious vege- tation. It was a rock, to which the mind would resort for rest, in a time of agitation and distress. He rejoiced to hear the Irish address the holy vir- gin ; for they added, mother of God : a delight- ful solecism ; an uncouth metaphor ; but conveying a most important truth. He considered the liturgy a much stronger fence to the church, than the subscription of articles. The latter, was a single act; to which, a man might argue down, and persuade his scruples. But no Arian, who had a grain of religion or ho- nesty, could persist, week after week, in reading the creeds. INTRODUCTION. XXXIX In reference to his notions, on the silent, general effect of the establishment, he said, that we were far from being capable of comprehending the machinery of Heaven : we little knew, how much of the apparatus was subterraneous ; working in a manner, and producing effects, of which we were unconscious. He compared a Calvinistic body of divinity to a barrel organ ; and that, not very well tuned. He spoke in raptures of Robert Hall : and said, there was scarcely any man regarded with so much admiration, and so much esteem. His style of composition was beautiful, only, perhaps, too rich : it had, a little, the appearance of aim ; but this, he had been told, was only the exuberance of his invention. I assured him, that I was con- vinced, Mr. Hall had never bestowed labour on any sentence, except to diminish, instead of in- creasing its splendour. He thought, that the ^ Lettres Provinciales' had produced a total change in the English style ; and occasioned the substitution of the Addisonian, instead of the Miltonian. He considered, that, the finest writing was to be expected, from a genius, that had learned to manage for itself. He was persuaded, that religious sentiment was the true element of genius. Burke never shone with so much brightness, as in the sphere of religion. c 4 xl INTRODUCTION. He mentioned a ver}' eloquent passage, in the « Modele des Prtoes,* by Bridaine."* For the insertion of this character, no apology is offered. They who had the happiness to know Mr. Knox, will instantly recognize its fidelity : they who did not know him, will feel, that the man thus faithfully depicted, should not, as, indeed, he cannot, pass unheeded to the tomb; * even in his ashes live his wonted fires ' : and every enlightened observer of human nature, will love to look upon so bright a specimen of its im- proved state, in all his native simplicity; his mind in its every-day dress, his very air and countenance almost restored to life, . . such as the writer has viewed them a thousand times, . . such as, at this moment, they seem to rise before him ! But, had he no imperfections, no weaknesses, no infirmities ? Reader, what human being is without them ? But his were such, as never inter- fered with christian excellence. Be it only your * Probably, tbe admirable exordium of his sermon on eternity ; whicli conlinal Maury has preserved, and which is given in the Modele det Prkret, The reader may like to see a short, singular, and most alarming paragraph, from the same discourse : . . • Eh ! savez-vous ce que c'est que I'^temit^ ? C'est une pcndulc, dont Ic balancier dit, et rcdit, sans cesse, ces deux mots seulcment, dans le silence des tombcaux : Tovjourst jamais I Jamais^ tovjours / Et toujours, pendant res cflroyabk's rfcvolutions, un r^'prouv^' sY'crie: Quelle heurc est-ilf ct la voix d'un autre misc'rablc, lui r6pond; . . l'stxknitk ! * INTRODUCTION. xli constant effort, to live as he lived, and to die as he died, . . and then, assuredly, you will neither live nor die in vain, J. L. East Hill, Wandsworth. The editor feels assured, that he will be more than excused, for liaving extracted so much, from the correspondence, and conversation, of his departed friend : the truth is, that, had he not kept in view the retiring modesty, which always characterized that friend, he should, probably, have extracted much more. His feelings have been admirably expressed, by cardinal Quirini, in speaking of the matchless Fenelon : . . « Hffirent memoriae meae argumenta omnia, quae, k prsesule illo narrata, seu disputata, sitientibus auribus captavi ; et praeterek, quaenam ea fuerint, oculis meis, nunc fidem faciunt plures ejusdem literae, quibus, nihil stat pretiosius in scriniis meis.* . . Comment. Histor. de reb. pertin. ad Aug. Mar. CARD. QUIRINUM. 1749. PREFACE TO THE FIRST DUBLIN EDITION. The following collection of bishop Burnet's bio- graphical pieces, is made more complete than in any former edition, by the insertion of the sermon at the funeral of Mr. Boyle * ; and by a selection of the most interesting characters, in the bishop's history of his own life and times. It may, there- fore, on the whole, be recommended to the intel- ligent and serious public, as one of the most instructive volumes of the biographical kind, that has ever issued from the press. In the life of sir Matthew Hale, we do not, merely, see a character improved and adorned by the christian graces and virtues, but we behold Christianity itself, substantially exemplified. We see its power * to convert the soul,' in that radical change which it effects in the youth : while every subsequent action of the man, concurs to prove, that the ideal character of wisdom, which some ancient philosophers described as the mark to be aimed at, though without any hope of attainment, * A slight transposition of the materials, has been judged proper in this edition : the characters have been placed immediately after the lives ; and the address to posterity, after the sermon for Mr. Boyle, as a general conclusion to the whole. Xliv PREFACE TO THE is, in all its valuable features, actually realized in the true christian. What, but Christianity, could have given to judge Hale that uniform ascendancy over every thing selfish and secular, by means of which, he, so undeviatingly, kept the path of pure heroic virtue, as to be alike looked up to and revered, by parties and interests, the most opposite to each other? Is there, in human history, any fact more extraordinary, than, that the advocate of Strafford and Laud, and of king Charles, (had leave been given for pleading,) should be raised to the bench, by Cromwell ? And again, that a judge of Crom- well's should be, not only reinstated by Charles II., but compelled by him, against his own will, to accept of the very highest judicial trust ? Such is the triumph of genuine Christianity ! . . a triumph, which is, in some degree, renewed, whenever the name of Hale is even professionally repeated : since the appeal is evidently made, not more to the au- thority of the judge, than to the integrity of the man. If Burnet had never written more, than the life of sir Matthew Hale, this alone would have entitled him to the gratitude of the christian world : there being no work of the kind, better worth the study, whether of the professional, or private man; of all, who would truly learn, how to live, or how to die. Respecting the passages in the life of the earl of Rochester, nothing could easily be added to the encomium of Dr. Johnson : * It is a work, which FIRST DUBLIN EDITION. xlv the critic ought to read, for its elegance ; the philosopher, for its arguments ; and the saint, for its piety. It were an injury to the reader, to offer him an abridgment.* In the sermon at Mr. Boyle's funeral, we have an exquisite delineation of the true christian philo- sopher. We see a most enlightened, and powerful mind, penetrating the yet unexplored recesses of nature ; opening new paths to profound and useful science ; and aiding future investigation, by admir- able inventions. Who is there, that pretends to scientific knowledge, even in this age of arrogant self-esteem, who would venture to withhold respect from the venerable name of Boyle ? Yet, we see this great and good man, bowing before his God, with the humility of a child ; never pronouncing the hallowed name, without some mark of unaf- fected veneration ; and counting all his knowledge of physical nature, to be but infant ignorance, com- pared with that heavenly wisdom, which he sought, and found, in the sacred volumes of Revelation. The portraiture of such a man, executed by one who was qualified to do it ample justice, both from intimate knowledge, and congenial feeling, well deserves to be rescued from obscurity ; especially at a time, when the baleful effects of * science falsely so called,' have made it necessary to recur to the ' only genuine philosophy, . . the wisdom FROM ABOVE. The shorter extracts which are added, scarcely need to be recommended to attention. As sketches Xlvi PREFACE TO THE FIRST DUBLIN EDITION. of character, they cannot fail to be interesting ; since, they, not only, have that strength which always marks the hand of Burnet ; but possess a peculiarly glowing, yet mellowed richness of colouring, then only observable, when the subjects were eminent for that goodness, to which his own heart was devoted. This remark will be verified, in all the characters which have been selected, but above all, in that of the apostolic Leighton ; than whom, since the very earliest age of the church, Christianity never had a more perfect votary, or a more illustrious ornament. An over-recluseness of temper seems to have been his only foible : but, as this did not abate his liberality toward those of other habits, so, it was amply compensated by that sublimity of piety, which placed him, as it were, * In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, Which men call earth.* It was thought this collection could not be better concluded, than with the bishop's own parting ex- hortation, with which he ends that admirable set of counsels to posterity, subjoined to the History of his Own Times. So noble, and, at the same time, so comprehensive a view of practical piety, per- haps, has in no other instance, proceeded from an uninspired pen. It is not too much to say, that no piece of human writing more truly deserves to be familiarized to every eye, and to be engraven on every heart Dublin, Nov. 17. 1803. PREFACE TO THE SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. In offering to the public this second Irish edition of Burnet's lives, it is necessary to state, that, in one particular instance, abbreviation has been adopted. The sermon preached by Mr. Parsons on the death of the earl of Rochester, was interest- ing, only on account of the additional information which it afforded, respecting that extraordinary man. Accordingly, the biographical part alone is retained ; and will be found subjoined to the life, in the form of an appendix. It was at first a question, whether the memoir respecting sir Matthew Hale, by Richard Baxter, should be retained or rejected. The objection to its retention arose, from its being so strongly marked with that spirit of non-conformity, which predomi- nated in the mind, and gave law to the conduct, of its otherwise excellent, and justly celebrated author. Retention was at length preferred, not only, because the sketches of Hale, which Baxter has given, were immediately from the life, while Burnet depended solely on the information of others 5 but Xlviii PREFACE TO THE also, because some of the particulars which Baxter has recorded, may serve to throw useful light on a remarkable transaction in the life of Hale. This transaction, as related by Burnet, might, at first view, be thought to bear a favourable testimony to the cause of non-conformity. Certain circum- stances, stated, as far as we know, exclusively in Baxter's memoir, are peculiarly fitted to obviate any such conclusion. The passage in Burnet's life of Hale, to which this observation alludes, is that, in which the then chief baron is stated to have taken an active and zealous part, in obtaining such modifications, in the government and ceremonies of the national church, as might tend to satisfy the scruples of the more moderate non-conformists. In Burnef s account of this unsuccessful effort, though some of the grounds on which it was resisted, are stated with fairness, the reader, on the whole, seems left to conclude, that the advocates for comprehension, as it was called, not only acted from motives of christian charity, (a point which no candid mind will dispute,) but were, also, guided by soundness of judgment, and enlarged views of religion. It must, however, be felt, that, if this were the fact, an inference might be made, reflecting discredit, not only on the actual opponents of the measure, but on the national church itself; whose improve- ment is thus supposed to have been obstructed, and, by consequence, its imperfection perpetuated. In this view, it is of importance, that we should SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. xlix be able to judge with certainty, under what distinct considerations Hale engaged in this pursuit: whe- ther the interest he took in the question, was the result of impartial reason, and penetrating sagacity ; or whether, even this worthy and excellent person, might not, on this particular occasion, have been influenced by some rooted prepossession : in a word, whether there was not some party bias, of which he himself might have scarcely been con- scious, but, from which, all his strength of under- standing, and depth of experience, might have been inadequate to set him at perfect liberty. It is conceived, that Baxter's memoir will be found amply sufficient to satisfy this inquiry. Among the particulars which it contains, there are some, which put it beyond a doubt, that the other- wise liberal and enlightened Hale, could not be wholly without bias on the questions in dispute ; as it plainly appears, that his mind was, in a certain degree, influenced by puritanic prepossessions. The evidences of this fact, might, from their minuteness, have escaped observation, if they had not met the eye of one, whose own prejudices made him sharp-sighted in whatever was favourable to his cause; and who could not but desire, to record the slightest sanction, from so great a name. Seemingly trivial as the circumstances are, their significancy will be felt to admit of no dispute; and, had they been questionable, the intimacy between Hale and Baxter would have led to explanation. d 1 PREFACE TO THE The fact of such an intimacy has been expressly noticed by Burnet. * Hale/ says he, < held great conversation with Mr. Baxter, who was his neigh- bour, at Acton ; on whom he looked as a person of great devotion and piety.' Baxter observes farther, that the seat in which he himself sat in the church at Acton, was next to that of Judge Hale. This deserves to be noticed, because the symptoms of Hale's non-conforming tendency ap- peared, in his behaviour at church ; and Baxter's constant nearness made it impossible, that he should misconstrue accidental movements, into settled intention. Baxter's words are, * His behaviour in the church was conformable, but prudent. In common prayer, he behaved himself as others : saving, that, to avoid the differencing of the Gospels, from the epistles, and the bowing at the name of Jesus, from the names Christ, Saviour, God, &c., he would use some equality in his gestures, and stand up at the reading of all God's words alike.' This statement requires no elucidation. It is obvious, that this worthy man was influenced, either by the scruples, or the dislikes, of non-con- formity. He believed, either that the observances enjoined by the church of England were, in them- selves, exceptionable ; or, at least, that it was wrong to make them obligatory. Whichsoever of the two sentiments possessed the mind of Hale, his wish for indulgence to non-conformists is accounted for, on other grounds, besides those of unbiassed SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. U reason, and penetrating sagacity. He had a real, though limited fellow-feeling, with the party whose cause he was espousing : and, though his mind was too sound to admit of actual fetters on his con- science, the puritanic bias was sufficient, to excite commiseration, and engage exertion. This tendency in judge Hale may be reasonably explained, by what Burnet has told us respecting his education. His tutor at Oxford, was Obadiah Sedgwick, one of the most zealous puritans of that day; and, though Hale's habits, while at college, were, probably, in no respect, in unison with those of Sedgwick, yet, some evidence of personal at- tachment is shown, in Hale's wish to commence that military career, to which the first ardour of his youth aspired, in company with Sedgwick ; who had, just then, been appointed chaplain to the leader of a projected expedition. It was natural, therefore, that Hale, when afterwards entering deliberately on a strict course of conduct, should look back with respect, on the stern virtue of his first instructor. It was most likely, that, from this source. Hale had derived the seeds of that religious conscientiousness *, which gained so early the as- cendant in his character, and which distinguished his whole subsequent life. Thus, perhaps, it was, in the nature of things, impossible, that the piety * Perhaps, the Jirst seeds may have been sown, by his own father ; or by his relation and guardian, Mr. Kingscote : which latter, * was inclined to the way of those, then called puritans ; and put him to some schools, that were taught by some of that party.' See pages 12,, and 14. J. L. d 2 lii PREFACE TO THE of Hale, however essentially pure and exemplary, should not have been, in some degree, tinged with the prejudices of non-conformity. In imputing this partiality to judge Hale, nothing is less intended, than to detract from his general character. The pure spirit of christian piety, which actuated his mind and heart ; the exalted morality, which gov^erned every movement, both of his private and professional conduct ; the expansive benevolence, with which he embraced mankind ; the noble view which he took, of every principle and purpose of Christianity ; his intense and unremitting application, of every truth appre- hended by his indefatigable and capacious mind, to the still further perfecting of his own life, and the yet deeper purification of his own heart, . . these are excellencies, not to be obscured by such errors of judgment, as, in one shape or other, are inseparable from mortality. Besides, it might be questioned, whether those remaining marks of puritanic prepossession, do not add as much to the moral respectability, of Hale's patronage of the non-conformists, as they take from its argumentative force. It is better to have ill-trained sensibilities, than no sensibilities at all. To this latter suspicion judge Hale might have been liable, had he appeared to favour the non- conformists, from latitudinarian indifference. His attachment, on the contrary, shows what he would have been, under other training. His mind, sus- ceptible and tenacious of puritanic impressions,. SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. liii would doubtless, in suitable circumstances, have been equally susceptible and tenacious, of those very different, but certainly not less natural im- pressions, which a Hooker, a Herbert*, a Ham- mond, a Ken, a Nelson t, and, in the kindlier season of life, even a stern Milton t, derived from the sweetly-solemn services of our establishment. Enough has been said, to explain the part which judge Hale took, respecting the non-conformists. But, the great question of that day having thus come before us, it is not possible to dismiss it, without inquiring, whether the light afforded by subsequent events, has more tended to justify those who wished to relax, or those who success- fully maintained the strictness of conformity. The object aimed at by those who would have lowered the terms of conformity, was, in itself. * See Herbert's poem, entitled Church Music t Robert Nelson, Esq. ; the excellent author of the well-known work oa the festivals. \ Milton has left a testimony to the impressiveness of our cathedral services,^ as experienced by himself in his more youthful days, which cannot be too. often called to recollection : . . ' But let my due feet never fail, To walk the studious cloister's pale. And love the high embowed roof. With antique pillars, massy proof. And storied windows, richly dight. Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow. To the full-voiced quire below. In service high, and anthems clear, As may, with sweetness through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies, ■ And bring all heaven before mine eyes II Pekseroso. (13 liv PREFACE TO THE inexpressibly inviting. It was their hope, to see the great body of professing christians in England, united in one communion : so as to annihilate that schism, which, in the judgment of both parties, had been, the great blemish of the English church, from almost the earliest stage of the reformation. But, allowing every merit to the intention, can we, at this day, refuse the praise of deeper foresight to their opponents ; who argued, that, if some things were changed, in order to please the party then applying, successive parties might arise, making fresh demands, and inventing as good reasons for the second and third concessions, as had been urged for the first ? Even at that time, the non-conforming body presented appearances, which precluded all rational hope of general comprehension ; except it were such a comprehension, as would leave every class in unrestrained enjoyment of its own peculiarities. Already, there were not only presbyterians, but independents, anabaptists, quakers, and various non-descripts ; with every prognostic of increasing varieties. Could any unprejudiced mind have dreamed, of uniting such discordant elements? And yet, in these circumstances, the impracticability of the case was but imperfectly displayed. The true principle of non-conformists, has been, since that time, more fully developed ; we now know, that, in their view, a national church-establishment, of whatever kind, is incompatible with the spirit, and inimical to the object, of that mystical king- SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. Iv dom which the Son of God has established in this lower world. If, therefore, such an ecclesiastical modification, as was wished for by judge Hale and his associates, had been adopted, general pacification could not, even then, have been attained ; and the discovery of new grounds of dissent, would have made the prospect more and more hopeless. In the mean time, the English church-establishment would have parted with some of its most distinguishing charac- teristics; those features, in particular, which are derived from the ancient church, would have been, in a great measure, defaced ; and, of course, the principle of adhering, on all doubtful points, to the concurrence of christian antiquity, could have been insisted on no longer. Had the church of England thus deserted her ancient ground, where, we cannot but ask, should alteration have stopped ? A practice once ori- ginated, is repeated without difficulty. Can we, then, entertain a doubt, that the successive endea- vours which have been used, at one time, to new modify the forms of our worship ; at another, to abate the strictness of our doctrinal creed, . . would have been as successful, as, in our actual circum- stances, they have proved abortive ? To nothing, under heaven, can we so reasonably ascribe the defeat of all such efforts, as to the dread of dis- turbing, what had remained so long substantially unaltered. Had there been no room for this feeling, other considerations might not have been avail- d 4 Ivi PREFACE TO THE able, against the apparent plausibility of what was asked, or the persevering ardour of the applicants. Had the work of demolition once begun, its pro- gress would have been both certain and illimitable ; each successive change would have been the pre- cedent for another, yet more substantial and vital. In proportion, then, as we advert to the dangers which we have escaped, and learn to appreciate the blessings thus preserved to us, the more clearly shall we discover, and the more gratefully acknow- ledge, that the defeat of Hale and his associates, in their well-meant, but short-sighted endeavours, is chiefly to be ascribed, neither to the jealous churchmen, nor to the wily politicians, of that day ; but to the over-ruling Providence of Heaven ; which, foreseeing vicissitudes beyond the reach of human conjecture, was resolved to keep the church of England in perfect fitness, to ride out the storms which she was destined to encounter. The confidence expressed in this remark, is founded on occurrences which we all have wit- nessed. It is obvious, that religious bodies have, of later years, acquired an almost unexampled activity ; and, the more their movements are mul- tiplied, the clearer is the expediency, of some definite and settled guidance ; which, without undue coercion of mental liberty, may assist honest inquiry, impress salutary habits, and avert that mutability, which cleaves more closely to abstract self-direction in religion, than the shadow to the substance. SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. IvU An established form of Christianity being thus obviously desirable, it is natural to inquire, by what properties it may be best fitted for its purpose? And, can we hesitate to pronounce, that its cha- racter should be such, as to satisfy unfettered reason, conciliate cultivated taste, cherish pure principle, and excite elevated feeling? If these demands of advanced human nature are not met in a religious institution, it must, eventually, prove inadequate to the great leading object. It may, indeed, be of some subordinate use, in the general system of Providence ; but, it will, evidently, more or less disappoint the claims, which man, rising in the scale of intellect, is impelled, by his expanding views, and growing capacities, to make, upon that which must ever constitute the chief treasure of his mind and heart. This highest exigence, therefore, is then only adequately met, when Christianity is presented in a form, commensurate to the whole mind of man ; that is, to his taste and feelings, as well as to his understanding and conscience. If there be a want in any of these respects, an appetite of the inner man, which can no more forego its demand, than hunger or thirst can allay their own cravings, will be left without its provision : and, from this defi- ciency, proportionate moral loss will arise, both to individuals and to society. "With respect to individuals, the loss will be such, as not, ordinarily, to be supplied, even, by the most unfeigned religious sincerity. Perfect- Iviii PREFACE TO THE ness of effect, upon character and conduct, must still greatly depend, upon the nature of* the reli- gious system which is embraced, its mode of oper- ation, and its sufficiency of means. Each faculty must be engaged and exercised, in order to its being either exalted or purified. If, therefore, the religion which is adopted, does not provide for every power and capacity of man, the practical result must, in the nature of things, be proportion- ably defective. The faculty which has been left out by religion, must, in actual life, be either un- naturally repressed, or dangerously exercised: if the former, natural character is disfigured ; if the latter, conscience is ever liable to be wounded, and peace of mind to be lost: an alternative, which will be painful, or revolting, in propor- tion as the mind is susceptible, and the capacity ample. As to society also, it is evident, that where the ostensible religion, is, in any material respect, un- congenial to enlightened intellect, to improved taste, to moral or to mental sensibility, . . religious influence may be expected to decline, in exact proportion as the public mind advances. Defects or incongruities, not discerned in the mental twi- light of society, will become both visible and repulsive, amid the opening beams of intellectual day. Thus, the greater and more general the improvement, the weaker will be the influence of religion, and the fewer and less respectable its votaries. They who hold the highest place in SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. lix the scale of human nature, will stand lowest in the scale of religion ; until, at length, the efficacy of rehgious principle may be apprehended to cease, when its influences are most indispensable. It is not necessary to illustrate these remarks by adducing instances, in which, in one respect or other, they are continually verified. Suffice it to ask, where on earth are all the requisites for engaging higher minds so substantially afforded, as in our sober, yet dignified, our strictly re- formed, but not metamorphosed or mutilated establishment ? Elsewhere, if the public worship of God pur- ports to be reasonable, it is not attractive : or, if it aims at being attractive, it offends against reason. In the former instance, it addresses the mere mind, without conciliating the imagination or bodily senses : in the latter instance, it so confines itself to the imagination and bodily senses, as to neglect the rational mind. The attempered medium be- tween both extremes, or rather the happy com- bination which unites both purposes, so far as it yet exists, exists in the English church alone.* It * The late excellent editor, had he, at the time, been equally aware of their soundness and importance, as, in his latter days he certainly was, would, un- doubtedly, have made honourable mention, of the Scotch and American epis- copal churches. Let it, however, be recollected, that nearly thirty years have now elapsed, since the original publication of this preface ; and that, within the last ten years especially, primitive Christianity has been advancing with unwonted vigour, at the other side of the Atlantic. Certainly, a church which daily recals the still verdant memory of such names as Dehon and Hobart, and which yet rejoices in the patriarchal energy of White, and the manly vigour of the Onderdonks, has no reason to be despondent of the future. The latest publication which has reached us from Ix PREFACE TO THE exists there, not only because, in the crisis of re- formation, it was a leading object not to lose the * the American strand/ affords, perhaps, a brighter prospect of sound, uncom- promising churcli principle, than any with which we have been lately gratified. I am sure, that I shall not only be excused, but thanked, for producing from it, the following extract : . . * Of Philippi,* (a church and city, of which the text naturally induced the mention) ' I know not whether a vestige now remains. Macedonia, the pro- vince, then, of Rome, has passed from hand to hand, and been, by turns, the battle-ground of tyrants, and the skulking-place of slaves, till the bare name alone is left. And even the Roman empire, then shadowing over, in her high and palmy state, the subject world, has shed long her branching honours, and bowed down her towering trunk, and perished from the root. While here, to day, in a new world, of which no poet then had dreamed, after the lapse of seventeen ages, and at the distance of five thousand miles, . . the gospel, which Paul preached, is proclaimed ; the sacraments which Paul transmitted, are administered ; and a council of the church, with their Epaphroditus at their head, is assembled, in the name of God, and in his service, in precisely the same orders, laymen, deacons, presbyters, which Paul addressed at Philippi. * Let there a man rise up, now, that can give, on human principles, a satis- factory solution of this strange exemption from human change and dissolution ! Let there a christian man come forward, and, in the sightof God, declare his clear conviction, that this thing could be so, but by the special and immediate inter- position of the Providence of God, . • the same divine assurance, that has kept the gospel from extinction, or corruption, also preserving the ministry, and the sacraments of the church of Christ, in their original character and form ! The gospel is but a book : . . and yet, while the writings of the most distin- guished authors, contemporary with its composition, have perished wholly, or remain in few and scattered fragments, . . its sacred contents are still held by us entire and unimpaired. The sacraments of baptism, and the Lord's supper, are, outwardly, but ceremonies : . . and yet, while all the gorgeous rites, and glitter- ing apparatus, of the false religions, with the pomp, and pageantry, and splen- dour, of kingdoms and empires that controlled the world, have vanished like tlie clouds at sunset, these simple offices, . . the sprinkling of the infant's brow, with the pure water of the baptismal font ; the meek, unostentatious banquet of the bread and wine, which the Lord once broke, and blessed, and com- manded to be received, . . still hold their place, in every land where Jesus is proclaimed ; are still received by countless millions, as pledges of their salva- tion, and emblems of tlie love tliat brought it. The distinction of the ministry into three orders, with tlie exclusive power of self-perpetuation in the highest, if it be not ordained of God, is but the arrangement of human skill, or the device of human ambition ; . . and yet, while all the governments on earth have changed in form, once and again, witliin the christian era ; while revo- lution has succeeded revolution, and emperors, consuls, kings, dictators, . . SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. 1x1 substance of ancient excellence, the elevation of ancient piety, or the dignity of ancient observances ; but also, because the good sense of modern times has felt the justness of that early discrimination, and, to the present moment, has guarded the inva- luable treasure with unremitting vigilance, and unyielding firmness. We are deeply indebted to Divine Providence, for our enfranchisement from the fetters of super- stition, and the yoke of mental bondage : but we are excited to a still more cordial gratitude, by the consideration, that those employed to pluck up the tares, were not permitted to root up also the wheat with them ; and every subsequent danger, which, from time to time, has threatened to despoil the English church of one or other portion of her fair inheritance, may now be looked back upon, with enlightened satisfaction, and exalted pleasure. We enjoy the inestimable result of those successive escapes : and our enjoyment increases, in propor- tion as instances of religious vacillation multiply come like shadows, have so departed, . . the arrangement which we claim as apostolical, the arrangement which we find in the Philippian Church, is still, under all forms of civil government, preserved ; has never, in the tract of ages, suffered interruption ; against all adverse circumstances, . . pride, prejudice, poverty, indifference, treachery, . . is still maintained, by more than nineteen, twentieths of all that bear the christian name ; and by none who do maintain it, into whatever other corruption they may have fallen, (I mention it as an in- contestable fact, and full of matter for deep contemplation) have the great doc- trines of the gospel, the proper divinity of Jesus Christ, and the atonement for all sin by his blood, ever been denied.' . . The Gospel, in the Church: . . a Sermon, delivered at the annual Convention of the Protestant Episcopal Church, Massachusetts ; Wednesday June 20., 1832, by George Washington Doane, Rector of Trinity Church, Boston. vS* Ixii PREFACE TO THE ■ground us. While increasing numbers * go astray in the wilderness,' . . our settled, unaltered, and radically primitive church, secures to us * a peace- able habitation, and quiet resting-place.' It could not answer this end, merely as a na- tional establishment. As' such, indeed, it might interest political men ; and serve well enough for those, who are satisfied to Hake things as they find them. But; on this groand alone, it could not challenge examination; it could not possess au- thority, over either reason or conscience. It is the consistency of our national church with itself; its essential sameness, (notwithstanding circum- stantial changes,) with' what it was originally ; and its consequent vital retention of catholic faith and piety, . . that faith, which was • once delivered to the saints,' and that piety, which * is profitable for all things,' . . it is this, which constitutes tti^ basis of its strength^: while its exquisite accord- dance to full-grown human nature, and to advanced and enlightened society, affords an additional evi- dence, which will be felt to increase in conclusive- ness, in proportion as our church becomes the subject of close and philosophical reflection. We, evidently, are in no danger of praying to God erroneously, when we daily address him in the sentiments, and even in the expressions, which have given utterance and wing to the devotions of the western church, in some instances, for sixteen hundred, in all leading instances, for twelve hun- dred years. We cannot doubt the soundness of SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. 1 XIU our faith, when we know it to be that, by which all the virtues, of all the saints, were sustained and cherished ; by which they were so raised above earth, and so animated with the purest and most exalted affections, as, even in this world, to enjoy, by anticipation, the felicity of heaven. And lastly, we cannot but value those observances, in which christians of the purest times did not disdain to seek support for their piety: in whic*h, most pro-^^ bably under apostolic sanction, they merely trans- ferred from the ancient dispensation, those circum- stantial aids, which, on every ground of reason, were alike applicable to the nfew : and which,- from the second century to the present hour, have been evincing their utility, in the alliance which they have maintained, between religion and natural feel- ing : in the multiplied associations, with which they }fkve occupied and engaged the mind : and in the exterior grace, beauty, and. cheerfulness, by which they have added to the attractiveness of divine worship, and helped to introduce the deepest and most beneficial impressions. In all these respects, we, of the church of Eng- land, are only echoing the voices, repeating the movements, and tracing the footsteps, of the great body of the church militant, which has marched on before ; and which, for our guidance, has left behind it, a path more discernible than the galaxy in the heavens. In this path it is, that the un- altered church of England, breathing forth her own-authentic spirit, in the uniform voice of her Ixiv PREFACE TO THE formularies, has guided all her genuine and faithful children ; as if it had been her leading ambition, (as it is, in truth, amongst reformed communions, her distinguishing characteristic,) to keep in view, and reduce to practice, that explicit, yet much for- gotten oracle : . . * Thus,' saith the Lord, ' stand ye in the ways and see, and ask for the old paths ; where is the good way ? and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls.' Can it be questioned, that some distinct guid- ance is necessary, when religious novelties so frequently press upon our notice ; and when * dis- cord, with a thousand various mouths,' perplexes the unlearned christian, in proportion to his solici- tude to know and embrace the truth ? Amidst the paths which open before him, and the contending calls of, . . * Lo, Christ is here,' and ' Lo, Christ is there,' how shall the honest, but untaught indi- vidual, ascertain the way of safety ? Is it the volume of Holy Scripture, interpreted, for himseh^ by each private person, which shall extricate from this labvrinth ? Alas ! it is with this sacred book in their hands, that the various parties have se- parated from each other: and the great point in question is, not, whether the written word of God is to be listened to, but, solely, in what manner it is to be understood, and practically applied. The church of England, and she only^ proposes to relieve us from this embarrassment, without any concomitant claim of mental subjugation. She is willing to be a guide, without assuming to be SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. IxV a directress. Instead of pronouncing as an oracle, she deduces what is safest and most beneficial, from the concurrent judgment, and authenticated results, of seventeen successive centuries ; and she encourages every competent inquirer, to obtain satisfaction for himself, from the same unvarying sources, of practical information, and rational con- viction. It is too certain, that to some, the best and hap- piest guidance will appear less desirable, than indefinite self- direction ; because, by too many, the chief good is thought to consist, in an un- restrained power of approving, or rejecting, rather than in the practical justness of the approbation, or the rejection.* To others, who suppose strong * * When we observe how much there is, of impatient submission to autho- rity ; how much desire there is in individuals, to quit their own sphere ; to suggest, and pursue, their own plans, for the confirmation, or advancement, of the christian cause ; to become the advocates of general Christianity, and to testify an indifference, to forms of belief, and of worship, . , we cannot but believe, that, in those individuals, there must be a strange ignorance, of what is required of them, by the church to which they belong. ' In a deep feeling of the evils caused by such proceedings, we cannot but earnestly beseech those who are about to become public teachers in our church, not to everlook this essential branch of a clerical education ; but to study deeply her constitution ; and to understand, what is the real situation of the minister of an episcopal church, and what are his duties, . . before they under- take them. * True, indeed, it is, that the christian spirit may exist, independently of all this : true is it, that, at the farthest verge of the earth, and remote from every form, of every church, the spirit of christian hope, love, and joy, may glow in the bosom of the christian. But that, neither alters the principles of human nature, (which, as far as we can judge, first induced the great Founder of Christianity, to order the use of external forms in his church j) nor lessens the obligation of those forms. * Their necessity, and their expediency, I need not, and I will not, consider here : but, thus much cannot be denied, that he, who has become the minister of a form which professes to be apostolical, has both set to the solemn record of his belief, that that claim can be justified ; and has assume(^ every obliga- e Ixvi PREFACE TO THE emotion to be the only likely means of working effectually on the human mind, and who, there- fore, conclude, that edification is to be hoped for, only from that which terrifies, or melts, or in- flames, . . the equable temperament of the esta- blished forms will naturally be less inviting, than the spirit-stirring exertions of sectarian missionaries. Those also, as already intimated, who confine the church of Christ to voluntary associations of a segregated few, cannot but condemn a form of Christianity, which opens its sanctuary to entire nations. Those, lastly, who regard God as an inexorable sovereign, rather than as a loving and gracious father, will necessarily believe, that the only safe rule, in matters pertaining to God, is to tion, which such a profession implies. Before he does so, he may, if he pleases, become tlie minister of another form, or the minister of Christianity under no form ; but, when he has done so, he has declared, that, in his belief, the one only true, and effectual way, of carrying on his Master's work on earth, is that way. on which he has entered ; and that, that form to which he has declared his adherence, is the form approved by his Master himself. * He is, therefore, become, now, the minister of a church ; and, while he continues so, must pursue the road which that church dictates. If continued research should lead him to doubt the truth of the doctrines which the church delivers, he must quit her bosom ; for, while he remains in it, he must teach what the church commands, in the sphere which she assigns. He may think, tliat, at some time, something is left, in that church, undone, wtiich should be done; something done, which should be left undone : but he will know, also, that it belongs not to him, to remedy the error, or supply the deficiency. He will know, that God, under whose especial guidance he believes the church to be, may, indeed, permit evil ; but that his good spirit will rectify wliat is wrong, and supply what is wanting, in the appointed way, and at the due season. His one aim will, therefore, be, fully to understand what the spirit of the church is; his one aim, to fulfil it : tie will earnestly desire, to unite with all his bretlircn ; and not cause, or foster, separation : he will yield a ready, and cheerful obe- dience, to the authority of the church ; and not endeavour to escape from that submission, which ho owes it. * . . State of Protestantism, in Gennany ; by the Rev. Hugh James Rose, 13. 1), p. 224. 2d edit SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. IxVU be found in the strict letter of holy scripture ; and will, of course, shrink back from all discretionary attempts, to make divine worship pleasant, or at- tractive to natural feeling. So long, therefore, as these, or similar persua- sions have place in the christian world, the enlargement of our established church must ne- cessarily be impeded, and its influence counter- acted. But, in the view of unprejudiced reason, can such censures be judged to reflect discredit on the English church ? Without the slightest severity of remark, on the several classes, who thus variously arraign the established religion, it is sufficient to ask, on what properties of our church do the accusations fall ? It is not, on her settled belief^ her sober and tranquil spirit, her comprehensive benignity, her free and filial piety ? Shall we wish to escape these charges ? Rather, will not every enlightened member of our establish- ment, say from his inmost soul, . . * Be our church still thus disliked, and thus censured, rather than attain popularity, by the compromise of any one ancient tenet, or the relinquishment of any one venerable observance' ! As the church of England is, she will be revered and loved, by the purest, noblest, and most en- larged spirits. Though her devotion may not spread like flame through a multitude, it will not fail to communicate itself to every susceptible heart, and to glow in every rightly disposed mind; consuming, in proportion as it prevails, all that e 2 Ixviii PREFACE TO THE defiles, debases, or contracts the inner man ; and gradually assimilating the immortal mind to those perfected intelligences, with whom, if it be but fitted for their society, it is destined to live, in the pre- sence of God for ever. Let only the church of England be examined by those tests, which obvious reason points out as the fairest and least fallacious, . . namely, by the spirit in which she worships God, . . by the depth, the sublimity, the moral ardour, the mental calm, the unfeigned reverence, the cheerful, yet humble affiance, which, altogether, form the yet unrivalled character of her stated devotions, . . let her, in a word, be seen in that truth and simplicity, in which she presents herself to the father of spirits, and searcher of hearts, . . and what greater blessedness could be conceived, on this side heaven, than to breathe the spirit, to be imbued with the sanctity, to attain the moral liberty, to possess the divine tranquillity, which our inestimable formu- laries are ever bringing before us, and inviting us to pursue ? Is it not, in the most perfect manner possible, * the path of the just, which is as the shining light ; which shineth, more and more, unto the perfect day' ? And by what other means could we proceed in this path, more certainly, or more successfully, than by such an application to our- selves, of the petitions in which we publicly join, as may, through that grace, which is in readiness to give effect to every honest effort, tend more and SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. Ixix more, to transfuse the spirit and substance of our liturgy, into our minds and hearts ? To this end, may it be the chief ambition of the ministers of our church, adequately to unveil, and illustrate, these invaluable treasures ! May it, above all, be their object to feel for themselves, what they are appointed to communicate to others ! In a word, may the spirit of the liturgy live in their hearts! Our establishment, thus supported, thus administered, would accomplish its every purpose. Its solemn, yet cheerful beauty, would engage the first sensibilities of childhood; its gently insinuated, yet powerful, discipline*, would shield the purity of youth ; its sublime morality would illuminate every path, and influence every movement, of active life ; and its tranquil spirit would invite de- clining age, to seek, in its soothing bosom, com- pensation for the infirmities, and support under the sufferings, of sinking nature. * It seems strange, (but so the fact is) that some have understood Mr. Knox to use this word, in its ecclesiastical, rather than its moral sense. If the reason of the thing did not speak for itself, it is clear, from the conversation with Mr. Parkyn, detailed in the introduction, that, what has been called ecclesiastical discipline, could not have been intended. The fact is, the only just, and even classical term, has been employed, in its appropriate meaning. Thus, Facciolati :. . " Disciphna : syncope, a discipu- lina : ratio vivendi et discendi, quas discipulis traditur. ' Haec, igitur est tua disciplina, sic tu instituis adolescentes ? Cic. pro Coel. cap. 17.*' " A great luminary of our church properly elucidates the subject : . . * We take upon us, to purge his floor, to sever the chaff from the corn, and the tares from the wheat, and discriminate the goats from the sheep : which to perform, will be the work of God's infinite wisdom and justice, at the last day.' ^ . . Barrow, vol. i. serm. 20. ' Let them sleep, let them sleep on. Till th' eternal morrow dawn, And then, . . the curtain shall be drawn.' IXX PREFACE TO THE SECOND DUBLIN EDITION. We conclude with this earnest, but we trust, unpresumptuous anticipation, that, in proportion as the human mind is understood, as Christianity is comprehended, as the full meaning of holy scripture is developed, as the history of the church universal is weighed and digested, . . in the same proportion, the church of England will be valued, loved, and venerated. The great charter of nature and pro- vidence has established, that temperaments shall survive, when extremes are no more : . . opinionum COMMENTA DELET DIES ; NATURAE JUDICIA CON- FIRMAT. THE LIFE OF SIR MATTHEW HALE, Knt. LATE LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF ENGLAND. BY GILBERT BURNET, D.D. LORD BISHOF OF SARUM. « En France, on ne lit guSre un ouvrage, que pour en parler.' Mad. de Stael. * Tlie same remark, I am sorry to say, i» becoming more and more appli- cable to our own country.' DUGALD StBWART. BISHOP BURNET'S PREFACE. No part of history is more instructive and de- lighting, than the Hves of great and worthy men : the shortness of them invites many readers ; and there are such little, and yet remarkable passages in them, too inconsiderable to be put in a general history of the age in which they lived, that all people are very desirous to know them. This makes Plutarch's Lives be more generally read, than any of all the books, which the ancient Greeks or Romans writ. But the lives of heroes and princes are commonly filled with the account of the great things done by them ; which do, rather, belong to a general, than a particular history; and do rather amuse the reader's fancy, with a splendid show of greatness, than offer him what is really so useful to himself. And, indeed, the lives of princes are either writ with so much flattery, by those who intended to merit by it, at their own hands, or others con- cerned in them ; or with so much spite, by those, who, being ill used by them, have revenged them- selves on their memory, . . that there is not much to be built on them. And, though the ill-nature of many, makes what is satirically writ to be B 2 PREFACE T6r THE LIFE OF HALE, generally more read and believed, than when the flattery is visible and coarse, yet, certainly, resent- ment, as much as interest, may make the writer corrupt the truth of history. And, since all men have their blind sides, and commit errors, he that will industriously lay these together, leaving out, or but slightly touching, what should be set against them to balance them, may make a very good man appear in bad colours. So, upon the whole matter, there is not that reason to expect, either much truth, or great instruction, from what is written concern- ing heroes or princes ; for few have been able to imitate the patterns Suetonius set the world, in writing the lives of the Roman Emperors, with the same freedom, that they had led them. But the lives of private men, though they seldom entertain the reader with such a variety of passages as the other do, yet, certainly, they offer him things that are more imitable ; and do present wisdom and virtue to him, not only in a fair idea, which is often looked on as a piece of the invention or fancy of the writer, but, in such plain and familiar instances, as do both direct him better, and persuade him more ; and there are not such tempt- ations to bias those who write them, so that we may, generally, depend more on the truth of such relations as are given in them. In the age in which we live, religion and virtue have been proposed and defended, with such advantages, with that great force of reason, and those persuasions, that they can hardly be matched BY BISHOP BURNET. 3 in former times : yet, after all this, there are but few much wrought on by them ; which, perhaps, flows from this, among other reasons, that there are not so many excellent patterns set out, as 'might, both in a shorter, and more effectual manner, recommend that to the world, which discourses do but coldly ; the wit and style of the writer being more considered, than the argument which they handle ; and, therefore, the proposing virtue and religion in such a model, may, perhaps, operate more, than the perspective of it can do : and, for the history of learning, nothing does so preserve and improve it, as the writing the lives of those who have been eminent in it. There is no book the ancients have left us, which might have informed us more, than Diogenes Laertius's Lives of the Philosophers, if he had had the art of writing equal to that great subject which he undertook : for, if he had given the world such an account of them, as Gassendus has done of Peiriski^*, how great a stock of knowledge might * Gassendi, born at Provence, in France, 1592 : Peiresc, bom at Beaugen- sier, in the same country, 1580. Gassendi gave the life of Pieresc, in elegant Latin ; one of those delightful works, which exhibit a striking likeness of a great and good man, at full length, and show every feature, and fold of the drapery, in the strongest and clearest light. Peiresc was, manifestly, a favourite with Burnet. In his* Own Times,' we meet the following passage '. < He,' Sir Robert Murray, * was the most univer- sally beloved and esteemed, by men of all sides and sorts, of any man I have ever known in my whole life. He was a pious man ; and, in the midst of armies and courts, he spent many hours a day in devotion. He had gone through the easy part of mathematics, and knew the history of nature, beyond any man I ever yet knew. He had a genius much like PeirisU, as he is descried hy Gassendi.' Burnet. Own Times, i. 101. B 2 4f PREFACE TO THE LIFE OP HALE, we have had, which, by his unskilfulnes, is, in a great measure, lost: since, we must now depend only on him, because we have no other or better author, that has written on that argument. For many ages, there were no lives writ, but by monks; through whose writings, there runs such an incurable humour, of telling incredible and inimitable passages, that little in them can be believed, or proposed as a pattern. Sulpitius Severus*, and Jerome t, showed too much creduhty in the lives they writ; and raised Martin t and Hilarion § beyond what can be reasonably believed. After them, Socrates, Theodoret, Sozomen ||, and Palladius^ took a pleasure to tell uncouth stories of the monks of Thebais, and Nitria. And those who came after them, scorned to fall short of them ; but raised their saints above those of former ages j so that, one would have thought, that indecent way of writing could rise no higher. And this humour infected even those, who had, otherwise, a good sense of things, and a just apprehension of man- kind; as may appear in Matthew Paris**, who, * An ecclesiastical writer of the fifth century. The best edition of his works, was printed at Venice, 1741 — 54. 2 vols. 4to. t The best editions of the works of St. Jerome, are the BcnedicUne, by P^re Martianay. Paris, 1693—1706. 5 vols, folio; and that of Vallarsius, Verona, 1734 — 42. 11 vols, folio. ^ S. Martin, Bp. of Tours. § Hilarion, the founder of the monastic life : ho became the companion of S. Anthony. Born A.D. 291 ; died 371. t1 The best edition of these historians, is that of Reading ; Cantabr. 1720. % Palladius ; the friend of S. Chrysostom, and author of the * Historia Lausiaca.* Born in the year 368, at Cappadocia: tlic year of his dcatli is unknown. I Us * History ' was published by Mcursius, Amstel. 1619. ♦* The best edition of M, Paris, is that of London, 1684. See Brunei. BY BISHOP BURNET. O • though he was a writer of great judgment and fidelity, yet he has corrupted his history, with much of that alloy. But, when emulation and envy arose among the several orders or houses, then, they improved in that art of making romances, instead of writing lives: to that pitch, that the world became generally much scandalized with them. The Franciscans and Dominicans tried who could say the most extravagant things, of the founders, or other saints, of their orders : and the Benedictines, who thought themselves possessed of the belief of the world, as well as of its wealth, endeavoured, all that was possible, still to keep up the dignity of their order, by out-lying the others all they could : and whereas, here or there, a miracle, a vision, or trance, might have occurred in the lives of former saints, now, every page was full of those wonderful things. Nor, has the humour of writing in such a manner, been quite laid down in this age, though more awakened, and better enlightened ; as appears in the Life of Philip Nerius*, and a great many more. And the Jesuits at Antwerp t are now taking care to load the world with a vast and voluminous collection of all those lives; that has • Philip de Neri : founder of the congregation of the oratory in Italy. Born in Florence, 1515; died at Rome, 1595. t The Acta Sanctorum, originally printed at Antwerp, has reached the fifty-third volume ; which comprizes the history of the Saints of the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth days of October. Whoever wishes for interesting information on the subject, may consult the « Typographical Gazetteer' of Dr. Henry Cotton, Article * Tongerlooy p. 161. B 3 O PREFACE TO THE LIFE OF HALE, already swelled to eleven volumes in folio, in a small print J and yet, being digested according to the calendar, they have yet but ended the month of April. The Life of Monsieur Renty is writ in another manner : where there are so many excel- lent passages, that he is justly to be reckoned amongst the greatest patterns that France has afforded, in this age. But, while some have nourished infidelity, and a scorn of all sacred things, by writing of those good men, in such a strain, as makes, not only, what is so related to be disbelieved, but creates a distrust of the authentical writings of our most holy faith, . . others, have fallen into another extreme, in writing lives too jejunely; swelling them up, with trifling accounts, of the childhood and educa- tion, and the domestic or private affairs, of those persons of whom they write, in which the world is little concerned: by these, they become so flat, that few care to read them ; for, certainly, those transactions only, are fit to be delivered to pos- terity, that may carry with them some useful piece of knowledge, to after-times. I have, now, an argument before me, which will afford, indeed, only a short history ; but will con- tain in it as great a character, as, perhaps, can be given of any, in this age ; since, there are few in- stances of more knowledge, and greater virtues, meeting in one person. I am, upon one account, (besides many more,) unfit to undertake it, because I was not at all known to him ; so, I can say BY BISHOP BURNET. 7 nothing from my own observation : but, upon second thoughts, I do not know whether this may not qualify me to write more impartially, though perhaps more defectively : for the knowledge of extraordinary persons, does, most commonly, bias those, who were much wrought on, by the tender- ness of their friendship for them, to raise their style a little too high, when they write concerning them. I confess, I knew him as much, as the looking often upon him could amount to. The last year of his being in London, he came always on Sundays, when he could go abroad, to the chapel of the Rolls, w^here I then preached. In my life, I never saw so much gravity, tempered with that sweetness, and set off with so much vivacity, as appeared in his looks and behaviour ; which disposed me to a veneration for him, which I never had for any, with whom I was not ac- quainted. I was seeking an opportunity of being admitted to his conversation : but I understood, that, between a great want of health, and a mul- tiplicity of business, which his employment brought upon him, he was master of so little of his time, that I stood in doubt whether I might presume to rob him of any of it ; and so he left the town, before I could resolve on desiring to be known to him. My ignorance of the law of England made me, also, unfit to write of a man, a great part of whose character, as to his learning, is to be taken from his skill in the common law, and his performance B 4 8 PREFACE TO THE LIFE OF HALE, in that. But I shall leave that, to those of the same robe ; since, if I engage much in it, I must needs commit many errors, writing of a subject that is foreign to me. The occasion of my undertaking this, was given me first, by the earnest desires of some, that have great power over me ; who, having been much obliged by him, and holding his memory in high estimation, thought I might do it some right, by writing his life. I was, then, engaged in the History of the Reformation ; so I promised, that, as soon as that was over, I would make the best use I could, of such informations and memorials as should be brought me. This I have now performed, in the best manner I could; and have brought into method, all the parcels of his life, or the branches of his character, which I could gather, either, from the informations that were brought me ; or, from those that were familiarly acquainted with him ; or, from his writings. I have not applied any of the false colours, with which art, or some forced eloquence, might furnish me, in writing concerning him ; but have endeavoured to set him out, in the same sim- plicity in which he lived. I have said little of his domestic concerns, since, though in these he was a great example, yet, it signifies nothing to the world, to know any particular exercises that might be given to his patience : and, therefore, I shall draw a veil over all these j and shall avoid saying any tiling of him, but what may affi>rd the reader BY BISHOP BURNET. 9 some profitable instruction. I am under no tempt- ations of saying any thing, but what I am per- suaded is exactly true ; for, where there is so much excellent truth to be told, it were an in- excusable fault, to corrupt that, or prejudice the reader against it, by the mixture of falsehoods with it. In short, as he was a great example while he lived, so, I wish the setting him thus out to pos- terity in his own true and native colours, may have its due influence on all persons ; but, more particularly, on those of that profession, whom it more immediately concerns, whether on the bench, or at the bar. So natural is the union of religion with justice, that, we may boldly deem, there is neither, where both are not. For, how should they be imfeignedly just, whom religion doth not cause to be such? or they religious, which are not found such, by the proof of their just actions? Hooker. ; THE LIFE AND DEATH SIR MATTHEW HALE, Knight, LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF ENGLAND. Matthew Hale was bom at Alderley in Glou- cestershire, the first of November, 1609. His grandfather was Robert Hale, an eminent clothier at Wotton-under-Edge, in that county, where he and his ancestors had lived for many descents : and they had given several parcels of land for the use of the poor, which are enjoyed by them to this day. This Robert, acquired an estate of ten thousand pounds; which he divided, almost equally, amongst his five sons ; besides the portions he gave his daughters, from whom a numerous posterity has sprung. His second son was Robert Hale, a barrister of Lincoln*s-inn : he married Joan, the daughter of Matthew Poyntz, of Alderley, Esquire, who was descended from that noble family of the Poyntzes of Acton. Of this marriage, there was 12 THE LIFE OF no Other issue, but this one son. His grandfather, by his mother, was his godfather; and gave him his own name, at his baptism. His father was a man of that strictness of conscience, that he gave over the practice of the law, because he could not understand the reason of giving colour in plead- ings, which, as he thought, was to tell a He ; and that, with some other things commonly practised, seemed to him contrary to that exactness of truth and justice, which became a Christian : so that, he withdrew himself from the inns of court, to live on his estate in the country.* Of this I was informed, by an ancient gentleman, that lived in a friendship with his son, for fifty years ; and he heard Judge Jones, that was Mr. Hale's contempo- rary, declare this, in the King's Bench. But, as the care he had to save his soul, made him abandon a profession, in which he might have raised his family much higher; so, his charity to his poor neigh- • In this characteristic trait of his Father, we may trace the germ of tliat strict, not to say scrupulous conscientiousness, which afterwards characterized Sir Matthew Hale. The force of impressions received (as he must have re- ceived them) in the first dawn of reason, is happily illustrated, in an anecdote which the late Mr. Dugald Stewart tells us. The celebrated Anthony Arnauld lived, it is well known, to the age of eighty-three, intent, to his latest hour, upon theological disputes. Now, listen to a story of his child, hood : one day, he was amusing himself with some boyish sport, in the library of Cardinal du Perron ; when, suddenly, he intreated that a pen might be given him : . . < And, for what purpose ? ' said the Cardinal : * To write books, like you, against the Huguenots,' was the spirited reply. The Cardinal, then old and infirm, could not conceal his joy, at tlie prospect of luiving so fearless a polemical successor : and, as he was putting tlie pen into young Arnauld's hand, cmphaticnlly said, . . * I give it to you, as the dying shepherd Damcctns boqucnthcd his pipe to the little Cor>don. ' Sec Prelim. Dissert, to Encycl, Brit. Vol. I. part 2. SIR MATTHEW HALE. IS bours, made him, not only, deal his alms largely among them while he lived *, but at his death, in 1 614, he left (out of his small estate, which was but 100/. a-year,) 20/. a-year to the poor of Wotton; which his son confirmed to them, with some addi- tion ; and, with this regulation, that it should be distributed among such poor housekeepers, as did not receive the alms of the parish ; for, to give it to those, was only, as he used to say, to save so much money to the rich, who, by law, were bound to relieve the poor of the parish. Thus, he was descended rather from a good, than a noble family ; and yet, what was wanting in the insignificant titles of high birth, and noble blood, was more than made up, in the true worth of his ancestors, t But he was soon deprived of the happiness, of his father's care and instruction ; for, as he lost his mother before he was three years old, so, his father died before he was ^ve ; so early was he cast on the providence of God.t But * Mr. Robert Hale would seem to have eminently realized a maxim of Lord Chancellor Bacon ; to which if that great man had constantly adhered, his memory would have come down as untarnished, as it must remain imperish- able ; . . * Seek not proud riches : but such, as thou mayest get justly, use soberly, distribute cheerfully, and leave contentedly.' Essay 34. JForks, i. 120. Ed. Pickering. f ' Non patre prseclaro, sed vita et pectore puro.' Hor. j: And that Providence soon found the means of giving him, what has been finely called, ' the unspeakable blessedness of a godly home.' . . ' Here,' says an eloquent writer of the present day, but worthy of our best days, ' Here, is the cradle of the Christian : hence, he sallies forth, armed at all points, disci- plined in all the means of resistance, and full of hope of victory, under his heavenly leader. Hither, he ever afterwards turns a dutiful and affectionate look, regarding it as the type and pledge of another home ; and hither, when sore wounded in that conflict, he resorts to repair his drooping vigour; and 14 THE LIFE OF that unhappiness was, in a great measure, made up to him: for, after some opposition made by- Mr. Thomas Poyntz, his uncle by his mother, he was committed to the care of Anthony Kingscot, of Kingscot, Esquire, who was his next kinsman, after his uncles by his mother. Great care was taken of his education ; and his guardian intended to breed him to be a divine : and, being inclined to the way of those then called Puritans, put him to some schools that were taught by those of that party; and, in 1626, in the seventeenth year of his age, sent him to Magdalen Hall in Oxford, where Obadiah Sedgwick * was his tutor. He was an extraordinary proficient at school, and, for some time, at Oxford; but the stage-players coming thither, he was so much cor- rupted by seeing many plays, that he almost wholly forsook his studies t. By this, he, not only, lost much time, but found, that his head came to be thereby filled with vain images of things, that they were here, when abandoned by the selfish sons of the world, he finds, as in a sanc- tuary, the children of God, ready with open arms to receive him : and here, the returning prodigal, enfolded in the embrace of those, who know not, dream not, of the impurities of the world with which he has been mixing, feels, all at once, his heart burst with shame and repentance. Merciful God, what a city of refuge hast tliou ordained, in tJie Christian home ! ' The Rectory of Valeheadt p. 19. ' • A violent non-conformist; born at Marlborough, Wiltshire, KJOO. He was first of Queen's College, subsequently of Magdalen Hall, Oxford ; and died at his birth-place in 1658. t This assertion has been positively denied, by Mr. Stephens, the pub- lisher of tlie * Contemplations.* There seems, however, to be abundant internal evidence, that Burnet was not under a mistake. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 15 at best unprofitable, if not hurtful to him : and, being, afterwards, sensible of the mischief of this, he resolved, upon his coming to London, where, he knew, the opportunities of such sights would be more frequent and inviting, never to see a play again; to which [resolution,] he constantly ad- hered. * * A similar fact is related, of the celebrated Brindley, tlie civil engineer. He was once prevailed upon, to go to a play. Never before having been present at such an entertainment, it had a powerful effect ; and he complained, that, for several days, it so deranged his ideas, as to render him quite unfit for business. He determined, therefore, that he would never, on any account, visit the theatre again. The common-place, unphilosophical observations of Mr. Gough, (which may be seen in the BiograpUa JSritannica,) are altogether unworthy of notice. Mr. Brindley may have been somewhat too abstracted : but, assuredly, the right cure for such a mind as his, could never have been afforded by vulgar diversions. We learn, from the interesting memoir of Felix Neff (1832), that, even in childhood, his chosen recreations were those long rambles which he was allowed to take, in the splendid mountain scenery of his native Switzerland. No amusement which the town of Geneva could afford, was, in his view, comparable with his own quiet, but invigorating pursuits, in the pure air of a delightful country, by the side of the stream, the torrent, or the lake. When twelve years old, a companion asked him to go along with him, to some fa- vourite theatrical exhibition : on declining, he was asked, ' Do you think you will not be entertained? ' . . * Perhaps,' was the reply, sage beyond his years, * Perhaps, I should be entertained too much.' A curious diversion, and consequent unsettlement, of mind, with the means employed for its counteraction, are instructively recorded by Mr, Boyle, in the sketch of his own early life : . . * Here, [at Eton,] to divert his melancholy, [owing to an aguish indisposi- tion,] they made him read the adventures of Amadis de Gaule, and other fabulous entertaining stories ; which much more prejudiced him, by unsettling his thoughts, than they could have advantaged him, had they effected his re- covery : for, meeting in him with a restless fancy, then made more suscepti- ble of any impressions, by an unemployed pensiveness, they accustomed his thoughts to such a habitude of roving, that he has scarce ever been their master since. * Long time after, he did, in a considerable measure, fix his volatile fancy, and restrain his thoughts, by the use of those expedients he thought likeliest to fetter, or, at least, to curb, the roving wildness of his wandering thoughts. 16 THE LIFE OF The corruption of a young man's mind in one particular, generally draws on a great many more after it ; so, he, being now taken off from follow- ing his studies, and from the gravity of his de- portment, that was formerly eminent in him, far beyond his years, set himself to many of the vani- ties incident to youth; but still preserved his purity, and a great probity of mind. He loved fine clothes, and delighted much in company; and, being of a strong, robust body, he was a great master at all those exercises, that required much strength. He also learned to fence, and handled his weapons ; in which he became so expert, that he worsted many of the masters of those arts : but, as he was exercising himself in them, an instance appeared that showed a good judgment, and gave some hopes of better things. One of his masters told him, he could teach him no more ; for he was now better at his own trade, than himself was. This Mr. Hale looked on as flattery : so, to make the master discover himself, he promised him the house he lived in, (for he was Amongst all which, the most effectual way he found to be, the extraction of the square and cube roots, and especially those more laborious operations of algebra, which both accustom, and necessitate, tlie mind to attention, by so entirely exacting the whole man, that tlie smallest distraction, or heedlessness, constrains us to renew our trouble, and re-begin the ojteration,^ — Life <^ the Hon. Robert Doyle : hy Birch, Wbr/ts, i. xvii. Edit. 1772. It cannot be reasonably doubted, that this remedy wm suggested to the philosopher, l)y the sagacious counsel of his great predecessor : . . * If a man's wit be wandering, let him study tlie matliematics : for, in de- monstration, if a man's wit be carried away never so little, he mutt begin again** — Lord BjlCON, Essay 50. Edit Pickering, i. 168. SIR MATTHEW HALE. Vf his tenant,) if he could hit him a blow on the head ; and bade him do his best, for he would be as good as his word. So, after a little engagement, his master, being really superior to him, hit him on the head; and he performed his promise, for he gave him the house freely; and was not un- willing, at that rate, to learn, so early, to distin- guish flattery from plain and simple truth. He now was so taken up with martial matters, that, instead of going on in his design of being a scholar, or a divine, he resolved to be a soldier: and, his tutor Sedgwick going into the Low Coun- tries, chaplain to the renowned Lord Vere,* he resolved to go along with him, and to trail a pike in the Prince of Orange's army. But a happy stop was put to this resolution, which might have proved so fatal to himself, and have deprived the age of the great example he gave, and the useful services he afterwards did his country. He was engaged in a suit of law, with Sir William Whit- more, who laid claim to some part of his estate ; and his guardian being a man of a retired temper, and not made for business, he was forced to leave the university, after he had been three years in it, and go to London to solicit his own business. Be- ing recommended to Serjeant Glanvilt for his ♦ Grandson of John Vere, Earl of Oxford. Born, 1554. : died, 1608. Queen Elizabeth was used to say of him, ' that she held him to be the worthiest captain of her time.' •f- Sir John Glanvil (of whom Bp. Burnet presently will record an interest- ing anecdote) was younger son of John Glanvil, of Tavistock, in Devonshire, one of the Justices of the Common Pleas. He was not made a Serjeant at C 18 THE LIFE OF counsellor, and he, observing in him a clear appre- hension of things, and a solid judgment, and a great fitness for the study of the law, . . took pains upon him to persuade him to forsake his thoughts of being a soldier, and to apply himself to the study of the law : and this had so good an effect on him, that, on the 8th of November, 1629., when he was past the twentieth year of his age, he was admitted into Lincoln's Inn: and, being then deeply sensible how much time he had lost, and that idle and vain things had over-run, and almost corrupted, his mind, he resolved to redeem the time he had lost ; and followed his studies, with a diligence that could scarcely be believed, if the signal effects of it did not gain it credit. He studied, for many years, at the rate of sixteen hours a day : * he threw aside all fine clothes, and Law, till the year 1639. ; nor knighted, till the year 1641., being then one of the King's Serjeants. He died 1661. • * He said, that he had studied sixteen hours a day, ^or tlie^firtt tvxt years that he came to the inns of court ; but almost brought himself to his grave, though he were of a very strong constitution ; and afterwards reduced himself to eight hours. But, that he would not advise any body to do so much ; that, he tliought, six hours a day, with attention and constancy, was sufficient. That a man must use his body, as he would his horse and his stomach ; not tire him at once, but rise with an appetite.* Thirlwall's Appendix: from a MS. in the possession of the late Bcnnet Langton, Esq., in the handwriting of his great-grandfather, who studied under the direction of Sir Matthew Hale. It seems of consequence, to correct, from such competent authority, the un- qualified, and, as it would appear, excessive statement of the text. * Many are the labourers,' says Mr. Southey, * (and it is the most sober and industrious upon whom the labour falls,) who, by task-work, or by working, what arc called, days and quarters, prepare for tliemsclvcs a premature old age. And many are Uie youtlis, who, while they arc studying for university honours, rise early and sit up late, have recourse to art, for tlic purpose of keeping their SIR MATTHEW HALE. 19 betook himself to a plain fashion, which he con- tinued to use, in many points, to his dying day. But, since the honour of reclaiming him from the idleness of his former course of life, is due to the memory of that eminent lawyer Serjeant Glan- vil, . . and, since my design in writing, is, to propose a pattern of heroic virtue to the world, . . I shall mention one passage of the Serjeant, which ought never to be forgotten. His father had a fair estate, which he intended to settle on his elder brother : but he, being a vicious young man, and there appearing no hopes of his recovery, he settled it on him, that was his second son. Upon bis death, his eldest son, finding, that what he had before looked on as the threatenings of an angry father, was now but too certain, became melancholy ; and that, by degrees, wrought so great a change on him, that, what his father could not prevail in while he lived, was now effected by the severity of his last will ; so that, it was now too late for him to change, in hopes of an estate that was gone from him. But his brother, observing the reality of the change, resolved within himself what to do : jaded faculties wakeful, and irretrievably injure their health for ever, if this intemperance of study cost them not their lives.' — Colloquies, on the Progress and Prospects of Society, i. 336. * Let thy recreation be manly, moderate, seasonable, lawful : if thy life be sedentary, more tending to the exercise of the body ; if active, more to the re- freshing of thy mind. The use of recreation is to strengthen thy labour, and sweeten thy rest.' — Quarks. Enchir. ii. 80. c 2 2U THE LIFE OF SO, he called him, with many of his friends, to- gether, to a feast; and, after other dishes had been served up to the dinner, he ordered one that was covered, to be set before his brother, and desired him to uncover it; which he doing, the company was surprised to find it full of writings. So he told them, that he was now to do, what he was sure his father would have done, if he had lived to see that happy change, which they now all saw in his brother: and, therefore, he freely restored to him the whole estate. This is so great an instance of a generous and just disposition, that I hope the reader will easily pardon this digression ; and that the rather, since that worthy Serjeant was so instrumental, in the happy change that followed in the course of Mr. Hale's life. Yet he did not, at first, break off from keeping too much company, with some vain people, till a sad accident drove him from it ; for he, with some other young students, being invited to be meiTy out of town, one of the company called for so much wine, that, notwithstanding all that Mr. Hale could do to prevent it, he went on in his excess, till he fell down as dead before them ; so that all that were present were not a little afiiighted at it, who did what they could, to bring him to himself again. This did particularly affect Mr. Hale ; who, thereupon, went into another room, and shutting the door, fell on his knees, and prayed earnestly to God, both for his friend, that he might be restored to life again ; and that himself SIR MATTHEW HALE. Q.I might be forgiven, for giving such countenance to so much excess: and he vowed to God, that he would never again keep company in that manner, nor drink a health while he lived. His friend recovered; and he most religiously observed his vow, till his dying day. And, though he was afterwards pressed to drink healths, particularly the King's, which was set up by too many, as a distinguishing mark of loyalty, and drew many into great excess, after his majesty's happy restor- ation ; yet he would never dispense with his vow, though he was sometimes roughly treated for this, which some hot and indiscreet men called ob- stinacy. * This wrought an entire change on him. Now, he forsook all vain company ; and divided himself, between the duties of religion, and the studies of his profession. In the former, he was so regular, that for six and thirty years' time, he never once failed going to church, on the Lord's day.t This * * Be not too slow, in the breaking of a sinfull custome ; a quick, couragi- ous resolution is better than a graduall deliberation : in such a combate, he is the bravest souldier, that layes about him, without fear or wit. Wit pleades ; fear disheartens ; he that would kill Hydra, had better strike off one neck, than five heads : fell the tree, and the branches are soone cut off.' — Quarks. Enchiridion. f * I have, by long and sound experience, found, that the due observance of this day, and of the duties of it, has been of great advantage to nae. God Almighty is the Lord of our time, and lends it to us : and, as it is but just we should consecrate this part of that time to him, so I have found, by a strict and diligent observation, that a due observance of this day, hath ever had joined to it, a blessing upon the rest of my time ; and the week that hath been so begun, hath been blessed and prosperous to me. And, on the other side, when I have been negligent of this day, the rest of the week has been unhappy, and unsuccessful to my own secular employments : so that, I could easily c 3 i& THE LIFE OF observation he made, when an ague first interrupted that constant course : and he reflected on it, as an acknowledgment of God's great goodness to him, in so long a continuance of his health. He took a strict account of his time : * of make an estimate of my successes, in my own secular employments of the week following, by the manner of my passing this day. jiyid this I do not write lightly or inconsiderateli/, but upon a long, and sound, observation and ex- perience.' — Sir M. Hale. Works, i. 196. See also, ii. 244. * The Sunday before his [Mr. Herbert's] death, he rose suddenly from his bed, or couch, called for one of his instruments, took it into his hand, and «aid,. . My God, my God, My music shall find thee. And every string Shall have its attributes 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.' Life of George Herbert, by Walton. * Having mentioned,' says Mr. Coleridge, * the name of Herbert, that model of a man, a gentleman, and a clergyman, let me add, that the quaintness of some of his thoughts, (not the diction, than which nothing can be more pure, manly, and unaffected,) lias blinded modern readers to tlie great general merit of his poems; which are, for the most part, exquisite in their kind.* <— Tux Friend, i. 67. Since the date of Mr. Coleridge's publication, ( 1 8 1 7. ) I am hnppy to believe, that, in spite of much false, and fastidious taste, a better spirit has been gain- ing ground. The almost unexampled popularity of the * ChrisUan Year,* and * The Rectory of Valchead,' both, unquestionably, breathing tlie pure spirit of < the olden time,' is no unfavourable prognostic of better times to come. * How strict, may be best judged, by a careful perusal of his admirable treatise on tlio * Uedemptioa of Time.' One extract, I cannot forbear making : * Whatever you do, be very careful to retain in your heart a habit ofrdigion. SIR MATTHEW HALE. f88 which, the reader will best judge by the scheme he drew for a diary, which I shall insert, copied from the original but I am not certain when he made it. It is set down, in the same simplicity in which he writ it for his own private use : . . MORNING. I. To lift up the heart to God, in thankfulness, for renewing my life. II. To renew my covenant with God, in Christ. 1. By renewed acts of faith receiving Christ, and rejoicing in the height of that relation. that may be always about you, and keep your heart, and your life, always as in His presence, and tending towards him. This will be continually with you, and put itself into acts, even although you are not in a solemn posture of re- ligious worship ; and will lend you multitudes of religious applications to Almighty God, upon all occasions and interventions ; which will not at all hinder you, in your secular occasions, but better and further you. It will make you faithful in your calling, even on account of an actual reflection of your mind, upon the presence and command of the God, whom you both fear and love. It will make you thankful, for all successes and supplies j tem- perate and sober, in all your natural actions ; just and faithful, in all your dealings ; patient and contented, in all your disappointments and crossesj and actually consider and intend his honour, in all that you do ; and it will give a tincture of devotion to all your secular employments, and turn these actions which are materially civil and natural, into the very true nature of re- ligion, and make your whole life, an uninterrupted life, of religion and duty to God. For, this habit of piety in your soul, will, not only not lie sleeping and inactive, but, almost in every hour of the day, will put forth exertings of itself, in short occasional prayers, thanksgivings, dependence, and resort, unto that God, who is always near you, and lodgeth, in a manner, in your heart, by his fear, and love, and habitual religion towards him. By this means, you do, effectually, and in the best and readiest manner imaginable, redeem your time. This is the great art of Christian chymistry : whereby, the whole course of this life becomes a service to Almighty God, an uninterrupted state of religion, the best, and noblest, and most universal redemption of time.' — Hale's Works, ii, 244. c 4 24 THE LIFE OF 2. Resolution of being one of his people, doing him allegiance. III. Adoration and prayer. IV, Setting a watch over my own infirmities and passions, over the snares laid in our way. Perimus Ileitis,* DAY EMPLOYMENT. There must be an employment y two kinds, I. Our ordinary calling, to serve God in it.' It is a service to Christ, though never so mean. Coloss. iii. HereJaitlifulnesSy diligence^ cheer- fulness. Not to overlay myself, with more business than I can bear. II. Our spiritual employments : mingle somewhat of God's immediate service in this day. Refreshments. I. Meat and drink ; moderation, seasoned with somewhat of God. II. Recreations. 1. Not our business. 2. Suitable. No games, if given to covetousness or passion. If alone, I. Beware of wandering, vain, lustful tlioughts : fly from thyself, rather than entertain these. II. Let thy soHtary thoughts be profitable : view * * I have still chosen, rather to forbear what might be probably lawful, than to do that, which might he possibly unlawful : because, I could not err in the former ; I might, in the latter. If things were disputable, whether they might be done, I rather chose to forbear; because tlic lawfulness of my for* bearance was unquestionablo. * — Hale's Works, ii. 262. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 25 the evidences of thy salvation ; the state of thy soul 5 the coming of Christ ; thy own mor- tality ; . . it will make thee humble and watch- ful. Company, Do good to them. Use God's name reverently. Beware of leaving an ill impression, of ill ex- ample. Receive good from them, if more knowing. Evening, Cast up the accounts of the day. If aught amiss, beg pardon. Gather resolution of more vigil- ance. If well, bless the mercy and grace of God that hath supported thee. These notes have an imperfection in the wording of them, which shows they were only intended for his privacies. No wonder a man who set such rules to himself, became quickly very eminent and remarkable. , Noy,* the attorney-general, being then one of the greatest men of the profession, took early notice of him, and called often for him, and directed him in his study, and grew to have such friendship for him, that he came to be called ' Young Noy.' He, passing from the extreme, of vanity in his apparel, to that of neglecting himself too much, was once taken, when there was a press for the king's service, as a fit person for it ; for he was a strong and well-built man : but, some that * Born, 1577. Died, 1634. 26 THE LIFE OF knew him, coming by, and giving notice who he was, the press-men let him go. This made him return to more decency in his clothes, but never to any superfluity or vanity in them.* Once, as he was buying some cloth for a new suit, the draper, with whom he differed about the price, told him he should have it for nothing, if he would promise him a hundred pounds, when he came to be Lord Chief Justice of England. To which he answered, * That he could not, with a good conscience, wear any man's cloth, unless he paid for it;' so, he satisfied the draper, and carried away the cloth. Yet, the same draper lived, to see him advanced, to that same dignity, t While he was tlius improving himself in the study of the law, he not only kept the hours of the hall constantly in term-time, but seldom put him- self out of commons, in vacation-time ; and con- tinued, then, to follow his studies, with an un- wearied diligence; and,' not being satisfied with the books writ about it, or to take things upon trust, was very diligent in searching all records. Then did he make divers collections, out of the books he had read ; and, mixing them with his own observations, digested them into a common- place book : which he did with so much industry ♦ * Let thy appnrell bo decent, and suited to the quality of thy place and purse : too much punctualities and too much morositie, aro the two poles of pride.' — Fr. Quarlks. t A similar story is told of Pope Sixtus V., by his historian Gregorio Leti. SIR MATTHEW HALE. Tf and judgment, that an eminent judge of the King's Bench borrowed it of him, when he was Lord Chief Baron. He unwillingly lent it, because it had been written by him before he was called to the bar, and had never been thoroughly revised by him, since that time; only, what alterations had been made in the law, by subsequent statutes and judgments, were added by him as they had hap- pened: but, the Judge, having perused it, said, that, though it was composed by him so early, he did not think any lawyer in England could do it better, except he himself would again set about it. He was soon found out, by that great and learned antiquary Mr. Selden ; * who, though much supe- rior to him in years, yet came to have such a liking of him, and of Mr. Vaughan,t who was afterwards Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, that, ♦ John Selden, born, 1584. : died, 1654. Of this great man's attain- ments, it were superfluous to speak : his life, properly told, would be a com- plete history of the learning of his time. Lord Clarendon says, that * Mr. Selden was a person, whom no character can flatter, or transmit in any ex- pressions equal to his merit and virtue. He was of such stupendous learning, in all kinds, and in all languages, as may appear from his excellent and trans- cendent writings, that, a man would have thought, he had been entirely conversant among books, and had never spent an hour, but in reading and writing : yet, his humanity, courtesy, and affability, was such, that he would have been thought to have been bred in the b est courts, but that his good- nature, charity, and delight in doing good, and in communicating all he knew, exceeded that breeding.' Towards the close of life, he began to see the emptiness of mere human learning : and owned, that, out of the numberless volumes which he had read and digested, nothing stuck so close to his heart, or gave him such solid satisfac- tion, as a single passage out of St. Paul's epistle to Titus, . . chap. ii. 11 — 14. "f" Sir John Vaughan : very learned in the law, and well versed in the politer parts of learning. But his chief recommendation to the good opinion of posterity, unquestionably was, that he enjoyed the friendship of two such men, as Hale and Selden. He was born A.D. 1608., died A.D. 1674. ^8 THE LIFE OF as he continued in a close friendship with them while he lived, so he left them, at his death, two of his four executors. It was this acquaintance, that first set Mr. Hale on a more enlarged pursuit of learning, which he had before confined to his own profession ; but, becoming as great a master in it, as ever any was, very soon, he, who could never let any of his time go away unprofitably, found leisure, to attain to as great a variety of knowledge, in as comprehensive a manner, as most men have done in any age. He set himself much, to the study of the Roman law ; and, though he liked the way of judicature in England by juries, much better than that of the civil law, where so much was trusted to the judge, . . yet, he often said, that the true grounds and rea- sons of law were so well delivered in the Digests, that a man could never understand law, as a science, so well as by seeking it there ; and, there- fore lamented much, that it was so little studied in England. He looked on readiness in arithmetic, as a thing which might be useful to him in his own employ- ment ; and acquired it, to such a degree, that he would often, on a sudden, and afterwards on the Bench, resolve very hard questions, which had puzzled the best accountants about town. He rested not here; but studied the algebra, both spe- ciosa and numerosa ; and went through all the other mathematical sciences, and made a great collection of very excellent instruments, sparing no cost to SIR MATTHEW HALE. 29 have them as exact, as art could make them. He was, also, very conversant in philosophical learn- ing, and in all the curious experiments, and rare discoveries, of this age : and had the new books, written on those subjects, sent him from all parts ; which he both read, and examined, so critically, that, if the principles and hypotheses, which he took first up, did any way prepossess him, yet, those who^ have differed most from him, have acknowledged, that, in what he has writ concerning the Torricellian experiment, and of the rarefaction and condensation of the air, he shows as great an exactness, and as much subtilty in the reasoning he builds on them, as these principles, to which he adhered, could bear. But, indeed, it will seem scarcely credible, that a man so much employed, and of so severe a temper of mind, could find leisure to read, ob- serv^e, and write, so much of these subjects, as he did. He called them his diversions ; for he often said, when he was weary with the study of the law, or divinity, he used to recreate himself, with phi- losophy, or the mathematics. To these he added great skill in physic, anatomy, and chirurgery. And he used to say, no man could be absolutely a master in any profession, without having some skill in other sciences ; for, besides the satisfaction he had in the knowledge of these things, he made use of them often in his employments. In some examinations, he would put such questions to physi- cians or chirurgeons, that they have professed the College of Physicians could not do it more exactly; so THE LIFE OF by which he discovered great judgment, as well as much knowledge, in these things. And, in his sickness, he used to argue with his doctors about his distempers, and the methods they took with them, like one of their own profession ; which one of them told me he understood, as far as specula- tion, without practice, could carry him. To this he added great searches into ancient history; and particularly, into the roughest, and least delightful part of it, chronology. He was well acquainted with the ancient Greek philoso- phers ; but want of occasion to use it, wore out his knowledge of the Greek tongue : and, though he never studied the Hebrew tongue, yet, by |his great conversation with Selden, he understood the most curious things in the Rabbinical learning. But above all these, he seemed to have made the study of divinity the chief of all others ; to which he not only directed every thing else, but also arrived at that pitch in it, that those who have read what he has written on these subjects, will think they must have had most of his time and thoughts. It may seem extravagant, and almost incredible, that one man, in no great com- pass of years, should have acquired such a variety of knowledge ; and that, in sciences that require much leisure and application. But, as his parts were quick, and his apprehensions lively, . . his memory great, and his judgments strong, . . so his industry was almost indefatigable. He rose always betimes in the morning ; was never idle j scarcely SIR MATTHEW HALE. 31 ever held any discourse about news, except with some few, in whom he confided entirely. He entered into no correspondence by letters, except about necessary business, or matters of learning ; and spent very little time in eating and drinking : for, as he never went to public feasts, so, he gave no entertainments but to the poor ; for he fol- lowed our Saviour's direction (of feasting none but these) literally : and in eating and drinking, he observed not only great plainness and moder- ation, but lived so philosophically, that he always ended his meal with an appetite ; * so that he lost little time at it, (that being the only portion which he grudged himself,) and was disposed to any exercise of his mind, to which he thought fit to apply himself, immediately after he had dined. By these means he gained much time, that is otherwise unprofitably wasted. He had, also, an admirable equality in the temper of his mind ; which disposed him for what- ever studies he thought fit to turn himself to; and some very uneasy things, which he lay under for many years, did rather engage him to, than distract him from, his studies. When he was called to the bar, and began to make a figure in the world, the late unhappy wars broke out ; in which, it was no easy thing for a * * This, Sir,' said an eminent physician to the present writer, * is the true rule of temperance and health.' In a subsequent part of this volume, it is mentioned of the great Robert Boyle, that, * in a course of above thirty- years, he neither ate nor drank, to gratify the desires of appetite, but merely to support nature.' 82 THE LIFE OF man to preserve his integrity, and to live securely, free from great danger and trouble. He had read the life of Pomponius Atticus, writ by Nepos ; and, having observed, that he had passed through a time of as much distraction, as ever was in any age or state, from the wars of Marius and Sylla, to the beginnings of Augustus's reign, without the least blemish on his reputation, and free from any considerable danger, being held in great esteem by all parties, and courted and favoured by them, . . he set him as a pattern to himself. And observing, that, besides those virtues which are necessary to all men, and at all times, there were two things that chiefly preserved Atticus, . . the one, was his engaging in no faction, and meddling in no public business ; the other, was his constant favouring and relieving those that were lowest : which was ascribed, by such as prevailed, to the generosity of his temper ; and procured him much kindness, from those on whom he had exercised his bounty, when it came to their turn to govern j he resolved [therefore], to guide himself by those rules, as much as was possible for him to do. * He not only avoided all public employment, but the very talking of news; and was, always, both favourable, and charitable, to those who were de- pressed ; and was sure never to provoke any in particular, by censuring or reflecting on their • He wrote nn Account of Attlcus's life ; including, together witli the nar- rative of Nepos, bis own observations. It is given in the second volume of his collected works. SIR MATTHEW HAI,E. 35 actions : for, many that have conversed much with him, have told me they never heard him once speak ill of any person. He was employed in his practice, by all the king's party : he was assigned counsel to the earl of Strafford, and archbishop Laud, and afterwards to the blessed king himself, when brought to the infamous pageantry of a mock trial ; and offered to plead for him, with all the courage that so glorious a cause ought to have inspired him with ; but was not suffered to appear, because, the king refusing, as he had good reason, to submit to the court, it was pretended none could be admitted to speak for him. He was also counsel for the duke of Hamilton, the earl of Holland, and the lord Capel : his plea for the former of these, I have published in the memoirs of that duke's life. Afterwards, also, being counsel for the lord Craven, he pleaded with that force of argument, that the then attorney-general threatened him for appearing against the government : to whom he answered, ' he was pleading in defence of those laws, which they declared they would maintain and preserve ; and he was doing his duty to his client, so that he was not to be daunted with threatenings.' Upon all these occasions, he had discharged him- self with so much learning, fidelity, and courage, that he came to be generally employed for all that party : nor was he satisfied to appear for their just defence, in the way of his profession, but he also D 34f THE LIFE OF relieved them often in their necessities ; which he did, in a way that was no less prudent, than cha- ritable, considering the dangers of that time : for he did often deposit considerable sums, in the hands of a worthy gentleman of the king's party ; who knew their necessities well, and was to dis- tribute his charity according to his own discretion, without either letting them know from whence it came, or giving himself any account, to whom he had given it. Cromwell, seeing him possessed of so much practice, (and he being one of the eminentest men of the law, who was not at all afraid of doing his duty in those critical times,) resolved to take him off from it, and raise him to the bench. Mr. Hale saw, well enough, the snare laid for him ; and, though he did not much consider the prejudice it would be to himself, to exchange the easy and safer profits he had by his practice, for a judge's place in the Common Pleas, which he was required to accept oi\ yet he did deliberate more, on the lawfulness of taking a commission from usurpers : but, having considered well of this, he came to be of opinion, that, it being absolutely necessary to have justice and property kept up, at all times, it was no sin to take a commission from usurpers, if he made no declaration of his acknow- ledging their authority ; which he never did. He was much urged to accept of it, by some eminent men of his own profession, who were of the king's party, as Sir Orlando Bridgeman, and Sir Geoffrey SIR MATTHEW HALE. 3S Palmer; and was also satisfied concerning the lawfulness of it, by the resolution of some famous divines, in particular Dr. Sheldon, and Dr. Hench- man, who were afterwards promoted, to the sees of Canterbury and London. To these, were added the importunities of all his friends ; who thought, that, in a time of so much danger and oppression, it might be no small secu- rity to the nation, to have a man of bis integrity and abilities on the bench : and the usurpers them- selves held him in that estimation, that they were glad to have him give a countenance to their courts ; and, by promoting one, that was known to have different principles from them, affected the reputation of honouring and trusting men of eminent virtues, of what persuasion soever they might be, in relation to public matters. But, he had greater scruples, concerning the proceeding against felons, and putting offenders to death by that commission ; since he thought, the sword of justice belonging only by right to the lawful prince, it seemed not warrantable to pro- ceed to a capital sentence, by an authority derived from usurpers. Yet, at first, he made distinction between common and ordinary felonies, and of- fences against the state : for the last, he would never meddle in them ; for he thought these might be often legal and warrantable actions, and that the putting men to death on that account, was murder. But, for the ordinary felonies, he at first was of opinion, that it was as necessary, even in D 2 96 THE LIFE OF times of usurpation, to execute justice in those cases, as in the matters of property. But, after the king was murdered, he laid by all his collections of the pleas of the crown ; and, that they might not fall into ill hands, he hid them behind the wainscotting of his study : for he said, there was no more occasion to use them, till the king should be again restored to his right ; and so, upon his majesty's restoration, he took them out, and went on in his design to perfect that great work. Yet, for some time after he was made a judge, when he went the circuit, he did sit on the crown side, and judged criminals: but, having considered farther of it, he came to think, that it was, at least, better not to do it; and so, after the second or third circuit, he refused to sit any more on the crown side, and told plainly the reason; for, in matters of blood, he was always to choose the safer side : and, indeed, he had so carried himself in some trials, that they were not unwilling he should withdraw, from meddling farther in them ; of which I shall give some instances. Not long after he was made a judge, (which was in the year 1653.) When he went the circuit, a trial was brought before him at Lincoln, concerning the murder of one of the townsmen, who had been of the king's party, and was killed by a soldier of the garrison there. He was in the fields with a fowl- ing-piece on his shoulder ; which, the soldier seeing, he came to him, and said, it was contrary to an order which the Protector had made, < That none SIR MATTHEW HALE. 37 who had been of the king's party should carry- arms/ and so, he would have forced it from him ; but, as the other did not regard the order, so, being stronger than the soldier, he threw him down, and having beat him, he left him. The soldier went into the town, and told one of his fellow-soldiers how he had been used, and got him to go with him, and lie in wait for the man that he might be revenged on him. They both watched his coming to town, and one of them went to him to demand his gun ; which he refusing, the soldier struck at him, and as they were strug- gling, the other came behind, and ran his sword into his body, of which he presently died. It was in the time of the assizes, so they were both tried : against the one, there was no evidence of fore- thought felony, so he was only found guilty of manslaughter, and burnt in the hand; but the other, was found guilty of murder. And, though Colonel Whaley, who commanded the garrison, came into the court, and urged, that the man was killed, only for disobeying the Protector's orders, and that the soldier was but doing his duty ; yet the judge regarded both his reasonings, and threaten- ings, very little : and therefore, he not only gave sentence against him, but ordered the execution to be so suddenly done, that it might not be possible to procure a reprieve : which, he believed, would have been obtained, if there had been time enough granted for it. D 8 38 THE LIFE OF Another occasion was given him, of showing both his justice and courage, when he was in another circuit. He understood, that the Protector had ordered a jury to be returned, for a trial in which he was more than ordinarily concerned. Upon this information, he examined the sheriff about it, who knew nothing of it ; for he said, he referred all such things to the under-sheriff: and, having next asked the under-sheriff concerning it, he found the jury had been returned by order from Cromwell : upon which he showed the statute, that all juries ought to be returned by the sheriff, or his lawful officer; and this not being done according to law, he dismissed the jury, and would not try the cause : upon which, the Protector was highly displeased with him, and at his return from the circuit, he told him in anger, he was not fit to be a judge : to which, all the answer he made, was, that it was very true. Another thing met him in the circuit, upon which he resolved to have proceeded severely: some anabaptists had rushed into a church, and had disturbed a congregation while they were receiving the sacrament, not without some violence. At this, he was highly offended ; for he said, it was intolerable for men, who pretended so highly to liberty of conscience, to go and disturb others; especially those who had the encouragement of the law on their side. But these were so supported, by some great magistrates and officers, that a stop was put to his proceedings ; upon which, he declared SIR MATTHEW HALE. 39 he would meddle no more with the trials on the crown side. When Penruddock's trial was brought on, there was a special messenger sent to him, requiring him to assist at it. It was in vacation time, and he was at his country-house at Alderley. He plainly refused to go ; and said, the four terms, and two circuits, were enough ; and the little interval that was between, was little enough for their private affairs; and so he excused himself. He thought it was not necessary to speak more clearly : but, if he had been urged to it, he would not have been afraid of doing it. He was at that time chosen a parliament man, (for, there being then no house of lords, judges might have been chosen to sit in the house of commons j) and he went to it, on design to ob- struct the mad and wicked projects then on foot, by two parties, that had very different principles and ends. On the one hand, some that were, perhaps, more sincere, yet were really brain-sick, designed they knew not what; being resolved to pull down a standing ministry, the law and property of Eng- land, and all the ancient rules of this government, and set up in its room, an indigested enthusiastical scheme, which they called the kingdom of Christ, or of his saints: many of them being really in expectation, that, one day or another, Christ would come down and sit among them ; and, at least, D 4 4Q THE LIFE OF they thought to begin the glorious thousand years, mentioned in the Revelation. * Others, at the same time, taking advantages from the fears and apprehensions that all the sober men of the nation were in, lest they should fall under the tyranny of a distracted sort of people, who, to all their other ill principles, added great cruelty, which they had copied from those at Munster in the former age, intended to improve that opportunity, to raise their own fortunes and families. Amidst these, Judge Hale steered a middle course : for, as he would engage for neither side, so, he, with a great many more worthy men, came to parliaments, more out of a design to hinder mischief, than to do much good ; wisely fore- seeing, that the inclinations for the royal family were daily growing so much, that, in time, the disorders then in agitation, would ferment to that happy resolution, in which they determined in May, 1660. And, therefore, all that could be then done, was, to oppose the ill designs of both parties ; the enthusiasts, as well as the usurpers. Among the other extravagant motions made in this parliament, one was, to destroy all the records in the Tower, and to settle the nation on a new foundation ; so, he took this province to himself, • * There is a superstition, in avoiding superstition ; when men think to do best, if they go furthest from the superstition commonly received : therefore, care should be hud, that, (as it faretli in ill purgings,) the good be not taken away with the bad ; which commonly is done, when the people is the reformer.' . . Lord Bacon. Essay xvii. Works, i. 58. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 41 . . to show the madness of this proposition, the injustice of it, and the mischiefs that would follow on it ; and did it, with such clearness, and strength of reason, as not only satisfied all sober persons, (for it may be supposed that was soon done,) but stopped even the mouths of the frantic people themselves. Thus he continued administering justice, till the Protector died * : but, then, he both refused the mournings that were sent to him and his servants, for the funeral ; and likewise to accept of the new commission, that was offered him by Richard: and, when the rest of the judges urged it upon him, and employed others to press him to accept of it, he rejected all their importunities, and said, he could act no longer under such authority. He lived a private man, till the parliament met, that called home the king ; to which he was returned knight of the shire, from the county of Gloucester. It appeared, at that time, how much he was beloved and esteemed in his neighbour- hood : for, though another who stood in com- petition with him, had spent near a thousand pounds to procure voices, (a great sum to be em- ployed that way, in those days,) and he had been at no cost ; and was so far from soliciting it, that he had stood out long against those who pressed him to appear ; and he did not promise to appear, till three days before the election, . . yet he was • Sept. 3. 1658. 42 THE LIFE OF preferred. He was brought thither, almost by violence, by the lord (now earl of) Berkeley; who bore all the charge of the entertainments, on the day of his election, which was considerable ; and had engaged all his friends, and interest for him. And, whereas, by the writ, the knight of a shire must be * miles gladio cinctus,' and he had no sword, that noble lord girt him with his own sword during the election ; but he was soon weary of it, for the embroidery of the belt did not suit well, with the plainness of his clothes. And, in- deed, the election did not hold long : for, as soon as ever he came into the field, he was chosen by much the greater number, though the poll con- tinued for three or four days. In that parliament, he bore his share in the happy period, then put to the confusions, that threatened the utter ruin of the nation; which, contrary to the expectations of the most sanguine, settled in so serene and quiet a manner, that those who had formerly built so much on their success, calling it an answer from heaven to their solemn appeals to the providence of God, were now not a little confounded, to see all this turned against themselves ; in an instance much more extra- ordinary, than any of those were, upon which they had built so much. His great prudence, and ex- cellent temper, led him to think, that the sooner an act of indemnity were passed, and the fuller it were of graces and favours, it would sooner settle the nation, and quiet the minds of the people j SIR MATTHEW HALE. 43 and, therefore, he appHed himself, with a particular care, to the framing and carrying it on : in which, it was visible he had no concern of his own, but merely his love of the public that set him on to it. Soon after this, when the courts in Westminster Hall came to be settled, he was made lord chief baron, in November; and when the earl of Clarendon, (then lord chancellor,) delivered him his commission, in the speech he made, according to the custom on such occasions, he expressed his esteem of him in a very singular manner ; telling him, among other things, that, if the king could have found out an honester and fitter man for that employment, he would not have advanced him to it ; and that he had therefore preferred him, be- cause he knew none that deserved it so well. It is ordinary for persons so promoted, to be knighted; but he desired to avoid having that honour done him, and therefore, for a considerable time, de- clined all opportunities of waiting on the king : which, the lord chancellor observing, sent for him upon business one day, when the king was at his house, and told his majesty, there was his modest chief baron : upon which, he was unexpectedly knighted. He continued eleven years in that place, ma- naging the court, and all proceedings in it, with singular justice. It was observed by the whole nation, how much he raised the reputation and practice of it : and those who held places and offices in it, can all declare, not only the impar- €4 THE LIFE OF tiality of his justice, (for that is but a common virtue,) but his generosity, his vast dihgence, and his great exactness in trials. This gave occasion to the only complaint that ever was made of him, that he did not dispatch matters quick enough ; but the great care he used, to put suits to a final end, as it made him slower in deciding them, so it had this good effect, that causes tried . before him, were seldom if ever tried again. Nor did his administration of justice lie only in that court. He was one of the principal judges that sat in Clifford's Inn, about settling the differ- ence between landlord and tenant, after the dread- ful fire of London. He, being the first that offered his service to the city, for accommodating all the differences that might have arisen, about the re- building it ; in which, he behaved himself to the satisfaction of all persons concerned ; so that the sudden and quiet building of the city, which is justly to be reckoned one of the wonders of the age, is, in no small measure, due to the great care which he, and Sir Orlando Bridgeman, (then lord chief justice of the Common Pleas, afterwards lord keeper of the great seal of England,) used, and to the judgment they showed, in that affair : since, without the rules then laid down, there might have otherwise followed such an endless train of vexatious suits, as might have been little less chargeable than the fire itself had been. But, without detracting from the labours of the other judges, it must be acknowledged, that he was the SIR MATTHEW HALE. 45 most instrumental in that great work ; for he first, by way of scheme, contrived the rules, upon which he and the rest proceeded afterwards : in which, his readiness at arithmetic, and his skill in archi- tecture, were of great use to him. But it will not seem strange, that a judge behaved himself as he did, who, at the entry into his employment, set such excellent rules to himself; which will appear, in the following paper, copied from the original under his own hand : . . THINGS NECESSARY TO BE CONTINUALLY HAD IN REMEMBRANCE, I. That, in the administration of justice, I am entrusted for God, the king and country : and therefore, II. That it be done : 1. Uprightly; 2. Deliberately; 3. Resolutely. III. That I rest not upon my own understanding, or strength ; but implore, and rest upon, the direction and strength of God. IV. That, in the execution of justice, I carefully lay aside my own passions, and not give way to them, however provoked. V. That I be wholly intent upon the business I am about ; remitting all other cares and thoughts, as unseasonable and interruptions.* * Do OKK THING, ONLY, AT A TIME; this is the great secret of dispatch. 46 THE LIFE OF VI. That I suffer not myself to be prepossessed with any judgment at all, till the whole business, and both parties, be heard. VII. That I never engage myself, in the beginning of any cause ; but reserve myself unprejudiced, till the whole be heard. VIII. That, in business capital, though my nature prompt me to pity, yet, to consider, that there is also a piti/ due to the country. IX. That I be not too rigid in matters purely con- scientious, where all the harm is diversity of judgment. X. That I be not biassed with compassion to the poor, or favour to the rich, in point of justice. XL That popular, or court applause, or distaste, have no influence into any thing I do, in point of distribution of justice. XII. Not to be solicitous what men will say or think; so long as I keep myself exactly, according to the rule of justice. XIII. If, in criminals, it be a measuring cast, to incline to mercy and acquittal. * XIV. In criminals that consist merely in words, when no more harm ensues, moderation is no injustice. XV. In criminals of blood, if the fact be evident, severity is justice. XVI. To abhor all private solicitations, of what • * In causes of life and death, judges ought, (as far as the law permittctli) in justice to remember mercy ; and to cast a severe eye upon tlie example, but a merciful eye upon tlie person.' . . Lord Bacon : Ewy 56, i. 181. SIK MATTHEW HALE. 47 kind soever, and by whomsoever, in matters depending. * XVII. To charge my servants : 1. Not to interpose in any business whatsoever ; S. Not to take more than their known fees ; 3. Not to give any undue precedence to causes ; 4. Not to recommend counsel. XVIII. To be short and sparing at meals, that I may be the fitter for business. He would never receive private addresses or recommendations, from the greatest persons, in any matter, in which justice was concerned. One of the first peers of England went once to his chamber, and told him, that, having a suit in law to be tried before him, he was then to acquaint him with it, that he might the better understand it, when it should come to be heard in court. Upon which, the lord chief baron interrupted him, and said, he did not deal fairly, to come to his chamber about such affairs ; for he never received any information of causes, but in open court, where both parties were to be heard alike : so he would not suffer him to go on. Whereupon his grace (for he was a duke) went away not a little dissatisfied; and complained of it to the king, as a rudeness that was not to be endured. But his majesty bid him content himself, that he was no worse used ; and said, he verily believed, he would have used him- self no better, if he had gone to solicit him, in any of his own causes. 8 THE LIFE OF Another passage fell out, in one of his circuits, which was somewhat censured, as an affectation of an unreasonable strictness ; but it flowed from his exactness to the rules he had set himself. A gentleman had sent him a buck for his table, that had a trial at the assizes : so, when he heard his name, he asked, if he was not the same person that had sent him venison? and, finding he was the same, he told him, he could not suffer the trial to go on, till he had paid him for his buck. To which the gentleman answered, that he never sold his venison ; and that he had done nothing to him, which he did not do to every judge that had gone that circuit; which was confirmed, by several gentlemen then present : but all would not do ; for the lord chief baron had learned from Solomon, that * a gifl perverteth the ways of judgment * ; and, therefore, he would not suffer the trial to go on, till he had paid for the present ; upon which the gentleman withdrew the record. And at Salisbury, the dean and chapter, having, according to the custom, presented him with six sugar-loaves in his circuit, he made his servants pay for the sugar, before he would try their cause. It was not so easy for him to throw off the im- portunities of the poor ; for whom, his compassion wrought more powerfully, than his regard to wealth and greatness: yet, when justice was concerned, even that did not turn him out of the way. There was one that had been put out of a place, for some ill behaviour, who urged the lord cliief baron SIE MATTHEW HALE. 49 to set his hand to a certificate to restore him to it, or provide him with another; but he told him plainly, his fault was such, that he could not do it : the other pressed him vehemently, and fell down on his knees, and begged it of him, with many tears ; but, finding that could not prevail, he said, he should be utterly ruined, if he did it not ; and he should curse him for it, every day : but, that having no effect, then he fell out into all the reproachful words, that passion and despair could inspire him with : to which, all the answer the lord chief baron made, was, that he could very well bear all his reproaches, but he could not, for all that, set his hand to his certificate. He saw he was poor, so he gave him a large charity, and sent him away. But now, he was to go on after his pattern Pom- ponius Atticus, still to favour and relieve them that were lowest : so, besides great charities to the non-conformists, who were then, as he thought, too hardly used, he took great care to cover them, all he could, from the severities some designed against them ; and discouraged those, who were inclined to stretch the laws too much against them. He lamented the differences that were raised in this church, very much : and, according to the impar- tiality of his justice, he blamed some things on both sides, which I shall set down, with the same freedom that he spake them. He thought many of the non- conformists had merited highly, in the business of the king's restoration ; and, at least, deserved that the terms of conformity should not 50 THE LIFE OF have been made stricter, than they were before the war. There was not, then, that dreadful pros- pect of popery, that has appeared since. But, that which afflicted him most, was, that he saw thq heats and contentions, which followed upon thoSe different parties and interests, did take people off* from the indispensable things of religion ; and slackened the zeal of otherwise good men, for the substance of it ; so much being spent about ex- ternal and indifferent things. It also gave advan- tages to atheists, to treat the most sacred points of our holy faith as ridiculous ; when they saw the professors of it contend so fiercely, and with such bitterness, about lesser matters. He was much offended, at all those books, that were written, to expose the contrary sect to the scorn and contempt of the age, in a wanton and petulant style : he thought such writers wounded the Christian reli- gion, through the sides of those who differed from them : while a sort of lewd people, who, having assumed to themselves the title of the wits, (though but a very few of them have a right to it,) took up, from both hands, what they had said, to make one another show ridiculous ; and, from thence, persuaded the world, to laugh at both, and at all religion for their sakes. And, therefore, he often wished there might be some law, to make all scurrility or bitterness in disputes about religion, punishable. But, as he lamented the proceeding too rigorously against the non-conformists, so, he declared himself always of the side of the Church SIR MATTHEW HALE, 51* of England ; and said, those of the separation were good men, but they had narrow souls, who would break the peace of the church, about such in- considerable matters as the points in difference were. He scarce ever meddled in state intrigues : yet, upon a proposition that was set on foot by the lord keeper Bridgeman, for a comprehension of the more moderate dissenters, and a limited indulgence towards such as could not be brought within the comprehension, he dispensed with his maxim, of avoiding to engage in matters of state. There were several meetings upon that occasion : the di- vine of the church of England that appeared most considerably for it, was Dr. Wilkins, afterwards promoted to the bishoprick of Chester ; a man of as great a mind, as true a judgment, as eminent virtues, and of as good a soul, as any I ev^er knew. He, being determined, as well by his excellent temper, as by his foresight and prudence, (by which, he early perceived the great prejudices that religion received, and the vast dangers the reform- ation was likely to fall under, by those divisions,) set about that project, with the magnanimity that was, indeed, peculiar to himself: for, though he was much censured by many of his own side, and seconded by very few, yet he pushed it as far as he could. After several conferences with two of the eminentest of the Presbyterian divines, heads were agreed on ; some abatements were to be made, and explanations were to be accepted of. E ^ 52 THE LIFE OF The particulars of that project being thus con- certed, they were brought to the lord chief baron ; who put them in form of a bill, to be presented to the next session of parliament. But two parties appeared vigorously against this design : the one, was of some zealous clergymen, who thought it below the dignity of the church, to alter laws, and change settlements, for the sake of some, whom they esteemed schismatics : they, also, believed it was better, to keep them out of the church, than bring them into it, since, a faction upon that, would arise in the church, which, they thought, migl\t be more dangerous, than the schism itself was. Besides, they said, if some things were now to be changed, in compliance with the hu- mour of a party, as soon as that was done, another party might demand other concessions ; and there might be as good reasons invented for these, as for those : many such concessions might, also, shake those of our own communion, and tempt them to forsake us, and go over to the church of Rome ; pretending, that we changed so often, that they were, thereby, inclined to be of a church that was constant and true to herself These were the rea- sons brought, and chiefly insisted on, against all comprehension : and they wrought upon the greater part of the House of Commons, so that they passed a vote, against the receiving of any bill for that effect. There were others, that opposed it, upon very different ends : they designed to shelter the papists, SIR MATTHEW HALE. 53 from the execution of the law ; and saw clearly, that nothing could bring in popery, so well as a toleration. But, to tolerate popery bare-faced, would have startled the nation too much : so, it was necessary to hinder all the propositions for union, since, the keeping up the differences was the best colour they could find, for getting the toleration to pass, only as a slackening the laws against dissenters; whose numbers and wealth, made it advisable to have some regard to them : and, under this pretence, popery might have crept in more covered, and less regarded. So, these counsels being more acceptable to some concealed papists, then in great power, as has since appeared but too evidently, the whole project for compre- hension was let fall : and those who had set it on foot, came to be looked on with an ill eye, as secret favourers of the dissenters, underminers of the church, and every thing else that jealousy and dis- taste could cast on them. But upon this occasion, the lord chief baron * and Dr. Wilkins, came to contract a firm and fami- liar friendship ; and the lord chief baron, having much business, and little time to spare, did, to enjoy the other the more, what he had scarce ever done before, . . he went sometimes to dine with him. And, though he lived in great friendship with some other eminent clergymen, as. Dr. Ward, bishop of Salisbury t; Dr. Barlow, bishop » Hale. t Seth Ward, D.D. Born, 1617., or 1618. Died, 1689. E S 54f THE LIFE OF of Lincoln*; Dr. Barrow, late master of Tri- nity College t ; Dr. Tillotson, dean of Canter- buryt; and Dr. Stillingfleet, dean of St. Paul's §, (men so well known, and so much esteemed, that, as it was no wonder the lord chief baron valued their conversation highly, so, those of them that are yet alive, will think it no lessening of the cha- racter they are so deservedly in, that they are reckoned among judge Hale's friends,) yet, there was an intimacy and freedom in his converse with bishop Wilkinsll, that was singular to him alone. He had, during the late wars, lived in a long and entire friendship with the apostolical primate of Ireland, bishop Usher % : their curious searches into antiquity, and the sympathy of both their tempers, led them to a great agreement almost in every thing. He held also great conversation with Mr. Baxter**, who was his neighbour at Acton, on whom he looked, as a person of great devotion and piety, and of a very subtile and quick apprehension : their conversation lay most, in metaphysical and abstracted ideas and schemes. • Thomas Barlow, D.D. Born, 1607. Died, 1691. t Isaac Barrow, D.D. Born, 1630. Died, 1677. I John Tilloteon, D.D. Born, 1630. Died, 1694. § Edward Stillingfleet, D.D. Born, 1635. Died, 1699. II John Wilkins, D.D. Born, 1614. Died, 1672. ^ The praise of this eminent man, is too much in all the churches, to admit of the very slight memorial, which could here be ofiered. But, it may be in- teresting to the friends of learning and theology, to know, that the Uni- versity of Dublin is now printing a complete edition of his works, under the superintendence of Charles Richard Elrington, D.D., Regius rrofessor of Divinity. [1832.] ** Richard Baxtw; born 1615. Died, 1691. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 55 He looked with great sorrow on the impiety and atheism of the age; and so, he set himself to oppose it, not only by the shining example of his own life, but by engaging in a cause, that, indeed, could hardly fall into better hands : and, as he could not find a subject more worthy of himself, so, there were few in the age that understood it so well, and could manage it more skilfully. The occasion that first led him to write about it, was this : he was a strict observer of the Lord's day ; in which, besides his constancy in the public worship of God, he used to call all his family together, and repeat to them the heads of the sermons, with some additions of his own, which he fitted for their capacities and circumstances ; and, that being done, he had a custom of shutting him- self up for two or three hours, w^hich he either spent in his secret devotions, or on such profitable meditations as did then occur to his thoughts. He writ them, with the same simplicity, that he formed them in his mind ; without any art, or so much as a thought to let them be published : he never corrected them, but laid them by, when he had finished them, having intended only to fix and preserve his own reflections in them ; so that, he used no sort of care to polish them, or make the first draught perfecter, than when they fell from his pen. These fell into the hands of a worthy person* ; and he, judging, as well he might, that the communicating them to the world might be a public service, printed two * Mr. Stephens. E 4 56 THE LIFE OF volumes of them in octavo, a little before the the author's death, containing his CONTEMPLATIONS, 1. Of our latter end. 2. Of wisdom, and the fear of God. 3. Of the knowledge of Christ crucified. 4. The victory of faith over the world. 5. Of humility. 6. Jacob's vow. 7. Of contentation. 8. Of afflictions. 9. A good method, to entertain unstable, and troublesome times. 10. Changes and troubles, a poem. 11. Of the redemption of time. 12. The great audit. IS. Directions touching keeping the Lord's-day, in a letter to his children. 14. Poems written upon Christmas-day. [/w the Second Volume.'] 1. An inquiry touching happiness. 2. Of the chief end of man. 3. Upon 12 Eccles. 1. Remember thy Creator. 4. Upon Psalm, li. 10. Create a clean heart in me ; with a poem. 5. The folly and mischief of sin. 6. Of self-denial. 7. Motives to watchfulness, in reference to tlie good and evil angels. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 5^ 8. Of moderation of the affections. 9. Of worldly hope and expectation. 10. Upon Heb. xiii. 14. We have here no continu- ing city. 11. Of contentedness and patience. 12. Of moderation of anger. 13. A preparative against afflictions. 14. Of submission, prayer, and thanksgiving. 15. Of prayer and thanksgiving, on Psalm cxvi. 12. 16. Meditations on the Lord's prayer, with a paraphrase upon it. In them, there appears a generous and true spirit of religion, mixed with most serious and fervent devotion ; and, perhaps, with the more advantage, that the style wants some correction ; which shows they were the genuine productions of an excellent mind, entertaining itself, in secret, with such contemplations. The style is clear and masculine, in a due temper between flatness and affectation ; in which he expresses his thoughts, both easily, and decently. In writing these discourses, having run over most of the subjects, that his own circumstances led him chiefly to consider, he began to be in some pain, to choose new arguments : and, there- fore, resolved to ^x on a theme that should hold him longer. He was soon determined in his choice, by the immoral and irreligious principles and practices, that had so long vexed his righteous soul j and 58 THE LIFE OF therefore began a great design against atheism ; the first part of which only, is printed : * Of the origination of mankind ; designed to prove the creation of the world, and the truth of the Mo- saical history.' The second part, was * Of the nature of the soul, and of a future state.' The third part, was * Concerning the attributes of God, both from the abstracted ideas of him, and the light of nature; the evidence of pro- vidence, the notions of morality, and the voice of conscience.' And the fijurth part, was, ' Concerning the truth and authority of the scriptures, with answers to the objections against them.' On writing these, he spent seven years. He wrote them with so much consideration, that, one who perused the original under his own hand, (which was the first draught of it) told me, he did not remember of any considerable alteration ; perhaps, not of twenty words in the whole work. The way of his writing them, (only on the evenings of the Lord's day, when he was in town, and not much oftener, when he was in the country,) made, that they are not so contracted, as it is very likely he would have writ them, if he had been more at leisure, to have brought his thoughts into a narrower compass, and fewer words. But, making some allowance for the largeness of the style, that volume that is printed, is gene- SIR MATTHEW HALE. 59 rally acknowledged to be one of the perfectest pieces, both of learning and reasoning, that has been writ on that subject. And he, who read a great part of the other volumes, told me, they were all of a piece with the first. When he had finished this work, he sent it, by an unknown hand, to bishop Wilkins, to desire his judgment of it : but he that brought it, would give no other account of the author, but that he was not a clergyman. The bishop, and his worthy friend Dr. Tillotson, read a great deal of it, with much pleasure : but could not imagine, who could be the author ; and how a man, that was master of so much reason, and so great a variety of know- ledge, should be so unknown to them, that they could not find him out by those characters which are so little common. At last. Dr. Tillotson guessed it must be the lord chief baron ; to which the other presently agreed, wondering he had been so long in finding it out. So, they went imme- diately to him, and the bishop thanking him for the entertainment he had received from his works, he blushed extremely, not without some displea- sure, apprehending that the person he had trusted had discovered him. But the bishop soon cleared that, and told him he had discovered himself; for the learning of that book was so various, that none but he could be the author of it. And that bishop, having a freedom in delivering his opinions of things and persons, which, perhaps, few ever managed, both with so much plainness, and pru- 60 THE LTFE OF dence, told him, there was nothing could be better said on these arguments, if he could bring it into a less compass ; but, if he had not leisure for that, he thought it much better to have it come out, though a little too large, than that the world should be deprived of the good, which it must needs do. But our judge had never the oppor- tunities of revising it ; so, a little before his death, he sent the first part of it to the press/ In the beginning of it, he gives an essay of his excellent way of methodizing things; in which, he was so great a master, that, whatever he under- took, he would presently cast into so perfect a scheme, that he could never afterwards correct it. He runs out copiously, upon the argument of the impossibility of an eternal succession of time : to show, that time and eternity are inconsistent one with another ; and that, therefore, all duration that was past, and defined by time, could not be from eternity : and he shows the difference be- tween successive eternity already past, and one to come; so that, though the latter is possible, the former is not so ; for all the parts of the former have actually been, and therefore, being defined by time, cannot be eternal; whereas, the other are still future, to all eternity : so that, this reasoning cannot be turned, to prove the pos- sibility of eternal successions that Iiave been, as well as eternal successions that shall be. This he follows, with a strength, I never met with in any that managed it before him. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 6l He brings, next, all those moral arguments, to prove that the world had a beginning, agreeing to the account Moses gives of it : as, that no history rises higher, than near the time of the Deluge; and, that the first foundation of kingdoms, the invention of arts, the beginnings of all religions, the gradual plantation of the world and increase of mankind, and the consent of nations, do agree wdth it. In managing these, as he shows profound skill, both in historical and philosophical learning ; so, he gives a noble discovery of his great candour and probity, that he would not impose on the reader, with a false show of reasoning, by argu- ments that he knew had flaws in them ; and, there- fore, upon every one of these, he adds such allays, as, in a great measure, lessened and took off their force, with as much exactness of judgment, and strictness of censure, as if he had been set to plead for the other side ; and, indeed, he sums up the whole evidence for religion as impartially, as ever he did in a trial for life or death, to the jury; which, how equally and judiciously he did, the whole nation well knows. After that, he examines the ancient opinions of the philosophers ; and enlarges, with a great variety of curious reflections, in answering that only argument that has any appearance of strength, for the casual production of man, from the origin- ation of insects, out of putrified matter, as is com- monly supposed ; and he concluded the book, showing how rational and philosophical the ac- 6^ THE LIFE OF count which Moses gives of it is. There is, in it all, a sagacity and quickness of thought, mixed with great and curious learning, that, I confess, I never met together, in any other book on that subject. Among other conjectures, one he gives concerning the Deluge, is, ' That he did not think the face of the earth, and the waters, were alto- gether the same, before the universal Deluge, and after : but, possibly, the face of the earth was more even than now it is ; the seas, possibly, more dilated and extended, and not so deep as now.' And, a little after, * possibly, the seas have under- mined much of the appearing continent of earth.' This I the rather take notice of) because it hath been, since his death, made out, in a most in- genious, and most elegantly written book, by Mr. Burnet, of Christ's College in Cambridge; who has given such an essay, towards the proving the possibiHty of an universal deluge, (and from thence has collected, with great sagacity, what Paradise was before it,) as has not been offered, by any philosopher before him.* * Few readers, will be likely to investigate, much less to adopt, his exploded * Theory.' But, as long as genius, imagination, and eloquence, of the first order, illustrating piety of tlie most genuine character, are counted valuable amongst men, so long will his book find a place on the slivlves, and his spirit in the hearts, of the chosen few. Tlic ablest writer of the present day, does not hesitate, to call Burnet of the Charter House, * The greatest of the name.* . . Colloquies on the Progress and Prospects lif Society y i. S09. The annotator has been just reading a passage, which he cannot help ex- tracting ; it resembles some of the magnificent flighU of tlie < Telluris theoria sacra*: . . * He who is placed in the sphere of Nature and of God, when he walks along the River of Amazons, when ho rests his eye on tlie unrivalled Andes, SIR MATTHEW HALE. 68 While the judge was thus employing his time, the lord chief justice Keyling dying, he was, on the eighteenth of May, I67I., promoted to be lord chief justice of England. He had made the pleas of the crown one of his chief studies ; and, by much search, and long observation, had composed that great work concerning them, formerly mentioned. He that holds the high office of justiciary in that court, being the chief trustee and asserter of the liberties of his country, all people applauded this choice ; and thought their liberties could not be better deposited, than in the hands of one, that, as he understood them well, so, he had all the justice and courage, that so sacred a trust required. One thing was much observed, and commended in him ; that, when there was a great inequality in the ability and learning of the counsellors, that were to plead one against another, he thought it became him, as the judge, to supply that : so, he would when he measures the long and watered Savannah, or contemplates, from a sudden promontory, the distant, vast Pacific, . . and feels himself a freeman in this vast theatre, and commanding each ready-produced fruit of this wil- derness, and each progeny of this stream, . . his exaltation is not less than imperial. He is as gentle, too, as he is great : his emotions of tenderness, keep pace with his elevation of sentiment ; for he says, * These were made by a good Being, who, unsought by me, placed me here to enjoy them. ' He becomes, at once, a child and a king. His mind is in himself; and, from hence he argues, and from hence he acts : and he argues unerringly, and he acts magisterially.* His mind, in himself, is also in his God : and therefore he loves, and therefore he soars.' — William Gilbert: quoted by Wordsworth, in the notes to his Excursiok, p. 397. * Too much, to be said of any mortal. — J. L. 64 THE LIFE OF enforce what the weaker counsel managed but in- differently, and not suffer the more learned to carry the business, by the advantage they had over the others, in their quickness and skill in law, and readiness in pleading, . . till all things were cleared, in which the merits and strength of the ill- defended cause lay. He was not satisfied, barely to give his judgment in causes : but did, especially in all intricate ones, give such an account of the reasons that prevailed with him, that the counsel did not only acquiesce in his authority, but were so convinced by his reasons, that I have heard many profess, that he brought them often to change their opinions : so that, his giving of judgment, was, really, a learned lecture upon that point of law. And, which was yet more, the parties themselves, though interest does, too commonly, corrupt the judgment, were generally satisfied with the justice of his decisions, even when they were made against them. His impartial justice, and great diligence, drew the chief practice after him, into whatsoever court he came. Since, though the courts of Com- mon Pleas, the Exchequer, and the King's Bench, are appointed for the trial of causes of different natures, yet, it is easy to bring most causes into any of them, as the counsel or attorneys please : so, as he had drawn the business much after him, both into the Common Pleas, and the Exchequer, it now followed him into the King's Bench ; and many causes that were depending in the Ex- chequer, and not determined, were let fall there. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 65 and brought again before him in the court to which he was now removed. And here did he spend the rest of his public Hfe and employment. But, about four years and a half after this advancement, he, who had hitherto enjoyed a firm and vigorous health, to which his great temperance and the equality of his mind did not a little conduce, was, on a sudden, brought very low, by an inflammation in the diaphragm, which, in two days' time, broke the constitution of his health, to such a degree, that he never recovered it. He became so asth- matical, that, with great difficulty, he could fetch his breath ; that determined in a dropsy, of which he afterwards died. He understood physic so well, that, considering his age, he concluded his distemper must carry him off in a little time : and, therefore, he resolved to have some of the last months of his life reserved to himself, that, being freed of all worldly cares, he might be pre- paring for his change.* He was, also, so much disabled in his body, that he could hardly, though supported by his servants, walk through West- minster Hall, or endure the toil of business. He had been, a long time, wearied with the dis- * This calls to one's recollection the saying, so pithily recorded by the most interesting of biographers : . . * John Valdesso was a Spaniard, and was, for his learning and virtue, much valued and loved, by the great Emperor, Charles V. ; whom Valdesso had followed as a cavah'er, all the time of his long, and dangerous wars. And, when Valdesso grew old, and grew weary both of war and the world, he took Ijis fair opportunity, to declare to the Emperor, that his resolution was, to de- cline his majesty's service, and betake himself to a quiet, and contemplative life; because, there ought to be a vacancy of time, betwixt Jtghting and dying.* . . Walton's I-ives. ii. 113.; or in Wordsworth, Eccl. Biogr, iv. 547. F 66 THE LIFE OF tractions that his employment had brought on him, and his profession was become ungrateful to him. He loved to apply himself, wholly, to better pur- poses ; as will appear, by a paper, that he writ on this subject, which I shall here insert : . . * First ; If I consider the business of my pro- fession, whether as an advocate, or as a judge, it is true, I do acknowledge, by the institution of Almighty God, and the dispensation of his pro- vidence, I am bound to industry, and fidelity in it. And, as it is an act of obedience unto his will, it carries with it some things of religious duty ; and I may, and do, take comfort in it, and expect a reward of my obedience to him, and the good that I do to mankind therein, from the bounty, and beneficence, and promise, of Almighty God. And it is true, also, that, without such employments, civil societies cannot be supported, and great good redounds to mankind from them; and, in these respects, the conscience of my own industry, fidelity, and integrity in them, is a great comfort and satisfaction to me. But yet, this I must say, concerning these employments, considered simply in themselves, that they are very full of cares, anxieties, and perturbations. Secondly ; That, though they are beneficial to others, yet, they are of the least benefit, to him that is employed in them. Thirdly ; That they do necessarily involve the party, whose office it is, in great dangers, difficulties, and calumnies. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 67^ Fourthly ; That they only serve for the meridian of this life ; which is short, and uncertain. Fifthly ; That, though it be my duty, faithfully to serve in them, while I am called to them, and till I am duly called from them, . . yet, they are great consumers of that little time we have here ; y^ which, as it seems to me, might be better spent in a pious contemplative life, and a due provision for eternity. I do not know a better temporal em- ployment, than Martha had, in testifying her love and duty to our Saviour, by making provision for him : yet, our Lord tells her, that, though she was troubled about many things, there was only one thing necessary ; and Mary had chosen the better part.' By this, the reader will see, that he continued in his station, upon no other consideration, but that, being set in it by the providence of God, he judged he could not abandon that post which was assigned him, without preferring his own private inclination, to the choice God had made for him. But now, that same Providence, having, by this great distemper, disengaged him from the obligation of holding a place, which he was no longer able to discharge, he resolved to resign it. This was no sooner surmised abroad, than it drew upon him the importunities of all his friends, and the clamour of the whole town, to divert him from it ; but all was to no purpose. There was but one argument, that could move him ; which was, that he was obliged to continue in the employment God had put him F 2 68 THE LIFE OF in, for the good of the public. But to this, he had such an answer, that, even those who were most concerned in his withdrawing, could not but see that the reasons inducing him to it, were but too strong. So he made applications to his majesty, (in January 1675-6.) for his writ of ease ; which the king was very unwilling to grant him, and offered to let him hold his place still, he doing what business he could in his chamber: but he said, he could not, with a good conscience, continue in it, since he was no longer able to discharge the duty belonging to it. But yet, such was the general satisfaction, which all the kingdom received by his excellent admini- stration of justice, that the king, though he could not well deny his request, yet he deferred the granting of it, as long as was possible. Nor could the lord chancellor be prevailed with, to move the king to hasten his discharge; though the chief justice often pressed him to it. At last, having wearied himself, and all his friends, with his importunate desires, and growing sensibly weaker in body, he did upon the twenty- first day of February, 28 Car. II., anno Domini 1675-6., go before a master of the chancery, with a little parchment deed, drawn by himself, and written all with his own hand, and there sealed and delivered it, and acknowledged it to be enrolled ; and afterwards he brought the original dqed to the lord chancellor, and did formally surrender his office in these words : . . SIR MATTHEW HALE. 69 « Omnibus Christi fidelibus ad quos praesens scriptura pervenerit, MATTHiEUS Hale, miles, capi- talis jiisticiarius Domini Regis, ad placita coram ipso rege tenenda assignatus, salutem in Domino sempiternam : Noveritis me praefatum Matth^um Hale, militem, jam senem factum, et variis corporis mei senilis morbis et infirmitatibus dire laborantem, et adhuc detentum, hac charta mea, resignare et sursum reddere, serenissimo Domino nostro Carolo Secundo, Dei gratia Angliae, Scotise, Franciae, et Hiberniae Regi, iidei defensori, &c., predictum officium, capitalis justiciarii, ad placita coram ipso rege tenenda, humillime petens, quod hoc scriptum irrotuletur de recordo. In cujus rei testimonium, huic chartae meae resign ationis, sigillum meum apposui. Datum vicesimo primo die Februarii, anno* Regni dicti Domini Regis, nunc vicesimo octavo.' He made this instrument, as he told the lord chancellor, for two ends: the one was, to show the world his own free concurrence to his removal ; another was, to obviate an objection heretofore made, that a chief justice being placed bj writ, was not removable at pleasure, as judges by patent were : which opinion, as he said, was once held by his predecessor the lord chief justice Keyling; and, though he himself were always of another opinion, yet, he thought it reasonable, to prevent such a scruple. He had, the day before, surrendered to the king in person ; who parted from him with great F 3 70 THE LIFE OP grace, wishing him, most heartily, the return of his health ; and assuring him, that he would still look upon him as one of his judges, and have recourse to his advice, when his health would permit; and, in the mean time, would continue his pension during his life. The good man thought this bounty too great, and an ill precedent for the king ; and, therefore, wrote a letter to the lord treasurer, earnestly desiring that his pension might be only during pleasure. But the king would grant it for life, and make it payable quarterly. And yet, for a whole month together, he would not suffer his servant to sue out his patent for his pension ; and, when the first payment was received, he ordered a great part of it to charitable uses ; and said, he intended most of it should be so employed, as long as it was paid him. * At last, he happened to die upon the quarter- day, which was Christmas-day; and though this might have given some occasion to a dispute, whether the pension for that quarter were recover- able, yet the king was pleased to decide that matter against himself, and ordered the pension to be paid to his executors. As soon as he was discharged from his great place, he returned home, with as much cheerful- • He seems to have quite agreed with that old writer, who thus counsels: ,. * Wouldst thou multiply thy riches? diminish them wisely : or wouldst thou make thy estate entire? divide it charitably t seeds that are scattered, in- crease; but hoarded up, they diminish.* SIR MATTHEW HALE. 71 ness, as his want of health could admit of; being now eased of a burthen he had been of late groan- ing under, and so, made more capable of enjoying that which he had much wished for ; according to his elegant translation of, or rather paraphrase upon, those excellent lines in Seneca's Thyestes, Act II, : . . Stet, quicumque volet, potens Aulae culmine lubrico : Me dulcis saturet quies, Obscuro positus loco, Leni perfruar otio : NuUis nota Quiritibus JEtsiS per taciturn fluat. Sic cum transierint mei NuUo cum strepitu dies, Plebeius moriar senex. Illi mors gravis incubat, Qui, notus nimis omnibus, Ignotus moritur sibi. Let him that will, ascend the tottering seat Of courtly grandeur, and become as great As are his mounting wishes : as for me. Let sweet repose and rest my portion be. Give me some mean, obscure recess ; a sphere Out of the road of business, or the fear Of falling lower ; where I sweetly may Myself and dear retirement still enjoy. Let not my life, or name, be known unto The grandees of the time, toss*d to and fro F 4 72 THE LIFE OF By censures or applause ; but let my age Slide gently by ; not overthwart the stage Of public action, unheard, unseen, And unconcerned, as if I ne'er had been. And thus, while I shall pass my silent days In shady privacy, free from the noise And bustles of the mad world, then shall I A good old innocent plebeian die. Death is a mere surprise, a very snare To him that makes it his life's greatest care To he a public pageant ; knonion to all, But unacquainted with himself doth, fall.* ♦ * Certainly, men in great fortunes are strangers to themselves ; and while they are in the puzzle of business, they have no time to attend to their health, either of body or mind : Illi mors gravis incubat, qui, notus nimis omnibus, ignotus moritur sibi.'. .Bacon. Essay, xi. Probably, this very passage suggested Sir Matthew Hale's imitation of the lines from tlie Thyestes. It may not be uninteresting, to compare a version of the same passage, by a great man, nearly of the same period, the celebrated Andrew Marvkll: . . * Climb, at court, for me that will, Tottering favour's pinnacle ; All I seek is to lie still. Settled in some secret nest. In calm leisure let me rest ; And far off the public stage Pass away my silent age. Thus, when without noise, unknown, I have lived out all my span, I shall die without a groan. An old honest countryman. Whot exjmsed to other's eyeSy Into his own heart never jnies. Death *s to him a strange surinixe.* Tlic last line reminds one of a fine passage, from a philosopher, poet, and divine; the not uncongenial successor of George Herbert, in his Country Parsonage : . . < What a strange moment will that be. My soul, how full of curiosity. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 73 Having now attained to that privacy, which he had no less seriously than piously wished for, he called all his servants that had belonged to his office together, and told them he had now laid down his place, and so their employments were determined. Upon that, he advised them to see for themselves, and gave to some of them very considerable presents ; and to every one of them a token ; and so dismissed all those that were not his domestics.* He was discharged the fifteenth of When, winged, and ready for thy eternal flight, On the utmost verges of thy tottering clay Hovering, and wishing longer stay. Thou shalt advance, and have eternity in sight ! When just about to try that unknown sea, What a strange moment shall that be ! ' John NorriSi of Bemerton. * Mr. Norris, a very learned divine,' says Dugald Stewart, (Prel. Diss. Enc. Brit.) * of the church of England: whose name has unaccountably failed, in obtaining that distinction, to which his acuteness as a logician, and his boldness as a theorist, justly entitled him.' The present writer is best acquainted, with his ' Sermons on the Beatitudes,* and his ' Miscellanies,' partly in prose, partly poetical : from which latter work, the above extract has been made. But, after all, the great moral of these various, but consentient passages, is given in an aphorism of Mr. Coleridge ; which I would aflfectionately recom- mend, .to the THOUGHTFUL EXAMINATION of my youthful readers: . . * It is a matter of great difficulty, and requires no ordinary skill and address, to fix the attention of men, on the world within them; to induce them, to study the processes, and superintend the works, which they are themselves carrying on, in their own minds ; in short, to awaken in them, both, the faculty of thought, and the inclination to exercise it. For, alas ! the largest part of man- kind are nowhere greater strangers, than at home.' . . Coleridge, Aids to Re- flection. * How different from the melancholy parting-scene, of the morally weak, rather than intentionally criminal. Lord Bacon : . .' When he was condemned, and his servants rose, upon his passing through the gallery, Sit down, my friends, he said, your rise has been my falV J4f THE LIFE OF February, 1675-6., and Jived till the Christmas fol- lowing ; but, all the while, was in so ill a state of health, that there were no hopes of his recovery. He continued, still, to retire often, both for his de- votions and studies* ; and, as long as he could go, • This, for very many years, had been his habitual practice ; and it cannot be doubted, that, at the last, his persevering devotion rendered the chair of sickness (for he could not lie down in his bed) not only easy, but delightfuL But his studies, and his prayers, were not for himself alone : he was, indeed, a universal blessing ; and in no individual, perhaps, of his own, or after times, was that spirit of supplication more happily exemplified, which has since been pourtrayed, in colours that will never die : . . Perhaps the self-approving haughty world, Receives advantage from his noiseless hours Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes. When, Isaac-like, the solitary saint Walks forth, to meditate at eventide. And think of her, who thinks not for herself. CowrER. Little they dream, those haughty souls, Whom empires own with bended knee, What lowly fate their own controlls. Together linked by Heaven's decree ; . • As bloodhounds bush their baying wild To wanton with some fearless child. So Famine waits, and War with greedy eyes, Till some repenting heart be ready for the skies. Think ye the spires that glow so bright In front of yonder setting sun, * Stand by their own unshaken might ? No : where the' upholding grace is won. We dare not ask, nor Heaven would tell ; But sure, from many a hidden dell, From many a rural nook unttiought of there. Rises, for that proud world, the saints* prevailing prayer.* Keblk. • Exoi^«r iKcunos KtOapaSf Kai <pia\as xpv<ras ytfiowras bvfuafJUKrw^f al tiaiv al wpofftvx^^ Tft^v ityiwy. AnOKAA. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 7^ went constantly to his closet: and, when his in- firmities increased on him, so that he was not able to go thither himself, he made his servants carry him thither, in a chair. At last, as the winter came on, he saw, with great joy, his deliverance approaching ; for, besides his being weary of the world, and his longings for the blessedness of an- other state, his pains increased so on him, that no patience, inferior to his, could have borne them, without a great uneasiness of mind : yet, he ex- pressed, to the last, such submission to the will of God, and so equal a temper, under them, that it was visible, then, what mighty effects his philo- sophy and Christianity had on him, in supporting him under such a heavy load. He could not lie down in bed, above a year be- fore his death, by reason of the asthma ; but sat, rather than lay in it. He was attended on, in his sickness, by a pious and worthy divine, Mr. Evan Griffith, minister of the parish : and it was observed, that, in all the extremities of his pain, whenever he prayed by him, he forbore all complaints or groans, but, with his hands and eyes lifted up, was fixed in his de- votions. Not long before his death, the minister told him, there was to be a sacrament next Sunday, at church ; but, he believed, he could not come, and partake with the rest ; therefore, he would give it to him in his own house. But he answered, * No: his heavenly Father had prepared a feast for him ; and he would go to his Father's house, to partake 76 THE LIFE OF of it.* So, he made himself be carried thither in his chair, where he received the sacrament, on his knees, with great devotion ; which, it may be sup- posed, was the greater, because he apprehended it was to be his last, and so took it, as his viaticum, and provision for his journey. He had some secret, unaccountable, presages of his death ; for, he said, that if he did not die on such a day, (which fell to be the twenty-fifth of November,) he be- lieved he should live a month longer ; and he died that very day month. He continued to enjoy the free use of his reason and sense, to the last mo- ment ; which he had often, and earnestly, prayed for, during his sickness. And, when his voice was so sunk, that he could not be heard, they per- ceived, by the almost constant lifting up of his eyes and hands, that he was still aspiring towards that blessed state, of which he was now speedily to be possessed. He had, for many years, a particular devotion for Christmas-day : and, after he had received the sacrament, and been in the performance of the public worship of that day, he commonly wrote a copy of verses on the honour of his Saviour ; as a fit expression of the joy he felt in his soul, at the return of that glorious anniversary. There are seventeen of those copies printed, which he writ on seventeen several Christmas-days; by which the world has a taste of his poetical genius : in which, if lie had thought it worth his time to have excelled, he might have been eminent, as well as SIR MATTHEW HALE. 77 in other things : but he writ them, rather to enter- tain himself, than to merit the laurel. I shall here add one, which has not been yet printed ; and it is not unlikely, it was the last he writ. It is a paraphrase on Simeon's Song. I take it from his blotted copy, not at all finished ; so, the reader is to make allowance for any imper- fection he may find in it : . . Blessed Creator, who, before the birth Of time, or ere the pillars of the earth Were fix'd or formed, didst lay that great design Of man's redemption ; and didst define, In thine eternal counsels, all the scene Of that stupendous business, and when It should appear; and, though the very day Of its Epiphany concealed lay. Within thy mind, yet thou wert pleased to show Some glimpses of it, unto men below, In visions, types, and prophecies; as we Things at a distance in perspective see. But thou wert pleased to let thy servant know. That that blest hour, that seem'd to move so slow Through former ages, should at last attain Its time, ere my few sands that yet remain Are spent ; and that these aged eyes Should see the day when Jacob's star should rise. And now thou hast fulfill'd it, blessed Lord, Dismiss me now, according to thy word ; And let my aged body now return , To rest, and dust, and drop into an urn : For I have lived enough ; mine eyes have seen Thy much-desired salvation, that hath been So long, so dearly wish'd ; the joy, the hope Of all the ancient patriarchs, the scope 78 THE LIFE OF Of all the prophecies and mysteries, Of all the types unveiPd, the histories Of Jewish Church unriddled, and the bright And orient sun arisen, to give light To Gentiles, and the joy of Israel, The world's Redeemer, bless*d Emanuel ! Let this sight close mine eyes : 'tis loss to see. After this vision, any sight but Thee 1 Thus he used to sing on the former Christmas- days * ; but now, he was to be admitted to bear his part in the new songs above : so that day, which he had spent in so much spiritual joy, proved to be, indeed, the day of his jubilee and deliverance; for, between two and three in the afternoon, he breathed out his righteous and pious soul. His end was peace : he had no strugglings, nor seemed to be in any pangs in his last moments. He was buried on the fourth of January, Mr. Griffith preaching the funeral sermon. His text was the fifty-seventh of Isaiah, first verse, * The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart; and merciful men are taken away, none considering, that the righteous is taken away from the evil to • In a former note, (p. 22. of this volume,) the cycnean song of George Herbert, which ushered in his union with the heavenly choir, has been noticed. Here, is a striking coincidence, Bishop Ken's life and practice furnish another. But, in truth, at all times, truly pious men have been similarly affected. . .* I have seen and felt the ettoct,* says Mr. Gilly, • which sacred music produced, in the humble dwelling of the village pastor, where none but human voices swelled the notes; and in the chateau, where the hari) and the organ have mingled their fnie sounds, with the wcll-motlulated tones of an ac- complished family of sons and daughters. My thoughts, at the moment I am vvriting this, are at Chateau Blonay: but most of the voices which I beard there, are now silent in death ! ' . . Memoir of Felix Neif, p. 67. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 79 come.' Which, how fitly it was applicable, upon this occasion, all, that consider the course of his life, will easily conclude. He was interred in the church-yard of Alderley *, among his ancestors. He did not much approve of burying in churches ; and used to say, the churches were for the living, and the church-yards for the dead. His monument was, like himself^ decent and plain ; the tombstone was black marble, and the sides were black and white marble ; upon which, he himself had ordered this bare and humble inscription to be made : . . HIC INHUMATUR CORPUS MATTH^I HALE, MILITIS J ROBERTI HALE, ET JOANNA UXORIS EJUS, FILII UNICI. NATI IN HAC PAROCHIA DE ALDERLY, PRIMO DIE NOVEMBRIS, ANNO DOM. MDCIX. I DENATI VERO IBIDEM VICESIMO QUINTO DIE DECEMBRIS, ANNO DOM. MDCLXXVI., JETATIS SUM LXVII. Having, thus, given an account, of the most remarkable things of his life, I am, now, to present the reader, with such a character of him, as the laying his several virtues together will amount to. In which, I know how difficult a task I undertake : for, to wTite defectively of him, were to injure him, and lessen the memory of one, to whom I * * He went into the common church-yard ; and there chose his grave, and died a few days after.' . . Richard Baxter, cited by Wordsworth. £ccl. r. vi, 63. 80 THE LIFE OF intend to do all the right, that is in my power : on the other hand, there is so much here to be com- mended, and proposed for the imitation of others, that, I am afraid, some may imagine, I am rather making a picture of him, from an abstracted idea of great virtues and perfections, than setting him out as he truly was. But, there is great en- couragement in this, that I write, concerning a man so fresh in all people's remembrance, that is so lately dead, and was so much and so well known, that I shall have many vouchers : who will be ready, to justify me, in all that I am to relate ; and to add a great deal, to what I can say. It has appeared, in the account of his various learning, how great his capacities were ; and how much they were improved, by constant study : he rose always early in the morning ; he loved to walk much abroad, not only for his health, but he thought it opened his mind, and enlarged his thoughts, to have the creation of God before his eyes.* When he set himself to any study, he used to cast his design in a scheme, which he did * So far as their different stations and duties would allow, Hale, and Hooker, would seem to have partaken of a kindred spirit : the same love of studious quiet ; the same unambitious cultivation of nature, and nature's gifts ; the same supreme devotcdncss to God, and unwearied beneficence to man. An exquisite passage from Hooker, must be familiar to most readers : but those who know it best, will least regret to find it here: . . * I shall never be able to finish what I have begun, (tlie • Ecclesiastical Polity,') unless I be removed into some quiet country parsonage, where I may see Cod's blessings sjmng out of my mother earth, and eat my own bread in peace and privacy. A place, where I may, without disturbance, meditate my approaching mortality, and that great account, which all flesh must, at the last great day, give to the God of all spirits.' . , Walton's Lives, i. 404. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 81 with a great exactness of method : he took nothing on trust, but pursued his inquiries as far as they could go ; and, as he was humble enough to con- fess his ignorance, and submit to mysteries which he could not comprehend, so, he was not easily imposed on, by any shows of reason, or the bug- bears of vulgar opinions. He brought all his knowledge, as much to scientifical principles, as he possibly could ; which made him neglect the study of tongues : for the bent of his mind lay another way. Discoursing, once, of this, to some, they said, ' they looked on the common law as a study, that could not be brought into a scheme, nor formed into a rational science ; by reason of the indigestedness of it, and the multiplicity of the cases in it, which rendered it very hard to be understood, or reduced into a method.' But he said, * he was not of their mind' ; and so, quickly after, he drew, with his own hand, a scheme of the whole order and parts of it, in a large sheet of paper, to the great satisfaction of those to whom he sent it. Upon this hint, some pressed him to compile a body of the English law: it could hardly ever be done by a man who knew it better, and would, with more judgment and industry, have put it into method. But he said, as it was a great and noble design, which would be of vast advantage to the nation, so, it was too much for a private man to undertake : it was not to be entered upon, but by the command of a prince, and with the G 84 THE LIFE OF communicated endeavours, of some of the most eminent of the profession.* He had great vivacity in his fancy, as may ap- pear by his incUnation to poetry, and the lively illustrations, and many tender strains, in his Con- templations. But he looked on eloquence and wit, as things to be used very chastely in serious matters, which should come under a severer inquiry: therefore, he was, both when at the bar, and on the bench, a great enemy to all eloquence, or rhetoric in pleading. He said, if the judge or jury had a right understanding, it signified nothing but a waste of time, and loss of words : and, if they were weak, and easily wrought on, it was a more decent way of corrupting them, by bribing their fancies, and biassing their affections.t He won- • This reminds us of a similar saying, of Lord Bacon : . . < Such a collec- tion of natural history, as we have measured out in our mind, and such as really ought to be procured, is a great and royal work, requiring the purse o^ a prince, and the assistance of a ])eoj)le.* f The employment of eloquence in forensic pleadings, must depend, partly, on national character, partly on the nature of the particular tribunal. In Sparta, eloquence was utterly disregarded : on principle, it was ex- cluded from the education of youtli ; in practice, it was naturally despised, by a people, whose endeavour, and whose boast it was, (a very * bootless boast,*) to exercise an absolute mastery over the passions. At Athens, whatever might have been the tastes and tendencies of that volatile people, (not unlike the French of our own day,) . . the surpassing dignity of the Areopagus, . . riiuv tv ro7s "EWrjai BiKourrrfiAwv riftuiTarov, Hoi hyuin-aTOV, . . forbade all attempts at eloquence, before tijat august, and fas- tidious seat of judgment. In our own courts, appeals are not made to the passions of the judges : the reason, only, is addressed. Where a jury, indeed, forms part of tlie tribunal, the use of eloquence is permitted : but here, national character, rather than judicial authority, interposes in l)ehalf of sobriety and truth. Witli us, even in the most impassioned speeches, the limits of decorum very rarely arc trans- gressed. Wc are apt to believe, tlierefure, (and experience goct to confirm SIR MATTHEW HALE. 83 dered much, at that affectation of the French law- yers, in imitating the Roman orators in their pleadings : for the oratory of the Romans was oc- casioned by their popular government, and the factions of the city ; so that, those who intended to excel in the pleading of causes, were trained up in the schools of the rhetors, till they became ready and expert, in that luscious way of discourse. It is triie, the composures of such a man as Tully was, who mixed an extraordinary quickness, an exact judgment, and a just decorum, with his skill in rhetoric, do still entertain the readers of them, with great pleasure : but, at the same time, it must be acknowledged, that there is not that chastity of style, that closeness of reasoning, nor that justness of figures, in his orations, that is in his other writ- ings ; so that, a great deal was said by him, rather because he knew it would be acceptable to his au- ditors, than that it was approved of by himself; and all who read them, will acknowledge they are bet- ter pleased with them, as essays of wit and style, than as pleadings ; by which, such a judge as ours was, would not be much wrought on. And, if there are such grounds, to censure the performances of the greatest master in eloquence, we may easily our belief,) that the interests of justice do not suffer, by that qualified exercise of imagination, which obtains in our courts. Certainly, as a mere matter of taste, we should feel regret, if the successors of Sir Matthew Hale, had, by a rigid adherence to his practice, deprived posterity of Erskine's splendid oration on the trial of Mr. Stockdale, or of the more recent, and not less celebrated speech, in defence of M. Peltier, (when shall we hear its like again ?) by the lamented Mackintosh. G @ 84 THE LIFE OF infer, what nauseous discourses the other orators made ; since, in oratory, as well as in poetry, none can do indifferently. So our judge wondered, to find the French, that live under a monarchy, so fond of imitating that, which was an ill effect of the popular government of Rome. He, therefore, pleaded himself, always, in few words, and home to the point. And, when he was a judge, he held those that pleaded before him, to the main hinge of the business ; and cut them short, when they made excursions, about circumstances of no mo- ment : by which, he saved much time, and made the chief difficulties be well stated and cleared. There was another custom among the Romans, which he as much admired, as he despised their rhe- toric ; which was, that the jurisconsults were the men of the highest quality, who were bred to be capable of the chief employment in the state, and became the great masters of their law. These gave their opinions, of all cases that were put to them, freely; judging it below them, to take any present for it : and, indeed, they, only, were the true lawyers among them; whose resolutions were of that authority, that tliey made one classis of those materials, out of which Trebonian compiled the digests, under Justinian ; for the orators, or causidici, that pleaded causes, knew little of the law : and only employed their mercenary tongues, to work on the affections of the people and senate, or the pretors. Even, in most of Tully's Orations, there is little of law ; and that little which they SIR MATTHEW HALE. 85 might sprinkle in their declamations, they had, not from their own knowledge, but from the resolution of some jurisconsult : according to that famous story of Servius Sulpitius, who was a celebrated orator, and, being to receive the resolution of one of those that were learned in the law, was so ignorant, that he could not understand it : upon which, the juris- consult reproached him, and said, it was a shame for him, that was a nobleman, a senator, and a pleader of causes, to be thus ignorant of law. This touched him so sensibly, that he set about the study of it ; and became one of the most emi- nent jurisconsults, that ever were at Rome. Our judge thought it might become the greatness of a prince, to encourage such a sort of men, and of studies ; in which, none in the age he lived in, was equal to the great Selden, who was truly in our English law, what the old Roman jurisconsults were in theirs. But, where a decent eloquence was allowable. Judge Hale knew how to have excelled as much as any, either in illustrating his reasonings, by pro- per and well pursued similes, or by such tender expressions, as might work most on the affections; so that the present lord chancellor* has often said of him since his death, that he was the greatest orator he had known : for, though his words came not fluently from him, yet, when they were out, they were the most significant and expressive that the matter could bear. * Heneage Finch, earl of Nottinghatiik G 3 66 THE LIFE OF Of this sort, there are many in his Contempla- tions, made to quicken his own devotion : which have a life in them, becoming him that used them ; and a softness, fit to melt even the harshest tern- pers, accommodated to the gravity of the subject, and apt to excite warm thoughts in the readers; that, as they show his excellent temper, that brought them out, and applied them to himself, so, they are of great use to all, who would both inform, and quicken their minds. Of his illustra- tions of things by proper similes, I shall give a large instance, out of his book of the Origination of Mankind ; designed to expose the several differ- ent hypotheses the philosophers fell on, concerning the eternity and original of the universe ; and to prefer the account given by Moses, to all their conjectures. In which, if my taste does not mis- guide me, the reader will find a rare, and very agreeable mixture, both of fine wit, and solid learn- ing and judgment * : . . * That, which may illustrate my meaning, in this preference of the revealed light of the holy scrip- tures, touching this matter, above the essays of a philosophical imagination, inay be this. Suppose, that Greece was unacquainted with the curiosity of mechanical engines, though known in some remote region of the world ; and that an excellent artist had secretly brought, and deposited in some field or forest, some excellent watch or clock, • The attentive render cannot fail to observe, that Dr. Paley was largely indebted to Uiis striking passage, in his Natural Theology. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 87 which had been so formed, that the original of its motion was hidden, and involved in some close contrived piece of mechanism ; that this watch was so framed, that the motion thereof might have lasted a year, or some such time as might give a reasonable period, for their philosophical descanting concerning it ; and, that, in the plain table, there had been, not only the description and indication of hours, but the configurations and indications of the various phases of the moon, the motion and place of the sun in the ecliptic, and divers other curious indications of celestial motions : and that the scholars of the several schools of Epicurus, of Aristotle, of Plato, and the rest of those philoso- phical sects, had casually, in their walk, found this admirable automaton -, what kind of work would there have been made, by every sect, in giving an account of this phenomenon? We should have had the Epicurean sect have told the by-standers, according to their preconceived hypothesis, that, this was nothing else, but an accidental concretion of atoms, that, haply fallen together, had made up the index, the wheels, and the balance ; and that, being haply fallen into this posture, they were put into motion. Then the Cartesian falls in with him, as to the main of their supposition ; but tells him, that he doth not sufficiently explicate, how the engine is put into motion ; and therefore, to fur- nish this motion, there is a certain materia suhtiliSy that pervades this engine, and the moveable parts, consisting of several globular atoms apt for motion, G 4 88 THE LIFE OF they are, thereby, and by the mobiHty of the glo- bular atoms, put into motion. A third, finding fault with the two former, because those motions are so regular, and do express the various pheno- mena of the distribution of time, and of the heavenly motions ; therefore, it seems to him, that this engine, and motion also, so analogical to the motions of the heavens, was wrought by some ad- mh'able conjunction of the heavenly bodies; which formed this instrument, and its motions, in such an admirable correspondency to its own existence. A fourth, disliking the suppositions of the three former, tells the rest, that he hath a more plain and evident solution of the phenomenon ; namely, the universal soul of the world, or spirit of na- ture, (that formed so many sorts of insects, with so many organs, faculties, and such congruity of their whole composition, and such curious and various motions, as we may observe in them,) hath formed, and set into motion, this admirable automaton; and regulated and ordered it, with all these congruities we see in it. Then steps in an Aristotelian, and, being dissatisfied with all the former solutions, tells them, * Gentle- men, you are all mistaken : your solutions are inexplicable and unsatisfactory; you have taken up certain precarious hypotheses ; and, being prepossessed with these creatures of your own fancies, and in love with them right or wrong, you form all your conceptions of things, according to those fancied, and preconceived imaginations. The SIR MATTHEW HALE. 89 short of the business is, this machina is eternal ; and so are all the motions of it ; and, inasmuch as a circular motion hath no beginning or end, this motion that you see both in the wheels and index, and the successive indications of the celestial mo- tions, is eternal, and without beginning. And this is a ready and expedite way of solving the phe- nomena, without so much ado as you have made about it.' And, whilst all the masters were thus contriving the solution of the phenomenon, in the hearing of the artist that made it, and when they had all spent their philosophizing upon it, the artist that made this engine, and all this while listened to their admirable fancies, tells them, . . ' Gentlemen, you have discovered very much excellency of invention, touching this piece of work that is before you ; but you are all miserably mistaken ; for it was I that made this watch, and brought it hither, and I will show you how I made it. First, I wrought the spring, and the fusee, and the wheels, and the balance, and the case, and table j I fitted them one to another, and placed these several axes, that are to direct the motions, . . of the index, to discover the hour of the day ; of the figure, that discovers the phases of the moon ; and the other various motions that you see : and then, I put it together, and wound up the spring, which hath given all these motions that you see, in this curious piece of work : and, that you may be sure I tell you true, I will tell you the whole order and 90 THE LIFE OF progress, of my making, disposing, and ordering of this piece of work ; the several materials of it ; the manner of tlie forming of every individual part of it ; and how long I was about it.' This plain and evident discovery, renders all these excogitated hypotheses, of those philoso- phical enthusiasts, vain and ridiculous ; without any great help of rhetorical flourishes, or logical confutations. And much of the same nature, is that disparity of the hypotheses of the learned philosophers, in relation to the origination of the world and man, after a great deal of dust raised, and fanciful explications, and unintelligible hypo- theses. The plain, but Divine narrative, by the hand of Moses, full of sense, and congruity, and clearness, and reasonableness in itself, does, at the same moment, give us a true and clear dis- covery of this great mystery ; and renders all the essays, of the generality of the heathen philoso- phers, to be vain, inevident, and indeed inexpli- cable theories, the creatures of phantasy and imagination, and nothing else.' As for his virtues, they have appeared so con- spicuous, in all the several transactions and turns of his life, that it may seem needless to add any more of them, than has been already related : but there are many particular instances, which I knew not how to fit to the several years of his life, which will give us a clearer and better view of him. He was a devout Christian, a sincere Protestiint, and a true son of the church of England : motlerate SIR MATTHEW HALE. 91 towards dissenters, and just even to those from whom he differed most ; which appeared signally in the care he took, of preserving the quakers from that mischief, that was like to fall on them, by declaring their marriages void, and so bastarding their chil- dren : but he considered marriage and succession, as a right of nature ; from which none ought to be barred, what mistake soever they might be under, in the points of revealed religion. And therefore, in a trial that was before him, when a quaker was sued for some debts, owing by his wife before he married her, and the quakei^'s counsel pretended, that it was no marriage that had passed between them, since it was not solem- nized according to the rules of the church of England, . . he declared, that he was not willing, on his own opinion, to make their children bastards ; and gave directions to the jury, to find it special* It was a reflection on the whole party, that one of them, to avoid an inconvenience he had fallen in, thought to have preserved himself, by a defence, that, if it had been allowed in law, must have made their whole issue bastards, and incapable of succession. And, for all their pretended friend- ship to one another*, if this judge had not been more their friend, than one of tliose they so called, their posterity had been little beholden to them* But he governed himself^ indeed, by the law of • This reflection, is neither creditable to Burnet himself, nor at all warrant- able, from the general conduct of the quakers. The bishop was a good logician : and ought to have recollected, that, ' Argumentum non valet, a particulari, ad universalem.' 92 THE LIFE OF the Gospel, of doing to others what he would have others do to him : and therefore, because he would have thought it a hardship not without cruelty, if, amongst papists, all marriages were nulled, which had not been made with all the cere- monies in the Roman ritual, so, he, applying this to the case of the sectaries, thought all marriages, made according to the several persuasions of men, ought to have their effects in law. He used constantly to worship God in his family ; performing it always himself, if there was no clergyman present. But, as to his private exercises in devotion, he took that extraordinary care to keep what he did secret, that this part of his character must be defective, except it be acknowledged, that, his humility in covering it, commends him much more, than the highest expres- sions of devotion could have done. From the first time that the impressions of religion settled deeply in his mind, he used great caution to conceal it: not only, in obedience to the rules given by our Saviour, of fasting, praying, and giving alms in secret; but from a particular distrust he had of himself: for he said, he was afraid, he should, at some time or other, do some enormous thing ; which, if he were looked on as a very religious man, might cast a reproach on the profession of it, and give great advantages to impious men to blaspheme the name of God.* • This striking trait of Hale's Christian humility, has been finely embodied, by the present Poetry Professor of Oxford : • . SIR MATTHEW HALE. QS But a tree is known by its fruits : and he lived, not only free from blemishes or scandal, but shined in all the parts of his conversation. And, perhaps, the distrust he was in of himself) contributed, not a little, to the purity of his life : for, he being, thereby, obliged to be more watchful over himself, and to depend more on the aids of the Spirit of God, no wonder, if that humble temper, produced those excellent effects in him.* He had a soul enlarged, and raised above that mean appetite of loving money, which is, generally, the root of all evil. He did not take the profits that he might have had by his practice : for, in common cases, when those who came to ask his counsel gave him a piece, he used to give back the half; and so, made ten shillings his fee, in ordinary matters, that did not require much time or study. Brighter than rainbow in the north. More cheery than the matin lark, Is the soft gleam of Christian worth. Which on some holy house we mark ; Dear to the Pastor's aching heart, To think, where'er he looks, such gleam may have a part; May dwell, unseen by all but Heaven, Like diamond blazing in the mine ; For ever, where such grace is given, It fears in open day to shine, Lest the deep stain it owns within Break out, and faith be shamed, hy the believer's sin. Christian Year. * ' If thou desire the love of God and man, be humble : for the proud heart, as it loves none but itselfe, so, it is beloved of none, but itselfe. The voice of humility, is God's musick ; and the silence of humility, is God's rhe - torick. Humility enforces, where neither vertue, nor strength, can prevail, nor reason. ' — Fr, Quarles, ' Enchir. 94 THE LIFE OF If he saw a cause was unjust, he, for a great while, would not meddle further in it, but to give his advice that it was so. If the parties, after that, would go on, they were to seek another counsellor, for he would assist none in acts of injustice. W he found the cause doubtful, or weak in point of law, he always advised his clients to agree their business. Yet, afterwards, he abated much of the scrupulosity he had, about causes, that appeared at first view unjust, upon this occasion : there were two causes brought to him, which, by the ignorance of the party, or their attorney, were so ill repre- sented to him, that they seemed to be very bad ; but he, inquiring more narrowly into them, found they were, really, very good and just : so, after this, he slackened much of his former strictness, of refusing to meddle in causes, upon the ill circumstances that appeared in them at first. In his pleading, he abhorred those too common faults, of misreciting evidences; quoting precedents, or books, falsely ; or asserting things confidently ; by which, ignorant juries, or weak judges, are too oflen wrought on.* He pleaded, with the same sincerity, that he used in the other parts of his life : and used to say, it was as great a dishonour as a man was capable of, that, for a little money, he was to be hired, to say or do otherwise, than as he thought. All this, he ascribed to the unmeasur- able desire of heaping up wealth : which corrupted • Such practices would, now, be univenally reprobated. (183S.) SIR MATTHEW HALE. 95 the souls of some, that seemed to be, otherwise, born and made for great things. When he was a practitioner, differences were often referred to him, which he settled : but he would accept of no reward for his pains, though offered by both parties together, after the agreement was made : for he said, in those cases, he was made a judge; and a judge ought to take no money. If they told him he lost much of his time, in consider- ing their business, and so, ought to be acknow- ledged for it ; his answer was, as one that heard it told me, ' Can I spend my time better, than to make people friends? Must I have no time allowed me, to do good in?' He was, naturally, a quick man : yet, by much practice on himself, he subdued that, to such a degree, that he would never run suddenly into any conclusion, concerning any matter of import- ance. Festina lente, was his beloved motto, which he ordered to be engraven, on the head of his staff; and was often heard say, that he had ob- served many witty men run into great errors, because they did not give themselves time to think : but, the heat of imagination making some notions appear in good colours to them, they, without staying till that cooled, were violently led, by the impulses it made on them ; whereas, calm and slow men, who pass for dull in the common esti- mation, could search after truth, and find it out, as, with more deliberation, so, with greater certainty. He laid aside the tenth penny of all he got, for the poor ; and took great care, to be well 96 THE LIFE OF informed of proper objects for his charities. And, after he was a judge, many of the perquisites of his place, as his dividend of the rule and box- money, were sent by him to the gaols, to discharge poor prisoners, who never knew from whose hands their relief came. It is, also, a custom, for the marshal of the King's Bench, to present the judges of that court, with a piece of plate, for a new year's gift; that for the Chief Justice, being larger than the rest. This he intended to have refused ; but, the other judges told him it belonged to his office, and the refusing it would be a prejudice to his successors, so, he was persuaded to take it: but he sent word to the marshal, that, instead of plate, he should bring him the value of it in money ; and, when he received it, he immediately sent it to the prisons, for the relief, and discharge of the poor there. He, usually, invited his poor neighbours to dine with him, and made them sit at table with himself: and, if any of them were sick, so that they could not come, he would send meat warm to them from his table. And he did not only relieve the poor in his own parish, but sent supplies to the neighbouring parishes, as there was occasion for it : and he treated them all, with the tenderness and familiarity, that became one, who considered they were of the same nature with himself, and were reduced to no other necessities, but such as he himself might be brought to. But, for common beggars, if any of these came to him, as he was in his walks, when he lived in the SIR MATTHEW HALE. 97 country, he would ask such as were capable of working, * Why they went about so idly?' If they answered, ' It was because they could find no work,' he often sent them to some field, to gather all the stones in it, and lay them on a heap ; and then, would pay them liberally for their pains. This being done, he used to send his carts, and caused them to be carried to such places of the highway, as needed mending. But, when he was in town, he dealt his cha- rities very liberally, even among the street beg- gars : and, when some told him, that he, thereby, encouraged idleness, and that most of these were notorious cheats, he used to answer, that he be- lieved most of them were such, . . but among them, there were some, that were great objects of charity, and pressed with grievous necessities ; and that he had rather give his alms to twenty, who might be perhaps rogues, than that one of the other sort should perish, for want of that small relief which he gave them. He loved building much ; which he affected, chiefly, because it employed many poor people : but one thing was observed in all his buildings, that the change he made in his houses, was, always, from magnificence, to usefulness ; for he avoided every thing that looked like pomp or vanity, even in the walls of his houses. He had good judgment in architecture, and an excellent faculty in contriving well. He was a gentle landlord to all his tenants, and H 9B THE LIFE OF was ever ready, upon any reasonable complaints, to make abatements ; for he was merciful, as well as righteous. One instance of this, was, of a widow that lived in London, and had a small estate near his house in the country ; from which, her rents were ill returned to her, and at a cost which she could not well bear : so, she bemoaned herself to him ; and he, according to his readiness to assist all poor people, told her he would order his steward to take up her rents, and the returning them should cost her nothing. But, after that, when there was a falling of rents in that country, so that it was necessary to make abatements to the tenant, yet he would have it to lie on himself; and made the widow be paid her rent as formerly. Another remarkable instance of his justice and goodness, was, that, when he found ill money had been put into his hands, he would never suffer it to be vented again; for, he thought it was no excuse, for him to put false money in other people's hands, because some had put it in his. * A great heap of this, he had gathered together ; for many had so far abused his goodness, as to mix base money among the fees that were given him. It is like, he intended to have destroyed it : but some thieves, who had observed it, broke into his cham- ber, and stole it, thinking they had got a prize ; which he used to tell, with some pleasure, ima- * This, which Burnet mentions as < a remarkable instance* of integrity, even in such n person as Sir Matthew Hale, is now regarded as the ordinary habit, of any one diat pretends to the rank, or name, of a gentleman. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 99 gining how they found themselves deceived, when they perceived what sort of booty they had fallen on. After he was made a judge, he would needs pay more for every purchase he made, than it was worth. If it had been but a horse he was to buy, he would outbid the price : and, when some repre- sented to him, that he made ill bargains, he said, it became judges to pay more for what they bought, than the true value ; that so, those with whom they dealt, might not think they had any right to their favour, by having sold such things to them at an easy rate ; and said, it was suitable to the reputation, which a judge ought to preserve, to make such bargains, that the world might see, they were not too well used upon some secret account. In sum, his estate did show, how little he had minded the raising a great fortune : for, from a hundred pounds a year, he raised it not quite to nine hundred ; and of this, a very considerable part came in, by his share of Mr. Selden's estate : yet this, considering his great practice while a counsellor, and his constant frugal, and modest way of living, was but a small fortune. In the share that fell to him by Mr. Selden's will, one memorable thing was done by him, with the other executors ; by which they both showed their regard to their dead friend, and their love of the public. His library was valued at some thousands of pounds, and was believed to be one of the cu- H 2 100 THE LIFE OF riousest collections in Europe * ; so they resolved to keep this entire, for the honour of Selden's memory, and gave it to the University of Oxford : where a noble room was added to the former library, for its reception ; and all due respects have been since showed by that great and learned body, to those their worthy benefactors ; who, not • * He had a very choice library of books, as well MSS. as printed ; in the beginning of all, or most of which, he wrote, either in the title, or in the leaf above it, Utpl vavrhs t))v i\€v6€plau : above all, liberty ; to show, that he would examine things, and not take them upon trust. — Wood. Aih. Oxon, iii. 368. * Wood's tory principles have induced him to give a very singular, and, at the same time, a very incorrect explanation of Selden's admirable motto . . nEPI. nANTOS. THN. EAET0EPIAN which, says Wood, shews, that he would examine things, and not take them upon trust. A very good resolve this, and highly commendable in an antiquary ; but I shall take leave to render the words ABOVE EVERT THING, LIBERTY ! That is, liberty is dearer to me, and more desirable, than every other blessing; even than life itself: a sentiment, worthy not only of Selden, but of every one who calls himself an Englishman.' . . Bliss, iii. 380. The sentiment needs a qualification ; and our greatest moral poet has given it the only just one : . . * O could I worship aught beneath the skies, That earth has seen, or fancy can devise, Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand. Built by no mercenary vulgar hand, With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair. As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air ! Duly, as ever on the mountain's height The peep of Morning shed a dawning light ; Again, when Evening, in her sober vest, Drew the gray curtain of tlie fading west, My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise, For the chief blessings of my fairest days : . . But that were sacrilege, , . jtraise is not thine. But ms who gave thee.* CowrKR. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 101 only, parted so generously with this great treasure, but were a little put to it, how to oblige them, without crossing the will of their dead friend. Mr. Selden had once intended to give his library to that university, and had left it so by his will ; but, having occasion for a manuscript which be- longed to their library, they asked of him a bond of a thousand pounds for its restitution : this he took so ill at their hands, that he struck out that part of his will, by which he had given them his library; and, with some passion, declared they should never have it. The executors stuck at this a little ; but, having considered better of it, came to this resolution : that they were to be the exe- cutors of Mr. Selden's will, and not of his passion ; so, they made good what he had intended in cold blood, and passed over what his passion had sug- gested to him. The parting with so many excellent books, w^ould have been as uneasy to our judge, as any thing of that nature could be, if a pious regard to his friend's memory had not prevailed over him : for he valued books and manuscripts above all things in the world. He himself had made a great and rare collection of manuscripts, belonging to the law of England ; he was forty years in gathering it: he himself said, it cost him about fifteen hundred pounds ; and calls it, in his will, a treasure worth having, and keeping ; and not fit for every man's view. These all he left to Lincoln's Inn : and, for the information of those who are H 3 10^ THE LIFE OF curious to search into such things, there shall be a catalogue of them added, at the end of this book. By all these instances it does appear, how much he was raised above the world, or the love of it But, having thus mastered things without him, his next study was to overcome his own inclinations. He was, as he said himself, naturally passionate : I add, as he said himself; for that appeared by no other evidence, save that sometimes his colour would rise a little. But he so governed himself^ that those who lived long about him, have told me, they never saw him disordered with anger, though he met with some trials, that the nature of man is as little able to bear, as any whatsoever. There was one, who did him a great injury, which it is not necessary to mention ; who, coming afterwards to him for his advice in the settlement of his estate, he gave it very frankly to him, but would accept of no fee for it ; and, thereby, showed, both that he could forgive as a Christian, and that he had the soul of a gentleman in him, not to take money of one that had wronged him so heinously. And when he was asked by one, how he could use a man so kindly, that had wronged him so much, his answer was, he thanked God, he had learned to forget injuries. And, besides the great temper he expressed in all his public employments, in his family he was a very gentle master : he was tender of all his servants ; he never turned any away, except they were so faulty, that there was no hope SIR MATTHEW HALE. 103 of reclaiming them. When any of them had been long out of the way, or had neglected any part of their duty, he would not see them at their first coming home, and sometimes not till the next day; lest, when his displeasure was quick upon him, he might have chid them indecently; and when he did reprove them, he did it with that sweetness and gravity, that it appeared he was more concerned for their having done a fault, than for the offence given by it to himself. But, if they became immoral or unruly, then he turned them away: for, he said, he that, by his place, ought to punish disorders in other people, must, by no means, suffer them in his own house. He advanced his servants, according to the time they had been about him ; and would never give occa- sion to envy among them, by raising the younger clerks, above those who had been longer with him. He treated them all with great affection, rather as a friend, than a master ; giving them, often, good advice and instruction. He made those, who had good places under him, give some of their profits to the other servants, who had nothing but their wages. When he made his will, he left legacies to every one of them : but he expressed a more par- ticular kindness for one of them, Robert Gibbon, of the Middle Temple, Esq. ; in whom he had that confidence, that he left him one of his exe- cutors. I the rather mention him, because of his noble gratitude to his worthy benefactor and H 4 104f THE LIFE OF master * ; for he has been so careful to preserve his memory, that, as he set those on me, at whose desire I undertook to write his Hfe, so, he has pro- cured for me a great part of those memorials and informations, out of which I have composed it. The judge was of a most tender and compas sionate nature : this did eminently appear, in his trying and giving sentence upon criminals ; in which, he was strictly careful, that not a circum- stance should be neglected, which might any way clear the fact. He behaved himself with that regard to the prisoners, which became both the gravity of a judge, and the pity that was due to men whose lives lay at stake ; so that nothing of jeering, or unreasonable severity, ever fell from him.t He also examined the witnesses in the softest manner; taking care, that they should be * Such, and yet more striking, was Lord Bacon's inflexible adherent, Thomas Meautys : who transmitted to posterity the monumental image of his person, in an attitude of deep, yet tranquil thought ; while he himself lies, unsculptured, but not forgotten, at his master's feet. Few and faint are the inscriptive characters which can now be traced, of tlie modest secretary's name : but it is deeply engraven, on many a kindred and congenial heart. He who now guides the pen, once visited the church of Saint Michael, within the precincts of Old Verulam. * He trusts he did so, with no irreverent emo- tion : and, while he read the thrilling sic sedebat, he thought upon the faith- ful servant, who never viewed him so seated, but with affectionate veneration. •f This, at the first view, may, perhaps, appear to be no more than * faint praise ': let it, however, be recollected, what, in those days, was the too pre- valent demeanour of judicial characters; and what, at a later period, was the behaviour of the wretched Jefferys : whose handsome, and somewhat mild por- trait, by the way, is strangely at variance witli his brutal character. No im- provement of later times, is comparable to tliat legislative act, which gave judges their seaU for lifk. ■ ' For my burUI, I dcnirc it may be in St Michael't Church, near St. Albans : thcra was my inotlicr buriini ; nnd it Ih thr pariiih church of my mansion house at Gorhambury ; andU is the only Utristian church, within the vtatta tf Otd Verulam.*--' Lord Bacom's Lati mtt. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 105 put under no confusion, which might disorder their memory: and he summed all the evidence so equally, when he charged the jury, that the criminals themselves never complained of him. When it came to him to give sentence, he did it with that composedness and decency, and his speeches to the prisoners, directing them to pre- pare for death, were so weighty, so free from all affectation, and so serious and devout, that many loved to go to the trials when he sat judge, to be edified by his speeches and behaviour in them ; and used to say, they heard very few such sermons. But, though the pronouncing the sentence of death was the piece of his employment that went most against the grain with him, . . yet, in that, he could never be molHfied to any tenderness which hindered justice. When he was once pressed to re- commend some, whom he had condemned, to his majesty's mercy and pardon, he answered, he could not think they deserved a pardon, whom he himself had adjudged to die : so that all he would do, in that kind, was to give the king a true account of the circumstances of the fact; after which, his majesty was to consider, whether he would inter- pose his mercy, or let justice take place. His mercifulness extended even to his beasts: for, when the horses that he had kept long grew old, he would not suffer them to be sold, or much wrought ; but ordered his men to turn them loose on his grounds, and put them only to easy work, such as going to market and the like : he used old / 106 THE LIPE OF dogs, also, with the same care ; his shepherd having one, that was become blind with age, he intended to have killed or lost him, but the judge coming to hear of it, made one of his servants bring him home, and fed him till he died. And he was scarce ever seen more angry, than with one of his servants, for neglecting a bird that he kept, so that it died for want of food. He was a great encourager of all young persons, that he saw followed their books diligently; to whom he used to give directions, concerning the method of their study, with a humanity and sweet- ness, that wrought much on all that came near him : and, in a smiling pleasant way, he would admonish them, if he saw any thing amiss in them ; particu- larly, if they went too fine in their clothes, he would tell them, it did not become their profession. He was not pleased, to see students wear long periwigs, or attorneys go with swords; so that such young men as would not be persuaded to part with those vanities, when they went to him, laid them aside, and went as plain as they could, to avoid the reproof which they knew they might otherwise expect. He was very free and communicative in his dis- course, which he most commonly fixed on some good and useful subject; and loved, for an hour or two at night, to be visited by some of his friends. He neither said nor did any thing with affectation ; but used a simplicity, that was both natural to himself, and very easy to others. And, though he SIR MATTHEW HALE. 107 never studied the modes of civility, or court breed- ing, yet, he knew not what it was to be rude or harsh with any, except he were impertinently ad- dressed to, in matters of justice : then, he would raise his voice a little, and so shake off those im- portunities. In his furniture, and the service of his table, and way of living, he liked the old plainness so well, that, as he would set up none of the new fashions, so, he rather affected a coarseness, in the use of the old ones : which was more the effect of his philosophy, than disposition, for he loved fine things too much, at first. He was always of an equal temper ; rather cheerful than merry. Many wondered to see the evenness of his deportment, in some very sad passages of his life. Having lost one of his sons, the manner of whose death had some grievous circumstances in it, one coming to see him and condole, he said to him, . . those were the effects of living long ; such must look to see many sad and unacceptable things ; and, having said that, he went to other discourses, with his ordinary freedom of mind. For, though he had a temper so tender, that sad things were apt enough to make deep impressions upon him, yet, the regard he had to the wisdom and providence of God, and the just estimate he made of all ex- ternal things, did, to admiration, maintain the tranquillity of his mind ; and he gave no occasion, by idleness, to melancholy to corrupt his spirit; but, by the perpetual bent of his thoughts, he 108 THE LtTE OF knew well how to divert them, from being op- pressed with the excesses of sorrow. He had a generous and noble idea of God in his mind; and this, he found, did, above all other considerations, preserve his quiet: and, indeed, that was so well established in him, that no acci- dents, how sudden soever, were observed to dis- compose him : of which, an eminent man of that profession gave me this instance. In the year 1666., an opinion did run through the nation, that the end of the world would come that year. This, whether set on by astrologers; or advanced, by those who thought it might have some relation to the number of the beast in the Revelation ; or pro- moted, by men of ill designs, to disturb the public peace, . . had spread mightily among the people : and, Judge Hale going that year the western cir- cuit, it happened, that, as he was on the bench at the assizes, a most terrible storm fell out very unexpectedly, accompanied with such flashes of lightning, and claps of thunder, that the like will hardly fall out in an age. Upon which, a whisper or rumour ran through tlie crowd, that now was the world to end, and the day of judgment to be- gin : and at this, there followed a general conster- nation, in the wliole assembly ; and all men forgot the business they were met about, and betook themselves to their prayers. This, added to the horror raised by the storm, looked very dismally; insomucli, that my author, a man of no ordinary resolution and firmness of mind, confessed it made SIR MATTHEW HALE. 109 a great impression on himself. But he told me, that he did observe the judge was not a whit affected ; and was going on, with the business of the court, in his ordinary manner: from which, he made this conclusion, that his thoughts were so well fixed, that he believed, if the world had been really to end, it would have given him no consider- able disturbance. But I shall now conclude all that I shall say concerning him, with, what one of the greatest men of the profession of the law, sent me as an abstract of the character he had made of him, upon long observation, and much converse with him. It was sent me, that, from thence, with the other materials, I might make such a represent- ation of him to the world, as he indeed deserved : but I resolved not to shred it out in parcels, but to set it down entirely as it was sent me ; hoping that as the reader will be much delighted with it, so, the noble person that sent it, will not be of- fended with me, for keeping it entire, and setting it in the best light I could. It begins abruptly ; being designed to supply the defects of others, from whom I had earlier and more copious inform- ations : . . * He would never be brought to discourse of public matters, in private conversation ; but, in questions of law, when any young lawyer put a case to him, he was very communicative, especially while he was at the bar: but, when he came to 110 THE LIPE OP the bench, he grew more reserved; and would never suffer his opinion, in any case, to be known, till he was obliged to declare it judicially : and he concealed his opinion in great cases, so care- fully, that the rest of the judges, in the same court, could never perceive it. His reason was, because every judge ought to give sentence, according to his own persuasion and conscience; and not to be swayed, by any respect or 'defer- ence to another man's opinion. And, by this means it hath happened, sometimes, that, when all the barons of the exchequer had delivered their opinions, and agreed in their reasons and arguments, . . yet, he, coming to speak last, and differing in judgment from them, hath expressed himself with so much weight and solidity, that the barons have immediately retracted their votes, and concurred with him. He hath sat as a judge, in all the courts of law ; and, in two of them, as chief: but still, wherever he sat, all business of consequence followed him ; and no man was con- tent to sit down by the judgment of any other court, till the case was brought before him, to see whether he were of the same mind : and, his opinion being once known, men did readily ac- quiesce in it ; and it was very rarely seen, that any man attempted to bring it about again; and he that did so, did it upon great disadvantages, and was always looked upon as a very contentious per- son : so that, what Cicero says of Brutus, did very SIR MATTHEW HALE. Ill often happen to him, Etiam quos contra statuit, cequos placatosque dimisit* « Nor did men reverence his judgment and opi- nion, in courts of law only : but his authority was as great in courts of equity, and the same respect and submission was paid to him there too; and this appeared, not only in his own court of equity in the exchequer chamber, but in the chancery too ; for thither he was often called, to advise and assist the lord chancellor, or lord keeper for the time being : and, if the cause were of difficult examin- ation, or intricated and entangled with variety of settlements, no man ever showed a more clear and discerning judgment : if it were of great value, and great persons interested in it, no man ever showed greater courage and integrity, in laying aside all respect of persons. When he came to deliver his opinion, he always put his discourse into such a method, that one part of it gave light to the other : and where the proceedings of chancery might prove inconvenient to the subject, he never spared to observe and reprove them. And from his observations and discourses, the chancery hath taken occasion to establish many of those rules, by which it governs itself at this day. < He did look upon equity as a part of the * The passage, as it stands in the original, is, as follows : . . * Quid tam difficile, quam, in plurimorum controversiis dijudicandis, ab omnibus diligi ? Consequeris, tamen, ut eos ipsos, quos contra statuas, eequos placatosque dimittas .• ut, cum, gratiae causa nihil facias, omnia tamen sint grata, quae facis.'— Cic. Orat. X. 1441. EdU. Valp. 112 THE LIFE OF common law, and one of the grounds of it ; and, therefore, as near as he could, he did always re- duce it to certain rules and principles, that men might study it as a science, and not think the ad- ministration of it had any thing arbitrary in it. Thus eminent was this man, in every station : and, into what court soever he was called, he quickly made it appear, that he deserved the chief seat there. * As great a lawyer as he was, he would never suffer the strictness of law to prevail against con- science : as great a chancellor as he was, he would make use of all the niceties and subtilties in law, when it tended to support right and equity. But nothing was more admirable in him, than his patience. He did not affect the reputation of quickness and dispatch, by a hasty and captious hearing of the counsel : he would bear with the meanest ; and gave every man his full scope, thinking it much better, to lose time than patience. In summing up of an evidence to a jury, he would always require the bar to interrupt him, if he did mistake ; and to put him in mind of it, if he did forget the least circumstance. Some judges have been disturbed at this, as a rudeness ; which he, always, looked upon as a service, and respect done to him. * His whole life was nothing else, but a con- tinual course of labour and industry : and, when he could borrow any time from the public service, it was wholly employed either in philosophical or SIR MATTHEW HALE. 115 divine meditations ; and even that was a public service too, as it hath proved ; for they have occa- sioned his writing of such treatises, as are become the choicest entertainment of wise and good men ; and the world hath reason to wish, that more of them were printed. He, that considers the active part of his life, and with what unwearied diligence and application of mind, he dispatched all men's business which came under his care, will wonder, how he could find any time for contemplation. He, that considers, again, the various studies he passed through, and the many collections and observations he hath made, may as justly wonder, how he could find any time for action. But no man can wonder, at the exemplary piety and innocence, of such a life, so spent as this was ; wherein, as he was careful to avoid every idle word, so, it is manifest, he never spent an idle day. They who come far short of this great man, will be apt enough to think, that this is a panegyric, which, indeed, is a history ; and but a little part of that history, which was, with great truth, to be related of him. Men who despair of attaining such perfection, are not willing to believe, that any man else did ever arrive at such a height. ' He was the greatest lawyer of the age, and might have had what practice he pleased : but, though he did most conscientiously affect the labours of his profession, yet, at the same time, he despised the gain of it ; and, of those profits, which he would allow himself to receive, he always 114 THE LIFE OF set apart a tenth penny for the poor ; which he ever dispensed, with that secrecy, that they who were relieved, seldom or never knew their bene- factor. He took more pains, to avoid the honours and preferments of the gown, than others do to compass them. His modesty was beyond all example : for, where some men who never at- tained to half his knowledge, have been puffed up with a high conceit of themselves, and have affected all occasions of raising their own esteem, by depreciating other men, he, on the contrary, was the most obliging man that ever practised. If a young gentleman happened to be retained, to argue a point in law, where he was on the contrary side, he would, very often, mend tlie objections, when he came to repeat them, and always commend the gentleman, if there were room for it; and one good word of his, was of more advantage to a young man, than all the favour of the court could be.' * • After a close consideration of sir Matthew Hale's character, as justly and beautifully drawn by Bishop Burnet, it is, perhaps, not too much to say, that Hale has himself, unconsciously, but most graphically described it, in his portraiture of True Christian Rkmoion:'. . < It teachcth and tutors the soul, to a higli reverence and veneration of Almighty God ; a sincere and upright walking, as in the presence of the in- visible, all-seeing God : it makes a man truly to love, to iionour, to obey him ; and, therefore, careful to know what iiis will is : it renders the heart highly thankful to him, l)oth as Creator, Redeemer, and Benefactor : it makes • man entirely to depend on him ; to seek to him for guidance, and direction, and protection ; to submit to his will, with all patience, and resignation of soul: it gives the law, not only to his words, and actions; but to his Terjr thoughts and purposes ; so that, he dares not entertain a very thought, un- becoming the sight and presence of that God, to whom all our thoughts are legible : it teachcth, and bringeth a man to, such a deportment, both of ex- ternal, and internal sobriety, ax nay be decent, in the presence of Go<l, and SIR MATTHEW HALE. 115 Having thus far, pursued his history and clia- racter, in the pubHc and exemplary parts of his life, without interrupting the thread of the relation, with what was private and domestic, I shall con- clude with a short account of these. He was twice married : his first wife was Anne, daughter of sir Henry Moore, of Faly in Berk- shire, grandchild to sir Francis Moore, Serjeant at law. By her, he had ten children ; the four first died young, the other six lived to be all married ; and he outlived them all, except his eldest daugh- ter, and his youngest son, who are yet alive. all his holy angels : it crusheth, and casts down, all pride and haughtiness, both in a man's heart, and carriage ; and gives him an humble frame of soul and life, in the sight both of God, and men : it regulates and governs the passions of the mind ; and brings them into due moderation and frame : it gives a man a right estimate of this present world, and sets his heart and hopes above it ; so that he never loves it more, than it deserves : it makes the wealth and glory of this world, high places, and great preferments, but of a low, and little value to him ; so that, he is neither covetous, nor am- bitious, nor over solicitous for the advantages of it : it brings a man to that frame, . . that righteousness, justice, honesty, and fidelity, are, as it were, parts of his nature ; he can sooner die, than commit, or purpose, that which is unjust, dishonest, or unworthy of a good man : it makes him value the love of God, and peace of conscience, above all the wealth and honour in the world ; and be very vigilant, to keep it inviolably : though he be under a due apprehension of the love of God to him, yet, it keeps him humble and watchful, and free from all presumption ; so that he dares not, under a vain confidence of the indulgence, and mercy, and favour of God, turn aside, to commit, or purpose, even the least injury to man : he performs all his duties to God, in sincerity, integrity, and constancy ; and, while he lives on earth, yet his conversation, his hopes, his treasure, and the flower of his expectation, are in heaven ; and he entirely endeavours to live suitably to such a hope : in sum, it restores the image of God unto the soul, in righteousness, and true holiness : . . Compositum jus, fasque animi, sanctosque rccessus MentiS) et incoctum generoso pectus honesto.' A Discourse of Beligion. Works, vol. i. p. 303. I 2 116 THE LIFE OF His eldest son, Robert, married Frances, the daughter of sir Francis Chock, of Avington in Berkshire ; and they both dying, in a little time one after another, left five children; two sons, Matthew and Gabriel ; and three daughters, Anne, Mary, and Frances : and, by the judge's advdce, they both made him their executor ; so he took his grandchildren into his own care, and among them he left his estate. His second son, Matthew, married Anne, the daughter of Mr. Matthew Simmonds, of Hilsley in Gloucestershire, who died soon after, and left one son behind him, named Matthew. His third son, Thomas, married Rebecca, the daughter of Christian Le Brune, a Dutch merchant, and died without issue. His fourth son, Edward, married Mary, the daughter of Edmund Goodyere, Esq. of Heythorp in Oxfordshire, and still lives ; he has two sons, and three daughters. His eldest daughter, Mary, was married to Edward Alderley, son of Edward Alderley, of Innishannon in the county of Cork, in Ireland ; who dying, left her with two sons, and three daughters. She is since married, to Edward Ste- phens, son to Edward Stephens, Esq. of Cherington in Gloucestershire. His youngest daughter, Elizabeth, was married to Edward Webb, Esq. barrister at law ; she died, leaving two children, a son and a daughter. His second wife was Anne, the daughter of SIR MATTHEW HALE. 117 Mr. Joseph Bishop, of Faly in Berkshire, by whom he had no children. He gives her a great character in his will, as a most dutiful, faithful, and loving wife, and, therefore, trusted the breed- ing of his grandchildren to her care, and left her one of his executors ; to whom he joined Sir Robert Jenkinson, and Mr. Gibbon. So much may suffice, of those descended from him. In after-times, it is not to be doubted, but it will be reckoned no small honour, to derive from him : and this has made me more particular, in reckoning up his issue. * I shall next give an account of the issues of his mind, his books, that are either printed, or remain in manuscript : for the last of these, by his will he has forbid the printing of any of them after his death, except such as he should give order for in his life. But, he seems to have changed his mind afterwards, and to have left it to the discretion of his executors, which of them might be printed : for, though he does not express that, yet, he ordered, by a codicil, ' that, if any book of his writing, as well touching the common law, as other subjects, should be printed; then, what should be given for the consideration of the copy, should be divided into ten shares, of which he appointed seven to go among his servants, and three to those who had copied them out, and were to look after the impression.' The reason, as I * ' The male line of the family became extinct in 1784., by the death of bis great grandson, Matthew Hale, Esq. barrister at law.' — Biogi: Did. I 3 118 THE LIFE OF have understood it, that made him so unwilling to have any of his works printed after his death, was, that he apprehended in the licensing them, (which was necessary, before any book could be lawfully printed, by a law then in force, but since his death determined,) some things might have been struck out, or altered : which he had observed, not with- out some indignation, had been done to a part of tha Reports of one whom he had much esteemed. « This, in matters of law,' he said, * might prove to be of such mischievous consequence, that he, thereupon, resolved none of his writings should be at the mercy of licensers:' and therefore, be- cause he was not sure that they should be published without expurgations or interpolations, he forbad the printing of any of them ; in which he, afterwards, made some alteration ; at least, he gave occasion, by his codicil, to infer that he altered his mind. This I have the more fully explained, that his last will may be no way misunderstood ; and tliat his worthy executors, and his hopeful grand- children, may not conclude themselves to be under an indispensable obligation, of depriving the public of his excellent writings. * Thus lived and died sir Matthew Hale, the renowned lord chief justice of England. He had one of the blessings of virtue, in the highest measure of any of the age, that does not always * Dr. Burnet here gives a Ibt of his works, for a corrected account of which, see a subsetiuont page. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 119 follow it; which was, that he was, universally, much valued and admired, by men of all sides and persuasions. For as none could hate him, but for his justice and virtues, so, the great estimation he was generally in, made, that few durst undertake to defend so ungrateful a paradox, as any thing said to lessen him, would have appeared to be. His name is scarce ever mentioned, since his death, without particular accents of singular respect. His opinion in points of law, generally passes as an uncontrollable authority, and is often pleaded in all the courts of justice. And all that knew him well, do still speak of him, as one of the perfectest patterns of reUgion and virtue they ever saw. The commendations given him, by all sorts of people, are such, that I can hardly come under the censures of this age, for any thing I have said concerning him. Yet, if this book lives to after- times, it will be looked on, perhaps, as a picture, drawn more according to fancy and invention, than after the life ; if it were not, that those who knew him well, establishing its credit in the present age, will make it pass down to the next, with a clearer authority. I shall pursue his praise no further, in my own words ; but shall add, what the present lord chan- cellor of England, sir Heneage Finch, said con- cerning him*, when he delivered the commission * The commendations bestowed by a good, as well as great man, ought to be recorded : we are, therefore, much indebted to Bishop Burnet, for having preserved this eulogy ; nor, it is hoped, will a few words be deemed out of place, respecting the noble eulogist : . . I 4 1^0 THE LIFE OF to lord chief justice Rainsford, who succeeded him in that office, which he began in this manner : . . Heneage Finch, first earl of Nottingham, and lord high Chancellor of England, was son of sir Heneage Finch, Knt. recorder of London. He was born in the county of Kent, Dec. 1621., and educated at Westminster, and Oxford; at which latter place, he became, in 1635., a gentleman com- moner of Christ Church. Having passed, with singular credit, through various intermediate stages, he was, upon the restoration, appointed solicitor-ge- neral ; and, shortly after, at the instance of lord Clarendon, was returned to parliament, for the university of Oxford. In 1667., during the scandalous impeachment of his patron, he was not unmindful of the offices of gratitude and friendship; but manfully stood forth, the advocate of injured probity and greatness. In 1670, he became attorney-general; in 7673, lord keeper; then he was created baron Finch, of Daventry ; and, on the 19. Dec, 1675., he was made lord chancellor of England. His conscientious disposal of church preferment demands peculiar notice. He thus confidentially writes to his chaplain Dr. Sharp, afterwards archbishop of York : . , * The greatest difficulty I apprehend in the execution of my office, "•x is the patronage of ecclesiastical preferments. God is my witness, that I would not, knowingly, prefer an unworthy person : but, as my course of life and studies, has lain another way, I cannot think myself so good a judge of the merits of such suitors, as you are. I, therefore, charge it upon your con- science, as you will answer it to Almighty God, that, upon every such occa- sion, you will make the best inquiry, and give me the best advice, you can ; that I may never bestow my favour upon an undeserving man : which if you neglect to do, the guilt will be entirely your's ; and I shall deliver my own soul.' It is gratifying to add, that Dr. Sharp faithfully discharged the trust thns solemnly confided to him. Insomuch, that Bishop Burnet, who certainly is not partial to Finch, testifies, (Own Times, ii. ,'J8. Ed. Routh.) * One thing ought to be remarked of him : he took great care, of filling the church livings V that belonged to the seal, with worthy men : and he obliged them all to residence,' May 12. 1681., he was created carl of Nottingham: and died, worn out by excessive mental exertion, on the 18. of Dec. 1682.; having held Uie seals, as lord keeper, and lord chancellor, for nine years. * He was a person,' says sir William Blackstone, * of the greatest abilities, and most untorrupted integrity ; a thorough master, and zealous defender, of the laws and constitution of his country : and endued with a pervading genius, that enabled him to discover and to pursue, the true spirit of justice, notwith- standing the enibarraPsmcntK raised by tlie narrow and technical notions, wliich then prevailed in tl)e courts of law ; and the imperfect ideas of redress, which had possessed the courts of equity.' SIR MATTHEW HALE. 121 « The vacancy of the seat of the chief justice of this court, and that, by a way and means so unusual, as the resignation of him that lately held it ; and this, too, proceeding from so deplorable a cause, as the infirmity of that body, which began to forsake the ablest mind that ever presided here, . . hath filled the kingdom with lamentations, and given the king many, and pensive thoughts, how to supply that vacancy again.' And a little after, speaking to his successor, he said, * The very labours of the place, and that weight and fatigue of business which attends it, are no small discou- ragements ; for what shoulders may not justly fear that burthen, which made him stoop, that went before you? Yet, I confess, you have a greater discouragement, than the mere burthen of your place ; and tliat is, the inimitable example of your last predecessor. * Onerosum est succedere bono principi,'* was the saying of him in the panegyric * : and you will find it so too, that are to succeed such a chief justice, of so indefatigable an industry, so invincible a patience, so exemplary an integrity, and so magnanimous a contempt of worldly things, without which no man can be truly great : and, to all this, a man that was so absolute a master of the science of the law, and even of the most abstruse and hidden parts of it, that one may truly say of He, more than any of his predecessors, contributed < to build a system of jurisprudence and jurisdiction, upon wide and solid foundations' : such, at least, was the judgment of the great commentator upon the laws of England. * C. Plinii Secundi, paneg. xliv. 4. 1^2 THE LIFE OF his knowledge in the law, what St. Austin * said of St Hierom's knowledge in divinity, * Quod Hiero- nymus nescivit, nullus mortalium unquarn scivit.* And, therefore, the king would not suffer himself to part with so great a man, till he had placed upon him all the marks of bounty and esteem, which his retired and weak condition was ca- pable of/ To this high character, (in which the ex- pressions, as they well become the eloquence of him who pronounced them, so they do agree exactly to the subject, without the abatements that are often to be made for rhetoric,) I shall add that part of the lord chief justice's answer, in which he speaks of his predecessor : . . * A person, in whom his eminent virtues, and deep learning, have long managed a contest for the superiority, which is not decided to this day ; nor, will it ever be determined, I suppose, which shall get the upper hand. A person, that has sat in this court, these many years; of whose actions there, I have been an eye and ear witness ; that, by the greatness of his learning, always charmed his auditors to reverence and attention : • The passage docs not occur, among the genuine works of S. Augustine. There is, indeed, in the spurious epistles, (Edit. Bened. Vol. ii. Append. Col. 13.) a passage nearly to the same effect:.. * Qua; Ilieronymus ig- noravit in natura, nullus unquam hominum scivit.' But, even the thco- logues of Louvain, do not hesitate to call this whole epistle, (as well they might,) * a clumsy furga-y.* It is enough to say, that it pu^wrts to be ad- dressed to S. Cyril of Jerusalem, and gives an account of S. Jerome's l^ and death ; when, it is well known, that Cyril died l)cforc Jerome. For this re- ference, I am indebted to the kind researclics, of the Hcv. Henry John Rose, Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 123 a person, of whom, I think, I may boldly say, that, as former times cannot show any superior to him, so, I am confident, succeeding and future time will never show any equal. These con- siderations, heightened by what I have heard from your lordship concerning him, made me anxious and doubtful, and put me to a stand, how I should succeed so able, so good, and so great a man. It doth very much trouble me, that I, who, in comparison of him, am but like a candle lighted in the sunshine, or like a glow-worm at mid-day, should succeed so great a person, that is, and will be, so eminently famous to all posterity. And I must ever wear this motto in my breast, to comfort me, and in my actions to excuse me : * Sequitiir, quamvis non passibus agquis." * Thus were panegyrics made upon him, while yet alive, in that same court of justice which he had so worthily governed. As he was honoured while he lived, so he was much lamented when he died : and this will still be acknowledged as a just inscription for his memory, though his modesty forbad any such to be put on his tomb-stone : . . THAT HE WAS ONE OF THE GREATEST PATTERNS THIS AGE HAS AFFORDED *. WHETHER, IN HIS PRIVATE DEPORTMENT AS A CHRISTIAN ; OR, IN HIS PUBLIC EMPLOYMENTS, EITHER AT THE BAR, OR ON THE BENCH. • See, in a subsequent page, Baxter's testimony to chief justice Rains- ford's unabated reverence for the memory of sir Matthew Hale. 124 THE LIFE OF The following complete list of the published works of Sir Matthew Hale, extracted from the * Biographical Dictionary/ is substituted for that given by Dr. Burnet : . . Works published by himself, 1. An Essay touching the gravitation or non- gravitation of fluid bodies, and the reasons thereof. 2. Difficiles nugse ; or observations, touching the Torricellian experiment ; and the various solu- tions of the same, especially touching the weight and elasticity of the air. 3. Observations, touching the principles of na- tural motion ; and especially touching rarefaction and condensation ; together with a reply, to certain remarks touching the gravitation of fluids. 4. Contemplations, moral and divine, in three parts. 5. The life and death of Pomponius Atticus, written by his contemporary and acquaintance Cornelius Nepos : translated out of his fragments ; together with observations, political and moral, thereupon. 6. The primitive origination of mankind con- sidered and examined, according to the light of nature. Works published after his Decease. 1. Judgment of the nature of true religion ; the causes of its corruption, and the church's cala^ mity, by men's addition and violences, with the desired cure. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 1S5 2. Several tracts ; as, a * Discourse of Religion/ under three heads, &c. 3. A letter to his children; advising them how to behave in their speech, &c. 4. A letter to one of his sons, after his recovery from the small pox. 5. Discourse of the knowledge of God, and of ourselves ; first, by the light of nature ; secondly, by the sacred scriptures. All the preceding, under the title of his ^ Moral and Religious Works,' were re-published by the Rev. Thomas Thirl wall, 1805., ^ vols, with his Life, &c. 6. Counsels of a father, 12mo. 1821. 7* Letters to his grandchildren, 12mo. 1823. Of his law tracts, one only was printed in his life-time, viz. : * London liberty, or an argument of law and reason,' 1650., which was reprinted in 1682, under the title of ' London's liberties, or the opinions of those great lawyers, lord chief justice Hale, Mr. justice Wild, and Serjeant Maynard, about the election of mayor, sheriffs, aldermen, and common council of London, and concerning their charter.' — In 1668. he wrote a preface to * Rolle's Abridgment ; ' which he pub- lished, with the whole of that work. After his death appeared, 1. * The Pleas of the Crown, or a methodical summary,' I678., 8vo. continued by Jacob, and reprinted in I716. To this edition is often an- nexed, « The treatise of sheriffs' accounts,' and 126 THE LIFE OF * The trial of the witches.' It must not be concealed, that this otherwise learned and saga- cious man was so far prejudiced by early opinions, as to believe in witchcraft, and to preside on the trials of some persons accused of it. The ' Pleas* has passed through seven editions, the last of which was in I773. It was not, however, con- sidered by the author, as a complete work ; but intended as a plan for his * Historia placitorum coronae,' of which hereafter. 2. * Treatise showing how useful, &c. the in- rolling and registering of all conveyances of land,* 1694., 4to. reprinted with additions in 17«56. 3. * Tractatus de successionibus apud Anglos, or a treatise of hereditary descents,' I7OO., and 1735., 8vo. This forms a chapter in his * History of the Common Law.' 4. * A Treatise on the qriginal institution, &c. of parliaments,' I707. ; republished by Francis Hargrave, &c. in 1796., 4to., under the title of * Hale's jurisdiction of the house of lords,' with an introductory preface, including a narrative of the same jurisdiction, from the accession of James I. 5. * Analysis of the law;' without date, but seems to have been only a design for, 6. * History of the common law of England, in twelve chapters,' 1713., 8vo. A fourth and fifth edition of which, were published in 1779.* and 1794, ^2 vols. 8vo. by Mr. serjeant Run- nington. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 1^7 7. ' Historia placitomm coronae, or history of the pleas of the crown/ 1739., 2 vols, folio, edited by Sollom Emlyn, Esq. ; and again in 1772., by George Wilson, Esq. 2 vols. 8vo.; and lastly, in the same size, in 1800., by Thomas Dogherty, Esq. There are a few other tracts and opinions, pub- lished by Mr. Hargrave, and other law-writers, in their collections. Manuscripts mentioned by Dr, Burnet^ as not yet published, [1682.] 1. Concerning the secondary origination of man- kind, folio. 2. Concerning religion, 5 vols, in folio, viz. : 1. De Deo, vox metaphysica, parts 1. and 2. 2. Pars 3. vox naturae, providentiae, ethicae, con- scientiae. 3. Liber sextus, septimus, octavus. 4. Pars 9. Concerning the holy Scriptures, their evidence and authority. 5, Concerning the truth of the holy Scriptures, and the evidences thereof. 3. Of policy in matters of religion, folio. 4. De anima, to Mr. B. folio. 5. De anima, transactions between him and Mr. B. folio. 6. Tentamina de ortu, natura, et immortalitate animae. folio. 7. Magnetismus magneticus. folio. 8. Magnetismus physicus. folio. 9. Magnetismus divinus. 10. De generatione animalium et vegetabilium, folio, Latin. 128 THE LIFE OF 11. Of the law of nature, folio. ^ 12. A letter of advice to his grandchildren, quarto. 13. Placita coronae, 7 vols, folio. 14. Preparatory notes concerning the right of the crown, folio. 15. Incepta de juribus coronae. folio. 16. De prerogativa regis, folio. 17. Preparatory notes touching parliamentary proceedings. 2 vols, quarto. 18. Of the jurisdiction of the house of lords, quarto. 19. Of the jurisdiction of the admiralty. 20. Touching ports and customs, folio. 21. Of the right of the sea and the arms thereof, and customs, folio. 22. Concerning the advancement of trade* quarto. 23. Of sheriffs' accounts, folio. 24. Copies of evidences, folio. 25. Mr. Selden's discourses. 8vo. 26. Excerpta ex schedis Seldenianis. 27. Journal of the 18th and 21st Jacobi regis* quarto. 28. Great common-place book of reports or cases in the law, in law French, folio. In Bundles. On Quod tibi fieri, &c. Matthew vii. 12. Touching punishments in relation to the Sociiiian controversy. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 129 Policies of the church of Rome. Concerning the laws of England. Of the amendment of the laws of England. Touching provision for the poor. Upon Mr. Hobbes's manuscript. Concerning the time of the abolition of the Jewish laws. In Quarto. Quod sit Deus. Of the state and condition of soul and body after death. Notes concerning matters of law. To these will be added the catalogue of manu- scripts, which he left to the honourable society of Lincoln's Inn ; with that part of his will, that concerns them. *^ Item, As a testimony of my honour and respect to the society of Lincoln's Inn, where I had the greatest part of my education, I give and bequeath to that honourable society, the several manuscript books, contained in a schedule annexed to my will : they are a treasure, worth having and keeping, which I have been near forty years in gathering, with very great industry and expense. My desire is, that they be kept safe, and all together, in re- membrance of me : they were fit to be bound in leather and chained, and kept in archives : I de- sire, they may not be lent out, or disposed of; only, if I happen, hereafter, to have any of my ISO THE LIFE OF posterity of that society, that desires to transcribe any book, and give very good caution to restore it again, in a prefixed time, such as the benchers of that society in council shall approve of, then, and not otherwise, only one book, at one time, may be lent out to them, by the society ; so that there be no more, but one book, of those books, abroad out of the library at one time. They are a treasure, that are not fit for every man's view ; nor is every man capable of making use of them : only, I would have nothing of these books printed ; but entirely preserved together, for the use of the in* dustrious learned members of that society.' A catalogue of the books given by him to Lin- coln's Inn, according to the schedule annexed to his will. Placita de tempore regis Johannis, 1 vol. stitched; coram rege Edw. I. 2 vols. ■- coram rege Edw. II. 1 vol. coram rege Edw. III. 3 vols. coram rege Ilic. II. 1 vol. ■ coram rege Hen. IV. Hen. V. 1 vol. de banco, Edw. I. ab anno 1, ad annum 21, Ivol. Transcripts of many pleas, coram rege et de banca, Edw. I. 1 vol. The pleas in the exchequer, styled communia, from 1 Edw. III. to 46 Edw. III. 5 vols. Close rolls of king John, verbatim, of the most material things, 1 vol. The principal matters in the close and patent rolls of Henry III. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 131 transcribed verbatim from 9 Henry III. to 56 Henry III. 5 vols, vellum, marked K. L. The principal matters in the close and patent rolls Edw. I. with several copies and abstracts of records, 1 vol. marked F. A long book of abstracts of records by me. Close and patent rolls from 1 to 10 Edward III. and other Re- cords of the time of Henry III. 1 vol. marked W. Close rolls of 15 Edward III. with other records, 1 vol. mark- ed N. Close rolls from 17 to 38 Edward III. 2 vols. Close and patent rolls from 40 Edward III. to 50 Edward III. 1 vol. marked B. Close rolls of Edward II. with other records, 1 vol. R. Close and patent rolls, and charter rolls in the time of King John for the clergy, 1 vol. A great volume of records of several natures, G. The leagues of the kings of England, tempore Edward L Edward II. Edward III. 1 vol. A Book of ancient leagues and military provisions, 1 vol. The reports of iters of Derby, Nottingham, and Bedford, transcribed, 1 vol. Itinera forest, de Pickering et Lancaster, transcript, ex origi- nali, 1 vol. An ancient reading, very large, upon Charta de foresta, and of the forest laws. The transcript of the iter forestae de Dean, 1 vol. Quo warranto and liberties of the county of Gloucester, with the pleas of the chase of Kingswood, 1 vol. Transcript of the black book of the admiralty, laws of the army, impositions, and several honours, 1 vol. Records of patents, inquisitions, &c. of the county of Leicester, 1vol. Muster and military provisions of all sorts, extracted from the records, 1 vol. Gervasius Tilburiensis, or the black book of the exchequer, 1 vol. The king's title to the pre-emption of tin, a thin volume. K 2 132 THE LIFE OF Calendar of the records in the tower, a snaall volume. A miscellany of divers records, orders, and other things of various natures, marked E. 1 vol. Another of the like nature, in leather cover, 1 vol. A book of divers records and things relating to the chancery, 1 vol. Titles of honour and pedigrees, especially touching Clifford, 1 vol. History of the marches of Wales, collected by me, 1 vol. Certain collections touching titles of honour, 1 vol. Copies of several records touching premunire, 1 vol. Extract of commissions, tempore Henry VII. Henry VIII. RR. and the proceedings in the court military between Ray and Ramsey, 1 vol. Petitions in parliament, tempore Edward I. Edward II. Ed- ward III. Henry IV. 3 vols. Summons of parliament, from 49 Henry III. to 22 Edward IV. in 3 vols. The parliament rolls, from the beginning of Edward I. to the end of Richard III. in 19 vols. viz. 1 of Edward I. 1 of Edward II. with the ordinations ; 2 of Edward III. 3 of Richard II. 2 of Henry IV. 2 of Henry V. 4 of Henry VL 3 of Edward IV. 1 of Richard III. all transcribed at large. Mr. Elsing's book touching proceedings in parliament, 1 vol. Noye's collection touching the king's supplies, 1 vol. stitched. A book of various collections out of records and register of Canterbury, and claims at the coronation of Richard II. 1 voL Transcript of bishop Usher's notes, principally concerning chronology, 3 large vols. A transcript out of doomsday-book of Gloucestershire and Herefordshire, and of some pipe-rolls and old accompts of the customs, 1 vol. Extracts and collections out of records touching titles of honour, 1 vol. Extracts of pleas, patents, and close rolls, tempore Henry IIL Edward I. Edward II. Edward III. and some old antiquities of England, 1 vol. SIR MATTHEW HALE. 133 Collections and memorials of many records and antiquities, 1 vol. Seldeni. Calendar of charters and records in the tower, touching Gloucestershire. Collection of notes and records of various natures, marked M. 1 vol. Seldeni. Transcript of the iters of London, Kent, Cornwall, 1 vol. Extracts out of the leiger-books of Battell, Evesham, Winton, &c. 1 vol. Seldeni. Copies of the principal records in the red-book in the Ex- chequer, 1 vol. Extracts of records and treatises relating to sea-afFairs, 1 vol. Records touching customs, ports, partition of the lands of Gil. de Clare, &c. Extracts of pleas in the time of Richard I. King John, Ed- ward I. &c. 1 voL Chartae antiquae in the Tower, transcribed, in 2 vols. Chronological remembrances, extracted out of the notes of bishop Usher, 1 vol. stitched. Inquisitiones de legibus Walliae, 1 vol. Collections or records touching knighthood. Titles of honour. Seldeni. 1 vol. Mathematics and fortifications, 1 vol. Processus curiae militaris, 1 vol. A book of honour, stitched, 1 vol. Extracts out of the registry of Canterbury. Copies of several records touching proceedings in the military court, 1 vol. Abstracts of summons and rolls of parliament, out of the book Dunelm., and some records alphabetically digested, 1 vol. Abstracts of divers records in the office of first fruits, 1 vol. stitched. Mathematical and astrological calculations, 1 vol. A book of divinity. Two large repositories of records, marked A and B» All those above mentioned are in Folio. K 3 134 THE LIFE OF SIR MATTHEW HALE. The Proceedings of the forests of Windsor, Dean, and Essex, in 4to. 1 vol. Those thatJbUoiJi) are most of them in Vellum or Parchment* Two books of old statutes, one ending Henry VII. the other 2 Henry V. with the sums, 2 vols. Five last years of Edward II. 1 vol. Reports tempore Edward II. 1 vol. The year-book of Richard JI. and some others, 1 vol. An old chronicle from the creation to Edward III. 1 vol. A mathematical book, especially of optics, 1 vol. A Dutch book of geometry and fortification. Murti Benevenlani geometrica, 1 vol. Reports tempore Edward I. under titles, 1 vol. An old register, and some pleas, 1 vol. Bernardi Bratrack peregrinatio, 1 vol. Iter Cantii & London, and some reports, tempore Edward II. 1vol. Reports tempore Edward I. et Edward II. 1 vol. Leiger book abbatiae de bello. Isidori Opera. Liber altercationis, et Christiana; philosophiai contra paganos. Historia Petri Manducatorii. Hornii astronomica. Historia ecclesia; Dunelmensis. Hollandi chymica. De alchymiae scriptoribus. , The black-book of the new law, collected by me, and digested into alphabetical titles, written with my own hand, which U the original copy. NOTES OP THE LIFE AND DEATH OF SIR MATTHEW HALE, WRITTEN BY RICHARD BAXTER, AT THE REQUEST OF EDW. STEPHENS, ESQ. ; PUBLISHER OF HIS CONTEMPLATIONS, AND HIS FAMILIAR FRIEND. Since the history of judge Hale's life is pub- lished, written by Dr. Burnet very well, some men have thought, that, (because my familiarity with him was known, and the last time of a man's life is supposed to contain his maturest judgment, . . time, study, and experience correcting former oversights, . . and this great man, who was most diligently and thirstily learning to the last, was like to be still wiser,) the notice that I had of him, in the latter years of his life, should not be omitted. I was never acquainted with him, till I667. ; and, therefore, have nothing to say of the former part of his life : nor of the latter, as to any public affairs ; but only of what our familiar converse K 4 136 Baxter's appendix acquainted me: but the visible effects made me wonder, at the industry and unwearied labours, of his former life. Besides the four volumes against atheism and infidelity, in folio, (which I after men- tion,) when I was desired to borrow a manuscript of his law collections, he showed me, as I re- member, about two and thirty folios, and told me, he had no other on that subject, collections out of the tower records, &c. ; and that the amanu- ensis' work, that wrote them, cost him a thousand pounds. He was so set on study, that he re- Holvedly avoided all necessary diversions ; and so little valued either grandeur, wealth, or any worldly vanity, that he avoided them to that notable degree, which incompetent judges took to be an excess. His habit was so coarse and plain, that I, who am thought guilty of a culpable neglect therein, have been bold to desire him to lay by some things, which seemed too homely. The house which I surrendered to him, and wherein he lived at Acton, was, indeed, well situate, but very small ; and so far below the ordi- nary dwellings of men of his rank, as that divers farmers thereabouts had better : but it pleased him. Many censured him, for choosing his last wife below his quality : but the good man more regarded his own daily comfort, than men's thoughts and talk. As far as I could discern, he chose one very suitable to his ends ; one of his own judgment and temper, prudent, and loving, and fit to please him ; and that would not draw on him TO THE LIFE OF HALE. 187 the trouble of much acquaintance and relations. His housekeeping was according to the rest ; like his estate and mind, but not like his place and honour: for he resolved, never to grasp at riches, nor take great fees ; but would refuse, what many- others thought too little. I wondered, when he told me how small his estate was, after such ways of getting as were before him : but, as he had little, and desired little, so he was content with little ; and suited his dwelling, table, and retinue thereto. He greatly shunned the visits of many, or great persons, that came not to him on neces- sary business ; because all his hours were precious to him : and, therefore, he contrived the avoiding of them, and the free enjoyment of his beloved privacy. I must, with a glad remembrance, acknowledge, that, while we were so unsuitable in places and worth, yet, some suitableness of judgment and disposition made our frequent converse pleasing to us both. The last time but one, that I was at his house, he made me lodge there ; and, in the morning, inviting me to more frequent visits, said, no man shall be more welcome : and he was no dissembler. To signify his love, he put my n^ime as a legatee in his will, bequeathing me forty shil- lings. Mr. Stephens gave me two manuscripts, as appointed by him for me, declaring his judgment of our church contentions, and their cure, after- mentioned. Though they are imperfect, as written on the same question, at several times, I had a 138 great mind to print them, to try whether the common reverence of the author would cool any of our contentious clergy : but, hearing that there was a restraint in his will, I took out part of a copy, in which I find these words, * I do expressly declare, that I will have nothing of my writings printed after my death, but only such as I shall in my life-time deliver out to be printed/ And, not having received this in his life- time, nor to be printed in express terms, I am afraid of crossing the will of the dead, though he ordered them for me. It showed his mean estate as to riches, that, in his will, he is put to distribute the profits of a book or two when printed, among his friends and servants. Alas ! we that are great losers by printing, know that it must be a small gain, that must thus accrue to them. Doubtless, if the lord chief justice Hale had gathered money, as other lawyers do that had less advantage, . . as he wanted not will, so he would not have wanted power, to have left them far greater legacies. But the servants of a self-denying, mortified master, must be content to suffer by his virtues ; which, yet, if they imitate him, will turn to their final gain. God made him a public good ; which is more than to get riches. His great judgment, and known integrity, commanded respect from those that knew him : so that I verily think, that no one subject, since the days that history hath no- tified the afikirs of England to us, went off tlie TO THE LIFE OF HALE. 139 stage with greater and more universal love and honour ; and what honour without love is, I un- derstand not. I remember, when his successor, the lord chief justice Rainsford, falUng into some melancholy, came and sent to me for some ad- vice, he did it, as he said, because judge Hale desired him so to do; and expressed so great respect to his judgment and writings, as, I per- ceived, much prevailed with him. And many have profited by his contemplations, who would never have read them, had they been written by such a one as I. Yet, among all his books and discourses, I never knew of these until he was dead. His resolution for justice was so great, that, I am persuaded, that no wealth nor honour would have hired him, knowingly to do one unjust act. And, though he left us in sorrow, I cannot but acknowledge it a great mercy to him, to be taken away when he was. Alas ! what would the good man have done, if he had been put by plotters, and traitors, and swearers, and forswearers, upon all that his successors have been put to ? In like- lihood, even all his great wisdom and sincerity, could never have got him through such a wilder- ness of thorns, and briars, and wild beasts, without tearing in pieces his entire reputation, if he had never so well secured his conscience. O ! how seasonably did he avoid the tempest, and go to Chrisl. And so have so many excellent persons, since 140 Baxter's appendix then, and especially within the space of otie year ; as may well make England tremble at the prog- nostick, that the righteous are taken, as from the evil to come. And, alas ! what an evil is it like to be? We feel our loss. We fear the common danger. But what believer can choose, but ac- knowledge God's mercy to them, in taking them up to the world of light, love, peace, and order, when confusion is coming upon this world, by darkness, malignity, perfidiousness, and cruelty? Some think, that the last conflagration shall turn this earth into hell. If so, who would not first be taken from it ? And, when it is so like to hell already, who would not rather be in heaven ? Though some mistook this man for a mere phi- losopher or humanist, that knew him not within, yet, his most serious description of the sufferings of Christ, and his copious volumes, to prove the truth of the scripture, Christianity, our immor- tality, and the Deity, do prove so much reality in his faith and devotion, as makes us past doubt, of the reality of his reward and glory. When he found his belly swell, his breath and strength much abate, and his face and flesh decay, he cheerfully received the sentence of death : and though Dr. Glisson by mere oximel squilliticum, seemed a while to ease him, yet that also soon failed him ; and he told me he was prepared and contented, comfortably to receive his change. And, accordingly, I left us, and went into his native TO THE LIFE OF HALE. 141 country of Gloucestershire to die, as the history tells you. Mr. Edward Stephens, being most familiar with him, told me his purpose to write his life : and desired me to draw up the mere narrative of my short familiarity with him ; which I did as followeth : but, hearing no more of him, cast it by ; but others desiring it, upon the sight of the published history of his hfe by Dr. Burnet, I have left it to the dis- cretion of some of them, to do with it what they will. And being half dead already, in those dearest friends who were half myself, am much the more willing to leave this mole-hill and prison of earth, to be with that wise and blessed society, who, being united to their head in glory, do not envy, hate, or persecute each other, nor forsake God, nor shall ever be forsaken by him. R. B. Note, That this narrative was written two years before Dr. Burnet's ; and it is not to be doubted, but that he had better information of his manuscripts, and some other circum- stances, than I. But, of those manuscripts directed to me, about the soul's immortality, of which I have the originals under his hand, and also of his thoughts of the subjects men- tioned by me, from I67I, till he went to die in Gloucestershire, I had the fullest notice. 144 Baxter's appendix ADDITIONAL NOTES ON THE LIFE AND DEATH OF SIR MATTHEW HALE. TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MR. STEPHENS, THE PUBLISHER OF JUDGE HALE*S CONTEMPLATIONS. SIR, You desired me to give yo u notice of what I knew, in my personal converse, of the great lord chief justice of England, sir Mathew Hale. You have, partly, made any thing of mine unmeet for the sight of any but yourself, and his private friends, (to whom it is useless,) by your divulging those w^ords of his extraordinary favour to me, which will make it thought, that I am partial in his praises. And, indeed, that excessive esteem of his, which you have told men of, is a divulging of his imperfection ; who did overvalue so unworthy a person, as I know myself to be. I will promise you, to say nothing but tlie truth ; and judge of it, and use it, as you please. My acquaintance with him was not long : and I looked on him as an excellent person studied TO THE LIFE OF HALE. 143 in his own way, which I hoped I should never have occasion to make much use of; but, I thought, not so versed in our matters, as ourselves. I was confirmed in this conceit, by the first report I had from him, which was his wish, that Dr. Reign- olds, Mr. Calamy, and I, would have taken bishopricks, when they were offered us by the lord chancellor, as from the king, in 1660., as one did; I thought he understood not our case, or the true state of English prelacy. Many years after, when I lived at Acton, he, being lord chief baron of the exchequer, suddenly took a house in the village. We sat next seats together at church, many weeks ; but, neither did he ever speak to me, or I to him. At last, my extraordinary friend, to whom I was more beholding than I must here express, Serjeant Fountain, asked me why I did not visit the lord chief baron? I told him, because I had no reason for it, being a stranger to him ; and had some against it, viz. that a judge, whose reputation was necessary to the ends of his office, should not be brought under court suspicion, or disgrace, by his familiarity with a person, whom the interest and diligence of some prelates had ren- dered so odious, (as I knew myself to be with such,) I durst not be so injurious to him. The serjeant answered, it is not meet for him to come first to you ; I know why I speak it : let me entreat you, to go first to him. In obedience to which request, I did it; and so, we entered into neighbourly famiUarity. I lived then in a small house ; but it 144 Baxter's appendix had a pleasant garden and backside, which the honest landlord had a desire to sell. The judge had a mind to the house ; but he would not meddle with it, till he got a stranger to me, to come and inquire of me, whether I was willing to leave it? I told him, I was not only willing, but desirous ; not for my own ends, but for my landlord's sake, who must needs sell it : and so he bought it, and lived in that poor house, till his mortal sickness sent him to the place of his interment. I will truly tell you, the matter and the manner of our converse. We were oft together, and almost all our discourse was philosophical, and especially about the nature of spirits, and superior regions ; and the nature, operations, and im- mortality of man's soul. And our disposition, and course of thoughts, were, in such things, so like,, that I did not much cross the bent of his con- ference. He studied physics, and got all new, or old, books of philosophy, that he could meet with, as eagerly, as if he had been a boy at the univer- sity. * Whenever we were together, he was the spring of our discourse, as choosing the subject: and most of it, still, was of the nature of spirits, and the immortality, state, and operations of separated souls. We both were conscious of human dark- ness, and how much of our understanding's^ quiet, in such matters, must be fetched from our implicit • Here followed Baxter's nccountofUieIr joint studies; which, in the pre- sent day, would be neitlicr interasting, nor very intelligible. TO THE LIFE OF HALE. 145 trust in the goodness and promises of God, rather than from a clear and satisfying conception of the mode of separated souls' operations ; and how great use we have, herein, of our faith in Jesus Christ, as he is the undertaker, mediator, the Lord and lover of souls, and the actual possessor of that glory. But, yet, we thought, that it greatly concerned us, to search, as far as God allowed us, into a matter of so great moment ; and that even little, and obscure prospects, into the heavenly state, are more excellent, than much and applauded knowledge of transitory things. He was much in urging difficulties and ob- jections ; but you could not tell by them what was his own judgment: for, when he was able to answer them himself, he would draw out another's answer. He was but of a slow speech ; and, sometimes, so hesitating, that a stranger would have thought him a man of low parts, that knew not readily what to say, though ready at other times. * But I never saw Cicero's doctrine de Oratore more verified in any man, that, furnishing the mind with all sorts of knowledge, is the chief thing to make * * Hale was a man of no quick utterance ; but spake with great reason. He was most precisely just : insomuch that, I believe, he would have lost all he had in the world, rather than do an unjust act. Patient in hearing the most tedious speech, that any man had to make for himself. The pillar of justice, the refuge of the subject who feared oppression, and one of the greatest honours of his majesty's government : for, with some other upright judges, he upheld the honour of the English nation, that it fell not into the reproach of arbitrariness, cruelty, and utter confusion. ' . , Richard Baxter. Life, partiij, P ag. 47. L 146 Baxter's appendix an excellent orator ; for, when there is abundance and clearness of knowledge in the mind, it will furnish even a slow tongue, to speak that, which, by its congruence and verity shall prevail. Such a one never wants moving matter, nor an answer to vain objectors. The manner of our converse, was as suitable to my inclination as the matter. For, whereas, many bred in universities, and called scholars, have not the wit, manners, or patience, to hear those that they discourse with speak to the end ; but, through list and impotency, cannot hold, but cut off a man's speech when they hear any thing that urgeth them, before the latter part make the former in- telligible or strong, (when oft the proof and use is reserved to the end) liker scolds than scholars; as if they commanded silence, at the end of each sentence, to him that speaketh, or else, would have two talk at once. I do not remember, that ever he and I did interrupt each other, in any dis- course. His wisdom, and accustomed patience, caused him still to stay for the end. And, though my disposition have too much forwardness to speak, I had not so little wit or manners, as to interrupt him ; whereby we far better understood each other, than we could have done in chopping and maimed discourse. His many hard questions, doubts, and objections to me, occasioned me to draw up a small tract, of the nature and immortality of man's soul, as proved by natural light alone, by way of questions and TO THE LIFE OF HALE. 147 answers. In which, I liad not baulked the hardest objections and difficulties that I could think of; conceiving, that atheists and sadducees are so un- happily witty, and Satan such a tutor, that they are as like to think of them as I. But the good man, when I sent it to him, was wiser than I ; and sent me word, in his return, that he would not have me publish it in English, nor without some alter- tions of the method ; because, though he thought I had sufficiently answered all the objections, yet, ordinary readers would take deeper into their minds, such hard objections as they never heard before, than the answer, how full soever, would be able to overcome : whereupon, not having leisure to translate and alter it, I cast it by.* As to his judgment about religion, our discourse was very sparing about controversies. He thought not fit to begin with me about them, nor I with him : and as it was in me, so it seemed to be in him, from a conceit, that we were not fit, to pre- tend to add much to one another. About matters of conformity, I could gladly have known his mind more fully : but I thought it unmeet to put such questions to a judge, who must * One cannot help admiring the superior practical wisdom, of sir Matthew- Hale. It is a case eminently in point, that the celebrated Franklin, (himself being the authority) imbibed his first infidel prejudices, from reading, in three folio volumes, the Boyle's lecture sermons. The objections, said he, were succinctly, and pointedly stated : the answers, unhappily, were verbose, and dry. I do not happen to have ♦ Franklin's Life' at hand ; but, on this point, I can sufficiently rely upon my memory. The very fulness of the answer, would evidently mar the effect of it, * People in general, for one reason or another,* says bishop Home, * like short objections, better than long answers.' Letters on InfdelUy, p. 82. L 2 148 Baxter's appendix not speak against the laws ; and he never offered his judgment to me. And I knew, that, as I was to reverence him in his own profession, so, in matters of my profession and concernment, he expected not that I should think as he, beyond the reasons which he gave. I must say, that he was of opinion, that the wealth and honour of the bishops was convenient, to enable them the better to relieve the poor, and rescue the inferior clergy from oppression, and to keep up the honour of religion in the world. But, all this on supposition, that it would be in the hands of wise and good men, or else it would do as much harm. But, when I asked him, whether great wealth and honour would not be most ear- nestly desired and sought by the worst of men, while good men would not seek them ? And whe- ther he that was the only fervent seeker, was not likeliest to obtain, except under some rare extra- ordinary prince ? And so, whether it was not like to entail the office on the worst, and to arm Christ's enemies against him to the end of the world, which a provision, that had neither alluring, nor much discouraging temptation, might prevent, he gave me no answer. I have heard some say, if the pope were a good man, what a deal of good might he do? But have popes, therefore, blessed the world ? I can say truly, that he greatly lamented the negligence, and ill lives, and violence of some of the clergy 5 and would ofl say, What have they TO THE LIFE OF HALE, 149 their calling, honour, and maintenance for, but to seek the instructing and saving of men's souls ? He much lamented, that so many worthy minis- ters were silenced, the church weakened, papists strengthened, the cause of love and piety greatly wronged and hindered, by the present differences about conformity. And he hath told me his judg- ment, that the only means to heal us was, a new act of uniformity, which should neither leave all at liberty, nor impose any thing but necessary. I had once a full opportunity to try his judg- ment far in this. It pleased the lord keeper Bridgman, to invite Dr. Manton and myself) (to whom Dr. Bates, at our desire, was added,) to treat with Dr. Wilkins and Dr. Burton, about the terms of our reconciliation, and restoration to our ministerial liberty. After some days' con- ference, we came to agreement in all things, as to the necessary terms. And, because Dr. Wilkins and I had special intimacy with judge Hale, we desired him to draw it up in the form of an act, which he willingly did, and we agreed to every word. But it pleased the house of commons, hearing of it, to begin their next session with a vote, that no such bill should be brought in ; and so it died. Query. 1. Whether after this and other such agreement, it be ingenuity, or somewhat else, that hath ever since said, we know not what they would have ? And that at once call out to us, and L 3 150 yet strictly forbid us to tell them what it is we take for sin, and what we desire. 2. Whether it be likely, that such men as bishop Wilkins, and Dr. Burton, and judge Hale, would consent to such terms of our concord, as should be Worse than our present condition of division and compulsion is ? And whether the maintainers of our dividing impositions, be all wiser and better men, than this judge and that bishop were? 3. And whether it be any distance of opinion, or difficulty of bringing us to agreement, that keepeth England in its sad divisions; or rather some men's opinion, that our unity itself is not de- sirable, lest it strengthen us ? The case is plain. His behaviour in the church was conformable, but prudent. He constantly heard a curate, too low for such an auditor. In common prayer he behaved himself as others ; saving, that, to avoid the differencing of the gospels, from the epistles, and the bowing at the name of Jesus, from the names, Christ, Saviour, God, &c., he would use some equality in his gestures, and stand up at the reading of all God's w^ord alike. I had but one fear or suspicion concerning him, which since, I am assured, was groundless : I was afraid, lest he had been too little for the practical part of religion, as to the working of the soul towards God, in prayer, meditation, &c., because he seldom spake to me of such subjects, nor of practical books, or sennons ; but was still speaking of philosophy, or of spirits, souls, the future state, TO THE LIFE OF HALE. 151 and the nature of God. But, at last, I understood, that his averseness to hypocrisy made him, pur* posely, conceal the most of such of his practical thoughts and works, as the world now findeth by his contemplations, and other writings. He told me, once, how God brought him to a fixed honour and observation of the Lord's day : that, when he was young, being in the west, the sickness or death of some relation at London, made some matter of estate to become his concern- ment; which required his hastening to London from the west : and he was commanded to travel on the Lord's day ; but I cannot well remember how many cross accidents befell him in his journey ; one horse fell lame, another died, and much more ; which struck him with such sense of divine rebuke, as he never forgot. * When I went out of the house, in which he succeeded me, I went into a greater, over-against the church door. The town having great need of help for their souls, I preached, between the public sermons, in my house ; taking the people with me to the church, to common prayer and sermon, morning and evening. The judge told me, that he thought my course did the church much service ; and would carry it so respectfully to me, at my door, that all the people might perceive his approbation. But Dr. Reeves could not bear it, but complained against me : and the * See judge Hale's own observations on this subject, as already given in a note, p. 21. of this volume. L 4 15^ Baxter's appendix bishop of London caused one Mr. Rosse of Brainford, and Mr. Philips, two justices of the peace, to send their warrants to apprehend me. I told the judge of the warrant, but asked him no counsel, nor he gave me none ; but with tears showed his sorrow : the only time that ever I saw him weep. So I was sent to the common gaol, for six months, by these two justices, by the procure- ment of the said Dr. Reeves, his majesty's chaplain, dean of Windsor, dean of Wolverhampton, parson of Horseley, and parson of Acton.* When I came to move for my release upon a habeas corpus, by the counsel of my great friend Serjeant Fountain, I found, that the character which judge Hale had given of me, stood me in some stead ; and every one of the four judges of the common pleas, did not only acquit me, but said more for me than my counsel, . . viz. judge Wild, judge Archer, judge Tyrrel, and the lord chief justice Vaughan ; and made me sensible, how great a part of the honour of his majesty's government, and the peace of the kingdom, consisted in the justice of the judges. And, indeed, judge Hale would tell me, that bishop Usher was much prejudiced against lawyers. • These are ostentatiously expanded, as though they were separate and in- depondunt benefices, wlicn, in fact, several of them were comprehended in one, and were merely titular, or nominal. Tlie deanery of Wolverhampton, for example, was annexed to Windsor ; and so, Anthony Wood tliinks^ was the rectory of Ileuley, in Oxfordshire. But it is now pretty generally felt, that dignities were too frequently accumulated in the church ; and a remedy has, lately, been applied to the evil. No just excuse can be offered, for Dr. Ht^eves's 1,'xccssive rigour. He had himself, indeed, suffered severely in Ujc great re- bellion : but retaliation is not the Christian principle. TO THE LIFE OF HALE. 15-3 because the worst causes find their advocates ; but that he and Mr. Selden had convinced him of the reasons of it, to his satisfaction : and that he did, by acquaintance with them, believe, that there were as many honest men among lawyers, propor- tionably, as among any profession of men in England, not excepting bishops or divines. And, I must needs say, that the improvement of reason, the diverting men from sensuality and idleness, the maintaining of propriety and justice, and, consequently, the peace and welfare of the kingdom, is very much to be ascribed to the judges, and lawyers. But this imprisonment brought me the great loss of converse with judge Hale : for the parlia- ment, in the next act against conventicles, put into it divers clauses, suited to my case ; by which, I was obliged to go dwell in another county, and to forsake both London, and my former habitation ; and, yet, the justices of another county were partly enabled to pursue me. Before I went, the judge had put into my hand four volumes in folio, which he had jvritten, to prove the being and providence of God, the immortaUty of the soul, and life to come, the truth of Christianity, and of every book of the scripture by itself, besides the common proofs of the whole. Three of the four volumes I had read over, and was sent to the gaol, before I read the fourth. I turned down a few leaves, for some small animad- versions 5 but had no time to give them him. 154 Baxter's appendix I could not, then, persuade him to review them for the press. The only fault I found with them, of any moment, was that great copiousness, the effect of his fulness and patience, which will be called tediousness by impatient readers. When we were separated, he, that would receive no letters from any man, about any matters which he was to judge, was desirous of letter converse, about our philosophical and spiritual subjects. I having then begun a Latin methodus theologicBy sent him one of the schemes before mentioned, containing the generals of the philosophical part, with some notes upon it; which he so over-valued, that he urged me to proceed in the same way. I objected against putting so much philosophy, though mostly but de homine, in a method of theology: but he rejected my objections, and resolved me to go on. At last, it pleased God to visit him with his mortal sickness. In the course of which, he was forced to lose blood copiously more than once, to save him from sudden suffocation or oppression. Ever after which, he had death in his lapsed countenance, flesh, and strength, with shortness of breath. When he had striven awhile under his disease, he gave up his place, not so much from the appre- hension of the nearness of his death, (for he could have died comfortably in his public work,) but from the sense of his disability to discharge his part : but he ceased not his studies, and that upon TO THE LIFE OF HALE. 155 points which I could have wished him to let go ; being confident, that he was not far from his end. I sent him a book, which I had newly published, for reconciling the controversies about predestin- ation, redemption, grace, free-will ; but desired him not to bestow too much of his precious time upon it : but, before he left his place, I found him at it so oft, that I took the boldness to tell him, that I thought more practical writings were more suit- able to his case, who was going from this con- tentious world. He gave me but little answer : but, I after found, that he plied practicals and contemplatives in their season; which he never thought meet to give me any account of. Only, in general, he oft told me, that the reason and season of his writings, (against Atheism, &c. afore- said,) were, both in his circuit and at home, to set apart some time for meditation, especially after the evening public worship every Lord's day ; and that he could not so profitably keep his thoughts in connection and method, otherwise, as by writing them down ; and, withal, that if there were any thing in them useful, it was the way to keep it for after-use : and, therefore, for the better management, for the accountableness, and the afler-use, he had long accustomed to pen his medi- tations ; which gave us all of that nature that he hath left us. Notwithstanding his own great furniture of knowledge, (and he was accounted, by some, some- what tenacious of his conceptions ; for men that 156 Baxter's appendix know much, cannot easily yield to the expectations of less knowing men,) yet, I must say, that I re- member not, that ever I conversed with a man, that was readier to receive and learn. He would hear so patiently, and recollect all so distinctly, and then try it so judiciously, (not disdaining to learn of an inferior in some things, who, in more, had need to learn of him,) that he would presently take *, what some stand wrangling against many years. I never more perceived in any man, how much great knowledge and wisdom facilitate addi- tions, and the reception of any thing not before known. Such a one presently perceiveth that evi- dence, which another is incapable of. For instance, the last time but one that I saw him, in his weakness at Acton, he engaged me to explicate the doctrine of divine government and decree, as consistent with the sin of man. And when I had distinctly told him, 1. What God did, as the author of nature, physically ; 2. What he did as legislator, morally ; and 3. What he did, as benefactor, and by special grace ; 4. And where permission came in, and where actual operation ; 5, And so, how certainly God might cause the effects, and not cause the volitions, as determinate to evil, (though the volition and effect being called by one name, as thefl, murder, adultery, lying, &c. oft deceive men,) he took up all that I had said, in order, and, distinctly, twice over, repeated each part in its proper place, and with its reason : and • Apprehend. TO THE LIFE OF HALE. 157 when he had done, said, that I had given him satisfaction. Before I knew what he did himself in contem- plations, I took it not well that he more than once told me, ' Mr. Baxter, I am more beholden to you, than you are aware of; and I thank you for all, but especially for your scheme, and your ca- tholic theology.' For I was sorry, that a man that I thought so near death, should spend much of his time on such controversies, though tending to end them. But he continued after, near a year, and had leisure for contemplations which I knew not of. When I parted with him, I doubted which of us would be first at heaven : but he is gone before, and I am at the door, and somewhat the willinger to go, when I think such souls as his are there. When he was gone to Gloucestershire, and his contemplations were published by you, I sent him the confession of my censures of him ; how I had feared, that he had allowed too great a share of his time and thoughts to speculation, and too little to practicals, but rejoiced to see the conviction of my error : and he returned me a very kind letter, which was the last. Some censured him for living under such a curate at Acton, thinking it was in his power to have got Dr. Reeves, the parson, to provide a better. Of which I can say, that I once took the liberty to tell him, that I feared too much tepidity in him, by reason of that thing ; no that he needed him- 158 Baxter's appendix self a better teacher, who knew more, and could overlook scandals ; but for the sake of the poor ignorant people, who greatly needed better help. He answered me, that if money would do it, he would willingly have done it ; but the doctor was a man not to be dealt with ; which was the hardest word that I remember 1 ever heard him use of any : for I never knew any man more free from speaking evil of others, behind their backs. When- ever the discourse came up to the faultiness of any individuals, he would be silent: but the sorts of faulty persons he would blame, with cautelous freedom; especially idle, proud, scandalous, con- tentious, and factious clergymen. We agreed in nothing more, than that, which he oft repeateth in the papers which you gave me ; and which he oft expressed, viz., that true religion consisteth in great, plain, necessary things * ; the life of faith • * Now, it is the fundamental doctrines of the catechism, which I high- liest value, and daily think of; and find most useful to myself and others. The creed, the Lord's prayer, the ten commandments, do find me, now, the most acceptable, and plainest matter, for all my meditations : they are to me, as my daily bread and drink. And, as I can speak and write of them, over and over again, so I had rather read or hear of them, than of any of the school-niceties, which once so much pleased me. Therefore, I am less for a disputing way than ever; believing, that it tempteth men to bend their wits to defend their errors, and oppose the truth ; and hindereth, usually, their information. Therefore, I am most in judge- ment, for a learning or teaching mode of converse. In all companies, I will be glad, either to hear those speak, that can tench me ; or to be heard of those, that have need to learn.'. . Baxter. Life, i. 137.; or in Wordswortli: Ecd, Biograph. v. 568. < I am an old Doctor of divinitic : yet, to tliis daic, I am not come out of the children's learning ; that is, the ten commandements, the creed, and the Lorde's praiere. I confess seriously, that, as yet, I understand them not sa well as I should,* . . Martin Lutlier ; CoUoquia MemaSa. p. 6« TO THE LIFE OF HALE. 159 and hope, the love of God and man, an humble self-denying mind, with mortification of worldly affection, carnal lust, &c. And that the calamity of the church, and withering of religion, hath come from proud and busy men's additions ; that cannot give peace to themselves and others, by living, in love and quietness, on this Christian simplicity of faith and practice, but vex and turmoil the church, with these needless and hurtful superfluities : some, by their decisions of words, or unnecessary con- troversies ; and some, by their restless reaching after their own worldly interest, and corrupting the church, on pretence of raising and defending it ; some, by their needless ceremonies ; and some, by their superstitious and causeless scruples. But he was especially angry at them, that would so manage their differences about such things, as to show, that they had a greater zeal for their own additions, than for the common saving truths and duties, which we were all agreed in ; and, that did so manage their several little and selfish causes, as wounded or injured the common cause of the Christian and reformed churches. He had a great distaste of the books called a * Friendly Debate, &c.' and ' Ecclesiastical Polity ' * ; as, from an evil Though the translation of the * Table Talk,' (first published in the original, 1571.) was given by Captain Henrie Bell, in 1652, there is little probability, that Baxter could have had this passage in view. In truth, among all the voluminous writings of this good, and conscientious, but interminable man, there is not one, which bears more strongly on the face of it, the impress of originality, as well as principle, than the review of his own life and character. • Mr. Thirlwall properly distinguishes, between the immortal work of Hooker, and this book. Its author was the notorious Samuel Parker ; who 160 spirit, injuring scripture phrase, and tempting the Atheists to contemn all reHgion, so they might but vent their spleen, and be thought to have the better of their adversaries ; and would say, how easy is it to requite such men, and for all parties to expose each other to contempt! Indeed, how many parishes in England afford too plenteous matter of reply, to one that took that for his part ; and of tears, to serious observers ! His main desire was, that, as men should not be peevishly quarrelsome against any lawful circum- stances, forms, or orders, in religion, much less think themselves godly men, because they can fly from other men's circumstances, or settled lawful orders as sin ; so especially, that no human additions of opinion, order, modes, ceremonies, professions, or promises, should ever be managed, to the hinder- ing of Christian love and peace, nor of the preach- ing of the Gospel, nor the wrong of our common cause, or the strengthening of atheism, infidelity, profaneness, or popery; but that Christian verity and piety, the love of God and man, and a good life, and our common peace in these, might be first was born in the year 1640, and educated among the puritans. While at Wadham College, Oxford, he joined a precise society, called the urudUrtf and it was observed, * that he put more graves into his porridge, than all the rest.* At the time of the restoration, he was a violent independent. Warm in his zeal against episcopacy, he was discountenanced, by tlie new warden, Di\ Blandford. He removed, therefore, to Trinity, where he appeared as ardent against the non-conformists, as he ever had been in their favour. After a long course of tergiversation, he was finally appointed, by James II.,bisliop of Oxford; he died May '20. 1687. See the Biogr. Diet. And Bp. BurneU Hist, of his Own Times, with Dr. Routh's Notes, vol. iii. Ed. Oxford. 1823* TO THE LIFE OF HALE. l6l resolved on and secured, and all our additions might be used, but in due subordination to these, and not to any injury of any of them ; nor sects, parties, or narrow interests, be set up against the common duty, and the public interest and peace. I know you are acquainted how greatly he va- lued Mr. Selden, being one of his executors ; his books and picture being still near him. I think it meet, therefore, to remember, that because many Hobbists do report that Mr. Selden was at the heart an infidel*, and inclined to the opinions of Hobbes, I desired him to tell me the truth herein : and he oft professed to me, that Mr. Selden was a resolved serious Christian ; and that he was a great adver- sary to Hobbes's errors ; and that he had seen him openly oppose him so earnestly, as either to depart from him, or drive him out of the room. And as Mr. Selden was one of those called Erastians, (as his book de Synedriis, and others, show,) yet, he owned the office properly ministerial : so, most lawyers that ever I was acquainted with, (taking the word jurisdiction to signify something more, than the mere doctoral, priestly power, and power over their own sacramental communion, in the church which they guide,) do use to say, that it is pri- marily in the magistrate ; as, no doubt, all power of corporal coercion, by mulcts and penalties, is. And as to the accidentals to the proper power of * There has ever been a strange tendenc}' to such rumours. Raleigh, Bacon, and Selden, are eminent examples. M 162 Baxter's appendix priesthood, or the keys, they truly say, with Dr. StilUngfleet, that God hath settled no one form. Indeed, the lord chief justice thought, that the power of the word and sacraments in the minis- terial office, was of God's institution ; and that they were the proper judges, appointed by Christ, to whom they themselves should apply sacraments, and to whom they should deny them. But, that the power of chancellor's courts, and many mo- dal additions, which are not of the essence of the priestly office, floweth from the king, and may be fitted to the state of the kingdom. Which is true, if it be limited by God's laws, and exercised on things only allowed them to deal in, and con- tradict not the orders and powers, settled on by Christ and his apostles. On this account, he thought well of the form of government in the Church of England ; lamenting the miscarriages of many persons, and the want of parochial reformation : but he was greatly for unit- ing in love and peace, upon so much as is neces- sary to salvation, with all good, sober, peaceable men. And he was much against the corrupting of the Christian religion, (whose simplicity and purity he justly took to be much of its excellency,) by men's busy additions ; by wit, policy, ambition ; or any thing else, which sophisticateth it, and maketh it another thing, and causeth the lamentable conten- tions of the world. What he was as a lawyer, a judge, a Christian, TO THE LIFE OF HALE. l6S is so well known, that I think for me to pretend that my testimony is of any use, were vain. I will only tell you what I have written by his picture, in the front of the great Bible which I bought with his legacy *, in memory of his love and name, viz.: * Sir Matthew Hale, that unwearied student, that prudent man, that solid philosopher, that fa- mous lawyer, that pillar and basis of justice, who would not have done an unjust act for any worldly price or motive, the ornament of his majesty's go- vernment, and honour of England; the highest faculty of the soul of Westminster-hall, and pat- tern to all the reverend and honourable judges ; that godly, serious, practical Christian, the lover of goodness, and all good men ; a lamenter of the clergy's selfishness, and unfaithfulness, and dis- cord, and of the sad divisions following hereupon; an earnest desirer of their reformation, concord, and the church's peace, and of a reformed act of uniformity, as the best and necessary means thereto; that great contemner of the riches, pomp, and vanity of the world ; that pattern of honest plain- ness and humility, who, while he fled from the honours that pursued him, was yet lord chief jus- tice of the king's bench, after his being long lord chief baron of the exchequer ; living and dying, * * With which,' says Baxter, ' I purchased the largest Cambridge Bible, and put his picture before it, as a monument to my house. But, waiting for my own death, I gave it to sir William Ellis, who laid out about ten pounds to put it into a more curious cover, and keep it for a monument in his house.' . . Baxter. Life, part ii. p. 181. M 2 164 Baxter's appendix, etc. entering on, using, and voluntarily surrendering, his place of judicature, with the most universal love, and honour, and praise, that ever did English sub- ject in this age, or any that just history doth acquaint us with, &c. : . . this man, so wise, so good, so great, bequeathing me, in his testament, the legacy of forty shillings, merely as a testimony of his respect and love, I thought this book, the Testa- ment of Christ, the meetest purchase by that price, to remain in memorial of the faithful love, which he bare, and long expressed, to his inferior and unworthy, but honouring friend, who thought to have been with Christ before him, and waiteth for the day of his perfect conjunction with the spirits of the just made perfect.* Richard Baxter. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER, GILBERT BURNET, D.D. LORD BISHOP OF SALISBURY. M 3 * Lord ! with what care hast thou begirt as round f Parents first season us. Then schoolmasters Deliver us to laws. They send us bound To rules of reason. Holy messengers ; Pulpits and Sundays ; sorrow dogging sin; Jifflictions sorted; anguish of all sizes ; Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in ; Bibles laid open ; millions of surprizes ; Blessings before hand ; ties of gratefulness ; The sound of glory ringing in our ears ; Without i our shame J within, our consciences ; Angels and grace ; eternal hopes and fears ! Yet, . . all these fences, and their whole array, One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away.' George Herbert : quoted by Mr. Coleridge, ' As antiently, God fed his servant Blias, sometimes by an angel, some- times by a woman, sometimes by ravens, so, doth he make all persons, whether good, bad, or indifferent, supply his people with that Instruction, which is the aliment of virtue, and of souls ; and makes them, and their examples, con- tribute to the verification of that passage of Saint Paul, where he says, that, ALL THINGS co-operate FOR GOOD, TO THEM THAT LOVE OOD.* . . ROUKT BOTLX, BISHOP BURNET'S PREFACE TO THE LIFE OF LORD ROCHESTER. The celebrating the praises of the dead, is an argument so worn out, by long and frequent use, and now become so nauseous, by the flattery that usually attends it, that it is no wonder, if funeral orations or panegyrics, are more considered, for the elegance of style, and fineness of wit, than for the authority they carry with them, as to the truth of matters of fact. And yet, I am not, hereby, deterred from meddling with this kind of argument ; nor from handling it with all the plainness I can : delivering, only, what I myself heard and saw, without any borrowed ornament. I do easily foresee, how many will be engaged, (for the support of their impious maxims, and immoral practices,) to disparage what I am to write. Others will censure it, because it comes from one of my profession : too many supposing us to be induced to frame such discourses, for carrying on, what they are pleased to call, our trade. Some, will think I dress it up too artificially ; and others, that I present it too plain and naked. M 4 168 BISHOP Burnet's preface But, being resolved to govern myself by the exact rules of truth, I shall be less concerned in the censures I may fall under. It may seem liable to great exception, that I should disclose so many things, that were discovered to me, if not under the seal of confession, yet, under the con- fidence of friendship. But this noble lord himself, not only released me from all obligations of this kind, when I waited on him in his last sickness, a few days before he died, but, gave it me in charge, not to spare him, in any thing which I thought might be of use to the living : and was not ill pleased to be laid open, as well in the worst, as in the best, and last part of his life ; being so sincere in his repentance, that he was not unwilling to take shame to himself, by suffering his faults to be exposed, for the benefit of others. I write with one great disadvantage, that I cannot reach his chief design, without mentioning some of his faults : but I have touched them as tenderly, as the occasion would bear : and, I am sure, with much more softness than he desired, or would have consented unto, had I told him how I intended to manage this part. I have related nothing, with personal reflections on any others concerned with him ; wishing, rather, that they themselves, reflecting on the sense he had of his former disorders, may be thereby led to forsake their own, than that tliey should be any ways reproached by what I write. And therefore, though he used very few reserves with me, as to his course TO THE LIFE OF LORD ROCHESTER. 169 of life, yet, since others had a share in most parts of it, I shall relate nothing, but what more imme- diately concerned himself: and shall say no more of his faults, than is necessary to illustrate his repentance. The occasion that led me into so particular a knowledge of him, was an intimation, given me by a gentleman of his acquaintance, of his desire to see me. This was some time in October 1679. ; when he was slowly recovering out of a great disease. He had understood, that I often attended on one well known to him, that died the summer before. He was, also, then entertaining himself J in that low state of his health, with the first part of the ' History of the Reformation,' then newly come out, with which he seemed not ill pleased : and we had accidentally met, in two or three places, some time before. These were the motives, that led him to call for my company. After I had waited on him, once or twice, he grew into that freedom with me, as to open to me all his thoughts, both of religion and morality, and to give me a full view of his past life ; and seemed not uneasy, at my frequent visits. So, till he went from London, which was in the beginning of April, I waited on him often. As soon as I heard how ill he was, and how much he was touched with a sense of his former life, I writ to him, and received from him an answer, that, without my knowledge, was printed since his death, from a copy which one of his servants conveyed to the press. In it, there 170 BISHOP Burnet's preface is so undeserved a value put on me, that it had been very indecent for me to have pubHshed it: yet, that must be attributed to his civihty, and way of breeding : and, indeed, he was particularly known to so few of the clergy, that the good opinion he had of me, is to be imputed, only, to his unacquaintance with others. My end in writing, is so to discharge the last commands this lord left on me, as, that it may be effectual to awaken those, who run on to all the excesses of riot ; and that, in the midst of those heats, which their lusts and passions raise in them, they may be a little wrought on, by so great an instance, of one who had run round the whole circle of luxury ; and, as Solomon says of himself, * Whatsoever his eyes desired, he kept it not from them ; and withheld his heart from no joy.' But, when he looked back on all that, on which he had wasted his time and strength, he esteemed it * vanity and vexation of spirit.' Though he had, both, as much natural wit, and as much acquired by learning, and both as much improved with thinking and study, as, perhaps, any libertine of the age, . . yet, when he reflected on all his former courses, even before his mind was illuminated with better thoughts, he counted them madness and folly. But, when the powers of religion came to operate on him, then he added a detestation, to the contempt he formerly had of them, suitable to what became a sincere penitent ; and expressed himself, in so clear, and so calm a manner, so sensible of TO THE LIFE OF LORD ROCHESTER. l?! his failings towards his Maker and his Redeemer, that, as it wrought, not a Httle, on those that were about him, so, I hope, the making it pubUc may have a more general influence, chiefly on those, on whom his former conversation might have had ill effects. I have endeavoured to give his character, as fully as I could take it : for, I, who saw him only in one light, in a sedate and quiet temper, when he was under a great decay of strength, and loss of spirits, cannot give his picture with that life and advantage, that others may, who knew him when his parts were more bright and lively : yet, the composure he was then in, may, perhaps, be supposed to balance any abatement of his usual vigour, which the declination of his health brought him under. I have written this discourse with as much care, and have considered it as narrowly, as I could. I am sure, I have said nothing but truth ; I have done it slowly, and often used my second thoughts * in it ; not being so much concerned in the censures that might fall on myself, as cautious, that nothing should pass, that might obstruct my only design of writing ; which is the doing what I can, towards the reforming a loose and lewd age. ♦ The book was, probably, revised, also, by his friend Tillotson; as Dr. Birch remarks, in his life of that prelate : . . * The dean appears to have re- vised and improved that book ; since it concludes, almost in the exact veords of his letter to Mr. Nelson, of the 2d of August ; that God took pity on the earl, and, seeing the sincerity of his repentance, would try and venture him no more, in circumstances of temptation, perhaps, too hard for human frailty.' . . Dr. Wordsworth : in Eccl. JBiogr. vi. 402. 172 BISHOP Burnet's preface, etc. And, if such a signal instance, concurring with all the evidence that we have for our most holy faith, has no effect on those who are running the same course, it is much to be feared they are given up to a reprobate sense. SOME PASSAGES THE LIFE JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. John Wilmot, earl of Rochester, was born in April, anno Dom. 1648. His father was Henry, earl of Rochester, but best known by the title of the lord Wilmot : who bore so great a part in all the late wars, that mention is often made of him, in the history ; and had the chief share, in the honour of the preservation of his majesty, after Worcester fight; and the conveying him from place to place, till he happily escaped into France. But, dying before the king's return, he left his son little other inheritance, but the honour and title derived to him, with the pretensions such eminent services gave him to the king's favour. These were carefully managed, by the great prudence and discretion of his mother ; a daughter of that noble and ancient family of the St. Johns, of Wilt- shire ; so that his education was carried on, in all things, suitably to his quality. When he was at school, he was an extraordinary 174< THE LIFE OF proficient at his book: and those shining parts, which since have appeared with so much lustre, began then to show themselves. He acquired the Latin to such perfection, that, to his dying day, he retained a great relish of the fineness and beauty of that tongue ; and was exactly versed in the incomparable authors, that writ about Augus- tus's time ; whom he read often, with that peculiar delight, which the greatest wits have ever found in those studies. When he went to the University, the general joy, (which over-ran the whole nation upon his majesty's restoration, but was not regulated with that sobriety and temperance, that became a seri- ous gratitude to God for so great a blessing,) pro- duced some of its ill effects upon him. He began to love thes^ disorders too much. His tutor was that eminent and pious divine. Dr. Blandfbrd*, afterwards promoted to the sees of Oxford, and Worcester: and, under his inspection, he was committed to the more immediate care of Mr. Phineas Berry t, a fellow of Wadham College, a very learned and good-natured man ; whom he, afterwards, ever used with much respect, and re- warded him as became a great man. But the hu- mour of that time wrought so much on him, that he broke off the course of his studies ; to which no means could ever effectually recall him, till, when • Walter Blandford, D.D. Born, 1616. Bp. of Oxford, 1665. Bp. of Worcester, 1(371. Diocl, unmarried, 1675. t Spelt Bury, in Wood. See Bliss's Edit, lii. 12S9., and Fasti, ii. 98a JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER, 175 he was in Italy, his governor, Dr. Balfour, a learned and worthy man, afterwards a celebrated physician in Scotland, his native country, drew him to read such books, as were most likely to bring him back, to love learning and study : and he often acknowledged to me, in particular three days before his death, how much he was obliged to love and honour this his governor; to whom, he thought, he owed more than to all the world, next after his parents, for his great fidehty and care of him, while he was under his trust. But no part of it affected him more sensibly, than, that he engaged him, by many tricks, (so he expressed it,) to delight in books and reading; so that, ever after, he took occasion, in the intervals of those woeful extravagances that consumed most of his time, to read much : and, though the time was generally but indifferently employed, (for the choice of the subjects of his studies was not always good,) yet, the habitual love of knowledge, to- gether with these fits of study, had much awakened his understanding, and prepared him for better things, when his mind should be so far changed, as to relish them. * * Rochester's affectionate recollection of his travelling tutor, is peculiarly touching. It reminds one of the tribute paid by Marcus Antoninus, to the guides and patterns of his early youth. (De rebus suis, Li — xiv.) Who can tell, whether the first seeds of after repentance, were not sown, by the holtf ■artifices of worthy Dr. Balfour ? I regret my inability, to give any particulars of his life and character. But, is any reader, entrusted with any portion, of that commanding influence, and those precious opportunities, which foreign travel often may afford the governor of youth ? . . With Dr. Balfour's example in view, I would calmly, but affectionately say, . . * Go, and do tiiov likewise.' 176 THE LIFE OF He came from his travels, in the eighteenth year of his age : and appeared at court, with as great advantages, as most ever had. He was a graceful and well-shaped person, tall, and well made, if not a little too slender : he was exactly well bred ; and, what by a modest behaviour natural to him, what by a civility become almost as natural, his conversation was easy and obliging. He had a strange vivacity of thought, and vigour of expres- sion : his wit had a subtil ty and sublimity both, that were scarce imitable. His style was clear and strong ; when he used figures, they were very lively, and yet far enough out of the common road. He had made himself master of the ancient and modern wit; and of the modern French, and Italian, as well as the English. He loved to talk, and write, of speculative matters ; and did it with so fine a thread, that, even those who hated the subjects that his fancy ran upon, yet, could not but be charmed, with his way of treating them. Boileau among the French, and Cowley among the English wits, were those he admired most. Sometimes, other men's thoughts mixed with his composures; but that flowed, rather, from the impressions they made on him when he read them, by which, they came to return on him, as his own thoughts, . . than that he servilely copied from any: for few men ever had a bolder flight of fancy, more steadily governed by judgment, than he had. No wonder a young man, so made, and so im- proved, was very acceptable in a court JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 177 Soon after his coming thither, he laid hold on the first occasion that offered, to show his readiness to hazard his life, in the defence and service of his country. In winter, 1665., he went with the earl of Sandwich to sea, when he was sent to lie for the Dutch East-India fleet ; and was in the Revenge, commanded by sir Thomas Tiddiman, when the attack was made on the port of Bergen, in Nor- way, the Dutch ships having got into that port. It was as desperate an attempt, as ever was made. During the whole action, the earl of Rochester showed as brave, and as resolute a courage, as was possible. A person of honour told me he heard the lord Clifford, who was in the same ship, often magnify his courage, at that time, very highly. Nor, did the rigours of the season, the hardness of the voyage, and the extreme danger he had been in, deter him from running the like, on the very next occasion ; for, the summer follow- ing, he went to sea again, without communicating his design to his nearest relations. He went on board the ship commanded by sir Edward Spragge, the day before the great sea-fight of that year. Almost all the volunteers that were in the same ship, were killed. Mr. Middleton (brother to sir Hugh Middleton) was shot in his arms. During the action, sir Edward Spragge, not being satis- fied with the behaviour of one of his captains, could not easily find a person, that would cheer- fully venture through so much danger, to carry his commands to that captain. This lord offered him- N 17^ THE LIFE OF self to the service ; and went in a little boat, through all the shot, and delivered his message, and returned back to sir Edward; which was much commended, by all that saw it. He thought it necessary to begin his life with these demon- strations of his courage, in an element, and way of fighting, which is acknowledged to be the greatest trial of clear, and undaunted valour. He had so entirely laid down the intemperance, that was growing on him before his travels, that, at his return, he hated nothing more. But, falling into company that loved these excesses, he was, though not without difficulty, and by many steps, brought back to it again. And the natural heat of his fancy, being inflamed by wine, made him so extravagantly pleasant, that many, to be more di- verted by that humour, studied to engage him deeper and deeper in intemperance : which, at length, did so entirely subdue him, that, as he told me, for five years together he was continually drunk : not all the while under the visible effects of it, but his blood was so inflamed, that he was not, in all that time, cool enough to be perfectly master of him- self. This led him to say, and do, many wild and unaccountable things. By this, lie said, he had broken the firm constitution of his health, that seemed so strong, that nothing was too hard for it; and he had suffered so mucli in his reputation, that he almost despaired to recover it. There were two principles in his natural temper, that, being heightened by that heat, carried him to great ex- JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 179 cesses : a violent love of pleasure, and a disposition to extravagant mirth. The one, involved him in great sensuality ; the other, led him to many odd adventures and frolics, in which he was oft in hazard of his life : the one, being the same irregular ap- petite in his mind, that the other was, in his body; which led him to think nothing diverting, that was not extravagant. And, though, in cold blood, he was a generous and good-natured man, yet, he would go far, in his heats, after any thing that might turn to a jest, or matter of diversion. He said to me, he never improved his interest at court, to do a premeditate mischief to other persons. Yet, he laid out his wit very freely, in libels and satires : in which, he had a peculiar talent, of mix- ing his wit, with his malice ; and fitting both, with such apt words, that men were tempted to be pleased with them. From thence, his composures came to be easily known ; for few had such a way of tempering these together, as he had : so that, when any thing extraordinary that way came out, as a child is fathered, sometimes, by its resemblance, so it was laid at his door, as its parent and author. These exercises, in the course of his life, were not, always, equally pleasant to him ; he had often sad intervals, and severe reflections on them : and, though, then, he had not these awakened in him, by any deep principle of religion, yet, the horror that nature raised in him, especially in some sicknesses, made him too easy to receive some ill principles *, * " It was in one of these sicknesses, that he thus concludes a letter, to one of his nearest friends : . . N ^ 180 THE LIFE OF which Others endeavoured to possess with him ; so that he was too soon brought, to set himself to secure, and fortify his mind, against that, by dis- possessing it, all he could, of the belief or appre- hensions of religion. The licentiousness of his temper, with the briskness of his wit, disposed him to love the conversation of those, who divided their time between lewd actions, and irregular mirth. And so, he came to bend his wit, and direct his studies and endeavours, to support and strengthen these ill principles both in himself and others. An accident fell out, after this, which confirmed him more in these courses. When he went to sea in the year 1665., there happened to be in the same ship with him, Mr. Montague, and another * But, it is a miraculous thing, (as the tvise have it,) when a man, half in the grave, cannot leave off playing the fool and the bulfoon. But so it falls out, to my comfort. For, at this moment, I am in a damned relapse, brought by a fever, the stone, and some ten diseases more, which have deprived me of the power of crawling, which I happily enjoyed, some days ago. And now, I fear, I must fall ; that it may be fulfilled, which was long since written for instruction, in a good old ballad : . . But he who lives not wise and sober. Falls with the leaf still in October. About which time, in all probability, there may be a period added to the ridiculous being, of your humble servant, Rochester.* Familiar Letters, written by the right Hon, John, late earl of Rochester, Sec. <* Unhappy man ! Let the reader be consoled and instructed, in contrasting with the above, an extract from the letter of another individual ; written, in destitution and imprisonment, to one of his nearest friends : . . ' I am now rendy to be oflered, and the time of my departure is at band. I have fougiit a good fight, I have finislied my course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth, there is laid up for me, a crown of righteousness; which tlie Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me, at that day.' ". . Dr. Wordsworth. in Eccl. Bio"r. vi. 410. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 181 gentleman of quality. These two, the former especially, seemed persuaded that they should never return into England : Mr. Montague said he was sure of it ; the other w^as not so positive. The earl of Rochester, and the last of these, entered into a formal engagement, not without ceremonies of religion, that, if either of them died, he should appear, and give the other notice of the future state, if there was any : but Mr. Montague would not enter into the bond. When the day came, that they thought to have taken the Dutch fleet, in the port of Bergen, Mr. Montague, though he had such a strong presage in his mind of his approaching death, yet he generously stayed, all the while, in the place of greatest danger. The other gentleman signalized his courage, in a most undaunted manner, till near the end of the action, when he fell, on a sudden, into such a trembling, that he could scarcely stand : and, Mr. Montague going to him to hold him up, as they were in each other's arms, a cannon-ball killed him outright, and carried away Mr. Montague's belly, so that he died within an hour after. The earl of Roches- ter told me, that these presages they had in their minds, made some impression on him, that there were separated beings: and that the soul, either by a natural sagacity, or some secret notice com- municated to it, had a sort of divination. But that gentleman's never appearing, was a great snare to him, during the rest of his life. Though, when he told me this, he could not but acknowledge, it was N 3 182 THE LIFE OF an unreasonable tiling for him to think, that beings in another state are not under such laws and limits, that they could not command their own motions, but as the Supreme Power should order them : and that one, who had so corrupted the natural principles of truth, as he had, had no reason to expect, that such an extraordinary thing should be done for his conviction. He told me of another odd presage, that one had, of his approaching death, in the lady Warre's, his mother-in-law's, house. The chaplain had dreamt, that such a day he should die ; but, being by all the family put out of the belief of it, he had almost forgot it ; till, the evening before, at supper, there being thirteen at table, according to a fond conceit that one of these must soon die, one of the young ladies pointed to him, that he was to die. He, remembering his dream, fell into some dis- order ; and the lady Warre reproving him for his superstition, he said, * he was confident he was to die before morning'; but, he being in perfect health, it was not much minded. It was Saturday night, and he was to preach next day. He went to his chamber, and sat up late, as appeared by the burning of his candle ; and he had been preparing his notes for his sermon; but was found dead in his bed, the next morning. These things, he said, made him inclined to believe, the soul was a substance distinct from matter : and this often returned into his thoughts. But that which perfected his persuasion about it, was, that, in the sickness which brought him so near JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 183 death, before I first knew him, when his spirits were SO low and spent, that he could not move nor stir, and he did not think to live an hour, he said his reason and judgment were so clear and strong, that, from thence, he was fully persuaded, that death was not the spending or dissolution of the soul, but only the separation of it from matter.* He had, in that sickness, great remorses for his past life : but he afterwards told me, they were rather general and dark horrors, than any con- viction of sinning against God. He was sorry he had lived so, as to waste his strength so soon ; or that he had brought such an ill name upon himself; and had an agony in his mind about it, which he knew not well how to express : but, at such times, though he complied with his friends in suffering divines to be sent for, he said he had no great mind to it ; and that it was but a piece of his breeding, to desire them to pray by him, in which he joined little himself. As to the Supreme Being, he had always some impression of one : and professed often to me, that he had never known an entire atheist, who fully beheved there was no God. Yet, when he ex- plained his notion of this Being, it amounted to no more, than a vast power, that had none of the attributes of goodness or justice, we ascribe to the Deity. These were his thoughts about religion, as himself told me. * This very observation was, once, made to the editor, by one, who had beeh just witnessing the peaceful, happy, clear-minded death, of a most dear relative. N 4 184 THE LIFE OF For morality^ he freely owned to me, thatj'^though he talked of it as a fine thing, yet, this was only because he thought it a decent mode of speaking : and that, as they went always in clothes, though, in their frolics, they would have chosen sometimes to have gone naked, if they had not feared the people, . . so, though some of them found it neces- sary, for human life, to talk of morality, yet, he confessed, they cared not for it, farther than the reputation of it was necessary for their credit and affairs : of which he gave me many instances ; as, their professing and swearing friendship, where they hated mortally ; their oaths and imprecations in their addresses to women, which they intended never to make good; the pleasure they took, in defaming innocent persons ; and spreading false reports of some, perhaps in revenge, because they could not engage them to comply with their ill designs ; the delight they had, in making people quarrel ; their unjust usage of their creditors, and putting them off, by any deceitful promise they could invent, that might deliver them from pre- sent importunity. So that, in detestation of these courses, he would often break forth into such hard expressions concerning himself, as would be in- decent for another to repeat. Such had been his principles and practices, in a course of many years : which had, almost quite, extinguished the natural propensities in him to justice and virtue. He would, oflen, go into the country; and be, for some months, wholly em* JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 185 ployed in study, or the sallies of his wit ; which he came to direct, chiefly, to satire. And this he often defended to me, by saying, there were some people that could not be kept in order, or admonished, but in this way.* I replied, that it might be granted, that a grave way of satire was, sometimes, no unprofitable way of reproof. Yet they, who used it only out of spite, and mi:5fed lies with truth, sparing nothing that might adorn their poems, or gratify their revenge, could not excuse that way of reproach, by which the innocent often suffer: since, the most malicious things, if wittily expressed, might stick to, and blemish, the best men in the world ; and the malice of a libel, could hardly consist, with the charity of an admonition. To this, he answered, a man could not write with life, unless he were heated by revenge : forj to write a satire without resentments, upon the cold notions of philosophy, was, as if a man would^ * * Yes, I am proud : I must be proud, to see Men, not afraid of Ood, afraid of me : Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throhe, Yet touch'd, and shamed, by ridicule alone.' Pope* * Yet, what can satire, whether grave, or gay ? . . It may correct a foible, may chastise The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress, Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch ; But where are its sublimer trophies found ? What vice has it subdued ? Whose heart reclaimed By rigour, or whom laughed into reform ? Alas ! Leviathan is not so tamed. ' Laughed at, he laughs again : and, stricken hard, Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales That fear no discipline of human hands.' CowPEi. 186 THE LIFE OF in cold blood, cut men's throats who had never offended him : and he said, the lies in these libels came often in as ornaments, that could not be spared, without spoiling the beauty of the poem. For his other studies, they were divided between the comical, and the witty writings, of the ancients and moderns ; the Roman authors, and books of physic, which, the ill state of health he was fallen into, made more necessary to himself; and which qualified him, for an odd adventure, which I shall but just mention. Being under an unlucky acci- dent, which obliged him to keep out of the way, he disguised himself so, that his nearest friends could not have known him ; and set up, in Tower- street, for an Italian mountebank ; where he prac- tised physic some weeks, not without success. In his latter years, he read books of history more. He took pleasure to disguise himself, as a porter, or as a beggar ; sometimes to follow some mean amours, which, for the variety of them, he affected. At other times, merely for diversion, he would go about in odd shapes ; in which, he acted his part so naturally, that, even those who were in the secret, and saw him in these shapes, could perceive nothing by which he might be discovered. I have, now, made the description of his former life> and principles, as fully as I thought neces- sary, to answer my end in writing ; and yet, with those reserves, that I hope I have given no just cause of offence to any. I have said nothing, but what I had from his own mouth j and have avoided JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 187 the mentioning of the more particular passages of his life, of which he told me not a few : but, since others were concerned in them, whose good only I design, I will say nothing, that may either provoke, or blemish them. It is their reformation, and not their disgrace, I desire. This tender consider- ation of others, has made me suppress many re- markable, and useful things, he told me : but, finding, that, though I should name none, yet I must, at least, relate such circumstances, as would give too great occasion for the reader to conjecture concerning the persons intended, right or wrong, (either of which were inconvenient enough,) I have chosen to pass them quite over. But I hope, those, that know how much they were engaged with him in his ill courses, will be somewhat touched, with this tenderness I express towards them ; and be, thereby, the rather induced to reflect on their ways, and to consider, without pre- judice or passion, what a sense this noble lord had of their case, when he came, at last, seriously to reflect upon his own. I now turn to those parts of this narrative, wherein I myself bore some share ; and which I am to deliver, upon the observations I made, after a long, and free conversation with him, for some months. I was not long in his company, when he told me, he should treat me with more freedom, than he had ever used to men of my profession. He would conceal none of his principles from me, but 188 THE LIFE OF lay his thoughts open, without any disguise : nor would he do it, to maintain debate, or show his wit, but plainly tell me, what stuck with him ; and protested to me, that he was not so engaged to his old maxims, as to resolve not to change ; but, that, if he could be convinced, he would choose rather to be of another mind. He said, he would impartially weigh what I should lay before him ; and tell me, freely, when it did con- vince, and when it did not. He expressed this disposition of mind to me, in a manner so frank, that I could not but believe him, and be much taken with his way of discourse : so we entered into almost all the parts of natural and revealed re- ligion, and of morality. He seemed pleased, and in a great measure satisfied, with what I said upon many of these heads ; and, though our freest con- versation was when we were alone, yet, upon several occasions, other persons were witnesses to it. I understood, from many hands, that my com- pany was not distasteful to him ; and that the sub- jects about which we talked most, were not un- acceptable : and he expressed himself, often, not ill pleased with many things I said to him, and, particularly, when I visited him in his last sickness ; so that, I hope, it may not be altogether unprofitable, to publish the substance of those matters, about \vhich we argued so freely, with our reasoning upon them : and, perhaps, what had some eflfects on him, may be not altogether ineffectual upon others, I followed him, with such arguments as I saw JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 189 were most likely to prevail with him : and my not urging other reasons, proceeded, not from any distrust I had, of their force, but, from the neces- sity of using those, that were most proper for him. He was, then, in a low state of health ; and seemed to be slowly recovering, of a great disease. He was in the milk diet, and apt to fall into hectical fits ; any accident weakened him, so that he thought he could not live long ; and, when he went from London, he said, he believed he should never come to town more. Yet, during his being in town, he was so well, that he went often abroad, and had great vivacity of spirit. So that, he was under no such decay, as either darkened or weak- ened his understanding ; nor was he any way troubled with the spleen, or vapours, or under the power of melancholy. What he was then, com- pared to what he had been formerly, I could not so well judge, who had seen him but twice before. Others have told me, they perceived no difference in his parts. This I mention more particularly, that it may not be thought, that melancholy, or the want of spirits, made him more inclined to receive any impressions : for, indeed, I never dis- covered any such thing in him. Having thus opened the way to the heads of our discourse, I shall next mention them. The three chief things we talked about, were morality, natural religion, and revealed religion, CHRISTIANITY in particular. For morality, he confessed, he saw the necessity THE LIFE OF of* it, both for the government of the world, and for the preservation of health, life, and friendship ; and was very much ashamed of his former prac- tices, rather because he had made himself a beast, and had brought pain and sickness on his body, and had suffered much in his reputation, than from any deep sense of a Supreme Being, or another state. But, so far this went with him, that he resolved firmly, to change the course of his life ; which he thought he should effect, by the study of philosophy ; and had not a few, no less solid, than pleasant notions, concerning the folly and madness of vice. But he confessed, he had no remorse for his past actions, as offences against God ; but only, as injuries to himself i and to mankind. Upon this subject, I showed him the defects of philosophy, for reforming tlie world. Tiiat it was a matter of speculation, which but few either had the leisure, or the capacity to inquire into. But the principle that must reform mankind, must be obvious to every man's understanding. That phi- losophy, in matters of morality, beyond the great lines of our duty, had no very certain fixed rule ; but, in the lesser offices, and instances, of our duty, went much by the fancies of men, and customs of nations ; and, consequently, could not have autho- rity enough, to bear down the propensities of nature, appetite, .or passion : for which, I instenced in these two points ; the 0710, was, about that maxim of the Stoics, to extirpate all sort of pas- sion, and concern for any tiling. That, take it by JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. IQl one hand, seemed desirable, because, if it could be accomplished, it would make all the accidents of life easy ; but I think it cannot, because nature, after all our striving against it, will still return to itself* : yet, on the other hand, it dissolved the bonds of nature and friendship, and slackened in- dustry, which will move but dully, without an in- ward heat ; and, if it delivered a man from many troubles, it deprived him of the chief pleasures of life, which arise from friendship. The otlier^ was, concerning the restraint of pleasure, how far that was to go. Upon this, he told me, the two maxims of his morality then were, that he should do nothing to the hurt of any other, or that might prejudice his own health; and he thought, that all pleasure, when it did not interfere with these, was to be indulged, as the gratification of our natural appe- tites. It seemed unreasonable to imagine, these were put into a man, only, to be restrained, or curbed, to such a narrowness, t * ' Naturam expellas furca, tamen usque recurret, Et mala perrumpet furtim fastidia victrix.' Hor. f In referring, as I am about to do, to the * Minute Philosopher' of Berke- ley, may I be allowed, as a preparative, to borrow from the late Mr. Dugald Stewart, a description of the style and character, which pervade thp dialogues of that illustrious man? This permission is the rather sought, because I may have occasion, once and again, to avail myself of this, not perhaps his most celebrated, but certainly, his most useful and convincing work : . . ' The characters of his speakers are strongly marked, and happily con- trasted ; the illustrations exhibit a singular combination, of logical subtlety, and of poetical invention : and the style, while it every where abounds with tlie rich, yet sober colouring of the author's fancy, is, perhaps, superior, in 192 THE LIFE OF To this I answered, that, if appetites being na- tural, was an argument for the indulging them, then, the revengeful might as well allege it, for murder, and the covetous, for stealing, whose appetites are no less keen on those objects : and yet, it is acknowledged, that these appetites ought to be curbed. If the difference is urged, from the Injury that another person receives, the injury is as great, if a man's wife is defiled, or his daughter corrupted ; and it is impossible, for a man to let his appetites loose, and not to transgress in these particulars : so, there was no curing the disorders that must arise from thence, but by regulating these appetites. And why should we not as well think, that God intended, our brutish and sensual point of purity, and of grammatical correctness, to any English composition of an earlier date.' . . Prel. Diss. Enc. Brit. * Euphran. You say, if I mistake not, that a wise man pursues only his own private interest; and that this consists only in sensual pleasure: for proof whereof, you appeal to nature. Is not this what you advance ? LysicU It is. Euphran. You conclude, therefore, that, as other animals are guided by natural instinct, man, too, ought to follow the dictates of sense and appetite? Lysicl. 1 do. Euphran. But, in this, do you not argue, as if man had only sense and appetite for his guides ? on which supposition there might be truth in what you say. But, what if he hath intellect, reason, a higher instinct, and a nobler life? If this be the case, and you, being man, live like a brute, is it not the way to be defrauded of your true happiness? to be niorti6ed and dis- appointed ? Take a hog from his ditch or dunghill, lay him on a rich bed, treat him with sweetmeats, and music, and perfumes. All these things, will be no amusement to him. You can easily conceive, that the sort of life, which makes the happiness of a mole or a bat, would be a very wretched one for an eagle. And, may you not as well conceive, tliat the happiness of a brute, can never constitute tlie true happiness of a man ?' — Bp. Berkeley. Miu. Phil. Dial. ii. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 193 appetites should be governed by our reason, as that the fierceness of beasts should be managed and tamed, by the wisdom, and for the use, of man ? * So that it is no real absurdity to grant, that appetites were put into men, on purpose to exercise their reason, in the restraint and govern- ment of them ; which, to be able to do, ministers a higher, and more lasting pleasure to a man, than to give them their full scope and range. And, if other rules of philosophy be observed, such as the avoiding those objects that stir passion, nothing raises it higher, than ungoverned imaginations and desires t ; nothing darkens the understanding, and depresses a man's mind more ; nor is any thing managed, with more frequent returns of other im- moralities, such as oaths and imprecations, which are only intended to compass what is desired : the expense, that is necessary to maintain these irre- gularities, makes a man false in his other dealings. All this he freely confessed was true. Upon which, I urged, that, if it was reasonable for a man to regulate his appetite in things which he knew were hurtful to him, was it not as reason- able for God to prescribe a regulating of those * Uaaa yh.p <p{iffis, dripicovre Kol ireTeivuv, kpimwv re Kol iuaXiav, Safid^^rai Koi SeSdfiacTTai, rrj (pvcrei rrj tvdpwTrlyri. S. Jac. iii. 7. ■f* * These are the black Lethe lake, which drench the souls of men : he that wants true virtue, in heaven's logic, is ' blind, and cannot see afar off.* (2 Pet. i. 9.) Those mists that rise from impure and earthly minds, like an atmosphere, perpetually encompass them, that they cannot see that sun of divine truth, that shines about them, but never shines into any unpurged souls : the darkness comprehends it not; the foolish man understands it not.'. . John Smith. Select Discourses. O 194< THE LIFE OF appetites, whose unrestrained course did produce such mischievous effects? That it could not be denied, but doing to others what we would have others do unto us, was- a just rule. Those men, then, that knew, how extremely sensible they themselves would be, of the dishonour of their families, in the case of their wives or daughters, must needs condemn themselves, for doing that, which they could not bear from another. And, if the peace of mankind, and the entire satisfaction of our whole life, ought to be one of the chief measures of our actions, then, let all the world judge, whether a man, that confines his appetite, and lives contented at home, is not much happier, than those that let their desires run after forbidden objects. The thing being granted to be better in itself, then the question falls, betw^een the restraint of appetite in some instances, and the freedom of a man's thoughts, the soundness of his health, his application to affairs, with the easiness of his whole life : whether the one is not to be done before the other? As to the difficulty of such a restraint, though it is not easy to be done, when a man allows himself many liberties, in which it is not possible for him to stop ; yet, those who avoid the occasions that may kindle these impure flames, and keep themselves well employed, find the victory and dominion over them, no such impossible or hard matter, as may seem at first view. So that, though the philosophy and morality of this point were plain, yet, tlierc is not strength enough io JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 195 that principle, to subdue nature and appetite. Upon this I urged, that morality could not be a strong thing, unless a man were determined by a law within himself: for, if he only measured himself by decency, or the laws of the land, this would teach him, only, to use such caution in his ill practices, that they should not break out too visibly ; but would never carry him to an inw^ard, and universal probity. That virtue was of so complicated a nature, that, unless a man came entirely within its discipline, he could not adhere steadfastly to any one precept : for vices are often made necessary supports to one another. That this cannot be done, either steadily or with any satisfaction, unless the mind does inwardly comply with, and delight in, the dictate, of virtue ; and that could not be effected, except a man's nature were in- ternally regenerated, and changed by a higher principle. * Till that came about, corrupt nature * * To suppose a society of rational agents, acting under the eye of Pro- vidence ; concurring in one design, to promote the common benefit of the whole ; and conforming their actions, to the divine parental wisdom : where- in, each particular agent shall not consider himself a part, but as the member of a great city, whose author and founder is God : in vi'hich, the civil laws are no other, than the rules of virtue, and the duties of religion : and where every one's true interest, is combined with his duty : to suppose this, would be de- lightful : on this supposition, a man need be no stoick, or knight-errant, to account for his virtue. In such a system, vice is madjiess, cunning is folly, wisdom and virtue are the same thing : where, notwithstanding all the crooked paths and by-roads, the wayward appetite, and inclinations of men, sovereign reason is sure to reform what is amiss, to reduce that which is devious, make strait that which is crooked, and, in the last act, wind up the whole plot, ac- cording to the exactest rules of wisdom and justice. In such a system or society, governed by the wisest precepts, enforced by the highest rewards, and discouragements, it is delightful to consider, how the regulation of laws, the O ^ 196 THE LIFE OF would be strong, and philosophy but feeble : espe- cially, when it struggled with such appetites, or passions, as were much kindled, or deeply rooted in the constitution of one's body. This, he said, sounded to him, like enthusiasm, or canting : he had no notion of it, and so could not understand it. He comprehended the dictates of reason and philosophy ; in which, as the mind became much conversant, there would soon follow, as he believed, a greater easiness in obeying its precepts. I told him, on the other hand, that all his specu- lations of philosophy would not serve him in any stead, to the reforming of his nature and life, till he applied himself to God for inward assistances. It was certain, that the impressions made in his reason, governed him as they were lively presented to him : but these are so apt to slip out of our memory, and we so apt to turn our thoughts from them, and, at some times, the contrary impressions are so strong, that, let a man set up a reasoning in his mind against them, he finds that celebrated saying of the poet, * Video meliora, proboque ; Deteriora sequor,* (Ovid. Met. vii. 20.) distribution of good and evil, the aim of moral agents, do all conspire, in due subordination, to promote the noblest end ; . . to wit, the complete happiness or well-being of the whole. In contemplating the beauty of such a system, wc may cry out with the Psalmist, . . * Very excellent things are spoken of thee, thou city of God \'\ , Bp, Berkeley. Min. Phil. Dial. iii. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 197 ' I see what is better, and approve it ; But follow what is worse,' . . . to be all that philosophy will amount to. Whereas, those, who, upon such occasions, apply themselves to God by earnest prayer, feel a disengagement from such impressions, and themselves endued with a power to resist them. So that those bonds, which formerly held them, fall off. This, he said, must be the effect of a heat in nature : it was only the strong diversion of the thoughts, that gave the seeming victory ; and he did not doubt, but, if one could turn to a problem in Euclid, or to write a copy of verses, it would have the same effect. To this I answered, that, if such methods did only divert the thoughts, there might be some force in what he said : but, if they not only drove out such inclinations, but begat impressions con- trary to them, and brought men into a new dis- position and habit of mind ; then, he must confess, there was somewhat more than a diversion, in these changes, which were brought on our minds by true devotion. I added, that reason and experi- ence were the things that determined our per- suasions : that, as experience without reason, may be thought the delusion of our fancy ; so, reason without experience, had not so convincing an operation : but, these two meeting together, must needs give a man all the satisfaction he can desire. He could not say, it was unreasonable to believe, that the Supreme Being might make some thoughts o 3 198 THE LIFE OF stir in our minds, with more or less force, as He pleased : especially, the force of these motions, being, for the most part, according to the impres- sion that was made on our brains : which, that Power, that directed the whole frame of nature, could make grow deeper as it pleased. It was, also, reasonable to suppose God a being of such goodness, that he would give his assistance to such as desired it. For, though he might, upon some greater occasions, in an extraordinary manner, turn some people's minds, yet, since he had endued man with a faculty of reason, it is fit that men should employ that, as far as they could ; and beg his assistance : which certainly they can do. All this seemed reasonable, and, at least, probable. Now, good men, (who felt, upon their frequent applications to God in prayer, a freedom from those ill impressions that formerly subdued them ; an inward love to virtue and true goodness ; an easiness, and delight, in all the parts of holiness, which was fed, and cherished in them, by a seriousness in prayer, and did languish, as that went ofij) had as real a perception of an inward strength in their minds, that did rise and fall with true devotion, as they perceived the strength of their bodies increased, or abated, according as tliey had, or wanted, good nourishment. After many discourses upon this subject, he still continued to think all was tlic effect of fancy. He said, that he understood nothing of it ; but ac- knowledged, that he iJiougjit they were very JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 199 happy, whose fancies were under the power of such impressions ; since they had somewhat, on which their thoughts rested and centered. But, when I saw him in his last sickness, he then told me, he had another sense of what we had talked, concerning prayer, and inward assistances. * This subject led us to discourse of God, and of the notion of religion in general. He believed there was a Supreme Being. He could not think the world was made by chance ; and the regular course of nature seemed to demon- strate the eternal power of its Author. This, he said, he could never shake off; but, when he came to explain his notion of the Deity, he said, he looked on it as a vast power, that wrought every thing, by the necessity of its nature, and thought that God had none of those affections of love or * From this happy result, it may not be unreasonable to infer, that, even then, the good spirit of God, was imperceptibly, but efficaciously, at work in his heart. Is it unlikely, that, in some of his lone hours of sickness and re- flection, thoughts dwelt upon his mind, like those so beautifully expressed by Berkeley ; which, at all events, it may be well to place before the reader ? . . * To me it seems, the man can see neither deep nor far, who is not sensible of his own misery, sinfulness, and dependence; who doth not perceive, that this present v/orld is not designed, or adapted, to make rational souls happy ; who would not be glad, of getting into a better state ; and who would not be overjoyed, to find, that the road leading thither, was the love of God and man ; the practising every virtue ; the living reasonably, while we are here upon earth ; proportioning our esteem, to the value of things ; and so using this world, as not to abuse it ; . . for this is what Christianity requires. It neither enjoins the nastiness of the cynic, nor the insensibility of the stoic. Can there be a higher ambition, than to overcome the world ; or a wiser, than to subdue ourselves ; or a more comfortable doctrine, than the remission of sins J or a more joyful prospect, than that, of having our base nature renewed, and assimilated to the Deity,. . our being assimilated to the Deity, our being made fellow-citizens with angels, and sons of God ? ' . . Bp. Berheley. Min. Phil. Dial. V. O 4 SOO THE LIFE OF hatred, which breed perturbation in us ; and, by consequence, he could not see, that there was to be either reward or punishment. He thought our conceptions of God were so low, that we had better not think much of him ; and to love God seemed to him a presumptuous thing, and the heat of fanciful men. Therefore, he believed, there should be no other religious worship, but a general celebration of that Being, in some short hymn : all the other parts of worship he esteemed the inven- tions of priests, to make the world believe they had a secret, of incensing and appeasing God, as they pleased. In a word, he was neither per- suaded, that there was a special providence about human affairs, nor that prayers were of much use j since that was to look on God as a weak being, that would be overcome with importunities. And, for the state after death, though he thought the soul did not dissolve at death, yet, he doubted much of rewards or punishments : the one, he thought too high for us to attain, by our slight services; and the other, was too extreme, to be inflicted for sin. This was the substance of his speculations, about God and religion. I told him his notions of God were so low, tliat the Supreme Being seemed to be nothing but nature. For, if that Being had no freedom nor choice of its own actions, nor operated by wisdom or goodness, all those reasons which led him to acknowledge a God, were contrary to this conceit : for, if the order of the universe persuaded him to JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 201 think there was a God, he must, at the same time, conceive him to be both wise and good, as well as powerful ; since these all appeared equally in the creation : though his wisdom and goodness had w^ays of exerting themselves, that were far beyond our notions or measures. If God was wise and good, he would naturally love, and be pleased with, those that resemble him in these perfections ; and dislike those, that were opposite to him. Every rational being naturally loves itself; and is delighted in others like itself; and is averse from what is not so. Truth, is a rational nature's acting in conformity to itself, in all things ; and goodness, is an inclination to promote the happiness of other beings : so, truth and goodness, were the essential perfections of every reasonable being, and certainly most eminently in the Deity. Nor does his mercy or love raise passion, or perturbation in him ; for we feel that to be a weakness in ourselves, which, indeed, only flows from our want of power, or skill, to do what we wish or desire. It is, also, reasonable to believe, God would assist the endea- vours of the good, with some helps suitable to their nature. And that it could not be imagined, that those who imitated him, should not be specially favoured by him: and, therefore, since this did not appear in this state, it was most reasonable to think, it should be in another ; where the rewards shall be, an admission to a more perfect state of conformity to God, with the felicity that follows it ; and the punishments should be, a total exclu- ^02 THE LIFE OF sion from him, with all the horror and darkness that must follow that. These seemed to be the natural results of such several courses of life, as well as the effects of divine justice, rewarding or punishing. For, since he believed the soul had a distinct substance, separated from the body; upon its dissolution, there was no reason to think it passed into a state of utter oblivion, of what it had been formerly: but, that, as the reflections on the good or evil it had done, must raise joy or horror in it, so, those good or ill dispositions ac- companying the departed souls, they must either rise up to a higher perfection, or sink to a more depraved and miserable state. In this life, variety of affairs and objects do much cool and divert our minds ; and are, on the one hand, often great temptations to the good, and give the bad some ease in their trouble : but, in a state wherein the soul shall be separated from sensible things, and employed in a more quick and sublime way of operation, this must very much exalt the joys and improvements of the good, and as much heighten the horror and rage of the wicked. So that, it seemed a vain thing, to pretend to believe a Su- preme Being, that is wise and good, as well as great, and not to think a discrimination will be made between the good and bad: which, it is manifest, is not fully done in this life. As for the government of the world, if we be- lieve the Supreme Power made it, there is no reason to think he does not govern it : for, all that JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 203 we can fancy against it, is the distraction, which that infinite variety of second causes, and the care of their concernments, must give to the Jirst, if it inspects them all. But, as, among men, those of weaker capacities are wholly taken up with some one thing, whereas, those of more enlarged powers, can, without distraction, have many things within their care, (as the eye can, at one view, receive a great variety of objects, in that narrow compass, without confusion,) so, if we conceive the divine understanding to be as far above ours, as his power of creating and framing the whole universe, is above our limited activity, we shall no more think the government of the world a distraction to him ; and if we have once overcome this prejudice, we shall be ready to acknowledge a providence direct- ing all affairs; a care well becoming the Great Creator.* As for worshipping him, if we imagine our wor- ship is a thing that adds to his happiness, or gives him such a fond pleasure, as weak people have to hear themselves commended, . . or that our repeated addresses do overcome him, through our mere impor- tunity, . . we have certainly very unworthy thoughts of him. The true ends of worship come within another consideration ; which is this : a man is never entirely reformed, till a new principle governs his thoughts. Nothing makes that principle so * * He, who fills immensity, is, ^s really, and effectually, present with each world, and each individual, as if there were but one world, or one individual.' . . Practical Theology, 204 THE LIFE OF strong, as deep and frequent meditations of God ; whose nature, though it be far above our com- prehension, yet his goodness and wisdom are such perfections, as fall within our imagination : and he that thinks often of God, and considers him as governing the world, and as ever observing all his actions, will feel a very sensible effect of such meditations, as they grow more lively and frequent with him ; so, the end of religious worship, either public or private, is, to make the apprehensions of God, have a deeper root, and a stronger influence on us. The frequent returns of these are neces- sary ; lest, if we allow of too long intervals between them, these impressions may grow feebler, and other suggestions may come in their room. And the returns of prayer, are to be considered, not as favours extorted by mere importunity, but as re- wards conferred on men so well disposed and pre- pared for them ; according to the promises that God has made, for answering our prayers : thereby, to engage and nourish a devout temper in us; which is the chief root of all true holiness and virtue. It is true, we cannot have suitable notions of the divine essence ; as, indeed, we have no just idea of any essence whatsoever: since we com- monly consider all things, either by their outward figure, or by their effects ; and, from thence, make inferences what their nature must be. So, though we cannot frame any perfect image in our minds of the divinity, yet, we may, from the discoveries JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 205 God has made of himself, form such conceptions of him, as may possess our minds with great rever- ence for him, and beget in us such a love of those perfections, as to engage us to imitate them. For, when we say we love God, the meaning is, we love that being that is holy, just, good, wise, and mfinitely perfect : and loving these attributes, in that object, will certainly carry us to desire them in ourselves. For, whatever we love in another, we naturally, according to the degree of our love, endeavour to resemble it. In sum, the loving and worshipping God, though they are just and reason- able returns and expressions of the sense we have of his goodness to us, yet, they are exacted of us, not only as a tribute to God, but as a mean to beget in us a conformity to his nature ; which is the chief end, of pure and undefiled religion. If some men have, at several times, found out inventions to corrupt this, and cheat the world, it is nothing but what occurs, in every sort of employment, to which men betake themselves : mountebanks corrupt physic ; pettifoggers have entangled the matters of property ; and all profes- sions have been vitiated, by the knaveries of a number of their calling. With all these discourses he was not equally satisfied. He seemed convinced, that the impres- sions of God beipg much in men's minds, would be a powerful means to reform the world : and did not seem determined against providence. But, for the next state, he thought it more likely, that 206 THE LIFE OP the soul began anew ; and that, her sense of what she had done in this body, lying in the figures that are made in the brain, as soon as she dislodged^ all these perished, and that the soul went into some other state, to begin a new course. But I said, on this head, that this was, at best, a conjecture, raised in him by his fancy ; for he could give no reason to prove it true : nor, was all the remembrance our souls had of past things, seated in some material figures, lodged in the brain ; though it could not be denied, but a great deal of it lay in the brain. That we have many ab- stracted notions and ideas of immaterial things, which depend not on bodily figures. Some sins, such as falsehood and ill-nature, were seated in the mind, as sensual appetite was in the body ; and, as the whole body was the receptacle of the soul, and the eyes and ears were the organs of seeing and hearing, so was the brain the seat of memory : yet, the power and faculty of memory, as well as of seeing and hearing, lay in the mind ; and so, it was no unconceivable thing, tliat the soul, either by its own strength, or by the means of some sub- tiler organs, which might be fitted for it in another state, should still remember, as well as think. But, indeed, we know so little of the nature of our souls, that it is a vain thing for us to raise an hy- pothesis, out of the conjectures we have about it ; or to reject one, because of some difficulties that occur to us : since, it is as hard to understand, how we remember things now, as how we shall da JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. ^107 it, in another state: only we are sure we do it, now ; and so we shall be, then, when we do it. When I pressed him, with the secret joys that a good man felt, particularly as he drew near death, and the horrors of ill men, especially at that time, . . he was willing to ascribe it, to the impressions they had from their education. But, he often confessed, that, whether the busi- ness of rehgion was true, or not, he thought those, who had the persuasions of it, and lived so, that they had quiet in their consciences, and believed God governed the world, and acquiesced in his providence, and had the hope of an endless blessed- ness in another state, . . the happiest men in the world : and said, he would give all that he was master of, to be under those persuasions, and to have the supports and joys that must needs flow from them. I told him, the main root of all corruptions in men's principles, was their ill life; which, as it darkened their minds, and disabled them from dis- cerning better things, so it made it necessary for them, to seek out such opinions, as might give them ease from those clamours, that would, other- wise, have been raised within them.* He did not deny, but that, after the doing of some things, he felt great, and severe challenges, within himself: but he said, he felt not these, after * * There is an aching hollowness in the bosom, a dark cold speck at the heart, an obscure and boding sense of a somewhat, that must be kept out of sight of the conscience ; some secret lodger, whom they can neither resolve to ■quit, or retain.', . Coleridge. A 208 THE LIFE. OF some others; which I would, perhaps, call far greater sins, than those that affected him more sensibly. This, I said, might flow from the disorders he had cast himself into, which had corrupted his judgment, and vitiated his taste of things; and, by his long continuance in, and frequent repeating of, some immoralities, he had made them so fami- liar to him, that they were become, as it were, natural : and, then, it was no wonder, if he had not so exact a sense, of what was good or evil ; as Vja feverish man cannot judge of tastes. He did acknowledge, the whole system of reli- gion, if believed, was a greater foundation of quiet, than any other thing whatsoever : for all the quiet he had in his mind, was, that he could not think, so good a being as the Deity would make him miserable. 1 asked, if, when, by the ill course of his life, he had brought so many diseases on his body, he could blame God for it ; or expect, that he should de- liver him from them by a mh'acle ? He confessed there was no reason for that. I then urged, that, if sin should cast the mind, by a natural effect, into endless horrors and agonies, which, being seated in a being not subject to death, must last for ever, unless some miraculous power interposed, . . could he accuse God for that, which was the efliect of his own choice, and ill life ? He said, they were happy that believed ; for it was not in every man's power. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 209 And upon this we discoursed long about re- vealed religion. He said, he did not understand the business of Inspiration. He believed the penmen of the Scriptures had heats and honesty, and so writ; but could not comprehend, how God should reveal his secrets to mankind. Why was not man made a creature more disposed for religion, and better illuminated ? He could not apprehend, how there should be any corruption in the nature of man, or a lapse derived from Adam. God's com- municating his mind to one man, was the putting it in his power to cheat the world. For prophecies and miracles, the world had been always full of strange stories: for, the boldness and cunning of contrivers, meeting with the simplicity and credulity of the people, things were easily received; and, being once received, passed down without con- tradiction. The incoherences of style in the scriptures, the odd transitions, the seeming con- tradictions, chiefly about the order of time, the cruelties enjoined the Israelites in destroying the Canaanites, circumcision, and many other rites of the Jewish worship, seemed to him unsuitable to the divine nature : and the first three chapters of Genesis, he thought, could not be true, unless /they were parables. * • * Euphran. You allow, then, God to be wise. Aldph. I do. Euphran. What ! Infinitely wise ?. Alciph. Even in finitely. £10 THE LIFE OF * \ This was the substance of what he excepted to revealed religion in general ; and to the old testa- ment in particular. I answered to all this, that, believing a thing upon the testimony of another, in other matters, where there was no reason to suspect the testimony, (chiefly, where it was confirmed by other circum- stances,) was not only a reasonable thing, but it was the hinge on which all the government and justice in the world depended ; since, all courts of justice proceed upon the evidence given by wit- nesses ; for the use of writings, is but a thing more lately brought into the world. So, then, if the credibility of the thing, the innocence and disin- terestedness of the witnesses, the number of them. Euphran. His wisdom, then, far exceeds that of man ? jilciph. Vastly. Euphran. Probably, more than tlie wisdom of man, that of a child? Alciph. Without all question. Euphran. What think you, Alciphron : . . must not the conduct of a parent seem very unaccountable to a child, when its inclinations are thwarted; when it is put to learn letters ; when it is obliged to swallow bitter physic ; to part with what it likes ; and to suffer, and do, and see many things done, con- trary to its own judgment, however reasonable or contrary to that of others? Alciph. This I grant. Euphran. Will it not, therefore, follow from hence, by a parity of reason^ that the little child, man, when it takes upon it to judge of the schemes of Parental Providence ; . . and a thing of yesterday, to criticise the economy of the ANCIENT OF DAYS, . . wiU it uot foUow, I say, that such n judge, of such matters, must be apt to make very erroneous judgments? esteeming those things, in themselves, unaccountable, which he cannot account for; and con- cluding of some things, (from an appearance of arbitrary carriage towards him, which is suited to his infancy and ignorance,) that they are, in themselves, ca- pricious or absurd, and cannot proceed from a wise, just, and !)encvolcnt God. This single consideration, if duly attended to, would, I verily think, put an end to many conceited reasonings, against Revealed Ileligion.*.. Dp. Berkeley* Min. Phil. Dial. vi. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. Sll and the most public confirmations that could pos- sibly be given, do concur to persuade us of any mat- ter of fact, it is a vain thing to say, because it is possible for so many men to agree in a lie, that, there- fore, these ham done it. In all other things, a man gives his assent, when the credibility is strong on the one side, and there appears nothing on the other side to balance it. So, such numbers agree- ing in their testimony to these miracles, for instance, of our Saviour's calling Lazarus out of the grave, the fourth day after he was buried ; and his own rising again, after he was certainly dead, . . if there had been never so many impostures in the world, no man can, with any reasonable colour, pretend this was one. We find, both by the Jewish, and Roman writers, that lived in that time, that our Saviour was crucified, and that all his disciples and followers believed certainly, that he rose again.'* They believed this, upon the testimony of the apostles, and of many hundreds who saw it, and died confirming it. They went about to persuade the world of it, with great zeal, though they knew they were to get nothing by it, but reproach and sufferings t; and by many wonders which they * See Lardner. Jewish and Heathen Testimonies. f The evidence, on these points especially, has been incomparably stated by Dr. Paley ; who has brought the whole force of his lawyer-like mind to bear upon it. The absurdity of scepticism has been placed in a striking point of view, by, perhaps, our best reasoner in verse : . . Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskilled in arts, In several ages born, in several parts, P 2 212 THE LIFE OF wrought, they confirmed their testimony. Now, to avoid all this, by saying it is possible this might be a contrivance, and to give no presumption to make it so much as probable that it was so, is, in plain English, to say, * We are resolved, let the evidence be what it will, we will not believe it/ He said, if a man says he cannot believe, what help is there? for he was not master of his own belief, and believing was, at highest, but a probable opinion. To this I answered, that, if a man will let a wanton conceit possess his fancy against these things, and never consider the evidence for religion, on the other hand, but reject it upon a slight view of it, he ought not to say, he cannot, but he will not, believe : and, while a man lives an ill course of life, he is not fitly qualified to examine the matter aright. Let him grow calm and virtuous, and, upon due application, examine things fairly; and then, let him pronounce according to his conscience, if, to take it at its lowest, the reasons, on the one hand, are not much stronger, than they are on the other. For I found he was so possessed with the general conceit, that a mixture of knaves and fools had made all extraordinary things be easily believed, that it carried him away, to de- Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why, Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie? Unasked their pains, ungrateful their advice, Starving their gain, and martyrdom tlieir price. Diyttm. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 213 termine the matter, without, so much as, looking on, the historical evidence, for the truth of Chris- tianity ; which he had not inquired into, but had bent all his wit and study, to the support of the other side. As for that, that believing is, at best, but an opinion ; if the evidence be but probable, it is so : but, if it be such, that it cannot be questioned, it grows as certain as knowledge : for we are no less certain, that there is a great town called Constantinople, the seat of the Ottoman empire, than that there is another called London. We as little doubt, that Queen Elizabeth once reigned, as that King Charles now [in 1680.] reigns in England. So that, believing may be as certain, and as little subject to doubting, as seeing or knowing. There are two sorts of believing divine mat- ters : . . The one, is wrought in us, by our comparing all the evidences of matter of fact, for the confirmation of revealed religion, with the prophecies in the scripture ; where things were punctually predicted, some ages before their completion ; not in dark and doubtful words, uttered like oracles, which might bend to any event ; but in plain terms : as, the foretelling that Cyrus, by name, should send the Jews back from the captivity, after the fixed period of seventy years : the history of the Syrian and Egyptian kings, so punctually foretold by Daniel : and the prediction of the destruction of Jerusalem, with many circumstances relating to it, p 3 214( THE LIFE OF made by our Saviour : joining these, to the excel- lent rule and design of the scripture, in matters of morality, it is, at least, as reasonable to believe this, as any thing else in the world. Yet, such a believing as this, is only a general persuasion in the mind ; which has not that effect, till a man, applying himself to the directions set down in the scriptures, (which, upon such evidence, cannot be denied to be as reasonable, as for a man to follow the prescriptions of a learned physician ; and, when the rules are both good and easy, to submit to them, for the recovery of his health,) and following these, finds a power entering within him, that frees him from the slavery of his appetites and passions ; that exalts his mind above the accidents of life ; and spreads an inward purity in his heart, from which a serene and calm joy arises within him. And good men, by the efficacy these methods have upon them, and from the returns of their prayers, and other endeavours, grow assured, that these things are true, and answerable to the promises they find registered in scripture. All this, he said, might be fancy. But, to this I answered, that, as it were unrea- sonable to tell a man that is abroad, and knows he is awake, that, perhaps, he is in a dream, and in his bed, and only thinks he is abroad ; or, that, as some go about in their sleep, so he may be asleep still: so, good and religious men hnow, though others may be abused by their fancies, that they are under no such deception ; and find they are JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 215 neither hot, nor enthusiastical, but under the power of calm and clear principles. All this, he said, he did not understand; and that it was to assert, or beg the thing in question ; which he could not comprehend. As for the possihility of revelation, it was a vain thing to deny it. For, as God gives us the sense of seeing material objects, by our eyes ; and has opened in some, a capacity of apprehending high and sublime things, of which other men seemed utterly incapable ; so, it was a weak asser- tion, that God cannot awaken a power, in some men's minds, to apprehend and know some thing s, in such a manner, that others are not capable of it. This is not half so incredible to us, as sight is to a blind man : who, yet, may be convinced there is a strange power of seeing, that governs men, of which he finds himself deprived. As for the capa- city put into such men's hands, to deceive the world, we are, at the same time, to consider, that, besides the probity of their tempers, it cannot be thought, but God can so forcibly bind up a man, in some things, that it should not be in his power to deliver them, otherwise than as he gives him in commission. Besides, the confirmation of miracles is a divine credential, to warrant such persons, in what they deliver to the world ; which [it] cannot be imagined, can be joined to a lie, since this were to put the omnipotence of God, to attest that which no honest man will do. For the business of the fall of man, and other V 4 216 THE LIFE OF things, of which we cannot, perhaps, give our- selves a perfect account, we, who cannot fathom the secrets of the council of God, do, very unrea- sonably, take on us to reject an excellent sys- tem of good and holy rules, because we cannot satisfy ourselves about some difficulties in them. Common experience tells us, there is a great disorder in our natures which is not easily recti- fied : all philosophers were sensible of it, and every man that designs to govern himself by reason, feels the struggle between it and nature : so that, it is plain, there is a lapse of the high powers of the soul. But why, said he, could not this be rectified, by some plain rules given : but men must come, and show a trick, to persuade the world they speak to them in the name of God ? I answered, that religion, being a design to re- cover and save mankind, was to be so opened, as to awaken, and work upon, all sorts of people : and, generally, men of a simplicity of mind were those that were the fittest objects for God to show his favour to : therefore, it was necessary, that mes- sengers sent from heaven, should appear with such alarming evidences as might awaken the world, and prepare them, by some astonishing signs, to listen to the doctrine they were to deliver. Philosophy, that was only a matter of fine speculation, had few votaries : and, as there was no authority in it, to bind the world to believe its dictates, so, they were only received by some of nobler and refined na- JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. S17 tures, who could apply themselves to, and delight in, such notions. But true religion* was to be * The whole evidences of Christianity have been admirably condensed by Bishop Taylor, in what he calls a moral demonstration, and has inserted in the first book of the Ductor Dubitantium. I know not any single tract, that could be placed in the hands of any candid infidel, (a rare combination,) with a fairer prospect of producing the happiest effect. A specimen of it, can hardly fail to excite the desire, of perusing the entire : . . ' The Christian reh'gion, is a doctrine perfective of human nature; that teaches us to love God, and to love one another; to hurt no man, and to do good to every man : it propines to us the noblest, the highest, and the bravest pleasures of the world ; the joys of charity, the rest of innocence, the peace of quiet spirits, the wealth of beneficence, and forbids us only to be beasts, and to be devils : it allows all that God and nature intended ; and only restrains the excrescencies of nature ; it forbids us, to take pleasure in that which is only the entertainment of devils ; in murders and revenges, malice and spiteful words and actions : It permits corporal pleasures ; where they can best minister to health and societies, to conservation of families, and honour of communities: it teaches men to keep their words, that themselves may be secured in all their just interests ; and to do good to others, that good may be done to them : it forbids biting one another, that we may not be devoured by one another ; and commands obedience to superiors, that we may not be ruined in confusions j it combines governments, and confirms all good laws; and makes peace, and opposes and prevents wars, where they are not just, and where they are not necessary. It is a religion, that is life and spirit ; not consisting in ceremonies and external amusements, but in the services of the heart, and the real fruit of lips and hands, that is, of good words, and good deeds : it bids us, to do that to God, which is agreeable to his excellencies, . . that is, worship him with the best thing we have, and make all things else minister vmto it : it bids us, to do that to our neighbour, by which he may be better ; it is the perfecticn df the natural law, and agreeable to our natural necessities, and promotes our natural ends and designs : it does not destroy reason ; but instructs us in it, in very many things, and complies with it in all : it hath in it, both heat, and light ; and is not more effectual, than it is beauteous : it promises every things that we can desire ; and yet, promises nothing, but what it does effect : it proclaims war, against all vices ; and, generally, does command every virtue : it teaches us, with ease, to mollify those affections, which reason durst scarce reprove, because she hath not strength enough to conquer ; and it does create in us those virtues, which Reason, of herself, neVer knew, and, after they are known, never could approve suflSciently : it is a doctrine, in which, nothing is superfluous, or burdensome ; nor yet, is there any thing wanting, which can procure happiness to mankind, or by which God can be glorified. And, if wisdom, and mercy, and justice, and simplicity, and holiness, and purity, and meekness, and contentedness, and charity, be images of God, and rays of Divinity, then, that doctrine, in which all these shine so gloriously, and in 218 THE LIFE OF built on a foundation, that should carry more weight on it; and to have such convictions, as might, not onlj, reach those who were already- disposed to receive them, but rouse up such, as, without great and sensible excitation, would have otherwise slept on in their ill courses. Upon this, and some such occasions, I told him, I saw the ill use he made of his wit ; by which, he slurred the gravest things, with a slight dash of his fancy : and the pleasure he found in such wanton expressions, as calling the doing of mi- racles the showing of a trick, did, really, keep him from examining them, with that care, which such things required. For the old testament^ we are so remote from that time, we have so little knowledge of the lan- guage in which it was writ, have so imperfect an account of the history of those ages, know nothing of their customs, forms of speech, and the several periods they might have, by which they reckoned their time, that, it is rather a wonder we should understand so much of it, than, that many passages in it, should be so dark to us. The chief use it has, to us Christians, is, that, from writings which the Jews acknowledged to be divinely inspired, it is manifest, the Messiah was promised, before the de- struction of their temple : which, being done long which nothing else is ingredient, must needs be from God ; and tliat all this is true, in the doctrine of Jksus, needs no other probation, but the reading of the words** .. Doctor Dubitahtium. I. iv. 2. lip, Taylors IForks. vol. xii. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 219 ago ; and these prophecies agreeingto our Saviour, and to no other, here is a great confirmation given to the gospel. But, though many things in these books could not be understood by us, who live above three thousand years after the chief of them were written, it is no such extraordinary matter. For that of the destruction of the Canaanites by the Israelites, it is to be considered, that, if God had sent a plague among them all, that could not have been found fault with. If, then, God had a right to take away their lives without in- justice or cruelty, he had a right to appoint others to do it, as well as to execute it by a more imme- diate way : and the taking away people by the sword, is a much gentler way of dying, than to be smitten with a plague or a famine. And, for the - children that were innocent of their fathers' faults, God could, in another state, make that up to them. So, all the difficulty is, why were the Israelites commanded to execute a thing of such barbarity ? But this will not seem so hard, if we consider, that this was to be no precedent for future times : since they did not do it, but upon special warrant, and commission from heaven ; evidenced to all the world, by such mighty miracles, as did, plainly, show, that they were particularly designed by God, to be the executioners of his justice. And God, by employing them in so severe a service, intended to possess them with great horror of idolatry, which was punished in so extreme a manner. For the rites of their religion, we can ill judge 220 THE LIFE OF of them, except we perfectly understood the ido- latries round about them ; to which, we find, they were much inclined : so they were to be bent, by other rites, to an extreme aversion from them : and yet, by the pomp of many of their ceremonies and sacrifices, great indulgences were given, to a peo- ple naturally fond of a visible splendour in religious worship. In all which, if we cannot descend to such satisfactory answers, in every particular, as a curious man would desire, it is no wonder. The long interval of time, and other accidents, have worn out those things, which were necessary to give us a clearer light into the meaning of them. And, for the story of the creatioriy how far some things in it may be parabolical, and how far histo- rical, has been much disputed : there is nothing in it, that may not be historically true : for, if it be acknowledged, that spirits can form voices in the air, for which we have as good authority, as for any thing in history, then, it is no wonder, that Eve, being so lately created, might be deceived, and think a serpent spake to her, when the evil spirit framed the voice. But, in all these things, I told him he was in the wrong way, when he examined the business of reli- gion by some dark parts of scripture : therefore, I desired him to consider the whole contexture of the Christian religion, the rules it gives, and the metliods it prescribes. Nothing can conduce more, to the peace, order, and happiness of tlie world, than to be governed by its rules. Nothing is more JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 221 for the interest of every man in particular. The rules of sobriety, temperance, and moderation, were the best preservers of life, and, which was perhaps more, of health. HumiUty, contempt of the vanities of the world, and the being well em- ployed, raise a man's mind to a freedom from the follies and temptations, that haunted the greatest part. Nothing was so generous and great, as to supply the necessities of the poor, and to forgive injuries. Nothing raised and maintained a man's reputation so much, as to be exactly just and mer- ciful, kind, charitable, and compassionate. No- thing opened the powers of a man's soul so much, as a calm temper, a serene mind, free of passion and disorder. Nothing made societies, families, and neighbourhoods, so happy, as when these rules, which the Gospel prescribes, took place, of doing as *we would have others do to us, and loving our neighbours as ourselves. The Christian worship was also plain and sim- ple ; suitable to so pure a doctrine. The cere- monies of it, were few and significant : as, the admission to it, by a washing with water ; and the memorial of our Saviour's death, in bread and wine. The motives in it, to persuade to this purity, were strong. That God sees us, and will judge us for all our actions : that we shall be for ever happy, or miserable, as we pass our lives here. The example of our Saviour's life, and the great expressions of his love, in dying for us, are mighty engagements to obey and imitate him. The plain 222 THE LIFE OF way of expression used by our Saviour and his apostles, shows, there was no artifice, where there was so much simplicity used : there were no secrets, kept only among the priests, but even/ thing was open to all Christians. The rewards of holiness, are not, entirely, put over to another state; but good men, are specially blest, with peace in their consciences, great joy in the con- fidence they have of the love of God, and of seeing him for ever ; and, often, a signal course of bless- ings follows them, in their whole lives. But if, at other times, calamities fell on them, these were so much mitigated, by the patience they were taught, and the inward assistances with which they were furnished, that even those crosses, were converted to blessings. I desired, he would lay all these things together ; and see, what he could except to them, to make him think this was a contrivance. Interest appears, in all human contrivances. Our Saviour, plainly, had none. He avoided applause ; withdrew him- self from the offers of a crown : he submitted to poverty, and reproach, and much contradiction, in his life ; and to a most ignominious, and painful death. His apostles had none neither: they did not pretend either to power or wealth ; but deli- vered a doctrine that must needs condemn them, if they ever made such use of it. They declared their commission fully, without reserves till other times : they recorded their own weakness : some of them wrought with their own hands : and, when JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. ^23 they received the charities of their converts, it was not so much to supply their own necessities, as to distribute to others. They knew, they were to suffer much, for giving their testimonies, to what they had seen and heard : in which, so many, (in a thing so visible as Christ's resurrection and ascension, and the effusion of the Holy Ghost, which he had promised,) could not be deceived : and they gave such public confirmations of it, by the wonders they themselves wrought, that great multitudes were converted to a doctrine, which, besides the opposition it gave to lust and passion, was borne down and persecuted, for three hundred years : and yet its force was such, that it not only weathered out all those storms, but even grew and spread vastly under them. Pliny*, about three- score years after, found their numbers great, and their lives innocent. And even Lucian t, amidst all his raillery, gives a high testimony to their charity and contempt of life, and the other virtues of the Christians : which is, likewise, more than once, done by malice itself, Julian t the apostate. If a man will lay all this in one balance, and compare with it the few exceptions brought to it, he will soon find, how strong the one, and how slight the other are. Therefore, it was an im- * Lardner : Heathen Testimonies. Works, vii, 17.. 77. Edit. 1827. Bishop Gray : Connection, ii. 467 . . 475. Edit. 1819. t Lardner: vii. 278. . 291. Bp. Gray. . Connect, ii. 247 . . 253. \ Lardner : vii. 581 , . 652. Bp. Gray . . Connect, ii. 287 . . 299. 224 THE LIFE OF proper way, to begin at some cavils, about some passages in the new testament, or the old, and, from thence, to prepossess one's mind against the whole. The right method had been, first, to con- sider the whole matter; and, from so general a view, to descend to more particular inquiries : whereas, they suffered their minds to be forestalled with prejudices ; so that they never examined the matter impartially. To the greatest part of this, he seemed to assent ; only, he excepted to the belief of mysterieSy in the Christian religion : which, he thought, no man could do ; since, it is not in a man's power to believe that, which he cannot comprehend, and of which, he can have no notion. The believing mysteries, he said, made way for all the jugglings of priests ; for they, getting the people under them in that point, set out to them what they pleased ; and, giving it a hard name, and calling it a mys- tery, the people were tamed, and easily believed it. The restraining a man from the use of women, except one in the way of marriage, and denying the remedy of divorce, he thought unreasonable impositions on the freedom of mankind : and the business of the clergy, and their maintenance, with the belief of some authority and power conveyed in their orders, looked, as he thought, like a piece of contrivance. * And why,' said he, * must a man tell me, I cannot be saved, unless I believe in things against my reason ; and then, that I must pay him, for telling me of them ? ' JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. SS5 These were all the exceptions which at any time I heard from him to Christianity : to which, I made these answers : . . For mysteries, it is plain there is, in every thing, somewhat that is unaccountable. How animals or men, are formed in their mothers' wombs; how seeds grow in the earth ; how the soul dwells in the body, and acts and moves it ; how we retain the figures of so many words, or things, in our memories ; and how we draw them out, so easily, and orderly, in our thoughts or discourses ; how sight and hearing were so quick, and distinct; how we move, and how bodies were compounded and united, . . these things, if we follow them into all the difficulties that we may raise about them, will appear every whit as unaccountable, as any mystery of religion: and a blind or deaf man, would judge sight or hearing as incredible, as any mystery may be judged by us : for our reason is not equal to them. In the same rank, different degrees of age or capacity raise some, far above others ; so that children cannot fathom the learning, nor weak persons the counsels, of more illuminated minds : therefore, it was no wonder, if we could not understand the Divine Essence. We cannot imagine, how two such different natures as a soul and a body, should so unite together, and be mutually affected with one another's concerns : and how the soul has one principle of reason, by which it acts intellectually ; and another of life, by which it joins to the body, and acts vitally : two Q THE LIFE OF principles, so widely differing, both in their nature and operation, and yet, united in one and the same person. There might be as many hard argu- ments, brought against the possibility of these things, (which, yet, every one knows to be true,) from speculative notions, as against the mysteries mentioned in the scriptures. As that of the Trinity : that in one essence, there are three different principles of operation, which, for want of terms fit to express them by, we call PERSONS, and which are called in scripture the FATHER, SON, and holy ghost * ; and that • ' May I be allowed to observe, that the popular theology of the present day, is strikingly marked, by inattention to the doctrine of the holt spirit? Far be it from me to undervalue those advantages, which the son of ood has purchased for all mankind : yet it is perilous, to withdraw our attention from the inestimable blessings, which the Holy Spirit bestows ; blessings, which come home to the bosom of the individual ; and which improve salvability, into salvation. That Spirit of life, which God breathed into Adam, when he made him in his image; that Spirit, whom our creed calls < the Lord and Giver of life,* is now ready to come, and take up his abode with us. By Him, we may be enabled, to renew within our hearts, a spiritual paradise ; where all things shall be redeemed from the primajval curse, and man may, once more, go forth to meet his Lord, without terror, and without reluctance. To have the devotional temper made the prevailing disposition of the soul ; to have God in all our thoughts ; and, whether we eat, or whether we drink, or what- ever we do, to do all to the glory of God ; not to be afraid, though Hk hear our conversation ; not to be ashamed, though He search our hearts ; to have confidence in Him, as our Fatlier which is in heaven ; to behold in Him, the author of all good, and the sweetener of all evil ; to be impressed with a vigi- lant and cheerful sense of his omnipresence ; to see Him in his works, and in the works of his creatures ; and to feel persuaded, that, neitlier mountains, nor perils, nor famine, nor the sword, can separate us from the love of God, . . these are the fruiu of the spirit : this is the duty, indeed, of all men ; but it is the high and glorious privilege, of the advanced and cstablislied Christian. By this faith, the just man lives. Tliis hope, is the anchor of his soul. The truth has made him free ; and he stands erect, in the liberty of the Gospel. He rejoices, tlint he is here but as a stranger, and a pilgrim ; and that his home is witli Christ, in tlie heavens. He feels the graciousuess of Uiat ador- JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. S27 the second of these did unite himself, in a most intimate manner, with the human nature of Jesus Christ; and that the sufferings he underwent, were accepted of God, as a sacrifice for our sins ; who, thereupon, conferred on him a power, of granting eternal life, to all that submit to the terms on which he offers it; and that the matter, of which our bodies once consisted, (which may, as justly, be called the bodies we laid down at our deaths, as these can be said to be the bodies which we formerly lived in,) being refined, and made more spiritual, shall be re-united to our souls, and be- come a fit instrument for them, in a more perfect estate : and that God inwardly bends and moves our wills, by such impressions as he can make on our bodies and minds. These, which are the chief mysteries of our religion, are neither so unreasonable, that any other objection lies against them, but this, that they agree not with our common notions ; nor so unaccountable, that somewhat like them cannot be assigned, in other things, which are believed really to be, though the manner of them cannot be ap- prehended : so, this ought not to be any just objection, to the submission of our reason to what we cannot so well conceive, provided our belief of it be well grounded. There have, indeed, been able BEING, who, when he would compress into a single word the essence of his adorable perfections, inspired an apostle to proclaim to us, that, God is I.OVE.' . . Dr. Phelak. Donn, Lect. p. 120. 1832. Q 2 228 THE LIFE OF too many niceties brought, rather to darken, than explain these. They have been defended, by weak arguments ; and illustrated, by similes not always so very apt and pertinent. And new sub- tilties have been added, which have rather per- plexed, than cleared them. All this cannot be denied : the opposition of heretics anciently, occa- sioned too much curiosity among the fathers ; which the schoolmen have wonderfully advanced, of late times. But, if mysteries were received, rather in the simplicity in which they are delivered in the scriptures, than according to the descantings of fanciful men upon them, they would not appear much more incredible, than some of the common objects of sense and perception. And, it is a need- less fear, that, if some mysteries are acknowledged, which are plainly mentioned in the new testament, it will, then, be in the power of the priests, to add more at their pleasure. For, it is an absurd infer- ence, from our being bound to assent to some truths about the divine essence, of which the manner is not understood, to argue, that, therefore, in an object, presented duly to our senses, such as bread and wine, we should be bound to believe, against their testimony ; that it is, not what our senses perceived it to be, but the whole flesh and blood of Christ, an entire body being in every crumb and drop of it. It is not, indeed, in a man's power, to believe thus, against his sense and reason ; where the object is proportioned to them, and fitly applied, and the organs are under no JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. ^^9 indisposition or disorder. It is certain, that no mystery is to be admitted, but upon very clear and express authorities from scripture, which could not, reasonably, be understood in any other sense. And, though a man cannot form an explicit notion of a mystery, (for then it would be no longer a mystery,) yet, in general, he may believe a thing to be, though he cannot give himself a particular account of the way of it ; or, rather, though he cannot answer some objections which lie against it. We know, we believe many such, in human matters, which are more within our reach : and it is very unreasonable, to say, we may not do it in divine things, which are much more above our apprehensions. For the severe restraint of the use of women, it is hard to deny that privilege to Jesus Christ, as a lawgiver, to lay such restraints, as all inferior legis- lators do : who, when they find the liberties their subjects take, prove hurtful to them, set such limits, and make such regulations, as they judge necessary and expedient. It cannot be said, but the restraint of appetite is necessary in some instances ; and, if it is necessary in these, perhaps other restraints are no less necessary, to fortify and secure them : for, if it be acknowledged, that men have a property in their wives and daughters, so that, to defile the one, or corrupt the other, is an unjust and injurious thing, it is certain, that, except a man carefully governs his appetites, he will break through these restraints: and, therefore our Saviour, knowing, Q S ^30 THE LIFE OF ' that nothing could so effectually deliver the world from the mischief of unrestrained appetite, as such a confinement, might, very reasonably, enjoin it. And, in all such cases, we are to balance the in- conveniences on both hands ; and, where we find they are heaviest, w^e are to acknowledge the equity of the law. On the one hand, there is no prejudice, but the restraint of appetite : on the other, are the mischiefs of being given up to plea- sure, of running inordinately into it, of breaking the quiet of our own family at home, and of others abroad ; the engaging into much passion, the doing many false and impious things to compass what is desired, the waste of men's estates, time, and health. Now, let any man judge, whether the prejudices on this side are not greater, than that single one on the other side, of being denied some pleasure. For 'polygamyy it is but reasonable, since women are equally concerned in the laws of marriage, that they should be considered as well as men : but, in a state of polygamy, they are under great misery and jealousy, and are, indeed, barbarously used. Man being, also, of a sociable nature, friendship and converse were among the primitive intend- ments of marriage ; in which, as far as the man may excel the wife in greatness of mind, and height of knowledge, the wife, some way, makes that up, with her affection and tender care : so that, from both happily mixed, there arises a harmony, which is, to virtuous minds, one of the greatest joys of life : but all this is gone, in a state of polygamy ; JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER, 231 which occasions perpetual jarrings, and jealousies. And the variety does but engage men to a freer range of pleasure ; which is not to be put in the balance, with the far greater mischiefs that must follow the other course. So that, it is plain, our Saviour considered the nature of man, what it could bear, and what was fit for it, when he so restrained us in these our liberties. And for divorce, a power to break that bond, would too much encourage married persons in the little quarrellings that may arise between them, if it were in their power to depart one from another. For, when they know that cannot be, and that they must live and die together, it does naturally incline them to lay down their resentments, and to en- deavour to live together as well as they can. So, the law of the Gospel being a law of love, designed to engage Christians to mutual love, it was fit, that all such provisions should be made, as might ad- vance and maintain it ; and all such liberties be taken away, as are apt to enkindle or foment strife. This might fall, in some instances, to be uneasy and hard enough : but laws consider what falls out most commonly, and cannot provide for all parti- cular cases. The best laws are, in some instances, very great grievances : but, the advantages being balanced with the inconveniences, measures are to be taken accordingly. Upon this whole matter, I said, that pleasure stood in opposition to other considerations of great weight, and so the decision was easy. And, since Q 4 232 THE LIFE OF our Saviour offers us so great rewards, it is but rea- sonable, he have the privilege of loading these promises with such conditions, as are not, in them- selves, grateful to our natural inclinations : for, all that propose high rewards, have, thereby, a right to exact difficult performances. To this he said, we are sure the terms are diffi- cult : but are not so sure of the rewards. Upon this I told him, that we have the same assurance of the rewards, that we have of the other parts of the Christian religion. We have the pro- mises of God, made to us by Christ, confirmed by many miracles : we have the earnests of these, in the quiet and peace which follow a good con- science ; and in the resurrection of him from the dead, who hath promised to raise us up. So that the reward is sufficiently assured to us ; and there is no reason it should be given to us, before the conditions are performed, on which the promises are made. It is but reasonable, that we should trust God, and do our duty; in hopes of that eternal life, which God, who cannot lie, hath pro- mised. The difficulties are not so great, as those, which, sometimes, the commonest concerns of life bring upon us. The learning some trades or sciences, the governing our health and affairs, bring us often under as great straits : so that, it ought to be no just prejudice, that there are some things in religion that are uneasy ; since, this is, rather, the eflfect of our corrupt natures, which are farther depraved by vicious habits, and can hardly JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 233 turn to any new course of life without some pain, , . than, of the dictates of Christianity, which are, in themselves, just and reasonable ; and will be easy to us, when renewed, and, in a good measure, re- stored to our primitive integrity. As for the exceptions he had, to the maintenance of the clergy, and the authority to which they pre- tended, if they stretched their designs too far, the Gospel did plainly reprove them for it : so that, it was very suitable to that church, which was so grossly faulty this way, to take the scriptures out of the hands of the people, since they [the scriptures] do so manifestly disclaim all such practices. The priests of the true Christian religion, have no secrets among them, which the world must not know ; but are, only, an order of men, dedicated to God, to at- tend on sacred things ; who ought to be holy, in a more peculiar manner, since they are to handle the things of God. It was necessary, that such per- sons should have a due esteem paid them, and a fit maintenance appointed for them ; that so, they might be preserved from the contempt that follows poverty, and the distractions which the providing against it, might otherwise involve them in.* And * The once celebrated book on the * Grounds and reasons of the contempt of the clergy and religion,' though it cannot be defended against the charge of undue levity, still, has many things deserving the serious consideration, of re- ligious men : * ridentem quid vetat dicere verum ? ' The first edition was published 1670.; the best, is that in Dr. Eachard's works, Lond. 1774. 3 vols, 12mo. See, however, the exceptions justly taken, by Barnabas Oley, in his preface to Mr. Herbert's * Country Parson,' The truth is, I would not have any person meddle with Eachard, who does not bring with him to the inspection, 2S4 THE LIFE OF as, in the order of the world, it was necessary, for the support of magistracy and government, and for preserving its esteem, that some state be used, . (though it is a happiness, when great men have philosophical minds, to despise the pageantry of it,) so, the plentiful supply of the clergy, if well used and applied by them, will certainly^ turn to the advantage of religion. And, if some men, either through ambition or covetousness, used in- direct means, or servile compliances, to aspire to such dignities, and, being possessed of them, ap- plied their wealth, either to luxury, or vain pomp, or made great fortunes out of it for their families, these were personal failings, in which the doctrine of Christ was not concerned. He, upon that, told me plainly, there was no- thing that gave him, and many others, a more secret encouragement in their ill ways, than, that those, who pretended to believe, lived so, that they could not be thought to be in earnest, when they a deep and earnest spirit of religion, . . impressed with tlie dangers, whicb, on all hands, beset the church, and anxious, so far as lies in an individual, to avert them. It should, in the present day, be specially and paramountly present, with every Christian heart, that, * To leave all reverent and religious compassion towards evils, or indignation towards faults, and to turn religion into a comedy or satire ; to search and rip up wounds, witli a laughing countenance ; to in- termix scripture and scurrility, sometimes, in one sentence, . . is a thing far from tlie devout reverence of a Christian, and scant becoming the honest re- gard of a sober man. * Non est major confusio, quam veri et joci * : there is no greater confusion, than the confounding of jest and earnest. The majesty of religion, and the contempt and deformity of things ridiculous, arc things as distant, as things may be.'. . Lord Bacon. Of Church Controversies. Works, vol. iil. p. .')2. Ed. Pickering. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER, ^35 said it. For, he was sure, religion was, either, a mere contrivance, or, the most important thing that could be ; so that, if he once believed, he would set himself, in great earnest, to live suitably to it. The aspirings that he had observed at court, of some of the clergy ; with the servile ways they took to attain to preferment, and the animosities among those of several parties, about trifles, made him often think they suspected the things were not true, which, in their sermons and discourses, they so earnestly recommended. Of this, he had ga- thered many instances. I knew some of them were mistakes and calum- nies ; yet, I could not deny, but something of them might be too true : and I publish this^ the more Jreely, to put all that pretend to religion^ chiefly those that are dedicated to holy functions, in mind of the great obligation that lies on them, to live suitably to their profession; since, otherwise, a great deal of the irreligion and atheism, that is among us, may too justly be charged on them. For wicked men are delighted out of measure, when they dis- cover ill things in them ; and conclude, from thence, not only that they are hypocrites, but that religion itself is a cheat. But I said to him, upon this head, that, though no good man could continue in the practice of any known sin, yet, such might, by the violence or sur- prise of a temptation, (to which they are liable as much as others,) be, on a sudden, overcome to do an ill thing, to their great grief all their life after. 236 THE LIFE OF And then, it was a very unjust inference, upon some few failings, to conclude, that such men do not believe themselves. But, how bad soever many are, it cannot be denied but there are also many, both of the clergy and laity, who give great and real demonstrations, of the power religion has over them ; in their contempt of the world, the strict- ness of their lives, their readiness to forgive injuries, to relieve the poor, and to do good on all occa- sions. And yet, even these may have their fail- ings ; either in such things, in which their consti- tutions are weak, or their temptations strong and sudden : and, in all such cases, we are to judge of men, rather by the course of their lives, than by the errors, that they, through infirmity or surprise, may have slipped into. These were the chief heads we discoursed on ; and, as far as I can remember, I have faithfully repeated the substance of our arguments. I have not concealed the strongest things he said to me : but, though I have not enlarged on all the excur- sions of his wit in setting them off, yet, I have given them their full strength, as he expressed them ; and, as far as I could recollect, have used his own words. So that, I am afraid, some may censure me, for setting down these tilings so largely ; which impious men may make an ill use of, and gatlier together, to encourage and defend themselves in their vices. But, if they will com- pare them with the answers made to them, and the sense that so great and refined a wit had of them JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 237 afterwards, I hope they may, through the blessing of God, be not altogether ineffectual. The issue of all our discourse was this : . . He told me, he saw vice and impiety were as contrary to human society, as wild beasts let loose would be. And, therefore, he firmly resolved, to change the whole method of his Hfe ; to become strictly just and true, to be chaste and temperate, to forbear swearing and irreligious discourse, to worship and pray to his Maker : and that, though he w^as not arrived at a full persuasion of Chris- tianity, he would never employ his wit more, to run it down, or to corrupt others. [Of which I have since a farther assurance, from a person of quality, who conversed much with him the last year of his life ; to whom he would often say, that he was happy if he did believe, and that he would never endeavour to draw him from it] To all this I answered, that a virtuous life would be very uneasy to him, unless vicious inclinations were removed : it would, otherwise, be a perpetual constraint. Nor, could it be effected, without an inward principle to change him ; and that was only to be had, by applying himself to God for it, in frequent and earnest prayer. And, I was sure, if his mind were once cleared of these disorders, and cured of those distempers, which vice brought on it, so great an understanding would soon see through all those flights of wit, that do feed atheism and irreligion : which have a false glittering in them, that dazzles some weak-sighted minds, who 2SS THE LIFE OF have not capacity enough, to penetrate farther than the surfaces of things : and so, they stick in these toils, which the strength of his mind would soon break through, if it were once freed from those things that depressed and darkened it. At this pass he was, when he went from London about the beginning of April. He had not been long in the country, when he thought he was so well, that, being to go to his estate in Somerset- shire, he rode thither post. This heat and violent motion did so inflame an ulcer with which he was afflicted, that he, with much difficulty, came back by coach, to the lodge at Woodstock-Park. He was then wounded both in body and mind. He under- stood physic, and his own constitution and dis- temper, so well, that he concluded he could hardly recover. But now, the hand of God touched him : and, as he told me, it was, not only, a general dark melancholy over his mind, such as he had formerly felt, but a most penetrating, cutting sorrow. So that, though in his body he suffered extreme pain, for some weeks, yet, the agonies of his mind some- times swallowed up the sense of what he felt in his body. He told me, and gave it me in charge, to tell it to one for whom he was much concerned, that, though there were nothing to come after this life, yet, all the pleasures he had ever known in sin, were not worth that torture he had felt in his mind.* He considered, he had, not only, neglected * Tlmt Rochester was tlius wounded, and internally smitten, must be en- tirely resolved into the unmerited grace and mercy of God. To use the words JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. S39 and dishonoured, but had openly defied his Maker, and had drawn many others into the hke impieties : so that, he looked on himself, as one that was in great danger of being damned. He then set him- self, wholly, to turn to God unfeignedly ; and to do all that was possible, in that little remainder of his life which was before him, to redeem those great portions of it, that he had formerly so ill em- ployed. The minister, that attended constantly on him, was that good and worthy man, Mr. Parsons, his mother's chaplain : who hath, since his death, preached, according to the directions he received from him, his funeral sermon : in which, there are so many remarkable passages, that I shall refer my reader to them ; and will repeat none of them here, that I may not, thereby, lessen his desire to edify himself^ by that excellent discourse ; which has given so great, and so general a satisfaction, to all good and judicious readers.* I shall speak cursorily of every thing, but that which I had im- mediately from himself. He was visited, every week of his sickness, by his diocesan, that truly primitive prelate, the lord of Jeremy Taylor, * The outward judgment, and the inward fear, were in- tended to be deletories of sin, and instruments of repentance.' In his utmost depth of misery, therefore, he was unspeakably more blessed, than the most prosperous and careless sinner. To me, there is something unspeakably ^appal- ling, in one of the bishop's images : . . * Conscience is a clock ; which, in one man, strikes aloud, and gives warning ; in another, the hand points silently to the figure, but strikes not. Meantime, hours pass away, and death hastens and after death comes judgment. ' See the Ductor Dubitantium, Book I. Works^ xi. 404. * An extract from this funeral sermon, is given, by way of appendix. 240 THE LIFE OF bishop of Oxford*; who, though he lived six miles from him, yet looked on this as so important a piece of his pastoral care, that he went often to him, and treated him with that decent plainness and freedom, which is so natural to him ; and took care, also, that he might not, on terms more easy than safe, be at peace with himself. Dr. Marshall t, the learned and worthy rector of Lincoln College in Oxford, being the minister of the parish, was also frequently with him : and, by these helps, he w^as so directed and supported, that he might not, on the one hand, satisfy himself with too superficial a repentance ; nor, on the other hand, be, out of measure, oppressed with a sorrow without hope. As soon as I heard he was ill, but yet, in such a condition that I might write to him, I wrote a letter to the best purpose I could. He ordered one, that was then with him, to assure me it was very welcome to him : but, not satisfied with that, he sent me an answer, of which, as the countess of Rochester, his mother, told me, he dictated • John Fell, D.D. Bishop of Oxford, and Dean of Christ Church. (See Bliss's Wood, iv. 193.. 201.) Born, 1625.; Deacon, 1647.; Presbyter, 1649.; Dean of Christ Church, 1660.; Bishop of Oxford, 1675.; Died, 1686. See also, Jibg. Diet, last Edit. xiv. 176 . . 80. t Thomas Marshall, D.D. Born, 1621., died, 1685. Rector of Lincoln College, Oxford, 1672.; rector of Bladon, near Woodstock, (where he attended Lord Rochester, in his last illness,) 1680.; and dean of Gloucester, 1684. On the 31st of July 1641., he was elected one of Trapp's scholars, in Lincoln College : , . * Much about which time,* says Anthony Wood, * be, being a constant auditor of tlic sermons of the most learned, and rcligiout primate of Ireland, [archbishop Ussher,] delivered in Allliallows church, adjoining to his college, his affections were so exceedingly wrought upon, that he was always resolved, from thenceforth, to make him tlie pattern of all the religious, and learned actions of his life. He was well versed in books ; a noted critic; a painful preacher; a good man, and governor; and one, every M-ny worthy of his station in the church.* JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 241 every word, and then signed it. I was once unwilling to have published it, because of a com- pliment in it to myself, far above my merit, and not A^ery well suiting with his condition. But the sense he expresses in it, of the change then wrought on him, hath upon second thoughts prevailed with me to publish it, leaving out what concerns my- self: . . « Woodstock-Park, Oxfordshire. My most honoured Dr. Burnet, My spirits and body decay so equally together, that I shall write you a letter, as weak as I am in person. I begin to value churchmen, above all men in the world, &;c. If God be yet pleased to spare me longer in this world, I hope, in your conversation, to be exalted to that degree of piety, that the world may see how much I abhor what I so long loved, and how much I glory in repentance, and in God's service. Bestow your prayers upon me, that God would spare me, (if it be his good will,) to show a true repentance, and amendment of life, for the time to come : or else, if the Lord pleaseth to put an end to my worldly being now, that he would mercifully accept of my death-bed repentance, and perform that promise, that he hath been pleased to make, that, at what time soever a sin- ner doth repent i he would receive him. Put up these prayers, most dear doctor, to Almighty God, for Your most obedient, and languishing servant, June 25. 1680. Rochester.* ^4f2 THE LIFE OF He told me, when I saw him, that he hoped I would come to him, upon that general insinuation of the desire he had of my company ; and he was loth to write more plainly, not knowing whether I could easily spare so much time. I told him, that, on the other hand, I looked on it as a presumption to come so far, when he was in such excellent hands ; and, though, perhaps, the freedom formerly between us might have excused it, with those to whom it was known, yet, it might have the appear- ance of so much vanity, to such as were strangers to it ; so that, till I received his letter, I did not think it convenient to come to him. And then, not hearing that there was any danger of a sudden change, I delayed going to him till the twentieth of July. At my coming to his house, an accident fell out, not worth mentioning, but that some have made a story of it. His servant, being a Frenchman, carried up my name wrong, so that he mistook it for another, who had sent to him, that he would undertake his cure ; and he, being resolved not to meddle with him, did not care to see him: this mistake lasted some hours, with which I was the better contented, because he was not then in such a condition, that my being about him, could have been of any use to him ; for that night was like to have been his last. He had a convulsion-fit, and raVed; but, opiates being given him, after some hours' rest, his raving left him so entirely, tliat it never again returned to him. I cannot easily express the transport he was in. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. S43 when he awoke and saw me by him. He brake out, in the tenderest expressions concerning my kindness, in coming so far to see such an one; using terms of great abhorrence concerning himself, which I forbear to relate. He told me, as his strength served him at several snatches, (for he was then so low, that he could not hold up dis- course long at once,) what sense he had of his past life : what sad apprehension, for having so offended his Maker, and dishonoured his Redeemer ; what horrors he had gone through, and how much his mind was turned to call on God, and on his crucified Saviour: so that, he hoped he should obtain mercy; for he believed he had sincerely repented, and had now a calm in his mind, after that storm that he had been in for some weeks. He had strong apprehensions, and persuasions, of his admittance to Heaven : of which, he spake once, not without some extraordinary emotion. It was, indeed, the only time that he spake with any great warmth to me : for his spirits were then low, and so far spent, that, though those about him told me, he had expressed, formerly, great fervour in his devotions, yet, nature was so much sunk, that these were, in a great measure, fallen off. But he made me pray often with him ; and spake of his conversion to God, as a thing now grown up in him, to a settled, and calm serenity. He was very anxious to know my opinion, of a death-bed repentance. I told him, that, before I gave any resolution in that, it would be convenient that I R S 244 THE LIFE OF should be acquainted, more particularly, with the circumstances and progress of his repentance. Upon this, he satisfied me, in many particulars. He said, he was now persuaded, both of the truth of Christianity, and of the power of inward grace ; of which he gave me this strange account. He said, Mr. Parsons, in order to his conviction, read to him the fifty-third chapter of the prophecy of Isaiah ; and compared that, witli the history of our Saviour's passion, that he might there see a prophecy concerning it, written many ages before it was done : which * the Jews, that blasphemed Jesus Christ, still kept in their hands, as a book divinely inspired. He said to me, that, as he heard it read, he felt an inward force upon him, which did so enlighten his mind, and convince him, that he could resist it no longer: for the words had an authority, which did shoot like rays or beams, in his mind; so that he was convinced, not only by the reasonings he had about it, which satisfied his understanding, but, by a power, which did so effectually constrain him, that he did, ever after, as firmly believe in his Saviour, as if he had seen him in the clouds. He had made it be read 80 often to him, that he had got it by heart ; and went through a great part of it, in discourse with me, with a sort of heavenly pleasure, giving me his reflections on it. Some few I remember. Who hath believed our report ? (verse 1.) Here, he said, was foretold the opposition the Gospel was to meet with, from such wretches as he was. He hath no JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 245 Jorm nor comeliness^ and when "we shall see him^ there is no beauty that xve should desire him, (verse 2.) On this, he said, the meanness of his appearance, and person, has made vain and foolish people disparage him, because he came not in such a fool's coat as they delight in. What he said on the other parts, I do not well remember: and, indeed, I was so affected with what he said then to me, that the general transport I was under, during the whole discourse, made me less capable to remember these particulars, as I wish I had done. He told me, that he had, thereupon, received the sacrament, with great satisfaction ; and that was increased, by the pleasure he had, in his lady's receiving it with him; who had been, for some years, misled into the communion of the church of Rome ; and he himself had been not a little instrumental in procuring it, as he freely acknow- ledged. So that, it was one of the joyfullest things that befell him in his sickness, that he had seen that mischief removed, in which he had so great a hand. And, during his whole sickness, he expressed so much tenderness, and true kindness, to his lady, that, as it easily defaced the remembrance of every thing wherein he had been in fault formerly, so, it drew from her the most passionate care and con- cern for him, that was possible : which, indeed, deserves a higher character, than is decent to give, of a person yet alive. But I shall confine my dis- course to the dead. R 3 246 THE LIFE OF He told me, he had overcome all his resentments to all the world ; so that he bore ill-will to no per- son, nor hated any upon personal accounts. He had given a true state of his debts, and had ordered to pay them all, as far as his estate, that was not settled, could go : and was confident, that if all that was owing to him, were paid to his executors, his creditors would be all satisfied. He said, he found his mind now possessed with another sense of things, than ever he had formerly.* He did not repine under all his pain ; and, in one of the sharpest fits he was under while I was with him, he said, he did willingly submit ; and, looking up to heaven, said, * God's holy will be done ; I bless him for all he does to me.' He professed, he was contented either to die or live, as should please God ; and, though it was a foolish thing for a man to pretend to choose whether he would die or live, yet he wished rather to die. He knew, he could never be so well, that life should be comfortable • * Dr. Birch, in his life of archbishop Tillotaon, (p. 73. note) speaking of this narrative, says :. .< The credit of the doctor's book, and the sincerity of the earl's repentance, would be fully established, if they wanted any additional evidence, by the publication of five letters, still extant, of his mother, Anne, countess dowager of Rochester, and sister of sir Walter St. John, of Batter- Ma, Bart., to that gentleman's lady, Johanna, daughter of the lord chief justice St. John. These letters were written, during her son's last illness ; and show him to have been, during the course of it, fully possessed of his un- derstanding. 07ie particxUar in them^ (leaerves to be mentioned here, . . that, when one of the earl's physicians, thinking to please him, told bim, that the king drank his health some days before, he looked earnestly upon hira, and said never a word, but turned his face from him. ' ' Dr. Wordsworth. In such a case, I should be sorry to speak more tlian hojx fully : but, con- sidering Rochester's past life, and inveterate associations, I have scarcely met evidence equally strong, in any similar insUnce, of sincere and unafiected Mrrwoia, transformation qf mind. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 247 to him. He was confident, he should be happy if he died; but he feared, if he lived, he might relapse ; * and then,' said he to me, * in what a condition shall I be, if I relapse after all this ! But,' he said, ' he trusted in the grace and good- ness of God ; and was resolved to avoid all those temptations, that course of life and company, that were likely to ensnare him ; and he desired to live, on no other account, but, that he might, by the change of his manners, some way take off the high scandal, his former behaviour had given.* All these things, at several times, I had from him ; besides some messages, which very well became a dying penitent, to some of his former friends ; and a charge, to publish any thing concerning him, that might be a means to reclaim others ; praying God, that as his life had done much hurt, so, his death might do some good. Having understood all these things from him, and being pressed to give him my opinion plainly, about his eternal state, I told him, that, though the promises of the Gospel did all depend, upon a real change of heart and life, as the indispensable condition upon which they were made ; and that it was scarce possible to know, certainly, whether our hearts are changed, unless it appeared in our lives; and, the repentance of most dying men, being like the bowlings of condemned prisoners for pardon, which flowed from no sense of their crimes, but from the horror of approaching death, . . there was little reason to encourage any to hope R 4 248 THE LIFE OF much, from such sorrowing ; yet, certainly, if the mind of a sinner, even on a death-bed, be truly renewed and turned to God, so great is his mercy, that he will receive him even in that extremity. He said, he was sure his mind was entirely turned: and, though horror had given him his first awaking, yet that was now grown up, into a settled faith and conversion. There is but one prejudice lies against all this, to defeat the good ends of divine providence by it, upon others, as well as on himself: and that is, that it was a part of his disease, and that the low- ness of his spirits made such an alteration in him, that he was not what he had formerly been : and this some have carried so far, as to say that he died mad. These reports are • raised, by those who are unwilling, that the last thoughts or words, of a per- son every way so extraordinary, should have any effect, either on themselves or others : and, it is to be feared, that some may have so far seared their consciences, and exceeded the common measures of sin and infidelity, that neither this testimony, nor one coming from the dead, would signify much towards their conviction. That this lord was either mad, or stupid, is a thing so notoriously un- true, that it is the greatest impudence, for any that were about him to report it ; and a very un- reasonable credulity, in others to believe it All the while I was with him, afler he had slept out the disorders of the fit he was in the first night, he was, not only, without ravings, but, had a clear- JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER^ 249 ness, in his thoughts, in his memory, in his reflec- tions on things and persons, far beyond what I ever saw, in a person so low in his strength. He was not able to hold out long in discourse, for his spirits failed : but once, for half an hour, and often for a quarter of an hour, after he awoke, he had a vivacity in his discourse, that was extraordinary, and in all things like himself. He called often for his children, his son, (afterwards earl of Rochester,) and his three daughters, and spake to them, with a sense and feeling, that cannot be expressed in writing. He called me once to look on them all, and said, * See how good God has been to me, in giving me so many blessings ; and I have carried myself to him, like an ungracious, and unthankful dog.' He once talked a great deal to me, of pub- lic affairs, and of many persons and things, with the same clearness of thought and expression, that he had ever done before ; so that, by no sign but his weakness of body, and giving over discourse so soon, could I perceive a difference, between what his parts formerly were, and what they were then. And that wherein the presence of his mind ap- peared most, was, in the total change of an ill habit, grown so much upon him, that he could hardly govern himself, when he was any ways heated, three minutes without falling into it: I mean swearing. He had acknowledged to me, the former winter, that he abhorred it as a base and 250 THE LIFE OP indecent thing, and had set himself much to break it off: but he confessed, that he was so over- powered by that ill custom, that he could not speak with any warmth, without repeated oaths ; which, upon any sort of provocation, came almost naturally from him. But, in his last remorses, this did so sensibly affect him, that, by a resolute and constant watchfulness, the habit of it was per- fectly mastered : so that, upon the returns of pain, which were very severe and frequent upon him, the last day I was with him, . . or upon such dis- pleasures, as people sick or in pain are apt to take, on a sudden, at those about them, . . on all thosQ occasions, he never swore an oath, all the while I was there. Once, he was offended with the delay of one, that, he thought, made not haste enough, with somewhat he called for, and said, in a little heat, * that damned fellow': soon aft^ I told him, I was glad to find his style so reformed ; and that he had so entirely, overcome that ill habit of swear- ing ; only, that word of calling any * damned,' which had returned upon him, was not decent. His answer was : * Oh ! that language of fiends, which was so familiar to me, hangs yet about me. Sure, none has deserved more, to be damned, than I have done.' And, after he had humbly asked God pardon for it, he desired me to call the per- son to him, that he might ask him forgiveness: but I told him that was needless 5 for he had said it JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER, 251 of one, that did not hear it, and so could not be of- fended by it.* In this disposition of mind did he continue, all the while I was with him, four days together : he was then brought so low, that all hopes of recovery were gone. He experienced much pain at inter- vals ; and, one day, suffered inexpressible torment ; yet he bore it decently, without breaking out into repinings, or impatient complaints. The whole substance of his body was wasted, and nothing was left but skin and bone ; and by lying much on his back, the parts there began to mortify: but he had been formerly so low, that he seemed as much past all hopes of Hfe as now : which made him one morning, after a full and sweet night's rest, procured by laudanum given him without his knowledge, to fancy it was an effort of nature, and to begin to entertain some hopes of recovery : for he said, he felt b-'^^self perfectly well, and that he had nothing aiUng him, but an extreme weakness, which might go off in time : and then, he enter- • The feelings of the noble penitent's altered mind would seem to have been almost anticipated, by Jeremy Taylor, in one of his prayers : . . * Teach me to watch over all my ways, that I may never be surprized by sudden temptations, or a careless spirit ; nor ever return to folly or vanity. Set a watch, O Lord, before the door of my lips, that I offend not in my tongue, neither against piety nor charity. Teach me to think of nothing but Thee, and what is in order to thy glory and service : to speak of nothing but Thee, and thy glories; and to do nothing, but what becomes thy servant, whom thy infinite mercy, by the graces of thy Holy Spirit, hath sealed up to the day of redemption. Let all my passions and affections be so mortified, and brought under the dominion of grace, that I may never, by deliberation and purpose, nor yet, by levity, rashness, or inconsideration, offend Thy Divine Majesty. ' . . Hdy Liv- ing. Works, iv. 46. 252 THE LIFE OF tained me with the scheme he had laid down, for the rest of his Hfe ; how retired, how strict, and how studious, he intended to be. But this was soon over : for he quickly felt, that it was only the effect of a good sleep, and that he was still in a very desperate state. I thought to have left him on Friday ; but, not without some passion, he desired me to stay that day. There appeared no symptom of present death ; and a worthy physician then with him, told me, that, though he was so low that an acci- dent might carry him away on a sudden, yet, with- out that, he thought he might live yet some weeks. So, on Saturday, at four o'clock in the morning, I left him, being the twenty-fourth of July. But I durst not take leave of him ; for he had expressed so great an unwillingness to part with me, the day before, that, if I had not presently yielded to one day's stay, it was like to have given him some trouble; therefore, I thought it better to leave him without any formality. Some hours after, he asked for me : and when it was told him I was gone, he seemed to be troubled, and said, * Has my friend left me ? then I shall die shortly.' After that, he spake but once or twice till he died. He lay much silent : once they heard him praying very devoutly. And on Monday, about two o'clock in the morning, he died, without any con- vulsion, or so much as a groan.* Thus he lived : and thus he died, in the three- • Monday, July 26. 1680. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 253 and-thirtieth year of his age. Nature had fitted him for great things ; and his knowledge and ob- servation qualified him to have been one of the most extraordinary men, not only of his nation, but of the age he lived in ; and I do verily believe, that, if God had thought fit to have continued him longer in the world, he had been the wonder and delight of all that knew him. But the infinitely wise God knew better, what was fit for him, and what the age deserved. For men, who have so cast ofiT all sense of God and religion, deserve not so signal a blessing, as the example and conviction which the rest of his life might have given them. And I am apt to think, that the Divine Goodness took pity on him ; and, seeing the sincerity of his repentance, would try, and venture him, no more, in circumstances of temptation, perhaps too hard for human frailty. Now he is at rest ; and, I am very confident, enjoys the fruits of his late, but sincere, repentance. But such as live, and still go on, in their sins and impieties, and will not be awakened, neither by this, nor the other alarms, that are about their ears, are, it seems, given up by God, to a judicial hardness and impenitency. Here is a public instance, of one who lived of their side, but could not die of it. And, though none of all our libertines understood better than he, the secret mysteries of sin ; had more studied every thing, that could support a man in it ; and had more resisted all external means of conviction, than he had donej yet, when the hand of God 254 THE LIFE OF inwardly touched him, he could no longer kick against those pricks, but humbled himself under that mighty hand : and, as he used often to say in his prayers, he who had so often denied him, found, then, no other shelter, but his mercies and com- passions. I have written this account, with all the tender- ness and caution I could use : and, in whatsoever I may have failed, I have been strict in the truth of what I have related, remembering that of Job, * Will ye lie for God?' Religion has strength and evidence enough in itself, and needs no sup- port from lies and made stories.* I do not pretend, to have given the formal words that he said : though I have done that, where I could remember them. But 1 have written this, with the same sincerity, that I would have done, had I known I had been to die immediately after I had finished it I did not take notes of our discourses last winter, after we parted : so I may, perhaps, in the setting out of my answers to him, have enlarged on several things, both more fully and more regularly, than I could say them, in such free discourses as we had. I am not so sure of all I set down, as said by me, as I am of all said by him to me : but yet the sub- stance of the greatest part, even of that, is the same. It remains, that I humbly and earnestly beseech all, that shall take this book in their hands, that they will consider it entirely : and not wrest some parts to an ill intention. God, the searcher of * * Suis ilia contenta est viribiu ; et veriutis propria fundaminibus nititur.' . . Armobius. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. ^55 hearts, knows, with what fidehty I have written it. But, if any will drink up only the poison that may be in it, without taking, also, the antidote here given to those ill principles, or considering the sense that this great person had of them, when he reflected seriously on them ; and will, rather, con- firm themselves in their ill ways, by the scruples and objections which I have set down, than be edified by the other parts of it, . . as I shall look on it as a great infelicity, that I should have said any thing that may strengthen them in their impieties, so, the sincerity of my intentions will, I doubt not, excuse me at his hands, to whom I offer up this small service. I have now performed, in the best manner I could, what was left on me by this noble lord ; and have done with the part of an historian. I shall, in the next place, say somewhat as a divine. So extraordinary a text does almost force a ser- mon ; though it is plain enough itself, and speaks with so loud a voice, that those who are not awakened by it, will, perhaps, consider nothing that I can say. If our libertines will become so far sober, as to examine their former course of life, with that disengagement and impartiality, which they must acknowledge a wise man ought to use, in things of greatest consequence, . . and balance the account of what they have got by their de- baucheries, with the mischiefs they have brought on themselves, and others, by them, . . they will soon see, what a mad bargain they have made. Some 256 THE LIFE OF diversion, mirth, and pleasure, is all they can pro- mise themselves ; but, to obtain this, how many- evils are they to suffer ! How have many wasted their strength, brought many diseases on their bodies, and precipitated their age in the pursuit of those things ! And, as they bring old age early on themselves, so, it becomes a miserable state of life, to the greatest part of them ; gouts, stranguries, and other infirmities, being severe reckonings, for their past follies ; not to mention the more loath- some diseases, with their no less loathsome and troublesome cures, which they must often go through, who deliver themselves up to forbidden pleasures. Many are disfigured, beside, with the marks of their intemperance and lewdness : and, which is yet sadder, an infection is derived oift- times on their innocent, but unhappy issue ; who, being descended from so vitiated an original, suffer for their excesses. Their fortunes are pro- fusely wasted, both by their neglect of their affairs, (they being so buried in vice, that they cannot employ either their time or spirits, so much ex- hausted by intemperance, to consider them,) and by that prodigal expense, which their lusts put them upon. They suffer no less in their credit, the chief mean to recover an entangled estate : for that irre- gular expense forceth them to so many mean shifts, makes them so oflen false to all their promises and resolutions, that they must needs feel, how much they have lost that, which a gentleman, and men of ingenuous tempers, do, sometimes, prefer even JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 257 to life itself, their honour and reputation. Nor do they suffer less, in the nobler powers of their minds ; which, by a long course of such dissolute practices, come to sink and degenerate so far, that not a few, whose first blossoms gave the most pro- mising hopes, have so withered, as to become incapable of great, and generous undertakings ; and to be disabled to every thing, but to wallow, like swine, in the filth of sensuality ; their spirits being dissipated, and their minds so benumbed, as to be wholly unfit for business, and even indisposed to think. That this dear price should be paid, for a little wild mirth, or gross and corporal pleasure, is a thing of such unparalleled folly, that, if there were not too many such instances before us, it might seem incredible. To all this, we must add the horrors, that their ill actions raise in them; and the hard shifts they are put to, to stave off these, either by being perpetually drunk or mad, or by an habitual disuse of thinking and reflecting on their actions, and (if these arts will not perfectly quiet them,) by taking sanctuary in such atheistical principles, as may, at least, mitigate the sourness of their thoughts, though they cannot, absolutely, settle their minds. If the state of mankind, and human societies, is considered, what mischiefs can be equal to those, which follow these courses ? Such persons, are a plague wherever they come ; they can neither be trusted, nor be loved ; having cast off both truth 258 THE LIFE OF and goodness, which procure confidence and at- tract love. They corrupt some, by their ill prac- tices ; and do irreparable injuries, to the rest : they run great hazards, and put themselves to much trouble : and all this, to do what is in their power, to make damnation as sure to themselves, as pos- sibly they can. What influence this has on the whole nation, is but too visible ; how the bonds of nature, wedlock, and all other relations, are quite broken. Virtue is thought an antique piece of formality ; and religion, the effect of cowardice or knavery. These are the men, that would reform the world, by bringing it under a new system, of intellectual and moral principles : but, bate them a few bold and lewd jests, what have they ever done, or designed to do, to make them be remembered, except it be with detestation ? They are the scorn of the present age, and their names must rot in the next. Here, they have before them an in- stance of one, who was deeply corrupted, with the contagion which he first derived from others, but, unhappily, heightened much himself. He was a master, indeed ; and not a bare trifler with wit, as some of those are, who repeat, and that but scur- vily, what they may have heard from him, or some others; and, with impudence and laughter, will face the world down, as if they were to teach it wisdom : who, God knows, cannot follow one thought, a step further than as they have conned it; and, take from them their borrowed wit, and their mimical humour, and they will presently ap- JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 259 pear, what they indeed are, the least, and lowest of men. If they will, or if they can, think a little, I wish they would consider, that, by their own principles, they cannot be sure that religion is only a con- trivance : all they pretend to, is, only to weaken some arguments that are brought for it : but they have not brow enough to say, they can prove that their own principles are true ; so that, at most, they bring their cause no higher, than, that it is possible, religion may not be true. But still, it is possible it may be true ; and they have no shame left, that will deny, that it is also probable it may be true : and, if so, then what madmen are they, who run so great a hazard for nothing! By their own confession, it may be, there is a god, a judgment, and a life to COME : and if so, then, he that believes these things, and lives according to them, as he enjoys a long course of health, and quiet of mind, an innocent rehsh of many true pleasures, and the serenities which virtue raises in him, with the good-will and friendship which it procures him from others, . . so, when he dies, if these things prove mistakes, he does not outlive his error, nor shall it afterwards raise trouble or disquiet in him, if he then ceases to be : but, if these things be true, he shall be in- finitely happy in that state, where his present small services shall be so excessively rewarded. The libertines, on the other side, as they know they must die, so, the thoughts of death must be always melancholy to them ; they can have no pleasant s 2 260 THE LIFE OF view of that, which yet they know, cannot be very far from them: the least painful idea they can have of it, is, that it is an extinction and ceasing to be, but they are not sure even of that : some secret whispers within, make them, whether they will or not, tremble at the apprehensions of another «tate ; neither their tinsel wit, nor superficial learn- ing, nor their impotent assaults upon the weak side, as they think, of religion, nor the boldest notions of impiety, will hold them up then. Of all which, I now present so lively an instance, as, perhaps, history can scarcely parallel. Here, were parts so exalted by nature, and im- proved by study, and yet, so corrupted and de- based by irreligion and vice, that he, who was made to be one of the glories of his age, was be- come a proverb ; and, if his repentance had not interposed, would have been one of the greatest reproaches of it. He knew well, the small strength of that weak cause ; and, at first, despised, but afterwards abhorred it. He felt the mischiefs, and saw the madness of it ; and, therefore, though he lived to the scandal of many, he died as much to the edification of all those who saw him : and, be- cause they were but a small number, he desired, that he might, even when dead, yet speak. He was willing nothing should be concealed, that might cast reproach on himself) and on sin ; and offer up glory, to God and religion. So that, though he lived a heinous sinner, yet he died a most exemplary penitent. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 261 It would be a vain and ridiculous inference, for any, from hence to draw arguments, about the abstruse secrets of predestination : and to con- clude, that, if they are of the number of the elect, they may live as they will ; and that Divine Grace will, at some time or other, violently constrain them, and irresistibly work upon them. But, as St. Paul was called to that eminent service for which he was appointed, in so stupendous a manner, as is no warrant for others to expect such a vocation, so, if, upon some signal occasions, such conver- sions fall out, which, how far they are short of miracles, 1 shall not determine, it is not only a vain, but a pernicious imagination, for any to go on in their ill ways, upon a fond conceit and expect- ation, that the like will befall them : for, whatso- ever God's extraordinary dealings with some may be, we are sure, his common way of working is, by offering these things to our rational faculties, which, by the assistances of his grace, if we improve them all we can, shall be certainly effectual for our reformation : and, if we neglect or abuse these, we put ourselves beyond the common methods of God's mercy, and have no reason to expect, that wonders should be wrought for our conviction; which, (though they sometimes happen, that they may give an effectual alarm for the awakening of others, yet,) it would destroy the whole design of religion, if men should depend upon, or look for such an extraordinary and forcible operation of God's grace. s S 262 THE LIFE OF And I hope, that those, who have had some sharp reflections on their past life, so as to be resolved to forsake their ill courses, will not take the least encouragement to themselves, in that desperate and unreasonable resolution, of putting off their re- pentance till they can sin no longer, from the hopes I have expressed, of this lord's obtaining mercy at last : and, from thence, presume, that they, also, shall be received, when they turn to God on their death-beds. For, what mercy soever God may show, to such as, really, were never inwardly touched before that time, yet, there is no reason to think, that those who have dealt so disingenu- ously with God, and their own souls, as designedly to put off their turning to him, upon such con- siderations, , . should then be accepted with him. They may die suddenly, or by a disease that may so disorder their understandings, that they shall not be in any capacity, of reflecting on their past lives. The inward conversion of our minds is not so in our power, that it can be effected, without divine grace assisting. And there is no reason, for those, who have neglected these assistances all their lives, to expect them, in so extraordinary a manner, at their death. Nor can one, especially in a sickness that is quick and critical, be able to do tiiose things, that are often indispensably necessary, to make his repentance complete: and, even in a longer disease, in which there are larger oppor- tunities for these things, yet, there is great reason to doubt of a repentance, begun and kept up. JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 263 merely by terror, and not from any ingenuous principle. In which, though I will not take on me to limit the mercies of God, which are bound- less, yet this must be confessed, that, to delay repentance with such a design, is to put the greatest concernment we have, upon the most dangerous and desperate issue that is possible. But, they that will still go on in their sins, and be so partial to them, as to use all endeavours to strengthen themselves in their evil course, even by these very things, which the providence of God sets before them, for the casting down of these strong holds of sin : what is to be said to such ? It is to be feared, that, if they obstinately persist, they will, by degrees, come within that curse, . . * He that is unjust, let him be unjust still : and he that is filthy, let him be filthy still. But, if our Gospel is hid, it is hid to them that are lost ; in whom, the God of this world hath blinded the minds of them, which believe not, lest the light of the glori- ous Gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them.* * * A delightful contrast is afforded, in a passage of one of our first divines ; which the reader will, probably, not dislike to meet, in this otherwise vacant space : . . * The Christian profession chargeth us, to be quiet and orderly in our stations; diligent in our callings; veracious in our words; upright in our dealings ; observant of our relations ; obedient and respectful, toward our superiors ; meek and gentle, to our inferiors ; modest and lowly, ingenuous and compliant, in our conversation ; candid and benign, in our censures ; in- nocent and inoffensive, yea, courteous and obliging, in all our behaviour, towards all persons. s 4 964 LIFE OP JOHN KARL OF ROCHESTER. O divineat Christian charity", what tongue can worthily describe, thy most heavenly beauty, thy incomparable sweetness, thy more than royal clemency and bounty ! How nobly dost thou enlarge our minds, beyond the narrow sphere of self, and private regard, into an universal ease and complacence, making every man ourself, and all concernments to be ours ! How dost thou entitle us unto, how dost thou invest us in, all the goods imaginable ; dost enrich us with the wealth, dost prefer us witli the honour, dost adorn us with the wisdom and the virtue, dost bless us with all prosperity of the world ; whilst all our neighbour's good, by our rejoicing therein, becometh our own ! How dost thou raise a man, above the reach of all mischiefs and disasters, of all troubles and griefs ; since nothing can disturb or discompose that soul, wherein thou dost constantly reside, and absolutely reign ! How easily dost thou, without pain or hazard, without drawing blood or striking stroke, render him that enjoyeth thee, an absolute conqueror over all his foes, triumphant over all injuries without, and all passions within ; for, that he can have no enemy, who will be a friend to all ; and nothing is able to cross him, who is disposed to take every thing well ! How sociable, how secure, how pleasant a life might we lead, under thy kindly governance ! What numberless sorrows and troubles, fears and suspicions, cares and distractions of mind at home, what tumults and tragedies abroad, might be prevented, if men would but hearkea to thy mild suggestions ! What a paradise would this world then become, in comparison to what it now is, where, thy good precepts and advices being neglected, uncharitable passions and unjust desires are predominant! How excellent, then, is that doctrine, which brought thee down from heaven; and, would but men embrace thee, the peace and joy of heaven with thee ! ' — Isaac Bakrow. On the Creed, Serm. xvi. Chrysost. 'kySp. 10. APPENDIX: FROM THE SERMON PREACHED AT LORD ROCHESTER'S FUNERAL, BY ROBERT PARSONS, M.A* APPENDIX EXTRACTED FROM A SERMON PREACHED AT THE FUNERAL OF JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER, BY ROBERT PARSONS, M. A. Upon my first visit to him, (May 26., just at his return from his journey out of the West,) he most gladly received me ; showed me extraordinary respect, upon the score of mine office ; thanked God, who had, in mercy, and good providence, sent me to him, who so much needed my prayers and counsels ; and, acknowledged how unworthily, heretofore, he had treated that order of men, reproaching them that they were proud, and pro- phesied only for rewards : but now, he had learned how to value them ; that he esteemed them the servants of the Most High God, who were to show to him the way to everlasting life. At the same time, I found him labouring under strange trouble, and conflicts of mind : his spirit wounded, and his conscience full of terrors. Upon his journey, he told me, he had been arguing, with greater vigour, against God and religion, than ever he had done in his lifetime before; and that he was resolved to run them down, with all the argu- ments and spite in the world : but, like the great 268 APPENDIX : FROM THE FUNERAL SERMi/IJ convert St. Paul, he found it hard to kick against the pricks. For God, at that time, had so struck his heart by his immediate hand, that, presently, he argued as strongly for God and virtue, as before he had done against it. That God strangely opened his heart ; creating in his mind, most awful and tremendous thoughts and ideas of the Divine Majesty, with a delightful contemplation of the Divine nature and attributes, and of the loveliness of religion and virtue. * I never, ' said he, * was advanced, thus far, towards happiness, in my life before : though, upon the commission of some sins extraordinary, I have had some checks, and warn- ings considerable, from within ; but still struggled with them, and so wore them off again. The most observable that I remember, was this: one day, at an atheistical meeting, at a person of quality's, I undertook to manage the cause, and was the principal disputant against God and piety ; and, for my performances, received the applause of the whole company: upon which, my mind was terribly struck, and I immediately replied thus to myself: . . Good God ! that a man, that walks upright, that sees the wonderful works of God, and has the use of his senses and reason, should use them to the defying of his Creator ! But, though this was a good beginning towards my conversion, to find my conscience touched for my sins, yet, it went off again : nay, all my life long, I had a secret value and reverence for an honest man, and loved morality in others. But, I had fonned an FOR JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 269 odd scheme of religion to myself, which would solve all that God or conscience might force upon me ; yet, I was not ever well reconciled to the business of Christianity, nor had that reverence for the gospel of Christ, as I ought to have. . . Which estate of mind continued, till the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah was read to him, (wherein there is a lively description of the sufferings of our Saviour, and the benefits thereof,) and some other portions of scripture ; by the power and efficacy of which word, assisted by his Holy Spirit, God so wrought upon his heart, that he declared, that the mysteries of the passion appeared as clear and plain to him, as ever any thing did that was represented in a ^lass: so that, that joy and admiration, which possessed his soul upon the reading of God's word to him, was remarkable to all about him ; and he had so much delight in his testimonies, that, in my absence, he begged his mother and lady to read the same to him frequently ; and was unsatisfied, (notwithstanding his great pains and weakness,) till he had learned the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, without book. At the same time, discoursing of his manner of life from his youth up, and which all men knew, was too much devoted to the service of sin, and that the lusts of the flesh, of the eye, and the pride of life, had captivated him, . . he was very larg3 and particular in his acknowledgments about it ; more ready to accuse himself, than I, or any one else, can be ; publicly crying out, * O 270 APPENDIX : FROM THE FUNERAL SERMON blessed God, can such an horrid creature as I am, be accepted by thee, who has denied thy being, and contemned thy power?' Asking often, < Can there be mercy and pardon for me ? Will God own such a wretch as I ? ' And in the middle of his sickness said, * Shall the unspeakable joys of heaven, be conferred on me? O mighty Saviour! never, but through thine infinite love, and satisfaction! O never, but by the purchase of thy blood ! ' Adding, that, with all abhorrency, he did reflect upon his former life ; that, sincerely, and from his heart, he did repent, of all that folly and madness, which he had committed. Indeed, he had a true and lively sense of God's great mercy to him, in striking his hard heart, and laying his conscience open, which hitherto was deaf to all God's calls and methods: saying, if that God, who died for great, as well as lesser sinners, did not speedily apply his infinite merits to his poor soul, his wound was such, as no man could conceive or bear; crying out, that he was the vilest wretch, and dog, that the sun shined upon, or the earth bore; tliat he now saw his error, in not living up to that reason, which God endued him with, and which he unwortliily vilified and contemned; wished he had been a staiving leper, crawling in a ditch, that he had been a link-boy or a beggar, or, for his whole life, con- fined to a dungeon, . . rather than thus to have sinned against God. How remarkable was his faith, in a hearty em- FOR JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. ^71 bracing, and devout confession, of all the articles of our Christian religion, and in all the divine mysteries of the Gospel : saying, that the absurd and foolish philosophy, which the world so much admired, propagated by the late Mr. Hpbbes and others, had undone him, and many more of the best parts in the nation; who, without God's great mercy to them, may never, I believe, attain to such a repentance. I must not omit to mention his faithful adher- ence to, and casting himself entirely upon, the mercies of Jesus Christ, and the free grace of God, declared to repenting sinners, through him ; with a thankful remembrance of his life, death, and ];p- surrection: begging God to strengthen his faith, and often crying out, * Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief. ' His mighty love and esteem of the holy scrip- tures, his resolutions to read them frequently, and meditate upon them, if God should spare him, having already tasted the good word ; for, it having spoken to his heart, he acknowledged all the seeming absurdities and contradictions thereof, (fancied by men of corrupt, and reprobate judg- ments,) were vanished, and the excellency and beauty appeared, being come to receive the truth in the love of it. His extraordinary, fervent devotions, in his fre- quent prayers of his own, were most excellent and correct ; amongst the rest, for the king, in such a manner as became a dutiful subject, and a truly 272 APPENDIX : FROM THE FUNERAL SERMON grateful servant ; for the church and nation ; for some particular relations ; and, then, for all men ; his calling frequently upon me, at all hours, to pray with him, or read the scriptures to him ; and, toward the end of his sickness, he would heartily desire God to pardon his infirmities, if he should not be so wakeful and intent, through the whole duty, as he wished to be ; and that, though the flesh was weak, yet the spirit was wilUng, and he hoped God would accept that. His continued invocation of God's grace, and Holy Spirit, to sustain him, to keep him from all evil thoughts, from all temptations and diabolical suggestions, and every thing which might be prejudicial to that religious temper of mind, which God had now so happily endued him withal: crying out, one night especially, how terribly the tempter did assault him, by casting upon him lewd and wicked imaginations ; * But I thank God,* said he, ' I abhor them all, by the power of his grace ; which, I am sure^ is sufficient for me ; I have overcome them ; it is the malice of the devil, because I am rescued from him ; and the goodness of God, that frees me from all my spiritual enemies.* His great joy at his lady's conversion, from popery (being, as he termed it, a faction supported only by fraud and cruelty,) to the church of Eng- land, which was by her done, with deliberation, and mature judgment : the dark mists of which, had, for some months before, been breaking away. FOR JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER, 27^ but now cleared, by her receiving the blessed sa- crament, with her dying husband ; at the receiving of which, no man could express more joy and de^ votion, than he did ; and, having handled the word of life, and seen the salvation of God, in the preparation of his mind, he was now ready to depart in peace. His hearty concern, for the pious education of his children ; wishing, that his son might never be a wit, that is, (as he himself explained it,) one of those wretched creatures, who pride themselves in abusing God and religion, denying his being, or his providence : but, that he might become an honest and religious man, which could only be the support and blessing of his family ; complaining, what a vicious and naughty world they were brought into, and that no fortunes or honours, were comparable to the love and favour of God to them; in whose name, he blessed them, prayed for them, and committed them to his protection. His strict charge, to those persons, in whose custody his papers were, to burn all his profane and lewd writings ; as being only fit to promote vice and immorality, by which he had so highly oifended God, and shamed and blasphemed that holy religion, into which he had been baptized. His readiness to make restitution, to the utmost of his power, to all persons whom he had injured : and, for those whom he could not make a compen- sation to, he prayed for God's and their pardons. His remarkable justice, in taking all possible T 274 APPENDIX : FROM THE FUNERAL SERMON care for the payment of his debts, which before, he confessed, he had not so fairly and effectually done. His readiness to forgive all injuries done against him; some more particularly mentioned, which were great and provoking : nay, annexing thereto, all the assurance of a future friendship, and hoping he should be as freely forgiven at the hand of God. How tender and concerned was he, for his ser- vants about him in his extremities, (manifested by the beneficence of his will to them) ; pitying their troubles in watching with him, and attending him ; treating him with candour and kindness, as if they had been his intimates ! How hearty were his endeavours, to be service- able to those about him; exhorting them, to the fear and love of God, and to make a good use of his forbearance and long-suffering to sinners, which should lead them to repentance ! And here, I must not pass by his pious and most passionate exclamation, to a gentleman of some character, who came to visit him upon his death-bed : * O remember, that you contemn God no more ; he is an avenging God, and will visit you, for your sins : he will in mercy, I hope, touch your conscience, sooner or later, as he has done mine. You and I have been friends and sinners toge- ther a great while ; therefore I am the more free with you. We have been all mistaken, in our conceits and opinions ; our persuasions have been false and groundless; therefore, God grant you FOR JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. ^^5 repentance.' And, seeing him the next day again, he said to him, * Perhaps you were disobliged, by my plainness to you yesterday : I spake the words of truth and soberness to you, and, (striking his hand upon his breast,) I hope God will touch your heart.* Likewise his commands to me, to preach abroad, and to let all men know, if they knew it not already, how severely God had disciplined him for his sins, by his afflicting hand ; that his sufferings were most just, though he had laid ten thousand times more upon him ; how he had laid one stripe upon another, because of his grievous provocations, till he had brought him home to himself; that, in his former visitations, he had not that blessed effect, he was now sensible of. He had, formerly, some loose thoughts, and slight resolutions, of reforming, and designed to be better; because, even the present consequences of sin were pestering him, and were so troublesome and inconvenient to him ; but that, now, he had other sentiments of things, and acted upon other principles. His wiUingness to die, if it pleased God, resign- ing himself, always, to the divine disposal ; but, if God should spare him yet ^ longer time, here, he hoped to bring glory to the name of God, in the whole course of his life ; and particularly, by his endeavours to convince others, and to assure them of the danger of their condition, if they continued impenitent, and how graciously God had dealt with him. T 2 ^76 APPENDIX : FROM THE FUNERAL SERMON His great sense of his obligations to those excel- lent men, the right reverend my lord Bishop of Oxford, and Dr. Marshall, for their charitable, and frequent visits to him, and prayers with him ; and Dr. Burnet, who came on purpose from London to see him ; who were all very serviceable to his repentance. His extraordinary duty and reverence to his mother, with all the grateful respects to her ima- ginable, and kindness to his good lady, beyond ex- pression (which may well enhance such a loss to them) ; and to his children, obliging them with all the endearments, that a good husband, or a tender father, could bestow. To conclude these remarks, I shall only read to you his dying remonstrance, sufficiently attested and signed by his own hand ; as his truest sense, ''which I hope may be useful, for that good end he designed it,) in manner and form following : . . * For the benefit of all those whom I may have drawn into sin, by my example and encouragement, I leave to the world this, my last declaration, which I deliver in the presence of that great God, who knows the secrets of all hearts, and before whom I am now appearing to be judged. That, from the bottom of my soul I detest and abhor the whole course of my former wicked life ; that, I think I can never sufficiently admire the goodness of God, who has given me a true sense of my pernicious opinions, and vile practices, by FOR JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. ^77 which I have, hitherto, lived without hope, and without God in the world ; have been an open enemy to Jesus Christ, doing the utmost despite to the Holy Spirit of Grace ; and that the greatest testimony of my charity to such, is, to warn them» in the name of God, and as they regard the wel- fare of their immortal souls, no more to deny his being, or his providence, or despise his goodness ; no more to make a mock of sin, or contemn the pure, and excellent religion of my ever blessed Redeemer, through whose merits alone, I, one of the greatest sinners, do yet hope for mercy and forgiveness. Amen.* Declared and signed in the presence of Anne Rochester. Robert Parsons. J. Rochester. Jww^ig. 1680. And now, I cannot but mention, with joy and admiration, that steady temper of mind, which he enjoyed, through the whole course of his sickness and repentance ; which must proceed, not from a hurry and perturbation of mind or body, arising from the fear of death, or dread of hell, only, but from an ingenuous love to God, and an uniform regard to virtue, (suitable to that solemn declar- ation of his, / would not commit the least sin, to gain a kingdom,) with all possible symptoms of a lasting perseverance in it, if God should have restored him. To which may be added, his comfortable t 3 ^78 APPENDIX : FROM THE FUNERAL SERMON, ETC. persuasions of God's accepting him to his mercy ; saying, three or four days before his death, * I shall die, but oh, what unspeakable glories do I see ! what joys, beyond thought or expression, am 1 sensible of! I am assured of God's mercy to me, through Jesus Christ. Oh, how I long to die, and be with my Saviour!* The time of his sickness and repentance, was just nine weeks ; in all which time, he was so much master of his reason, and had so clear an understanding, (saving thirty hours, about the middle of it, in which he was delirious,) that he had never dictated, or spoke, more composed in his life. And, therefore, if any shall continue to say, his piety was the effect of madness or vapours, let me tell them 'tis highly disingenuous, and that the assertion is ag silly, as it is wicked. And moreover, that the force of what I have delivered may not be evaded by wicked men, who are re- solved to harden their hearts, maugre all con- victions, by saying, this was done in a corner, . . I appeal, for the truth thereof, to all sorts of persons, who, in considerable numbers, visited and attended him 5 and, more particularly, to those eminent physicians, who were near him, and conversant with him, in the whole course of his tedious sick- ness; and who, if any, are competent judges of a frenzy or delirium. CHARACTERS, SELECTED FROM BISHOP BURNET'S HISTORY OF HIS OWN TIMES. T 4 * Through all varieties of climes, of tongues, of laws, of customs; through all alternations of barbarism and civilization ; through all migrations of peo- ple, changes of empire, and confusion of the tribes of mankind ; . . through all these impediments, the church of God has come down to us, uninterrupted and triumphant : and, uninterrupted and triumphant, our Saviour hath as- sured us, it shall proceed unto the end.* . . Robert Wii-son Evans. ARCHBISHOP LEIGHTOUN.* With these t, there was a fourth man found out, who was then at London, on his return from the Bath, where he had been for his health : and on him I will enlarge more copiously. He was the son of doctor Leightoun, who had, in archbishop Laud's time, writ * Zion's plea against the pre- lates ' ; for which, he was condemned, in the star- chamber, to have his ears cut, and his nose slit. He was a man of a violent and ungoverned heat. He sent his eldest son Robert, to be bred in Scot- land, who was accounted a saint from his youth up. He [Robert Leightoun, afterwards arch- bishop] had great quickness of parts, a lively apprehension, with a charming vivacity of thought and expression. He had the greatest command, of the purest Latin, that I ever knew in any man. He was a master, both of Greek and Hebrew, and of the whole compass of theological learning; chiefly in the study of the scriptures, t But that * Bishop Burnet's spelling of this name, is retained throughout the text : the usual mode of spelling, has been preferred in the notes. f The three persons named for vacant bishopricks in Scotland, after the restoration. ^ * His French bible, now in the library of Dunblane, is marked in numer- ous places ; and the blank leaves of it are filled with extracts made by his own pen, from Jerome, Chrysostom, Gregory Nazianzen, and several other fathers. But the bible which he had in daily use, gave yet stronger testimony, to his in- timate and delightful acquaintance with its contents. * Scarce a line in that sacred psalter,' writes his nephew, * that hath passed without the stroke of his pencil. " . . Pearson's Life of ahp. Leighton. p. cxxi. 282 ROBERT LEIGHTOUN, D.D. which excelled all the rest, was, he was possessed with the highest, and noblest sense of divine things, that I ever saw in any man.* He had no regard to his person, unless it was to mortify it by a con- stant low diet, that was like a perpetual fastt He had a contempt both of wealth and reputation. He seemed to have the lowest thoughts of himself possible; and to desire, that all other persons should think as meanly of him, as he did himself: he bore all sorts of ill-usage and reproach, like a man that took pleasure in it. He had so subdued the natural heat of his temper, that, in a great variety of accidents, and in a course of twenty- two years' intimate conversation with him, I never observed the least sign of passion, but upon one single occasion. He brought himself into so com- posed a gravity, that I never saw him laugh, and but seldom smile. And he kept himself in such a constant recollection, that I do not remember, that ever I heard him say one idle word. There was a visible tendency in all he said, to raise his own mind, and [the minds of] those he conversed with, to serious reflections. He seemed to be in a per- petual meditation. And, though the whole course • * His religion was incorporated with the whole frame of his life and con- rersation. This gave a peculiarity, to many of his ordinary actions. They wore the same tilings which other men did, but they were done in another manner, and bore the shining print of his angelic spirit. So impressively was this tlie case, that his nephew, when a little child, struck with his reverential manner of returning thanks after a meal, observed to his mother, that • his uncle did not give thanks like other folk.' ' . . Ibid. p. cxxii. t It was admirably observed, by a friend of the editor, speaking of an ex- cellent person, now with God, tliat to him, * every meal was, at once, a/ojl and 9^ feast,* ARCHBISHOP OF GLASGOW. 283 of his life was strict and ascetical, yet he had none of- the sourness of temper, that generally possesses men* of that sort. He was the freest from super- stition, of censuring others, or of imposing his own methods on them, possible. So that he did not so much, as recommend them to others. He said there was a diversity* of tempers ; and every man was to watch over his own, and to turn it in the best manner he could. [When he spoke of divine matters, which he did almost perpetually, it was in such an elevating manner, that I have often re- flected on these words, and felt somewhat like them within myself, when I was with him: Did not our hearts burn within us, while he talked with us by the way ? *] His thoughts were lively, oft out of the way, and suprising, yet just and genuine. And he had laid together in his memory, the greatest treasure, of the best and wisest of all the ancient sayings, of the heathens as well as Chris- tians, that I have ever known any man master of: and he used them, in the aptest manner possible, t He had been bred up, with the greatest aversion imaginable, to the whole frame of the church of England. From Scotland, his father sent him to travel. He spent some years in France ; and spoke that language, like one born there. He came * Restored, from Dr. Routh's edition, of bp. Burnet's history. + If any one desires to estimate, and profit by this assertion, he will do well, to procure, and study, the Prcelectiones TheologkcB of archbishop Leighton. * In these lectures,' observes Mr. Pearson, * which were addressed to literary students, Leighton permits himself to quote largely from heathen authors ; and one is struck with the extent of his erudition ; wliich comes in most appropriately, wherever it can avail to throw light. ' 284 ROBERT LEIGHTOUN, D.D. afterwards, and settled in Scotland ; and had Pres- byterian ordination. * But he quickly broke through the prejudices of his education. His preaching had a sublimity both of thought and expression in it. The grace and gravity of his pronunciation was such, that few heard him without a very sensible emotion : I am sure I never did. [It was so different from all others, and, indeed, from every thing that one could hope to rise up to, that it gave a man an indignation at himself, and all others. It was a very sensible humiliation to me ; and, for some time after I heard him, I could not bear the thought of my own performances ; and was out of countenance, when I was forced to think of preaching. . . Restored passage in Dr. Routes EdilionJ] His style was rather too fine t : but there was a majesty and beauty in it, that left so deep an impression, that I cannot, yet, forget the sermons I heaid him preach thirty years ago. And yet, with this, he seemed to look on himself as so ordinary a preacher, that, while he had a cure, he was ready to employ all others : and, when he was • December 16. 1641., at the age of 30. It was a saying of his, that * Some men preach too soon, and some too long.' The latter expression may appear ambiguous; though nothing could be more abhorrent from Leighton's mind, than all manner of aml)iguity : but, in any sense of the word, the cen- sure is, undoubtedly, most just. f To tlie editor, this appears an unjustifiable censure It has been well met, by his latest biographer. But, whoever prefers judging of archbishop Leighton's style for himself, will be abundantly repaid. The entire English works of this primitive man, were republished in 1825., 4 vols. 8vo. The * Preelcctioncs^ were skilfully edited, by professor Scholcficid, in one vol. 8vo. 1829. * There is a spirit,' says Dr. Ilcnry Miles, * in archbishop Leighton, such as I have never mot with, in aiiy other human writings : nor can I read many lines in Ihcm, without being moved.' ARCHBISHOP OF GLASGOW. 285 a bishop, he chose to preach to small auditories, and would never give notice before-hand. He had, indeed, a very low voice, and so, could not be heard by a great crowd. He soon came to see into the follies of the presbyterians, and to dislike their covenant ; particularly the imposing it, and their fury against all who differed from them. He found they were not capable of large thoughts : theirs were narrow, as their tempers were sour. So, he grew weary of mixing with them. He scarce ever went to their meetings, and lived in great retirement, minding only the care of his new parish at Newbottle, near Edinburgh. Yet, all the opposition that he made to them, was, that he preached up a more exact rule of life, than seemed to them consistent with human nature : but his own practice did even outshine his doctrine. In the year 1648., he declared himself for the engagement for the king. But, the earl of Lo- thian, who lived in his parish, had so high an esteem for him, that he persuaded the violent men not to meddle with him : though he gave occasion to great exception ; for, when some of his parish, who had been in the engagement, were ordered to make public profession of their repentance for it, he told them, they had been in an expedition, in which, he believed, they had neglected their duty to God, and had been guilty of injustice and violence, of drunkenness and other immoralities, and he charged them to repent of these very seriously ; without meddling with the quarrel, or 286 ROBERT LEIGHTOUN, D.D. the grounds of that war. He entered into a great correspondence, with many of the episcopal party ; and with my own father in particular : and did wholly separate himself from the presbyterians. At last, he left them, and withdrew from his cure : for he could not do the things imposed on him any longer. And yet, he hated all contention so much, that he chose, rather, to leave them in a silent manner, than to engage in any disputes with them. But, he had generally the reputation of a saint, and of something above human nature in him. So, the mastership of the college of Edinburgh falling vacant, some time after, and it being in the gift of the city, he was prevailed with to accept of it, because in it he was wholly separated from all church matters. He continued ten years in that post : and was a great blessing in it ; for he talked so, to all the youth of any capacity or distinction, that it had great effect on many of them. He preached often to them : and if crowds broke in, which they were apt to do, he would have gone on in his sermon in Latin, with a purity and life that charmed all who understood it. Thus he had lived, above twenty years, in Scotland, in the highest reputation that any man in my time ever had in that kingdom. * In the vacation time, he made excursions, and came oft to London ; where he observed all the eminent men in Cromwell's court, and in the se- • A parngraph of the History, which does not relate to abp. L«ighton, is here omitted. ARCHBISHOP OF GLASGOW. 287 veral parties then about the city of London. But he told me, he could never see any thing among them that pleased him. They were men of unquiet and meddling tempers, and their discourses and sermons were dry and unsavoury, full of airy cant, or of bombast swellings.* Sometimes he went over to Flanders, to see what he could find in the several orders of the church of Rome. There he found some of Jansenius's followers, who seemed to be men of extraordinary tempers, and studied to bring things, if possible, to the purity and sim- plicity of the primitive ages; on which, all his thoughts were much set. He thought controver- sies had been too much insisted on, and had been carried too far. The king was led to apprehend, that a man of his piety, and his notions, (and his not being mar- ried was not forgot,) might contribute to carry on their design, t He fancied such a monastic man, who had a great stretch of thought, and so many other eminent qualities, would be a mean at least to prepare the nation for popery, if he did not directly come over to them ; for his brother t did * Among sectaries, there has generally been a tendency to over-estimate the mere gift of utterance. Few seem to have possessed that self-corrective spirit, of vi'hich we have a fine example, in honest John Bunyan. * One day,' observes his biographer, ' when he had preached * with peculiar energy and en- largement,' some of his friends came to shake hands with him after the service, and observed to him what ' a sweet sermon ' he had delivered. * Ay,' he replied, * you need not remind me of that ; for the devil told me of it, before I was out of the pulpit.' . . ' This anecdote,' observes Mr. Southey, * authenti- cates itself.' . . Southey. Life of Bunyan. p. Ixxiv. t Of bringing in popery. j: Sir Elisha Leighton ; who had a place at court, and was a Romanist. 288 ROBERT LEIGHTOUN, D.D. not stick to say, he was sure that lay at root with him. So, the king named him, of his own proper motion; which gave all those that began to suspect the king himself, great jealousies of him. But what hopes soever the papists had of him, at this time, when he knew nothing of the design of bringing in popery, and had, therefore, talked of some points of popery, with the freedom of an abstracted, and speculative man ; yet, he expressed another sense of the matter, when he came to see it was really intended to be brought in amongst us. He, then, gave all who conversed with him, a very different view of popery, when he saw we were really in danger of coming under the power of a religion, that had, as he used to say, much of the wisdom that was earthly, sensual, and devilish, but had nothing in it, of the wisdom that was from above, and was pure and peaceable. He did, in- deed, think the corruptions and cruelties of popeiy were such gross, and odious things, that nothing could have maintained that church, under those just and visible prejudices, but the several orders among them, which had an appearance of morti- fication, and contempt of the world, and, with all the trash that was among them, maintained a face of piety and devotion. He, also, thought the^ great and fatal error of the reformation was, that more of those houses, and of that course of life, free from the entanglements of vows, and other mixtures, was not preserved. So that, the pro- ARCHBISHOP OF GLASGOW. 289 testant churches, had neither places of education, ,_jnor retreat for men of mortified tempers.* I have dwelt long upon this man's character. But it was so singular, that it seemed to deserve it. And I was so singularly blessed, in knowing him as I did, that, I am sure, he deserved it of me, that I should give so full a view of him : which, I hope, may be of some use to the world. When Leightoun was prevailed on to accept a bishoprick, he chose Dunblane ; a small diocese, as well as a little revenue. But the deanery of the chapel royal was annexed to that see. So, he was willing to engage in that, that he might set up the common prayer in the king's chapel ; for the rebuilding of which, orders were given. The En- glish clergy were well pleased with him ; finding him both learned, and more thoroughly theirs in the other points of uniformity, than the rest of the Scotch clergy, whom they could not much value. And though Sheldon t did not much like his great * ' It is not, however,' he would say, * the want of religious houses, but of spiritual hearts, that glues the wing of our affections, and hinders the more frequent practice, of this leading precept of the divine law, . . fervently to lift our souls unto God, and to have our conversation in heaven.' His opinion was, that a mixed life, or, as he beautifully termed it, an angelical life, was the most excellent ; a life spent, between ascending to fetch blessings from above, and descending to scatter them among mortals.' . . Pearson's Life, ut supr. p. cxviii. "*' Many [un] hooded Cenobites there are. Who, in their private cells, have yet a care Of public quiet : unambitious men, Counsellors for the world, of piercing ken, Whose fervent exhortations, from afar. Move princes to their duty. Wordsworth. •f* At that time. Bishop of London, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. Burnet considered rather polemically, the drawbacks of his character. He U 290 ROBERT LEIGHTOUN, D.D. strictness, in which he had no mind to imitate him, yet he thought such a man as he was, might give credit to episcopacy, in its first introduction to a nation much prejudiced against it. Sharp* did not know what to make of all this. He neither liked his strictness of life, nor his notions. He believed, they would not take the same methods, and fancied he might be much obscured by him; for he saw he would be well supported. He saw the earl of Lauderdale began to magnify him. And so. Sharp did all he could to discourage him, but without any effect ; for he had no regard to him. I bear, still, the greatest veneration for the me- mory of that man, that I do for any person ; and reckon my early knowledge of him, which hap- pened the year after this, and my long and inti- mate conversation with him, that continued to his death, for twenty-three years, among the greatest blessings of my life; and for which, I know, I must give an account to God, in the great day, in a most particular manner. When the time fixed for the consecration of the was, unquestionably, more eminent as a politician, than as a divine ; and took far too decided, and too severe a part, in the penal enactments, against non- conformity. But his princely munificence should not be forgotten. At his own sole expense, (not less than 15,000/.) he built the Sheldonian tlieatre of Oxford. lie paid for the purchase of London House, 5200/. He abated in fines, for the augmentation of vicarages, 1680/. Towards the repair of old St. Paul's, he contributed 2069/. 17s. lOrf. On the improvement of his resi- dence at Fulham, Lambeth, and Croydon, he expended 4500/. And, when first made bishop, the leases being all expired, he remitted to tlie teuauu the sum of nearly 1 8,000/. * Appointed archbishop of St. Andrew**. ARCHBISHOP OF GLASGOW. 291 oishops of Scotland came on, the English bishops, finding that Sharp and Leightoun had not episco- pal ordination, as priests and deacons, the other two having been ordained by bishops before the wars, they stood upon it, that they must be or- dained, first deacons, and then priests. Sharp was very uneasy at this ; and remembered them of what had happened, when King James had set up Epis- copacy. Bishop Andrews moved, at that time, the ordaining them as was now proposed * : but that was ovei'-ruled by King James, who thought it went too far towards the unchurching of all those, who had no bishops among them. But the late war, and the disputes during that time, had raised these controversies higher, and brought men to stricter notions, and to maintain them with more fierceness. The English bishops did also say, that, by the late Act of Uniformity, that matter was more positively settled, than it had been be- fore : so that they could not legally consecrate any, but those, who were, according to that con- stitution, made first priests and deacons. They, * Bishop Andrews was unquestionably right : and, perhaps, it may be rea- sonably doubted, whether the lax counter-determination of James, had not an influence on the fatal events of the next reign, injurious alike to both con- tending parties. But, however this may be, the unbounded charities, public and private, the copious erudition, and the saint-like devotion, of this eminent Christian, can never be forgotten ; would that they were faithfully imitated ; excelled they cannot be. His Preces Privatce have been lately re- published, both in the original, and in an improved English version. It is an interesting fact, that, republican, and anti-prelatist, though our great epic bard afterwards became, he wrote, in his seventeenth year, an elegy on the death of this blameless bishop : which Mr. Mitford well characterizes, as Milton's « prime and holy song.' See prefatory Sonnet, to the Aldine Edi- tion of Milton. 1832. U 2 29£ ROBERT LEIGHTOUN, D.D. also, made this difference, between the present time and King James's : for then, the Scots were only in an imperfect state, having never had bishops among them, since the reformation ; so, in such a state of things, in which they had been under a real necessity, it was reasonable to allow of their orders, how defective soever: but that, of late, they had been in a state of schism ; had revolted from their bishops, and had thrown off that order ; so that, orders given, in such a wilful opposition to the whole constitution of the primitive church, was a thing of another nature. They were posi- tive in the point, and would not dispense with it. Sharp stuck more at it, than could have been ex- pected from a man that had swallowed down greater matters. Leightoun did not stand much upon it. He did not think orders given without bishops were null and void. He thought, the forms of government were not settled, by such positive laws, as were unalterable ; but only by apostolical practices, which, as he thought, authorized epis- copacy as the best form. Yet, he did not think it necessary to the being of a church. But he thought, that every church might make such rules of ordination, as they pleased ; and that they might re-ordain all that came to them, from any other church : and that the re-ordaining a priest ordained in another church, imported no more, but that they received him into orders, according to their rules ; and did not infer the annulling the orders he had formerly received. These two were, upon ARCHBISHOP OP GLASGOW. 29^ this, privately ordained deacons and priests; and then, all the four were consecrated publicly, in the abbey of Westminster.* Leightoun told me, he was much struck with the feasting and jollity of that day ; it had not such an appearance of serious- ness and piety, as became the new modelling of a church. When that was over, he made some at- tempts, to work up Sharp, to the two designs, which possessed him most. The one was, to try what could be done, towards the uniting the pres- byterians and them. He offered Usher's reduc- tion, as the plan upon which they ought to form their schemes. The other was, to try how they could raise men to a truer and higher sense of piety ; and bring the worship of that church, out of their extempore methods, into more order ; and so, to prepare them for a more regular way of wor- ship, which, he thought, was of much more im- portance, than a form of government. But he was amazed, when he observed, that Sharp had neither formed any scheme, nor seemed so much as willing to talk of any. He reckoned, they would be esta- blished in the next session of parliament, and so would be legally possessed of their bishopricks : and then, every bishop was to do the best he could, to get all at once to submit to his authority : and, when that point was carried, they might proceed to other things, as should be found expedient : but he did not care to lay down any scheme. Fair- * Dec. 12. 1661. u 8 294 ROBERT LEIGHTOUN, D.D. foul *, when he talked to him, had always a merry tale ready at hand to divert him : so that he avoided all serious discourse, and indeed did not seem ca- pable of any. By these means, Leightoun quickly lost all heart and hope ; and said often to me upon it, that, in the whole progress of that affair, there appeared such cross characters of an angry Pro- vidence, that, how fully soever he was satisfied, in his own mind, as to episcopacy itself, yet, it seemed that God was against them, and that they were not like to be the men that should build up his church : so that the struggling about it, seemed to him like a fighting against God. He who had the greatest hand in it, proceeded with so much dissimulation, and the rest of the order were so mean and so selfish ; and the earl of Middletoun, with the other secular men that conducted it, were so openly impious and vicious, that it did cast a reproach on every thing relating to religion, to see it managed by such instruments. The ensuing events did not tend to inspire Leightoun with better hopes. In the year 1665, he was prevailed on to go to court, to give the king a true account of the proceedings in Scot^ land ; which, he said, were so violent, that he could not concur in the planting the Christian re- ligion itself, in such a manner : much less a form of government.! He, therefore, begged leave to quit • Named bishop of Glftsgow. * A pleasant and facetious man; but in- sinuating and crafty : a better pliysician than divine.' — Burnet. Own Time*. t ♦ Surely, there is no better way to stop the rising of new sects and schisms, than to reform abuses; to compound tlie smaller differences; to proceed ARCHBISHOP OF GLASGOW. ^5 his bisboprick, and to retire; for be tbougbt be was, in some sort, accessory to tbe violences done by otbers, since be was one of them, and all was pre- tended to be done, to establish them, and their order. There were, indeed, no violences com- mitted in his diocese. He went round it, continu- ally every year, preaching and catechizing from parish to parish. He continued in bis private, and ascetic course of life, and gave all his income, beyond tbe small expense of his own person, to the poor. He studied to raise in bis clergy, a greater sense of spiritual matters, and of the care of souls; and was, in all respects, a burning and shining light, highly esteemed by the greater part of his diocese: even the presbyterians were much mollified, if not quite overcome, by his mild and heavenly course of life. The king seemed touched with the state that the country was in : he spoke very severely of Sharp : and assured Leightoun he would quickly come to other measures, and put a stop to those violent methods : but he would, by no means, suf- fer him to quit his bisboprick. So the king gave orders, that the ecclesiastical commission should be discontinued; and signified his pleasure, that mildly, and not with sanguinary persecutions ; and rather to take off the prin- cp al authors, by winning and advancing them, than to enrage them by violence and bitterness.'. . Lord Bacon. Essays. I. 190. Ed. Pickering. Such would have been the course of Leighton in Scotland. But it could not be : a higher power than that of man, saw fit to over-rule events ; doubt- less, for wise and gracious purposes, still, probably, in a great measure, to be developed. u 4 ^90 ROBERT LEIGHTOUN, D.D. another way of proceeding was necessary for his affairs. * By such promises, Leigh toun was induced to persevere in his episcopal labours, and at length to accept of the vacant see of Glasgow ; but, after ten years of fruitless endeavours, he concluded he could do no good on either side : he had gained no ground on the presbyterians, and was suspected and hated by the episcopal party. So, he resolved to retire from all public employments, and to spend the rest of his days in a corner, far from noise and business, and to give himself wholly to prayer and meditation ; since he saw, he could not carry on his great designs of healing and reforming the church, on which he had set his heart. He had gathered together many instances out of church history, of bishops that had left their sees, and retired from the world; and was much pleased with these. He and I had many discourses on this argument. I thought, a man ought to be determined by the providence of God ; and to continue in the station he was in, though he could not do all the good in it, that he had promised to himself: he might do good, in a • * The answer of Apollonius to Vespasian, is full of excellent instruction. Vespasian asked him, What was Nero's overthrow ? He answered, Nero could touch and tunc the harp well ; but in government, sometimes he used to wind tlie pins too high, sometimes to let them down too low : and certain it is, that nothing dcstroycth authority so much, as the unequal and untimely interchange, of power, pressed too far, and relaxed too much.* . . Lord Bacon. £ssni/ xix. JVorh, I. 63. The unhappy house of Stewart afforded a melancholy commentary on tin's passage. But it is fraught with instruction for nil time*. ARCHBISHOP OF GLASGOW. ^97 private way, by his example, and by his labours, more than he himself could know : and, as a man ought to submit to sickness, poverty, or other afflictions, when they are laid on him by the hand of Providence, so, I thought the labouring without success, was, indeed, a very great trial of patience ; yet such labouring in an ungrateful employment, was a cross, and so was to be borne with sub- mission ; and that, a great uneasiness under that, or the forsaking a station because of it, might be the effect of secret pride, and an indignation against Providence. He, on the other hand, said, his work seemed to be at an end : he had no more to do, unless he had a mind to please himself, with the lazy enjoying a good revenue. So, he could not be wrought on, by all that could be laid before him ; but followed duke Lauderdale to court, and begged leave to retire from his archbishoprick. The duke would, by no means, consent to this. He then desired, that he might be allowed to do it, within a year. Duke Lauderdale thought so so much time was gained ; so, to be rid of his importunities, he moved the king to promise him, that, if he did not change his mind, he would, within the year, accept of his resignation * : he came * ♦ The following is a copy of the royal engagement : . . Charles R. It is our will and pleasure, that the present archbishop of Glascow do con- tinue in that station, for one whole year : and we shall allow liberty to him to retire from thence, at the end of that time. Given at our Court, at Whitehall, the ninth day of August, 1673.; and of our reign, the twenty-fifth year. By his Majesty's command.' . . Pearson's Zj/e of Abp. Leighlon. 298 ROBERT LEIGHTOUN, D.D. back, much pleased with what he had obtained: and said to me, upon it, there was, now, but one uneasy stage between him and rest, and he would wrestle through it the best he could. At the end of the year, Leightoun kept the king to his promise. He resigned his archbishoprick, and retired to a private house in Sussex ; where he lived ten years, in a most heavenly manner, and with a shining conversation. In the year 1684., when lord Perth came to London to be made lord Chancellor, I had a very earnest message from him, desiring, by my means, to see Leightoun. I thought that ange- lical man might have awakened in him some of those good principles, which he seemed once to have, and which were now totally extinguished in him. I writ so earnestly to Leightoun, that he came to London. Upon his coming to me, I was amazed to see him, at above seventy, look so fresh and well, that age seemed, as it were, to stand still with him. His hair was still black, and all his motions were lively : he had the same quickness of thought, and strength of memory, but, above all, the same heat and life of devotion, that I had ever seen him in. When I took notice to him, upon my first seeing him, how well he looked, he told me he was very near his end, for all that ; and his work and journey both were now almost done. This, at that time, made no great impression on me. He was the next day taken with an oppression, ARCHBISHOP OF GLASGOW. 299 and, as it seemed, with a cold and with stitches, which was, indeed, a pleurisy. The next day, Leightoun sunk so, that both speech and sense went away of a sudden : and he continued panting, about twelve hours, and then died, without pangs or convulsions. * I was by him, all the while. Thus I lost him, who had been, for many years, the chief guide of my whole life. He had lived ten years in Sussex, in great privacy ; dividing his time wholly, between study and retirement, and the doing of good. For, in the parish where he lived, and in the parishes round about, he was always employed in preaching, and in reading prayers, t He distributed all he had in charities, choosing, rather, to have it go through other people's hands, than his own : for I was his almoner in London. He had gathered a well chosen library? of curious, as well as useful books t, which he left to the diocese of Dunblane, for the use of the clergy there ; that country being ill provided with books. He lamented oft to me, the stupidity that he observed among the commons of England; who * On the twenty-fifth of June 1684., in the seventy-fourth year of his age. f ' He would repeat, with great approbation, that apophthegm of a pious bishop, . . necesse est, non ut multum legamus, sed ut muhiim oremus.'. . Life, ut supr. p. cxix. ^ ' He greatly encouraged learning in his clergy ; and has been heard to de- clare, that there could not be too much, if it were but sanctified : but he would remark, with a happy introduction of a passage from Seneca, . . ' Non opus est multis Uteris ad bonam mentem, . . but to be established in grace, and replenished with the spirit.* Pointing to his books one day, he said to his nephew, ' One devout thought is worth them all.' , . Life, ut supr. 300 ROBERT LEIGHTOUN, D.D. seemed to be much more insensible in the matters of religion, than the commons of Scotland were. He retained, still, a peculiar inclination to Scotland : and, if he had seen any prospect of doing good there, he would have gone, and lived and died among them. In the short time that the affairs of Scotland were in the duke of Monmouth's hands, that duke had been possessed with such an opinion of him, that he moved the king to write to him, to go, and at least live in Scotland, if he would not engage in a bishoprick there; but that fell with that duke's credit. He was, in his last years, turned to a greater severity against popery, than I had imagined a man of his temper, and of his largeness in point of opinion, was capable of. He spoke of the corruptions, of the secular spirit, and of the cruelty, that appeared in that church, with an extraordinary concern ; and la- mented the shameful advances, that we seemed to be making towards popery. He did this, with a tenderness, and an edge, that I did not expect, from so recluscj and mortified a man. He looked on the state the church of England was in, with very melancholy reflections ; and was very uneasy, at an expression then much used, that it was the best constituted church in the world. He thought it was truly so, with relation to the doctrine, the worship, and the main part of our government. But, as to the administration, both with relation to the ecclesiastical courts, and the pastoral care, ARCHBISHOP OF GLASGOW. 30^ he looked on it, as one of the most corrupt he had ever seen. He thought, we looked like a fair carcass of a body, without a spirit : without that zeal, that strictness of life, and that laboriousness in the clergy, that became us. There were two remarkable circumstances, in his death. He used often to say, that, if he were to choose a place to die in, it should be an inn : it looking like a pilgrim's going home, to whom this world was all as an inn, and who was weary of the noise and confusion in it. He added, that the officious tenderness and care of friends, was an entanglement to a dying man ; and that the un- concerned attendance, of those that could be procured in such a place, would give less disturb- ance. And he obtained what he desired ; for he died at the Bell-inn, in Warwick-lane. Another circumstance was, that, while he was bishop in Scotland, he took what his tenants were pleased to pay him : so that there was a great arrear due, which was raised slowly, by one whom he left in trust with his affairs there : and the last payment that he could expect from thence, was returned up to him, about six weeks before his death : so that his provision and journey failed both at once. And thus, in the several parts of this history, I have given a very particular account, of every thing relating to this apostolical man ; whose life I would have writ, if I had not found proper places, to bring the most material parts of it within this work. I reckon, that I owed this, to that 302 ROBERT LEIGHTOUN, D.D. perfect friendship, and fatherly care, with which he had alway treated me. * * Bishop Burnet gives the following character of Archbishop Leighton, in the conclusion of his Pastoral Care : . . * I have now laid together, with great simplicity, what has been the chief subject of my thoughts, for above thirty years. I was formed to them, by a bishop, that had the greatest elevation of soul, the largest compass of know- ledge, the most mortified and heavenly disposition, that I ever yet saw in mortal ; that had the greatest parts, as well as virtue, with the perfectest humility, that I ever saw in man ; and had a sublime strain in preaching, with so grave a gesture, and such a majesty both of thought, of language, and of pronunciation, that I never once saw a wandering eye where he preached ; and have seen whole assemblies often melt in tears before him ; and of whom, I can say, with great truth, that, in a free and frequent conversation with him, for above two-and-twenty years, I never knew him say a word, that had not a direct tendency to edification : and I never once saw him, in any other temper, but that which I wished to be in, in the last minutes of my life.' MESSRS. NAIRN AND CHARTERIS. JVIany of the episcopal clergy in Scotland were much offended at all these proceedings.* They saw the prejudices of the people were increased by them. They hated violent courses, and thought they were contrary to the meek spirit of the gospel, and that they alienated the nation more from the church. They set themselves much, to read church history, and to observe the state of the primitive church, and the spirits of those times : and they could not but observe so great a difference, be- tween the constitution of the church, under those bishops, and our own, that they seemed to agree in nothing, but the name. I happened to be settled near two, of the most eminent of them, who were often moved to accept of bishopricks, but always refused them ; both, out of a true principle of humility and self-denial, and also, because they could not engage in the methods, by which things were carried on. One of these, Mr. Nairn, was one of the politest clergymen I ever knew bred in Scotland. He had formed clear, and lively schemes of things, and was the most eloquent of all our preachers. He * The severities used in enforcing ecclesiastical uniformity. 304 CHARACTER OF considered the pastoral function as a dedication of the whole man to God, and his service. He read the moral philosophers much ; and had wrought himself into their equal temper, as much as could consist with a great deal of fire, that was in his own : but he turned it all to melting devotion. He had a true notion of superstition, as a narrow- ness of soul, and a meanness of thought in religion. He studied to raise all that conversed with him, to great notions of God, and to an universal charity. This made him pity the presbyterians, as men of low notions, and ill tempers. He had, in- deed, too much heat of imagination, which carried him to be very positive in some things, in which he afterwards changed his mind ; and that made him pass for an inconstant man. In a word, he was the brightest man I ever knew among all our Scottish divines. Another of these was Mr. Charteris, a man of a composed and serene gravity, but without affect- ation or sourness. He scarce ever spoke in com- pany, but was very open and free in private. He made true judgments of things, and of men : and had a peculiar talent, in managing such as he thought deserved his pains. He had little heat, either in body or mind : for, as he had a most emaciated body, so he spoke both slow, and in so low a voice, that he could not easily be heard. He had a great tenderness in his temper ; and was a very perfect friend, and a most sublime Chris- tian. He lived in constant contempt of the world. MESSRS. NAIRN AND CHARTERIS. 305 and a neglect of his person. There was a gravity in his conversation, that raised an attention, and begot a composedness, in all about him, without frightening them ; for he made religion appear amiable, in his whole deportment. He had read all the lives and epistles of great men, very carefully. * He had read the fathers much : and gave me this notion of them, that, in speculative points, for which writers of controversy searched into their works, they were but ordinary men ; but their excellency lay in that, which was least sought for, their sense of spiritual things, and of the pastoral care. In these, he thought, their strength lay. And he often lamented, not without some indig- nation, that, in the disputes about the government of the church, much pains were taken to seek out all those passages, that showed what their opinions were : but that due care was not taken, to set out the notions that they had, . . of the sacred function^ of the preparation of mind^ and inward vocation, with * * He took care, that we should be well acquainted with the history of the church. He did not think it right, that we should, for a moment, imagine, that nothing had happened in the church of God, since the days of the apos- tles ; that we had received our faith immediately from their hands, without any- intermediate debt of gratitude, and acknowledgment ; that no trials had been undergone ; that no examples to animate our zeal, none to warn us of our weakness, had been set forth in its transmission ; that the word of God, after a lapse of eighteen hundred years, had come into our hands somehow or other, but how, and by whom, it was no more our business to inquire, than if it had fallen, like the Roman sacred shield, immediately from heaven ; that we were a body in ourselves, indebted to no one, related to no one, without fathers, without brethren : such a state of feeling, he said, argued far too narrow a foundation of Christian principles.*. . Rectory of Valehead. p. 48. 306 CHARACTER OF which men ought to come to holy orders; or of the strictness of life, the deadness to the world, the heavenly temper, and the constant application to the doing (f good, that became them. * Of these, he did not talk like an angry reformer, that set up in that strain, because he was neglected, or provoked ; but like a man full of a deep, but humble sense of them. He was a great enemy to large confessions of faith, chiefly when they were imposed in the lump, as tests : for, he was positive in very few things. He had gone through the chief parts of learning : but, was then most con- versant in history, as the innocentest sort of study, that did not 'fill the mind with subtilty, but helped to make a man wiser and better. These were both single persons, and men of great sobriety: and they lived in a constant low diet, which they valued more, than severe fasting. Yet, they both became miserable by the stone. Nairn went to Paris, where he was cut of a great one, of which he recovered ; but lived not many years after. Charteris lived to a great age, and died in the end of the year I7OO., having, in his last years, suflered unspeakable torments from the stone, which the operators would not venture to cut. But, all that saw what he suffered, and how he bore it, acknowledged, that, in him they saw a most perfect pattern, of patience, and submission to * Perhaps, the l)est manual extant, on those important subjects, if Bishop Burnet's own treatise on the Pastoral Care. MESSRS. NAIRN AND CHARTERIS. 307 the will of God. It was a great happiness for me, that I fell into such hands ; with whom, I entered into a close and particular friendship. They both set me right, and kept me right. X ^ CHARACTERS OF EMINENT CLERGYMEN. The conduct of many of the clergy was, at this * time, such, that, if a new set of men had not ap- peared, of another stamp, the church had quite lost her esteem over the nation, t These latter were generally of Cambridge, formed under some eminent divines ; the chief of whom were Doctors Whitchcot, Cudworth, Wilkins, More, and Worthington. Whitchcot t was a man of a rare temper, very mild and obliging. He had great credit, with • A.D. 1661. •f" * To omit the mention of several of the old clergy, distinguished by their erudition, as well as their loyalty, who, among tlie successors of the Caroline bishops, equalled in munificence, Sheldon, Cosin, Morley, and Warner ; or surpassed in piety and learning, Sanderson, Pearson, and Fell ? '. . Dr. Routh. \ Benjamin Whichcote, D.D., (not Whitchcot as Burnet spells it) was de- scended from an ancient family, in the county of Salop : he was the sixth son of Christopher Whichcote, of Whichcote-hall, Esq. ; where he was born, March 11. 1609. . 10. His degrees, preferments, &c. are amply stated, in several biographical works : to these, the reader is referred. I shall content myself, by extracting Archbishop Tillotson's character, of this father and founder of the Latitudinarians : . . < I shall not insist upon his exemplary piety, and devotion towards God ; of which, his whole life was one continued testimony. Nor will I praise his pro- found learning ; for which, he was justly had, in so great reputation. Tl)« moral improvements of his mind, • a god-like temper and disposition,* (as be was wont to call it) he chiefly valued, and aspired after ; that universal charity and goodness, which lie did continually preach and practise. CHARACTERS OF EMINENT CLERGYMEN. 309 some that had been eminent in the late times ; but made all the use he could of it, to protect good His conversation was exceeding kind and affable, grave and winning, pru- dent and profitable. He was slow to declare his judgment, and modest in delivering it. Never passionate, never peremptory : so far from imposing upon others, that he was rather apt to yield. And, though he had a most profound and well-poized judgment, yet, he was, of all men I ever knew, the most patient to hear others differ from him ; and the most easy to be convinced, when good reason was offered : and, which is seldom seen, more apt to be favourable to another man's reason, than to his own. Studious and inquisitive men, commonly, at such an age, (at forty, or fifty at the utmost) have fixed and settled their judgments in most points ; and, as it were, made their last understanding : supposing, that they have thought, or read, or heard, what can be said, on all sides, of all things. And, after that, they grow positive, and impatient of contradiction ; thinking it a disparage- ment to them, to alter their judgment. But he was so wise, as to be vMling to learn to the last ^ ; knowing, that no man can grow wiser, without some change of his mind ; without gaining some knowledge which he had not, or correcting some error which he had before. He had attained so perfect a mastery of his passions, that, for the latter and greater part of his life, he was scarcely ever seen to be transported with anger : and, as he was extremely careful not to provoke any man, so, not to be pro- voked by any, using to say, * If I provoke a man, he is the worse for my company ; and if I suffer myself to be provoked by him, I shall be the worse for his.' He, very seldom, reproved any person in company, otherwise than by silence, or some sign of uneasiness, or some very soft and gentle word : which, yet, from the respect men generally bore to him, did often prove effectual. For he understood human nature very well ; and how to apply himself to it, in the most easy and effectual way. He was a great encourager, and kind director, of young divines : and one of the most candid hearers of sermons, I think, that ever was. So that, though all men did mightily reverence his judgment, yet, no man had reason to fear his censure. He never spake of himself, nor ill of others; making good that saying of Pansa in Tully : « Neminem alterius, qui suae confideret virtuti, invidere,' . . that no man is apt to envy the worth and virtues of another, that hath any of his own to trust to. In a word, he had all those virtues, and in a high degree, which an excellent temper, great condescension, long care and watchfulness over himself, toge- rrjpcuTKwv a€t ri diSaffKoixevos. X 3 310 CHARACTERS OF men, of all persuasions. He was much for liberty of conscience : and, being disgusted with the dry, systematical way of those times, he studied to raise those who conversed with him, to a nobler set of thoughts, and to consider religion as a seed of a deiform nature, (to use one of his own phrases.) In order to this, he set young students much, on reading the ancient philosophers, chiefly Plato Tully, and Plotin ; and on considering the Chris- tian religion, as a doctrine sent from God, both to elevate, and sweeten human nature ; in which, he was a great example, as well as a wise and kind instructor. CuDWORTH * carried this on, with a great strength of genius, and a vast compass of learning. He ther with the assistance of God*s grace, (which he continually implored, and mightily relied upon,) are apt to produce. Particularly, he excelled in the virtues of conversation ; humanity, and gentleness, and humility, a prudent* and peaceable, and reconciling temper.' The best edition of Dr. Whichcote's sermons, was published, under the care of Drs. Campbell and Gerard, at Aberdeen, 1751., in 4 vols. sm. 8vo. And of his < Moral and Religious Aphorisms,' Dr. Jeffery edited an enlarged, and much improved edition, London, 1753. Both books are eminently instructive. * Ralph Cudworth, D.D. bom, 1617., at Alter, in Somersetshire, of which place, his father was rector; died at Christ's College, Cambridge^ June 26. 1688. Of his genius, and learning, and especially of his stupendous work, the Intellectual System, it were here impracticable to speak, as tliey should be spoken of. He wrote, as it has been well said, * when reading was an employment, not merely a recreation ; when books were composed in tiie study, that they might be read in the study.' * The Intellectual System,' says Mr. Dugald Stewart, (first Pre!. Diss. Encycl. Britt.) * is so ill suited to the taste of the present age, that, since the time of Mr. Iliirris and Dr. Price, I scarcely recollect the slightest reference to it, in the writings of our British met^iphysicians. * Quere : Is tliis a health- ful symptom ? His two celebrated Sermons, were republished, by tlie present editor, in 1 830., together with the chief works of Scougal, and Cliarles How, in one vol. Sto. EMINENT CLERGYMEN. 311 was a man of great conduct and prudence : upon which, his enemies did, very falsely, accuse him of craft and dissimulation. WiLKiNs * was of Oxford, but removed to Cam- bridge. His first rise, was in the elector palatine's family, when he was in England. Afterwards, he married Cromwell's sister : but made no other use of that alliance, but to do good offices, and to cover the University, from the sourness of Owen and Goodwin. At Cambridge, he joined with those, who studied to propagate better thoughts ; to take men off from being in parties, or from narrow notions, from superstitious conceits, and a fierce- ness about opinions. He was also a great ob- server and a promoter of experimental philosophy, which was then a new thing, and much looked after. He was naturally ambitious ; but was the wisest clergyman I ever knew. He was a lover of mankind, and had a delight in doing good. More t was an open-hearted, and sincere Chris- tian philosopher ; who studied to establish men * John Wilkins, D. D. was born at Fawsley, near Daventry, in Nortliamp- tonshire, 1614. In the year 1648., he was made warden of Wadham College, Oxford; and in 1659., advanced to the mastership of Trinity College, Cam- bridge. In 1668., he was appointed bishop of Chester; and died, in London, 1672. ' He was,' says Wood, no partial estimator, in this case, * a person en- dowed with rare gifts ; he was a noted theologist and preacher, a curious critic in several matters, an excellent mathematician and experimentist, and one, as well seen, in mechanisms and new philosophy, of which he was a great promoter, as any man of his time.' But he is now, and perhaps not unrea- sonably, antiquated. f Henry More, D.D., was bom at Grantham, in Lincolnsliire, 1614. la X 4 312 CHARACTERS OF in the great principles of religion, against atheism ; that was then beginning to gain ground, chiefly 1631., after spending three years at Eton, he was admitted of Christ's College, Cambridge; where he remained till his death, in 1687. Originally trained in high predestinarian principles, his mind early revolted from them ; and he relates, himself, several most interesting particulars, of his early efforts after mental freedom. This, he soon happily attained. And, even in early youth, he seems to have been fully entitled to Burnet's felicitous title, of ' a sincere Christian philosopher.' In his childhood, he tells us, that his father used, on winter nights, to read to his delighted family, •' Spenser's Fairy Queen.' This, he says, * first turned his ears to poetry. ' And the results are apparent, in his splendid, though unequal philosophical poem, * The Song of the Soul ;' some extracts from which shall presently be given. Dr. Outram said, ' that he looked upon Dr. More as the holiest man on the face of the earth.* His temper was naturally grave and thoughtful, {subtristis he used to call it); but, on proper occasions, he was ready to relax, into the most unaffected gaiety. Once, after finishing some recondite researches, which occasioned unusual exhaustion and fatigue, he playfully declared, * Now, for these three months, I will neither think a wise thought, nor speak a wise word, nor do an ill thing.' < The character of Henry More, is one, upon which the mind dwells, with peculiar delight. He appears to have combined, in an extraordinary degree, \, simplicity of heart, with independence of life ; and an enthusiastic tempera> ment, with a logical head, and consummate practical good sense. He was a lover of truth, for its own sake ; and he pursued it, with the intense and un- wearied zeal, of a Plato, or an Auaxagoras. His life was spent, in the search after true wisdom and goodness, and in communicating the result of his in- quiries to others. These were his food ; the element in which he breathed. The loftiness of his views raised him far above < the smoke and stir, of this dim spot ;' above the seductions of interest, or the gratifications of malignity or sen- suality, those canker-worms of intellectual, as well as moral excellence. It is not wonderful, that a character of so much piety, purity, and benevolence, should have united the suff'rages of contemporaries in its behalf, to a degree seldom paralleled.' • Mr. Southey justly says, that, * amidst the uncouth allegory, and still more uncoutli language,' of Dr. H. More's poems, < there are a few passages of extreme beauty.' Of these, I shall select two; the one, addressed, appa- rently, to those of his youthful associates, who were * In virgin youth as yet immaculate, And unto drudging policy unsold :' RetroHpective Review, v. 394. EMINENT CLERGYMEN. 313 by reason of the hypocrisy of some, and the fan- tastical conceits of the more sincere enthusiasts. the other, a lovely, though somewhat mystical entablature, of the spiritual life : . . * Dear lads ! How I do love your harmlesse yeares, And melt in heart, while I the morning-shine Do view of rising virtue, which appears In your sweet faces, and mild modest eyne. Adore that God, that doth himself enshrine In your untainted breasts ; and give no eare To wicked voice, that may your souls incline Unto false peace, or unto fruitlesse fear, Least, loosened from yourselves, harpyes away you beare.' * But the clean soul, by virtue purifi'd, Collecting her own self from the foul steem Of earthly life, is often dignifi'd With that pure pleasure, that from God doth streem ; Often's enlighten'd by that radiant beam, That issues forth from his divinity ; Then, feelingly immortall she doth deem Herself, conjoyn'd by so near unity With God, and nothing doubts of her eternitie. Nor death, nor sleep, nor any dismal 1 shade Of low contracting life, she then doth fear ; No troubled thoughts her settled mind invade, Th' immortall root of life she seeth clear, Wisheth she were for ever grafted here : No cloud, no darknesse, no deficiency In this high, heavenly life doth e'er appear ; Redundant fulnesse, and free liberty, Easie-flowing knowledge, never-weary energy. Broad, open sight, eternall wakefulnesse, Withouten labour, or consuming pain : The soul all these in God must needs possesse, When there deep-rooted life she doth obtain.' Song of the Soul. Cant. Hi. p. 244. 314 CHARACTERS OF WoRTHiNGTON * WES a man of eminent piety and great humility, and practised a most sublime way of self-denial and devotion. All these, and those who were formed under them, studied to examine farther into the nature of things, than had been done formerly. They declared against superstition on the one hand, and enthusiasm on the other. They loved the con- stitution of the church and the liturgy, and could well live under them: but they did not think it unlawful, to live under another form. They wished that things might have been carried with more moderation t ; and they continued to keep to a good correspondence, with those who had differed from them in opinion ; and allowed a great free- dom, both in philosophy and in divinity: from whence they were called men of latitude. And upon this, men of narrower thoughts, and fiercer tempers, fastened upon them the name of latitudinarians. The most eminent of those, who were formed under those great men I have mentioned, were Tillotson and Patrick. TiLLOTSON t was a man of a clear head, and a sweet temper. He had the brightest thoughts • John Worthington, D.D. Born at Manchester, Feb. 1617-18. Edu- cated ot Emanuel Coll. Cambridge; B.D. 1646.; D.D. 1655. He col- lected, reviewed, and published the works of tl)e learned Joseph Mede ; also the ♦ Select Discourses* of John Smith of Cambridge, lately reprinted, alike accurately and beautifully, for Messrs. Rivingtons, and Cocliran: his own * Select Discourses,' and ' Scripture Catechism,* have been republished, in tlie same fonn, by Messrs. Rivingtons. f See this question examined, in the Dublin Editor's Preface. t Archbishop Tillotson's are standard works, frequently reprinted. It EMINENT CLERGYMEN. 315 and the most correct style, of all our divines ; and was esteemed the best preacher of the age. He was a very prudent man ; and had such a management with it, that I never knew any clergy- man so universally esteemed and beloved, as he was, for above twenty years. He was eminent for his opposition to popery. He was no friend to persecution, and stood up much against atheism. Nor did any man contribute more to bring the city to love our worship, than he did. But, there was so little superstition, and so much reason and gentleness, in his way of explaining things, that malice was long levelled at him, and, in conclusion, broke out fiercely on him.* Patrick t was a great preacher. He wrote much, and well ; and chiefly on the scriptures. were quite superfluous, to dwell upon the character and merits, of one so gene- rally, and so deservedly esteemed. One testimony only, I will give ; because it may not be so familiar to the reader ; it is, perhaps, somewhat overcharged: ' He taught by his sermons, more ministers to preach well, and more people to live well, than any other man, since the apostles' days. He was the orna- ment of the last century, and the glory of his function : in the pulpit, another Chrysostom ; and, in the episcopal chair, another Cranmer. He was so ex- ceeding charitable, that, while in a private station, he always laid aside two tenths of his income to charitable uses.' . . Wordsworth's Ecc. Biogr. vi. 545. * Bishop Burnet, speaking of Tillotson's last illness, says, ' His distemper [a dead palsy] did so oppress him, that, though it appeared, by signs, and other indications, that his understanding remained long clear, yet he was not able to express himself so as to edify others. He seemed still serene and calm : and, in broken words, he said, He thanked God, he was quiet within ; and had nothing, then, to do, but to wait for the will of Heaven. \ . Own Times, ii. 235. * Joy through my swimming eyes shall break, And mean the thoughts I cannot speak.' Doddridge. t Simon Patrick, D.D. Successively bishop of Chichester, and Ely. 516 CHARACTERS OF He was a laborious man in his function, of great strictness of life ; but a little too severe against those who differed from him. But that was, when he thought their doctrines struck at the fun- damentals of religion. He became afterwards more moderate. To these I shall add another divine, who, though of Oxford, yet, as he was formed by bishop Wil- kins, so, he went into most of their principles ; but went far beyond them in learning. Lloyd was a great critic in the Greek and Latin authors, but chiefly on the scriptures ; of the words and phrases of which, he carried the most perfect concordance in his memory, and had it the readiest about him, of all men that ever I knew. He was an exact historian, and the most punctual in chro- nology, of all our divines. He had read the most books, and with the best judgment, and had made the most copious abstracts out of them, of any in this age : so that Wilkins used to say, he had the Born at Gainsborough in Lincolnshire, Sept. 8. 1626. Admitted at Queen's Coll. Cambridge, 1644. Elected Fellow, 1648. B. A. 1647. M. A. 1651. B.D. 1658., in which year, he accepted the living of Battersea, and vacated his fellowship. In 1662., rector of St. Paul's, Co vent Garden. He was one of the few who remained in London, during the whole continuance of the plague in 1665., in spite of the remonstrances of many friends. He proceeded D.D. at Oxford, 1666. Prebendary of Westminster, 1672. Dean of Peter- borough, 1679. Bishop of Chichester, 1689. Bishop of Ely, 1691. Died, at F.ly, May 31. 1707. His writings (ratljcr voluminous and wordy,) were once extremely popular; but his commentaries upon the old testament arc still, perhaps, the most valuable in the English language. EMINENT CLERGYMEN. 317 most learning in ready cash, of any he ever knew. He was so exact in every thing he set about, that he never gave over any part of study, till he had quite mastered it. But, when that was done, he went to another subject ; and did not lay out his learning, with the diligence with which he laid it in. He had many volumes of materials, upon all subjects, laid together, in so distinct a method, that he could, with very little labour, write on any of them. He had more life in his imagination, and a truer judgment, than may seem consistent with such a laborious course of study. * Yet, much as he was set on learning, he never neglected his pastoral care. For several years, he had the greatest cure in England, St. Martin's, which he took care of with an application and diligence, be- yond any about him ; to whom he was an example, or rather a reproach, so few following his example. He was a holy, humble, and patient man; ever ready to do good, when he saw a proper oppor- tunity : even his love of study, did not divert him from that. He did, upon his promotion, find a very worthy successor in his cure, Tennison, who carried on, and advanced, all those good methods that he had begun, in the management of that great cure. He endowed schools, set up a public * Lord Dartmouth tells a curious anecdote ; which would seem to im- peach the soundness of Bp. Lloyd's judgment. It should be recollected, however, that it took place in the year 1712., when he was above eighty-five years of age. See Dr. Routh's edition of Burnet, i. 327. Also the Biogra- phical Dictionary. It is quite unfair, to take his conversation, at this time of decadence, perhaps of imbecility, as any standard of his ordinary judgment 318 CHARACTERS OF library, and kept many curates to assist him in his indefatigable labours among them. He was a very learned man, and took much pains to state the notions and practices of heathenish idolatry, and so, to fasten that charge on the church of Rome. And, Whitehall lying within that parish, he stood as in the front of the battle, all king James's reign ; and maintained, as well as managed, that danger- ous post, with great courage, and much judgment ; and was held in very high esteem for his whole deportment, which was ever grave and moderate. These have been the greatest divines we have had, these forty years * : and may we ever have a succession of such men, to fill the room of those who have already gone off the stage ; and of those, who, being now very old, cannot hold their posts long. Of these I have writ the more fully, be- cause I knew them well, and have lived long in great friendship with them ; but most particularly with Tillotson and Lloyd. And, as I am sensible I owe a great deal of the consideration that has been had for me, to my being known to be their friend, so I have really learned the best part of what I know from them. But I owed them much more on the account of those excellent principles and notions, of which they were in a particular manner communicative to me. This set of men con- tributed, more than can be well imagined, to re- • The accuracy of this statement may be fairly questioned. Dr. Routh very properly suggests the names, of Bp. Pearson, (who was alive within tliirty years of Burnet's death) ; of Drs. Cave, and South ; and of Bps- Beveridge, Hooper, and Kidder. The catalogue might be readily increased. EMINENT CLERGYMEN. 319 form the way of preaching ; which, among the divines of England before them, was over-run with pedantry ; a great mixture of quotations from fathers and ancient writers, a long opening of a text with a concordance of every word in it, and a giving all the different expositions with the grounds of them, and the entering into some parts of controversy, and all concluding in some, but very short, practical applications, according to the subject or the occasion. This was both long and heavy, when all wdi^pye-balled'^, full of many sayings of different languages. The common style of ser- mons was either very flat and low, or swelled up with rhetoric, to a false pitch of a wrong sublime. The king had little or no literature, but true, and * Dean Swift, (Routh's Burnet, i. 330.) very needlessly, sneers at this epithet : it is, surely, most expressive. Butler uses it ; and, perhaps, Burnet may have copied from him : . . * A Babylonish dialect, Which learned pedants much affect ; It was a party-coloured dress. Of patched and pye-balVd languages : 'Twas English, cut on Greek and Latin, Like fustian, heretofore, on satin.' Hudibras. * C'^toit langage, .... Du ton que le pedant affecte, Ou de Babel le dialecte ; C'etoit un habit d'Arl^quin D'Anglois, de Grec, et de Latin, Que de coudre il prenoit la peine Comme on coud satin sur futaine.' Townlet. How different, from the unaffeeted, and not over-popular simplicity of the great Pocock ! One of whose friends, passing through Childres, the Doctor's living, inquired who was the minister, and how they liked him : * Our parson,' Was the reply, * is one Mr. Pocock, a plain honest man ; but, master, he is no LATiNER.' , . TioeUss Life. 320 CHARACTERS OF EMINENT CLERGYMEN. good sense ; and had got a right notion of style ; for he was in France at a time, when they were much set on reforming their language. It soon appeared, that he had a true taste. So, this helped to raise the value of these men, when the king approved of the style their discourses generally ran in ; which was clear, plain, and short. They gave a short paraphrase of their text, unless where great difficulties required a more copious enlargement. But, even then, they cut off unnecessary shows of learning, and applied themselves to the matter ; in which, they opened the nature and reasons of things so fully, and with that simplicity, that their hearers felt an instruction of another sort, than had been observed commonly before. So, they became very much followed : and a set of these men brought off the city, in a great measure, from the prejudices they had formerly to the church.* * In considering the character, and influence, of the latitudinarian divines, youthful readers, especially, are recommended to pay close attention to tliose cautionary hints, wliich are given from Mr. Alexander Knox, in the Introduc- tion to this volume. The editor speaks the experience of more than thirty years, when he testifies, that, throughout the whole course of his subsequent reading, he has not met with any one thing, (the sacred volume alone ex- cepted,) so practically beneficial to himself, as that simgij: littbr. QUEEN MARY II, The queen continued still to set a great example to the whole nation, which shined in all the parts of it. She used all possible methods for reforming whatever was amiss : she took ladies off from that idleness, which not only wasted their time, but exposed them to many temptations ; she engaged many both to read and to w^ork ; she wrought many hours a day herself, with her ladies and her maids of honour working about her, while one read to them all : the female part of the court had been, in the former reigns, subject to much cen- sure, and there was great cause for it ; but she freed her court so entirely from all suspicion, that there was not so much as a colour for discourses of that sort ; she did divide her time so regularly, between her closet and business, her work and diversion, that every minute seemed to have its proper employment : she expressed so deep a sense of religion, with so true a regard to it ; she had such right principles, and just notions ; and her deportment was so exact, in every part of it, all being natural and unconstrained, and animated with due life and cheerfulness ; she considered every thing that was laid before her so carefully. 522 CHARACTER OF and gave such due encouragement to a freedom of speech ; she remembered every thing so exactly, observing at the same time the closest reserved- ness, yet with an open air and frankness * ; she was so candid in all she said, and cautious in every pro- mise -she made ; and, notwithstanding her own great capacity, she expressed such a distrust of her own thoughts, and was so entirely resigned to the king's judgment, and so constantly determined by it, that when I laid all these things together, which I had large opportunities to observe, it gave a very pleasant prospect, to balance the melancholy view, that rose from the ill posture of our affairs, in all other respects. It gave us a very particular joy, when we saw, that the person, whose con- dition seemed to mark her out as the defender and perfecter of our reformation, was such in all respects in her public administration, as well as in her private deportment, that she seemed well fitted for accomplishing that work, for which we thought she was born ; but we soon saw this hopeful view blasted, and our expectations disappointed in the loss of her. When, in her last illness, the archbishop was preparing to apprize her of her danger, with some address, not to surprise her too much with such tidings, she presently apprehended his drifl, but showed no fear nor disorder upon it. She said, she thanked God she had always carried this in • ' I pensieri stretli et il visi sciolto.' Sec Sir H. Wotton's T^etter W Milton, printed before the Mask.' Lortl Onslow. QUEEN MARY II. 3*^3 her mind, that nothing was to be left to the last hour ; she had nothing then to do, but to look up to God, and submit to his will * ; it went further, indeed, than submission ; for she seemed to desire death, rather than life ; and she continued, to the last moment of her life, in that calm and resigned state. She had formerly wrote her mind, in many particulars, to the king: and she gave orders to look carefully for a small scrutoir that she made use of, and to deliver it to the king : and, having dis^ patched that, she avoided the giving him or herself the tenderness which a final parting might have raised in them both. She was almost perpetually in prayer : the day before she died, she received the sacrament, all the bishops who were attending being admitted to receive it with her : we were, God knows, a sorrowful company ; for we were losing her who was our chief hope and glory on earth. She followed the whole office, repeating it after the archbishop : she apprehended, not with- out some concern, that she should not be able to swallow the bread, yet it went down easily. When this was over, she composed herself solemnly to die ; she slumbered sometimes, but said she was not refreshed by it ; and said often, that nothing did her good but prayer : she tried once or twice to have said somewhat to the king, but was not able to go through with it. She ordered the arch- bishop to be reading to her such passages of scrip- * This much resembles the saying of Tillotson, so lately mentioned, see |»ag€ 315. note* Y 2 824 CHARACTER OF QUEEN MARY II. ture, as might fix her attention, and raise her devotion : several cordials were given, but all was ineffectual ; she lay silent for some hours ; and some words that came from her, showed her thoughts began to break : in conclusion, she died on the 28th of December, about one in the morn- ing, in the thirty-third year of her age, and in the sixth of her reign. CHARACTER OF A CHRISTIAN PHILOSOPHER, IN A SERMON PREACHED JANUARY 7. 1691-2, AT THE FUNERAL OF THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE, BV GILBERT BURNET, D.D. Y 3 Yet, some there be, that by due steps aspire,, To lay their just hands on that golden key. That opes the palace of eternity. Miltoic AIkuioi Sh €15 rhv alwva fcSci, Kal iv Kvplcf) 6 fiiadhs avrwVy Kal Tj <ppoin-\s ahruv ifaph. 'T^ffrtp: Ala rovTo \'f}\povTai rh $acri\fiov ttjs €tnrp€ireias, Ka\ rh 5id5rjixa rod ndWovs, e/c x^'P^^ Kvpiov. 20^. 2AA. But the righteous live for evermore, Their reward also is with Jkhovah, And the care of them is with the Most High : Therefore they shall receive the kingdom of glory ; And the diadem of beauty, from tlie hand of Jehovah. Wisd. Y. 15, 16. MaKdpioi 01 KaOapol rrj KapZic^ "Ori avroX rhu Qehv 6\i/ovrcu, MA©, v. Happy the pure in heart ; For they shall see GO0. S. Mat. v. 8. A SERMON, EccLES. II, 26. For God giveth to a man that is good in his sight, wisdom, knowledge, and joy. When the author of this book, the wisest of men, appUed his heart to know and to search, to seek out wisdom, and the reason (or nature) of things ; and summed up the. account of all, article by article, one by one, to find out the thread of nature, and the plan of its great Author ; though his soul sought after it, yet the riddle was too dark; he, even he, could not discover it. But one man among a thousand he did find; and happy was he, in that discovery, if, among all the thousands that he knew, he found one counting figure, for so many ciphers, which, though they increased the number, yet did not swell up the account, but were so many nothings, or less and worse than nothing, according to his estimate of men and things. We have reason rather to think, that, by a thou- sand, is to be meant a vast and indefinite number, y 4 3^8 CHARACTER OF Otherwise, it must be confessed, that Solomon's age was, indeed, a golden one ; if it produced one man, to a thousand that carry only the name and figure, but that do not answer the end and ex- cellency of their being. The diflferent degrees and ranks of men, with relation to the inward powers and excellences, is a surprising but melancholy observation. Many seem, only, to have a mecha- nical life ; as if there were a moving and speaking spring within them, equally void both of reason and goodness. The whole race of men, is, for so many years of life, little better than increasing puppets; many are children to their life's end. The soul does, for a large portion of life, sink wholly into the body : the blood and the spirits do so far subdue and master the mind, as to make it think, act, and speak, according to the different ferments, that are in the humours of the body ; and when they cease to play, the soul is able to hold its tenure no longer. All these, are strange and amazing speculations: and force one to cry out, Why did such a perfect Being, make such feeble and imperfect creatures? Wherefore hast thou made all men in vain? The secret is yet. more astonishing, when the frowardness, the pride and ill-nature, the ignorance, folly and fury, that hang upon their poor flattered creature, are, like- wise, brought into the account. He, that by all his observations, and increase of knowledge, only increascth sorrow, while he sees, that what is wanting camiot be numbered, and that which is THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 329 crooked cannot be made straight, is tempted to go about, and with Solomon, to make his heart to despair of all the labour wherein he has travelled. But, as there is a dark side of human nature, so, there is likewise a bright one. * The flights and compass of awakened souls is no less amazing. The vast crowd of figures, that lie in a very narrow corner of the brain ; which a good memory, and a lively immagination, can fetch out in good order, and with such beauty : . . the strange reaches of the mind, in abstracted speculations ; and the amazing progress that is made, from some simple truths, into theories, that are the admiration, as well as the entertainment, of the thinking part of mankind : . . the sagacity of apprehending, and judging, even at the greatest distance ; the elevation that is given to sense, and the sensible powers, by the invention of instruments ; and, which is above all, the strength that a few thought s\ do spread * The grounds of hope, to be derived, from the correction of former errors, and from the inopinate discoveries and inventions of later times, have been in- comparably urged by Lord Bacon, in the Novum Organum, Aphor. 94 . . 114. We are at a loss, whether more to admire the prophetic imagination, or the mingled ease and vigour of expression, with which that great man gives utter- ance to thoughts, which, since his day, have been but imperfectly realized. But, after all, it is probable, that Mr. Boyle anticipated results still greater, than it ever entered into the heart of a mere philosopher to conceive. See note, at the end of this discourse. f ' An hour of solitude, passed in sincere and earnest prayer, or the conflict with, and conquest over, a single passion or ' subtle bosom sin,' will teach us more of thought, will more effectually awaken the faculty, and form the HABIT, of reflection, than a year's study in the schools without them. In a world, the opinions of which are drawn from outside shows, many things may be paradoxical, (that is, contrary to the common notion) and never- theless true: nay, paradoxical, because they are true. How should it be otherwise, as long as the worldling is wholly occupied by swface, the Chris- 330 CHARACTER OF into the mind, by which it is made capable of doing or suffering the hardest things ; . . the life which they give, and the calm which they bring, are all so unaccountable, . . that, take all together, a man is a strange huddle of light and darkness, of good and evil, and of wisdom and folly. The same man, not to mention the difference that the several ages of life make upon him, feels himself, in some minutes, so different from what he is in the other parts of his life, that, as the one flies away with him, into the transports of joy, so, the other does no less sink him, into the depressions of sorrow ; he scarce knows himself, in the one, by what he was in the other : upon all which, when one considers a man, both within and without, he concludes that he is both wonderfully, and also fearfully made ; that, in one side of him, he is but a little lower than angels ; and in another, a little, a very little, higher than beasts. But how astonishing soever this speculation, of the remedy and contrariety in our composition, may be, . . it contributes to raise our esteem the higher, of such persons, as seem to have arisen tian's thoughts are fixed on the substancet that which is and abides; and which, BECAUSE it is the substance, (Quod stat subtus, that which stands beneath, and, as it were, supports the appearance,) the outward senses cannot recognize. Tertullian had good reason for his assertion, that the simplest Christian (if indeed a Christian) knows more, than the most accomplished irreligious phi. losopher.' . . Coleridge. Aids for Reflection, p. 6. Let me add, that the words irrrlioious fhzlosophkr, arc a contradiction in terms: they not only imply, but arc, what, I believe, tlic schoolmen called an INOOMffOSSIBlUTY. THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 331 above, if not all, yet all the eminent, frailties of human nature : that have used tlieir bodies, only as engines and instruments, to their minds, without any other care about them, but to keep them in good case, fit for the uses they put them to ; that have brought their souls to a purity, which can scarce appear credible, to those who do not imagine that to be possible to another, which is far out of their own reach ; and whose lives have shined, in a course of many years, with no more alloy nor mixture, than what just served to show, that they were of the same human nature with others, who have lived in a constant contempt of wealth, pleasure, or the greatness of this world ; whose minds have been in as constant a pursuit of knowledge, in all the several ways in which they could trace it; who have added new regions of their own discoveries, and that, in a vast variety, to all that they had found made before them ; who have directed all their inquiries into nature, to the honour of its great Maker ; and have joined two things, that, how much soever they may seem related, yet have been found so seldom together, that the world has been tempted to think them inconsistent, . . a constant looking into nature, and yet a more constant study of religion, and a direct- ing and improving of the one by the other * : and • * But the greatest error of all the rest,' says Lord Bacon, * is the mistak- ing, or misplacing, of the last or furthest end of knowledge : for men have entered into a desire of learning and knowledge, sometimes, upon a natural curiosity, and inquisitive appetite j sometimes, to entertain their minds, with variety and delight ; sometimes, for ornament and reputation j and sometimes, 332 CHARACTER OF who, to a depth of knowledge, which often makes men morose ; and to a height of piety, which too often makes them severe, have added all the softness of humanity, and all the tenderness of charity, and obliging civility, as well as a melting kindness: when all these do meet in the same person, and that in eminent degrees, we may justly pretend, that we have also made Solomon's observation of one man : but, alas ! the age is not so fruitful of such, that we can add, ' one among a thousand/ To such a man, the characters given in the words of my text do truly agree. That God giveth to him that is good in his sight, wisdom, knowledge, and Jot/. The text that is here before us, does so agree to this that I have read, and the application will be so easy, that it will be almost needless, after I have a little opened it. A man that is good in the sight of God, is a character of great extent. Goodness is the pro- bity and purity of the mind ; showing itself, in a course of sedate tranquillity, of a contented state of life, and of virtuous and generous actions. A to enable them to victory of wit and contradiction ; and most times, for lucre and profession ; and seldom, sincerely to give a true account of their gift of reason, to the benefit and use of men : as if there vi'cre sought in knowledge, a couch, whereupon to rest a searching and restless spirit ; or a tarrasse, for a wandering and variable mind to walk up and down, with a fair prospect ; or a tower of state, for a proud mind to raise itself upon ; or a fort or command- ing ground, for strife and contention ; or a shop, for profit or sale ; and not, n rich slorehimsc, for the glory nf the Creator^ and the relief of man't estate' . . Loiy) Bacon. Advancement of Learning, Works, ii. 51. THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 333 good man, is one that considers what are the best principles of his nature, and the highest powers of his soul ; and what are the greatest and the best things, that they are capable of; and that, like- wise, observes what are the disorders and de- pressions, the inward diseases and miseries, which tend, really, to lessen and to corrupt him ; and that, therefore inteiids, to be the purest, the wisest, and the noblest creature, that his nature can carry him to be; that renders himself, as clean and innocent, as free from designs and passions, as much above appetite and pleasure, and all that sinks the soul deeper into the body; that is, as tender and compassionate, as gentle and good natured, as he can possibly make himself to be. This, is the good man in my text ; that rises, as much as he can, above his body, and above this world ; above his senses, and the impressions that sensible objects make upon him : that thinks the greatest, and best thing, he can do, is, to awaken and improve the seeds and capacities to virtue and knowledge, that are in his nature : to raise those, to the noblest objects, to put them in the Tightest method, and to keep them ever in tune and temper : and that, with relation to the rest of mankind, considers himself as a citizen of the whole world, and as a piece of human nature: that enters into the concerns of as many persons as come within his sphere, without the narrow- ness or partiality of meaner regards : that thinks he ought to extend his care and kindness, as far 834> CHARACTER OP as his capacity can go; that stretches the in* stances of this to the utmost corner of the earth, if occasion is given for it; and that intends to make mankind the better, the wiser, and the happier for him, in the succeeding, as well as in the present generation. This is the truly good man in God's sight : who does not act a part, or put on a mask ; who is not, for some time, in a constraint, till the design is compassed, for which he put himself under that force; but is truly, and uniformly good, and is really a better man in secret, than even he appears to be ; since all his designs and projects, are worthy and great: and nature, accidents and surprises may be, sometimes, too quick and too hard for him ; yet, these cannot reach his heart, nor change the settled measures of his life ; which are all pure and noble. And though the errors of this good man's conduct, may, in some things, give advantage to bad men, who are always severe censurers ; yet, his unspeakable comfort is, that he can make his secret appeals to God, who knows the whole of his heart, as well as the whole of his life; and, though here and there, things may be found that look not quite so well, and that do, indeed, appear worst of all to himself, who reflects the oftenest, and tliinks the most heinously of them, . . yet, by measuring infinite goodness with his own proportion of it, and by finding, that he can, very gently, pass over many and great defects, in one whose principles and designs seem THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 335 to be all pure and good, he, from that, concludes, That those allowances must be yet infinitely greater, where the goodness is infinite ; so, being assured within himself, that his vitals, his inward principles, and the scheme and course of his life are good, he, from thence, raises an humble con- fidence in himself, which, though it does not, as, indeed, it ought not, free him from having still low thoughts of himself, yet it delivers him from all dispiriting fear and sorrow, and gives him a firm confidence in the love and goodness of God ; out of which, he will often feel an incredible source of satisfaction and joy, springing up in his mind. A man, who is thus good in the sight of God, has, as one may truly think, happiness enough within himself. But this is not all his reward ; nor is it all turned over, into a reversion. We have, here, a fair particular given us, by one, that dealt as much, both in wisdom and folly, as ever man did ; who ran the whole compass of pleasure, business and learning, with the freest range, and in the greatest variety; and who, by many repeated experiments, knew the strong and the weak sides of things ; he then, who had found the vanity, the labour, the sore travel, and the vexation of spirit, that was in all other things ; the many disappointments that were given by them, and the painful reflections that did arise out of them, so sensibly, that they made him hate life, for the sake of all the labour that belonged to it ; and even to make his heart despair, of all the travel he had 386 CHARACTER OF undergone, . . he gives us, in these words, another view of the effect of true goodness, and of the happy consequences that follow it. The Jirst of these, is wisdom : not the art of craft and dissimulation, the cunning of deceiving or undermining others; not only the views that some men may have, of the springs of human na- ture, and the art of turning these; which is, indeed, a nobler scene of wisdom, by which societies are conducted and maintained. But the chief acts and instances of true wisdom, are, at once, to form right judgments of all things ; of their value, and of their solidity ; to form great and noble thoughts of God, and just and proper ones of ourselves; to know what is the true good and happiness of mankind, which makes societies safe, and nations flourish. This is solid wisdom ; that is not mis- led by false appearances, nor imposed on by vulgar opinions. This was the wisdom, that first brought men together, that tamed and corrected their natures, and established all the art and good government that was once in the world ; but which has been almost totally defaced, by the arts of robbery and murder, the true names for conquest : a specious colour, for the two worst things that human nature is capable of, injustice and cruelty. Wisdom in gross, is the forming true principles, the laying good schemes, the employing proper instruments, and the choosing seasons fit for doing the best and noblest things that can arise out of human nature. This is the defence, as well as the THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 337 glory of mankind. Wisdom gives life to him that hath it; is better than strength, and better than weapons of war ; it is, in one word, the image of God, and the excellency of man. It is here called, the gift of God. The seed of it is laid in our nature ; but there must be a proper disposition of body, a right figure of brain, and a due temper of blood, to give it scope and materials. These must, also, be cultivated, by an exact education : so that, when all these things are laid together, it is plain, in how many respects, wisdom comes from God. There are, also, particular happy flights, and bright minutes, which open to men great landscapes, and give them a fuller prospect of things, which do often arise out of no previous meditations, or chain of thought ; and these are flashes of light, from its eternal source, which do often break in upon pure minds. They are not enthusiasms, nor extravagant pretensions ; but true views of things, which ap- pear so plain and simple, that, when they come to be examined, it may be justly thought that any one could have fallen upon them, and the simplest, are always the likest to be the truest. In short, a pure mind is, both, better prepared for an enlighten- ing from above, and more capable of receiving it*; • ' So dear to heaven is saintly Chastity, That, when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lacky her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt ; And in clear dream, and solemn vision. Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heavenly habitants Z 338 CHARACTER OF the natural strength of mind is awakened, as well as recollected ; false biasses are removed ; and, let profane minds laugh at it as much as they please, there is a secret commerce between God, and the souls of good men ; they feel the influence of heaven, and become both the wiser and the better for them ; their thoughts become nobler, as well as freer ; and no man is of so low a composition, but that, with a great deal of goodness, and a due measure of application, he may become more ca- pable of these, than any other, that is on the same level with him as to his natural powers, could ever grow to be, if corrupted with vice and deiilement. * Begin to cast a beam on the' outward shape, The unpolluted temple of the mind, And turns it, by degrees, to the soul's essence, Till all be made immortal.' Comos. • ' There is a secret, but most certain truth, that highly improveth that wisdom which the fear of the Lord bringeth, and that is this : That those who truly fear God, have a secret guidance, from a higher wisdom, than what is barely human ; namely, by the spirit of truth and wisdom, that doth really and truly, but secretly, prevent and direct them. And let no man think that this is a piece of fanaticism. Any man, that, sincerely and truly, fears Almighty God, relies upon him, calls upon him for his guidance and direction, hath it, as really, as the son hath the counsel and direction of his father. And, though the voice be not audible, nor the direction always perceptible to sense, yet, it is equally as real, as if a man heard the voice saying. This is the tuoy, luaUc in it: . . Sir M. Hale. IForks, ii. 31 . * The air doth not more naturally yield to our attraction in respiration, or insinuate itself into those spaces that are receptive of it, than tlie Divine assists ance, guidance, and protection doth, to the desire, and exigencies, and wants, of an humble soul, sensible of its own emptiness and deficiency, and imploring the direction, guidance, and blessing of the most wise and bountiful God. / can call my own experience to witness, that, even in the external actions, occur- rences, and incidents, of my whole life, I was never disappointed of the best guidance and direction, when, in humility, and sense of my own deficiency, and diffidence of my own ability to direct myself, or to grapple with tlie difiU THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 339 Kno^wledge comes next : this is that, which opens the mind, and fills it with great notions ; the view- ing the works of God, even in a general survey, gives, insensibly, a greatness to the soul. But the morQ extended and exact, the more minute and severe the inquiry is, the soul grows to be thereby the more enlarged, by the variety of observations that is made ; either, on the great orbs and wheels, that have made their first motion, as well as their iaw of moving, from the Author of all ; or, on the composition of bodies, on the regularities, as well culties of life, I have with sincerity implored the secret direction and guidance of the Divine Wisdom and Providence.' , . Ibid. ii. 141, * Look at the generations of old, and see : Did ever any trust in the Lord, and was confounded ? Or did any abide in his fear, and was forsaken? Or whom did he ever despise, that called upon Him ? ' Ecclus. ii. 10. This passage has been cited the more readily, as corroborating the testimony of two such men, as Hale and Burnet ; and because the writer knows it to tiave afforded very special consolation, under trying circumstances. Let the suffrage be added, of an humble individual ; whose piety and genius have, at length, received ample justice, at the hands of a biographer, whom no appre- hended ridicule could deter ; and who has the true magnanimity, to honour great qualities, wherever they may be found : I allude to Mr, Southey's de- lightful memoir of John Bunyah : . . " After many weeks, when he was even * giving up the ghost of all his hopes,' another text suddenly occurred to him : Look at the generations of old, ■and see ; did ever any trust in the Lord, and was confounded ? He went, with a lightened heart, to his bible ; fully expecting to find it there : but he found it not, . . and the good people whom he asked where it was, told him they knew of no such place. But in the bible, he was well assured it was ; and the text which had ' seized upon his heart, with such comfort and strength,' abode upon him for more than a year : when, looking into the apocrypha, there he met with it ; and was at first, he says, somewhat daunted, at finding it there, not in the canonical books. * Yet,' he says, * forasmuch as this sentence was the sum and substance of many of the promises, it was my duty to take the com- fort of it; and I blest God for that word, for it was of good to me.' " Z 2 340 CHARACTER OF as the irregularities of nature ; and that mimicry of its heat and motion, that artificial fires do pro- duce and show. This knowledge goes into the history of past times, and remote climates ; and, with those livelier observations on art and na^ture, which give a pleasant entertainment and amuse- ment to the mind, there are joined, in some, the severer studies, the more laborious, as well as the less pleasant, study of languages, on design to un- derstand the sense, as well as the discoveries, of former ages ; and, more particularly, to find out the true sense of the sacred writings. These are all the several varieties, of the most useful parts of knowledge ; and these do spread over all the powers of the soul, of him that is capable of them, a sort of nobleness, that makes him become, thereby, another kind of creature than otherwise he ever could have been * : he has a larger size of soul, and vaster thoughts, that can measure the spheres, and enter into the theories, of the heavenly bodies ; that can observe the proportion of lines and numbers, the composition and mix- tures of the several sorts of beings. This world, this life, and the mad scene we are in, grow to be but little and inconsiderable things, to one of great views and noble theories ; and he who is upon the true scent of real and useful knowledge, has always * * For tny part, I should think a man who spent his time in such a painful, impartial soarcli after trutli, abetter friend to mankind, than the greatest slates- man, or hero ; the advantage of whose labours in confined to a little part of the world, and a short space of time: whereas, a ray of trtUh ttiay enlighten the vthoU tvorldf and live to after ages. ' . . Bishop Bkrkslkt. Min. PhiL THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 341 some great thing or other in prospect : new scenes do open to him, and these draw after them discoveries, which are often made, before even those who made them, were either aware, or in expectation, of them : these, by an endless chain, are still pointing at, or leading into, further dis- coveries. In all these, a man feels as sensibly, and distinguishes as plainly, an improvement of the strength and compass of his powers, from the feebleness which ignorance and sloth bring upon them, as a man in health of body, can dis- tinguish between the life and strength which ac- company it, and the flatness and languidness that diseases bring with them. This enlarges a man's empire over the creation, and makes it more en- tirely subject to him, by the engines it invents to subdue and manage it, by the dissections in which it is more opened to his view, and by the observ- ation of what is profitable or hurtful in every part of it ; from which he is led to correct the one, and exalt the other. This leads him into the know- ledge of the hidden virtues, that are in plants and minerals ; this teaches him to purify these, from the alloys that are wrapped about them, and to improve them by other mixtures. In a word, this lets a man into the mysteries of nature ; it gives him, both, the keys that open it, and a thread, that will lead him further, than he durst promise himself at first. We can easily apprehend the sur- prising joy of one born blind, that, after many years of darkness, should be blessed with sight j z S 342 CHARACTER OF and the leaps and life of thought, that such a one should feel, upon so ravishing a change * : so, the new regions, into which a true son of knowledge enters; the new subjects, and the various shapes of them, that do daily present themselves to him, give his mind a flight, a raisedness, and a refined joy, that is of another nature, than all the soft and bewitch- ing pleasures of sense. And, though the highest reaches of knowledge, do, more clearly, discover the weakness of our short-sighted powers, and show us difficulties that gave us no pain before, be- cause we did not apprehend them ; so that, in this respect, * he that increases knowledge, increases sorrow'; yet, it is a real pleasure to a searcher after truth, to be undeceived, to see how far he * * Much labour has been bestowed, to investigate, both from reasoning h priori, and from experiment, what might be the primary eflects, of light and luminous objects, upon such as have been born blind, or early deprived of sight, if, at a maturer period, they should instantly recover their visual powers. But, upon this topic, there is much reason to fear, that nothing satisfactory has yet been said. The fallacy of hypothesis and conjecture, when formed, a jiri- ori, with respect to any organ of corporeal sensation, and its proper object, is too obvious to demand illustration. But, from the nature of the eye, and th« medium of its perception, to attempt an investigation of the various and mul- tiform phenomena of vision, or even the varieties, of which every particular phenomenon is susceptible, according as the circumstances of its appearance are diversified, would be a project worthy of Philosophy in a delirium. Nay, even the discoveries which are said to accrue from experiment, may still be held as extremely doubtful and suspicious j because, in these experiments, it does not appear to have been ascertained, that the organs to wliich visible ob- jects were presented, immediately after chirurgicul operations, could be in a proper state to perceive them. Yet, after all, it is extremely probable, that figure, disUmco, and magnitude, are not immediate objects of ocular sensa- tion, but acquired and adjusted, by long and reiterated experience.* . ^Encjfd. Brit. Article Blind. Burnet's illustration, though it may not be philosophically just. Is, not only, extremely beautiful, but may be hypotheticnlli/ assumed, 09 the basis of im- portant and unquestionable spiritual trvtu. THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 343 can go, and where he must make his stops. It is true, he finds he cannot compass all that he hath proposed to himself; yet, he is both in view of it, and in the way to it ; where he finds so many noble entertainments, that, though he cannot find out the whole work of God, which the preacher tells us, that * though a wise man thinks he may know it, yet, even he, shall not be able to find it out'; yet, he has this real satisfaction in himself, that he has greater notions, nobler views, and finer apprehensions, than he could have ever fallen upon, in any other method of life. This knowledge, though it may seem to be merely the effect of thought, of labour, and industry, yet, it is really the gift of God. The capacity of our powers, and the disposition of our minds, are, in a great measure, born with us ; the circumstances and accidents of our lives depend so immediately upon Providence, that, in all these respects, know- ledge comes, at least in the preparations to it, from God : there are, also, many happy openings of thought, which arise within the minds of the searchers after it, to which they did not lead them- selves by any previous inferences, or by the com- paring of things together. That, which the language of the world calls chance, happy accidents, or good STARS *, but which is, according to a more sanctified * This, in bishop Burnet's day, when judicial astrology was still studied and pursued, was, by no means, an unusual phraze. A writer would now substitute good fortune : but, unquestionably, Burnet has supplied the only adequate corrective, in the term Providence. There is a striking coincidence z 4 844 CHARACTER OF dialect, Providence, . . has brought many wonder- ful secrets, by unlooked for hits, to the knowledge of men. The use of the loadstone, and the extent of sight by telescopes, besides a vast variety of other things that might be named, were, indeed, the imme- diate gifts of God, to those who first fell upon them ; and the profoundest inquirers into the greatest mysteries of nature, have [owned,] and still do own this, in so particular a manner, that they affirm, that things, that, in some hands, and at some times, are successful ahnost to a prodigy, when managed by others, with all possible exactness, do fail in the effects of them, so totally, that the difference can be resolved into nothing, but a secret direction and blessing of Providence. The third gift that God bestows on the good man, i^joy : and how can it be otherwise, but that a good, a wise, and knowing man, should rejoice, both in God, and himself; in observing the works and ways of God, and in feeling the testimony of a good conscience within Iiimself ? He is happy, in the situation of his own mind ; which he pos- sesses, in a calm contented evenness of spirit. He both of thought, and of expression, in the Novum Organum of Lord Bacon, Aphor. xciii. : . . * Principiura autcin sumendum a Deo : hoc nimiriim quod agitur, propter excellcntcm in ipso boni naturam, manifcste a Deo esse ; qui auctor boni, et pater luminum est. In operationibus autem divinis, initia quacque tenuissima exitum certo trahunt. Atque quod de spiritualibus dictum est, rkonum Dei NON VKNIT CUM oBSF.RVATioNE, . . id, ctiain, in cmni mnjore opere Providen- tiJB, DiviNiK evcnire reperitur, ut otnnin, sine strcpitu et sonitu, placidc laban- tur ; acquc res plane ugatur, priusquani homines cam ngi putent, aut ad. vertant.*. . Works, torn. ix. pag. 249. THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 345 has not the agitations of passions, the ferment of designs and interests, nor the disorders of appe- tites, which darken the mind, and create to it many imaginary troubles, as well as it increases the sense of the real ones, which may lie upon one's person or affairs. He rejoices in God, when he sees so many of the hidden beauties of his works ; the wonderful fitness and contrivance, the curious disposition, and the vast usefulness of them, to the general good of the whole. These things afford him so great a variety of thought, that he can dwell long on that noble exercise, without flatness or weariness. He rejoiceth in all that he does ; his employments are much diversified ; for the newness of his discoveries, which returns often, gives him as often a newness of joy. His views are great, and his designs are noble : even, to know the works of God better, and to render them more useful to mankind. He can discover, in the most despised plant, and in the most con- temptible mineral, that which may allay the miseries of human life, and render multitudes of men easy and happy. Now, to one that loves mankind, and that adores the Author of our nature, every thing that may tend to celebrate his praises, and to sweeten the lives of mortals *, affords a joy, that is of an exalted and generous kind. If this joy, at any time, goes so far, as to * ' Considering the Christian Religion as a doctrine sent from God, both to elevate, and sweeten human nature.'.. Characters of eminent Clergymen ; ubi supr. p. 310. 34f6 CHARACTER OF make him a little too well pleased with the dis- coveries he has made, and perhaps too nicely jealous of the honour of having done those services to the world, . . even this, which is the chief^ and most observed defect, that is much magnified by the ill-natured censures of great men, who must fix on it, because they can find nothing else ; yet, I say, even this shows the fulness of joy, which wisdom and knowledge bring to good minds ; they give them so sensible a pleasure, that it cannot be at all times governed ; and, if it break out, in any time, in less decent instances, yet, certainly, those who have deserved so highly, of the age in which they have lived, and who have been the instru- ments of so much good to the world, receive a very unworthy return, if the great services they have done mankind, do not cover any little imper- fection ; especially, when that is all the allay that can be found in them, and the only instance of human frailty that has appeared in them. But, if the joy that wisdom and knowledge give, is of so pure and so sublime a nature, there is yet another occasion for joy, that far exceeds this : it arises, from their integrity and goodness ; which receives a vast accession from this, that it is in the sight of God ; seen and observed, by him, who accepts of it now, and will in due time reward it. The terror of mind, and the confusion of face, that follow bad actions, and the calm of thought, and cheerfulness of look, that follow good ones, are such infallible indications of the suitableness, or unsuitableness, THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 347 that is in these things to our natures, that all the contempt with which libertines may treat the argument, will never be able to overcome and alter, the plain and simple sense that mankind agrees in upon this head. A good man finds, that he is acting according to his nature, and to the best principles in it; that he is living to some good end ; that he is an useful piece of the world, and is a means of making, both himself, and others, wiser and happier, greater and better. These things give him a solid and lasting joy : and, when he dares appeal to that God, to whom he desires chiefly to approve himself^ who knows his integrity, and sees how thoroughly good he is, even in his secretest thoughts and intentions, he does, upon that, feel a joy within himself, that carries him through all the difficulties of life ; and makes most accidents that happen to him, pleasant, and all the rest, supportable. He believes, he is in the favour of God ; he hopes, he has some title to it, from the promises of God to him, and his grace in him. He can see clouds gather about him, and threaten a storm ; and, though he may be in circumstances, that render him very unfit to suffer much hardship, yet, he can endure, and bear all things, because he believes all God's pro- mises. He may, sometimes, from the severe sense he has of his duty, be too hard, and even unjust to himself ; and the seriousness of his temper, may give some harsher thoughts too great an occasion to raise disquiet within him : but, when he takes a 348 CHARACTER OF full view, of the infinite goodness of God, of the extent of his mercy, and of the riches of his grace, he is forced to throw out any of those impressions, which melancholy may be able to make upon him : and even those, when reflected on in a truer light, though they might have a little interrupted his joy, yet tend to increase it, when, by them, he perceives the true strictness of principles that governs him ; which makes him tender of every thing, that might seem to make the least breach upon his purity and holiness, even in the smallest matters* I will go no further, upon my text ; nor will I enter upon the reverse of it, that is in the following words, * but to the sinner he giveth travail, to gather and to heap up, that he may give to him that is good before God.' These I leave to your observation : they are too foreign to my subject, to be spoken of upon this occasion, that leads me now to the melancholy part of this sad solemnity. I confess, I enter upon it, with the just appre- hensions, that it ought to raise in me. 1 know, I ought here to raise my style a little, and to tri- umph upon the honour that belongs to religion and virtue ; and that appeared, so eminently, in a life which may be considered as a pattern of living ; and a pattern so perfect, that it will, perhaps, seem a little too far out of sight, too much above their hopes, and, by consequence, above the endea- vours of any, that might pretend to draw after such an original : which must ever be reckoned THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 349 amongst the master-pieces, even of that Grand Hand that made it. I might here challenge the whole tribe of libertines, to come, and view the usefulness, as well as the excellence, of the Chris- tian religion, in a life that was entirely dedicated to it, . . and see what they can object. I ought to call on all, that were so happy as to know him well, to observe his temper and course of life ; and charge them, to sum up, and lay together, the many great and good things they saw in him ; and, from thence, to remember always, to how vast a sub- limity the Christian religion can raise a mind, that does but thoroughly believe it, and is entirely governed by it. I might here, also, call up the multitudes, the vast multitudes, of those who have been made both the wiser and the easier, the better and the happier, by his means. But, that I might do all this, with the more advantage, I ought to bring, at once, into my memory, the many happy hours, that, in a course of nine-and- twenty years' conversation, have fallen to my own share ; which were very frequent and free, for above half that time : that have, so often, both humbled and raised me ; by seeing how exalted he was, and, in that, feeling more sensibly my own nothing and depression ; and which have always edified, and never once, nor in any one thing, been uneasy to me. When I remember, how much I saw in him, and learned, or at least might have learned from him ; when I reflect on the gravity of his very appearance, the elevation of his 350 CHARACTER OF thoughts and discourses, the modesty of his temper, and the humility of his whole deportment, which might have served, to have forced the best thoughts, even upon the worst minds ; . . when, I say, I bring all this together into my mind, as I form upon it too bright an idea, to be easily re- ceived by such as did not know him, so, I am very sensible, that I cannot raise it, equal to the thoughts of such as did, I know the limits, that custom gives to discourses of this kind ; and the hard censures which commonly follow them ; these will not suffer me to say all I think : as I perceive, I cannot bring out into distinct thoughts, all that, of which I have the imperfect hints, and ruder draughts, in my mind ; which cannot think equal to a subject, so far above my own level. I shall now, therefore, show him only in a perspective \ and give a general, a very general, view of him ; reserving, to more leisure, and better opportunities, a farther and fuller account of him. I will be content, at present, to say but a little of him ; but that little will be so very much, that I must ex- pect, that those, who do never intend to imitate any part of it, will be displeased with it all. I am resolved to use great reserves; and to manage a tenderness, which, how much soever it may melt me, shall not carry me beyond the strictest mea- sures ; and I will study to keep as much within bounds, as he lived beyond them. 1 will say nothing of the stem from which he sprang ; that watered garden, watered with the THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 351 blessings, and dew of heaven, as well as fed with the best portions of this life ; that has produced so many noble plants, and has stocked the most families in these kingdoms, of any in our age ; which has so signally felt the effects of their hum- ble and Christian motto, * God's Providence is my Inheritance.' * He was the only brother of five, that had none of these titles that sound high in the world : but he procured one to himself, which, without derogating from the dignity of kings, must be acknowledged to be beyond their pre- rogative. He had a great and noble fortune ; but it was chiefly so to him, because he had a great and noble mind, to employ it to the best uses. He began early to show both a probity, and a capacity, that promised great things : and he passed through the youthful parts of life, with so little of the youth in him, that, in his travels, while he w^as very young, and wholly the master of himself, he seemed to be out of the reach of the disorders of that age, and those countries through which he had passed, t * * To make our reliance upon Providence both pious and rational, we should, in every great enterprize w^e take in hand, prepare all things, with that care, diligence, and activity, as if there were no such thing as Providence for us to depend upon : and again, when we have done all this, we should ass wholly and humbly rely upon it, as if we had made no such preparations at all. And this is a rule of practice, which will never fail ; or shame any, who shall venture all that they have or are upon it : for, as a man, by exerting his utmost force in any action or business, has all that human strength can do for him therein; so, in the next place, by quitting his confidence in the same, and placing it only in God, he is sure of all that Omnipotence can do in his b-ihalf.* . . South, iv. 27. quoted by Souther/, Colloq. i. S70. f In this, and several other particulars, the spirit of Boyle, and that of Milton, while on their travels, seem to have borne a close resemblance. Both possessed * a certain serenity of mind ; a mind, not condescending to littlfi 852 CHARACTER OF He had a modesty and purity, laid so deep in his nature, that those who knew him the earliest, have often told me, that, even then, nature seemed en- tirely sanctified in him. His piety received a vast increase, as he often owned to me, from his ac- quaintance with the great primate of Ireland, the never-enough admired Usher, who, as he was, very particularly, the friend of the whole family, so, seeing such seed and beginnings in him, studied to cultivate them with due care.* He set him, chiefly, to the study of the scriptures, in their ori- ginal languages ; which he followed, in a course of many years, with so great exactness, that he could have quoted all remarkable passages, very readily, in Hebrew : and he read the new testament so diUgently in the Greek, that there never occurred to me an occasion to mention any one passage in it, that he did not readily repeat, in that language. The use of this, he continued to the last ; for he could read it with other men's eyes : but the weak- ness of his sight forced him to disuse the other ; since he had none about him, that could read it to him. He had studied the scriptures to so good purpose, and with so critical a strictness, that few men, whose profession oblige them chiefly to that things.* Great, and irrcconcileal)le differences of character there unquestion- ably were : the most remarkable is, tliat the philosopher indigenously had, what tlie poet lamentably wanted, true humility of temper. * If the secrets of all regenerate hearts could be laid open, we should, doubtless, view, with a mixture of astonishment and gratitude, the quantity of benefit, which has been, and which is, effected in the world, by the familiar convene, and even by the silent looks, of truly good men. THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 353 sort of learning, have gone beyond him in it : and he had so great a regard to that sacred book, that if any one, in discourse, had dropped any thing, that gave him a clearer view of any passage in it, he received it with great pleasure, he examined it accurately, and, if it was not uneasy to him that offered it, he desired to have it in writing. * He * * After I had almost learned, by rote, an Hebrew grammar, to improve myself in scripture-criticism, I, not over-cheaply, purchased divers private conferences, with one of their skilfullest doctors ; of whom I received few lessons, that cost me not twenty miles riding ; at a time when I was in physic, and my health very unsettled. For my part, that reflect often on David's generosity, who would not offer, as a sacrifice to the Lord his God, that which cost him nothing, I esteem no labour lavished, that illustrates, or endears to me, that divine book : on my addictedness to which, I gratulate myself; as thinking it no treacherous sign that God loves a man, that he inclines his heart to love the scriptures : where the truths are so precious and important, that the purchase must, at least, deserve the price.' . . Mr. Boyle. Loose sheets, preserved hy Dr. Birch, Works, i. xlix. * I use the scripture, not as an arsenal, to be resorted to, only, for arms and weapons, to defend this party, or defeat its enemies : but, as a matchless temple, where I delight to be ; to contemplate the beauty, the symmetry, and the magnificence, of the structure ; and to increase my awe, and excite my devotion, to the Deity there preached and adored.' . . .Boyle. Works, ii. 277. * The scripture is like a fire, that serves most men, but to warm, and dry themselves, and dress their meat; but serves the skilful chymist, to draw quintessences, and make extracts.' . . Ibid. p. 262. ' As rivers are said to run to the sea, though, oftentimes, the interposition of land, or rising grounds, or other obstacles, force them to such winding meanders, that they seem to retreat from the ocean they tend to ; to which, nevertheless, with increased streams, they, afterwards, bend again their inter- mitted course, having watered and fertilized, by their passage, the grounds, through' which they seemed to wander: so, the Apostle [Saint Paul], thuogh he direct his course to his main scope, may, not only without declining it, but in order to it, seem, for a while, to abandon it, . . by fetching a compass, to answer some obvious, or anticipate some tacit objection, . . and, afterwards more prosperously, resume his former considerations, now strengthened by the defeat of the interposing scruples : having, by the bye, happily illustrated and enriched those subjects, which his incidental excursions led him occasionally to handle.* . . Ibid. p. 271. A A 354 CHARACTER OF bad the profoundest veneration for the great God of heaven and earth, that I have ever observed in any person. The very name of God, was never mentioned by him, without a pause, and a visible stop in his discourse ; in which, one that knew him most particularly above twenty years *, has told me, that he was so exact, that he does not remember, to have observed him once to fail in it. He was most constant and serious, in his secret addresses to God; and, indeed, it appeared to those who conversed most with him, in his inqui- ries into nature, that his main design in that, (on which, as he had his own eye most constantly, so, he took care to put others often in mind of it,) was to raise, in himself and others, vaster thoughts of the greatness and glory, and of the wisdom and goodness of God. This was so deep in his thoughts, that he concludes the article of his will, which re- lates to that illustrious body the Royal Society, in these words : . . * Wishing them, also, a happy suc- cess, in their laudable attempts, to discover the true nature, of the works of God ; and praying, that they, and all other searchers into physical truths, may cordially refer their attainments, to the glory of the great Author of nature, and to the comfort of mankind.' As he was a very devout worshipper of God, so, he was a no less devout Christian. He ThK whole of Tins FROFOUND reasoning, EMXNENTLT APrLIBS TO THX .COURSE or DIVINE PKOVIOENCE, IN THE GOVERNMENT OF THE WORLD. • Sir Peter Pett. See Jiirc/i's Life. Works, i. cxxxTui. THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 355 had possessed himself with such an amiable view of that holy religion, separated from either super- stitious practices, or the sourness of parties, that, a^ he was fully persuaded of the truth of it, and, in- deed, wholly possessed with it, so, he rejoiced in every discovery that nature furnished him with, to illustrate it, or to take off the objections against any part of it. He always considered it, as a system of truths, which ought to purify the hearts, and govern the lives, of those who profess it : he loved no practice, that seemed to lessen that ; nor any nicety, that occasioned divisions amongst christians. He thought, pure and disinterested Christianity was so bright, and so glorious a thing, that he was much troubled, at the disputes and divisions which had arisen, about some lesser mat- ters; while the greatest, and the most important, as well as the most universally acknowledged truths, were, by all sides, almost as generally neg- lected, as they were confessed. He had, there- fore, designed, though some accidents did, upon great considerations, divert him from settling it during his life, but not from ordering it by his will, that a liberal provision should be made, for one, who should, in a very few well digested ser- mons, every year, set forth the truth of the christian religion in general, without descending to the sub- divisions amongst christians ; and who should be x^hanged every third year, that so, this noble study iand employment might pass through many hands, A A 2 356 CHARACTER OF by which means, many might become masters of the argument. -He was at the charge of the translation, and impression, of the new testament into the Malayan language, which he sent over all the east Indies. He gave a noble reward, to him that translated Grotius's incomparable book, of the truth of the christian religion, into Ara- bic ; and was at the charge of a whole impression, which he took care to order to be scattered, in all the countries, where that language is understood. He was resolved, to have carried on the impression of the new testament, in the Turkish language ; but the company thought it became them, to be the doers of it, and so, suffered him, only, to give a large share towards it. He was at 7OO/. charge, in the edition of the Irish bible, which he ordered to be distributed in Ireland; and he contributed liberally, both to the impressions of the Welsh bible, and of the Irish * bible for Scotland. He gave, during his life, 300/. to advance the design of pro- pagating the christian religion in America; and, as soon as he heard the east India company were entertaining propositions for the like design in the east, he presently sent 100/., for a beginning and an example; but intended to carry it much fur- ther, when it should be set on foot to purpose. Thus, was his zeal lively and effectual, in the greatest and truest concerns of religion ; but he avoided to enter far, into the unhappy breaches, that have so long weakened, as well as distracted • Or Erse. THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 35? Christianity * ; any otherwise, than to have a great aversion to all those opinions and practices, that seemed to him to destroy morality and charity. He had a most particular zeal, against all severities and persecutions, upon the account of religion. I have seldom observed him to speak with more heat and indignation, than when that came in his way. He did thoroughly agree with the doctrines of our church, and conform to our worship ; and he ap- proved of the main of our constitution ; but he much lamented some abuses, that, he thought, still remained amongst us. He gave eminent instances of his value for the clergy : two of these I shall only mention. When he understood what a share he had in impropriations, he ordered very large gifts to be made, to the incumbents in those pa- rishes, and to the widows of such as had died, before he had resolved on this charity. The sums, as I have been informed, by one that was con- cerned in two distributions that were made, amounted, upon these two occasions, to near 600/.; and another very liberal one is, also, ordered by his will ; but in an indefinite sum, I suppose, by reason of the present condition of estates in Ireland : so plentifully did he supply those, who served at the * ' I must confess, it would be extremely my satisfaction, if I could see, by God's blessing, your pious endeavours, of twisting our froward parties into a moderate and satisfactory reconcilement, as successful, as, I am confident, they will be prudent, and unwearied. As for our upstart sectaries, the worst part of them, will be sudden in their decay, as they were hasty in their growth ; and indeed, perhaps the safest way to destroy them, is rather to let them die, than attempt to kill them.* . . Mr. Boyle. Letter to Mr. John Dury. A A 3 358 ' CriARACTER OF altar, out of that which was once devoted to it ; though it be now converted to a temporal estate. Another instance of his sense of the sacred functions, went much deeper. Soon after the re- storation, in the year sixty, the great minister of that time, pressed him, both by himself^ and by another, who was then, likewise, in a high post, to enter into orders. * He did it, not merely out of a respect to him, and his family, but chiefly, out of his regard to the church ; which, he thought, would receive a great strengthening, as well as a powerful example, from one, who, if he once entered into holy orders, would be quickly at the top. Thi% he told me, made some impressions on him. His mind was, even then, at three and thirty, so entirely disengaged from all the projects and concerns of this world, that all the prospects of dignity in the church, could not move him much ; so, the pro^ babilities of his doing good in it, was much the stronger motive. Two things determined him against it.t One was, that his having no other * Lords Clarendon and Southampton. f It is certain, that Mr. Boyle acted most conscientiously^ and, all circum- stances considered, most wisely. Had he entered into the ministry of the thurch, he would, doubtless, have been a bishop ; and, it is needless to say, an Eminent, and exemplary dne : but then, his memory would hate merged id that of multitudes, useful in their generation, but long since, comparativclj forgotten. Whilst, as it is, his name will go down to the latest posterity, not only as a christian philosopher, but as a disinterested benefactor of the whole christian church. Had Divine Providence, however, seen fit to order matters bthcrwisc, be would assuredly have approved himself one of those spotless iiervants, . . Of our pure altars worthy : ministers Detached from pleasure ; to the love of gain Su{)erior ; insusceptible of pride ; THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. " 359 interests with relation to religion, besides those of saving his own soul, gave him, as he thought, a more unsuspected authority, in writing or acting on that side ; he knew the profane crew fortified themselves, against all that was said by men of our profession, with this, * that it was their trade, and that they were paid for it': he hoped, there- fore, that he might have the more influence, the less he shared in the patrimony of the church. But, his main reason was, that, he had so high a sense of the obligations of the pastoral care, and of such, as watch over those souls, which Christ purchased with his own blood, and for which they must give an account, at the last and great day, that he durst not undertake it; especially, not having felt, within himself, an inward motion to it, by the Holy Ghost : and the first question, that is put, to those who come to be initiated into the service of the church, relating to that motion, he, who had not felt it, thought he durst not to make the step, lest, otherwise, he should have lied to the Holy Ghost; so solemnly and seriously, did he judge of sacred matters.* u4nd by ambitious longings undisturbed; Men, whose delight is, where their duty leads, Or fixes them ; whose least distinguished day Shines with some portion of that heavenly lustre, Which makes the sabbath lovely in the sight Of blessed angels, pitying human cares. Wordsworth. * Bishop Burnet, after having, with great force and beauty, depicted, in the seventh chapter of his Pastoral Care, the due qualifications of a christian minister, thus proceeds: . . A A 4 S60 CHARACTER OF He was constant to the church : and went to no separate assemblies, how charitably soever he might think of their persons, and how plentifully soever he might have relieved their necessities. He loved no narrow thoughts, nor low or super- stitious opinions in religion : and therefore, as he did not shut himself up within a party, so neither did he shut any party out from him* He had brought his mind to such a freedom, that he was not apt to be imposed on : and his modesty was such, that he did not dictate to others, but pro- posed his own sense, with a due and decent dis* trust ; and was, ever, very ready to hearken, to what was suggested to him by others. When he differed from any, he expressed himself in so humble and so obliging a way, that he never treated things or persons with neglect ; and I never heard, that he offended any one person, in his whole life, by any part of his deportment : for, if, at any time, he saw cause to speak roundly to any, it was never in passion ; or, with any reproachful, or indecent " I am far from thinking, that no man is fit to be a priest, that has not the Umper which I have been describing, quite up to that height, in which I havcf set it forth : but this I will positively say, that he who has not the seeds of it planted in him, who has not these principles, and resolutions formed, to pur- sue them, and to improve himself in them, is in nowise worthy of that holy character. If these things arc begun in him, if they are yet but as a grain of mustaid seed, . . yet, if there be a life in them, and a vital sense of tlie tendeiH Cies and efTccts they must have, such persons, so moulded, with these impres-* sions, and such only, are qualified, so as to be able to sny, with tnith and tesurance, that they trust they are inwardly moved by the Holy Ghost, to Hndertokc that holy office. '.. Pastoral Care. In Clergyman's Inslructtf, p. 186. THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 361 expressions. And, as he was careful, to give those who conversed with him, no cause or colour for displeasure, so, he was yet more careful of those who were absent, never to speak ill of any: in which, he was the exactest man I ever knew. If the discourse turned to be hard on any, he was presently silent : and, if the subject was too long dwelt on, he would at last interpose, and, between reproof and raillery, divert it. He was exactly civil, rather to ceremony : and, though he felt, that his easiness of access, and the desires of many, all strangers in particular, to be much with him, made great wastes on his time, yet, as he was severe in that, not to be denied when he was at home, so, he said, he knew the heart of a stranger^ and how much eased his own had been, while travelUng, if admitted to the con- versation of those he desired to see : therefore, he thought his obligation to strangers, was more than bare civility ; it was a piece of religious charity in him. He had, for almost forty years, laboured under such feebleness of body, and such lowness of strength and spirits, that it will appear a surprising thing to imagine, how it was possible for him to read, to meditate, to try experiments, and to write, as he did. He bore all his infirmities, and some sharp pains, with the decency and submission, that became a christian and philosopher. He had about him, all that unaffected neglect of pomp in clothes, lodging, furniture, and equipage, which 86^ CHARACTER Of agreed with his grave, and serious course of life. He was advised, to a very ungrateful simplicity of diet; which, by all appearance, was that which preserved him, so long beyond all men's expect- ations; this he observed so strictly, that, in a course of above thirty years, he neither ate nor drank, to gratify the varieties of appetite, but merely to support nature ; and was so regular in it, that he never once transgressed the rule, mea- sure, and kind, that was prescribed him. He had a feebleness in his sight ; his eyes were so well used by him, that, it will be easily imagined, he was very tender of them, and very apprehensive of such distempers, as might affect them. He did, also, imagine, that, if sickness obliged him to lie long in bed, it might raise the pains of the stone in him, to a degree that was above his weak strength to bear ; so that he feared, that his last minutes might be too hard for him ; and this was the root of all the caution and apprehension, that he was observed to live in. But, as to life itself, he had the just indifference to it, and the weariness of it, that became so true a christian. I mention these the rather, that I may have occasion to show the goodness of God to him, in the two things that he feared : for his siglit did not begin to grow dim, above four hours before he died : and, when death came upon him, he had not been above three hours in bed, before it made an end of him ; with so little uneasiness, that it was plain his light went out, merely for want of oil to maintain the flame. THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE^ 363 But I have looked too early to this conclusion of his life; yet, before I can come at it, I find there is still much in my way. His charity to those that were in want, and his bounty to all learned men, that were put to wrestle with difficulties, were so very extraordinary, and so many did partake of them, that I may spend little time on this article. Great sums went easily from him, without the par- tialities of sect, country, or relations : for he con- sidered himself^ as a part of the human nature, and as a debtor to the whole race of men. He took care, to do this so secretly, that, even those who knew all his other concerns, could never find out what he did that way : and, indeed, he was so strict to our Saviour's precept, that, except the per- sons themselves, or some one whom he trusted to convey it to them, nobody ever knew, how that great share of his estate, which went away in- visibly, was distributed ; even he himself kept no account of it, for that, he thought, might fall into other hands. I speak, upon full knowledge on this article; because, I had the honour to be often made use of by him in it. If those that have fled hither, from the persecutions in France, or from the calamities of Ireland, feel a sensible sinking in their secret supplies, with which they were often furnished, without knowing from whence they came, they will conclude, that they have lost, not only a purse, but an estate ; that went so very libe- rally among them, that I have reason to say, that, for some years, his charity went beyond a thousand pounds a year. 364f CHARACTER OF Here I thought to have gone to another head ; but the relation he had, both in nature and grace, in living and dying, in friendship, and a likeness of soul, to another person*, forces me, for a little while, to change my subject. I have been restrained from it, by some of her relations : but, since I was not so by herselfi I must give a little vent, to nature, and to friendship ; to a long acquaintance, and a vast esteem. His sister and he were pleasant in their lives, and, in their death they were not divided : for, as he lived with her above forty years t, so, he did not outlive her above a week. Both died from the same cause, nature being quite spent in both. She lived the longest, on the most public scene ; she made the greatest figure, in all the revolutions of these kingdoms, for above fifty years, of any woman of our age. She employed it all, for doing good to others ; in which, she laid out her time, her interest, and her estate, with the greatest zeal, and the most success, that I have ever known. She was indefatigable, as well as dexterous, in it : and, as her great understanding, and the vast esteem she was in, made all persons, * The lady Ranelagh, his favourite sister. By her, especially in his later years^ the great Milton was most kindly cherished. She had, indeed, long been his afTecdonate benefactress ; her son was his pupil, * towards whom, he pours forth his grateful feeling, in words that come warm from the heart,'. . * Nam et mihi omnium necessitudinum loco fuit.' f In this space of happy intercourse, there were abundant opportanities, of what Lord Hacon beautifully calls < the ease and discharge, of the fulness and swellings of the heart.' . . « No receipt,' he proceeds to say,*opcncth the heart, but a true friend ; to whom you may impart, griefs, joys, fears, hopes, sus- picions, counsels, and whatever lietli upon tlie heart to oppress it, in a kind oS civil shrift, or confession.* . . Essay xxvii. Works, i. 88. THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 365 in their several turns of greatness, desire and value her friendship, so, she gave herself a clear title to employ her interest with them, for the service of others, by this, that she never made any use of it, to any end or design of her own. She was con- tented with what she had : and, though she was twice stripped of it, she never moved on her own account, but, was the general intercessor, for all persons of merit, or in want. This had, in her, the better grace, and was both more christian, and more effectual, because it was not limited, with- in any narrow compass, of parties, or relations. When any party was down, she had credit and zeal enough, to serve them ; and she employed that, so effectually, that, in the next turn, she had a new stock of credit, which she laid out wholly in that labour of love, in which she spent her life. And, though some particular opinions might shut her up, in a divided communion, yet, her soul was never of a party. She divided her charities, and friendships, both ; her esteem, as well as her bounty, . . with the truest regard to merit, and her own obligations, without any difference made, upon the account of opinion. She had, with a vast reach both of knowledge, and apprehensions, an universal affability, and easiness o: access ; a humility, that descended to the meanest persons and concerns ; an obliging kindness, and readiness to advise, those, who had no occasion for any further assistance from her; and, with all these, and many more, excellent 366 CHARACTER OF qualities, she had the deepest sense of religion, and the most constant turning of her thoughts and discourses that way, that has been, perhaps, in our age. Such a sister, became such a brother : and it was but suitable to both their characters, that they should have improved the relation under which they were born, to the more exalted and endearing one, of friend. At any time, a nation may very ill spare one such ; but for both to go at once, and at such a time, is too melancholy a thought ; and, notwithstanding the decline of their age, and the waste of their strength, yet, it has too much of cloud in it, to bear the being long dwelt on. You have thus far seen, in a very few hints, the several sorts and instances of goodness, that ap- peared in his life ; which has now its period : that, which gives value and lustre to them all, was, that, whatever he might be in the sight of men, how pure and spotless soever, those who knew him the best, have reason to conclude, that he was much more so in the sight of God. For they had, often, occasions to discover new instances of goodness in him : and no secret ill inclinations did, at any time, show themselves. He affected nothing that was solemn or superciHous. He used no methods to make multitudes run after him, or depend upon him. It never appeared, that there was any thing hid under all this appearance of goodness, that was not really so. He hid both his piety and ,ch?irity, all he could. He lived in the due itiethods THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 867 of civility; and would never assume the authority, which all the world was ready to pay him. He spoke of the government, even in times which he disliked, and upon occasions which he spared not to condemn, with an exactness of respect. He allowed himself a great deal of decent cheerfulness ; so that, he had nothing of the moroseness, to which philosophers think they have some right ; nor of the affectations, which men of an extraordinary pitch of devotion go into, sometimes, without being well aware of them. He was, in a word, plainly and sincerely, in the sight of God, as well as in the view of men, a good man, even one of a thousand. * That which comes next to be considered, is the share that this good man had, in those gifts of God, wisdom, knowledge, and joy. If I should speak of these, with the copiousness which the subject affords, I should go too far, even for your * The moral and religious character of Mr. Boyle^ comes fully up to the requisitions of a quaint, but valuable old writer : . . * Let thy conversation with men, be sober and sincere; let thy devotion to God, be dutifull and decent : let the one, be hearty, and not haughty ; let the other, be humble, and not homely : so live with men, as if God saw thee ; so pray to God, as if men heard thee. ' . . Quarles. Enchir. ii. 47. His eulogy has been beautifully condensed into a few lines, by the learned editor of Izaac Walton : . . * Mr. Boyle, the glory of his age and nation, died December 30. 1691., having survived his beloved sister, lady Ranelagh, only one week. To the accomplishments of a scholar and a gentleman, he added the most exalted piety, the purest sanctity of manners. His unbounded munificence was ex- tended to the noblest, and most honourable purposes, . . the advancement of true religion, in almost all parts of the world. A firm friend to the church of England, he was one of her brightest ornaments. So long as goodness, learning, and charity, are held in estimation, the name of Boylk will be re?- vered.' . . Dr. Zouch. WaitorCs Lives, ii. 265. 368 CHARACTER OF patience; though, I have reason to believe, it would hold out very long, on this occasion. I will only name things, which may be enlarged on, more fully, in another way. He had too unblemished a candour, to be capable of those arts and practices, that a false and deceitful world may call wisdom. He could neither lie, nor equivocate ; but he could well be silent, and by practising that much, he covered himself, upon many uneasy occasions. He made true judgments of men and things. His advices and opinions were solid and sound ; and, if caution and modesty gave too strong a bias, his invention was fruitful, to suggest good expedients. He had great notions, of what human nature might be brought to ; but, since he saw mankind was not capable of them, he withdrew himself early from affairs and courts ; notwithstanding the dis- tinction with which he was already treated, by our late princes. But, he had the principles of an Englishman, as well as of a protestant, too deep in him, to be corrupted or cheated out of them : and in these, he studied to fortify all, that conversed much with him. He had a very particular saga- city, in observing what men were fit for : and had so vast a scheme, of different performances, that he could soon furnish every man with work, that had leisure and capacity for it ; and, as soon as he saw him engaged in it, then, a handsome present was made, to enable him to go on with it. His hiowledge was of so great an extent, that, if it were not for the variety of vouchers, in their THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 369 several sorts, I should be afraid to say all I know* He carried the study of the Hebrew, very far into the rabbinical writings, and the other oriental languages. He had read so much of the fathers, that he had formed out of it a clear judgment of all the eminent ones. He had read a vast deal on the scriptures, and had gone, very nicely, through the whole controversies of religion ; and was a true master, in the whole body of divinity. He ran the whole compass of mathematical sciences ; and, though he did not set himself to spring new game, yet, he knew even the abstrusest parts of geometry ; geography, in the several parts of it, that related to navigation or travelling; history, and books of travels, were his diversions. He went, very nicely, through all the parts of physic ; only, the tenderness of his nature made him less able to endure the exactness of anatomical dis- sections, especially of living animals ; though he knew those to be the most instructing; but, for the history of nature, ancient and modern, of the productions of all countries, of the virtues and improvements of plants, of ores and minerals, and all the varieties that are in them, in different cHmates, he was by much, very much, the readiest and the perfectest I ever knew, in the greatest compass, and with the truest exactness. This put him in the way of making all that vast variety of experiments, beyond any man, as far as we know, that ever lived. And in these, as he made a great progress in new discoveries, so, he used so nice a B B 370 CHARACTER OF strictness, and delivered them, with so scrupulous a truth, that all who have examined them, have found how safely the world may depend upon them. But his peculiar and favourite study was chymistry; in which he engaged, with none of those ravenous and ambitious designs, that draw many into them. His design was, only, to find out nature; to see into what principles things might be resolved ; and of what they were compounded ; and to prepare good medicaments, for the bodies of men. He spent neither his time, nor fortune, upon the vain pursuits, of high promises and pretensions. He always kept himself within the compass, that his estate might well bear. And, as he made chymistry much the better for his deal- ings in it, so, he never made himself either the worse, or the poorer for it. It was a charity to others, as well as an amusement to himself; for the produce of it, was distributed by liis sister, and others, into whose hands he put it. I will not here amuse you, with a list of his astonishing knowledge, or of his great performances this way : they are highly valued, all the world over, and his name is every where mentioned, with most par- ticular characters of respect. I will conclude this article, with this, in which I appeal to all com- petent judges, that few men, if any, have been known to have made so great a compass, and to have been so exact in all the parts of it as he was. As for joi/f he had indeed nothing of frolic and THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 371 levity in him : he had no relish for the idle and extravagant madness, of the men of pleasure ; he did not waste his time, nor dissipate his spirits, into foolish mirth ; but he possessed his own soul in patience, full of that solid joy, which his good- ness, as well as his knowledge afforded him. He, who had neither designs nor passions, was capable of little trouble, from any concern of his own. He had about him, all the tenderness of good nature, as well as all the softness of friendship : these gave him a large share of other men's concerns ; for he had a quick sense of the miseries of mankind. He had, also, a feeble body; which needed to be looked to the more, because his mind went faster, than his body could keep pace with it: yet, his great thoughts of God, and his contemplation of his works, were to him sources of joy, which could never be exhausted. The sense of his own in- tegrity, and of the good he found he did, afforded him the truest of all pleasures ; since they gave him the certain prospect, of that fulness of joy, in the sight of which he lived so long, and in the possession of which he now lives, and shall live for ever: and this spent, and exhausted body, shall then put on a new form, and be made a fit dwell- ing for that pure and exalted mind in the final restitution. I pass over his death * : I looked at it * He died 1691 . . 2. ; and was born 1626 . . 7., . . the'same year in which Lord Bacon died : * Sol occubuit, nox nulla secuta est.' Boerhaave says, that < Mr. Boyle, the ornament of his age and country, succeeded to the genius, and inquiries, of the great Verulam.' . .See the Biogr. Diet. B B 2 372 ' CHARACTER OF some time ago, but I cannot bring down my mind, from the elevating thoughts that do now arise, into that depressing one of his death ; I must look beyond it, into the regions of light and glory, where he now dwells. * The only thought that is now before me, is to triumph on the behalf of religion, to make our due boast of it, and to be lifted up, (I had almost said proud) upon this occasion. How divine, and how pure a thing, must that religion be, in itself^ which produced so long a series of great effects, through the whole course of his shining life I What a thing would mankind become, if we had many such! And how little need would there be, of many books writ for the truth and excellency of our religion, if we had more such arguments, as this one life has produced, t SUch single instances * ' It is not for any mortal creature, to make a map of that Canaan which lies above : it is, to all of us, who live here, on the hither side of death, an un- known country, and an undiscovered land. It may be, that some heavenly pilgrim, who, with his holy thoughts and holy desires, is continually travelling thitherward, arrives, sometimes, near the borders of the promised land, and the suburbs of the new Jerusalem ; and gets upon the top of Pisgal), and there has the perfect prospect of a fair country, which lies a far way off; but, he can- not tell how to describe it ; and all that he hath to say, to satisfy the curious inquirer, is only this, if he tuovld know the glories of it, he must go and see it.' . . Bp. Rust. Funeral Sermon for Jeremy Taylor. t We may, and sliould, while we, conscientiously, and closely, attend to all the duties of this present life, never lose sight of the fact, surely most consola- tory and delightful, that we are citizens of an eternal polity, and arc privileged to select examples from among, and hold sweet communion with, the wise and good of all ages ; our cttotttoi and encourngers, in the heavenly course, as we trust they will, through God's mercy, become our everlasting companions. * I cannot conceive why,' says a delightful writer, * except upon nn anti- quated prejudice. Christians of the present day so generally shut their eyes, upon the glorious list of examples exhibited to us by the history of the Church. Be the reason what it may, on sucli, the author of the epistle to the THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. SJS have great force in them : but, when they are so very single, they lose much of their strength by this, that they are ascribed to singularity, and something particular in a man's humour and in- clinations, that makes him rise above common measures. It were a monopoly, for any family, or sort of men, to engross to themselves the honour, which arises from the memory of so great a man : it is a common, not to be inclosed : it is large enough, to make a whole nation, as well as the age he lived in, look big, and be happy : but above all, it gives a new strength, as well as it sets a new pattern, to all that are sincerely zealous for their religion. It shews them, in the simplest and most convincing of all arguments, what the human nature is capable of, and what the Christian religion can add to it, and how far it can both exalt and Hebrews, assuredly, did not act. What a sublime commemoration of de- parted worthies he has made, in his eleventh chapter : his words come peal- ing upon the reader, like the sound of a trumpet, summoning to the battle with the world ; name follows name, and action succeeds action, like so many stir- ring notes, till he concludes, with a strain that makes the heart leap ! Yet how has this list been extended since his days ; how much more magnificent is our retrospect ! So glorious a procession never yet passed before the eyes of man : through a long and glittering line of martyrs, and confessors, and just men made perfect, we arrive at the human form of the Captain of our Salva- tion, and bless and adore the divine Majesty.'. . Rectory of Valehead. * In the judgment of our Church,., next to the habitual recollection of our baptismal covenant, the devout participation of the holy eucharist, the affectionate study of the sacred volume, and that which naturally pervades each and all of them, constant and fervent prayer, . . we are called to the contem- plation of the Christian cloud of witnesses, as, after these paramount means of grace, the holiest and happiest occupation, in which we can be engaged ; the surest method, of obtaining the height of virtue, and the depth of peace, here ; and the most effectual preparative, for that perfection of bliss, which awaits the triumphant church, in the mansions of eternity.' . . Appendix to Bj). Jebh* Sermons. BB 3 374* CHARACTER OF reward it. I do not say, that every one is capable of all he grew to; I am very sensible, that few are; nor is every one under equal obligation^. For the service of the universe, there must be a vast diversity, in men's tempers ; there being so great a variety of necessities, to be answered by them. But every man, in every employment, and every size of soul, is capable of being, in some degree, good in the sight of God : and all such, shall receive proportioned degrees, of wisdom^ knowledge, and joi/ ; even though, neither their goodness, nor these accessions to it, rise up to the measure of him, who was a while among us, indeed, * one of a thousand,' and is now, but one of those, * ten thousand times ten thousand,' that are about the throne ; where he is singing that song, which was his great entertainment here, as it is now his endless joy there : * Great and marvellous are thy works, O Lord God Almighty; and just and true are thy ways, O King of Saints.* To follow him, in the like exercises here, is the sure way to be admitted to join with him in those above ; to which, God of his infinite mercy bring us all, in due time, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen, Amen. * * As a fit conclusion to this noble discourse, and especially as an incentire to young theologians, I cannot do better, tlian extract tlie following important passages from Mr. Boyle : . . * You will not do right, either to thkoloot, or to the greatest repository of all its truths, the bible, ,if you imagine, that tliere are no considerable additions to be made, to the theological discoveries we have already ; nor no clearer ex- position of many texts of Scripture; nor better reHections on that matchless book, than are to be met with in the generality of couunentators, or of preachers, without excepting the ancient fathers themselves. THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. S'^5 I meet with much fewer than I could wish, who make it their business to search the Scriptures for these things, . . such as unheeded prophecies, over- looked mysteries, and strange harmonies, . . which, being clearly and judi- ciously proposed, may make that book appear worthy of the high extraction it challenges, and, consequently of the veneration of considering men ; . . and who are solicitous, to discern and make out, in the way of governing and of saving man, revealed by God, so excellent an economy, and such deep con- trivances, and wise dispensations, as may bring credit to religion : not so much as it is Roman, or Protestant, or Socinian, but, as it is Christian. But these good affections, for the repute of religion in general, are to be assisted by a deep judgment. For men, that want either that, or a good stock of critical learning, may easily overlook the best observations, which usually are not ob- vious ; or propose as mysteries, things, that are either not grounded, or not weighty enough : and so, notwithstanding their good meaning, may bring disparagement, upon what they desire to recommend. And, indeed, when I consider, how much more to the advantage of those sacred writings, and of Christian theology in general, divers texts have been explained, and discoursed of, by the excellent Grotius, by Episcopius, Masius, Mr. Mede, and sir Francis Bacon, and some other late great wits, in their several kinds, than the same places have been handled, by vulgar expositors, and by other divines*; . . and when I remember, too, that none of these newly- named worthies was, at once, a great philosopher, and a great critic, I cannot but hope, that, when it shall please God, to stir up persons of a philosophic genius, well-furnished with critical learning, and the principles of true philo- sophy, and shall give them a hearty concern for the advancement of his truth ; . . these men, by exercising, upon theological matters, that inquisitiveness and sagacity which has made, in our age, such a happy progress in philosophical ones, will make explications and discoveries, that will justify more than I have said, in praise of the study of our religion, and the divine books, that contain the articles of it. For these want not excellencies, but only skilful unveilers. I despair not, but that a farther use may be made of the Scripture, than either our divines or our philosophers seem to have thought on. The ency- clopedias, and pansophias, even that men of an elevated genius have aimed at, are not diffused enough, to comprehend all, that the reason of a man, improved by philosophy, and elevated by the revelations already made in Scripture, may (by the help of free ratiocination, and the hints contained in those pregnant writings, . . with those assistances of God's Spirit, which he is still ready to vouchsafe, to those that duly seek them,) attain to in this life. Neither the fundamental doctrine of Christianity, nor that of the power and effects of matter and motion, seems more than an epicycle, if I may so call it, of the a * I am persuaded, that if the choice and best of those observations upon texts of Scrip- ture, which have been made dispersedly in sermons, within this your majesty's island of Britain, by these forty ^ears and more, leaving out the largeness of exhortations and appli. cations thereupon, had been set down in a continuance, it had been the best book in divinity which had been written since the apostles' time.' Lord Bacon. Works, ii. 313. This praise is certainly hyperbolical : but if it had not possessed some bottom of truth, so wise a man would scarcely have hazarded it. B B 4 376 CHARACTER OF THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. great and universal system of God's contrivances ; and makes but a part of the more general theory of things, knowable by the light of nature, improved by the information of the Scriptures. So that, both these doctrines, though very general, in respect of the subordinate parts of theology, and philosophy, seem to be but members of the universal hypothesis : whose objects I conceive to be the nature, counsels, and vv^orks of God, as far as they are discoverable by, for I say not to us, in this life. * . . Botle. Excellency of Theology. Works, iv. 16..19. Lend. 1772. ADDRESS TO POSTERITY, BEING THE CONCLUSION TO THE HIS,TORY OF HIS OWN TIMES, BY GILBERT BURNET, D.D. LORD BISHOP OF SARUM. BISHOP BURNERS ADDRESS TO POSTERITY. I WILL conclude this whole address to posterity, with that, which is the most important of all other things ; and which, alone, will carry every thing else along with it : which is, to recommend, in the most solemn and serious manner, the study and practice of religion to all sorts of men, as that which is, both, the light of the worldy and the salt of the earth. Nothing does so open our faculties, and compose and direct the whole man, as an in- ward sense of God ; of his authority over us, ot the laws he has set us, of his eye ever upon us, of his hearing our prayers, assisting our endeavours, watching over our concerns, and of his being to judge, and to reward, or punish us, in another state, according to what we do in this. Nothing will give a man such a detestation of sin, and such a sense of the goodness of God, and of our obliga- tions to holiness, as a right understanding and a firm belief of the Christian religion. Nothing can give a man so calm a peace within, and such a firm security against all fears and dangers without, as the belief of a kind and wise Providence, and of a future state. An integrity of heart, gives a man a 380 ADDRESS TO POSTERITY, courage and a confidence, that cannot be shaken : a man is sure, that by living according to the rules X of religion, he becomes the wisest, the best, and happiest creature, that he is capable of being. Honest industry, the employing his time well, and a constant sobriety, an un defiled purity and chas- tity, with a quiet serenity, are the best preservers of life and health. So that, take a man as a single ^ individual, religion is his guard, his perfection, his beauty and his glory. This will make him the light of the worlds shining brightly, and enlighten- ing many round about him. Then, take a man as a piece of mankind, as a citizen of the world, or of any particular state, religion is, indeed, then the salt of the earth : for it makes every man to be to all the rest of the world, whatsoever any one can, with reason, wish or desire him to be. . He is true, just, honest, and faithful, in the whole commerce of life ; doing to all others, that which he would have others do to him. He is a lover of mankind, and of his country. He may and ought to love some, more than others : but he has an extent of love to all, of pity and compassion, not only to the poorest, but to the worst ; for the ^ worse any are, they are the more to be pitied. He has a complacency,- and delight, in all that are truly, though but defectively, good ; and a respect, and veneration, for all that are eminently so. He mourns for the sins, and rejoices in the virtues, of all that arc round about him. In every relation of y/ life, religion makes him answer all his obligations : BY GILBERT BURNET, D.D. 381 it will make princes just and good, faithful to their promises, and lovers of their people : it will inspire subjects with respect, submission, obedience, and zeal, for their princes : it will sanctify wedlock, to be a state of Christian friendship, and mutual assistance : it will give parents the truest love to their children, with a proper care of their educa- tion : it will command the returns of gratitude and obedience, from children : it will teach masters, to be gentle and careful of their servants; and servants to be faithful, zealous, and diligent,* in their masters' concerns : it will make friends tender and true to one another ; it will make them generous, faithful, and disinterested : it will make them live in their neighbourhood, as members of one common body, promoting, first, a general good of the whole, and then, the good of every particular, as far as a man's sphere can go : it will make judges, and magistrates, just and patient ; hating covetousness, and main- taining peace and order, without respect of per- sons : it will make people live in so inoffensive a manner, that it will be easy to maintain justice, whilst men are not disposed to give disturbance to those about them. This will make bishops and pastors, faithful to their trust, tender to their people, and watchful over them ; and it will beget in the people, an esteem for their persons, and their functions. Thus, religion, if truly received, and sincerely adhered to, would prove the greatest of all blessings to a nation : But by religion, I understand some- 382 ADDllESS TO POSTERITY, what more, than the receiving some doctrines, though ever so true ; or the professing them, and engaging to support them, not without zeal and eagerness. What signify the best doctrines, if men do not live suitable to them ; if they have not a due influence upon their thoughts, their principles, and their lives ? Men of bad lives, with sound opinions, are self-condemned, and lie under a highly aggra- vated guilt ; nor, will the heat of party, arising out of interest, and managed with fury and violence, compensate for the ill lives, of such false pretenders to zeal, while they are a disgrace to that, which they profess, and seem so hot for. By religion, I do not mean, an outward compliance with forms and customs, in going to church, to prayers, to sermons, and to sacraments, with an external shew of devotion ; or, which is more, with some inward forced good thoughts, in which many may satisfy themselves, while this has no visible effect on their lives, nor any inward force, to subdue and rectify their appetites, passions, and secret designs. Those customary performances, how good and useful so- ever, when well understood, and rightly directed, are of little value, when men rest on them, and think, that, because they do them, they have, therefore, acquitted themselves of their duty ; though they continue still proud, covetous, deceit- ful, full of envy and malice. Even secret prayer, the most effectual of all other means, is designed for a higher end ; which is, to possess our minds with such a constant and present sense of divine BY GILBERT BURNET, D.D. 383 truths, as may make these live in us, and govern us ; and may draw down such assistances, as may exalt and sanctify our natures. So that by religion, I mean such a sense of divine truth, as enters into a man, and becomes a spring of a new nature within him ; reforming his thoughts and designs, purifying his heart, and sanctifying him, and governing his whole deport- ment, his words, as well as his actions ; convincing him, that it is not enough not to be scandalously vicious, or to be innocent in his conversation, but, that he must be entirely, uniformly, and constantly, pure and virtuous ; animating him with a zeal, to be still better and better, more eminently good and exemplary ; using prayer, and all outward devo- tions, as solemn acts, testifying what he is inwardly, and at heart, and as methods instituted by God, to be still advancing in the use of them, further and further, into a more refined, and spiritual, sense of divine matters** This is true religion : which is * ' Communion with God implies the unreserved opening of our hearts to him. If a single cell be kept closed, it is a wall of partition between us. Then, it is, therefore, that we ascertain whereabouts we are, amid the wide regions of existence ; then, we search and try our spirit ; then, we sound the depths of our affections ; then, like blossoms to the sun, we put forth all our under- standing, all our imagination, all our memory, . . exercise all the prerogatives given us, above the rest of the tribes of creation, as being formed in the image of God. Then, therefore, it is, that, coming to a full knowledge of ourselves, and having our faculties quickened, we acutely discern, and condemn, our un- holiness and inBrmities ; then, we acknowledge, and confess, our unworthi- ness ; and then, we perceive distinctly the unbounded mercies of God, and rise from fear, and sorrow, and doubt, . . to hope, and love, and joy. Then, our connection with the world to come, our prize of immortality, is distinctly assured. Then, is a conversation going on, between us and our God : be- tween the Creator, and the thing created ; between the Giver, and receiver ; 384 ADDRESS TO POSTERITY, the perfection of human nature, and the joy and delight of every one, that feels it active and strong within him. It is true, this is not arrived at all at once : and it will have an unhappy allay, hanging long even about a good man : but, as those ill mix- tures are the perpetual grief of his soul, so, it is his chief care, to watch over, and to mortify them ; he will be in a continual progress, still gaining ground upon himself: and, as he attains to a good degree of purity, he will find a noble flame of life and joy growing upon him. Of this I write, with the more concern and emotion, because I have felt this the true, and, indeed, the only joy, which runs through a man's heart and life : it is that, which has been, for many years, my greatest support: I rejoice daily in it ; I feel from it the earnest of that su- preme joy, which I pant and long for ; I am sure, there is nothing else, can afford any true or com- plete happiness. I have, considering my sphere, seen a great deal, of all that is most shining and tempting, in this world : the pleasures of sense, I did soon nauseate ; intrigues of state, and the con- duct of affairs, have something in them, that is more specious ; and I was, for some years, deeply immersed in these; but, still, with hopes of re- forming the world, and of making mankind wiser between immortality, and mortality : . . and, as the one opens his bosom, tlie other pours forth his treasure into it ; as the one offers homage and alle- giance, the other dispenses his royal bounties. Such communion have we with God, through our High Priest, Jxsus Christ.' . . Thx Church or God. p. 201... 1832. BY GILBERT BURNET, D.D. 385 and better : but I have found, that which is crooked cannot be made straight, I acquainted myself with knowledge and learning, and that in a great variety, and with more compass, than depth : but, though ijoisdom excelleth folly y as much as light does dark- ness, yet, as it is a sore travail, so, it is so very defective, that what is wanting to complete it, can- not he numbered, I have seen that two were better than one, and that a three-fold cord is not easily loosed ; and have, therefore, cultivated friendship with much zeal and a disinterested tenderness ; but I have found this was also vanity and vexation of spirit, though it be.of the best and noblest sort. So that, upon great and long experience, I could en- large on the preacher's text. Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity : but I must also conclude with him. Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the All of man ; the whole, both of his duty, and of his happiness. I do, therefore, end all in the words of David, of the truth of which, upon great experience, and a long observation, I am so fully assured, that I leave them as my last words to posterity : ' Come, ye children, hearken unto me : I will teach you the fear of the Lord, What man is he, that desireth life, and loveth many days, that he may see good ? Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from speaking guile. Depart from evil, and do good ; seek peace and pursue it. The eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous ; and his ears are open to their cry. The face of the Lord is against them that do evil ; to cut off the remembrance of them, c c / 386 ADDRESS TO POSTERITY. from the earth. The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth^ and deliver eth them out of all their troubles. The Lord is nigh unto them, that are of a broken heart ; and saveth such, as be of a contrite spirit.^ N. B. This was written in June, I7O8, when the Author thought himself near the end of the his- tory. — Grig. Editor. THE end. LOKDOK : Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, New- Street- Square. in "ml UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY BERKELEY Return to desk from which borrowed. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. <%, ^% 17Apr'52SA 7/^ r 1 \Z'.iL. REC'O 270ct'57H . ^,.y.:o i.D > 19Feb59MF lONov'SORT LD 21-lOOm-ll, '49(37146816)476 , JAW 8 mi ^2Jan'6l6C JAM LD 21A-50m-ll.'62 (D82798l0)476B General Librarr Univeniry of California Dcrkeler \:iWW //4^ 3^1 377110 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY =>../, •--iK^j*r^,-., '■^■' pp. » -V- m i !m" / ^ ^ <\riJBit'.'-X • . ^^L.. vm ?'• ■:^^- z^-' \^v. -.j^^'-i?=''-l-isi wm^i^mmm^wi mM