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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. 
 
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