The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lives of John Donne, Henry Wotton, Rich'd Hooker, George Herbert, &c, Volume 2, by Izaak Walton

LIVES OF JOHN DONNE, HENRY WOTTON, RICH'D HOOKER, GEORGE HERBERT, &c,
VOLUME TWO

IZAAK WALTON

This issue of "Walton's Lives" is based upon John Major's edition of 1825, which was printed from a copy of the edition of 1675, "corrected by Walton's own pen," Major's "illustrative notes" have been preserved, with some modifications by later hands. Mr. AUSTIN DOBSON has read the text, added the marginalia, and contributed the supplementary notes.

I.G.

THE LIFE OF MR. RICHARD HOOKER:

THE AUTHOR OF THOSE LEARNED BOOKS OF THE LAWS OF ECCLESIASTICAL POLITY.

"Judicious Hooker, though the cost be spent
On him, that hath a lasting monument
In his own books; yet ought we to express
If not the worth, yet our respectfulness."

SIR WIL. COWPER

INTRODUCTION

I have been persuaded, by a friend whom I reverence, and ought to obey, to write the Life of RICHARD HOOKER, the happy Author of Five—if not more—of the eight learned books of "The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity." And though I have undertaken it, yet it hath been with some unwillingness: because I foresee that it must prove to me, and especially at this time of my age, a work of much labour to enquire, consider, research, and determine what is needful to be known concerning him. For I knew him not in his life, and must therefore not only look back to his death,—now sixty-four years past,—but almost fifty years beyond, that, even to his childhood and youth; and gather thence such observations and prognostics as may at least adorn, if not prove necessary for the completing of what I have undertaken.

This trouble I foresee, and foresee also that it is impossible to escape censures; against which I will not hope my well-meaning and diligence can protect me,—for I consider the age in which I live—and shall therefore but intreat of my Reader a suspension of his censures, till I have made known unto him some reasons, which I myself would now gladly believe do make me in some measure fit for this undertaking; and if these reasons shall not acquit me from all censures, they may at least abate of their severity, and this is all I can probably hope for. My reasons follow.

About forty years past—for I am now past the seventy of my age—I began a happy affinity with William Cranmer,—now with God,—grand-nephew unto the great Archbishop of that name;—a family of noted prudence and resolution; with him and two of his sisters I had an entire and free friendship: one of them was the wife of Dr. Spencer,[1] a bosom friend and sometime com-pupil with Mr. Hooker in Corpus Christi College in Oxford, and after President of the same. I name them here, for that I shall have occasion to mention them in the following discourse, as also George Cranmer, their brother, of whose useful abilities my Reader may have a more authentic testimony than my pen can purchase for him, by that of our learned Camden and others.

This William Cranmer and his two fore-named sisters had some affinity, and a most familiar friendship, with Mr. Hooker, and had had some part of their education with him in his house, when he was parson of Bishop's-Bourne near Canterbury; in which City their good father then lived. They had, I say, a part of their education with him as myself, since that time, a happy cohabitation with them; and having some years before read part of Mr. Hooker's works with great liking and satisfaction, my affection to them made me a diligent inquisitor into many things that concerned him; as namely, of his persons, his nature, the management of his time, his wife, his family, and the fortune of him and his. Which enquiry hath given me much advantage in the knowledge of what is now under my consideration, and intended for the satisfaction of my Reader.

I had also a friendship with the Reverend Dr. Usher,[2] the late learned Archbishop of Armagh; and with Dr. Morton, the late learned and charitable Bishop of Durham; as also the learned John Hales, of Eton College; and with them also—who loved the very name of Mr. Hooker—I have had many discourses concerning him; and from them, and many others that have now put off mortality, I might have had more informations, if I could then have admitted a thought of any fitness for what by persuasion I have now undertaken. But though that full harvest be irrecoverably lost, yet my memory hath preserved some gleanings, and my diligence made such additions to them, as I hope will prove useful to the completing of what I intend: in the discovery of which I shall be faithful, and with this assurance put a period to my Introduction.

[Footnote 1: A native of Suffolk, one of the Clerks of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, and Greek Reader. He entered Orders, became a noted Preacher, Chaplain to James I., and a great admirer of Richard Hooker and the famous Dr. John Reynolds, the latter of whom he succeeded as Master of his College. About four years after Hooker's death, he published the Five Books of Ecclesiastical Polity, with a Preface; and dying on April 3rd, 1614, was buried at Oxford.]

[Footnote 2: The illustrious Primate of Ireland, born in Dublin, Jan. 4th, 1580. He was the first Student of Trinity College, in 1593, and in 1610 he was made Bishop of Meath, whence he was translated to Armagh, in 1625. In the Irish Rebellion, he lost every thing but his library, which he conveyed to England, where he died in retirement, March 21st, 1655-56.]

THE LIFE OF MR. RICHARD HOOKER.

It is not to be doubted, but that Richard Hooker was born at Heavy-tree, near, or within the precincts, or in the City of Exeter; a City which may justly boast, that it was the birth-place of him and Sir Thomas Bodley; as indeed the County may, in which it stands, that it hath furnished this nation with Bishop Jewel, Sir Francis Drake, Sir Walter Raleigh, and many others, memorable for their valour and learning. He was born about the year of our Redemption 1553, and of parents that were not so remarkable for their extraction or riches, as for their virtue and industry, and God's blessing upon both; by which they were enabled to educate their children in some degree of learning, of which our Richard Hooker may appear to be one fair testimony, and that nature is not so partial as always to give the great blessings of wisdom and learning, and with them the greater blessings of virtue and government, to those only that are of a more high and honourable birth.

His complexion—if we may guess by him at the age of forty—was sanguine, with a mixture of choler; and yet his motion was slow even in his youth, and so was his speech, never expressing an earnestness in either of them, but an humble gravity suitable to the aged. And it is observed,—so far as enquiry is able to look back at this distance of time,—that at his being a school-boy he was an early questionist, quietly inquisitive "why this was, and that was not, to be remembered? why this was granted, and that denied?" This being mixed with a remarkable modesty, and a sweet serene quietness of nature, and with them a quick apprehension of many perplexed parts of learning, imposed then upon him as a scholar, made his Master and others to believe him to have an inward blessed divine light, and therefore to consider him to be a little wonder. For in that, children were less pregnant, less confident and more malleable, than in this wiser, but not better, age.

This meekness and conjuncture of knowledge, with modesty in his conversation, being observed by his Schoolmaster, caused him to persuade his parents—who intended him for an apprentice—to continue him at school till he could find out some means, by persuading his rich Uncle, or some other charitable person, to ease them of a part of their care and charge; assuring them that their son was so enriched with the blessings of nature and grace, that God seemed to single him out as a special instrument of his glory. And the good man told them also, that he would double his diligence in instructing him, and would neither expect nor receive any other reward, than the content of so hopeful and happy an employment.

This was not unwelcome news, and especially to his Mother, to whom he was a dutiful and dear child, and all parties were so pleased with this proposal, that it was resolved so it should be. And in the mean time his Parents and Master laid a foundation for his future happiness, by instilling into his soul the seeds of piety, those conscientious principles of loving and fearing God, of an early belief that he knows the very secrets of our souls; that he punisheth our vices, and rewards our innocence; that we should be free from hypocrisy, and appear to man what we are to God, because first or last the crafty man is catched in his own snare. These seeds of piety were so seasonably planted, and so continually watered with the daily dew of God's blessed Spirit, that his infant virtues grew into such holy habits, as did make him grow daily into more and more favour both with God and man; which, with the great learning that he did after attain to, hath made Richard Hooker honoured in this, and will continue him to be so to succeeding generations.

This good School-master, whose name I am not able to recover,—and am sorry, for that I would have given him a better memorial in this humble monument, dedicated to the memory of his scholar,—was very solicitous with John Hooker, then Chamberlain of Exeter, and uncle to our Richard, to take his Nephew into his care, and to maintain him for one year in the University, and in the mean time to use his endeavours to procure an admission for him into some College, though it were but in a mean degree; still urging and assuring him, that his charge would not continue long; for the lad's learning and manners were both so remarkable, that they must of necessity be taken notice of; and that doubtless God would provide him some second patron, that would free him and his Parents from their future care and charge.

These reasons, with the affectionate rhetoric of his good Master, and God's blessing upon both, procured from his Uncle a faithful promise, that he would take him into his care and charge before the expiration of the year following, which was performed by him, and with the assistance of the learned Mr. John Jewel;[1] of whom this may be noted, that he left, or was about the first of Queen Mary's reign expelled out of Corpus Christi College in Oxford,—of which he was a Fellow,—for adhering to the truth of those principles of Religion to which he had assented and given testimony in the days of her brother and predecessor, Edward the Sixth; and this John Jewel, having within a short time after, a just cause to fear a more heavy punishment than expulsion, was forced, by forsaking this, to seek safety in another nation; and, with that safety, the enjoyment of that doctrine and worship for which he suffered.

But the cloud of that persecution and fear ending with the life of Queen Mary, the affairs of the Church and State did then look more clear and comfortable; so that he, and with him many others of the same judgment, made a happy return into England about the first of Queen Elizabeth; in which year this John Jewel was sent a Commissioner or Visitor, of the Churches of the Western parts of this kingdom, and especially of those in Devonshire, in which County he was born; and then and there he contracted a friendship with John Hooker, the Uncle of our Richard.

About the second or third year of her reign, this John Jewel was made Bishop of Salisbury; and there being always observed in him a willingness to do good, and to oblige his friends, and now a power added to his willingness; this John Hooker gave him a visit in Salisbury, and besought him for charity's sake to look favourably upon a poor nephew of his, whom Nature had fitted for a scholar; but the estate of his parents was so narrow, that they were unable to give him the advantage of learning; and that the Bishop would therefore become his patron, and prevent him from being a tradesman, for he was a boy of remarkable hopes. And though the Bishop knew men do not usually look with an indifferent eye upon their own children and relations, yet he assented so far to John Hooker, that he appointed the boy and his School-master should attend him, about Easter next following, at that place: which was done accordingly; and then, after some questions and observations of the boy's learning, and gravity, and behaviour, the Bishop gave his School-master a reward, and took order for an annual pension for the boy's parents; promising also to take him into his care for a future preferment, which he performed: for about the fifteenth year of his age, which was anno 1567, he was by the Bishop appointed to remove to Oxford, and there to attend Dr. Cole,[2] then President of Corpus Christi College. Which he did; and Dr. Cole had—according to a promise made to the Bishop—provided for him both a Tutor—which was said to be the learned Dr. John Reynolds,[3]—and a Clerk's place in that College: which place, though it were not a full maintenance, yet, with the contribution of his Uncle, and the continued pension of his patron, the good Bishop, gave him a comfortable subsistence. And in this condition he continued until the eighteenth year of his age, still increasing in learning and prudence, and so much in humility and piety, that he seemed to be filled with the Holy Ghost; and even like St. John Baptist, to be sanctified from his mother's womb, who did often bless the day in which she bare him.

About this time of his age, he fell into a dangerous sickness, which lasted two months; all which time his Mother, having notice of it, did in her hourly prayers as earnestly beg his life of God, as Monica the mother of St. Augustine did, that he might become a true Christian; and their prayers were both so heard as to be granted. Which Mr. Hooker would often mention with much joy, and as often pray that "he might never live to occasion any sorrow to so good a mother; of whom he would often say, he loved her so dearly, that he would endeavour to be good, even as much for her's as for his own sake."

As soon as he was perfectly recovered from this sickness, he took a journey from Oxford to Exeter, to satisfy and see his good Mother, being accompanied with a countryman and companion of his own College, and both on foot; which was then either more in fashion, or want of money, or their humility made it so: but on foot they went, and took Salisbury in their way, purposely to see the good Bishop, who made Mr. Hooker and his companion dine with him at his own table: which Mr. Hooker boasted of with much joy and gratitude when he saw his mother and friends: and at the Bishop's parting with him, the Bishop gave him good counsel, and his benediction, but forgot to give him money; which, when the Bishop had considered, he sent a servant in all haste to call Richard back to him: and at Richard's return, the Bishop said to him, "Richard, I sent for you back to lend you a horse, which hath carried me many a mile, and, I thank God, with much ease;" and presently delivered into his hand a walking-staff, with which he professed he had travelled through many parts of Germany. And he said, "Richard, I do not give, but lend you my horse: be sure you be honest, and bring my horse back to me at your return this way to Oxford. And I do now give you ten groats, to bear your charges to Exeter; and here is ten groats more, which I charge you to deliver to your Mother and tell her I send her a Bishop's benediction with it, and beg the continuance of her prayers for me. And if you bring my horse back to me, I will give you ten groats more, to carry you on foot to the College: and so God bless you, good Richard."

And this, you may believe, was performed by both parties. But, alas! the next news that followed Mr. Hooker to Oxford was, that his learned and charitable patron had changed this for a better life. Which happy change may be believed, for that as he lived, so he died, in devout meditation and prayer: and in both so zealously, that it became a religious question, "Whether his last ejaculations or his soul did first enter into Heaven?"

And now Mr. Hooker became a man of sorrow and fear: of sorrow, for the loss of so dear and comfortable a patron; and of fear for his future subsistence. But Dr. Cole raised his spirits from this dejection, by bidding him go cheerfully to his studies, and assuring him, he should neither want food nor raiment,—which was the utmost of his hopes,—for he would become his patron.

And so he was for about nine months, and not longer; for about that time this following accident did befall Mr. Hooker.

Edwin Sandys[4]—sometime Bishop of London, and after Archbishop of York—had also been in the days of Queen Mary, forced, by forsaking this, to seek safety in another nation; where, for some years, Bishop Jewel and he were companions at bed and board in Germany; and where, in this their exile, they did often eat the bread of sorrow, and by that means they there began such a friendship, as lasted till the death of Bishop Jewel, which was in September, 1571. A little before which time the two Bishops meeting, Jewel had an occasion to begin a story of his Richard Hooker, and in it gave such a character of his learning and manners, that though Bishop Sandys was educated in Cambridge, where he had obliged, and had many friends; yet his resolution was, that his son Edwin should be sent to Corpus Christi College in Oxford, and by all means be pupil to Mr. Hooker, though his son Edwin was not much younger than Mr. Hooker then was: for the Bishop said, "I will have a Tutor for my son, that shall teach him learning by instruction, and virtue by example: and my greatest care shall be of the last; and, God willing, this Richard Hooker shall be the man into whose hands I will commit my Edwin." And the Bishop did so about twelve months, or not much longer, after this resolution.

And doubtless, as to these two, a better choice could not be made; for Mr. Hooker was now in the nineteenth year of his age; had spent five in the University; and had, by a constant unwearied diligence, attained unto a perfection in all the learned languages; by the help of which, an excellent tutor, and his unintermitted studies, he had made the subtilty of all the arts easy and familiar to him, and useful for the discovery of such learning as lay hid from common searchers. So that by these, added to his great reason, and his restless industry added to both, he did not only know more of causes and effects; but what he knew, he knew better than other men. And with this knowledge he had a most blessed and clear method of demonstrating what he knew, to the great advantage of all his pupils,—which in time were many,—but especially to his two first, his dear Edwin Sandys, and his as dear George Cranmer; of which there will be a fair testimony in the ensuing relation.

This for Mr. Hooker's learning. And for his behaviour, amongst other testimonies, this still remains of him, that in four years he was but twice absent from the Chapel prayers; and that his behaviour there was such, as shewed an awful reverence of that God which he then worshipped and prayed to; giving all outward testimonies that his affections were set on heavenly things. This was his behaviour towards God; and for that to man, it is observable that he was never known to be angry, or passionate, or extreme in any of his desires; never heard to repine or dispute with Providence, but, by a quiet gentle submission and resignation of his will to the wisdom of his Creator, bore the burthen of the day with patience; never heard to utter an uncomely word: and by this, and a grave behaviour, which is a divine charm, he begot an early reverence unto his person, even from those that at other times and in other companies, took a liberty to cast off that strictness of behaviour and discourse that is required in a Collegiate life. And when he took any liberty to be pleasant, his wit was never blemished with scoffing, or the utterance of any conceit that bordered upon, or might beget a thought of looseness in his hearers. Thus mild, thus innocent and exemplary was his behaviour in his College; and thus this good man continued till his death, still increasing in learning, in patience, and piety.

In this nineteenth year of his age, he was, December 24, 1573, admitted to be one of the twenty Scholars of the Foundation; being elected and so admitted as born in Devon or Hantshire; out of which Counties a certain number are to be elected in vacancies by the Founder's Statutes. And now as he was much encouraged, so now he was perfectly incorporated into this beloved College, which was then noted for an eminent Library, strict Students, and remarkable Scholars. And indeed it may glory, that it had Cardinal Poole,[5] but more that it had Bishop Jewel, Dr. John Reynolds, and Dr. Thomas Jackson,[6] of that foundation. The first famous for his learned Apology for the Church of England, and his Defence of it against Harding.[7] The second, for the learned and wise manage of a public dispute with John Hart,[8] of the Romish persuasion, about the Head and Faith of the Church, and after printed by consent of both parties. And the third, for his most excellent "Exposition of the Creed," and other treatises; all such as have given greatest satisfaction to men of the greatest learning. Nor was Dr. Jackson more note-worthy for his learning, than for his strict and pious life, testified by his abundant love, and meekness, and charity to all men.

And in the year 1576, February 23, Mr. Hooker's Grace was given him for Inceptor of Arts; Dr. Herbert Westphaling,[9] a man of note for learning, being then Vice-Chancellor: and the Act following he was completed Master, which was anno 1577, his patron, Dr. Cole, being Vice-Chancellor that year, and his dear friend, Henry Savile[10] of Merton College, being then one of the Proctors. 'Twas that Henry Savile that was after Sir Henry Savile, Warden of Merton College, and Provost of Eton; he which founded in Oxford two famous Lectures; and endowed them with liberal maintenance.

It was that Sir Henry Savile that translated and enlightened the History of Cornelius Tacitus, with a most excellent Comment; and enriched the world by his laborious and chargeable collecting the scattered pieces of St. Chrysostom, and the publication of them in one entire body in Greek; in which language he was a most judicious critic. It was this Sir Henry Savile that had the happiness to be a contemporary and familiar friend to Mr. Hooker; and let posterity know it.

And in this year of 1577, he was so happy as to be admitted Fellow of the College; happy also in being the contemporary and friend of that Dr. John Reynolds, of whom I have lately spoken, and of Dr. Spencer; both which were after and successively made Presidents of Corpus Christi College: men of great learning and merit, and famous in their generations.

Nor was Mr. Hooker more happy in his contemporaries of his time and College, than in the pupilage and friendship of his Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer; of whom my Reader may note, that this Edwin Sandys was after Sir Edwin Sandys, and as famous for his "Speculum Europae," as his brother George for making posterity beholden to his pen by a learned relation and comment on his dangerous and remarkable Travels; and for his harmonious translation of the Psalms of David, the Book of Job, and other poetical parts of Holy Writ, into most high and elegant verse. And for Cranmer, his other pupil, I shall refer my Reader to the printed testimonies of our learned Mr. Camden, of Fynes Moryson[11] and others.

"This Cranmer," says Mr. Camden in his Annals of Queen Elizabeth,—"whose Christian name was George, was a gentleman of singular hopes, the eldest son of Thomas Cranmer, son of Edmund Cranmer, the Archbishop's brother: he spent much of his youth in Corpus Christi College in Oxford, where he continued Master of Arts for some time before he removed, and then betook himself to travel, accompanying that worthy gentleman Sir Edwin Sandys into France, Germany, and Italy, for the space of three years; and after their happy return, he betook himself to an employment under Secretary Davison, a Privy Councillor of note, who, for an unhappy undertaking, became clouded and pitied: after whose fall, he went in place of Secretary with Sir Henry Killegrew in his Embassage into France: and after his death he was sought after by the most noble Lord Mountjoy, with whom he went into Ireland, where he remained, until in a battle against the rebels near Carlingford, an unfortunate wound put an end both to his life, and the great hopes that were conceived of him, he being then but in the thirty-sixth year of his age."

Betwixt Mr. Hooker and these his two Pupils, there was a sacred friendship; a friendship made up of religious principles, which increased daily by a similitude of inclinations to the same recreations and studies; a friendship elemented in youth, and in an university, free from self-ends, which the friendships of age usually are not. And in this sweet, this blessed, this spiritual amity, they went on for many years: and as the holy Prophet saith, "so they took sweet counsel together, and walked in the house of God as friends." By which means they improved this friendship to such a degree of holy amity, as bordered upon heaven: a friendship so sacred, that when it ended in this world, it began in that next, where it shall have no end.

And, though this world cannot give any degree of pleasure equal to such a friendship; yet obedience to parents, and a desire to know the affairs, manners, laws, and learning of other nations, that they might thereby become the more serviceable unto their own, made them put off their gowns, and leave the College and Mr. Hooker to his studies, in which he was daily more assiduous, still enriching his quiet and capacious soul with the precious learning of the Philosophers, Casuists, and Schoolmen; and with them the foundation and reason of all Laws, both Sacred and Civil; and indeed with such other learning as lay most remote from the track of common studies. And, as he was diligent in these, so he seemed restless in searching the scope and intention of God's Spirit revealed to mankind in the Sacred Scripture: for the understanding of which, he seemed to be assisted by the same Spirit with which they were written; He that regardeth truth in the inward parts, making him to understand wisdom secretly. And the good man would often say, that "God abhors confusion as contrary to his nature;" and as often say, "That the Scripture was not writ to beget disputations and pride, and opposition to government; but charity and humility, moderation, obedience to authority, and peace to mankind;" of which virtues, he would as often say, "no man did ever repent himself on his death-bed." And that this was really his judgment, did appear in his future writings, and in all the actions of his life. Nor was this excellent man a stranger to the more light and airy parts of learning, as Music and Poetry; all which he had digested and made useful; and of all which the Reader will have a fair testimony in what will follow.

In the year 1579, the Chancellor of the University was given to understand, that the public Hebrew Lecture was not read according to the Statutes; nor could be, by reason of a distemper, that had then seized the brain of Mr. Kingsmill, who was to read it; so that it lay long unread, to the great detriment of those that were studious of that language. Therefore the Chancellor writ to his Vice-Chancellor, and the University, that he had heard such commendations of the excellent knowledge of Mr. Richard Hooker in that tongue, that he desired he might be procured to read it: and he did, and continued to do so till he left Oxford.

Within three months after his undertaking this Lecture,—namely in
October 1579,—he was, with Dr. Reynolds and others, expelled his
College; and this Letter, transcribed from Dr. Reynolds his own hand,
may give some account of it.

"I am sorry, Right Honourable, that I am enforced to make unto you such a suit, which I cannot move; but I must complain of the unrighteous dealing of one of our College, who hath taken upon him, against all law and reason, to expel out of our house both me and Mr. Hooker, and three other of our fellows, for doing that which by oath we were bound to do. Our matter must be heard before the Bishop of Winchester, with whom I do not doubt but we shall find equity. Howbeit, forasmuch as some of our adversaries have said that the Bishop is already forestalled, and will not give us such audience as we look for; therefore I am humbly to beseech your Honour, that you will desire the Bishop, by your letters, to let us have justice; though it be with rigour, so it be justice: our cause is so good, that I am sure we shall prevail by it. Thus much I am bold to request of your honour for Corpus Christi College sake, or rather for Christ's sake; whom I beseech to bless you with daily increase of his manifold gifts, and the blessed graces of his Holy Spirit.

"JOHN REYNOLDS.

This expulsion was by Dr. John Barfoote, then Vice-President of the College, and Chaplain to Ambrose Earl of Warwick. I cannot learn the pretended cause; but that they were restored the same month is most certain.[12] I return to Mr. Hooker in his College, where he continued his studies with all quietness, for the space of three years; about which time he entered into Sacred Orders, being then made Deacon and Priest, and, not long after, was appointed to preach at St. Paul's Cross.[13]

In order to which Sermon, to London he came, and immediately to the Shunamite's House; which is a House so called, for that, besides the stipend paid the Preacher, there is provision made also for his lodging and diet for two days before, and one day after his Sermon. This house was then kept by John Churchman, sometime a Draper of good note in Watling-street, upon whom poverty had at last come like an armed man, and brought him into a necessitous condition; which, though it be a punishment, is not always an argument of God's disfavour; for he was a virtuous man. I shall not yet give the like testimony of his wife, but leave the Reader to judge by what follows. But to this house Mr. Hooker came so wet, so weary, and weather-beaten, that he was never known to express more passion, than against a friend that dissuaded him from footing it to London, and for finding him no easier an horse,—supposing the horse trotted when he did not;—and at this time also, such a faintness and fear possessed him, that he would not be persuaded two days' rest and quietness, or any other means could be used to make him able to preach his Sunday's Sermon; but a warm bed, and rest, and drink proper for a cold, given him by Mrs. Churchman, and her diligent attendance added unto it, enabled him to perform the office of the day, which was in or about the year 1581.

And in this first public appearance to the world, he was not so happy as to be free from exceptions against a point of doctrine delivered in his Sermon; which was, "That in God there were two wills; an antecedent and a consequent will: his first will, That all mankind should be saved; but his second will was, That those only should be saved, that did live answerable to that degree of grace which he had offered or afforded them." This seemed to cross a late opinion of Mr. Calvin's, and then taken for granted by many that had not a capacity to examine it, as it had been by him before, and hath been since by Master Henry Mason, Dr. Jackson, Dr. Hammond, and others of great learning, who believe that a contrary opinion intrenches upon the honour and justice of our merciful God. How he justified this, I will not undertake to declare; but it was not excepted against—as Mr. Hooker declares in his rational Answer to Mr. Travers—by John Elmer[14], then Bishop of London, at this time one of his auditors, and at last one of his advocates too, when Mr. Hooker was accused for it.

But the justifying of this doctrine did not prove of so bad consequence, as the kindness of Mrs. Churchman's curing him of his late distemper and cold; for that was so gratefully apprehended by Mr. Hooker, that he thought himself bound in conscience to believe all that she said: so that the good man came to be persuaded by her, "that he was a man of a tender constitution; and that it was best for him to have a wife, that might prove a nurse to him; such a one as might both prolong his life, and make it more comfortable; and such a one she could and would provide for him, if he thought fit to marry." And he, not considering that "the children of this world are wiser in their generation than the children of light;" but, like a true Nathaniel, fearing no guile, because he meant none, did give her such a power as Eleazar was trusted with,—you may read it in the book of Genesis,—when he was sent to choose a wife for Isaac; for even so he trusted her to choose for him, promising upon a fair summons to return to London, and accept of her choice; and he did so in that, or about the year following. Now, the wife provided for him was her daughter Joan, who brought him neither beauty nor portion: and for her conditions, they were too like that wife's, which is by Solomon compared to a dripping house: so that the good man had no reason to "rejoice in the wife of his youth;" but too just cause to say with the holy Prophet, "Wo is me, that I am constrained to have my habitation in the tents of Kedar!"

This choice of Mr. Hooker's—if it were his choice—may be wondered at: but let us consider that the Prophet Ezekiel says, "There is a wheel within a wheel;" a secret sacred wheel of Providence,—most visible in marriages,—guided by his hand, that "allows not the race to the swift," nor "bread to the wise," nor good wives to good men: and He that can bring good out of evil—for mortals are blind to this reason—only knows why this blessing was denied to patient Job, to meek Moses, and to our as meek and patient Mr. Hooker. But so it was; and let the Reader cease to wonder, for affliction is a divine diet; which though it be not pleasing to mankind, yet Almighty God hath often, very often, imposed it as good, though bitter physic to those children whose souls are dearest to him.

And by this marriage the good man was drawn from the tranquillity of his College; from that garden of piety, of pleasure, of peace, and a sweet conversation, into the thorny wilderness of a busy world; into those corroding cares that attend a married Priest, and a country Parsonage; which was Drayton-Beauchamp in Buckinghamshire, not far from Aylesbury, and in the Diocese of Lincoln; to which he was presented by John Cheney, Esq.—then Patron of it—the 9th of December, 1584, where he behaved himself so as to give no occasion of evil, but as St. Paul adviseth a minister of God—"in much patience, in afflictions, in anguishes, in necessities, in poverty and no doubt in long-suffering;" yet troubling no man with his discontents and wants.

And in this condition he continued about a year; in which time his two pupils, Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer, took a journey to see their tutor; where they found him with a book in his hand,—it was the Odes of Horace,—he being then like humble and innocent Abel, tending his small allotment of sheep in a common field; which he told his pupils he was forced to do then, for that his servant was gone home to dine, and assist his wife to do some necessary household business. But when his servant returned and released him, then his two pupils attended him unto his house, where their best entertainment was his quiet company, which was presently denied them: for Richard was called to rock the cradle; and the rest of their welcome was so like this, that they staid but till next morning, which was time enough to discover and pity their tutor's condition; and they having in that time rejoiced in the remembrance, and then paraphrased on many of the innocent recreations of their younger days, and other like diversions, and thereby given him as much present comfort as they were able, they were forced to leave him to the company of his wife Joan, and seek themselves a quieter lodging for next night. But at their parting from him, Mr. Cranmer said, "Good tutor, I am sorry your lot is fallen in no better ground, as to your parsonage; and more sorry that your wife proves not a more comfortable companion, after you have wearied yourself in your restless studies." To whom the good man replied, "My dear George, if Saints have usually a double share in the miseries of this life, I, that am none, ought not to repine at what my wise Creator hath appointed for me: but labour—as indeed I do daily—to submit mine to his will, and possess my soul in patience and peace."

At their return to London, Edwin Sandys acquaints his father, who was then Archbishop of York, with his Tutor's sad condition, and solicits for his removal to some benefice that might give him a more quiet and a more comfortable subsistence; which his father did most willingly grant him when it should next fall into his power. And not long after this time, which was in the year 1585, Mr. Alvey,—Master of the Temple,—died, who was a man of a strict life, of great learning, and of so venerable behaviour, as to gain so high a degree of love and reverence from all men, that he was generally known by the name of Father Alvey. And at the Temple-reading, next after the death of this Father Alvey, he, the said Archbishop of York being then at dinner with the Judges, the Reader, and the Benchers of that Society, met with a general condolement for the death of Father Alvey, and with a high commendation of his saint-like life, and of his great merit both towards God and man; and as they bewailed his death, so they wished for a like pattern of virtue and learning to succeed him. And here came in a fair occasion for the Bishop to commend Mr. Hooker to Father Alvey's place, which he did with so effectual an earnestness, and that seconded with so many other testimonies of his worth, that Mr. Hooker was sent for from Drayton-Beauchamp to London, and there the Mastership of the Temple proposed unto him by the Bishop, as a greater freedom from his country cares, the advantages of a better society, and a more liberal pension than his country parsonage did afford him. But these reasons were not powerful enough to incline him to a willing acceptance of it: his wish was rather to gain a better country living, where he might see God's blessings spring out of the earth, and be free from noise,—so he expressed the desire of his heart,—and eat that bread which he might more properly call his own, in privacy and quietness. But, notwithstanding this averseness, he was at last persuaded to accept of the Bishop's proposal; and was by Patent for life, made Master of the Temple the 17th of March, 1585, he being then in the 34th year of his age. [This you may find in the Temple Records. William Ermstead was master of the Temple at the Dissolution of the Priory, and died 2 Eliz. (1559). Richard Alvey, Bat. Divinity, Pat. 13 Febr. 2 Eliz. Magister, sive Custos Domûs et Ecchsiæ Novi Templi , died 27 Eliz. (1585). Richard Hooker succeeded that year by Patent, in terminis, as Alvey had it, and he left it 33 Eliz. (1591). That year Dr. Balgey succeeded Richard Hooker.]

And here I shall make a stop; and, that the Reader may the better judge of what follows, give him a character of the times and temper of the people of this nation, when Mr. Hooker had his admission into this place; a place which he accepted, rather than desired: and yet here he promised himself a virtuous quietness, that blessed tranquillity which he always prayed and laboured for, that so he might in peace bring forth the fruits of peace, and glorify God by uninterrupted prayers and praises. For this he always thirsted and prayed: but Almighty God did not grant it; for his admission into this place was the very beginning of those oppositions and anxieties, which till then this good man was a stranger to; and of which the Reader may guess by what follows.

In this character of the times, I shall by the Reader's favour, and for his information, look so far back as to the beginning of the reign of Queen Elizabeth; a time, in which the many under pretended titles to the Crown, the frequent treasons, the doubts of her successor, the late Civil War, and the sharp persecution for Religion that raged to the effusion of so much blood in the reign of Queen Mary, were fresh in the memory of all men; and begot fears in the most pious and wisest of this nation, lest the like days should return again to them, or their present posterity. And the apprehension of these dangers, begot a hearty desire of a settlement in the Church and State; believing there was no other probable way left to make them sit quietly under their own vines and fig-trees, and enjoy the desired fruit of their labours. But time, and peace, and plenty begot self-ends: and these begot animosities, envy, opposition, and unthankfulness for those very blessings for which they lately thirsted, being then the very utmost of their desires, and even beyond their hopes.

This was the temper of the times in the beginning of her reign; and thus it continued too long; for those very people that had enjoyed the desires of their hearts in a Reformation from the Church of Rome, became at last so like the grave, as never to be satisfied, but were still thirsting for more and more; neglecting to pay that obedience, and perform those vows, which they made in their days of adversities and fear: so that in short time there appeared three several interests, each of them fearless and restless in the prosecution of their designs: they may for distinction be called, the active Romanists, the restless Non-conformists,—of which there were many sorts,—and the passive peaceable Protestants. The counsels of the first considered and resolved on in Rome; the second both in Scotland, in Geneva, and in divers selected, secret, dangerous Conventicles, both there, and within the bosom of our own nation: the third pleaded and defended their cause by established laws, both Ecclesiastical and Civil: and if they were active, it was to prevent the other two from destroying what was by those known Laws happily established to them and their posterity.

I shall forbear to mention the very many and dangerous plots of the Romanists against the Church and State; because what is principally intended in this digression, is an account of the opinions and activity of the Non-conformists: against whose judgment and practice Mr. Hooker became at last, but most unwillingly, to be engaged in a book-war; a war which he maintained not as against an enemy, but with the spirit of meekness and reason.

In which number of Non-conformists, though some might be sincere, well-meaning men, whose indiscreet zeal might be so like charity, as thereby to cover a multitude of their errors; yet of this party there were many that were possessed with a high degree of spiritual wickedness; I mean with an innate restless pride and malice; I do not mean the visible carnal sins of gluttony and drunkenness, and the like,—from which, good Lord, deliver us!—but sins of a higher nature, because they are more unlike God, who is the God of love, and mercy, and order, and peace: and more like the Devil, who is not a glutton, nor can be drunk, and yet is a Devil: but I mean those spiritual wickednesses of malice and revenge, and an opposition to government: men that joyed to be the authors of misery, which is properly his work that is the enemy and disturber of mankind; and thereby greater sinners than the glutton or drunkard, though some will not believe it. And of this party there were also many, whom prejudice and a furious zeal had so blinded, as to make them neither to hear reason, nor adhere to the ways of peace: men that were the very dregs and pest of mankind; men whom pride and self-conceit had made to over-value their own pitiful crooked wisdom so much as not to be ashamed to hold foolish and unmannerly disputes against those men whom they ought to reverence, and those laws which they ought to obey; men that laboured and joyed first to find out the faults, and then speak evil of Government, and to be the authors of confusion; men whom company, and conversation, and custom had at last so blinded, and made so insensible that these were sins, that like those that perished in the gainsaying of Korah, so these died without repenting of these spiritual wickednesses; of which the practices of Coppinger and Hacket[15] in their lives, and the death of them and their adherents, are, God knows, too sad examples, and ought to be cautions to those men that are inclined to the like spiritual wickednesses.

And in these times, which tended thus to confusion, there were also many of these scruple-mongers, that pretended a tenderness of conscience, refusing to take an oath before a lawful Magistrate: and yet these very men in their secret Conventicles did covenant and swear to each other, to be assiduous and faithful in using their best endeavours to set up the Presbyterian doctrine and discipline; and both in such a manner as they themselves had not yet agreed on; but up that government must. To which end there were many that wandered up and down and were active in sowing discontents and seditions, by venomous and secret murmurings, and a dispersion of scurrilous pamphlets and libels against the Church and State; but especially against the Bishops; by which means, together with venomous and indiscreet sermons, the common people became so fanatic, as to believe the Bishops to be Antichrist, and the only obstructers of God's discipline! and at last some of them were given over to so bloody a zeal, and such other desperate delusions, as to find out a text in the Revelation of St. John, that Antichrist was to be overcome by the sword. So that those very men, that began with tender and meek petitions, proceeded to admonitions: then to satirical remonstrances: and at last—having, like Absalom, numbered who was not, and who was, for their cause—they got a supposed certainty of so great a party, that they durst threaten first the Bishops, and then the Queen and Parliament, to all which they were secretly encouraged by the Earl of Leicester, then in great favour with her Majesty, and the reputed cherisher and patron-general of these pretenders to tenderness of conscience; his design being, by their means, to bring such an odium upon the Bishops, as to procure an alienation of their lands, and a large proportion of them for himself: which avaricious desire had at last so blinded his reason, that his ambitious and greedy hopes seemed to put him into a present possession of Lambeth-House.

And to these undertakings the Non-conformists of this nation were much encouraged and heightened by a correspondence and confederacy with that brotherhood in Scotland; so that here they become so bold, that one [Mr. Dering][16] told the Queen openly in a sermon, "She was like an untamed heifer, that would not be ruled by God's people, but obstructed his discipline." And in Scotland they were more confident; for there [Vide Bishop Spotswood's History of the Church of Scotland] they declared her an Atheist, and grew to such an height, as not to be accountable for any thing spoken against her, nor for treason against their own King, if it were but spoken in the pulpit; shewing at last such a disobedience to him, that his mother being in England, and then in distress, and in prison, and in danger of death, the Church denied the King their prayers for her; and at another time, when he had appointed a day of Feasting, the Church declared for a general Fast, in opposition to his authority.

To this height they were grown in both nations, and by these means there was distilled into the minds of the common people such other venomous and turbulent principles as were inconsistent with the safety of the Church and State: and these opinions vented so daringly, that, beside the loss of life and limbs, the governors of the Church and State were forced to use such other severities as will not admit of an excuse, if it had not been to prevent the gangrene of confusion, and the perilous consequences of it; which, without such prevention, would have been first confusion, and then ruin and misery to this numerous nation.

These errors and animosities were so remarkable, that they begot wonder in an ingenious Italian, who being about this time come newly into this nation, and considering them, writ scoffingly to a friend in his own country, to this purpose; "That the common people of England were wiser than the wisest of his nation; for here the very women and shop-keepers were able to judge of Predestination, and to determine what laws were fit to be made concerning Church-government; and then, what were fit to be obeyed or abolished. That they were more able—or at least thought so—to raise and determine perplexed Cases of Conscience, than the wisest of the most learned Colleges in Italy! That men of the slightest learning, and the most ignorant of the common people, were mad for a new, or super, or re-reformation of Religion; and that in this they appeared like that man, who would never cease to whet and whet his knife, till there was no steel left to make it useful." And he concluded his letter with this observation, "That those very men that were most busy in oppositions, and disputations, and controversies, and finding out the faults of their governors, had usually the least of humility and mortification, or of the power of godliness."

And to heighten all these discontents and dangers, there was also sprung up a generation of godless men; men that had so long given way to their own lusts and delusions, and so highly opposed the blessed motions of His Spirit, and the inward light of their own consciences, that they became the very slaves of vice, and had thereby sinned themselves into a belief of that which they would, but could not believe, into a belief, which is repugnant even to human nature;—for the Heathens believe that there are many Gods;—but these had sinned themselves into a belief that there was no God! and so, finding nothing in themselves but what was worse than nothing, began to wish what they were not able to hope for, namely, "That they might be like the beasts that perish!" and in wicked company—which is the Atheist's sanctuary—were so bold as to say so: though the worst of mankind, when he is left alone at midnight, may wish, but is not then able to think it: even into a belief that there is no God. Into this wretched, this reprobate condition, many had then sinned themselves.

And now, when the Church was pestered with them, and with all those other fore-named irregularities; when her lands were in danger of alienation, her power at least neglected, and her peace torn to pieces by several schisms, and such heresies as do usually attend that sin:—for heresies do usually out-live their first authors;—when the common people seemed ambitious of doing those very things that were forbidden and attended with most dangers, that thereby they might be punished, and then applauded and pitied: when they called the spirit of opposition a tender conscience, and complained of persecution, because they wanted power to persecute others: when the giddy multitude raged, and became restless to find out misery for themselves and others; and the rabble would herd themselves together, and endeavour to govern and act in spite of authority:—in this extremity of fear, and danger of the Church and State, when, to suppress the growing evils of both, they needed a man of prudence and piety, and of an high and fearless fortitude, they were blest in all by John Whitgift, his being made Archbishop of Canterbury; of whom Sir Henry Wotton—that knew him well in his youth, and had studied him in his age—gives this true character; "That he was a man of reverend and sacred memory, and of the primitive temper; such a temper, as when the Church by lowliness of spirit did flourish in highest examples of virtue." And indeed this man proved so.

And though I dare not undertake to add to this excellent and true character of Sir Henry Wotton; yet I shall neither do right to this discourse, nor to my Reader, if I forbear to give him a further and short account of the life and manners of this excellent man; and it shall be short, for I long to end this digression, that I may lead my reader back to Mr. Hooker where we left him at the Temple.

John Whitgift was born in the County of Lincoln, of a family that was ancient; and noted to be both prudent and affable, and gentle by nature. He was educated in Cambridge; much of his learning was acquired in Pembroke Hall,—where Mr. Bradford[17] the Martyr was his tutor;—from thence he was removed to Peter House; from thence to be Master of Pembroke Hall; and from thence to the Mastership of Trinity College. About which time the Queen made him her Chaplain; and not long after Prebend of Ely, and then Dean of Lincoln; and having for many years past looked upon him with much reverence and favour, gave him a fair testimony of both, by giving him the Bishoprick of Worcester, and—which was not with her a usual favour—forgiving him his first fruits; then by constituting him Vice-President of the Principality of Wales. And having experimented his wisdom, his justice, and moderation in the manage of her affairs in both these places, she, in the twenty-sixth of her reign, 1583, made him Archbishop of Canterbury, and, not long after, of her Privy Council; and trusted him to manage all her Ecclesiastical affairs and preferments. In all which removes, he was like the Ark, which left a blessing on the place where it rested; and in all his employments was like Jehoiada, that did good unto Israel.

These were the steps of this Bishop's ascension to this place of dignity and cares: in which place—to speak Mr. Camden's very words in his Annals of Queen Elizabeth—"he devoutly consecrated both his whole life to God, and his painful labours to the good of his Church."

And yet in this place he met with many oppositions in the regulation of Church affairs, which were much disordered at his entrance, by reason of the age and remissness of Bishop Grindal,[18] his immediate predecessor, the activity of the Non-conformists, and their chief assistant the Earl of Leicester; and indeed by too many others of the like sacrilegious principles. With these he was to encounter; and though he wanted neither courage, nor a good cause, yet he foresaw, that without a great measure of the Queen's favour, it was impossible to stand in the breach that had been lately made into the lands and immunities of the Church, or indeed to maintain the remaining lands and rights of it. And therefore by justifiable sacred insinuations, such as St. Paul to Agrippa,—"Agrippa, believest thou? I know thou believest," he wrought himself into so great a degree of favour with her, as, by his pious use of it, hath got both of them a great degree of fame in this world, and of glory in that into which they are now both entered.

His merits to the Queen, and her favours to him were such, that she called him, "her little black husband," and called "his servants her servants:" and she saw so visible and blessed a sincerity shine in all his cares and endeavours for the Church's and for her good, that she was supposed to trust him with the very secrets of her soul, and to make him her confessor; of which she gave many fair testimonies; and of which one was, that "she would never eat flesh in Lent, without obtaining a licence from her little black husband:" and would often say "she pitied him because she trusted him, and had thereby eased herself by laying the burthen of all her Clergy-cares upon his shoulders, which he managed with prudence and piety."

I shall not keep myself within the promised rules of brevity in this account of his interest with her Majesty, and his care of the Church's rights, if in this digression I should enlarge to particulars; and therefore my desire is, that one example may serve for a testimony of both. And, that the Reader may the better understand it, he may take notice, that not many years before his being made Archbishop, there passed an Act, or Acts of Parliament, intending the better preservation of the Church-lands, by recalling a power which was vested in others to sell or lease them, by lodging and trusting the future care and protection of them only in the Crown: and amongst many that made a bad use of this power or trust of the Queen's, the Earl of Leicester was one; and the Bishop having, by his interest with her Majesty, put a stop to the Earl's sacrilegious designs, they two fell to an open opposition before her; after which they both quitted the room, not friends in appearance. But the Bishop made a sudden and seasonable return to her Majesty,—for he found her alone—and spake to her with great humility and reverence, to this purpose.

"I beseech your Majesty to hear me with patience, and to believe that your's and the Church's safety are dearer to me than my life, but my conscience dearer than both: and therefore give me leave to do my duty, and tell you, that Princes are deputed nursing Fathers of the Church, and owe it a protection; and therefore God forbid that you should be so much as passive in her ruin, when you may prevent it; or that I should behold it without horror and detestation; or should forbear to tell your Majesty of the sin and danger of Sacrilege. And though you and myself were born in an age of frailties, when the primitive piety and care of the Church's lands and immunities are much decayed; yet, Madam, let me beg that you would first consider that there are such sins as Profaneness and Sacrilege: and that, if there were not, they could not have names in Holy Writ, and particularly in the New Testament. And I beseech you to consider, that though our Saviour said, 'He judged no man;' and, to testify it, would not judge nor divide the inheritance betwixt the two brethren, nor would judge the woman taken in adultery; yet in this point of the Church's rights he was so zealous, that he made himself both the accuser, and the judge, and the executioner too, to punish these sins; witnessed, in that he himself made the whip to drive the profaners out of the Temple, overthrew the tables of the money-changers, and drove them out of it. And I beseech you to consider, that it was St. Paul that said to those Christians of his time that were offended with Idolatry, and yet committed Sacrilege; 'Thou that abhorrest Idols, dost thou commit Sacrilege?' supposing, I think, Sacrilege the greater sin. This may occasion your Majesty to consider, that there is such a sin as Sacrilege; and to incline you to prevent the Curse that will follow it, I beseech you also to consider, that Constantine, the first Christian Emperor, and Helena his Mother; that King Edgar, and Edward the Confessor; and indeed many others of your predecessors, and many private Christians, have also given to God, and to his Church, much land, and many immunities, which they might have given to those of their own families, and did not; but gave them for ever as an absolute right and sacrifice to God: and with these immunities and lands they have entailed a curse upon the alienators of them: God prevent your Majesty and your successors from being liable to that Curse, which will cleave unto Church-lands as the leprosy to the Jews.

"And to make you, that are trusted with their preservation, the better to understand the danger of it, I beseech you forget not, that, to prevent these Curses, the Church's land and power have been also endeavoured to be preserved, as far as human reason and the law of this nation have been able to preserve them, by an immediate and most sacred obligation on the consciences of the Princes of this realm. For they that consult Magna Charta shall find, that as all your predecessors were at their Coronation, so you also were sworn before all the Nobility and Bishops then present, and in the presence of God, and in his stead to him that anointed you, to maintain the Church-lands, and the rights belonging to it: and this you yourself have testified openly to God at the holy Altar, by laying your hands on the Bible then lying upon it. And not only Magna Charta, but many modern Statutes have denounced a Curse upon those that break Magna Charta; a Curse like the leprosy, that was entailed on the Jews: for as that, so these Curses have, and will cleave to the very stones of those buildings that have been consecrated to God; and the father's sin of Sacrilege hath, and will prove to be entailed on his son and family. And now, Madam, what account can be given for the breach of this Oath at the Last Great Day, either by your Majesty, or by me, if it be wilfully, or but negligently violated, I know not.

"And therefore, good Madam, let not the late Lord's exceptions against the failings of some few Clergymen prevail with you to punish posterity for the errors of the present age; let particular men suffer for their particular errors; but let God and his Church have their inheritance: and though I pretend not to prophecy, yet I beg posterity to take notice of what is already become visible in many families; that Church-land added to an ancient and just inheritance, hath proved like a moth fretting a garment, and secretly consumed both: or like the Eagle that stole a coal from the altar, and thereby set her nest on fire, which consumed both her young eagles and herself that stole it. And though I shall forbear to speak reproachfully of your Father, yet I beg you to take notice, that a part of the Church's rights added to the vast treasures left him by his Father, hath been conceived to bring an unavoidable consumption upon both, notwithstanding all his diligency to preserve them.

"And consider, that after the violation of those laws, to which he had sworn in Magna Charta, God did so far deny him his restraining grace, that as King Saul, after he was forsaken of God, fell from one sin to another; so he, till at last he fell into greater sins than I am willing to mention. Madam, Religion is the foundation and cement of human societies; and when they that serve at God's Altar shall be exposed to poverty, then Religion itself will be exposed to scorn, and become contemptible; as you may already observe it to be in too many poor Vicarages in this nation. And therefore, as you are by a late Act or Acts of Parliament, entrusted with a great power to preserve or waste the Church-lands; yet dispose of them, for Jesus' sake, as you have promised to men, and vowed to God, that is, as the donors intended: let neither falsehood nor flattery beguile you to do otherwise; but put a stop to God's and the Levites' portion, I beseech you, and to the approaching ruins of His Church, as you expect comfort at the Last Great Day; for Kings must be judged. Pardon this affectionate plainness, my most dear Sovereign, and let me beg to be still continued in your favour; and the Lord still continue you in His."

The Queen's patient hearing this affectionate speech, and her future care to preserve the Church's rights, which till then had been neglected, may appear a fair testimony, that he made her's and the Church's good the chiefest of his cares, and that she also thought so. And of this there were such daily testimonies given, as begot betwixt them so mutual a joy and confidence, that they seemed born to believe and do good to each other; she not doubting his piety to be more than all his opposers, which were many; nor doubting his prudence to be equal to the chiefest of her Council, who were then as remarkable for active wisdom, as those dangerous times did require, or this nation did ever enjoy. And in this condition he continued twenty years; in which time he saw some flowings, but many more ebbings of her favour towards all men that had opposed him, especially the Earl of Leicester: so that God seemed still to keep him in her favour, that he might preserve the remaining Church-lands and immunities from Sacrilegious alienations. And this good man deserved all the honour and power with which she gratified and trusted him; for he was a pious man, and naturally of noble and grateful principles: he eased her of all her Church-cares by his wise manage of them; he gave her faithful and prudent counsels in all the extremities and dangers of her temporal affairs, which were very many; he lived to be the chief comfort of her life in her declining age, and to be then most frequently with her, and her assistant at her private devotions; he lived to be the greatest comfort of her soul upon her death-bed, to be present at the expiration of her last breath, and to behold the closing of those eyes that had long looked upon him with reverence and affection. And let this also be added, that he was the Chief Mourner at her sad funeral; nor let this be forgotten, that, within a few hours after her death, he was the happy proclaimer, that King James—her peaceful successor—was heir to the Crown.

Let me beg of my Reader to allow me to say a little, and but a little, more of this good Bishop, and I shall then presently lead him back to Mr. Hooker; and because I would hasten, I will mention but one part of the Bishop's charity and humility; but this of both. He built a large Alms-house near to his own Palace at Croydon in Surrey, and endowed it with maintenance for a Master and twenty-eight poor men and women; which he visited so often, that he knew their names and dispositions; and was so truly humble, that he called them Brothers and Sisters; and whensoever the Queen descended to that lowliness to dine with him at his Palace in Lambeth,—which was very often,—he would usually the next day shew the like lowliness to his poor Brothers and Sisters at Croydon, and dine with them at his Hospital; at which time, you may believe there was joy at the table. And at this place he built also a fair Free-school, with a good accommodation and maintenance for the Master and Scholars. Which gave just occasion for Boyse Sisi, then Ambassador for the French King, and resident here, at the Bishop's death, to say, "the Bishop had published many learned books; but a Free-school to train up youth, and an Hospital to lodge and maintain aged and poor people, were the best evidences of Christian learning that a Bishop could leave to posterity." This good Bishop lived to see King James settled in peace, and then fell into an extreme sickness at his Palace in Lambeth; of which when the King had notice, he went presently to visit him, and found him in his bed in a declining condition and very weak; and after some short discourse betwixt them, the King at his departure assured him, "He had a great affection for him, and a very high value for his prudence and virtues, and would endeavour to beg his life of God for the good of his Church." To which the good Bishop replied, " Pro Ecclesia Dei! Pro Ecclesia Dei !" which were the last words he ever spake; therein testifying, that as in his life, so at his death, his chiefest care was of God's Church.

This John Whitgift was made Archbishop in the year 1583. In which busy place he continued twenty years and some months; and in which time you may believe he had many trials of his courage and patience: but his motto was " Vincit qui patitur ;" and he made it good.

Many of his trials were occasioned by the then powerful Earl of Leicester, who did still—but secretly—raise and cherish a faction of Non-conformists to oppose him; especially one Thomas Cartwright,[19] a man of noted learning, sometime contemporary with the Bishop in Cambridge, and of the same College, of which the Bishop had been Master; in which place there began some emulations,—the particulars I forbear,—and at last open and high oppositions betwixt them; and in which you may believe Mr. Cartwright was most faulty, if his expulsion out of the University can incline you to it.

And in this discontent after the Earl's death,—which was 1588,—Mr. Cartwright appeared a chief cherisher of a party that were for the Geneva Church-government; and, to effect it, he ran himself into many dangers both of liberty and life, appearing at the last to justify himself and his party in many remonstrances, which he caused to be printed: and to which the Bishop made a first answer, and Cartwright replied upon him; and then the Bishop having rejoined to his first reply, Mr. Cartwright either was, or was persuaded to be, satisfied, for he wrote no more, but left the Reader to be judge which had maintained their cause with most charity and reason. After some silence, Mr. Cartwright received from the Bishop many personal favours and betook himself to a more private living, which was at Warwick, where he was made Master of an Hospital, and lived quietly, and grew rich; and where the Bishop gave him a licence to preach, upon promises not to meddle with controversies, but incline his hearers to piety and moderation: and this promise he kept during his life, which ended 1602, the Bishop surviving him but some few months; each ending his days in perfect charity with the other.

And now after this long digression, made for the information of my Reader concerning what follows, I bring him back to venerable Mr. Hooker, where we left him in the Temple, and where we shall find him as deeply engaged in a controversy with Walter Travers,[20]—a friend and favourite of Mr. Cartwright's—as the Bishop had ever been with Mr. Cartwright himself, and of which I shall proceed to give this following account.

And first this; that though the pens of Mr. Cartwright and the Bishop were now at rest, yet there was sprung up a new generation of restless men, that by company and clamours became possessed of a faith, which they ought to have kept to themselves, but could not: men that were become positive in asserting, "That a papist cannot be saved:" insomuch, that about this time, at the execution of the Queen of Scots, the Bishop that preached her Funeral Sermon—which was Dr. Howland,[21] then Bishop of Peterborough—was reviled for not being positive for her damnation. And besides this boldness of their becoming Gods, so far as to set limits to His mercies, there was not only one Martin Mar-Prelate,[22] but other venomous books daily printed and dispersed; books that were so absurd and scurrilous, that the graver Divines disdained them an answer. And yet these were grown into high esteem with the common people, till Tom Nash[23] appeared against them all, who was a man of a sharp wit, and the master of a scoffing, satirical, merry pen, which he employed to discover the absurdities of those blind, malicious, senseless pamphlets, and sermons as senseless as they; Nash's answers being like his books, which bore these, or like titles: "An Almond for a Parrot;" "A Fig for my Godson;" "Come crack me this nut," and the like; so that this merry wit made some sport, and such a discovery of their absurdities, as—which is strange—he put a greater stop to these malicious pamphlets, than a much wiser man had been able.

And now the Reader is to take notice, that at the death of Father Alvey, who was Master of the Temple, this Walter Travers was Lecturer there for the Evening Sermons, which he preached with great approbation, especially of some citizens, and the younger gentlemen of that Society; and for the most part approved by Mr. Hooker himself, in the midst of their oppositions. For he continued Lecturer a part of his time; Mr. Travers being indeed a man of competent learning, of a winning behaviour, and of a blameless life. But he had taken Orders by the Presbytery in Antwerp,—and with them some opinions, that could never be eradicated,—and if in anything he was transported, it was in an extreme desire to set up that government in this nation; for the promoting of which he had a correspondence with Theodore Beza at Geneva, and others in Scotland; and was one of the chiefest assistants to Mr. Cartwright in that design.

Mr. Travers had also a particular hope to set up this government in the Temple, and to that end used his most zealous endeavours to be Master of it; and his being disappointed by Mr. Hooker's admittance, proved the occasion of a public opposition betwixt them in their Sermons: many of which were concerning the doctrine and ceremonies of this Church: insomuch that, as St. Paul withstood St. Peter to his face, so did they withstand each other in their Sermons: for, as one hath pleasantly expressed it, "The forenoon Sermon spake Canterbury; and the afternoon Geneva."

In these Sermons there was little of bitterness, but each party brought all the reasons he was able to prove his adversary's opinion erroneous. And thus it continued a long time, till the oppositions became so visible, and the consequences so dangerous, especially in that place, that the prudent Archbishop put a stop to Mr. Travers his preaching, by a positive prohibition. Against which Mr. Travers appealed, and petitioned her Majesty's Privy Council to have it recalled; where, besides his patron, the Earl of Leicester, he met also with many assisting friends: but they were not able to prevail with, or against the Archbishop, whom the Queen had intrusted with all Church-power; and he had received so fair a testimony of Mr. Hooker's principles, and of his learning and moderation, that he withstood all solicitations. But the denying this petition of Mr. Travers, was unpleasant to divers of his party; and the reasonableness of it became at last to be so publicly magnified by them, and many others of that party, as never to be answered: so that, intending the Bishop's and Mr. Hooker's disgrace, they procured it to be privately printed and scattered abroad; and then Mr. Hooker was forced to appear, and make as public an Answer; which he did, and dedicated it to the Archbishop; and it proved so full an answer, an answer that had in it so much of clear reason, and writ with so much meekness and majesty of style, that the Bishop began to have him in admiration, and to rejoice that he had appeared in his cause, and disdained not earnestly to beg his friendship; even a familiar friendship with a man of so much quiet learning and humility.

To enumerate the many particular points in issue which Mr. Hooker and Mr. Travers dissented,—all, or most of which I have seen written,—would prove at least tedious: and therefore I shall impose upon my Reader no more than two, which shall immediately follow, and by which he may judge of the rest.

Mr. Travers excepted against Mr. Hooker, for that in one of his Sermons he declared, "That the assurance of what we believe by the Word of God is not to us so certain as that which we perceive by sense." And Mr. Hooker confesseth he said so, and endeavours to justify it by the reasons following.

"First; I taught that the things which God promises in his Word are surer than what we touch, handle, or see: but are we so sure and certain of them? If we be, why doth God so often prove his promises to us as he doth, by arguments drawn from our sensible experience? For we must be surer of the proof than of the things proved; otherwise it is no proof. For example; how is it that many men looking on the moon, at the same time, every one knoweth it to be the moon as certainly as the other doth? but many believing one and the same promise, have not all one and the same fulness of persuasion. For how falleth it out, that men being assured of any thing by sense, can be no surer of it than they are; when as the strongest in faith that liveth upon the earth hath always need to labour, strive, and pray, that his assurance concerning heavenly and spiritual things may grow, increase, and be augmented?"

The Sermon, that gave him the cause of this his justification, makes the case more plain, by declaring "That there is, besides this certainty of evidence, a certainty of adherence." In which having most excellently demonstrated what the certainty of adherence is, he makes this comfortable use of it, "Comfortable," he says, "as to weak believers, who suppose themselves to be faithless, not to believe, when notwithstanding they have their adherence; the Holy Spirit hath his private operations, and worketh secretly in them, and effectually too, though they want the inward testimony of it."

Tell this, saith he, to a man that hath a mind too much dejected by a sad sense of his sin; to one that, by a too severe judging of himself, concludes that he wants faith, because he wants the comfortable assurance of it; and his answer will be, do not persuade me against my knowledge, against what I find and feel in myself: I do not, I know, I do not believe.—Mr. Hooker's own words follow.—"Well then, to favour such men a little in their weakness, let that be granted which they do imagine; be it, that they adhere not to God's promises, but are faithless, and without belief: but are they not grieved for their unbelief? They confess they are; do they not wish it might, and also strive that it may be otherwise? We know they do. Whence cometh this, but from a secret love and liking, that they have of those things believed? For no man can love those things which in his own opinion are not; and if they think those things to be, which they show they love, when they desire to believe them; then must it be, that, by desiring to believe, they prove themselves true believers: for without faith no man thinketh that things believed are: which argument all the subtilties of infernal powers will never be able to dissolve." This is an abridgement of part of the reasons Mr. Hooker gives for his justification of this his opinion, for which he was excepted against by Mr. Travers.

Mr. Hooker was also accused by Mr. Travers, for that he in one of his Sermons had declared, "That he doubted not but that God was merciful to many of our forefathers living in Popish superstition, for as much as they sinned ignorantly;" and Mr. Hooker in his Answer professeth it to be his judgment, and declares his reasons for this charitable opinion to be as followeth.

But first, he states the question about Justification and Works, and how the foundation of Faith without works is overthrown; and then he proceeds to discover that way which natural men and some others have mistaken to be the way, by which they hope to attain true and everlasting happiness: and having discovered the mistaken, he proceeds to direct to that true way, by which, and no other, everlasting life and blessedness is attainable. And these two ways he demonstrates thus;—they be his own words that follow:—"That, the way of Nature; this, the way of Grace; the end of that way, Salvation merited, pre-supposing the righteousness of men's works; their righteousness, a natural ability to do them; that ability, the goodness of God, which created them in such perfection. But the end of this way, Salvation bestowed upon men as a gift: pre-supposing not their righteousness, but the forgiveness of their unrighteousness, Justification; their justification, not their natural ability to do good, but their hearty sorrow for not doing, and unfeigned belief in Him, for whose sake not-doers are accepted, which is their Vocation; their vocation, the election of God, taking them out of the number of lost children: their Election, a Mediator in whom to be elected; this mediation, inexplicable mercy: this mercy, supposing their misery for whom He vouchsafed to die, and make Himself a Mediator."

And he also declareth, "There is no meritorious cause for our Justification, but Christ: no effectual, but his mercy;" and says also, "We deny the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, we abuse, disannul and annihilate the benefit of his passion, if by a proud imagination we believe we can merit everlasting life, or can be worthy of it." This belief, he declareth, is to destroy the very essence of our Justification; and he makes all opinions that border upon this to be very dangerous. "Yet nevertheless,"—and for this he was accused,—"considering how many virtuous and just men, how many Saints and Martyrs have had their dangerous opinions amongst which this was one, that they hoped to make God some part of amends, by voluntary punishments which they laid upon themselves: because by this, or the like erroneous opinions, which do by consequence overthrow the merits of Christ, shall man be so bold as to write on their graves, 'Such men are damned; there is for them no Salvation?' St. Austin says, Errare possum, Hæreticus esse nolo . And except we put a difference betwixt them that err ignorantly, and them that obstinately persist in it, how is it possible that any man should hope to be saved? Give me a Pope or Cardinal, whom great afflictions have made to know himself, whose heart God hath touched with true sorrow for all his sins, and filled with a love of Christ and his Gospel; whose eyes are willingly open to see the truth, and his mouth ready to renounce all error,—this one opinion of merit excepted, which he thinketh God will require at his hands;—and because he wanteth, trembleth, and is discouraged, and yet can say, Lord, cleanse me from all my secret sins! shall I think, because of this, or a like error, such men touch not so much as the hem of Christ's garment? If they do, wherefore should I doubt, but that virtue may proceed from Christ to save them? No, I will not be afraid to say to such a one, You err in your opinion; but be of good comfort; you have to do with a merciful God, who will make the best of that little which you hold well; and not with a captious sophister, who gathereth the worst out of every thing in which you are mistaken."

But it will be said, says Mr. Hooker, the admittance of merit in any degree overthroweth the foundation, excludeth from the hope of mercy, from all possibility of salvation. (And now Mr. Hooker's own words follow.)

"What, though they hold the truth sincerely in all other parts of Christian faith; although they have in some measure all the virtues and graces of the Spirit, although they have all other tokens of God's children in them? although they be far from having any proud opinion, that they shall be saved by the worthiness of their deeds? although the only thing, that troubleth and molesteth them, be a little too much dejection, somewhat too great a fear arising from an erroneous conceit, that God will require a worthiness in them, which they are grieved to find wanting in themselves? although they be not obstinate in this opinion? although they be willing, and would be glad to forsake it, if any one reason were brought sufficient to disprove it? although the only cause why they do not forsake it ere they die, be their ignorance of that means by which it might be disproved? although the cause why the ignorance in this point is not removed, be the want of knowledge in such as should be able, and are not, to remove it? Let me die," says Mr. Hooker, "if it be ever proved, that simply an error doth exclude a Pope or Cardinal in such a case utterly from hope of life. Surely, I must confess, that if it be an error to think that God may be merciful to save men, even when they err, my greatest comfort is my error: were it not for the love I bear to this error, I would never wish to speak or to live."

I was willing to take notice of these two points, as supposing them to be very material; and that, as they are thus contracted, they may prove useful to my Reader; as also for that the answers be arguments of Mr. Hooker's great and clear reason, and equal charity. Other exceptions were also made against him by Mr. Travers, as "That he prayed before, and not after, his Sermons; that in his prayers he named Bishops; that he kneeled, both when he prayed, and when he received the Sacrament;" and—says Mr. Hooker in his Defence—"other exceptions so like these, as but to name, I should have thought a greater fault than to commit them."

And it is not unworthy the noting, that, in the manage of so great a controversy, a sharper reproof than this, and one like it, did never fall from the happy pen of this humble man. That like it was upon a like occasion of exceptions, to which his answer was, "your next argument consists of railing and of reasons: to your railing I say nothing; to your reasons I say what follows." And I am glad of this fair occasion to testify the dove-like temper of this meek, this matchless man. And doubtless, if Almighty God had blest the Dissenters from the ceremonies and discipline of this Church, with a like measure of wisdom and humility, instead of their pertinacious zeal, then obedience and truth had kissed each other; then peace and piety had flourished in our nation, and this Church and State had been blessed like Jerusalem, that is at unity with itself: but this can never be expected, till God shall bless the common people of this nation with a belief, that Schism is a sin, and they not fit to judge what is Schism: and bless them also with a belief, that there may be offences taken which are not given, and, that laws are not made for private men to dispute, but to obey.

And this also may be worthy of noting, that these exceptions of Mr. Travers against Mr. Hooker proved to be felix error , for they were the cause of his transcribing those few of his Sermons, which we now see printed with his books; and of his "Answer to Mr. Travers his Supplication;" and of his most learned and useful "Discourse of Justification, of Faith, and Works:" and by their transcription they fell into such hands as have preserved them from being lost, as too many of his other matchless writings were: and from these I have gathered many observations in this discourse of his life.

After the publication of his "Answer to the Petition of Mr. Travers," Mr. Hooker grew daily into greater repute with the most learned and wise of the nation; but it had a contrary effect in very many of the Temple, that were zealous for Mr. Travers, and for his Church-discipline; insomuch, that though Mr. Travers left the place, yet the seeds of discontent could not be rooted out of that Society, by the great reason, and as great meekness, of this humble man: for though the chief Benchers gave him much reverence and encouragement, yet he there met with many neglects and oppositions by those of Master Travers' judgment; insomuch that it turned to his extreme grief: and, that he might unbeguile and win them, he designed to write a deliberate, sober treatise of the Church's power to make Canons for the use of ceremonies, and by law to impose an obedience to them, as upon her children; and this he proposed to do in "Eight Books of the Law of Ecclesiastical Polity;" intending therein to shew such arguments as should force an assent from all men, if reason, delivered in sweet language, and void of any provocation, were able to do it: and, that he might prevent all prejudice, he wrote before it a large Preface, or Epistle to the Dissenting Brethren, wherein there were such bowels of love, and such a commixture of that love with reason, as was never exceeded but in Holy Writ; and particularly by that of St. Paul to his dear brother and fellow-labourer Philemon: than which none ever was more like this epistle of Mr. Hooker's. So that his dear friend and companion in his studies, Dr. Spencer, might, after his death, justly say, "What admirable height of learning, and depth of judgment, dwelt in the lowly mind of this truly humble man—great in all wise men's eyes, except his own; with what gravity and majesty of speech his tongue and pen uttered heavenly mysteries; whose eyes, in the humility of his heart, were always cast down to the ground; how all things that proceeded from him were breathed as from the Spirit of Love; as if he, like the bird of the Holy Ghost, the Dove, had wanted gall:—let those that knew him not in his person, judge these living images of his soul, his writings."

The foundation of these books was laid in the Temple; but he found it no fit place to finish what he had there designed; he therefore earnestly solicited the Archbishop for a remove from that place; to whom he spake to this purpose: "My Lord, when I lost the freedom of my cell, which was my College, yet I found some degree of it in my quiet country parsonage: but I am weary of the noise and oppositions of this place; and indeed God and Nature did not intend me for contentions, but for study and quietness. My Lord, my particular contests with Mr. Travers here have proved the more unpleasant to me, because I believe him to be a good man; and that belief hath occasioned me to examine mine own conscience concerning his opinions; and, to satisfy that, I have consulted the Scripture, and other laws, both human and divine, whether the conscience of him, and others of his judgment, ought to be so far complied with, as to alter our frame of Church-government, our manner of God's worship, our praising and praying to him, and our established ceremonies, as often as his, and other tender consciences shall require us. And in this examination, I have not only satisfied myself, but have begun a Treatise, in which I intend a justification of the Laws of our Ecclesiastical Polity; in which design God and his holy angels shall at the last great Day bear me that witness which my conscience now does; that my meaning is not to provoke any, but rather to satisfy all tender consciences: and I shall never be able to do this, but where I may study, and pray for God's blessing upon my endeavours, and keep myself in peace and privacy, and behold God's blessings spring out of my mother earth, and eat my own bread without oppositions;[24] and therefore, if your Grace can judge me worthy of such a favour, let me beg it, that I may perfect what I have begun."

About this time the Parsonage or Rectory of Boscum, in the Diocese of Sarum, and six miles from that City, became void. The Bishop of Sarum is patron of it; but in the vacancy of that See,—which was three years betwixt the translation of Bishop Pierce to the See of York, and Bishop Caldwell's admission into it,—the disposal of that, and all benefices belonging to that See, during this said vacancy, came to be disposed of by the Archbishop of Canterbury: and he presented Richard Hooker to it in the year 1591. And Richard Hooker was also in the said year instituted, July 17, to be a Minor Prebend of Salisbury, the corps to it being Nether-Haven, about ten miles from that City; which prebend was of no great value, but intended chiefly to make him capable of a better preferment in that church. In this Boscum he continued till he had finished four of his eight proposed books of "The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity," and these were entered into the Register-Book in Stationers' Hall, the 9th of March, 1592, but not published till the year 1594, and then were with the before-mentioned large and affectionate Preface, which he directs to them that seek—as they term it—the reformation of the Laws and Orders Ecclesiastical in the Church of England; of which books I shall yet say nothing more, but that he continued his laborious diligence to finish the remaining four during his life;—of all which more properly hereafter;—but at Boscum he finished and published but only the first four, being then in the 39th year of his age.

He left Boscum in the year 1595, by a surrender of it into the hands of Bishop Caldwell: and he presented Benjamin Russell, who was instituted into it the 23rd of June in the same year.

The Parsonage of Bishop's Bourne in Kent, three miles from Canterbury, is in that Archbishop's gift; but, in that latter end of the year 1594, Dr. William Redman, the Rector of it, was made Bishop of Norwich; by which means the power of presenting to it was pro eâ vice in the Queen; and she presented Richard Hooker, whom she loved well, to this good living of Bourne, the 7th July, 1595; in which living he continued till his death, without any addition of dignity or profit.

And now having brought our Richard Hooker from his birth-place, to this where he found a grave, I shall only give some account of his books and of his behaviour in this Parsonage of Bourne, and then give a rest both to myself and my Reader.

His first four books and large epistle have been declared to be printed at his being at Boscum, anno 1594. Next I am to tell, that at the end of these four books there was, when he first printed them, this Advertisement to the Reader. "I have for some causes, thought it at this time more fit to let go these first four books by themselves, than to stay both them and the rest, till the whole might together be published. Such generalities of the cause in question as are here handled, it will be perhaps not amiss to consider apart, by way of introduction unto the books that are to follow concerning particulars; in the mean time the Reader is requested to mend the Printer's errors, as noted underneath."

And I am next to declare, that his Fifth Book—which is larger than his first four—was first also printed by itself, anno 1597, and dedicated to his patron—for till then he chose none—the Archbishop.—These books were read with an admiration of their excellency in this, and their just fame spread itself also into foreign nations. And I have been told, more than forty years past, that either Cardinal Allen,[25] or learned Dr. Stapleton,[26]—both Englishmen, and in Italy about the time when Mr. Hooker's four books were first printed,—meeting with this general fame of them, were desirous to read an author, that both the reformed and the learned of their own Romish Church did so much magnify; and therefore caused them to be sent for to Rome: and after reading them, boasted to the Pope,—which then was Clement the Eighth,—"That though he had lately said, he never met with an English book, whose writer deserved the name of author; yet there now appeared a wonder to them, and it would be so to his Holiness, if it were in Latin: for a poor obscure English Priest had writ four such books of Laws, and Church-polity, and in a style that expressed such a grave and so humble a majesty, with such clear demonstration of reason, that in all their readings they had not met with any that exceeded him:" and this begot in the Pope an earnest desire that Dr. Stapleton should bring the said four books, and, looking on the English, read a part of them to him in Latin; which Dr. Stapleton did, to the end of the first book; at the conclusion of which, the Pope spake to this purpose: "There is no learning that this man hath not searched into, nothing too hard for his understanding: this man indeed deserves the name of an author: his books will get reverence by age; for there is in them such seeds of eternity, that if the rest be like this, they shall last till the last fire shall consume all learning."

Nor was this high, the only testimony and commendation given to his books; for at the first coming of King James into this kingdom, he enquired of the Archbishop Whitgift for his friend Mr. Hooker, that writ the books of Church-polity; to which the answer was, that he died a year before Queen Elizabeth, who received the sad news of his death with very much sorrow; to which the King replied, "And I receive it with no less, that I shall want the desired happiness of seeing and discoursing with that man, from whose books I have received such satisfaction: indeed, my Lord, I have received more satisfaction in reading a leaf or paragraph, in Mr. Hooker, though it were but about the fashion of Churches, or Church-Music, or the like, but especially of the Sacraments, than I have had in the reading particular large treatises written but of one of those subjects by others, though very learned men: and I observe there is in Mr. Hooker no affected language: but a grave, comprehensive, clear manifestation of reason, and that backed with the authority of the Scripture, the Fathers, and Schoolmen, and with all Law both sacred and civil. And, though many others write well, yet in the next age they will be forgotten; but doubtless there is in every page of Mr. Hooker's book, the picture of a divine soul, such pictures of truth and reason, and drawn in so sacred colours, that they shall never fade, but give an immortal memory to the author." And it is so truly true, that the King thought what he spake, that, as the most learned of the nation have, and still do mention Mr. Hooker with reverence; so he also did never mention him but with the epithet of learned, or judicious, or reverend, or venerable Mr. Hooker.

Nor did his son, our late King Charles the First, ever mention him but with the same reverence, enjoining his son, our now gracious King, to be studious in Mr. Hooker's books. And our learned antiquary, Mr. Camden [in his Annals, 5299], mentioning the death, the modesty, and other virtues of Mr. Hooker, and magnifying his books, wished, "that, for the honour of this, and benefit of other nations, they were turned into the Universal Language." Which work, though undertaken by many, yet they have been weary, and forsaken it: but the Reader may now expect it, having been long since begun and lately finished, by the happy pen of Dr. Earle,[27] now Lord Bishop of Salisbury, of whom I may justly say,—and let it not offend him, because it is such a truth as ought not to be concealed from posterity, or those that now live, and yet know him not,—that since Mr. Hooker died, none have lived whom God hath blessed with more innocent wisdom, more sanctified learning, or a more pious, peaceable, primitive temper: so that this excellent person seems to be only like himself, and our venerable Richard Hooker, and only fit to make the learned of all nations happy, in knowing what hath been too long confined to the language of our little island.

There might be many more and just occasions taken to speak of his books, which none ever did or can commend too much; but I decline them, and hasten to an account of his Christian behaviour and death at Bourne; in which place he continued his customary rules of mortification and self-denial; was much in fasting, frequent in meditation and prayers, enjoying those blessed returns, which only men of strict lives feel and know, and of which men of loose and godless lives cannot be made sensible; for spiritual things are spiritually discerned.

At his entrance into this place, his friendship was much sought for by Dr. Hadrian Saravia,[28] then, or about that time, made one of the Prebends of Canterbury; a German by birth, and sometime a pastor both in Flanders and Holland, where he had studied, and well considered the controverted points concerning Episcopacy and sacrilege; and in England had a just occasion to declare his judgment concerning both, unto his brethren ministers of the Low Countries; which was excepted against by Theodore Beza and others; against whose exceptions he rejoined, and thereby became the happy author of many learned tracts writ in Latin, especially of three; one, of the "Degrees of Ministers," and of the "Bishops' superiority above the Presbytery;" a second, "against Sacrilege;" and a third of "Christian Obedience to Princes;" the last being occasioned by Gretzerus the Jesuit.[29] And it is observable, that when, in a time of Church tumults, Beza gave his reasons to the Chancellor of Scotland for the abrogation of Episcopacy in that nation, partly by letters, and more fully in a Treatise of a threefold Episcopacy,—which he calls divine, human, and satanical,—this Dr. Saravia had, by the help of Bishop Whitgift, made such an early discovery of their intentions, that he had almost as soon answered that Treatise as it became public; and he therein discovered how Beza's opinion did contradict that of Calvin's and his adherents; leaving them to interfere with themselves in point of Episcopacy. But of these tracts it will not concern me to say more, than that they were most of them dedicated to his, and the Church of England's watchful patron, John Whitgift, the Archbishop; and printed about the time in which Mr. Hooker also appeared first to the world, in the publication of his first four books of "Ecclesiastical Polity."

This friendship being sought for by this learned Doctor, you may believe was not denied by Mr. Hooker, who was by fortune so like him, as to be engaged against Mr. Travers, Mr. Cartwright, and others of their judgment, in a controversy too like Dr. Saravia's; so that in this year of 1595, and in this place of Bourne, these two excellent persons began a holy friendship, increasing daily to so high and mutual affections, that their two wills seemed to be but one and the same; and their designs both for the glory of God, and peace of the Church, still assisting and improving each other's virtues, and the desired comforts of a peaceable piety; which I have willingly mentioned, because it gives a foundation to some things that follow.

This Parsonage of Bourne is from Canterbury three miles, and near to the common road that leads from that City to Dover; in which Parsonage Mr. Hooker had not been twelve months, but his books, and the innocency and sanctity of his life became so remarkable, that many turned out of the road, and others—scholars especially—went purposely to see the man, whose life and learning were so much admired: and alas! as our Saviour said of St. John Baptist, "What went they out to see? a man clothed in purple and fine linen?" No, indeed: but an obscure, harmless man; a man in poor clothes, his loins usually girt in a coarse gown, or canonical coat; of a mean stature, and stooping, and yet more lowly in the thoughts of his soul; his body worn out, not with age, but study and holy mortifications; his face full of heat-pimples, begot by his unactivity and sedentary life. And to this true character of his person, let me add this of his disposition and behaviour: God and Nature blessed him with so blessed a bashfulness, that as in his younger days his pupils might easily look him out of countenance; so neither then, nor in his age, did he ever willingly look any man in the face: and was of so mild and humble a nature, that his poor Parish-Clerk and he did never talk but with both their hats on, or both off, at the same time: and to this may be added, that though he was not purblind, yet he was short or weaksighted; and where he fixed his eyes at the beginning of his sermon, there they continued till it was ended: and the Reader has a liberty to believe, that his modesty and dim sight were some of the reasons why he trusted Mrs. Churchman to choose his wife.

This Parish-Clerk lived till the third or fourth year of the late Long Parliament; betwixt which time and Mr. Hooker's death there had come many to see the place of his burial, and the Monument dedicated to his memory by Sir William Cowper, who still lives; and the poor Clerk had many rewards for shewing Mr. Hooker's grave place, and his said Monument, and did always hear Mr. Hooker mentioned with commendations and reverence; to all which he added his own knowledge and observations of his humility and holiness; and in all which discourses the poor man was still more confirmed in his opinion of Mr. Hooker's virtues and learning. But it so fell out, that about the said third or fourth year of the Long Parliament, the then present Parson of Bourne was sequestered,—you may guess why,—and a Genevan Minister put into his good living. This, and other like sequestrations, made the Clerk express himself in a wonder, and say, "They had sequestered so many good men, that he doubted, if his good master Mr. Hooker had lived till now, they would have sequestered him too!"

It was not long before this intruding Minister had made a party in and about the said Parish, that were desirous to receive the Sacrament as in Geneva; to which end, the day was appointed for a select company, and forms and stools set about the altar, or communion-table, for them to sit and eat and drink: but when they went about this work, there was a want of some joint-stools, which the Minister sent the Clerk to fetch, and then to fetch cushions,—but not to kneel upon.—When the Clerk saw them begin to sit down, he began to wonder; but the Minister bade him "cease wondering, and lock the Church-door:" to whom he replied, "Pray take you the keys, and lock me out: I will never come more into this Church; for all men will say, my master Hooker was a good man, and a good scholar; and I am sure it was not used to be thus in his days:" and report says the old man went presently home and died; I do not say died immediately, but within a few Christian days after.[30]

But let us leave this grateful Clerk in his quiet grave, and return to Mr. Hooker himself, continuing our observations of his Christian behaviour in this place, where he gave a holy valediction to all the pleasures and allurements of earth; possessing his soul in a virtuous quietness, which he maintained by constant study, prayers, and meditations. His use was to preach once every Sunday, and he, or his Curate, to catechise after the second Lesson in the Evening Prayer. His Sermons were neither long nor earnest, but uttered with a grave zeal and an humble voice: his eyes always fixed on one place, to prevent imagination from wandering; insomuch that he seemed to study as he spake. The design of his Sermons—as indeed of all his discourses—was to shew reasons for what he spake; and with these reasons such a kind of rhetoric, as did rather convince and persuade, than frighten men into piety; studying not so much for matter,—which he never wanted,—as for apt illustrations, to inform and teach his unlearned hearers by familiar examples, and then make them better by convincing applications; never labouring by hard words, and then by heedless distinctions and sub-distinctions, to amuse his hearers, and get glory to himself; but glory only to God. Which intention, he would often say, was as discernible in a Preacher, "as a natural from an artificial beauty."

He never failed the Sunday before every Ember-week to give notice of it to his parishioners, persuading them both to fast, and then to double their devotions for a learned and a pious Clergy, but especially the last; saying often, "That the life of a pious Clergyman was visible rhetoric; and so convincing, that the most godless men—though they would not deny themselves the enjoyment of their present lusts—did yet secretly wish themselves like those of the strictest lives." And to what he persuaded others, he added his own example of fasting and prayer; and did usually every Ember-week take from the Parish-Clerk the key of the Church-door, into which place he retired every day, and locked himself up for many hours; and did the like most Fridays and other days of fasting.

He would by no means omit the customary time of Procession, persuading all, both rich and poor, if they desired the preservation of love, and their Parish-rights and liberties, to accompany him in his perambulation; and most did so: in which perambulation he would usually express more pleasant discourse than at other times, and would then always drop some loving and facetious observations to be remembered against the next year, especially by the boys and young people; still inclining them, and all his present parishioners, to meekness, and mutual kindness and love; because "Love thinks not evil, but covers a multitude of infirmities."

He was diligent to enquire who of his Parish were sick, or any ways distressed, and would often visit them, unsent for; supposing that the fittest time to discover to them those errors, to which health and prosperity had blinded them. And having by pious reasons and prayers moulded them into holy resolutions for the time to come, he would incline them to confession and bewailing their sins, with purpose to forsake them, and then to receive the Communion, both as a strengthening of those holy resolutions, and as a seal betwixt God and them of his mercies to their souls, in case that present sickness did put a period to their lives.

And as he was thus watchful and charitable to the sick, so he was as diligent to prevent lawsuits; still urging his parishioners and neighbours to bear with each other's infirmities, and live in love, because, as St. John says, "He that lives in love, lives in God: for God is love." And to maintain this holy fire of love constantly burning on the altar of a pure heart, his advice was to watch and pray, and always keep themselves fit to receive the Communion, and then to receive it often; for it was both a confirming and strengthening of their graces. This was his advice; and at his entrance or departure out of any house, he would usually speak to the whole family, and bless them by name; insomuch, that as he seemed his youth to be taught of God, so he seemed in this place to teach his precepts as Enoch did, by walking with him in all holiness and humility, making each day a step towards a blessed eternity. And though, in this weak and declining age of the world, such examples are become barren, and almost incredible; yet let his memory be blessed by this true recordation, because he that praises Richard Hooker, praises God who hath given such gifts to men; and let this humble and affectionate relation of him become such a pattern, as may invite posterity to imitate these his virtues.

This was his constant behaviour both at Bourne, and in all the places in which he lived: thus did he walk with God, and tread the footsteps of primitive piety; and yet, as that great example of meekness and purity, even our blessed Jesus, was not free from false accusations, no more was this disciple of his, this most humble, most innocent, holy man. His was a slander parallel to that of chaste Susannah's by the wicked Elders; or that against St. Athanasius, as it is recorded in his life,—for this holy man had heretical enemies,—a slander which this age calls trepanning .[31] The particulars need not a repetition; and that it was false, needs no other testimony than the public punishment of his accusers, and their open confession of his innocency. It was said, that the accusation was contrived by a dissenting brother, one that endured not Church-ceremonies, hating him for his book's sake, which he was not able to answer; and his name hath been told me; but I have not so much confidence in the relation, as to make my pen fix a scandal on him to posterity; I shall rather leave it doubtful till the great day of revelation. But this is certain, that he lay under the great charge, and the anxiety of this accusation, and kept it secret to himself for many months; and, being a helpless man, had lain longer under this heavy burthen, but that the Protector of the innocent gave such an accidental occasion, as forced him to make it known to his two dearest friends, Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer, who were so sensible of their tutor's sufferings, that they gave themselves no rest, till by their disquisitions and diligence they had found out the fraud, and brought him the welcome news, that his accusers did confess they had wronged him, and begged his pardon. To which the good man's reply was to this purpose: "The Lord forgive them; and the Lord bless you for this comfortable news. Now have I a just occasion to say with Solomon, 'Friends are born for the days of adversity;' and such you have proved to me. And to my God I say, as did the Mother of St. John Baptist, 'Thus hath the Lord dealt with me, in the day wherein he looked upon me, to take away my reproach among men. 'And, O my God! neither my life, nor my reputation, are safe in my own keeping; but in thine, who didst take care of me when I yet hanged upon my mother's breast. Blessed are they that put their trust in thee, O Lord! for when false witnesses were risen up against me; when shame was ready to cover my face; when my flights were restless; when my soul thirsted for a deliverance, as the hart panteth after the rivers of water; then thou, Lord, didst hear my complaints, pity my condition, and art now become my deliverer; and as long as I live I will hold up my hands in this manner, and magnify thy mercies, who didst not give me over as a prey to mine enemies: the net is broken, and they are taken in it. Oh! blessed are they that put their trust in thee! and no prosperity shall make me forget those days of sorrow, or to perform those vows that I have made to thee in the days of my affliction; for with such sacrifices, thou, O God, art well pleased; and I will pay them."[32]

Thus did the joy and gratitude of this good man's heart break forth; and it is observable, that as the invitation to this slander was his meek behaviour and dove-like simplicity, for which he was remarkable; so his Christian charity ought to be imitated. For though the spirit of revenge is so pleasing to mankind, that it is never conquered but by a supernatural grace, revenge being indeed so deeply rooted in human nature, that, to prevent the excesses of it,—for men would not know moderation,—Almighty God allows not any degree of it to any man, but says "vengeance is mine:" and though this be said positively by God himself, yet this revenge is so pleasing, that man is hardly persuaded to submit the manage of it to the time, and justice, and wisdom of his Creator, but would hasten to be his own executioner of it. And yet nevertheless, if any man ever did wholly decline, and leave this pleasing passion to the time and measure of God alone, it was this Richard Hooker, of whom I write: for when his slanderers were to suffer, he laboured to procure their pardon; and when that was denied him, his reply was, "That however he would fast and pray that God would give them repentance, and patience to undergo their punishment." And his prayers were so far returned into his own bosom, that the first was granted, if we may believe a penitent behaviour, and an open confession. And 'tis observable, that after this time he would often say to Dr. Saravia, "Oh! with what quietness did I enjoy my soul, after I was free from the fears of my slander! And how much more after a conflict and victory over my desires of revenge!"

About the year 1600, and of his age forty-six, he fell into a long and sharp sickness, occasioned by a cold taken in his passage by water betwixt London and Gravesend, from the malignity of which he was never recovered; for after that time, till his death, he was not free from thoughtful days and restless nights: but a submission to His will that makes the sick man's bed easy, by giving rest to his soul, made his very languishment comfortable: and yet all this time he was solicitous in his study, and said often to Dr. Saravia,—who saw him daily, and was the chief comfort of his life,—"That he did not beg a long life of God for any other reason, but to live to finish his three remaining books of Polity; and then, 'Lord, let thy servant depart in peace;'" which was his usual expression. And God heard his prayers, though he denied the Church the benefit of them, as completed by himself; and 'tis thought he hastened his own death, by hastening to give life to his books. But this is certain, that the nearer he was to his death, more he grew in humility, in holy thoughts, and resolutions.

About a month before his death, this good man, that never knew, or at least never considered, the pleasures of the palate, became first to lose his appetite, and then to have an averseness to all food, insomuch that he seemed to live some intermitted weeks by the smell of meat only, and yet still studied and writ. And now his guardian angel seemed to foretel him that the day of his dissolution drew near; for which his vigorous soul appeared to thirst.

In this time of his sickness and not many days before his death, his house was robbed; of which he having notice, his question was, "Are my books and written papers safe?" And being answered that they were; his reply was, "Then it matters not; for no other loss can trouble me."

About one day before his death, Dr. Saravia, who knew the very secrets of his soul,—for they were supposed to be confessors to each other,—came to him, and, after a conference of the benefit, the necessity, and safety of the Church's absolution, it was resolved the Doctor should give him both that and the Sacrament the following day. To which end the Doctor came, and, after a short retirement and privacy, they two returned to the company; and then the Doctor gave him and some of those friends which were with him, the blessed Sacrament of the body and blood of our Jesus. Which being performed, the Doctor thought he saw a reverend gaiety and joy in his face; but it lasted not long; for his bodily infirmities did return suddenly, and became more visible, insomuch that the Doctor apprehended death ready to seize him; yet, after some amendment, left him at night, with a promise to return early the day following; which he did, and then found him better in appearance, deep in contemplation, and not inclinable to discourse; which gave the Doctor occasion to require his present thoughts. To which he replied, "That he was meditating the number and nature of Angels, and their blessed obedience and order, without which, peace could not be in Heaven: and Oh! that it might be so on Earth!" After which words, he said, "I have lived to see this world is made up of perturbations; and I have been long preparing to leave it, and gathering comfort for the dreadful hour of making my account with God, which I now apprehend to be near: and though I have by his grace loved him in my youth, and feared him in mine age, and laboured to have a conscience void of offence to him, and to all men; yet if thou, O Lord! be extreme to mark what I have done amiss, who can abide it? And therefore, where I have failed, Lord, shew mercy to me; for I plead not my righteousness, but the forgiveness of my unrighteousness, for His merits, who died to purchase pardon for penitent sinners. And since I owe thee a death, Lord, let it not be terrible, and then take thine own time: I submit to it: let not mine, O Lord! but let thy will be done." With which expression he fell into a dangerous slumber; dangerous as to his recovery, yet recover he did, but it was to speak only these few words: "Good Doctor, God hath heard my daily petitions, for I am at peace with all men, and he is at peace with me; and from that blessed assurance I feel that inward joy, which this world can neither give nor take from me: my conscience beareth me this witness, and this witness makes the thoughts of death joyful. I could wish to live to do the Church more service; but cannot hope it, for my days are past as a shadow that returns not." More he would have spoken, but his spirits failed him; and, after a short conflict betwixt Nature and Death, a quiet sigh put a period to his last breath, and so he fell asleep. And now he seems to rest like Lazarus in Abraham's bosom. Let me here draw his curtain, till with the most glorious company of the Patriarchs and Apostles, the most Noble Army of Martyrs and Confessors, this most learned, most humble, holy man shall also awake to receive an eternal tranquillity, and with it a greater degree of glory than common Christians shall be made partakers of.

In the mean time, Bless, O Lord! Lord, bless his brethren, the Clergy of this nation, with effectual endeavours to attain, if not to his great learning, yet to his remarkable meekness, his godly simplicity, and his Christian moderation; for these will bring peace at the last. And, Lord, let his most excellent writings be blest with what he designed, when he undertook them: which was, glory to thee, O God! on high, peace in thy Church, and goodwill to mankind. Amen, Amen.

IZAAK WALTON.

[Footnote 1: Dr. John Jewel was born in the Parish of Berry Narber, in Devon, May 24th, 1522. He was educated at Merton, and Corpus Christi Colleges, Oxford, and in the reign of Edward VI, he publickly professed the Reformed Religion. During the reign of Mary he remained abroad; but on the accession of Elizabeth, he returned, and was made Bishop of Salisbury, in 1559. In his controversy with the Roman Catholics, he published his famous "Apology for the Church of England," which was translated into several languages, although it was greatly opposed by the Papists. His fatigues abroad, and his incessant study, so much impaired his constitution, that he died, Sept. 21st, 1571.]

[Footnote 2: Dr. William Cole, 1599, exchanged with Dr. Reynolds the Presidentship of Corpus Christi College for the Deanery of Lincoln, which he did not long enjoy. He fled into Germany in the time of Queen Mary, and Anthony Wood names him as one of the exiles of Geneva engaged with Miles Coverdale in a new translation of the Bible.]

[Footnote 3: He was professor of Divinity in Oxford, and died May 21st, 1607. It has been said that he was brought up in the Romish faith, and that he was afterwards a strong supporter of the Puritans; but Fuller supposes that it was only for the sake of giving satisfaction to some of the more tender consciences of the Non-conformists, since the virtue of Reynolds was almost proverbial.]

[Footnote 4: One of Translators of the Bible of 1565, born at Hawkshead in Lancashire in 1519, and educated at St. John's College, Cambridge, where he embraced the Protestant faith. He was committed to the Tower and Marshalsea for having preached in favour of Lady Jane Grey; and on his release he left the kingdom, till the accession of Elizabeth, by whom he was made Bishop of Worcester. In 1570, he was translated to London, in 1576 to York, and in 1588, he died: his sermons are still admired, and a most virtuous character is given him by Fuller. His son, Sir Edward Sandys, Prebendary of York, was born about 1561, and is well known as the author of the tract entitled, "Europae Speculum," a view of the State of Religion in the Western parts of the World. He thus describes the various contrarieties of the state and church of Rome. "What pomp, what riot, to that of their Cardinals? What severity of life comparable to that of their Heremits and Capuchins? Who wealthier than their Prelates? who poorer by vow and profession than their Mendicants? On the one side of the street, a cloister of Virgins: on the other a stye of courtezans, with public toleration. This day all in masks, with all looseness and foolery: to morrow all in processions, whipping themselves till the blood follow. On one door an excommunication throwing to Hell all transgressours: on another a Jubilee, or full discharge from all transgressions. Who learneder in all kinds of sciences than their Jesuits? what thing more ignorant than their ordinary mass-priests? What prince so able to prefer his servants and followers as the Pope, and in so great multitude? Who able to take deeper or readier revenge on his enemies? What pride equal unto his, making Kings kiss his pantofle? What humility greater than his, shriving himself daily on his knees to an ordinary priest?"]

[Footnote 5: The name of this well-known English Cardinal is omitted in the later editions.]

[Footnote 6: Dr. Jackson was born at Wilton on the Wear, in Durham, in 1579, and was educated at Queen's and Corpus Christi Colleges, Oxford. He was made Prebendary of Winchester in 1635, and Dean of Peterborough in 1638; he died in 1640, and his principal work is a "Commentary on the Creed."]

[Footnote 7: Dr. Thomas Harding, educated at Winchester school, became Fellow of New College, Oxford, in 1536. He was the first King's Hebrew Professor in that University, and in the reign of King Edward VI. he displayed great zeal for the Reformed Religion. Under Queen Mary he abandoned his principles, and obtained considerable preferment; a Prebend in the Church of Winchester, and the Treasurership of Salisbury. On the accession of Queen Elizabeth he adhered to the religion to which he had recently conformed, and fled beyond sea to Louvain, where he distinguished himself by writing against Bishop Jewel's "Challenge." He had been Chaplain to the Duke of Suffolk, father of Lady Jane Grey.]

[Footnote 8: John Hart, a Jesuit, was educated in the University of Oxford. In 1571 he was admitted to the English College at Douay, and in 1578 was ordained priest. Returning in 1580 to England, he was apprehended, tried, and condemned to death; but on the day of his execution he was reprieved, and sent back to the Tower, where he remained three years. It was during his confinement in the Tower that he held a disputation with Dr. Reynolds. In 1584, being banished from England, Hart proceeded to Verdun and joined the Society of Jesus. He died at Jarislau, in Poland, on 19 July, 1594.]

[Footnote 9: A man of great piety of life, and such gravity, that he was scarcely ever seen to laugh. He was a native of Westphalia, in Germany: was Canon of Christ Church, Vice-Chancellor of the University, and in 1585-86, was consecrated Bishop of Hereford.]

[Footnote 10: Sir H. Savile was born at Over Bradley, near Halifax in Yorkshire, Nov. 30th, 1549, and was entered of Merton College, Oxford. He was Greek and Mathematical Preceptor to Queen Elizabeth, and was one of the Translators of the Bible, under James I., who knighted him in 1604. He died Feb. 19th, 1621-22.]

[Footnote 11: Mr. Morrison, Secretary to Lord Mountjoy, and author of "An Itinerary, containing his ten Years Travels through the twelve Dominions of Germany, Bohmerland, Switzerland, Denmark, Poland, England, Scotland, and Ireland; divided into three Parts. London, 1617." Fol. Published after his death, and originally written in Latin.]

[Footnote 12: The later editions of the Life of Hooker omit the account of this expulsion.]

[Footnote 13: A pulpit cross formed of timber, covered with lead, and mounted upon stone steps, which stood in the midst of the Church-yard of the Cathedral; in which Sermons were preached by eminent Divines every Sunday in the forenoon, when the Court, the Magistrates of the City, and a vast concourse of people usually attended. There is notice of its use so early as 1259, but it was not finished in its final form until 1449, by Kemp, Bishop of London, and it was finally destroyed by order of Parliament, in 1643. The Corporation of London ordained that all Ministers who came from a distance to preach at this Cross, were to have lodgings and provision for five days; and the Bishop of London gave them notice of their place of residence.]

[Footnote 14: The excellent Aylmer, was born at Aylmer-Hall, in Norfolk, in 1521, and was Tutor to Lady Jane Grey; he left England, during the reign of Mary, and went to Zurich. He returned on Elizabeth's accession, and was made Bishop of London in March, 1576—7, strictly governing the Puritans throughout his Prelacy. He died in 1594.]

[Footnote 15: Two wretched fanatics; the first died in prison, and the second was hanged in 1591. Hacket was called by his followers "the supreme Monarch of the world from whom all Princes of Europe hold their sceptres," and was held "to be a greater prophet than Moses or John Baptist, even Jesus Christ, who was come with his fan in his hand to judge the world." Fuller says that Hacket was of so "cruel and fierce a nature that he is reported to have bit off and eat down the nose of his schoolmaster."]

[Footnote 16: Edward Dering, a Puritan Divine, and a native of Kent, educated at Christ College, Cambridge. He was suspended from his Lectureships on account of his nonconformity, but he is commended as a truly religious man, whose pure and virtuous life was followed by a happy death, in 1576. He wrote some Sermons, and a Defence of Bishop Jewel's Apology for the Church.]

[Footnote 17: A mild and beneficent man burned by the Papists at
Smithfield, July 1, 1555.]

[Footnote 18: Edmund Grindal, Archbishop of Canterbury, born in 1519, at Hinsingham, in Cumberland, and educated at Cambridge. In 1552 he became Prebendary of Westminster, but on the death of King Edward he retired to Strasburg. Here he continued to reside till the accession of Elizabeth, who nominated him in 1559 to the See of London, whence, in 1570, he was translated to York, and in 1575, on the death of Parker, to Canterbury. His indulgence to the Puritans procured him the Queen's displeasure, and for some time he was sequestered and confined to his house, but in 1582 he resigned his office, and died July 6th, 1583.]

[Footnote 19: Thomas Cartwright was born in Hertfordshire in 1535, and was educated at Cambridge. In 1567 he graduated B.D., and was appointed Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity. Having vigorously assailed the Church Establishment in his lectures, he was deprived of his professorship; whereupon he went to Geneva, and made the acquaintance of Beza. In 1572 he revisited England, and entered into a long controversy with Whitgift; in 1573 he went to Heidelberg, and afterwards served as minister to the English congregations at Antwerp and Middleburg. On returning to England, in 1585, he was imprisoned by order of Bishop Aylmer, but was soon released at the instance of Lord Burghley. In 1595 he accompanied Lord Zouch to Guernsey, remaining on the island till 1598. He died at Warwick on 27th December, 1603 (not, as Walton says, 1602). Among his works are a Latin Harmony of the Gospels, Commentaries on the Colossians, &c.]

[Footnote 20: Walter Travers, who had been Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, to which Cartwright removed, and he was also his intimate friend, and joint preacher with him in Antwerp. When Travers came to England, he was made Chaplain to Lord Burghley, whose interest procured him to be Lecturer at the Temple.]

[Footnote 21: Dr. RICHARD ROWLAND, Master of St. John's College in Cambridge, and the fourth Bishop of Peterborough, died in 1600. It does not appear that he was the preacher on this occasion, for Gunton, in his "History of the Church of Peterborough," states that it was Wickham, Bishop of Lincoln.]

[Footnote 22: In 1588, many satirical libels were published against the Bishops, written principally by a Society of men assuming the name of Martin Mar-Prelate; some of them were entitled, Diotrephes, the Minerals, the Epistle to the Convocation-House, Have you any work for a Cooper? and More work for a Cooper , referring to the Defence of the Church and Bishops of England, written by Cowper, Bishop of Winchester. The real authors of these tracts, were John Penry, a Welchman, John Udall, and other ministers.]

[Footnote 23: Thomas Nashe, an English Satirical writer, baptized in 1567 at Lowestoffe, in Suffolk, and educated at St. John's College, Cambridge. As a master of invective he has no superior; he died in or before 1601.— An Almond for a Parrot , was probably by Lyly the Euphuist. A Fig for my Godson , and Come, Crack me this Nut , are the after-titles of Pappe with an Hatchet , another tract of Lyly's (if we may believe the testimony of Gabriel Harvey).]

[Footnote 24: In some of the later editions of the Life of Hooker, this paragraph is thus altered—"And in this examination: I have not only satisfied myself, but have begun a treatise in which I intend the satisfaction of others, by a demonstration of the reasonableness of our Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity; and therein laid a hopeful foundation for the Church's peace; and so as not to provoke your adversary, Mr. Cartwright, nor Mr. Travers, whom I take to be mine—but not mine enemy—God knows this to be my meaning. To which end I have searched many books, and spent many thoughtful hours; and I hope not in vain, for I write to reasonable men. But, my Lord, I shall never be able to finish what I have begun, unless I be removed into some quiet country parsonage, where I may see God's blessings spring out of my mother earth, and eat mine 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. This is my design; and as those are the designs of my heart, so they shall, by God's assistance, be the constant endeavours of the uncertain remainder of my life."]

[Footnote 25: He was for some time Fellow of Oriel College, and principal of St. Mary Hall. He was made a Cardinal by Pope Sixtus V. in 1587. In 1589, he was appointed Archbishop of Mechlin in Brabant, and died on 6th October, 1594.]

[Footnote 26: It is ascertained by Bishop King's letter to Walton, that it was Dr. Stapleton who introduced the works of Hooker to the Pope. Thomas Stapleton was a Romish Divine, born in 1536, at Henfield, in Sussex, and educated at Winchester, and New College, Oxford. In the reign of Mary he was made Prebendary of Chichester; but at the accession of Elizabeth he left England, and became Professor of Divinity at Douay. He died at Louvain, in 1598, and his works form four volumes in folio.]

[Footnote 27: Dr. John Earle, author of the "Microcosmography, or a piece of the World, discovered in Essays and characters," was born at York, in 1601; was educated at Oxford, and was Tutor to Prince Charles. In the Civil Wars, he lost both his property and preferments, and attended the King abroad as his Chaplain. At the Restoration he was made Dean of Westminster, in 1662 was consecrated Bishop of Worcester, and in 1663 was translated to Salisbury. He died at Oxford, 1665. His translation of Hooker's Polity was never printed.]

[Footnote 28: A Protestant Divine, and Professor of Divinity at Leyden, born at Artois in 1531, came to England in 1587. He was the bosom friend of Whitgift. For some time he was master of the Free Grammar School of Southampton. Dr. Saravia was one of the Translators of King James's Bible, and died in 1613. His tracts have been printed, both in Latin and English.]

[Footnote 29: A most learned Jesuit. He read theological lectures at Ingolstadt, where he died in 1625, aged 63 years. His works were published at Ratisbon, in 1734-1741, in 17 vols. fol.]

[Footnote 30: Our biographer has lamented that it was not in his power to recover the name of Mr. Hooker's worthy school-master. That of his grateful parish-clerk was Sampson Horton. It appears from the parish-register of Bishop's-Bourne, that "Sampson Horton was buried the 9th of May 1648, an aged man who had been clarke to this parish, by his own relation, threescore yeares."]

[Footnote 32: "A certain lewd woman came to his chamber, and solicited his charity under this cogent argument, 'that if he should deny her, she would lay base attempts to his charge;' and by this means, at several times, she had gotten money from him; until at last Providence was pleased to concern itself for the righting wronged innocence. It so fell out, that this woman came to him when his two dear friends Mr. Sandys and Mr. Cranmer were with him: wondering to see such a person come with so much confidence, they inquired of their tutor the occasion of it, who in a little time tells them the truth of the whole abuse. Upon which they contrive a way to be present in his chamber, where they might hear the whole discourse at her next coming. An opportunity soon offered, and the lewd woman persisting in her threats of laying ill things to his charge, if she was denied what she came for, money, his two friends stepped forth from behind the curtains to her confusion and the shame of those who had employed her in so vile an action; for his slanderers were punished for this their vile attempt, who at their suffering shewed a penitent behaviour, and made an open confession."— Prince's Worthies of Devon .]

This following Epitaph was long since presented to the world, in memory of Mr. HOOKER, by Sir WILLIAM COWPER, who also built him a fair Monument in Bourne Church, and acknowledges him to have been his spiritual father.

Though nothing can be spoke worthy his fame,
Or the remembrance of that precious name,
Judicious Hooker; though this cost be spent
On him, that hath a lasting monument[1]
In his own books; yet ought we to express,
If not his worth, yet our respectfulness.
Church-Ceremonies he maintain'd; then why
Without all ceremony should he die?
Was it because his life and death should be
Both equal patterns of humility?
Or that perhaps this only glorious one
Was above all, to ask, why had he none?
Yet he, that lay so long obscurely low,
Doth now preferr'd to greater honours go.
Ambitious men, learn hence to be more wise,
Humility is the true way to rise:
And God in me this lesson did inspire,
To bid this humble man, "Friend, sit up higher."

[Footnote 1: On this monument is a bust of Hooker, representing him in his cap and gown.]

AN APPENDIX TO THE LIFE OF MR. RICHARD HOOKER.

And now, having by a long and laborious search satisfied myself, and I hope my Reader, by imparting to him the true relation of Mr. Hooker's life, I am desirous also to acquaint him with some observations that relate to it, and which could not properly fall to be spoken till after his death; of which my Reader may expect a brief and true account in the following Appendix.

And first, it is not to be doubted but that he died in the forty-seventh, if not in the forty-sixth year of his age: which I mention, because many have believed him to be more aged: but I have so examined it, as to be confident I mistake not: and for the year of his death, Mr. Camden, who in his Annals of Queen Elizabeth, 1599, mentions him with a high commendation of his life and learning, declares him to die in the year 1599; and yet in that in of his Monument, set up at the charge of Sir William Cowper, in Bourne Church, where Mr. Hooker was buried, his death is there said to be in anno 1603; but doubtless both are mistaken; for I have it attested under the hand of William Somner, the Archbishop's Registrar for the Province of Canterbury, that Richard Hooker's Will bears date October 26th in anno 1600, and that it was proved the third of December following. [And the Reader may take notice, that since I first writ this Appendix to the Life of Mr. Hooker, Mr. Fulman, of Corpus Christi College, hath shewed me a good authority for the very day and hour of Mr. Hooker's death, in one of his books of Polity, which had been Archbishop Laud's. In which book, beside many considerable marginal notes of some passages of his time, under the Bishop's own hand, there is also written in the title-page of that book—which now is Mr. Fulman's—this attestation: Ricardus Hooker vir summis doctrinæ dotibus ornatus, de Ecclesia præcipue Anglicana optime meritus, obiit Novemb. 2, circiter horam secundam post-meridianum , Anno 1600.]

And that at his death he left four daughters, Alice, Cicely, Jane and Margaret; that he gave to each of them an hundred pounds; that he left Joan, his wife, his sole executrix; and that, by his inventory his estate—a great part of it being in books—came to £1,092 9_s_. 2_d_., which was much more than he thought himself worth; and which was not got by his care, much less by the good housewifery of his wife, but saved by his trusty servant, Thomas Lane, that was wiser than his master in getting money for him, and more frugal than his mistress in keeping of it. Of which Will of Mr. Hooker's I shall say no more, but that his dear friend Thomas, the father of George Cranmer,—of whom I have spoken, and shall have occasion to say more,—was one of the witnesses to it.

One of his elder daughters was married to one Chalinor, sometime a School-master in Chichester, and are both dead long since. Margaret, his youngest daughter, was married unto Ezekiel Charke, Bachelor in Divinity, and Rector of St. Nicholas in Harbledown, near Canterbury, who died about sixteen years past, and had a son Ezekiel, now living, and in Sacred Orders; being at this time Rector of Waldron, in Sussex. She left also a daughter, with both whom I have spoken not many months past, and find her to be a widow in a condition that wants not, but very far from abounding. And these two attested unto me, that Richard Hooker, their grandfather, had a sister, by name Elizabeth Harvey, that lived to the age of 121 years, and died in the month of September, 1663.

For his other two daughters I can learn little certainty, but have heard they both died before they were marriageable. And for his wife, she was so unlike Jephtha's daughter, that she staid not a comely time to bewail her widowhood; nor lived long enough to repent her second marriage; for which, doubtless, she would have found cause, if there had been but four months betwixt Mr. Hooker's and her death. But she is dead, and let her other infirmities be buried with her.

Thus much briefly for his age, the year of his death, his estate, his wife, and his children. I am next to speak of his books; concerning which I shall have a necessity of being longer, or shall neither do right to myself, or my Reader, which is chiefly intended in this Appendix.

I have declared in his Life, that he proposed Eight Books, and that his first Four were printed anno 1594, and his Fifth book first printed, and alone, anno 1597; and that he lived to finish the remaining Three of the proposed Eight: but whether we have the last Three as finished by himself, is a just and material question; concerning which I do declare, that I have been told almost forty years past, by one that very well knew Mr. Hooker and the affairs of his family, that, about a month after the death of Mr. Hooker, Bishop Whitgift, then Archbishop of Canterbury, sent one of his Chaplains to enquire of Mrs. Hooker, for the three remaining books of Polity, writ by her husband: of which she would not, or could not, give any account: and that about three months after that time the Bishop procured her to be sent for to London, and then by his procurement she was to be examined by some of her Majesty's Council, concerning the disposal of those books: but, by way of preparation for the next day's examination, the Bishop invited her to Lambeth, and after some friendly questions, she confessed to him, that one Mr. Charke, and another Minister that dwelt near Canterbury, came to her, and desired that they might go into her husband's study, and look upon some of his writings: and that there they two burnt and tore many of them, assuring her, that they were writings not fit to be seen: and that she knew nothing more concerning them. Her lodging was then in King street in Westminster, where she was found next morning dead in her bed, and her new husband suspected and questioned for it; but he was declared innocent of her death.

And I declare also, that Dr. John Spencer,—mentioned in the Life of Mr. Hooker,—who was of Mr. Hooker's College, and of his time there, and betwixt whom there was so friendly a friendship, that they continually advised together in all their studies, and particularly in what concerned these books of Polity—this Dr. Spencer, the Three perfect books being lost, had delivered into his hands—I think by Bishop Whitgift—the imperfect books, or first rough draughts of them, to be made as perfect as they might be by him, who both knew Mr. Hooker's handwriting, and was best acquainted with his intentions. And a fair testimony of this may appear by an Epistle, first, and usually printed before Mr. Hooker's Five books,—but omitted, I know not why, in the last impression of the Eight printed together in anno 1662, in which the Publishers seem to impose the three doubtful books, to be the undoubted books of Mr. Hooker,—with these two letters, J.S. at the end of the said Epistle, which was meant for this John Spencer: in which Epistle the Reader may find these words, which may give some authority to what I have here written of his last Three books.

"And though Mr. Hooker hastened his own death by hastening to give life to his books, yet he held out with his eyes to behold these Benjamins, these sons of his right hand, though to him they proved Benonies, sons of pain and sorrow. But some evil-disposed minds, whether of malice or covetousness, or wicked blind zeal, it is uncertain, as soon as they were born, and their father dead, smothered them, and by conveying the perfect copies, left unto us nothing but the old, imperfect, mangled draughts, dismembered into pieces; no favour, no grace, not the shadow of themselves remaining in them. Had the father lived to behold them thus defaced, he might rightly have named them Benonies, the sons of sorrow: but being the learned will not suffer them to die and be buried, it is intended the world shall see them as they are; the learned will find in them some shadows and resemblances of their father's face. God grant, that as they were with their brethren dedicated to the Church for messengers of peace: so, in the strength of that little breath of life that remaineth in them, they may prosper in their work, and, by satisfying the doubts of such as are willing to learn, they may help to give an end to the calamities of these our civil wars."—J.S.

And next the Reader may note, that this Epistle of Dr. Spencer's was writ and first printed within four years after the death of Mr. Hooker, in which time all diligent search had been made for the perfect copies; and then granted not recoverable, and therefore endeavoured to be completed out of Mr. Hooker's rough draughts, as is expressed by the said Dr. Spencer in the said Epistle, since whose death it is now fifty years.

And I do profess by the faith of a Christian, that Dr. Spencer's wife—who was my Aunt, and Sister to George Cranmer, of whom I have spoken—told me forty years since, in these, or in words to this purpose: "That her husband had made up, or finished Mr. Hooker's last Three books; and that upon her husband's death-bed, or in his last sickness, he gave them into her hand, with a charge that they should not be seen by any man, but be by her delivered into the hands of the then Archbishop of Canterbury, which was Dr. Abbot, or unto Dr. King, then Bishop of London, and that she did as he enjoined her."

I do conceive, that from Dr. Spencer's, and no other copy, there have been divers transcripts; and I know that these were to be found in several places; as namely, in Sir Thomas Bodley's Library; in that of Dr. Andrews, late Bishop of Winton; in the late Lord Conway's; in the Archbishop of Canterbury's; and in the Bishop of Armagh's; and in many others: and most of these pretended to be the Author's own hand, but much disagreeing, being indeed altered and diminished, as men have thought fittest to make Mr. Hooker's judgment suit with their fancies, or give authority to their corrupt designs; and for proof of a part of this, take these following testimonies.

Dr. Barnard, sometime Chaplain to Dr. Usher, late Lord Archbishop of Armagh, hath declared in a late book, called "Clavi Trabales," printed by Richard Hodgkinson, anno 1661, that, in his search and examination of the said Bishop's manuscripts, he found the Three written books which were supposed the Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth of Mr. Hooker's books of Ecclesiastical Polity; and that in the said Three books—now printed as Mr. Hooker's—there are so many omissions, that they amount to many paragraphs, and which cause many incoherencies: the omissions are set down at large in the said printed book, to which I refer the Reader for the whole; but think fit in this place to insert this following short part of some of the said omissions.

First, as there could be in natural bodies no motion of any thing, unless there were some first which moved all things, and continued unmoveable; even so in politic societies there must be some unpunishable, or else no man shall suffer punishment: for sith punishments proceed always from superiors, to whom the administration of justice belongeth; which administration must have necessarily a fountain, that deriveth it to all others, and receiveth not from any, because otherwise the course of justice should go infinitely in a circle, every superior having his superior without end, which cannot be: therefore a well-spring, it followeth, there is: a supreme head of justice, whereunto all are subject, but itself in subjection to none. Which kind of pre-eminency if some ought to have in a kingdom, who but a King shall have it? Kings, therefore, or no man, can have lawful power to judge.

If private men offend, there is the Magistrate over them, which judgeth; if Magistrates, they have their Prince; if Princes, there is Heaven, a tribunal, before which they shall appear; on earth they are not accountable to any. Here, says the Doctor, it breaks off abruptly.

And I have these words also attested under the hand of Mr. Fabian Philips, a man of note for his useful books. "I will make oath, if I shall be required, that Dr. Sanderson, the late Bishop of Lincoln, did a little before his death affirm to me, he had seen a manuscript affirmed to him to be the hand-writing of Mr. Richard Hooker, in which there was no mention made of the King or supreme governors being accountable to the people. This I will make oath, that that good man attested to me.

"FABIAN PHILIPS." [1]

So that there appears to be both omissions and additions in the said last Three printed books: and this may probably be one reason why Dr. Sanderson, the said learned Bishop,—whose writings are so highly and justly valued,—gave a strict charge near the time of his death, or in his last Will, "That nothing of his that was not already printed, should be printed after his death."

It is well known how high a value our learned King James put upon the books writ by Mr. Hooker; and known also that our late King Charles—the Martyr for the Church—valued them the second of all books, testified by his commending them to the reading of his son Charles, that now is our gracious King: and you may suppose that this Charles the First was not a stranger to the Three pretended books, because, in a discourse with the Lord Say, in the time of the Long Parliament, when the said Lord required the King to grant the truth of his argument, because it was the judgment of Mr. Hooker,—quoting him in one of the three written books, the King replied, "They were not allowed to be Mr. Hooker's books: but, however, he would allow them to be Mr. Hooker's, and consent to what his Lordship proposed to prove out of those doubtful books, if he would but consent to the judgment of Mr. Hooker in the other five, that were the undoubted books of Mr. Hooker."

In this relation concerning these Three doubtful books of Mr. Hooker's, my purpose was to enquire, then set down what I observed and know; which I have done, not as an engaged person, but indifferently; and now leave my Reader to give sentence, for their legitimation, as to himself; but so as to leave others the same liberty of believing or disbelieving them to be Mr. Hooker's: and 'tis observable, that as Mr. Hooker advised with Dr. Spencer, in the design and manage of these books; so also, and chiefly with his dear pupil, George Cranmer,—whose sister was the wife of Dr. Spencer,—of which this following letter may be a testimony, and doth also give authority to some things mentioned both in this Appendix and in the Life of Mr. Hooker, and is therefore added. I.W.

[Footnote 1: A Barrister of eminence, particularly noted for his loyalty, born at Prestbury, in Gloucestershire, in 1601. He died in 1690; and was the Author of several excellent Law Tracts, as well as one asserting that Charles I. was a martyr for his people.]

GEORGE CRANMER'S LETTER UNTO MR. RICHARD HOOKER,

What posterity is likely to judge of these matters concerning Church-discipline, we may the better conjecture, if we call to mind what our own age, within few years, upon better experience, hath already judged concerning the same. It may be remembered, that at first, the greatest part of the learned in the land were either eagerly affected, or favourably inclined that way. The books then written for the most part savoured of the disciplinary style; it sounded every where in pulpits, and in common phrase of men's speech. The contrary part began to fear they had taken a wrong course; many which impugned the discipline, yet so impugned it, not as not being the better form of government, but as not being so convenient for our state, in regard of dangerous innovations thereby likely to grow: one man [John Whitgift, the Archbishop] alone there was to speak of,—whom let no suspicion of flattery deprive of his deserved commendation,—who, in the defiance of the one part, and courage of the other, stood in the gap and gave others respite to prepare themselves to the defence, which, by the sudden eagerness and violence of their adversaries, had otherwise been prevented, wherein God hath made good unto him his own impress, Vincit qui patitur: for what contumelious indignities he hath at their hands sustained, the world is witness; and what reward of honour above his adversaries God hath bestowed upon him, themselves,—though nothing glad thereof,—must needs confess. Now of late years the heat of men towards the discipline is greatly decayed; their judgments begin to sway on the other side; the learned have weighed it, and found it light; wise men conceive some fear, lest it prove not only not the best kind of government, but the very bane and destruction of all government. The cause of this change in men's opinions may be drawn from the general nature of error, disguised and clothed with the name of truth; which did mightily and violently possess men at first, but afterwards, the weakness thereof being by time discovered, it lost that reputation, which before it had gained. As by the outside of an house the passers-by are oftentimes deceived, till they see the conveniency of the rooms within; so, by the very name of discipline and reformation, men were drawn at first to cast a fancy towards it, but now they have not contented themselves only to pass by and behold afar off the fore-front of this reformed house; they have entered it, even at the special request of the master-workmen and chief-builders thereof: they have perused the rooms, the lights, the conveniences, and they find them not answerable to that report which was made of them, nor to that opinion which upon report they had conceived: so as now the discipline, which at first triumphed over all, being unmasked, beginneth to droop, and hang down her head.

The cause of change in opinion concerning the discipline is proper to the learned, or to such as by them have been instructed. Another cause there is more open, and more apparent to the view of all, namely, the course of practice, which the Reformers have had with us from the beginning. The first degree was only some small difference about the cap and surplice; but not such as either bred division in the Church, or tended to the ruin of the government established. This was peaceable; the next degree more stirring. Admonitions were directed to the Parliament in peremptory sort against our whole form of regiment. In defence of them, volumes were published in English and in Latin: yet this was no more than writing. Devices were set on foot to erect the practice of the discipline without authority; yet herein some regard of modesty, some moderation was used. Behold at length it brake forth into open outrage, first in writing by Martin;[2] in whose kind of dealing these things may be observed: 1. That whereas Thomas Cartwright and others his great masters, had always before set out the discipline as a Queen, and as the daughter of God; he contrariwise, to make her more acceptable to the people, brought her forth as a Vice[3] upon the stage. 2. This conceit of his was grounded—as may be supposed—upon this rare policy, that seeing the discipline was by writing refuted, in Parliament rejected, in secret corners hunted out and decried, it was imagined that by open railing,—which to the vulgar is commonly most plausible,—the State Ecclesiastical might have been drawn into such contempt and hatred, as the overthrow thereof should have been most grateful to all men, and in a manner desired by all the common people. 3. It may be noted—and this I know myself to be true—how some of them, although they could not for shame approve so lewd an action, yet were content to lay hold on it to the advancement of their cause, by acknowledging therein the secret judgments of God against the Bishops, and hoping that some good might be wrought thereby for his Church; as indeed there was, though not according to their construction. For 4thly, contrary to their expectation, that railing spirit did not only not further, but extremely disgrace and prejudice their cause, when it was once perceived from how low degrees of contradiction, at first, to what outrage of contumely and slander, they were at length proceeded; and were also likely to proceed further.

A further degree of outrage was also in fact: certain [Hacket and Coppinger] prophets did arise, who deeming it not possible that God should suffer that to be undone, which they did so fiercely desire to have done, namely, that his holy saints, the favourers and fathers of the discipline, should be enlarged and delivered from persecution; and seeing no means of deliverance ordinary, were fain to persuade themselves that God must needs raise some extraordinary means; and being persuaded of none so well as of themselves, they forthwith must needs be the instruments of this great work. Hereupon they framed unto themselves an assured hope, that, upon their preaching out of a peascart in Cheapside, all the multitude would have presently joined unto them, and in amazement of mind have asked them, Viri fratres, quid agimus? whereunto it is likely they would have returned an answer far unlike to that of St. Peter: "Such and such are men unworthy to govern; pluck them down: such and such are the dear children of God; let them be advanced."

Of two of these men it is meet to speak with all commiseration; yet so, that others by their example may receive instruction, and withal some light may appear, what stirring affections the discipline is like to inspire, if it light upon apt and prepared minds.

Now if any man doubt of what society they were; or if the Reformers disclaim them, pretending that by them they were condemned; let these points be considered. 1. Whose associates were they before they entered into this frantic passion? Whose sermons did they frequent? Whom did they admire? 2. Even when they were entering into it, Whose advice did they require? and when they were in, Whose approbation? Whom advertised they of their purpose? Whose assistance by prayer did they request? But we deal injuriously with them to lay this to their charge; for they reproved and condemned it. How! did they disclose it to the Magistrate, that it might be suppressed? or were they not rather content to stand aloof off, and see the end of it, as being loath to quench that spirit? No doubt these mad practitioners were of their society, with whom before, and in the practice of their madness, they had most affinity. Hereof read Dr. Bancroft's book.[4]

A third inducement may be to dislike of the discipline, if we consider not only how far the Reformers themselves have proceeded, but what others upon their foundations have built. Here come the Brownists[5] in the first rank, their lineal descendants, who have seized upon a number of strange opinions; whereof, although their ancestors, the Reformers, were never actually possessed, yet, by right and interest from them derived, the Brownists and Barrowists[6] have taken possession of them: for if the positions of the Reformers be true, I cannot see how the main and general conclusions of Brownism should be false; for upon these two points, as I conceive, they stand.

1. That, because we have no Church, they are to sever themselves from us. 2. That without Civil authority they are to erect a Church of their own. And if the former of these be true, the latter, I suppose, will follow: for if above all things men be to regard their salvation; and if out of the Church there be no salvation; it followeth, that, if we have no Church, we have no means of salvation; and therefore separation from us in that respect is both lawful and necessary; as also, that men, so separated from the false and counterfeit Church, are to associate themselves unto some Church; not to ours; to the Popish much less; therefore to one of their own making. Now the ground of all these inferences being this, That in our Church there is no means of salvation, is out of the Reformers' principles most clearly to be proved. For wheresoever any matter of faith unto salvation necessary is denied, there can be no means of salvation; but in the Church of England, the discipline, by them accounted a matter of faith, and necessary to salvation, is not only denied, but impugned, and the professors thereof oppressed. Ergo .

Again,—but this reason perhaps is weak,—every true Church of Christ acknowledgeth the whole Gospel of Christ: the discipline, in their opinion, is a part of the Gospel, and yet by our Church resisted. Ergo .

Again, the discipline is essentially united to the Church: by which term essentially, they must mean either an essential part, or an essential property. Both which ways it must needs be, that where that essential discipline is not, neither is there any Church. If therefore between them and the Brownists there should be appointed a solemn disputation, whereof with us they have been oftentimes so earnest challengers; it doth not yet appear what other answer they could possibly frame to these and the like arguments, wherewith they may be pressed, but fairly to deny the conclusion,—for all the premises are their own,—or rather ingeniously to reverse their own principles before laid, whereon so foul absurdities have been so firmly built. What further proofs you can bring out of their high words, magnifying the discipline, I leave to your better remembrance: but, above all points, I am desirous this one should be strongly enforced against them, because it wringeth them most of all, and is of all others—for aught I see—the most unanswerable. You may notwithstanding say, that you would be heartily glad these their positions might be salved, as the Brownists might not appear to have issued out of their loins: but until that be done, they must give us leave to think that they have cast the seed whereout these tares are grown.

Another sort of men there are, which have been content to run on with the Reformers for a time, and to make them poor instruments of their own designs. These are a sort of godless politics, who, perceiving the plot of discipline to consist of these two parts, the overthrow of Episcopal, and erection of Presbyterial authority; and that this latter can take no place till the former be removed; are content to join with them in the destructive part of discipline, bearing them in hand, that in the other also they shall find them as ready. But when time shall come, it may be they would be as loath to be yoked with that kind of regiment, as now they are willing to be released from this. These men's ends in all their actions is distraction; their pretence and colour, reformation. Those things which under this colour they have effected to their own good, are, 1. By maintaining a contrary faction, they have kept the Clergy always in awe, and thereby made them more pliable, and willing to buy their peace. 2. By maintaining an opinion of equality among ministers, they have made way to their own purposes for devouring Cathedral Churches, and Bishops' livings. 3. By exclaiming against abuses in the Church, they have carried their own corrupt dealing in the Civil State more covertly. For such is the nature of the multitude, that they are not able to apprehend many things at once; so as being possessed with a dislike or liking of any one thing, many other in the mean time may escape them without being perceived. 4. They have sought to disgrace the Clergy, in entertaining a conceit in men's minds, and confirming it by continual practice, That men of learning, and especially of the Clergy, which are employed in the chiefest kind of learning, are not to be admitted to matters of State; contrary to the practice of all well-governed commonwealths, and of our own till these late years.

A third sort of men there are, though not descended from the Reformers, yet in part raised and greatly strengthened by them; namely, the cursed crew of Atheists. This also is one of those points, which I am desirous you should handle most effectually, and strain yourself therein to all points of motion and affection; as in that of the Brownists, to all strength and sinews of reason. This is a sort most damnable, and yet by the general suspicion of the world at this day most common. The causes of it, which are in the parties themselves, although you handle in the beginning of the fifth book, yet here again they may be touched: but the occasions of help and furtherance, which by the Reformers have been yielded unto them, are, as I conceive, two; namely, senseless preaching, and disgracing of the Ministry: for how should not men dare to impugn that, which neither by force of reason, nor by authority of persons, is maintained? But in the parties themselves these two causes I conceive of Atheism: 1. More abundance of wit than judgment, and of witty than judicious learning; whereby they are more inclined to contradict any thing, than willing to be informed of the truth. They are not therefore men of sound learning for the most part, but smatterers; neither is their kind of dispute so much by force of argument, as by scoffing; which humour of scoffing, and turning matters most serious into merriment, is now become so common, as we are not to marvel what the Prophet means by the seat of scorners, nor what the Apostles, by foretelling of scorners to come; for our own age hath verified their speech unto us: which also may be an argument against these scoffers and Atheists themselves, seeing it hath been so many ages ago foretold, that such men the latter days of the world should afford: which could not be done by any other spirit, save that whereunto things future and present are alike. And even for the main question of the resurrection, whereat they stick so mightily, was it not plainly foretold, that men should in the latter times say, "Where is the promise of his coming?" Against the creation, the ark, and divers other points, exceptions are said to be taken, the ground whereof is superfluity of wit, without ground of learning and judgment. A second cause of Atheism is sensuality, which maketh men desirous to remove all stops and impediments of their wicked life; among which because Religion is the chiefest, so as neither in this life without shame they can persist therein, nor—if that be true—without torment in the life to come; they therefore whet their wits to annihilate the joys of Heaven, wherein they see—if any such be—they can have no part, and likewise the pains of Hell, wherein their portion must needs be very great. They labour therefore, not that they may not deserve those pains, but that, deserving them, there may be no such pains to seize upon them. But what conceit can be imagined more base, than that man should strive to persuade himself even against the secret instinct, no doubt, of his own mind, that his soul is as the soul of a beast, mortal, and corruptible with the body? Against which barbarous opinion their own Atheism is a very strong argument. For, were not the soul a nature separable from the body, how could it enter into discourse of things merely spiritual, and nothing at all pertaining to the body? Surely the soul were not able to conceive any thing of Heaven, no not so much as to dispute against Heaven, and against God, if there were not in it somewhat heavenly, and derived from God.

The last which have received strength and encouragement from the Reformers are Papists; against whom, although they are most bitter enemies, yet unwittingly they have given them great advantage. For what can any enemy rather desire than the breach and dissension of those which are confederates against him? Wherein they are to remember that if our communion with Papists in some few ceremonies do so much strengthen them, as is pretended, how much more doth this division and rent among ourselves, especially seeing it is maintained to be, not in light matters only, but even in matters of faith and salvation? Which over-reaching speech of theirs, because it is so open an advantage for the Barrowist and the Papist, we are to wish and hope for, that they will acknowledge it to have been spoken rather in heat of affection, than with soundness of judgment; and that through their exceeding love to that creature of discipline which themselves have bred, nourished, and maintained, their mouth in commendation of her did so often overflow.

From hence you may proceed—but the means of connexion I leave to yourself—to another discourse, which I think very meet to be handled either here or elsewhere at large; the parts whereof may be these: 1. That in this cause between them and us, men are to sever the proper and essential points and controversy from those which are accidental. The most essential and proper are these two: overthrow of the Episcopal, and erection of Presbyterial authority. But in these two points whosoever joineth with them, is accounted of their number; whosoever in all other points agreeth with them, yet thinketh the authority of Bishops not unlawful, and of Elders not necessary, may justly be severed from their retinue. Those things, therefore, which either in the persons, or in the laws and orders themselves are faulty, may be complained on, acknowledged, and amended, yet they no whit the nearer their main purpose: for what if all errors by them supposed in our Liturgy were amended, even according to their own heart's desire; if non-residence, pluralities, and the like were utterly taken away; are their lay-elders therefore presently authorized? or their sovereign ecclesiastical jurisdiction established?

But even in their complaining against the outward and accidental matters in Church-Government, they are many ways faulty. 1. In their end, which they propose to themselves. For in declaiming against abuses, their meaning is not to have them redressed, but, by disgracing the present state, to make way for their own discipline. As therefore in Venice, if any Senator should discourse against the power of their Senate, as being either too sovereign, or too weak in government, with purpose to draw their authority to a moderation, it might well be suffered; but not so, if it should appear he spake with purpose to induce another state by depriving the present. So in all causes belonging either to Church or Commonwealth, we are to have regard what mind the complaining part doth bear, whether of amendment or innovation; and accordingly either to suffer or suppress it. Their objection therefore is frivolous, "Why, may not men speak against abuses?" Yes; but with desire to cure the part affected, not to destroy the whole. 2. A second fault is in their manner of complaining, not only because it is for the most part in bitter and reproachful terms, but also it is to the common people, who are judges incompetent and insufficient, both to determine any thing amiss, and for want of skill and authority to amend it. Which also discovereth their intent and purpose to be rather destructive than corrective. 3. Those very exceptions which they take are frivolous and impertinent. Some things indeed they accuse as impious; which if they may appear to be such, God forbid they should be maintained.

Against the rest it is only alleged, that they are idle ceremonies without use, and that better and more profitable might be devised. Wherein they are doubly deceived; for neither is it a sufficient plea to say, this must give place, because a better may be devised; because in our judgments of better and worse, we oftentimes conceive amiss, when we compare those things which are in devise with those which are in practice: for the imperfections of the one are hid, till by time and trial they be discovered: the others are already manifest and open to all. But last of all,—which is a point in my opinion of great regard, and which I am desirous to have enlarged,—they do not see that for the most part when they strike at the State Ecclesiastical, they secretly wound the Civil State, for personal faults; "What can be said against the Church, which may not also agree to the Commonwealth?" In both, Statesmen have always been, and will be always, men; sometimes blinded with error, most commonly perverted by passions; many unworthy have been and are advanced in both; many worthy not regarded. And as for abuses, which they pretend to be in the law themselves; when they inveigh against non-residence, do they take it a matter lawful or expedient in the Civil State, for a man to have a great and gainful office in the North, himself continually remaining in the South? "He that hath an office let him attend his office." When they condemn plurality of livings spiritual to the pit of Hell, what think they of the infinity of temporal promotions? By the great Philosopher, Pol. lib. ii. cap. 9, it is forbidden as a thing most dangerous to Commonwealths, that by the same man many great offices should be exercised. When they deride our ceremonies as vain and frivolous, were it hard to apply their exceptions even to those civil ceremonies, which at the Coronation, in Parliament, and all Courts of Justice, are used? Were it hard to argue even against Circumcision, the ordinance of God, as being a cruel ceremony? against the Passover, as being ridiculous—shod, girt, a staff in their hand, to eat a lamb?

To conclude: you may exhort the Clergy,—or what if you direct your conclusion not to the Clergy in general, but only to the learned in or of both Universities?—you may exhort them to a due consideration of all things, and to a right esteem and valuing of each thing in that degree wherein it ought to stand. For it oftentimes falleth out, that what men have either devised themselves, or greatly delighted in, the price and the excellency thereof they do admire above desert. The chiefest labour of a Christian should be to know, of a Minister to preach Christ crucified: in regard whereof, not only worldly things, but things otherwise precious, even the discipline itself, is vile and base. Whereas now, by the heat of contention, and violence of affection, the zeal of men towards the one hath greatly decayed their love to the other. Hereunto therefore they are to be exhorted to preach Christ Crucified, the mortification of the flesh, the renewing of the Spirit; not those things which in time of strife seem precious but—passions being allayed—are vain and childish. G.C.

[Footnote 1: This admirable dissertation originally appeared in 1642, entitled, "Concerning the New Church Discipline; an excellent Letter written by Mr. George Cranmer, to Mr. R.H."]

[Footnote 2: Gregory Martin, born at Maxfield, near Winchelsea, admitted of St. John's Coll. Oxford, 1557, embraced the Roman Catholic Religion and was ordained priest at Douay, 1573. The Rheims translation of the Vulgate has been ascribed entirely to him. He died at Rheims in 1582.]

[Footnote 3: Vice was the fool of the old moralities, with his dagger of lath, a long coat, and a cap with a pair of ass's ears.]

[Footnote 4: Entitled "A Survey of the pretended holy Discipline, to which is prefixed a Sermon, preached against the Puritans, at St. Paul's Cross, Feb. 9, 1588-9, from the following text: 'Dearly beloved, believe not every Spirit, but try the Spirits whether they be of God, for many false Prophets have gone out into the world.' I John iv. 1."]

[Footnote 5: Robert Brown, a native of Northampton, educated at Corpus Christi College in Cambridge, was the founder of a sect of Puritans, who took their name from him. He wrote several tracts in support of his opinions, and sustained various persecutions, having been committed at different times to thirty-two prisons, in some of which he could not see his hand at broad day. Before his removal with his followers to Middleburg in Zealand, he became disgusted with their divisions and disputes; and though he had gone a further distance than any of the Puritans did, he renounced his principles of separation, being promoted by his relation, Lord Burghley, to the benefice of Achurch in Northamptonshire. He died in Northampton Gaol in 1630, in the 80th year of his age, having been sent thither by a justice of the peace for assaulting a constable, who was executing a warrant against him.]

[Footnote 6: So denominated from Henry Barrow, a layman, and noted sectary, who was executed at Tyburn on 6th April, 1593, for publishing seditious books against the Queen and the State.]

THE WORKS OF MR. RICHARD HOOKER.

I. "ANSWER to the SUPPLICATION that Mr. TRAVERS made to the COUNCIL. Oxon . 1612." 4to.

II. "A learned DISCOURSE of JUSTIFICATION, WORKS, and how the FOUNDATION of FAITH is overthrown: on Habak . i. 4. Oxon . 1612." 4to.

III. "A learned SERMON of the NATURE of PRIDE: on Habak . ii. 4. Oxon . 1612." 4to.

IV. "A REMEDY against SORROW and FEAR, delivered in a FUNERAL SERMON: on John xiv. 27. Oxon . 1612." 4to.

V. "A learned and comfortable SERMON of the CERTAINTY and PERPETUITY of FAITH in the ELECT: especially of the PROPHET HABAKKUK'S FAITH: on Habak . i. 4. Oxon . 1612." 4to.

VI. "TWO SERMONS upon part of ST. JUDE'S EPISTLE. Epist. Jude , ver. 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, Oxon . 1613." 4to.

VII. In 1641, a volume was published under the following title: "A SUMMARIE VIEW of the GOVERNMENT both of the OLD and NEW TESTAMENT; whereby the EPISCOPAL GOVERNMENT of CHRIST'S CHURCH is vindicated," out of the rude draughts of Launcelot Andrews, late Bishop of Winchester.

To this volume is prefixed, as a preamble to the whole, "A DISCOVERY of the CAUSES of these CONTENTIONS touching CHURCH GOVERNMENT, out of the FRAGMENTS of RICHARD HOOKER."

This volume contains certain brief treatises, written by divers learned men, concerning the ancient and modern Government of the Church. The treatises are seven in number, of which this posthumous work of Mr. Hooker is one, and as it stands before the rest it is therefore called a Preamble to the whole.

VIII. THREE TREATISES inserted in the "CLAVI TRABALES," viz. 1. "On
the KING'S POWER in Matters of RELIGION." 2. "Of his POWER in the
ADVANCEMENT of BISHOPS to their ROOMS of PRELACY." 3. "The KING'S
EXEMPTION from CENSURE and other JUDICIAL POWER."

It will not be improper to notice a publication of great merit, entitled "A FAITHFUL ABRIDGMENT of the WORKS of that learned and judicious Divine, Mr. RICHARD HOOKER, in eight books of ECCLESIASTICAL POLITY, and of all the other Treatises which were written by the same Author. With an Account of his Life. By a Divine of the Church of England. London , 1705."

THE LIFE OF MR. GEORGE HERBERT, PREBENDARY OF SALISBURY CATHEDRAL.

"Where with a soul composed of harmonies,
Like a sweet swan, he warbles as he dies
His Maker's praise, and his own obsequies."

—COTTON.

INTRODUCTION TO THE LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT.

In a late retreat from the business of this world, and those many little cares with which I have too often cumbered myself, I fell into a contemplation of some of those historical passages that are recorded in Sacred Story: and more particularly of what had passed betwixt our blessed Saviour and that wonder of Women, and Sinners, and Mourners, St. Mary Magdalen. I call her Saint, because I did not then, nor do now consider her, as when she was possessed with seven devils; not as when her wanton eyes and dishevelled hair were designed and managed to charm and ensnare amorous beholders. But I did then, and do now consider her, as after she had expressed a visible and sacred sorrow for her sensualities; as after those eyes had wept such a flood of penitential tears as did wash, and that hair had wiped, and she most passionately kissed the feet of her's and our blessed Jesus. And I do now consider, that because she loved much, not only much was forgiven her: but that beside that blessed blessing of having her sins pardoned, and the joy of knowing her happy condition, she also had from him a testimony, that her alabaster box of precious ointment poured on his head and feet, and that spikenard, and those spices that were by her dedicated to embalm and preserve his sacred body from putrefaction, should so far preserve her own memory, that these demonstrations of her sanctified love, and of her officious and generous gratitude, should be recorded and mentioned wheresoever his Gospel should be read; intending thereby, that as his, so her name, should also live to succeeding generations, even till time itself shall be no more.

Upon occasion of which fair example, I did lately look back, and not without some content,—at least to myself,—that I have endeavoured to deserve the love, and preserve the memory, of my two deceased friends, Dr. Donne, and Sir Henry Wotton, by declaring the several employments and various accidents of their lives. And though Mr. George Herbert—whose Life I now intend to write—were to me a stranger as to his person, for I have only seen him; yet since he was, and was worthy to be, their friend, and very many of his have been mine, I judge it may not be unacceptable to those that knew any of them in their lives, or do now know them by mine, or their own writings, to see this conjunction of them after their deaths; without which, many things that concerned them, and some things that concerned the age in which they lived, would be less perfect, and lost to posterity.

For these reasons I have undertaken it; and if I have prevented any abler person, I beg pardon of him and my Reader.

THE LIFE OF MR. GEORGE HERBERT.

George Herbert was born the Third day of April, in the Year of our Redemption 1593. The place of his birth was near to the Town of Montgomery, and in that Castle[1] that did then bear the name of that Town and County; that Castle was then a place of state and strength, and had been successively happy in the Family of the Herberts, who had long possessed it; and with it, a plentiful estate, and hearts as liberal to their poor neighbours. A family, that hath been blessed with men of remarkable wisdom, and a willingness to serve their country, and, indeed, to do good to all mankind; for which they are eminent: But alas! this family did in the late rebellion suffer extremely in their estates; and the heirs of that Castle saw it laid level with that earth, that was too good to bury those wretches that were the cause of it.

The Father of our George was Richard Herbert, the son of Edward Herbert, Knight, the son of Richard Herbert, Knight, the son of the famous Sir Richard Herbert of Colebrook, in the County of Monmouth, Banneret, who was the youngest brother of that memorable William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, that lived in the reign of our King Edward the Fourth.

His Mother was Magdalen Newport, the youngest daughter of Sir Richard, and sister to Sir Francis Newport of High-Arkall, in the County of Salop, Knight, and grandfather of Francis Lord Newport, now Controller of his Majesty's Household. A family that for their loyalty have suffered much in their estates, and seen the ruin of that excellent structure, where their ancestors have long lived, and been memorable for their hospitality.

This Mother of George Herbert—of whose person, and wisdom, and virtue I intend to give a true account in a seasonable place—was the happy Mother of seven sons and three daughters, which she would often say was Job's number, and Job's distribution; and as often bless God, that they were neither defective in their shapes, or in their reason; and very often reprove them that did not praise God for so great a blessing. I shall give the Reader a short account of their names, and not say much of their fortunes. Edward, the eldest, was first made Knight of the Bath, at that glorious time of our late Prince Henry's being installed Knight of the Garter; after many years' useful travel, and the attainment of many languages, he was by King James sent Ambassador resident to the then French King, Lewis the thirteenth. There he continued about two years; but he could not subject himself to a compliance with the humours of the Duke de Luisnes, who was then the great and powerful favourite at Court: so that upon a complaint to our King, he was called back into England in some displeasure; but at his return he gave such an honourable account of his employment, and so justified his comportment to the Duke and all the Court, that he was suddenly sent back upon the same Embassy, from which he returned in the beginning of the reign of our good King Charles the First, who made him first Baron of Castle-Island, and not long after of Cherbury, in the County of Salop. He was a man of great learning and reason, as appears by his printed book "De Veritate," and by his "History of the reign of King Henry the Eighth," and by several other tracts.[2]

The second and third brothers were Richard and William, who ventured their lives to purchase honour in the wars of the Low Countries, and died officers in that employment. Charles was the fourth, and died fellow of New College in Oxford. Henry was the sixth, who became a menial servant to the Crown in the days of King James, and hath continued to be so for fifty years; during all which time he hath been Master of the Revels; a place that requires a diligent wisdom, with which God hath blessed him. The seventh son was Thomas, who, being made captain of a ship in that fleet with which Sir Robert Mansell was sent against Algiers, did there shew a fortunate and true English valour. Of the three sisters I need not say more, than that they were all married to persons of worth, and plentiful fortunes; and lived to be examples of virtue, and to do good in their generations.

I now come to give my intended account of George, who was the fifth of those seven brothers.

George Herbert spent much of his childhood in a sweet content under the eye and care of his prudent Mother, and the tuition of a Chaplain, or tutor to him and two of his brothers, in her own family,—for she was then a widow,—where he continued till about the age of twelve years; and being at that time well instructed in the rules of Grammar, he was not long after commended to the care of Dr. Neale,[3] who was then Dean of Westminster; and by him to the care of Mr. Ireland,[4] who was then Chief Master of that School; where the beauties of his pretty behaviour and wit shined, and became so eminent and lovely in this his innocent age, that he seemed to be marked out for piety, and to become the care of Heaven, and of a particular good angel to guard and guide him. And thus he continued in that School, till he came to be perfect in the learned languages, and especially in the Greek tongue, in which he after proved an excellent critic.

About the age of fifteen—he being then a King's Scholar—he was elected out of that School for Trinity College in Cambridge, to which place he was transplanted about the year 1608; and his prudent Mother, well knowing that he might easily lose or lessen that virtue and innocence, which her advice and example had planted in his mind, did therefore procure the generous and liberal Dr. Nevil,[5] who was then Dean of Canterbury, and Master of that College, to take him into his particular care, and provide him a tutor; which he did most gladly undertake, for he knew the excellencies of his mother, and how to value such a friendship.

This was the method of his education, till he was settled in Cambridge; where we will leave him in his study, till I have paid my promised account of his excellent mother; and I will endeavour to make it short.

I have told her birth, her marriage, and the number of her children, and have given some short account of them. I shall next tell the Reader, that her husband died when our George was about the age of four years: I am next to tell, that she continued twelve years a widow; that she then married happily to a noble gentleman, the brother and heir of the Lord Danvers,[6] Earl of Danby, who did highly value both her person and the most excellent endowments of her mind.

In this time of her widowhood, she being desirous to give Edward, her eldest son, such advantages of learning, and other education, as might suit his birth and fortune, and thereby make him the more fit for the service of his country, did, at his being of a fit age, remove from Montgomery Castle with him, and some of her younger sons, to Oxford; and having entered Edward into Queen's College, and provided him a fit tutor, she commended him to his care, yet she continued there with him, and still kept him in a moderate awe of herself, and so much under her own eye, as to see and converse with him daily: but she managed this power over him without any such rigid sourness as might make her company a torment to her child; but with such a sweetness and compliance with the recreations and pleasures of youth, as did incline him willingly to spend much of his time in the company of his dear and careful mother; which was to her great content: for she would often say, "That as our bodies take a nourishment suitable to the meat on which we feed; so our souls do as insensibly take in vice by the example or conversation with wicked company:" and would therefore as often say, "That ignorance of vice was the best preservation of virtue; and that the very knowledge of wickedness was as tinder to inflame and kindle sin and keep it burning." For these reasons she endeared him to her own company, and continued with him in Oxford four years; in which time her great and harmless wit, her cheerful gravity, and her obliging behaviour, gained her an acquaintance and friendship with most of any eminent worth or learning, that were at that time in or near that University; and particularly with Mr. John Donne, who then came accidentally to that place, in this time of her being there. It was that John Donne who was after Dr. Donne, and Dean of St. Paul's, London: and he, at his leaving Oxford, writ and left there, in verse, a character of the beauties of her body and mind: of the first he says,

The rest of her character may be read in his printed poems, in that Elegy which bears the name of "The Autumnal Beauty." For both he and she were then past the meridian of man's life.

This amity, begun at this time and place, was not an amity that polluted their souls; but an amity made up of a chain of suitable inclinations and virtues; an amity like that of St. Chrysostom's to his dear and virtuous Olympias; whom, in his letters, he calls his Saint: or an amity, indeed, more like that of St. Hierome to his Paula; whose affection to her was such, that he turned poet in his old age, and then made her epitaph: wishing all his body were turned into tongues, that he might declare her just praises to posterity. And this amity betwixt her and Mr. Donne was begun in a happy time for him, he being then near to the fortieth year of his age,—which was some years before he entered into Sacred Orders;—a time when his necessities needed a daily supply for the support of his wife, seven children, and a family. And in this time she proved one of his most bountiful benefactors; and he as grateful an acknowledger of it. You may take one testimony for what I have said of these two worthy persons, from this following Letter and Sonnet.

"MADAM,

"Your favours to me are every where: I use them and have them. I enjoy them at London, and leave them there; and yet find them at Mitcham. Such riddles as these become things inexpressible; and such is your goodness. I was almost sorry to find your servant here this day; because I was loath to have any witness of my not coming home last night, and indeed of my coming this morning. But my not coming was excusable, because earnest business detained me; and my coming this day is by the example of your St. Mary Magdalen, who rose early upon Sunday to seek that which she loved most; and so did I. And, from her and myself, I return such thanks as are due to one, to whom we owe all the good opinion, that they, whom we need most, have of us. By this messenger, and on this good day, I commit the inclosed Holy Hymns and Sonnets—which for the matter, not the workmanship, have yet escaped the fire—to your judgment, and to your protection too, if you think them worthy of it; and I have appointed this inclosed Sonnet to usher them to your happy hand.

"Your unworthiest servant,
Unless your accepting him to be so have mended him,
Jo. DONNE.

TO THE LADY MAGDALEN HERBERT: OF ST. MARY MAGDALEN.

Her of your name, whose fair inheritance
Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo,
An active faith so highly did advance,
That she once knew more than the Church did know,
The Resurrection! so much good there is
Delivered of her, that some Fathers be
Loth to believe one woman could do this:
But think these Magdalens were two or three.
Increase their number, Lady, and their fame:
To their devotion add your innocence:
Take so much of th' example, as of the name;
The latter half; and in some recompense
That they did harbour Christ himself, a guest,
Harbour these Hymns, to his dear name addrest.
J.D.

These Hymns are now lost to us; but doubtless they were such as they two now sing in Heaven.

There might be more demonstrations of the friendship, and the many sacred endearments betwixt these two excellent persons,—for I have many of their letters in my hand,—and much more might be said of her great prudence and piety: but my design was not to write her's, but the life of her son; and therefore I shall only tell my Reader, that about that very day twenty years that this letter was dated, and sent her, I saw and heard this Mr. John Donne—who was then Dean of St. Paul's—weep, and preach her Funeral Sermon, in the Parish Church of Chelsea, near London, where she now rests in her quiet grave: and where we must now leave her, and return to her son George, whom we left in his study in Cambridge. And in Cambridge we may find our George Herbert's behaviour to be such, that we may conclude he consecrated the first-fruits of his early age to virtue, and a serious study of learning. And that he did so, this following Letter and Sonnet, which were, in the first year of his going to Cambridge, sent his dear Mother for a New-year's gift, may appear to be some testimony.

—"But I fear the heat of my late ague hath dried up those springs, by which scholars say the Muses use to take up their habitations. However, I need not their help to reprove the vanity of those many love-poems, that are daily writ, and consecrated to Venus; nor to bewail that so few are writ, that look towards God and Heaven. For my own part, my meaning—dear Mother—is, in these Sonnets, to declare my resolution to be, that my poor abilities in Poetry, shall be all and ever consecrated to God's glory: and I beg you to receive this as one testimony."

My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee,
Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did burn,
Besides their other flames? Doth Poetry
Wear Venus' livery? only serve her turn?
Why are not Sonnets made of thee? and lays
Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love
Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise
As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove
Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight?
Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the same,
Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name?
Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might
Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose
Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse?
Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry
Oceans of ink; for as the Deluge did
Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty;
Each cloud distils thy praise, and doth forbid
Poets to turn it to another use.
Roses and lilies speak Thee; and to make
A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse.
Why should I women's eyes for crystal take?
Such poor invention burns in their low mind
Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go
To praise, and on thee, Lord, some ink bestow.
Open the bones, and you shall nothing find
In the best face but filth; when, Lord, in Thee
The beauty lies in the discovery.
G.H.

This was his resolution at the sending this letter to his dear Mother, about which time he was in the seventeenth year of his age: and as he grew older, so he grew in learning, and more and more in favour both with God and man: insomuch that, in this morning of that short day of his life, he seemed to be marked out for virtue, and to become the care of Heaven; for God still kept his soul in so holy a frame, that he may, and ought to be a pattern of virtue to all posterity, and especially to his brethren of the Clergy, of which the Reader may expect a more exact account in what will follow.

I need not declare that he was a strict student, because, that he was so, there will be many testimonies in the future part of his life. I shall therefore only tell, that he was made Minor Fellow in the year 1609, Bachelor of Arts in the year 1611; Major Fellow of the College, March 15th, 1615: and that in that year he was also made Master of Arts, he being then in the 22nd year of his age; during all which time, all, or the greatest diversion from his study, was the practice of Music, in which he became a great master; and of which he would say, "That it did relieve his drooping spirits, compose his distracted thoughts, and raised his weary soul so far above earth, that it gave him an earnest of the joys of Heaven, before he possessed them." And it may be noticed, that from his first entrance into the College, the generous Dr. Nevil was a cherisher of his studies, and such a lover of his person, his behaviour, and the excellent endowments of his mind, that he took him often into his own company; by which he confirmed his native gentleness: and if during his time he expressed any error, it was, that he kept himself too much retired, and at too great a distance with all his inferiors; and his clothes seemed to prove, that he put too great a value on his parts and parentage.

This may be some account of his disposition, and of the employment of his time till he was Master of Arts, which was anno 1615, and in the year 1619 he was chosen Orator for the University. His two precedent Orators were Sir Robert Naunton,[7] and Sir Francis Nethersole.[8] The first was not long after made Secretary of State, and Sir Francis, not very long after his being Orator, was made Secretary to the Lady Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia. In this place of Orator our George Herbert continued eight years; and managed it with as becoming and grave a gaiety, as any had ever before or since his time. For "he had acquired great learning, and was blessed with a high fancy, a civil and sharp wit; and with a natural elegance, both in his behaviour, his tongue, and his pen." Of all which there might be very many particular evidences; but I will limit myself to the mention of but three.

And the first notable occasion of shewing his fitness for this employment of Orator was manifested in a letter to King James, upon the occasion of his sending that University his book called "Basilicon Doron;"[9] and their Orator was to acknowledge this great honour, and return their gratitude to his Majesty for such a condescension; at the close of which letter he writ,

Quid Vaticanam Bodleianamque objicis, hospes!
Unicus est nobis Bibliotheca Liber.

This letter was writ in such excellent Latin, was so full of conceits, and all the expressions so suited to the genius of the King, that he enquired the Orator's name, and then asked William Earl of Pembroke, if he knew him? whose answer was, "That he knew him very well, and that he was his kinsman; but he loved him more for his learning and virtue, than for that he was of his name and family." At which answer the King smiled, and asked the Earl leave that he might love him too, for he took him to be the jewel of that University.

The next occasion he had and took to shew his great abilities, was, with them, to shew also his great affection to that Church in which he received his baptism, and of which he professed himself a member; and the occasion was this: There was one Andrew Melvin,[10] a Minister of the Scotch Church, and Rector of St. Andrew's; who, by a long and constant converse with a discontented part of that Clergy which opposed Episcopacy, became at last to be a chief leader of that faction; and had proudly appeared to be so to King James, when he was but King of that nation, who, the second year after his Coronation in England, convened a part of the Bishops, and other learned Divines of his Church, to attend him at Hampton-Court, in order to a friendly conference with some dissenting brethren, both of this and the Church of Scotland: of which Scotch party Andrew Melvin was one; and he being a man of learning, and inclined to satirical poetry, had scattered many malicious, bitter verses against our Liturgy, our ceremonies, and our Church-government; which were by some of that party so magnified for the wit, that they were therefore brought into Westminster School, where Mr. George Herbert, then, and often after, made such answers to them, and such reflections on him and his Kirk, as might unbeguile any man that was not too deeply pre-engaged in such a quarrel.—But to return to Mr. Melvin at Hampton-Court Conference;[11] he there appeared to be a man of an unruly wit, of a strange confidence, of so furious a zeal, and of so ungoverned passions, that his insolence to the King, and others at this Conference, lost him both his Rectorship of St. Andrew's and his liberty too; for his former verses, and his present reproaches there used against the Church and State, caused him to be committed prisoner to the Tower of London; where he remained very angry for three years. At which time of his commitment, he found the Lady Arabella[12] an innocent prisoner there; and he pleased himself much in sending, the next day after his commitment, these two verses to the good lady; which I will underwrite, because they may give the Reader a taste of his others, which were like these.

Causa tibi mecum est communis, carceris, Ara-
Bella, tibi causa est, Araque sacra mihi.

I shall not trouble my Reader with an account of his enlargement from that prison, or his death; but tell him Mr. Herbert's verses were thought so worthy to be preserved, that Dr. Duport,[13] the learned Dean of Peterborough, hath lately collected and caused many of them to be printed, as an honourable memorial of his friend Mr. George Herbert, and the cause he undertook.

And in order to my third and last observation of his great abilities, it will be needful to declare, that about this time King James came very often to hunt at Newmarket and Royston, and was almost as often invited to Cambridge, where his entertainment was comedies,[14] suited to his pleasant humour; and where Mr. George Herbert was to welcome him with gratulations, and the applauses of an Orator; which he always performed so well, that he still grew more into the King's favour, insomuch that he had a particular appointment to attend his Majesty at Royston; where, after a discourse with him, his Majesty declared to his kinsman, the Earl of Pembroke, that he found the Orator's learning and wisdom much above his age or wit. The year following, the King appointed to end his progress at Cambridge, and to stay there certain days; at which time he was attended by the great Secretary of Nature and all learning, Sir Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam, and by the ever-memorable and learned Dr. Andrews, Bishop of Winchester, both which did at that time begin a desired friendship with our Orator. Upon whom, the first put such a value on his judgment, that he usually desired his approbation before he would expose any of his books to be printed; and thought him so worthy of his friendship, that having translated many of the Prophet David's Psalms into English verse, he made George Herbert his patron, by a public dedication of them to him, as the best judge of Divine Poetry. And for the learned Bishop, it is observable, that at that time there fell to be a modest debate betwixt them two about Predestination, and Sanctity of life; of both of which the Orator did, not long after, send the Bishop some safe and useful aphorisms, in a long letter, written in Greek; which letter was so remarkable for the language and reason of it, that, after the reading of it, the Bishop put it into his bosom, and did often shew it to many Scholars, both of this and foreign nations; but did always return it back to the place where he first lodged it, and continued it so near his heart till the last day of his life.

To this I might add the long and entire friendship betwixt him and Sir Henry Wotton, and Dr. Donne; but I have promised to contract myself, and shall therefore only add one testimony to what is also mentioned in the Life of Dr. Donne; namely, that a little before his death he caused many Seals to be made, and in them to be engraven the figure of Christ, crucified on an Anchor,—the emblem of Hope,—and of which Dr. Donne would often say, " Crux mihi anchora ."—These Seals he gave or sent to most of those friends on which he put a value: and, at Mr. Herbert's death, these verses were found wrapt up with that seal, which was by the Doctor given to him;

When winds and waves rise highest I am sure,
This Anchor keeps my faith, that, me secure.

At this time of being Orator, he had learned to understand the Italian, Spanish, and French tongues very perfectly: hoping, that as his predecessors, so he might in time attain the place of a Secretary of State, he being at that time very high in the King's favour, and not meanly valued and loved by the most eminent and most powerful of the Court Nobility. This, and the love of a Court-conversation, mixed with a laudable ambition to be something more than he then was, drew him often from Cambridge, to attend the King wheresoever the Court was, who then gave him a sinecure, which fell into his Majesty's disposal, I think, by the death of the Bishop of St. Asaph.[15] It was the same that Queen Elizabeth had formerly given to her favourite Sir Philip Sidney, and valued to be worth an hundred and twenty pounds per annum. With this, and his annuity, and the advantage of his College, and of his Oratorship, he enjoyed his genteel humour for clothes, and Court-like company, and seldom looked towards Cambridge, unless the King were there, but then he never failed; and, at other times, left the manage of his Orator's place to his learned friend, Mr. Herbert Thorndike, who is now Prebend of Westminster.[16]

I may not omit to tell, that he had often designed to leave the University, and decline all study, which he thought did impair his health; for he had a body apt to a consumption, and to fevers, and other infirmities, which he judged were increased by his studies; for he would often say, "He had too thoughtful a wit; a wit like a penknife in too narrow a sheath, too sharp for his body." But his Mother would by no means allow him to leave the University, or to travel; and though he inclined very much to both, yet he would by no means satisfy his own desires at so dear a rate, as to prove an undutiful son to so affectionate a Mother; but did always submit to her wisdom. And what I have now said may partly appear in a copy of verses in his printed poems; 'tis one of those that bear the title of Affliction; and it appears to be a pious reflection on God's providence, and some passages of his life, in which he says,

Whereas my birth and spirit rather took
The way that takes the town:
Thou didst betray me to a lingering book,
And wrapt me in a gown:
I was entangled in a world of strife,
Before I had the power to change my life.

Yet, for I threaten'd oft the siege to raise,
Not simpering all mine age;
Thou often didst with academic praise
Melt and dissolve my rage:
I took the sweeten'd pill, till I came where
I could not go away, nor persevere.

Yet, lest perchance I should too happy be
In my unhappiness,
Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me
Into more sicknesses.
Thus dost thy power cross-bias me, not making
Thine own gifts good, yet me from my ways taking.

Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me
None of my books will show.
I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree,
For then sure I should grow
To fruit or shade, at least some bird would trust
Her household with me, and I would be just.

Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek,
In weakness must be stout,
Well, I will change my service, and go seek
Some other master out;
Ah, my dear God! though I am clean forgot,
Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.

G.H.

In this time of Mr. Herbert's attendance and expectation of some good occasion to remove from Cambridge to Court, God, in whom there is an unseen chain of causes, did in a short time put an end to the lives of two of his most obliging and most powerful friends, Lodowick Duke of Richmond, and James Marquis of Hamilton; and not long after him King James died also, and with them, all Mr. Herbert's Court-hopes: so that he presently betook himself to a retreat from London, to a friend in Kent, where he lived very privately, and was such a lover of solitariness, as was judged to impair his health, more than his study had done. In this time of retirement, he had many conflicts with himself, whether he should return to the painted pleasures of a Court-life, or betake himself to a study of Divinity, and enter into Sacred Orders, to which his dear mother had often persuaded him. These were such conflicts, as they only can know, that have endured them; for ambitious desires, and the outward glory of this world, are not easily laid aside; but at last God inclined him to put on a resolution to serve at his altar.

He did, at his return to London, acquaint a Court-friend with his resolution to enter into Sacred Orders, who persuaded him to alter it, as too mean an employment, and too much below his birth, and the excellent abilities and endowments of his mind. To whom he replied, "It hath been formerly judged that the domestic servants of the King of Heaven should be of the noblest families on earth. And though the iniquity of the late times have made clergymen meanly valued, and the sacred name of priest contemptible; yet I will labour to make it honourable, by consecrating all my learning, and all my poor abilities to advance the glory of that God that gave them; knowing that I can never do too much for him, that hath done so much for me, as to make me a Christian. And I will labour to be like my Saviour, by making humility lovely in the eyes of all men, and by following the merciful and meek example of my dear Jesus."

This was then his resolution; and the God of constancy, who intended him for a great example of virtue, continued him in it, for within that year he was made Deacon, but the day when, or by whom, I cannot learn; but that he was about that time made Deacon, is most certain; for I find by the Records of Lincoln, that he was made Prebend of Layton Ecclesia, in the Diocese of Lincoln, July 15th, 1626, and that this Prebend was given him by John,[17] then Lord Bishop of that See. And now he had a fit occasion to shew that piety and bounty that was derived from his generous mother, and his other memorable ancestors, and the occasion was this.

This Layton Ecclesia is a village near to Spalden, in the County of Huntingdon, and the greatest part of the Parish Church was fallen down, and that of it which stood was so decayed, so little, and so useless, that the parishioners could not meet to perform their duty to God in public prayer and praises; and thus it had been for almost twenty years, in which time there had been some faint endeavours for a public collection to enable the parishioners to rebuild it; but with no success, till Mr. Herbert undertook it; and he, by his own, and the contribution of many of his kindred, and other noble friends, undertook the re-edification of it; and made it so much his whole business, that he became restless till he saw it finished as it now stands; being for the workmanship, a costly Mossaic; for the form, an exact cross; and for the decency and beauty, I am assured, it is the most remarkable Parish Church that this nation affords. He lived to see it so wainscotted, as to be exceeded by none; and, by his order, the Reading pew and Pulpit were a little distant from each other, and both of an equal height; for he would often say, "They should neither have a precedency or priority of the other; but that prayer and preaching, being equally useful, might agree like brethren, and have an equal honour and estimation."

Before I proceed farther, I must look back to the time of Mr. Herbert's being made Prebend, and tell the Reader, that not long after, his Mother being informed of his intentions to rebuild that Church, and apprehending the great trouble and charge that he was like to draw upon himself, his relations and friends, before it could be finished, sent for him from London to Chelsea,—where she then dwelt,—and at his coming, said, "George, I sent for you, to persuade you to commit Simony, by giving your patron as good a gift as he has given to you; namely, that you give him back his prebend; for, George, it is not for your weak body, and empty purse, to undertake to build Churches." Of which, he desired he might have a day's time to consider, and then make her an answer. And at his return to her the next day, when he had first desired her blessing, and she given it him, his next request was, "That she would at the age of thirty-three years, allow him to become an undutiful son: for he had made a vow to God, that, if he were able, he would rebuild that Church." And then shewed her such reasons for his resolution, that she presently subscribed to be one of his benefactors; and undertook to solicit William Earl of Pembroke to become another, who subscribed for fifty pounds; and not long after, by a witty and persuasive letter from Mr. Herbert, made it fifty pounds more. And in this nomination of some of his benefactors, James Duke of Lenox, and his brother, Sir Henry Herbert, ought to be remembered; as also the bounty of Mr. Nicholas Farrer,[18] and Mr. Arthur Woodnot: the one a gentleman in the neighbourhood of Layton, and the other a Goldsmith in Foster Lane, London, ought not to be forgotten: for the memory of such men ought to outlive their lives. Of Mr. Farrer, I shall hereafter give an account in a more seasonable place; but before I proceed farther, I will give this short account of Mr. Arthur Woodnot.

He was a man that had considered overgrown estates do often require more care and watchfulness to preserve than get them, and considered that there be many discontents, that riches cure not; and did therefore set limits to himself, as to desire of wealth. And having attained so much as to be able to shew some mercy to the poor, and preserve a competence for himself, he dedicated the remaining part of his life to the service of God, and to be useful to his friends; and he proved to be so to Mr. Herbert; for besides his own bounty, he collected and returned most of the money that was paid for the rebuilding of that Church; he kept all the account of the charges, and would often go down to state them, and see all the workmen paid. When I have said, that this good man was a useful friend to Mr. Herbert's father, and to his mother, and continued to be so to him, till he closed his eyes on his death-bed; I will forbear to say more, till I have the next fair occasion to mention the holy friendship that was betwixt him and Mr. Herbert. From whom Mr. Woodnot carried to his mother this following letter, and delivered it to her in a sickness, which was not long before that which proved to be her last.

"MADAM,

"At my last parting from you, I was the better content, because I was in hope I should myself carry all sickness out of your family: but since I know I did not and that your share continues, or rather increaseth, I wish earnestly that I were again with you; and would quickly make good my wish, but that my employment does fix me here, it being now but a month to our commencement: wherein my absence, by how much it naturally augmenteth suspicion, by so much shall it make my prayers the more constant and the more earnest for you to the God of all consolation.—In the mean time, I beseech you to be cheerful, and comfort yourself in the God of all comfort, who is not willing to behold any sorrow but for sin.—What hath affliction grievous in it more than for a moment? or why should our afflictions here, have so much power or boldness as to oppose the hope of our joys hereafter?—Madam, as the earth is but a point in respect of the heavens, so are earthly troubles compared to heavenly joys; therefore, if either age or sickness lead you to those joys, consider what advantage you have over youth and health, who are now so near those true comforts. Your last letter gave me earthly preferment, and I hope kept heavenly for yourself: but would you divide and choose too? Our College customs allow not that: and I should account myself most happy, if I might change with you; for I have always observed the thread of life to be like other threads or skeins of silk, full of snarles and incumbrances. Happy is he, whose bottom is wound up, and laid ready for work in the New Jerusalem.—For myself, dear Mother, I always feared sickness more than death, because sickness hath made me unable to perform those offices for which I came into the world, and must yet be kept in it; but you are freed from that fear, who have already abundantly discharged that part, having both ordered your family and so brought up your children, that they have attained to the years of discretion, and competent maintenance. So that now, if they do not well, the fault cannot be charged on you, whose example and care of them will justify you both to the world and your own conscience; insomuch that, whether you turn your thoughts on the life past, or on the joys that are to come, you have strong preservatives against all disquiet. And for temporal afflictions, I beseech you consider, all that can happen to you are either afflictions of estate, or body, or mind. For those of estate, of what poor regard ought they to be? since, if we had riches, we are commanded to give them away: so that the best use of them is, having, not to have them. But perhaps, being above the common people, our credit and estimation calls on us to live in a more splendid fashion: but, O God! how easily is that answered, when we consider that the blessings in the holy Scripture are never given to the rich, but to the poor. I never find 'Blessed be the rich,' or 'Blessed be the noble;' but, 'Blessed be the meek,' and, 'Blessed be the poor,' and, 'Blessed be the mourners, for they shall be comforted.'—And yet, O God! most carry themselves so, as if they not only not desired, but even feared to be blessed.—And for afflictions of the body, dear Madam, remember the holy Martyrs of God, how they have been burned by thousands, and have endured such other tortures, as the very mention of them might beget amazement: but their fiery trials have had an end; and your's—which, praised be God, are less,—are not like to continue long. I beseech you, let such thoughts as these moderate your present fear and sorrow; and know that if any of yours should prove a Goliah-like trouble, yet you may say with David, 'That God, who hath delivered me out of the paws of the lion and bear, will also deliver me out of the hands of this uncircumcised Philistine.'—Lastly, for those afflictions of the soul; consider that God intends that to be as a Sacred Temple for himself to dwell in, and will not allow any room there for such an inmate as grief; or allow that any sadness shall be his competitor. And, above all, if any care of future things molest you, remember those admirable words of the Psalmist: 'Cast thy care on the Lord, and he shall nourish thee.' [Psal. lv. 22.] To which join that of St. Peter, 'Casting all your care on the Lord, for he careth for you.' [1 Pet. v. 7.] What an admirable thing is this, that God puts his shoulder to our burden, and entertains our care for us, that we may the more quietly intend his service! To conclude, let me commend only one place more to you: Philipp. iv. 4. St. Paul saith there, 'Rejoice in the Lord always: and again I say, rejoice.' He doubles it to take away the scruple of those that might say, What, shall we rejoice in afflictions? Yes, I say again, rejoice; so that it is not left to us to rejoice, or not rejoice; but, whatsoever befalls us, we must always, at all times, rejoice in the Lord, who taketh care for us. And it follows in the next verses: 'Let your moderation appear to all men: The Lord is at hand: Be careful for nothing.' What can be said more comfortably? Trouble not yourselves; God is at hand, to deliver us from all, or in all.—Dear Madam, pardon my boldness, and accept the good meaning of

"GEORGE HERBERT.

About the year 1629, and the thirty-fourth of his age, Mr. Herbert was seized with a sharp quotidian ague, and thought to remove it by the change of air; to which end, he went to Woodford in Essex, but thither more chiefly to enjoy the company of his beloved brother, Sir Henry Herbert, and other friends then of that family. In his house he remained about twelve months, and there became his own physician, and cured himself of his ague, by forbearing to drink, and not eating any meat, no not mutton, nor a hen, or pigeon, unless they were salted; and by such a constant diet he removed his ague, but with inconveniences that were worse; for he brought upon himself a disposition to rheums, and other weaknesses, and a supposed consumption. And it is to be noted, that in the sharpest of his extreme fits he would often say, "Lord, abate my great affliction, or increase my patience: but Lord, I repine not; I am dumb, Lord, before thee, because thou doest it." By which, and a sanctified submission to the will of God, he shewed he was inclinable to bear the sweet yoke of Christian discipline, both then and in the latter part of his life, of which there will be many true testimonies.

And now his care was to recover from his consumption, by a change from Woodford into such an air as was most proper to that end. And his remove was to Dauntsey in Wiltshire, a noble house, which stands in a choice air; the owner of it then was the Lord Danvers, Earl of Danby, who loved Mr. Herbert so very much, that he allowed him such an apartment in it as might best suit with his accommodation and liking. And in this place, by a spare diet, declining all perplexing studies, moderate exercise, and a cheerful conversation, his health was apparently improved to a good degree of strength and cheerfulness. And then he declared his resolution both to marry, and to enter into the Sacred Orders of Priesthood. These had long been the desires of his Mother, and his other relations; but she lived not to see either, for she died in the year 1627. And though he was disobedient to her about Layton Church, yet, in conformity to her will, he kept his Orator's place till after her death, and then presently declined it; and the more willingly, that he might be succeeded by his friend Robert Creighton,[19] who now is Dr. Creighton, and the worthy Bishop of Wells.

I shall now proceed to his marriage; in order to which, it will be convenient that I first give the Reader a short view of his person, and then an account of his wife, and of some circumstances concerning both.—He was for his person of a stature inclining towards tallness; his body was very straight, and so far from being cumbered with too much flesh, that he was lean to an extremity. His aspect was cheerful, and his speech and motion did both declare him a gentleman; for they were all so meek and obliging, that they purchased love and respect from all that knew him.

These, and his other visible virtues, begot him much love from a gentleman of a noble fortune, and a near kinsman to his friend the Earl of Danby; namely, from Mr. Charles Danvers of Bainton, in the County of Wilts, Esq. This Mr. Danvers, having known him long, and familiarly, did so much affect him, that he often and publicly declared a desire, that Mr. Herbert would marry any of his nine daughters,—for he had so many,—but rather his daughter Jane than any other, because Jane was his beloved daughter. And he had often said the same to Mr. Herbert himself; and that if he could like her for a wife, and she him for a husband, Jane should have a double blessing: and Mr. Danvers had so often said the like to Jane, and so much commended Mr. Herbert to her, that Jane became so much a platonic, as to fall in love with Mr. Herbert unseen.

This was a fair preparation for a marriage; but, alas! her father died before Mr. Herbert's retirement to Dauntsey: yet some friends to both parties procured their meeting; at which time a mutual affection entered into both their hearts, as a conqueror enters into a surprised city; and love having got such possession, governed, and made there such laws and resolutions, as neither party was able to resist; insomuch, that she changed her name into Herbert the third day after this first interview.

This haste might in others be thought a love-frenzy, or worse; but it was not, for they had wooed so like princes, as to have select proxies; such as were true friends to both parties, such as well understood Mr. Herbert's and her temper of mind, and also their estates, so well before this interview, that the suddenness was justifiable by the strictest rules of prudence; and the more, because it proved so happy to both parties; for the eternal lover of mankind made them happy in each other's mutual and equal affections, and compliance; indeed, so happy, that there never was any opposition betwixt them, unless it were a contest which should most incline to a compliance with the other's desires. And though this begot, and continued in them, such a mutual love, and joy, and content, as was no way defective; yet this mutual content, and love, and joy, did receive a daily augmentation, by such daily obligingness to each other, as still added such new affluences to the former fulness of these divine souls, as was only improvable in Heaven, where they now enjoy it.

About three months after this marriage, Dr. Curle, who was then Rector of Bemerton, in Wiltshire, was made Bishop of Bath and Wells, and not long after translated to Winchester, and by that means the presentation of a Clerk to Bemerton did not fall to the Earl of Pembroke,—who was the undoubted Patron of it,—but to the King, by reason of Dr. Curie's advancement: but Philip, then Earl of Pembroke,—for William was lately dead,—requested the King to bestow it upon his kinsman George Herbert; and the King said, "Most willingly to Mr. Herbert, if it be worth his acceptance;" and the Earl as willingly and suddenly sent it him, without seeking. But though Mr. Herbert had formerly put on a resolution for the Clergy; yet, at receiving this presentation, the apprehension of the last great account, that he was to make for the cure of so many souls, made him fast and pray often, and consider for not less than a month: in which time he had some resolutions to decline both the Priesthood, and that living. And in this time of considering, "he endured," as he would often say, "such spiritual conflicts, as none can think, but only those that have endured them."

In the midst of these conflicts, his old and dear friend, Mr. Arthur Woodnot, took a journey to salute him at Bainton,—where he then was, with his wife's friends and relations,—and was joyful to be an eye-witness of his health and happy marriage. And after they had rejoiced together some few days, they took a journey to Wilton, the famous seat of the Earls of Pembroke; at which time the King, the Earl, and the whole Court were there, or at Salisbury, which is near to it. And at this time Mr. Herbert presented his thanks to the Earl, for his presentation to Bemerton, but had not yet resolved to accept it, and told him the reason why: but that night, the Earl acquainted Dr. Laud, then Bishop of London, and after Archbishop of Canterbury, with his kinsman's irresolution. And the Bishop did the next day so convince Mr. Herbert, that the refusal of it was a sin, that a tailor was sent for to come speedily from Salisbury to Wilton, to take measure, and make him canonical clothes against next day; which the tailor did: and Mr. Herbert being so habited, went with his presentation to the learned Dr. Davenant,[20] who was then Bishop of Salisbury, and he gave him institution immediately,—for Mr. Herbert had been made Deacon some years before,—and he was also the same day—which was April 26th, 1630—inducted into the good, and more pleasant than healthful, Parsonage of Bemerton; which is a mile from Salisbury.

I have now brought him to the Parsonage of Bemerton,[21] and to the thirty-sixth year of his age, and must stop here, and bespeak the Reader to prepare for an almost incredible story, of the great sanctity of the short remainder of his holy life; a life so full of charity, humility, and all Christian virtues, that it deserves the eloquence of St. Chrysostom to commend and declare it: a life, that if it were related by a pen like his, there would then be no need for this age to look back into times past for the examples of primitive piety; for they might be all found in the life of George Herbert. But now, alas! who is fit to undertake it? I confess I am not; and am not pleased with myself that I must; and profess myself amazed, when I consider how few of the Clergy lived like him then, and how many live so unlike him now. But it becomes not me to censure: my design is rather to assure the Reader, that I have used very great diligence to inform myself, that I might inform him of the truth of what follows; and though I cannot adorn it with eloquence, yet I will do it with sincerity.

When at his induction he was shut into Bemerton Church, being left there alone to toll the bell,—as the Law requires him,—he staid so much longer than an ordinary time, before he returned to those friends that staid expecting him at the Church-door, that his friend Mr. Woodnot looked in at the Church-window, and saw him lie prostrate on the ground before the Altar; at which time and place—as he after told Mr. Woodnot—he set some rules to himself, for the future manage of his life; and then and there made a vow to labour to keep them.

And the same night that he had his induction, he said to Mr. Woodnot, "I now look back upon my aspiring thoughts, and think myself more happy than if I had attained what then I so ambitiously thirsted for. And I now can behold the Court with an impartial eye, and see plainly that it is made up of fraud and titles, and flattery, and many other such empty, imaginary, painted pleasures; pleasures, that are so empty, as not to satisfy when they are enjoyed. But in God, and his service, is a fulness of all joy and pleasure, and no satiety. And I will now use all my endeavours to bring my relations and dependents to a love and reliance on Him, who never fails those that trust him. But above all, I will be sure to live well, because the virtuous life of a Clergyman is the most powerful eloquence to persuade all that see it to reverence and love, and at least to desire to live like him. And this I will do, because I know we live in an age that hath more need of good examples than precepts. And I beseech that God, who hath honoured me so much as to call me to serve him at his altar, that as by his special grace he hath put into my heart these good desires and resolutions; so he will, by his assisting grace, give me ghostly strength to bring the same to good effect. And I beseech him, that my humble and charitable life may so win upon others, as to bring glory to my Jesus, whom I have this day taken to be my Master and Governor; and I am so proud of his service, that I will always observe, and obey, and do his will; and always call him, Jesus my Master; and I will always contemn my birth, or any title or dignity that can be conferred upon me, when I shall compare them with my title of being a Priest, and serving at the Altar of Jesus my Master."

And that he did so, may appear in many parts of his book of Sacred Poems: especially in that which he calls "The Odour." In which he seems to rejoice in the thoughts of that word Jesus, and say, that the adding these words, my Master, to it, and the often repetition of them, seemed to perfume his mind, and leave an oriental fragrancy in his very breath. And for his unforced choice to serve at God's altar, he seems in another place of his poems, "The Pearl," (Matt. xiii. 45, 46,) to rejoice and say—"He knew the ways of learning; knew what nature does willingly, and what, when it is forced by fire; knew the ways of honour, and when glory inclines the soul to noble expressions; knew the Court; knew the ways of pleasure, of love, of wit, of music, and upon what terms he declined all these for the service of his Master Jesus;" and then concludes, saying,

That, through these labyrinths, not my grovelling wit,
But thy silk twist, let down from Heaven to me,
Did both conduct, and teach me, how by it To climb to thee.

The third day after he was made Rector of Bemerton, and had changed his sword and silk clothes into a canonical coat, he returned so habited with his friend Mr. Woodnot to Bainton; and immediately after he had seen and saluted his wife, he said to her—"You are now a Minister's wife, and must now so far forget your father's house, as not to claim a precedence of any of your parishioners; for you are to know, that a Priest's wife can challenge no precedence or place, but that which she purchases by her obliging humility; and I am sure, places so purchased do best become them. And let me tell you, that I am so good a Herald, as to assure you that this is truth." And she was so meek a wife, as to assure him, "it was no vexing news to her, and that he should see her observe it with a cheerful willingness." And, indeed, her unforced humility, that humility that was in her so original, as to be born with her, made her so happy as to do so; and her doing so begot her an unfeigned love, and a serviceable respect from all that conversed with her; and this love followed her in all places, as inseparably as shadows follow substances in sunshine.

It was not many days before he returned back to Bemerton, to view the Church, and repair the Chancel: and indeed to rebuild almost three parts of his house, which was fallen down, or decayed by reason of his predecessor's living at a better Parsonage-house; namely, at Minal, sixteen or twenty miles from this place. At which time of Mr. Herbert's coming alone to Bemerton, there came to him a poor old woman, with an intent to acquaint him with her necessitous condition, as also with some troubles of her mind: but after she had spoke some few words to him, she was surprised with a fear, and that begot a shortness of breath, so that her spirits and speech failed her; which he perceiving, did so compassionate her, and was so humble, that he took her by the hand, and said, "Speak, good mother; be not afraid to speak to me; for I am a man that will hear you with patience; and will relieve your necessities too, if I be able: and this I will do willingly; and therefore, mother, be not afraid to acquaint me with what you desire." After which comfortable speech, he again took her by the hand, made her sit down by him, and understanding she was of his parish, he told her "He would be acquainted with her, and take her into his care." And having with patience heard and understood her wants,—and it is some relief for a poor body to be but heard with patience,—he, like a Christian Clergyman, comforted her by his meek behaviour and counsel: but because that cost him nothing, he relieved her with money too, and so sent her home with a cheerful heart, praising God, and praying for him. Thus worthy, and—like David's blessed man—thus lowly, was Mr. George Herbert in his own eyes, and thus lovely in the eyes of others.

At his return that night to his wife at Bainton, he gave her an account of the passages betwixt him and the poor woman; with which she was affected, that she went next day to Salisbury, and there bought a pair of blankets, and sent them as a token of her love to the poor woman; and with them a message, "That she would see and be acquainted with her, when her house was built at Bemerton."

There be many such passages both of him and his wife, of which some few will be related: but I shall first tell, that he hasted to get the Parish-Church repaired; then to beautify the Chapel,—which stands near his house,—and that at his own great charge. He then proceeded to rebuild the greatest part of the Parsonage-house, which he did also very completely, and at his own charge; and having done this good work, he caused these verses to be writ upon, or engraven in, the mantle of the chimney in his hall.

TO MY SUCCESSOR.

If thou chance for to find
A new house to thy mind,
And built without thy cost;
Be good to the poor,
As God gives thee store,
And then my labour's not lost.

We will now, by the Reader's favour, suppose him fixed at Bemerton, and grant him to have seen the Church repaired, and the Chapel belonging to it very decently adorned at his own great charge,—which is a real truth;—and having now fixed him there, I shall proceed to give an account of the rest of his behaviour, both to his parishioners, and those many others that knew and conversed with him.

Doubtless Mr. Herbert had considered, and given rules to himself for his Christian carriage both to God and man, before he entered into Holy Orders. And 'tis not unlike, but that he renewed those resolutions at his prostration before the holy altar, at his induction into the Church of Bemerton: but as yet he was but a Deacon, and therefore longed for the next Ember-week, that he might be ordained Priest, and made capable of administering both the Sacraments. At which time the reverend Dr. Humphrey Henchman,[22] now Lord Bishop of London,—who does not mention him but with some veneration for his life and excellent learning,—tells me, "He laid his hand on Mr. Herbert's head, and, alas! within less than three years, lent his shoulder to carry his dear friend to his grave."

And that Mr. Herbert might the better preserve those holy rules which such a Priest as he intended to be, ought to observe; and that time might not insensibly blot them out of his memory, but that the next year might shew him his variations from this year's resolutions; he therefore did set down his rules, then resolved upon, in that order as the world now sees them printed in a little book, called "The Country Parson;" in which some of his rules are:

The Parson's knowledge.
The Parson on Sundays.
The Parson praying.
The Parson preaching.
The Parson's charity.
The Parson comforting the sick.
The Parson arguing.
The Parson condescending.
The Parson in his journey.
The Parson in his mirth.
The Parson with his Churchwardens.
The Parson blessing the people.

And his behaviour towards God and man may be said to be a practical comment on these, and the other holy rules set down in that useful book: a book so full of plain, prudent, and useful rules, that that Country Parson, that can spare twelve pence, and yet wants it, is scarce excusable; because it will both direct him what he ought to do, and convince him for not having done it.

At the death of Mr. Herbert, this book fell into the hands of his friend Mr. Woodnot; and he commended it into the trusty hands of Mr. sermon Barnabas Oley,[23] who published it with a most conscientious and excellent preface; from which I have had some of those truths, that are related in this life of Mr. Herbert. The text of his first Sermon was taken out of Solomon's Proverbs, chap. iv. 23, and the words were, "Keep thy heart with all diligence." In which first Sermon he gave his Parishioners many necessary, holy, safe rules for the discharge of a good conscience, both to God and man; and delivered his Sermon after a most florid manner, both with great learning and eloquence; but, at the close of this Sermon, told them, "That should not be his constant way of preaching; for since Almighty God does not intend to lead men to Heaven by hard questions, he would not therefore fill their heads with unnecessary notions; but that, for their sakes, his language and his expressions should be more plain and practical in his future sermons." And he then made it his humble request, "That they would be constant to the Afternoon's Service, and Catechising:" and shewed them convincing reasons why he desired it; and his obliging example and persuasions brought them to a willing conformity to his desires.

The texts for all his future sermons—which, God knows, were not many—were constantly taken out of the Gospel for the day; and he did as constantly declare why the Church did appoint that portion of Scripture to be that day read; and in what manner the Collect for every Sunday does refer to the Gospel, or to the Epistle then read to them; and, that they might pray with understanding, he did usually take occasion to explain, not only the Collect for every particular Sunday, but the reasons of all the other Collects and Responses in our Church-service; and made it appear to them, that the whole service of the Church was a reasonable, and therefore an acceptable sacrifice to God: as namely, that we begin with "Confession of ourselves to be vile, miserable sinners;" and that we begin so, because, till we have confessed ourselves to be such, we are not capable of that mercy which we acknowledge we need, and pray for: but having, in the prayer of our Lord, begged pardon for those sins which we have confessed; and hoping, that as the Priest hath declared our absolution, so by our public confession, and real repentance, we have obtained that pardon; then we dare and do proceed to beg of the Lord, "to open our lips, that our mouth may shew forth his praise;" for till then we are neither able nor worthy to praise him. But this being supposed, we are then fit to say, "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost;" and fit to proceed to a further service of our God, in the Collects, and Psalms, and Lauds, that follow in the service.

And as to the Psalms and Lauds, he proceeded to inform them why they were so often, and some of them daily, repeated in our Church-service; namely, the Psalms every month, because they be an historical and thankful repetition of mercies past, and such a composition of prayers and praises, as ought to be repeated often, and publicly; for with such sacrifice God is honoured and well-pleased. This for the Psalms.

And for the Hymns and Lauds appointed to be daily repeated or sung after the first and second Lessons are read to the congregation; he proceeded to inform them, that it was most reasonable, after they have heard the will and goodness of God declared or preached by the Priest in his reading the two chapters, that it was then a seasonable duty to rise up, and express their gratitude to Almighty God, for those his mercies to them, and to all mankind; and then to say with the Blessed Virgin, "that their souls do magnify the Lord, and that their spirits do also rejoice in God their Saviour:" and that it was their duty also to rejoice with Simeon in his song, and say with him, "That their eyes have" also "seen their salvation;" for they have seen that salvation which was but prophesied till his time: and he then broke out into these expressions of joy that he did see it; but they live to see it daily in the history of it, and therefore ought daily to rejoice, and daily to offer up their sacrifices of praise to their God, for that particular mercy. A service, which is now the constant employment of that Blessed Virgin and Simeon, and all those blessed Saints that are possessed of Heaven: and where they are at this time interchangeably and constantly singing, "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God; glory be to God on high, and on earth peace." And he taught them, that to do this was an acceptable service to God, because the Prophet David says in his Psalms, "He that praiseth the Lord honoureth him."

He made them to understand how happy they be that are freed from the incumbrances of that law which our forefathers groaned under: namely, from the legal sacrifices, and from the many ceremonies of the Levitical law; freed from Circumcision, and from the strict observation of the Jewish Sabbath, and the like. And he made them know, that having received so many and so great blessings, by being born since the days of our Saviour, it must be an acceptable sacrifice to Almighty God, for them to acknowledge those blessings daily, and stand up and worship, and say as Zacharias did, "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he hath—in our days—visited and redeemed his people; and he hath—in our days—remembered, and shewed that mercy, which by the mouth of the Prophets, he promised to our forefathers; and this he has done according to his holy covenant made with them." And he made them to understand that we live to see and enjoy the benefit of it, in his Birth, in his Life, his Passion, his Resurrection, and Ascension into Heaven, where he now sits sensible of all our temptations and infirmities; and where he is at this present time making intercession for us, to his and our Father: and therefore they ought daily to express their public gratulations, and say daily with Zacharias, "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, that hath thus visited and thus redeemed his people."—These were some of the reasons, by which Mr. Herbert instructed his congregation for the use of the Psalms and Hymns appointed to be daily sung or said in the Church-service.

He informed them also, when the Priest did pray only for the congregation, and not for himself; and when they did only pray for him; as namely, after the repetition of the Creed before he proceeds to pray the Lord's Prayer, or any of the appointed Collects, the Priest is directed to kneel down, and pray for them, saying, "The Lord be with you;" and when they pray for him, saying, "And with thy spirit;" and then they join together in the following Collects: and he assured them, that when there is such mutual love, and such joint prayers offered for each other, then the holy Angels look down from Heaven, and are ready to carry such charitable desires to God Almighty, and he as ready to receive them; and that a Christian congregation calling thus upon God with one heart, and one voice, and in one reverent and humble posture, looks as beautifully as Jerusalem, that is at peace with itself.

He instructed them also why the prayer of our Lord was prayed often in every full service of the Church; namely, at the conclusion of the several parts of that service; and prayed then, not only because it was composed and commanded by our Jesus that made it, but as a perfect pattern for our less perfect forms of prayer, and therefore fittest to sum up and conclude all our imperfect petitions.

He instructed them also, that as by the second Commandment we are required not to bow down to, or worship an idol, or false god; so, by the contrary rule, we are to bow down and kneel, or stand up and worship the true God. And he instructed them why the Church required the congregation to stand up at the repetition of the Creeds; namely, because they thereby declare both their obedience to the Church, and an assent to that faith into which they had been baptized. And he taught them, that in that shorter Creed or Doxology, so often repeated daily, they also stood up to testify their belief to be, that "the God that they trusted in was one God, and three persons; the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost; to whom they and the Priest gave glory." And because there had been heretics that had denied some of those three persons to be God, therefore the congregation stood up and honoured him, by confessing and saying, "It was so in the beginning, is now so, and shall ever be so world without end." And all gave their assent to this belief, by standing up and saying, Amen.

He instructed them also what benefit they had by the Church's appointing the celebration of holidays and the excellent use of them, namely, that they were set apart for particular commemorations of particular mercies received from Almighty God; and—as Reverend Mr. Hooker says—to be the landmarks to distinguish times; for by them we are taught to take notice how time passes by us, and that we ought not to let the years pass without a celebration of praise for those mercies which those days give us occasion to remember, and therefore they were to note that the year is appointed to begin the 25th day of March; a day in which we commemorate the Angel's appearing to the Blessed Virgin, with the joyful tidings that "she should conceive and bear a son, that should be the Redeemer of mankind." And she did so forty weeks after this joyful salutation; namely, at our Christmas: a day in which we commemorate his Birth with joy and praise: and that eight days after this happy birth we celebrate his Circumcision; namely, in that which we call New-year's day. And that, upon that day which we call Twelfth-day, we commemorate the manifestation of the unsearchable riches of Jesus to the Gentiles: and that that day we also celebrate the memory of his goodness in sending a star to guide the three Wise Men from the East to Bethlehem, that they might there worship, and present him with their oblations of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And he—Mr. Herbert—instructed them, that Jesus was forty days after his birth presented by his blessed Mother in the Temple; namely, on that day which we call, "The Purification of the Blessed Virgin, Saint Mary."

And he instructed them, that by the Lent-fast we imitate and commemorate our Saviour's humiliation in fasting forty days; and that we ought to endeavour to be like him in purity: and that on Good Friday we commemorate and condole his Crucifixion; and at Easter commemorate his glorious Resurrection. And he taught them, that after Jesus had manifested himself to his Disciples to be "that Christ that was crucified, dead and buried;" and by his appearing and conversing with his Disciples for the space of forty days after his Resurrection, he then, and not till then, ascended into Heaven in the sight of those Disciples; namely, on that day which we call the Ascension, or Holy Thursday. And that we then celebrate the performance of the promise which he made to his Disciples at or before his Ascension; namely, "that though he left them, yet he would send them the Holy Ghost to be their Comforter;" and that he did so on that day which the Church calls Whitsunday.—Thus the Church keeps an historical and circular commemoration of times, as they pass by us; of such times as ought to incline us to occasional praises, for the particular blessings which we do, or might receive, by those holy commemorations.

He made them know also why the Church hath appointed Ember-weeks; and to know the reason why the Commandments, and the Epistles and Gospels, were to be read at the Altar or Communion Table: why the Priest was to pray the Litany kneeling; and why to pray some Collects standing: and he gave them many other observations, fit for his plain congregation, but not fit for me now to mention; for I must set limits to my pen, and not make that a treatise, which I intended to be a much shorter account than I have made it: but I have done, when I have told the Reader, that he was constant in catechising every Sunday in the afternoon, and that his catechising was after his Second Lesson, and in the pulpit; and that he never exceeded his half hour, and was always so happy as to have an obedient and a full congregation.

And to this I must add, that if he were at any time too zealous in his Sermons, it was in reproving the indecencies of the people's behaviour in the time of divine service; and of those Ministers that huddle up the Church-prayers, without a visible reverence and affection; namely, such as seemed to say the Lord's prayer, or a Collect in a breath. But for himself, his custom was to stop betwixt every Collect, and give the people time to consider what they had prayed, and to force their desires affectionately to God, before he engaged them into new petitions.

And by this account of his diligence to make his parishioners understand what they prayed, and why they praised and adored their Creator, I hope I shall the more easily obtain the Reader's belief to the following account of Mr. Herbert's own practice; which was to appear constantly with his wife and three nieces—the daughters of a deceased sister—and his whole family, twice every day at the Church-prayers in the Chapel, which does almost join to his Parsonage-house. And for the time of his appearing, it was strictly at the canonical hours of ten and four: and then and there he lifted up pure and charitable hands to God in the midst of the congregation. And he would joy to have spent that time in that place, where the honour of his Master Jesus dwelleth; and there, by that inward devotion which he testified constantly by an humble behaviour and visible adoration, he, like Joshua, brought not only "his own household thus to serve the Lord;" but brought most of his parishioners, and many gentlemen in the neighbourhood, constantly to make a part of his congregation twice a day: and some of the meaner sort of his parish did so love and reverence Mr. Herbert, that they would let their plough rest when Mr. Herbert's Saint's-bell rung to prayers, that they might also offer their devotions to God with him; and would then return back to their plough. And his most holy life was such, that it begot such reverence to God, and to him, that they thought themselves the happier, when they carried Mr. Herbert's blessing back with them to their labour. Thus powerful was his reason and example to persuade others to a practical piety and devotion.

And his constant public prayers did never make him to neglect his own private devotions, nor those prayers that he thought himself bound to perform with his family, which always were a set form, and not long; and he did always conclude them with a Collect which the Church hath appointed for the day or week.—Thus he made every day's sanctity a step towards that kingdom, where impurity cannot enter.

His chiefest recreation was Music, in which heavenly art he was a most excellent master, and did himself compose many Divine Hymns and Anthems, which he set and sung to his lute or viol: and though he was a lover of retiredness, yet his love to Music was such, that he went usually twice every week, on certain appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury; and at his return would say, "That his time spent in prayer, and Cathedral-music, elevated his soul, and was his Heaven upon earth." But before his return thence to Bemerton, he would usually sing and play his part at an appointed private Music-meeting; and, to justify this practice, he would often say, "Religion does not banish mirth, but only moderates and sets rules to it."

And as his desire to enjoy his Heaven upon earth drew him twice every week to Salisbury, so his walks thither were the occasion of many happy accidents to others; of which I will mention some few.

In one of his walks to Salisbury he overtook a gentleman, that is still living in that City; and in their walk together, Mr. Herbert took a fair occasion to talk with him, and humbly begged to be excused, if he asked him some account of his faith; and said, "I do this the rather, because though you are not of my parish, yet I receive tythe from you by the hand of your tenant; and, Sir, I am the bolder to do it, because I know there be some sermon-hearers that be like those fishes, that always live in salt water, and yet are always fresh."

After which expression, Mr. Herbert asked him some needful questions, and having received his answer, gave him such rules for the trial of his sincerity, and for a practical piety, and in so loving and meek a manner, that the gentleman did so fall in love with him, and his discourse, that he would often contrive to meet him in his walk to Salisbury, or to attend him back to Bemerton; and still mentions the name of Mr. George Herbert with veneration, and still praiseth God for the occasion of knowing him.

In another of his Salisbury walks, he met with a neighbour Minister; and after some friendly discourse betwixt them, and some condolement for the decay of piety, and too general contempt of the Clergy, Mr. Herbert took occasion to say,

"One cure for these distempers would be, for the Clergy themselves to keep the Ember-weeks strictly, and beg of their parishioners to join with them in fasting and prayers for a more religious Clergy.

"And another cure would be, for themselves to restore the great and neglected duty of Catechising, on which the Salvation of so many of the poor and ignorant lay-people does depend; but principally, that the Clergy themselves would be sure to live unblameably; and that the dignified Clergy especially which preach temperance, would avoid surfeiting and take all occasions to express a visible humility and charity in their lives; for this would force a love and an imitation, and an unfeigned reverence from all that knew them to be such." (And for proof of this, we need no other testimony than the life and death of Dr. Lake,[24] late Lord Bishop of Bath and Wells.) "This," said Mr. Herbert, "would be a cure for the wickedness and growing Atheism of our age. And, my dear brother, till this be done by us, and done in earnest, let no man expect a reformation of the manners of the Laity; for 'tis not learning, but this, this only that must do it; and, till then, the fault must lie at our doors."

In another walk to Salisbury, he saw a poor man with a poorer horse, that was fallen under his load: they were both in distress, and needed present help; which Mr. Herbert perceiving, put off his canonical coat, and helped the poor man to unload, and after to load, his horse. The poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man; and was so like the Good Samaritan, that he gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse; and told him, "That if he loved himself he should be merciful to his beast." Thus he left the poor man: and at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, which used to be so trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed: but he told them the occasion. And when one of the company told him "He had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment," his answer was, "That the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight; and that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by that place: for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to practice what I pray for. And though I do not wish for the like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or shewing mercy; and I praise God for this occasion. And now let's tune our instruments."

Thus, as our blessed Saviour, after his Resurrection, did take occasion to interpret the Scripture to Cleopas, and that other Disciple, which he met with and accompanied in their journey to Emmaus; so Mr. Herbert, in his path toward Heaven, did daily take any fair occasion to instruct the ignorant, or comfort any that were in affliction; and did always confirm his precepts, by shewing humility and mercy, and ministering grace to the hearers.

And he was most happy in his wife's unforced compliance with his acts of Charity, whom he made his almoner, and paid constantly into her hand, a tenth penny of what money he received for tythe, and gave her power to dispose that to the poor of his parish, and with it a power to dispose a tenth part of the corn that came yearly into his barn: which trust she did most faithfully perform, and would often offer to him an account of her stewardship, and as often beg an enlargement of his bounty; for she rejoiced in the employment: and this was usually laid out by her in blankets and shoes for some such poor people as she knew to stand in most need of them. This as to her charity.—And for his own, he set no limits to it: nor did ever turn his face from any that he saw in want, but would relieve them; especially his poor neighbours; to the meanest of whose houses he would go, and inform himself of their wants, and relieve them cheerfully, if they were in distress; and would always praise God, as much for being willing, as for being able to do it. And when he was advised by a friend to be more frugal, because he might have children, his answer was, "He would not see the danger of want so far off: but being the Scripture does so commend Charity, as to tell us that Charity is the top of Christian virtues, the covering of sins, the fulfilling of the Law, the Life of Faith; and that Charity hath a promise of the blessings of this life, and of a reward in that life which is to come: being these, and more excellent things are in Scripture spoken of thee, O Charity! and that, being all my tythes and Church-dues are a deodate from thee, O my God! make me, O my God! so far to trust thy promise, as to return them back to thee; and by thy grace I will do so, in distributing them to any of thy poor members that are in distress, or do but bear the image of Jesus my Master." "Sir," said he to his friend, "my wife hath a competent maintenance secured after my death; and therefore, as this is my prayer, so this my resolution shall, by God's grace, be unalterable."

This may be some account of the excellencies of the active part of his life; and thus he continued, till a consumption so weakened him, as to confine him to his house, or to the Chapel, which does almost join to it; in which he continued to read prayers constantly twice every day, though he were very weak: in one of which times of his reading, his wife observed him to read in pain, and told him so, and that it wasted his spirits, and weakened him; and he confessed it did, but said, his "life could not be better spent, than in the service of his Master Jesus, who had done and suffered so much for him. But," said he, "I will not be wilful; for though my spirit be willing, yet I find my flesh is weak; and therefore Mr. Bostock shall be appointed to read prayers for me to-morrow; and I will now be only a hearer of them, till this mortal shall put on immortality." And Mr. Bostock did the next day undertake and continue this happy employment, till Mr. Herbert's death. This Mr. Bostock was a learned and virtuous man, an old friend of Mr. Herbert's, and then his Curate to the Church of Fulston, which is a mile from Bemerton, to which Church Bemerton is but a Chapel of Ease. And this Mr. Bostock did also constantly supply the Church-service for Mr. Herbert in that Chapel, when the Music-meeting at Salisbury caused his absence from it.

About one month before his death, his friend Mr. Farrer,—for an account of whom I am by promise indebted to the Reader, and intend to make him sudden payment,—hearing of Mr. Herbert's sickness, sent Mr. Edmund Duncon—who is now Rector of Friar Barnet in the County of Middlesex—from his house of Gidden Hall, which is near to Huntingdon, to see Mr. Herbert, and to assure him, he wanted not his daily prayers for his recovery; and Mr. Duncon was to return back to Gidden, with an account of Mr. Herbert's condition. Mr. Duncon found him weak, and at that time lying on his bed, or on a pallet; but at his seeing Mr. Duncon he raised himself vigorously, saluted him, and with some earnestness enquired the health of his brother Farrer; of which Mr. Duncon satisfied him, and after some discourse of Mr. Farrer's holy life, and the manner of his constant serving God, he said to Mr. Duncon,—"Sir, I see by your habit that you are a Priest, and I desire you to pray with me:" which being granted, Mr. Duncon asked him, "What prayers?" To which Mr. Herbert's answer was, "O, Sir! the prayers of my Mother, the Church of England: no other prayers are equal to them! But at this time, I beg of you to pray only the Litany, for I am weak and faint:" and Mr. Duncon did so. After which, and some other discourse of Mr. Farrer, Mrs. Herbert provided Mr. Duncon a plain supper, and a clean lodging, and he betook himself to rest. This Mr. Duncon tells me; and tells me, that, at his first view of Mr. Herbert, he saw majesty and humility so reconciled in his looks and behaviour, as begot in him an awful reverence for his person; and says, "his discourse was so pious, and his motion so genteel and meek, that after almost forty years, yet they remain still fresh in his memory."

The next morning Mr. Duncon left him, and betook himself to a journey to Bath, but with a promise to return back to him within five days; and he did so: but before I shall say any thing of what discourse then fell betwixt them two, I will pay my promised account of Mr. Farrer.

Mr. Nicholas Farrer—who got the reputation of being called Saint Nicholas at the age of six years—was born in London, and doubtless had good education in his youth; but certainly was, at an early age, made Fellow of Clare-Hall in Cambridge; where he continued to be eminent for his piety, temperance, and learning. About the twenty-sixth year of his age, he betook himself to travel: in which he added, to his Latin and Greek, a perfect knowledge of all the languages spoken in the Western parts of our Christian world; and understood well the principles of their Religion, and of their manner, and the reasons of their worship. In this his travel he met with many persuasions to come into a communion with that church which calls itself Catholic: but he returned from his travels as he went, eminent for his obedience to his mother, the Church of England. In his absence from England, Mr. Farrer's father—who was a merchant—allowed him a liberal maintenance; and, not long after his return into England, Mr. Farrer had, by the death of his father, or an elder brother, or both, an estate left him, that enabled him to purchase land to the value of four or five hundred pounds a year; the greatest part of which land was at Little Gidden, four or six miles from Huntingdon, and about eighteen from Cambridge; which place he chose for the privacy of it, and for the Hall, which had the Parish-Church or Chapel, belonging and adjoining near to it; for Mr. Farrer, having seen the manners and vanities of the world, and found them to be, as Mr. Herbert says, "a nothing between two dishes," did so contemn it, that he resolved to spend the remainder of his life in mortifications, and in devotion, and charity, and to be always prepared for death. And his life was spent thus:

He and his family, which were like a little College, and about thirty in number, did most of them keep Lent and all Ember-weeks strictly, both in fasting and using all those mortifications and prayers that the Church hath appointed to be then used; and he and they did the like constantly on Fridays, and on the Vigils or Eves appointed to be fasted before the Saints' days: and this frugality and abstinence turned to the relief of the poor: but this was but a part of his charity; none but God and he knew the rest.

This family, which I have said to be in number about thirty, were a part of them his kindred, and the rest chosen to be of a temper fit to be moulded into a devout life; and all of them were for their dispositions serviceable, and quiet, and humble, and free from scandal. Having thus fitted himself for his family, he did, about the year 1630, betake himself to a constant and methodical service of God; and it was in this manner:—He, being accompanied with most of his family, did himself use to read the common prayers—for he was a Deacon—every day, at the appointed hours of ten and four, in the Parish-Church, which was very near his house, and which he had both repaired and adorned; for it was fallen into a great ruin, by reason of a depopulation of the village before Mr. Farrer bought the manor. And he did also constantly read the Matins every morning at the hour of six, either in the Church, or in an Oratory, which was within his own house. And many of the family did there continue with him after the prayers were ended, and there they spent some hours in singing Hymns, or Anthems, sometimes in the Church, and often to an organ in the Oratory. And there they sometimes betook themselves to meditate, or to pray privately, or to read a part of the New Testament to themselves, or to continue their praying or reading the Psalms; and in case the Psalms were not always read in the day, then Mr. Farrer, and others of the congregation, did at night, at the ringing of a watch-bell, repair to the Church or Oratory, and there betake themselves to prayers and lauding God, and reading the Psalms that had not been read in the day: and when these, or any part of the congregation, grew weary or faint, the watch-bell was rung, sometimes before, and sometimes after midnight; and then another part of the family rose, and maintained the watch, sometimes by praying, or singing lauds to God, or reading the Psalms; and when, after some hours, they also grew weary or faint, then they rung the watch-bell and were also relieved by some of the former, or by a new part of the society, which continued their devotions—as hath been mentioned—until morning. And it is to be noted, that in this continued serving of God, the Psalter or the whole Book of Psalms, was in every four and twenty hours sung or read over, from the first to the last verse: and this was done as constantly as the sun runs his circle every day about the world, and then begins again the same instant that it ended.

Thus did Mr. Farrer and his happy family serve God day and night; thus did they always behave themselves as in his presence. And they did always eat and drink by the strictest rules of temperance; eat and drink so as to be ready to rise at midnight, or at the call of a watch-bell, and perform their devotions to God. And it is fit to tell the Reader, that many of the Clergy, that were more inclined to practical piety and devotion, than to doubtful and needless disputations, did often come to Gidden Hall, and make themselves a part of that happy society, and stay a week or more, and then join with Mr. Farrer and the family in these devotions, and assist and ease him or them in their watch by night. And these various devotions had never less than two of the domestic family in the night; and the watch was always kept in the Church or Oratory, unless in extreme cold winter nights, and then it was maintained in a parlour, which had a fire in it; and the parlour was fitted for that purpose. And this course of piety, and great liberality to his poor neighbours, Mr. Farrer maintained till his death, which was in the year 1639.[24]

Mr. Farrer's and Mr. Herbert's devout lives were both so noted, that the general report of their sanctity gave them occasion to renew that slight acquaintance which was begun at their being contemporaries in Cambridge; and this new holy friendship was long maintained without any interview, but only by loving and endearing letters. And one testimony of their friendship and pious designs, may appear by Mr. Farrer's commending the "Considerations of John Valdesso"—a book which he had met with in his travels, and translated out of Spanish into English,—to be examined and censured by Mr. Herbert before it was made public: which excellent book Mr. Herbert did read, and return back with many marginal notes, as they be now printed with it; and with them, Mr. Herbert's affectionate letter to Mr. Farrer.

This John Valdesso was a Spaniard, and was for his learning and virtue much valued and loved by the great Emperor Charles the Fifth, whom Valdesso had followed as a Cavalier all the time of his long and dangerous wars: and when Valdesso grew old, and grew weary both of war and the world, he took his fair opportunity to declare to the Emperor, that his resolution was to decline his Majesty's service, and betake himself to a quiet and contemplative life, "because there ought to be a vacancy of time betwixt fighting and dying." The Emperor had himself, for the same, or other like reasons, put on the same resolution: but God and himself did, till then, only know them; and he did therefore desire Valdesso to consider well of what he had said, and to keep his purpose within his own breast, till they two might have a second opportunity of a friendly discourse; which Valdesso promised to do.

In the mean time the Emperor appoints privately a day for him and Valdesso to meet again; and, after a pious and free discourse, they both agreed on a certain day to receive the blessed Sacrament publicly; and appointed an eloquent and devout Friar to preach a Sermon of contempt of the world, and of the happiness and benefit of a quiet and contemplative life; which the Friar did most affectionately. After which Sermon, the Emperor took occasion to declare openly, "That the Preacher had begot in him a resolution to lay down his dignities, and to forsake the world, and betake himself to a monastical life." And he pretended, he had persuaded John Valdesso to do the like: but this is most certain, that after the Emperor had called his son Philip out of England, and resigned to him all his kingdoms, that then the Emperor and John Valdesso did perform their resolutions.

This account of John Valdesso I received from a friend, that had it from the mouth of Mr. Farrer. And the Reader may note, that in this retirement John Valdesso writ his Hundred and Ten Considerations, and many other treatises of worth, which want a second Mr. Farrer to procure and translate them.[25]

After this account of Mr. Farrer and John Valdesso, I proceed to my account of Mr. Herbert and Mr. Duncon, who according to his promise returned from Bath the fifth day, and then found Mr. Herbert much weaker than he left him; and therefore their discourse could not be long: but at Mr. Duncon's parting with him, Mr. Herbert spoke to this purpose: "Sir, I pray you give my brother Farrer an account of the decaying condition of my body, and tell him I beg him to continue his daily prayers for me; and let him know that I have considered, that God only is what he would be; and that I am, by his grace, become now so like him, as to be pleased with what pleaseth him; and tell him, that I do not repine, but am pleased with my want of health: and tell him, my heart is fixed on that place where true joy is only to be found; and that I long to be there, and do wait for my appointed change with hope and patience." Having said this, he did, with so sweet a humility as seemed to exalt him, bow down to Mr. Duncon, and with a thoughtful and contented look, say to him, "Sir, I pray deliver this little book to my dear brother Farrer, and tell him, he shall find in it a picture of the many spiritual conflicts that have passed betwixt God and my soul, before I could subject mine to the will of Jesus my Master: in whose service I have now found perfect freedom. Desire him to read it; and then, if he can think it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul, let it be made public; if not, let him burn it; for I and it are less than the least of God's mercies." Thus meanly did this humble man think of this excellent book, which now bears the name of "The Temple; or, Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations;" of which Mr. Farrer would say, "There was in it the picture of a divine soul in every page: and that the whole book was such a harmony of holy passions, as would enrich the world with pleasure and piety." And it appears to have done so; for there have been more than twenty thousand of them sold since the first impression.

And this ought to be noted, that when Mr. Farrer sent this book to Cambridge to be licensed for the press, the Vice-Chancellor would by no means allow the two so much noted verses,

to be printed; and Mr. Farrer would by no means allow the book to be printed and want them. But after some time, and some arguments for and against their being made public, the Vice-Chancellor said, "I knew Mr. Herbert well, and know that he had many heavenly speculations, and was a divine poet: but I hope the world will not take him to be an inspired prophet, and therefore I license the whole book." So that it came to be printed without the diminution or addition of a syllable, since it was delivered into the hands of Mr. Duncon, save only that Mr. Farrer hath added that excellent Preface that is printed before it.

At the time of Mr. Duncon's leaving Mr. Herbert,—which was about three weeks before his death,—his old and dear friend Mr. Woodnot came from London to Bemerton, and never left him till he had seen him draw his last breath, and closed his eyes on his death-bed. In this time of his decay, he was often visited and prayed for by all the Clergy that lived near to him, especially by his friends the Bishop and Prebends of the Cathedral Church in Salisbury; but by none more devoutly than his wife, his three nieces,—then a part of his family,—and Mr. Woodnot, who were the sad witnesses of his daily decay; to whom he would often speak to this purpose: "I now look back upon the pleasures of my life past, and see the content I have taken in beauty, in wit, in music, and pleasant conversation, are now all past by me like a dream, or as a shadow that returns not, and are now all become dead to me, or I to them; and I see, that as my father and generation hath done before me, so I also shall now suddenly (with Job) make my bed also in the dark; and I praise God I am prepared for it; and I praise him that I am not to learn patience now I stand in such need of it; and that I have practised mortification, and endeavoured to die daily, that I might not die eternally; and my hope is, that I shall shortly leave this valley of tears, and be free from all fevers and pain; and, which will be a more happy condition, I shall be free from sin, and all the temptations and anxieties that attend it: and this being past, I shall dwell in the New Jerusalem; dwell there with men made perfect; dwell where these eyes shall see my Master and Saviour Jesus; and with him see my dear Mother, and all my relations and friends. But I must die, or not come to that happy place. And this is my content, that I am going daily towards it: and that every day which I have lived, hath taken a part of my appointed time from me; and that I shall live the less time, for having lived this and the day past," These, and the like expressions, which he uttered often, may be said to be his enjoyment of Heaven before he enjoyed it. The Sunday before his death, he rose suddenly from his bed or couch, called for one of his instruments, took it into his hand and said,

My God, my God,
My music shall find thee,
And every string
Shall have his attribute to sing.

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 doors stand ope;
Blessings are plentiful and rife,
More plentiful than hope.

Thus he sung on earth such Hymns and Anthems, as the Angels, and he, and Mr. Farrer, now sing in Heaven.

Thus he continued meditating, and praying, and rejoicing, till the day of his death; and on that day said to Mr. Woodnot, "My dear friend, I am sorry I have nothing to present to my merciful God but sin and misery; but the first is pardoned, and a few hours will now put a period to the latter; for I shall suddenly go hence, and be no more seen." Upon which expression Mr. Woodnot took occasion to remember him of the re-edifying Layton Church, and his many acts of mercy. To which he made answer, saying, "They be good works, if they be sprinkled with the blood of Christ, and not otherwise." After this discourse he became more restless, and his soul seemed to be weary of her earthly tabernacle; and this uneasiness became so visible, that his wife, his three nieces, and Mr. Woodnot, stood constantly about his bed, beholding him with sorrow, and an unwillingness to lose the sight of him, whom they could not hope to see much longer. As they stood thus beholding him, his wife observed him to breathe faintly, and with much trouble, and observed him to fall into a sudden agony; which so surprised her, that she fell into a sudden passion, and required of him to know how he did. To which his answer was, "that he had passed a conflict with his last enemy, and had overcome him by the merits of his Master Jesus." After which answer, he looked up, and saw his wife and nieces weeping to an extremity, and charged them, if they loved him, to withdraw into the next room, and there pray every one alone for him; for nothing but their lamentations could make his death uncomfortable. To which request their sighs and tears would not suffer them to make any reply; but they yielded him a sad obedience, leaving only with him Mr. Woodnot and Mr. Bostock. Immediately after they had left him, he said to Mr. Bostock, "Pray, Sir, open that door, then look into that cabinet, in which you may easily find my last Will, and give it into my hand:" which being done, Mr. Herbert delivered it into the hand of Mr. Woodnot, and said, "My old friend, I here deliver you my last Will, in which you will find that I have made you my sole Executor for the good of my wife and nieces; and I desire you to shew kindness to them, as they shall need it: I do not desire you to be just; for I know you will be so for your own sake; but I charge you, by the religion of our friendship, to be careful of them." And having obtained Mr. Woodnot's promise to be so, he said, "I am now ready to die." After which words, he said, "Lord, forsake me not now my strength faileth me: but grant me mercy for the merits of my Jesus. And now, Lord—Lord, now receive my soul." And with those words he breathed forth his divine soul, without any apparent disturbance, Mr. Woodnot and Mr. Bostock attending his last breath, and closing his eyes.

Thus he lived, and thus he died, like a Saint, unspotted of the world, full of alms-deeds, full of humility, and all the examples of a virtuous life; which I cannot conclude better, than with this borrowed observation:

——All must to their cold graves:
But the religious actions of the just
Smell sweet in death, and blossom in the dust.[26]

Mr. George Herbert's have done so to this, and will doubtless do so to succeeding generations.—I have but this to say more of him; that if Andrew Melvin died before him,[27] then George Herbert died without an enemy.[28] I wish—if God shall be so pleased—that I may be so happy as to die like him.

IZ. WA.

There is a debt justly due to the memory of Mr. Herbert's virtuous Wife; a part of which I will endeavour to pay, by a very short account of the remainder of her life, which shall follow.

She continued his disconsolate widow about six years, bemoaning herself, and complaining, that she had lost the delight of her eyes; but more that she had lost the spiritual guide for her poor soul; and would often say, "O that I had, like holy Mary, the Mother of Jesus, treasured up all his sayings in my heart! But since I have not been able to do that, I will labour to live like him, that where he now is I may be also." And she would often say,—as the Prophet David for his son Absalom,—"O that I had died for him!" Thus she continued mourning till time and conversation had so moderated her sorrows, that she became the happy wife of Sir Robert Cook, of Highnam, in the County of Gloucester, Knight. And though he put a high value on the excellent accomplishments of her mind and body, and was so like Mr. Herbert, as not to govern like a master, but as an affectionate husband; yet she would even to him often take occasion to mention the name of Mr. George Herbert, and say, that name must live in her memory till she put off mortality. By Sir Robert she had only one child, a daughter, whose parts and plentiful estate make her happy in this world, and her well using of them gives a fair testimony that she will be so in that which is to come.

Mrs. Herbert was the wife of Sir Robert eight years, and lived his widow about fifteen; all which time she took a pleasure in mentioning and commending the excellencies of Mr. George Herbert. She died in the year 1663, and lies buried at Highnam: Mr. Herbert in his own Church, under the altar, and covered with a gravestone without any inscription.

This Lady Cook had preserved many of Mr. Herbert's private writings, which she intended to make public; but they and Highnam House were burnt together by the late rebels, and so lost to posterity.

I.W.

[Footnote 1: A fortress first erected by Roger de Montgomery, Earl of Shrewsbury, under William I., to secure his conquests in Wales, though it was twice partly destroyed by the Welsh. It stands near the Severn, on a gentle ascent, having a fair prospect over the plain beneath. The order of Parliament for its destruction was made June 11th, 1649.]

[Footnote 2: That eloquent and acute biographer, Edmund Lodge, thus truly gives the character of Lord Herbert of Cherbury. "Of that anomaly of character by the abundance and variety of which foreigners are pleased to tell us that our country is distinguished, we meet with few examples more striking than in the subject of this memoir—wise and unsteady; prudent and careless; a philosopher, with ungovernable and ridiculous prejudices; a good humoured man, who even sought occasions to shed the blood of his fellow creatures; a deist, with superstition too gross for the most secluded cloister. These observations are not founded on the report of others, but on the fragment which remains of his own sketch of his life,—a piece of infinite curiosity." His autobiography has been edited by Horace Walpole and Scott. He is also the author of a volume of poems written in the style of Donne, frequently marred by harsh rhythm and violent conceits, but occasionally displaying artistic excellence of a very high order.]

[Footnote 3: It has been said of Dr. Richard Neale, that no one was more thoroughly acquainted with the distresses as well as the conveniences of the clergy, having served the Church as Schoolmaster, Curate, Vicar, Rector, Master of the Savoy, Dean of Westminster, Clerk of the Closet to James I. and Charles I., Bishop of Rochester, Lichfield, Durham, Winchester, and Archbishop of York (1631). "He died," says Echard, "full of years as he was full of honours; a faithful subject to his prince, an indulgent father to his clergy, a bountiful patron to his chaplains, and a true friend to all that relied upon him."]

[Footnote 4: He was made Master of Westminster School in 1599, and continued so to 1610.]

[Footnote 5: Thomas Nevil, D.D., eminent for the splendour of his birth, his extraordinary piety and learning, was educated at Pembroke Hall in the University of Cambridge. In 1582 he was admitted Master of Magdalen College in the same University, and in 1593 he succeeded Dr. John Still in the Mastership of Trinity College, being then Dean of the Cathedral Church of Peterborough, over which he presided commendably eight years. Upon the demise of Queen Elizabeth, Dr. Nevil, who had been promoted to the Deanery of Canterbury in 1597, was sent by Archbishop Whitgift to King James in Scotland, in the names of the Bishops and Clergy of England, to tender their bounden duties, and to understand his Highness's pleasure for the ordering and guiding of the Clergy. The Dean brought a most gracious answer of his Highness's purpose, which was to uphold and maintain the government of the late Queen, as she left it settled.]

[Footnote 6: Born on 28th June, 1573; created Baron Danvers in 1603, and Earl of Danby 7th February, 1625-6; died on 10th January, 1643-4.]

[Footnote 7: This gentleman was born in Suffolk, in 1563, and was descended from a very ancient family in that County. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, and on January 8th, 1617-18, was made Secretary of State: King James I. having been previously so well pleased with his eloquence and learning as to appoint him Master of the Court of Wards. Sir Robert Naunton was the Author of the interesting "Fragmenta Regalia, or Observations on Queen Elizabeth and her Favourites." He died on Good Friday, 1633-34.]

[Footnote 8: Sir Francis Nethersole was a native of Kent, Ambassador to the Princes of the Union, and Secretary to the Queen of Bohemia, and was equally remarkable for his doings and sufferings in her behalf.]

[Footnote 9: This royal work is divided into three books; the first on "A Christian King's duty towards God." The second on "A King's duty in his office." The third on "A King's behaviour in things indifferent."]

[Footnote 10: Andrew Melville procured the Basilicon Doron in Manuscript, and circulated it in Scotland, which produced a libel against it and first caused its publication in 1599. This celebrated person was born in 1545, and was educated at the University of St. Andrews, which he left with an eminent character for learning, and travelled through France to Geneva. He was elected principal Master of Glasgow College in 1574, when he began to enforce the Presbyterian System; and after much opposition, and two years' imprisonment, he died Professor of Divinity to the Protestants of Sedan, in 1622.]

[Footnote 11: Andrew Melville was not present at the celebrated conference held at Hampton-Court, in the first year of King James I., upon the complaint of the Puritans against the ceremonies and the liturgy of the Church of England. He was summoned to appear before the King and Council in 1604. In the first edition of "Mr. Walton's Life of Mr. George Herbert," Melville is described to be "Master of a great wit; a wit full of knots and clenches; a wit sharp and satirical; exceeded, I think, by none of that nation, but their Buchanan."]

[Footnote 12: Daughter of Charles Stuart, Earl of Lenox, the younger brother of Henry, Earl of Darnley, father of King James I. She was born at Hampstead in 1577, and received a very liberal education; added to which, she possessed a large estate, and, the English succession being doubtful, she was supposed to be a probable heir to the crown. She incurred the displeasure of James, by marrying Mr. William Seymour, grandson of the Earl of Hertford, for which she was sent to the Tower; and although she had made her escape thence, she was overtaken, brought back, and died there in 1615.]

[Footnote 13: James Duport, the learned son of a learned father, John Duport, Master of Jesus College, Cambridge, was Greek Professor in that University. On the promotion of Dr. Edward Rainbow to the See of Carlisle, he was appointed Dean of Peterborough, and in 1668 was elected Master of Magdalen College, Cambridge.]

[Footnote 14: In the margin of the 1670 edition is written "Albumazar,
Ignoramus." The author of "Albumazar," a piece presented before the
King at Cambridge in 1614, and printed in the same year, was John
Tomkis. "Ignoramus," a Latin comedy by James Ruggle (or Ruggles), was
first printed in 1630.]

[Footnote 15: Dr. Richard Parry, who died September 26, 1623. The "sinecure" here mentioned was the rectory of Whitford.]

[Footnote 16: Mr. Herbert Thorndike was then Fellow of Trinity College. He was ejected from his Fellowship by the usurped powers, and admitted to the Rectory of Barley in Hertfordshire, July 2, 1642. On the death of Dr. Samuel Ward, he was elected to the Mastership of Sidney College, but was kept out of it by the oppression of the times. For his sufferings and great learning he was installed Prebendary of Westminster, Sept. 5, 1660. In the year following he resigned his living of Barley, and died in 1672. He assisted Dr. Walton in the edition of the Polyglot Bible.]

[Footnote 17: Dr. John Williams, afterwards Archbishop of York, was then Bishop of Lincoln, the last ecclesiastic who was Lord Keeper of the Great Seal.]

[Footnote 18: See Prof. Mayor's "Nicholas Farrer: Two Lives by his brother John and Dr. Jebb." (Cambridge, 1855.)]

[Footnote 19: A native of Scotland, educated at Westminster School
and Trinity College, Cambridge, afterwards Greek Professor of the
University. During the Civil Wars, he suffered extremely for the Royal
Cause, and was an exile with Charles II., who gave him the Deanery of
Wells on the Restoration, and in 1670, he was made Bishop of Bath and
Wells. He died in 1672.]

[Footnote 20: He was, in 1609, Lady Margaret's Professor of Divinity at Cambridge, and in 1611, Bishop of Salisbury. He was appointed by James I. to attend the Synod of Dort, and his endeavours to effect an union between the reformed Churches were zealous and sincere. He died in 1641.]

[Footnote 21: The House and grounds of this Rectory were in the same state as in the time of Herbert, when the late Archdeacon Coxe was presented to the living; the principal part of the former was single, with small windows, and the river Neder flowed at the bottom of the garden. Bemerton is two miles west by north of Salisbury, and the Church is dedicated to St. Andrew.]

[Footnote 22: At the time Dr. Henchman was Prebendary of Salisbury, of which See he became Bishop in 1660, and in 1663 he was removed to London. He was much esteemed by King Charles II., whose escape at the battle of Worcester, he was very instrumental in promoting: but when the declaration for liberty of conscience was published in 1671-72, this Prelate was not afraid of the King's displeasure, but enjoined his Clergy to preach against Popery. He died in 1675.]

[Footnote 23: A private Clergyman, of Clare Hall, Cambridge, who suffered much for his gallant devotion to the cause of his King, Charles I.]

[Footnote 24: The extraordinary course of life pursued at Gidding, the strictness of their rules, their prayers, literally without ceasing, their abstinence, mortifications, nightly watchings, and various other peculiarities, gave birth to censure in some, and inflamed the malevolence of others, but excited the wonder and curiosity of all. So that they were frequently visited with different views by persons of all denominations, and of opposite opinions. They received all who came with courteous civility; and from those who were inquisitive they concealed nothing, as indeed there was not any thing either in their opinions or their practice, in the least degree necessary to be concealed. Notwithstanding this, they were by some abused as Papists, by others as Puritans, Mr. Ferrar himself, though possessed of uncommon patience and resignation, yet in anguish of spirit complained to his friends, that the perpetual obloquy he endured was a sort of unceasing martyrdom. Added to all this, violent invectives and inflammatory pamphlets were published against them. Amongst others, not long after Mr. Ferrar's death, a treatise was addressed to the Parliament, entitled, "The Arminian Nunnery, or a brief description and relation of the late erected monastical place called the Arminian Nunnery at Little Gidding in Huntingdonshire: humbly addressed to the wise consideration of the present parliament. The foundation is by a company of Ferrars at Gidding," printed by Thomas Underbill, 1641.

Soon after Mr. Ferrar's death, certain soldiers of the Parliament resolved to plunder the house at Gidding. The family being informed of their hasty approach, thought it prudent to fly; while these military zealots, in the rage of what they called reformation , ransacked both the church and the house; in doing which, they expressed a particular spite against the organ. This they broke in pieces, of which they made a large fire, and at it roasted several of Mr. Ferrar's sheep, which they had killed in his grounds. This done, they seized all the plate, furniture, and provision, which they could conveniently carry away. And in this general devastation perished the works which Mr. Ferrar had compiled for the use of his household, consisting chiefly of harmonies of the Old and New Testament.]

[Footnote 26: Altered from a Dirge in Shirley's "Contention of Ajax and Ulysses."—The lines in Shirley are

"Your heads must come
To the cold tomb—
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust."]

[Footnote 27: "Mr. George Herbert, Esq., Parson of Fuggleston and Bemerton, was buried 3d day of March, 1632." ( Parish Register of Bemerton .')—It does not appear whether he was buried in the parish church or in the chapel. His letter to Mr. Nicholas Ferrar, the translator of Valdesso, is dated from his Parsonage at Bemerton, near Salisbury, Sept. 29, 1632. It must be remembered, that the beginning of the year, at that time, was computed the 25th of March. In this year also, he wrote the short address to the Reader, which is prefixed to his "Priest to the Temple," which was not published till after his death.]

[Footnote 28: It is not to be supposed that Andrew Melville could retain the least personal resentment against Mr. Herbert; whose verses have in them so little of the poignancy of satire, that it is scarce possible to consider them as capable of exciting the anger of him to whom they are addressed.]

LETTER FROM MR. GEORGE HERBERT TO NICHOLAS FARRER,

My dear and deserving brother, your Valdesso I now return with many thanks, and some notes, in which perhaps you will discover some care which I forbear not in the midst of my griefs; first for your sake, because I would do nothing negligently that you commit unto me: secondly for the Author's sake, whom I conceive to have been a true servant of God; and to such, and all that is their's, I owe diligence: thirdly for the Church's sake, to whom by printing it, I would have you consecrate it. You owe the Church a debt, and God hath put this into your hands—as he sent the fish with money to St. Peter—to discharge it; happily also with this—as his thoughts are fruitful—intending the honour of his servant the Author, who, being obscured in his own country, he would have to flourish in this land of light, and region of the Gospel among his chosen. It is true, there are some things which I like not in him, as my fragments will express, when you read them: nevertheless, I wish you by all means to publish it, for these three eminent things observable therein: First, that God in the midst of Popery, should open the eyes of one to understand and express so clearly and excellently, the intent of the Gospel in the acceptation of Christ's righteousness,—as he sheweth through all his Considerations,—a thing strangely buried and darkened by the adversaries, and their great stumbling block. Secondly, the great honour and reverence which he every where bears towards our dear Master and Lord; concluding every Consideration almost with his holy name, and setting his merit forth so piously; for which I do so love him, that were there nothing else, I would print it, that with it the honour of my Lord might be published. Thirdly, the many pious rules of ordering our life about mortification, and observation of God's kingdom within us, and the working thereof; of which he was a very diligent observer. These three things are very eminent in the Author, and overweigh the defects—as I conceive—towards the publishing thereof.

THE WORKS OF MR. GEORGE HERBERT.

I. "ORATIO quâ auspicatissimum serenissimi Principis CAROLI reditum ex Hispaniis celebravit GEORGIUS HERBERT, Academæ Cantabrigiensis Orator.—1623."

II. "ORATIO … habita coram Dominis Legatis cum Magistro in Artib. titulis insignirentur. 27 Febr. 1622."

III. "A TRANSLATION of LEWIS CORNARO'S TREATISE on TEMPERANCE." Printed at Cambridge in 1634, along with Mr. Nicholas Ferrar's translation of "The Hygiasticon, or the right Course of preserving Health, by Leonard Lessius." To Mr. Herbert's Translation is annexed "A Paradox, translated out of Italian, That a more spare diet is better than a splendid or sumptuous."

IV. "HERBERT'S REMAINS; or Sundry Pieces of that sweet Singer of the
Temple, Mr. GEORGE HERBERT, some time Orator of the University of
Cambridge, now exposed to public Light." London, 1652.

This volume consists of—1. "A Priest to the Temple, or the Country Parson in his Character and Rule of Holy Life; with a Prefatory View of the Life and Virtues of the Author and Excellencies of this Book, by Barnabas Oley." In the second and subsequent impressions of this volume is added, "A Preface to the Christian Reader," consisting of six paragraphs, by Mr. Oley. 2. "Jacula Prudentum; or Outlandish Proverbs, Sentences, &c., selected by Mr. George Herbert."

V. "THE TEMPLE: SACRED POEMS and Private EJACULATIONS, by Mr. GEORGE HERBERT, late orator of the University of Cambridge. In his Temple doth every Man speak of his Honour, Psal. xxix. Cambridge, 1633 ."

VI. "MUSÆ RESPONSORÆ AD ANDREÆ MELVINI ANTI-TAMI-CAMI-CATEGORIAM. Ex officinâ, Joh. Field, Cantab. 1662. " 12mo.

During his residence at Cambridge, he composed Latin Poems on the Death of Henry Prince of Wales; and of Anne, Queen to James I. See "Epicedium Cantabrigiense in obitum immaturum semperque deflendum Henrici illustrissimi Principis Walliæ, Cantab. 1612. " And "Lachrymæ Cantabrigienses in obitum serenissimæ Regiæ Annæ, Conjugis dilectissimæ Jacobi Magnæ Britanniæ, Franciæ, et Hiberniæ Regis. Cantab. 1619. "

The following letters, written by Herbert, when he was Public Orator, are in the Orator's Book at Cambridge:

1. "To Sir Robert Naunton, with thanks for some acts of kindness procured by him from Government to the University."

7. "To Sir Robert Heath, Solicitor-General, congratulating them on their several promotions."

11. "To Dr. Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, against the London Printers monopolizing foreign books."

THE LIFE OF DR. ROBERT SANDERSON, LATE BISHOP OF LINCOLN.

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND AND HONOURABLE, GEORGE, LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, PRELATE OF THE GARTER, AND ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S PRIVY COUNCIL.

MY LORD,

If I should undertake to enumerate the many favours and advantages I have had by my very long acquaintance with your Lordship, I should enter upon an employment, that might prove as tedious as the collecting of the materials for this poor Monument, which I have erected, and do dedicate to the Memory of your beloved friend, Dr. Sanderson: But though I will not venture to do that; yet I do remember with pleasure, and remonstrate with gratitude, that your Lordship made me known to him, Mr. Chillingworth,[1] and Dr. Hammond; men, whose merits ought never to be forgotten.

My friendship with the first was begun almost forty years past, when I was as far from a thought, as a desire to outlive him; and farther from an intention to write his Life. But the wise Disposer of all men's lives and actions hath prolonged the first, and now permitted the last; which is here dedicated to your Lordship,—and, as it ought to be—with all humility, and a desire that it may remain as a public testimony of my gratitude.

My Lord,
Your most affectionate old friend,
and most humble servant,
IZAAK WALTON.

[Footnote 1: William Chillingworth, born at Oxford in 1602, and educated at Trinity College. He was proverbially celebrated there for clear and acute reasoning; but he so much involved himself in the Romish Controversy with John Fisher, a Jesuit, as to become a convert, and enter the College at Douay. His re-conversion was brought about by his godfather, Archbishop Laud, in 1631, when he returned to England; and in 1638, he wrote his famous work called "The Religion of Protestants a safe Way to Salvation." Fol. He was zealously attached to the Royal cause, and served at the Siege of Gloucester: but being taken prisoner, he was carried to the Bishop's Palace, at Chichester, on account of his illness, and, dying there Jan. 30th, 1644, was buried in the Cathedral, without any other ceremony than that of his book being cast into the grave by the hand of a fanatic.]

THE PREFACE

I dare neither think, nor assure the Reader, that I have committed no mistakes in this relation of the Life of Dr. Sanderson; but I am sure, there is none that are either wilful, or very material. I confess, it was worthy the employment of some person of more Learning and greater abilities than I can pretend to; and I have not a little wondered that none have yet been so grateful to him and to posterity, as to undertake it. For it may be noted, that our Saviour hath had such care, that, for Mary Magdalen's kindness to him, her name should never be forgotten: and doubtless Dr. Sanderson's meek and innocent life, his great and useful Learning, might therefore challenge the like endeavours to preserve his memory: And 'tis to me a wonder, that it has been already fifteen years neglected. But, in saying this, my meaning is not to upbraid others,—I am far from that,—but excuse myself, or beg pardon for daring to attempt it. This being premised, I desire to tell the Reader, that in this relation I have been so bold, as to paraphrase and say, what I think he—whom I had the happiness to know well—would have said upon the same occasions: and if I have erred in this kind, and cannot now beg pardon of him that loved me; yet I do of my Reader, from whom I desire the same favour.

And, though my age might have procured me a Writ of Ease, and that secured me from all further trouble in this kind; yet I met with such persuasions to begin, and so many willing informers since, and from them, and others, such helps and encouragements to proceed, that when I found myself faint, and weary of the burthen with which I had loaden myself, and ready to lay it down; yet time and new strength hath at last brought it to be what it now is, and presented to the Reader, and with it this desire; that he will take notice, that Dr. Sanderson did in his Will, or last sickness, advertise, that after his death nothing of his might be printed; because that might be said to be his, which indeed was not; and also for that he might have changed his opinion since he first writ it. And though these reasons ought to be regarded, yet regarded so, as he resolves in that Case of Conscience concerning Rash Vows; that there may appear very good second reasons why we may forbear to perform them. However, for his said reasons, they ought to be read as we do Apocryphal Scripture; to explain, but not oblige us to so firm a belief of what is here presented as his.

And I have this to say more; That as in my queries for writing Dr. Sanderson's Life, I met with these little Tracts annexed; so, in my former queries for my information to write the Life of venerable Mr. Hooker, I met with a Sermon, which I also believe was really his, and here presented as his to the Reader. It is affirmed,—and I have met with reason to believe it,—that there be some Artists, that do certainly know an original picture from a copy; and in what age of the world, and by whom drawn. And if so, then I hope it may be as safely affirmed, that what is here presented for their's is so like their temper of mind, their other writings, the times when, and the occasions upon which they were writ, that all Readers may safely conclude, they could be writ by none but venerable Mr. Hooker, and the humble and learned Dr. Sanderson.

And lastly, I am now glad that I have collected these memoirs, which lay scattered, and contracted them into a narrower compass; and if I have, by the pleasant toil of doing so, either pleased or profited any man, I have attained what I designed when I first undertook it. But I seriously wish, both for the Reader's and Dr. Sanderson's sake, that posterity had known his great Learning and Virtue by a better pen; by such a pen, as could have made his life as immortal, as his learning and merits ought to be.

I.W.

THE LIFE OF DR. ROBERT SANDERSON, LATE LORD BISHOP OF LINCOLN.

Doctor Robert Sanderson, the late learned Bishop of Lincoln, whose Life I intend to write with all truth and equal plainness, was born the nineteenth day of September in the year of our Redemption 1587. The place of his birth was Rotherham[1] in the County of York; a Town of good note, and the more for that Thomas Rotherham,[2] some time Archbishop of that see, was born in it; a man, whose great wisdom, and bounty, and sanctity of life, have made it the more memorable: as indeed it ought also to be, for being the birth-place of our Robert Sanderson. And the Reader will be of my belief, if this humble relation of his life can hold any proportion with his great Piety, his useful Learning, and his many other extraordinary endowments.

He was the second and youngest Son, of Robert Sanderson, of
Gilthwaite-Hall, in the said Parish and County, Esq., by Elizabeth,
one of the daughters of Richard Carr, of Butterthwaite-Hall, in the
Parish of Ecclesfield, in the said County of York, Gentleman.

This Robert Sanderson, the Father, was descended from a numerous, ancient, and honourable family of his own name: for the search of which truth, I refer my Reader, that inclines to it, to Dr. Thoroton's "History of the Antiquities of Nottinghamshire," and other records; not thinking it necessary here to engage him into a search for bare titles, which are noted to have in them nothing of reality: for titles not acquired, but derived only, do but shew us who of our ancestors have, and how they have achieved that honour which their descendants claim, and may not be worthy to enjoy. For, if those titles descend to persons that degenerate into Vice, and break off the continued line of Learning, or Valour, or that Virtue that acquired them, they destroy the very foundation upon which that Honour was built; and all the rubbish of their vices ought to fall heavy on such dishonourable heads; ought to fall so heavy, as to degrade them of their titles, and blast their memories with reproach and shame.

But our Robert Sanderson lived worthy of his name and family: of which one testimony may be, that Gilbert, called the Great Earl of Shrewsbury, thought him not unworthy to be joined with him as a Godfather to Gilbert Sheldon,[3] the late Lord Archbishop of Canterbury; to whose merits and memory, posterity—the Clergy especially—ought to pay a reverence.

But I return to my intended relation of Robert the Son, who began in his youth to make the Laws of God, and obedience to his parents, the rules of his life; seeming even then to dedicate himself, and all his studies, to Piety and Virtue.

And as he was inclined to this by that native goodness, with which the wise Disposer of all hearts had endowed his; so this calm, this quiet and happy temper of mind—his being mild, and averse to oppositions—made the whole course of his life easy and grateful both to himself and others: and this blessed temper was maintained and improved by his prudent Father's good example; and by frequent conversing with him, and scattering short apophthegms and little pleasant stories, and making useful applications of them, his son was in his infancy taught to abhor Vanity and Vice as monsters, and to discern the loveliness of Wisdom and Virtue; and by these means, and God's concurring grace, his knowledge was so augmented, and his native goodness so confirmed, that all became so habitual, as it was not easy to determine whether Nature or Education were his teachers.

And here let me tell the Reader, that these early beginnings of Virtue, were by God's assisting grace, blessed with what St. Paul seemed to beg for his Philippians [Phil. i. 6.]; namely, "That he, that had begun a good work in them, would finish it." And Almighty God did: for his whole life was so regular and innocent, that he might have said at his death—and with truth and comfort—what the same St. Paul said after to the same Philippians, when he advised them to walk as they had him for an example [chap. iii. 17].

And this goodness, of which I have spoken, seemed to increase as his years did; and with his goodness his Learning, the foundation of which was laid in the Grammar-school of Rotherham—that being one of those three that were founded and liberally endowed by the said great and good Bishop of that name.—And in this time of his being a Scholar there, he was observed to use an unwearied diligence to attain learning, and to have a seriousness beyond his age, and with it a more than common modesty; and to be of so calm and obliging a behaviour, that the Master and whole number of Scholars loved him as one man.

And in this love and amity he continued at that School till about the thirteenth year of his age; at which time his Father designed to improve his Grammar learning, by removing him from Rotherham to one of the more noted Schools of Eton or Westminster; and after a year's stay there, then to remove him thence to Oxford. But, as he went with him, he called on an old friend, a Minister of noted learning, and told him his intentions; and he, after many questions with his Son, received such answers from him, that he assured his Father, his Son was so perfect a Grammarian, that he had laid a good foundation to build any or all the Arts upon; and therefore advised him to shorten his journey, and leave him at Oxford. And his Father did so.

His father left him there to the sole care and manage of Dr. Kilbie,[4] who was then Rector of Lincoln College. And he, after some time and trial of his manners and learning, thought fit to enter him of that College, and, after to matriculate him in the University, which he did the first of July, 1603; but he was not chosen Fellow till the third of May, 1606; at which time he had taken his degree of Bachelor of Arts: at the taking of which degree, his Tutor told the Rector, "That his pupil Sanderson had a metaphysical brain and a matchless memory; and that he thought he had improved or made the last so by an art of his own invention." And all the future employments of his life proved that his tutor was not mistaken. I must here stop my Reader, and tell him that this Dr. Kilbie was a man of so great learning and wisdom, and was so excellent a critic in the Hebrew Tongue, that he was made Professor of it in this university; and was also so perfect a Grecian, that he was by King James appointed to be one of the Translators of the Bible; and that this Doctor and Mr. Sanderson had frequent discourses, and loved as father and son. The Doctor was to ride a journey into Derbyshire, and took Mr. Sanderson to bear him company: and they going together on a Sunday with the Doctor's friend to that Parish Church where they then were, found the young Preacher to have no more discretion, than to waste a great part of the hour allotted for his Sermon in exceptions against the late Translation of several words,—not expecting such a hearer as Dr. Kilbie,—and shewed three reasons why a particular word should have been otherwise translated. When Evening Prayer was ended, the Preacher was invited to the Doctor's friend's house; where after some other conference the Doctor told him, "He might have preached more useful doctrine, and not have filled his auditors' ears with needless exceptions against the late Translation: and for that word, for which he offered to that poor congregation three reasons why it ought to have been translated as he said; he and others had considered all them, and found thirteen more considerable reasons why it was translated as now printed;" and told him, "If his friend, then attending him, should prove guilty of such indiscretion, he should forfeit his favour." To which Mr. Sanderson said, "He hoped he should not." And the preacher was so ingenuous as to say, "He would not justify himself." And so I return to Oxford. In the year 1608,—July the 11th,—Mr. Sanderson was completed Master of Arts. I am not ignorant, that for the attaining these dignities the time was shorter than was then or is now required; but either his birth or the well performance of some extraordinary exercise, or some other merit, made him so: and the Reader is requested to believe, that 'twas the last: and requested to believe also, that if I be mistaken in the time, the College Records have misinformed me: but I hope they have not.

In that year of 1608, he was—November the 7th—by his College chosen Reader of Logic in the House; which he performed so well, that he was chosen again the sixth of November, 1609. In the year 1613, he was chosen Sub-Rector of the College, and the like for the year 1614, and chosen again to the same dignity and trust for the year 1616.

In all which time and employments, his abilities and behaviour were such, as procured him both love and reverence from the whole Society; there being no exception against him for any faults, but a sorrow for the infirmities of his being too timorous and bashful; both which were, God knows, so connatural as they never left him. And I know not whether his lovers ought to wish they had; for they proved so like the radical moisture in man's body, that they preserved the life of virtue in his soul, which by God's assisting grace never left him till this life put on immortality. Of which happy infirmities—if they may be so called—more hereafter.

In the year 1614 he stood to be elected one of the Proctors for the University. And 'twas not to satisfy any ambition of his own, but to comply with the desire of the Rector and whole Society, of which he was a Member; who had not had a Proctor chosen out of their College for the space of sixty years;—namely, not from the year 1554, unto his standing;—and they persuaded him, that if he would but stand for Proctor, his merits were so generally known, and he so well beloved, that 'twas but appearing, and he would infallibly carry it against any opposers; and told him, "That he would by that means recover a right or reputation that was seemingly dead to his College." By these, and other like persuasions, he yielded up his own reason to their's, and appeared to stand for Proctor. But that election was carried on by so sudden and secret, and by so powerful a faction, that he missed it. Which when he understood, he professed seriously to his friends, "That if he were troubled at the disappointment, it was for their's, and not for his own sake: for he was far from any desire of such an employment, as must be managed with charge and trouble, and was too usually rewarded with hard censures, or hatred, or both."

In the year following he was earnestly persuaded by Dr. Kilbie and others, to review the Logic Lectures which he had read some years past in his College; and, that done, to methodise and print them, for the ease and public good of posterity. But though he had an averseness to appear publicly in print; yet after many serious solicitations, and some second thoughts of his own, he laid aside his modesty, and promised he would; and he did so in that year of 1615. And the book proved as his friends seemed to prophesy, that is, of great and general use, whether we respect the Art or the Author. For Logic may be said to be an Art of right reasoning; an Art that undeceives men who take falsehood for truth; enables men to pass a true judgment, and detect those fallacies, which in some men's understandings usurp the place of right reason. And how great a master our Author was in this art, will quickly appear from that clearness of method, argument, and demonstration, which is so conspicuous in all his other writings. He, who had attained to so great a dexterity in the use of reason himself, was best qualified to prescribe rules and directions for the instructions of others. And I am the more satisfied of the excellency and usefulness of this, his first public undertaking, by hearing that most Tutors in both Universities teach Dr. Sanderson's Logic to their Pupils, as a foundation upon which they are to build their future studies in Philosophy. And, for a further confirmation of my belief, the Reader may note, that since his Book of Logic was first printed there has not been less than ten thousand sold: and that 'tis like to continue both to discover truth and to clear and confirm the reason of the unborn world.[5]

It will easily be believed that his former standing for a Proctor's place, and being disappointed, must prove much displeasing to a man of his great wisdom and modesty, and create in him an averseness to run a second hazard of his credit and content: and yet he was assured by Dr. Kilbie, and the Fellows of his own College, and most of those that had opposed him in the former Election, that his Book of Logic had purchased for him such a belief of his learning and prudence, and his behaviour at the former Election had got for him so great and so general a love, that all his former opposers repented what they had done; and therefore persuaded him to venture to stand a second time. And, upon these, and other like encouragements, he did again, but not without an inward unwillingness, yield up his own reason to their's, and promised to stand. And he did so; and was the tenth of April, 1616, chosen Senior Proctor for the year following; Mr. Charles Crooke[6] of Christ Church being then chosen the Junior.

In this year of his being Proctor, there happened many memorable accidents; namely, Dr. Robert Abbot,[7] Master of Balliol College, and Regius Professor of Divinity,—who being elected or consecrated Bishop of Sarum some months before,—was solemnly conducted out of Oxford towards his Diocese, by the Heads of all Houses, and the chief of all the University. And Dr. Prideaux[8] succeeded him in the Professorship, in which he continued till the year 1642,—being then elected Bishop of Worcester,—and then our now Proctor, Mr. Sanderson, succeeded him in the Regius Professorship.

And in this year Dr. Arthur Lake[9]—then Warden of New College—was advanced to the Bishopric of Bath and Wells: a man of whom I take myself bound in justice to say, that he has made the great trust committed to him, the chief care and whole business of his life. And one testimony of this proof may be, that he sate usually with his Chancellor in his Consistory, and at least advised, if not assisted, in most sentences for the punishing of such offenders as deserved Church-censures. And it may be noted, that, after a sentence for penance was pronounced, he did very rarely or never, allow of any commutation for the offence, but did usually see the sentence for penance executed; and then as usually preached a Sermon on mortification and repentance, and did so apply them to the offenders, that then stood before him, as begot in them a devout contrition, and at least resolutions to amend their lives: and having done that, he would take them—though never so poor—to dinner with him, and use them friendly, and dismiss them with his blessing and persuasions to a virtuous life, and beg them to believe him. And his humility and charity, and other Christian excellencies, were all like this. Of all which the Reader may inform himself in his Life, truly writ, and printed before his Sermons.

And in this year also, the very prudent and very wise Lord Ellesmere, who was so very long Lord Chancellor of England, and then of Oxford, resigning up the last, the Right Honourable, and as magnificent, William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, was chosen to succeed him.

And in this year our late King Charles the First—then Prince of Wales—came honourably attended to Oxford; and having deliberately visited the University, the Schools, Colleges, and Libraries, he and his attendants were entertained with ceremonies and feasting suitable to their dignity and merits.

And this year King James sent letters to the University for the regulating their studies; especially of the young Divines: advising they should not rely on modern sums and systems, but study the Fathers and Councils, and the more primitive learning. And this advice was occasioned by the indiscreet inferences made by very many Preachers out of Mr. Calvin's doctrine concerning Predestination, Universal Redemption, the Irresistibility of God's Grace, and of some other knotty points depending upon these; points which many think were not, but by interpreters forced to be, Mr. Calvin's meaning; of the truth or falsehood of which I pretend not to have an ability to judge; my meaning in this relation, being only to acquaint the Reader with the occasion of the King's Letter.

It may be observed, that the various accidents of this year did afford our Proctor large and laudable matter to dilate and discourse upon: and that though his office seemed, according to statute and custom, to require him to do so at his leaving it; yet he chose rather to pass them over with some very short observations, and present the governors, and his other hearers, with rules to keep up discipline and order in the University; which at that time was, either by defective Statutes, or want of the due execution of those that were good, grown to be extremely irregular. And in this year also, the magisterial part of the Proctor required more diligence, and was more difficult to be managed than formerly, by reason of a multiplicity of new Statutes, which begot much confusion; some of which Statutes were then, and others suddenly after, put into an useful execution. And though these Statutes were not then made so perfectly useful as they were designed, till Archbishop Laud's time—who assisted in the forming and promoting them;—yet our present Proctor made them as effectual as discretion and diligence could do: of which one example may seem worthy the noting; namely, that if in his night-walk he met with irregular Scholars absent from their Colleges at University hours, or disordered by drink, or in scandalous company, he did not use his power of punishing to an extremity; but did usually take their names, and a promise to appear before him unsent for next morning; and when they did, convinced them, with such obligingness, and reason added to it, that they parted from him with such resolutions, as the man after God's own heart was possessed with, when he said, "There is mercy with thee, and therefore thou shall be feared:" Psal. cxxx. 4. And by this and a like behaviour to all men, he was so happy as to lay down this dangerous employment, as but very few, if any, have done, even without an enemy.

After his speech was ended, and he retired with a friend into a convenient privacy, he looked upon his friend with a more than common cheerfulness, and spake to him to this purpose: "I look back upon my late employment with some content to myself, and a great thankfulness to Almighty God, that he hath made me of a temper not apt to provoke the meanest of mankind, but rather to pass by infirmities, if noted; and in this employment I have had—God knows—many occasions to do both. And when I consider, how many of a contrary temper are by sudden and small occasions transported and hurried by anger to commit such errors, as they in that passion could not foresee, and will in their more calm and deliberate thoughts upbraid, and require repentance: and consider, that though repentance secures us from the punishment of any sin, yet how much more comfortable it is to be innocent than need pardon: and consider, that errors against men, though pardoned both by God and them, do yet leave such anxious and upbraiding impressions in the memory, as abates of the offender's content:—when I consider all this, and that God hath of his goodness given me a temper that hath prevented me from running into such enormities, I remember my temper with joy and thankfulness. And though I cannot say with David—I wish I could,—that therefore 'his praise shall always be in my mouth;' Psal. xxxiv. 1; yet I hope, that by his grace, and that grace seconded by my endeavours, it shall never be blotted out of my memory; and I now beseech Almighty God that it never may."

And here I must look back, and mention one passage more in his Proctorship, which is, that Gilbert Sheldon, the late Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, was this year sent to Trinity College in that University; and not long after his entrance there, a letter was sent after him from his godfather—the father of our Proctor—to let his son know it, and commend his godson to his acquaintance, and to more than a common care of his behaviour; which proved a pleasing injunction to our Proctor, who was so gladly obedient to his father's desire, that he some few days after sent his servitor to intreat Mr. Sheldon to his chamber next morning. But it seems Mr. Sheldon having—like a young man as he was—run into some such irregularity as made him conscious he had transgressed his statutes, did therefore apprehend the Proctor's invitation as an introduction to punishment; the fear of which made his bed restless that night: but, at their meeting the next morning, that fear vanished immediately by the Proctor's cheerful countenance, and the freedom of their discourse of friends. And let me tell my Reader, that this first meeting proved the beginning of as spiritual a friendship as human nature is capable of; of a friendship free from all self ends: and it continued to be so, till death forced a separation of it on earth; but it is now reunited in Heaven.

And now, having given this account of his behaviour, and the considerable accidents in his Proctorship, I proceed to tell my Reader, that, this busy employment being ended, he preached his sermon for his Degree of Bachelor in Divinity in as elegant Latin, and as remarkable for the matter, as hath been preached in that University since that day. And having well performed his other exercises for that Degree, he took it the nine and twentieth of May following, having been ordained Deacon and Priest in the year 1611, by John King, then Bishop of London, who had not long before been Dean of Christ Church, and then knew him so well, that he became his most affectionate friend. And in this year, being then about the twenty-ninth of his age, he took from the University a license to preach.

In the year 1618, he was by Sir Nicholas Sanderson, Lord Viscount Castleton, presented to the Rectory of Wibberton, not far from Boston, in the County of Lincoln, a living of very good value; but it lay in so low and wet a part of that country as was inconsistent with his health. And health being—next to a good conscience—the greatest of God's blessings in this life, and requiring therefore of every man a care and diligence to preserve it, he, apprehending a danger of losing it, if he continued at Wibberton a second Winter, did therefore resign it back into the hands of his worthy kinsman and patron, about one year after his donation of it to him.

And about this time of his resignation he was presented to the Rectory of Boothby Pannell, in the same County of Lincoln; a town which has been made famous, and must continue to be famous, because Dr. Sanderson, the humble and learned Dr. Sanderson, was more than forty years Parson of Boothby Pannell, and from thence dated all or most of his matchless writings.

To this living—which was of no less value, but a purer air than Wibberton—he was presented by Thomas Harrington, of the same County, and Parish, Esq., who was a gentleman of a very ancient family, and of great use and esteem in his country during his whole life. And in this Boothby Pannell the meek and charitable Dr. Sanderson and his patron lived with an endearing, mutual, and comfortable friendship, till the death of the last put a period to it.

About the time that he was made Parson of Boothby Pannell, he resigned his Fellowship of Lincoln College unto the then Rector and Fellows; and his resignation is recorded in these words:

I Robert Sanderson, Fellow of the College of St. Mary's and All-Saints, commonly called Lincoln College, in the University of Oxford, do freely and willingly resign into the hands of the Rector and Fellows, all the right and title that I have in the said College, wishing to them and their successors all peace, and piety, and happiness, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

ROBERT SANDERSON.

And not long after this resignation, he was by the then Bishop of
York,[10] or the King sede vacante , made Prebend of the Collegiate
Church of Southwell in that Diocese; and shortly after of Lincoln by
the Bishop of that See.

And being now resolved to set down his rest in a quiet privacy at Boothby Pannell, and looking back with some sadness upon his removal from his general acquaintance left in Oxford, and the peculiar pleasures of a University life; he could not but think the want of society would render this of a country Parson the more uncomfortable, by reason of that want of conversation; and therefore he did put on some faint purposes to marry. For he had considered, that though marriage be cumbered with more worldly care than a single life; yet a complying and a prudent wife changes those very cares into so mutual a content, as makes them become like the sufferings of St. Paul, Colos. i. 24, which he would not have wanted because they occasioned his rejoicing in them. And he, having well considered this, and observed the secret unutterable joys that children beget in parents, and the mutual pleasures and contented trouble of their daily care and constant endeavours to bring up those little images of themselves, so as to make them as happy as all those cares and endeavours can make them: he, having considered all this, the hopes of such happiness turned his faint purposes into a positive resolution to marry. And he was so happy as to obtain Anne, the daughter of Henry Nelson, Bachelor in Divinity, then Rector of Haugham, in the County of Lincoln, a man of noted worth and learning. And the Giver of all good things was so good to him, as to give him such a wife as was suitable to his own desires; a wife, that made his life happy by being always content when he was cheerful; that divided her joys with him, and abated of his sorrow, by bearing a part of that burden; a wife that demonstrated her affection by a cheerful obedience to all his desires, during the whole course of his life; and at his death too, for she outlived him.

And in this Boothby Pannell, he either found or made his parishioners peaceable, and complying with him in the decent and regular service of God. And thus his Parish, his patron, and he lived together in a religious love and a contented quietness; he not troubling their thoughts by preaching high and useless notions, but such plain truths as were necessary to be known, believed and practised, in order to their salvation. And their assent to what he taught was testified by such a conformity to his doctrine, as declared they believed and loved him. For he would often say, "That, without the last, the most evident truths—heard as from an enemy, or an evil liver—either are not, or are at least the less effectual; and do usually rather harden than convince the hearer."

And this excellent man did not think his duty discharged by only reading the Church prayers, catechising, preaching, and administering the Sacraments seasonably; but thought—if the Law or the Canons may seem to enjoin no more,—yet that God would require more, than the defective laws of man's making can or do enjoin; the performance of that inward law, which Almighty God hath imprinted in the conscience of all good Christians, and inclines those whom he loves to perform. He, considering this, did therefore become a law to himself, practising what his conscience told him was his duty, in reconciling differences, and preventing lawsuits, both in his Parish and in the neighbourhood. To which may be added his often visiting sick and disconsolate families, persuading them to patience, and raising them from dejection by his advice and cheerful discourse, and by adding his own alms, if there were any so poor as to need it: considering how acceptable it is to Almighty God, when we do as we are advised by St. Paul, Gal. vi. 2, "Help to bear one another's burden," either of sorrow or want: and what a comfort it will be, when the Searcher of all hearts shall call us to a strict account for that evil we have done, and the good we have omitted, to remember we have comforted and been helpful to a dejected or distressed family.

And that his practice was to do good, one example may be, that he met with a poor dejected neighbour, that complained he had taken a meadow, the rent of which was 9_l_. a year; and when the hay was made ready to be carried into his barn, several days' constant rain had so raised the water, that a sudden flood carried all away, and his rich Landlord would bate him no rent; and that unless he had half abated, he and seven children were utterly undone. It may be noted, that in this age there are a sort of people so unlike the God of Mercy, so void of the bowels of pity, that they love only themselves and children: love them so, as not to be concerned, whether the rest of mankind waste their days in sorrow or shame; people that are cursed with riches, and a mistake that nothing but riches can make them and their's happy. But it was not so with Dr. Sanderson; for he was concerned, and spoke comfortably to the poor dejected man; bade him go home and pray, and not load himself with sorrow, for he would go to his Landlord next morning; and if his Landlord would not abate what he desired, he and a friend would pay it for him.

To the Landlord he went the next day, and, in a conference, the Doctor presented to him the sad condition of his poor dejected Tenant; telling him how much God is pleased when men compassionate the poor: and told him, that though God loves sacrifice, yet he loves mercy so much better, that he is pleased when called the God of Mercy. And told him, the riches he was possessed of were given him by that God of Mercy, who would not be pleased, if he, that had so much given, yea, and forgiven him too, should prove like the rich steward in the Gospel, "that took his fellow servant by the throat to make him pay the utmost farthing." This he told him: and told him, that the law of this nation—by which law he claims his rent—does not undertake to make men honest or merciful; but does what it can to restrain men from being dishonest or unmerciful, and yet was defective in both: and that taking any rent from his poor Tenant, for what God suffered him not to enjoy, though the law allowed him to do so, yet if he did so, he was too like that rich Steward which he had mentioned to him; and told him that riches so gotten, and added to his great estate, would, as Job says, "prove like gravel in his teeth:" would in time so corrode his conscience, or become so nauseous when he lay upon his deathbed, that he would then labour to vomit it up, and not be able: and therefore advised him, being very rich, to make friends of his unrighteous Mammon, before that evil day come upon him: but however, neither for his own sake, nor for God's sake, to take any rent of his poor, dejected, sad Tenant; for that were to gain a temporal, and lose his eternal happiness. These and other such reasons were urged with so grave and compassionate an earnestness, that the Landlord forgave his Tenant the whole rent.

The Reader will easily believe that Dr. Sanderson, who was so meek and merciful, did suddenly and gladly carry this comfortable news to the dejected Tenant; and we believe, that at the telling of it there was mutual rejoicing. It was one of Job's boasts, that "he had seen none perish for want of clothing: and that he had often made the heart of the widow to rejoice." Job xxxi. 19. And doubtless Dr. Sanderson might have made the same religious boast of this and very many like occasions. But, since he did not, I rejoice that I have this just occasion to do it for him; and that I can tell the Reader, I might tire myself and him, in telling how like the whole course of Dr. Sanderson's life was to this which I have now related.

Thus he went on in an obscure and quiet privacy, doing good daily both by word and by deed, as often as any occasion offered itself; yet not so obscurely, but that his very great learning, prudence, and piety were much noted and valued by the Bishop of his Diocese, and by most of the nobility and gentry of that county. By the first of which he was often summoned to preach many Visitation Sermons, and by the latter at many Assizes. Which Sermons, though they were much esteemed by them that procured, and were fit to judge them; yet they were the less valued, because he read them, which he was forced to do; for though he had an extraordinary memory,—even the art of it,—yet he had such an innate invincible fear and bashfulness, that his memory was wholly useless, as to the repetition of his sermons as he had writ them; which gave occasion to say, when they were first printed and exposed to censure, which was in the year 1632,—"that the best Sermons that were ever read, were never preached."

In this contented obscurity he continued, till the learned and good Archbishop Laud,[11] who knew him well in Oxford,—for he was his contemporary there,—told the King,—'twas the knowing and conscientious King Charles the First,—that there was one Mr. Sanderson, an obscure country Minister, that was of such sincerity, and so excellent in all casuistical learning, that he desired his Majesty would make him his Chaplain. The King granted it most willingly, and gave the Bishop charge to hasten it, for he longed to discourse with a man that had dedicated his studies to that useful part of learning. The Bishop forgot not the King's desire, and Mr. Sanderson was made his Chaplain in Ordinary in November following, 1631. And when they became known to each other, the King did put many Cases of Conscience to him, and received from him such deliberate, safe, and clear solutions, as gave him great content in conversing with him; so that, at the end of his month's attendance, the King told him, "he should long for the next November; for he resolved to have a more inward acquaintance with him, when that month and he returned." And when the month and he did return, the good King was never absent from his Sermons, and would usually say, "I carry my ears to hear other preachers; but I carry my conscience to hear Mr. Sanderson, and to act accordingly." And this ought not to be concealed from posterity, that the King thought what he spake; for he took him to be his adviser, in that quiet part of his life, and he proved to be his comforter in those days of his affliction, when he apprehended himself to be in danger of death or deposing. Of which more hereafter.

In the first Parliament of this good King,—which was 1625,—he was chosen to be a Clerk of the Convocation for the Diocese of Lincoln; which I here mention, because about that time did arise many disputes about Predestination, and the many critical points that depend upon, or are interwoven in it; occasioned, as was said, by a disquisition of new principles of Mr. Calvin's, though others say they were before his time. But of these Dr. Sanderson then drew up, for his own satisfaction, such a scheme—he called it Pax Ecclesiæ —as then gave himself, and hath since given others, such satisfaction, that it still remains to be of great estimation among the most learned. He was also chosen Clerk of all the Convocations during that good King's reign. Which I here tell my Reader, because I shall hereafter have occasion to mention that Convocation in 1640, the unhappy Long Parliament, and some debates of the Predestination points as they have been since charitably handled betwixt him, the learned Dr. Hammond,[12] and Dr. Pierce,[13] the now Reverend Dean of Salisbury.

In the year 1636, his Majesty, then in his progress, took a fair occasion to visit Oxford, and to take an entertainment for two days for himself and honourable attendants; which the Reader ought to believe was suitable to their dignities. But this is mentioned, because at the King's coming thither, Dr. Sanderson did attend him, and was then—the 31st of August—created Doctor of Divinity; which honour had an addition to it, by having many of the Nobility of this nation then made Doctors and Masters of Arts with him; some of whose names shall be recorded and live with his, and none shall outlive it. First, Dr. Curle and Dr. Wren,[14] who were then Bishops of Winton and of Norwich,—and had formerly taken their degrees in Cambridge, were with him created Doctors of Divinity in his University. So was Meric,[15] the son of the learned Isaac Casaubon; and Prince Rupert, who still lives, the then Duke of Lenox, Earl of Hereford, Earl of Essex, of Berkshire, and very many others of noble birth—too many to be named—were then created Masters of Arts.

Some years before the unhappy Long Parliament, this nation being then happy and in peace,—though inwardly sick of being well,—namely, in the year 1639, a discontented party of the Scots Church were zealously restless for another reformation of their Kirk-government; and to that end created a new Covenant, for the general taking of which they pretended to petition the King for his assent, and that he would enjoin the taking of it by all of that nation. But this petition was not to be presented to him by a committee of eight or ten men of their fraternity; but by so many thousands, and they so armed as seemed to force an assent to what they seemed to request; so that though forbidden by the King, yet they entered England, and in the heat of zeal took and plundered Newcastle, where the King was forced to meet them with an army: but upon a treaty and some concessions, he sent them back,—though not so rich as they intended, yet,—for that time, without bloodshed. But, Oh! this peace, and this Covenant, were but the fore-runners of war, and the many miseries that followed: for in the year following there were so many chosen into the Long Parliament, that were of a conjunct council with these very zealous and as factious reformers, as begot such a confusion by the several desires and designs in many of the members of that Parliament, and at last in the very common people of this nation, that they were so lost by contrary designs, fears, and confusions, as to believe the Scots and their Covenant would restore them to their former tranquillity. And to that end the Presbyterian party of this nation did again, in the year 1643, invite the Scotch Covenanters back into England: and hither they came marching with it gloriously upon their pikes and in their hats, with this motto: "For the Crown and Covenant of both Kingdoms." This I saw, and suffered by it. But when I look back upon the ruin of families, the bloodshed, the decay of common honesty, and how the former piety and plain dealing of this now sinful nation is turned into cruelty and cunning, I praise God that he prevented me from being of that party which helped to bring in this Covenant, and those sad confusions that have followed it. And I have been the bolder to say this to myself, because in a sad discourse with Dr. Sanderson, I heard him make the like grateful acknowledgment.

This digression is intended for the better information of the reader in what will follow concerning Dr. Sanderson. And first, that the Covenanters of this nation, and their party in Parliament, made many exceptions against the Common Prayer and ceremonies of the Church, and seemed restless for a Reformation: and though their desires seemed not reasonable to the King, and the learned Dr. Laud, then Archbishop of Canterbury; yet, to quiet their consciences, and prevent future confusion, they did, in the year 1641, desire Dr. Sanderson to call two more of the Convocation to advise with him, and that he would then draw up some such safe alterations as he thought fit in the Service-book, and abate some of the ceremonies that were least material for satisfying their consciences:—and to this end they did meet together privately twice a week at the Dean of Westminster's[16] house, for the space of three months or more. But not long after that time, when Dr. Sanderson had made the reformation ready for a view, the Church and State were both fallen into such a confusion, that Dr. Sanderson's model for reformation became then useless. Nevertheless, his reputation was such, that he was, in the year 1642, proposed by both Houses of Parliament to the King, then in Oxford, to be one of their trustees for the settling of Church-affairs, and was allowed of by the King to be so: but that treaty came to nothing.

In the year 1643, the two Houses of Parliament took upon them to make an ordinance, and call an Assembly of Divines, to debate and settle some Church-controversies, of which many were very unfit to judge; in which Dr. Sanderson was also named, but did not appear; I suppose for the same reason that many other worthy and learned men did forbear, the summons wanting the King's authority. And here I must look back, and tell the Reader, that in the year 1642, he was, July 21st, named by a more undoubted authority to a more noble employment, which was to be Professor Regius of Divinity in Oxford: but, though knowledge be said to puff up, yet his modesty and too mean an opinion of his great abilities, and some other real or pretended reasons,—expressed in his speech, when he first appeared in the chair, and since printed,—kept him from entering into it till October, 1646.

He did, for about a year's time, continue to read his matchless Lectures, which were first de Juramento , a point very difficult, and at that time very dangerous to be handled as it ought to be. But this learned man, as he was eminently furnished with abilities to satisfy the consciences of men upon that important subject; so he wanted not courage to assert the true obligation of Oaths in a degenerate age, when men had made perjury a main part of their religion. How much the learned world stands obliged to him for these, and his following Lectures de Conscientiâ , I shall not attempt to declare, as being very sensible that the best pens must needs fall short in the commendation of them: so that I shall only add, that they continued to this day, and will do for ever, as a complete standard for the resolution of the most material doubts in Casuistical Divinity. And therefore I proceed to tell the Reader, that about the time of his reading those Lectures,—the King being then prisoner in the Isle of Wight,—the Parliament had sent the Covenant, the Negative Oath, and I know not what more, to be taken by the Doctor of the Chair, and all Heads of Houses; and all other inferior Scholars, of what degree soever, were all to take these Oaths by a fixed day; and those that did not, to abandon their College, and the University too, within twenty-four hours after the beating of a drum; for if they remained longer, they were to be proceeded against as spies.

Dr. Laud, then Archbishop of Canterbury, the Earl of Strafford, and many others, had been formerly murdered by this wicked Parliament; but the King yet was not: and the University had yet some faint hopes that in a Treaty then in being, or pretended to be suddenly, there might be such an agreement made between King and Parliament, that the Dissenters in the University might both preserve their consciences and subsistence which they then enjoyed by their Colleges.

And being possessed of this mistaken hope, that the Parliament were not yet grown so merciless as not to allow manifest reason for their not submitting to the enjoined Oaths, the University appointed twenty delegates to meet, consider, and draw up a Manifesto to the Parliament, why they could not take those oaths but by violation of their consciences: and of these delegates Dr. Sheldon,—late Archbishop of Canterbury,—Dr. Hammond,—Dr. Sanderson, Dr. Morley,—now Bishop of Winchester,—and that most honest and as judicious Civil Lawyer, Dr. Zouch,[17] were a part; the rest I cannot now name: but the whole number of the delegates requested Dr. Zouch to draw up the Law part, and give it to Dr. Sanderson: and he was requested to methodise and add what referred to reason and conscience, and put it into form. He yielded to their desires and did so. And then, after they had been read in a full Convocation, and allowed of, they were printed in Latin, that the Parliament's proceedings and the University's sufferings might be manifested to all nations: and the imposers of these oaths might repent, or answer them: but they were past the first; and for the latter, I might swear they neither can, nor ever will. And these Reasons were also suddenly turned into English by Dr. Sanderson, that those of these three kingdoms might the better judge of the loyal party's sufferings.

About this time the Independents—who were then grown to be the most powerful part of the army—had taken the King from a close to a more large imprisonment; and, by their own pretences to liberty of conscience, were obliged to allow somewhat of that to the King, who had, in the year 1646, sent for Dr. Sanderson, Dr. Hammond, Dr. Sheldon,—the late Archbishop of Canterbury,—and Dr. Morley,—the now Bishop of Winchester,—to attend him, in order to advise with them, how far he might with a good conscience comply with the proposals of the Parliament for a peace in Church and State: but these, having been then denied him by the Presbyterian Parliament, were now allowed him by those in present power. And as those other Divines, so Dr. Sanderson gave his attendance on his Majesty also in the Isle of Wight, preached there before him, and had in that attendance many, both public and private, conferences with him, to his Majesty's great satisfaction. At which time he desired Dr. Sanderson, that, being the Parliament had proposed to him the abolishing of Episcopal Government in the Church, as inconsistent with Monarchy, that he would consider of it; and declare his judgment. He undertook to do so, and did it; but it might not be printed till our King's happy Restoration, and then it was. And at Dr. Sanderson's taking his leave of his Majesty in his last attendance on him, the King requested him to betake himself to the writing Cases of Conscience for the good of posterity. To which his answer was, "That he was now grown old, and unfit to write Cases of Conscience." But the King was so bold with him as to say, "It was the simplest answer he ever heard from Dr. Sanderson; for no young man was fit to be a judge, or write Cases of Conscience." And let me here take occasion to tell the Reader this truth, not commonly known; that in one of these conferences this conscientious King told Dr. Sanderson, or one of them that then waited with him, "that the remembrance of two errors did much afflict him; which were, his assent to the Earl of Strafford's death, and the abolishing Episcopacy in Scotland; and that if God ever restored him to be in a peaceable possession of his Crown, he would demonstrate his repentance by a public confession, and a voluntary penance,"—I think barefoot—from the Tower of London, or Whitehall, to St. Paul's Church, and desire the people to intercede with God for his pardon. I am sure one of them that told it me lives still, and will witness it. And it ought to be observed, that Dr. Sanderson's Lectures de Juramento were so approved and valued by the King, that in this time of his imprisonment and solitude he translated them into exact English; desiring Dr. Juxon,[18]—then Bishop of London,—Dr. Hammond, and Sir Thomas Herbert,[19] who then attended him,—to compare them with the original. The last still lives, and has declared it, with some other of that King's excellencies, in a letter under his own hand, which was lately shewed me by Sir William Dugdale, King at Arms. The book was designed to be put into the King's Library at St. James's; but, I doubt, not now to be found there. I thought the honour of the Author and the Translator to be both so much concerned in this relation, that it ought not to be concealed from the Reader, and 'tis therefore here inserted.

I now return to Dr. Sanderson in the Chair in Oxford; where they that complied not in taking the Covenant, Negative Oath, and Parliament Ordinance for Church-discipline and worship, were under a sad and daily apprehension of expulsion: for the Visitors were daily expected, and both City and University full of soldiers, and a party of Presbyterian Divines, that were as greedy and ready to possess, as the ignorant and ill-natured Visitors were to eject the Dissenters out of their Colleges and livelihoods: but, notwithstanding, Dr. Sanderson did still continue to read his Lecture, and did, to the very faces of those Presbyterian Divines and soldiers, read with so much reason, and with a calm fortitude make such applications, as, if they were not, they ought to have been ashamed, and begged pardon of God and him, and forborne to do what followed. But these thriving sinners were hardened; and, as the Visitors expelled the Orthodox, they, without scruple or shame, possessed themselves of their Colleges; so that, with the rest, Dr. Sanderson was in June, 1648, forced to pack up and be gone, and thank God he was not imprisoned, as Dr. Sheldon, and Dr. Hammond, and others then were.

I must now again look back to Oxford, and tell my Reader, that the year before this expulsion, when the University had denied this subscription, and apprehended the danger of that visitation which followed, they sent Dr. Morley, then Canon of Christ Church,—now Lord Bishop of Winchester,—and others, to petition the Parliament for recalling the injunction, or a mitigation of it, or accept of their reasons why they could not take the Oaths enjoined them; and the petition was by Parliament referred to a committee to hear and report the reasons to the House, and a day set for hearing them. This done, Dr. Morley and the rest went to inform and fee Counsel, to plead their cause on the day appointed; but there had been so many committed for pleading, that none durst undertake it; for at this time the privileges of that Parliament were become a Noli me tangere , as sacred and useful to them, as traditions ever were, or are now, to the Church of Rome; their number must never be known, and therefore not without danger to be meddled with. For which reason Dr. Morley was forced, for want of Counsel, to plead the University's Reasons for non-compliance with the Parliament's injunctions: and though this was done with great reason, and a boldness equal to the justice of his cause; yet the effect of it was, but that he and the rest appearing with him were so fortunate as to return to Oxford without commitment. This was some few days before the Visitors and more soldiers were sent down to drive the Dissenters out of the University. And one that was, at this time of Dr. Morley's pleading, a powerful man in the Parliament,[20] and of that committee, observing Dr. Morley's behaviour and reason, and inquiring of him and hearing a good report of his morals, was therefore willing to afford him a peculiar favour; and, that he might express it, sent for me that relate this story, and knew Dr. Morley well, and told me, "he had such a love for Dr. Morley, that knowing he would not take the Oaths, and must therefore be ejected his College, and leave Oxford; he desired I would therefore write to him to ride out of Oxford, when the Visitors came into it, and not return till they left it, and he should be sure then to return in safety; and that he should, without taking any Oath or other molestation, enjoy his Canon's place in his College." I did receive this intended kindness with a sudden gladness, because I was sure the party had a power, and as sure he meant to perform it, and did therefore write the Doctor word: and his answer was, that I must not fail to return my friend,—who still lives,—his humble and undissembled thanks, though he could not accept of his intended kindness; for when the Dean, Dr. Gardner, Dr. Paine, Dr. Hammond, Dr. Sanderson and all the rest of the College were turned out, except Dr. Wall,[21] he should take it to be, if not a sin, yet a shame, to be left behind with him only. Dr. Wall I knew, and will speak nothing of him, for he is dead.

It may easily be imagined, with what a joyful willingness these self-loving reformers took possession of all vacant preferments, and with what reluctance others parted with their beloved Colleges and subsistence; but their consciences were dearer than their subsistence, and out they went; the reformers possessing them without shame or scruple: where I leave these scruple-mongers, and make an account of the then present affairs of London, to be the next employment of my Reader's patience.

And in London all the Bishops' houses were turned to be prisons, and they filled with Divines, that would not take the Covenant, or forbear reading Common Prayer, or that were accused for some faults like these. For it may be noted, that about this time the Parliament set out a proclamation, to encourage all laymen that had occasion to complain of their Ministers for being troublesome or scandalous, or that conformed not to Orders of Parliament, to make their complaint to a committee for that purpose; and the Minister, though a hundred miles from London, should appear there, and give satisfaction, or be sequestered;—and you may be sure no Parish could want a covetous, or malicious, or cross-grained complaint;—by which means all prisons in London, and in some other places, became the sad habitations of conforming Divines.

And about this time the Bishop of Canterbury having been by an unknown law condemned to die, and the execution suspended for some days, many of the malicious citizens, fearing his pardon, shut up their shops, professing not to open them till justice was executed. This malice and madness is scarce credible; but I saw it.

The Bishops had been voted out of the House of Parliament, and some upon that occasion sent to the Tower; which made many Covenanters rejoice, and believe Mr. Brightman[22]—who probably was a good and well-meaning man—to be inspired in his "Comment on the Apocalypse," an abridgment of which was now printed, and called Mr. Brightman's "Revelation of the Revelation." And though he was grossly mistaken in other things, yet, because he had made the Churches of Geneva and Scotland, which had no Bishops, to be Philadelphia in the Apocalypse, the Angel that God loved; Rev. iii. 7-13, and the power of Prelacy to be Antichrist, the evil Angel, which the House of Commons had now so spewed up, as never to recover their dignity; therefore did those Covenanters approve and applaud Mr. Brightman for discovering and foretelling the Bishops' downfall; so that they both railed at them, and rejoiced to buy good pennyworths of their land, which their friends of the House of Commons did afford them, as a reward of their diligent assistance to pull them down.

And the Bishops' power being now vacated, the common people were made so happy, as every Parish might choose their own Minister, and tell him when he did, and when he did not, preach true doctrine: and by this and like means, several Churches had several teachers, that prayed and preached for and against one another: and engaged their hearers to contend furiously for truths which they understood not; some of which I shall mention in the discourse that follows.

I have heard of two men, that in their discourse undertook to give a character of a third person: and one concluded he was a very honest man, "for he was beholden to him;" and the other, that he was not, "for he was not beholden to him." And something like this was in the designs both of the Covenanters and Independents, the last of which were now grown both as numerous and as powerful as the former: for though they differed much in many principles, and preached against each other, one making it a sign of being in the state of grace, if we were but zealous for the Covenant; and the other, that we ought to buy and sell by a measure, and to allow the same liberty of conscience to others, which we by Scripture claim to ourselves; and therefore not to force any to swear the Covenant contrary to their consciences, and lose both their livings and liberties too. Though these differed thus in their conclusions, yet they both agreed in their practice to preach down Common Prayer, and get into the best sequestered livings; and whatever became of the true owners, their wives and children, yet to continue in them without the least scruple of conscience.

They also made other strange observations of Election, Reprobation, and Free Will, and the other points dependent upon these; such as the wisest of the common people were not fit to judge of; I am sure I am not: though I must mention some of them historically in a more proper place, when I have brought my Reader with me to Dr. Sanderson at Boothby Pannell.

And in the way thither I must tell him, that a very Covenanter, and a Scot too, that came into England with this unhappy Covenant, was got into a good sequestered living by the help of a Presbyterian Parish, which had got the true owner out. And this Scotch Presbyterian, being well settled in this good living, began to reform the Churchyard, by cutting down a large yew-tree, and some other trees that were an ornament to the place, and very often a shelter to the parishioners; who, excepting against him for so doing, were answered, "That the trees were his, and 'twas lawful for every man to use his own, as he, and not as they thought fit." I have heard, but do not affirm it, that no action lies against him that is so wicked as to steal the winding-sheet of a dead body after it is buried; and have heard the reason to be, because none were supposed to be so void of humanity; and that such a law would vilify that nation that would but suppose so vile a man to be born in it: nor would one suppose any man to do what this Covenanter did. And whether there were any law against him, I know not; but pity the Parish the less for turning out their legal Minister.

We have now overtaken Dr. Sanderson at Boothby Parish, where he hoped to enjoy himself though in a poor, yet in a quiet and desired privacy; but it proved otherwise: for all corners of the nation were filled with Covenanters, confusion, Committee-men, and soldiers, serving each other to their several ends, of revenge, or power, or profit: and these Committee-men and soldiers were most of them so possessed with this Covenant, that they became like those that were infected with that dreadful Plague of Athens; the plague of which Plague was, that they by it became maliciously restless to get into company, and to joy,—so the Historian saith,—when they had infected others, even those of their most beloved or nearest friends or relations:[23] and though there might be some of these Covenanters that were beguiled and meant well; yet such were the generality of them, and temper of the times, that you may be sure Dr. Sanderson, who though quiet and harmless, yet an eminent dissenter from them, could not live peaceably; nor did he: for the soldiers would appear, and visibly disturb him in the Church when he read prayers, pretending to advise him how God was to be served most acceptably: which he not approving, but continuing to observe order and decent behaviour in reading the Church-service, they forced his book from him, and tore it, expecting extemporary prayers.

At this time he was advised by a Parliament man of power and note, that valued and loved him much, not to be strict in reading all the Common Prayer, but make some little variation, especially if the soldiers came to watch him; for then it might not be in the power of him and his other friends to secure him from taking the Covenant, or Sequestration: for which reasons he did vary somewhat from the strict rules of the Rubric. I will set down the very words of confession which he used, as I have it under his own hand; and tell the Reader, that all his other variations were as little, and much like to this.

HIS CONFESSION.

"O Almighty God and merciful Father, we, thy unworthy servants, do with shame and sorrow confess, that we have all our life long gone astray out of thy ways like lost sheep; and that, by following too much the vain devices and desires of our own hearts, we have grievously offended against thy holy laws, both in thought, word, and deed; we have many times left undone those good duties which we might and ought to have done; and we have many times done those evils, when we might have avoided them, which we ought not to have done. We confess, O Lord! that there is no health at all, nor help in any creature to relieve us; but all our hope is in thy mercy, whose justice we have by our sins so far provoked. Have mercy therefore upon us, O Lord! have mercy upon us miserable offenders: spare us, good God, who confess our faults, that we perish not; but, according to thy gracious promises declared unto mankind in Christ Jesus our Lord, restore us upon our true repentance into thy grace and favour. And grant, O most merciful Father! for his sake, that we henceforth study to serve and please thee by leading a godly, righteous, and a sober life, to the glory of thy holy name, and the eternal comfort of our own souls, through Jesus Christ our Lord."

In these disturbances of tearing his servicebook, a neighbour came on a Sunday, after the Evening service was ended, to visit and condole with him for the affront offered by the soldiers. To whom he spake with a composed patience, and said; "God hath restored me to my desired privacy, with my wife and children; where I hoped to have met with quietness, and it proves not so: but I will labour to be pleased, because God, on whom I depend, sees it is not fit for me to be quiet. I praise him, that he hath by his grace prevented me from making shipwreck of a good conscience to maintain me in a place of great reputation and profit: and though my condition be such, that I need the last, yet I submit; for God did not send me into this world to do my own, but suffer his will, and I will obey it." Thus by a sublime depending on his wise, and powerful, and pitiful Creator, he did cheerfully submit to what God had appointed, justifying the truth of that doctrine which he had preached.

About this time that excellent book of "The King's Meditations in his Solitude" was printed, and made public; and Dr. Sanderson was such a lover of the Author, and so desirous that the whole world should see the character of him in that book, and something of the cause for which they suffered, that he designed to turn it into Latin: but when he had done half of it most excellently, his friend Dr. Earle prevented him, by appearing to have done the whole very well before him.

About this time his dear and most intimate friend, the learned Dr. Hammond, came to enjoy a conversation and rest with him for some days; and did so. And having formerly persuaded him to trust his excellent memory, and not read, but try to speak a sermon as he had writ it, Dr. Sanderson became so compliant, as to promise he would. And to that end they two went early the Sunday following to a neighbour Minister, and requested to exchange a sermon; and they did so. And at Dr. Sanderson's going into the pulpit, he gave his sermon—which was a very short one—into the hand of Dr. Hammond, intending to preach it as it was writ: but before he had preached a third part, Dr. Hammond,—looking on his sermon as written,—observed him to be out, and so lost as to the matter, that he also became afraid for him: for 'twas discernible to many of the plain auditory. But when he had ended this short sermon, as they two walked homeward, Dr. Sanderson said with much earnestness, "Good Doctor, give me my sermon; and know, that neither you nor any man living, shall ever persuade me to preach again without my books." To which the reply was, "Good Doctor, be not angry: for if I ever persuade you to preach again without book, I will give you leave to burn all those that I am master of."

Part of the occasion of Dr. Hammond's visit, was at this time to discourse with Dr. Sanderson about some opinions, in which, if they did not then, they had doubtless differed formerly; it was about those knotty points, which are by the learned called the Quinquarticular Controversy; of which I shall proceed, not to give any judgment,—I pretend not to that,—but some short historical account which shall follow.

There had been, since the unhappy Covenant was brought and so generally taken in England, a liberty given or taken by many Preachers—those those of London especially—to preach and be too positive in the points of Universal Redemption, Predestination, and those other depending upon these. Some of which preached, "That all men were, before they came into this world, so predestinated to salvation or damnation, that it was not in their power to sin so, as to lose the first, nor by their most diligent endeavour to avoid the latter. Others, that it was not so: because then God could not be said to grieve for the death of a sinner, when he himself had made him so by an inevitable decree, before he had so much as a being in this world;" affirming therefore, "that man had some power left him to do the will of God, because he was advised to work out his salvation with fear and trembling;" maintaining, "that it is most certain every man can do what he can to be saved;" and that "he that does what he can to be saved, shall never be damned." And yet many that affirmed this would confess, "That that grace, which is but a persuasive offer, and left to us to receive, or refuse, is not that grace which shall bring men to Heaven." Which truths, or untruths, or both, be they which they will, did upon these, or the like occasions, come to be searched into, and charitably debated betwixt Dr. Sanderson, Dr. Hammond, and Dr. Pierce,—the now Reverend Dean of Salisbury,—of which I shall proceed to give some account, but briefly.

In the year 1648, the fifty-two London Ministers—then a fraternity of Sion College in that City—had in a printed Declaration aspersed Dr. Hammond most heinously, for that he had in his Practical Catechism affirmed, that our Saviour died for the sins of all mankind. To justify which truth, he presently makes a charitable reply—as 'tis now printed in his works.—After which there were many letters passed betwixt the said Dr. Hammond, Dr. Sanderson and Dr. Pierce, concerning God's grace and decrees. Dr. Sanderson was with much unwillingness drawn into this debate; for he declared it would prove uneasy to him, who in his judgment of God's decrees differed with Dr. Hammond,—whom he reverenced and loved dearly,—and would not therefore engage him into a controversy, of which he could never hope to see an end: but they did all enter into a charitable disquisition of these said points in several letters, to the full satisfaction of the learned; those betwixt Dr. Sanderson and Dr. Hammond being printed in his works; and for what passed betwixt him and the learned Dr. Pierce, I refer my Reader to a Letter annexed to the end of this relation.

I think the judgment of Dr. Sanderson, was, by these debates, altered from what it was at his entrance into them; for in the year 1632, when his excellent Sermons were first printed in quarto, the Reader may on the margin find some accusation of Arminius for false doctrine; and find that, upon a review and reprinting those Sermons in folio, in the year 1657, that accusation of Arminius is omitted. And the change of his judgment seems more fully to appear in his said letter to Dr. Pierce. And let me now tell the Reader, which may seem to be perplexed with these several affirmations of God's decrees before mentioned, that Dr. Hammond, in a postscript to the last letter of Dr. Sanderson's, says, "God can reconcile his own contradictions, and therefore advises all men, as the Apostle does, to study mortification, and be wise to sobriety." And let me add farther, that if these fifty-two Ministers of Sion College were the occasion of the debates in these letters, they have, I think, been the occasion of giving an end to the Quinquarticular Controversy: for none have since undertaken to say more; but seem to be so wise, as to be content to be ignorant of the rest, till they come to that place, where the secrets of all hearts shall be laid open. And let me here tell the Reader also, that if the rest of mankind would, as Dr. Sanderson, not conceal their alteration of judgment, but confess it to the honour of God and themselves, then our nation would become freer from pertinacious disputes, and fuller of recantations.

I cannot lead my Reader to Dr. Hammond and Dr. Sanderson, where we left them at Boothby Pannell, till I have looked back to the Long Parliament, the Society of Covenanters in Sion College, and those others scattered up and down in London, and given some account of their proceedings and usage of the late learned Dr. Laud, then Archbishop of Canterbury. And though I will forbear to mention the injustice of his death, and the barbarous usage of him, both then and before it; yet my desire is that what follows may be noted, because it does now, or may hereafter, concern us; namely, that in his last sad sermon on the scaffold at his death, he having freely pardoned all his enemies, and humbly begged of God to pardon them, and besought those present to pardon and pray for him; yet he seemed to accuse the magistrates of the City, for suffering a sort of wretched people, that could not know why he was condemned, to go visibly up and down to gather hands to a petition, that the Parliament would hasten his execution. And having declared how unjustly he thought himself to be condemned, and accused for endeavouring to bring in Popery,—for that was one of the accusations for which he died,—he declared with sadness, "That the several sects and divisions then in England,—which he had laboured to prevent,—were like to bring the Pope a far greater harvest, than he could ever have expected without them." And said, "These sects and divisions introduce profaneness under the cloak of an imaginary Religion; and that we have lost the substance of Religion by changing it into opinion: and that by these means this Church, which all the Jesuits' machinations could not ruin, was fallen into apparent danger by those which were his accusers." To this purpose he spoke at his death: for this, and more of which, the Reader may view his last sad sermon on the scaffold. And it is here mentioned, because his dear friend, Dr. Sanderson, seems to demonstrate the same in his two large and remarkable Prefaces before his two volumes of Sermons; and he seems also with much sorrow to say the same again in his last Will, made when he apprehended himself to be very near his death. And these Covenanters ought to take notice of it, and to remember, that, by the late wicked war begun by them, Dr. Sanderson was ejected out of the Professor's Chair in Oxford; and that if he had continued in it,—for he lived fourteen years after,—both the learned of this, and other nations, had been made happy by many remarkable Cases of Conscience, so rationally stated, and so briefly, so clearly, and so convincingly determined, that posterity might have joyed and boasted, that Dr. Sanderson was born in this nation, for the ease and benefit of all the learned that shall be born after him: but this benefit is so like time past, that they are both irrecoverably lost.

I should now return to Boothby Pannell, where we left Dr. Hammond and Dr. Sanderson together; but neither can be found there: for the first was in his journey to London, and the second seized upon the day after his friend's departure, and carried prisoner to Lincoln, then a garrison of the Parliament's. For the pretended reason of which commitment, I shall give this following account.

There was one Mr. Clarke, the Minister of Alington, a town not many miles from Boothby Pannell, who was an active man for the Parliament and Covenant; one that, when Belvoir Castle—then a garrison for the Parliament—was taken by a party of the King's soldiers, was taken in it, and made a prisoner of war in Newark, then a garrison of the King's; a man so active and useful for his party, that they became so much concerned for his enlargement, that the Committee of Lincoln sent a troop of horse to seize and bring Dr. Sanderson a prisoner to that garrison: and they did so. And there he had the happiness to meet with many, that knew him so well as to treat him kindly; but told him, "He must continue their prisoner, till he should purchase his own enlargement by procuring an exchange for Mr. Clarke, then prisoner in the King's garrison of Newark." There were many reasons given by the Doctor of the injustice of his imprisonment, and the inequality of the exchange: but all were ineffectual; for done it must be, or he continue a prisoner. And in time done it was, upon the following conditions.

First, that Dr. Sanderson and Mr. Clarke being exchanged, should live undisturbed at their own Parishes; and if either were injured by the soldiers of the contrary party, the other, having notice of it, should procure him a redress, by having satisfaction made for his loss, or for any other injury; or if not, he to be used in the same kind by the other party. Nevertheless, Dr. Sanderson could neither live safe nor quietly, being several times plundered, and once wounded in three places: but he, apprehending the remedy might turn to a more intolerable burden by impatience or complaining, forbore both; and possessed his soul in a contented quietness, without the least repining. But though he could not enjoy the safety he expected by this exchange, yet, by His providence that can bring good out of evil, it turned so much to his advantage, that whereas as his living had been sequestered from the year 1644, and continued to be so till this time of his imprisonment, he, by the Articles of War in this exchange for Mr. Clarke, procured his sequestration to be recalled, and by that means enjoyed a poor, but contented subsistence for himself, wife, and children, till the happy restoration of our King and Church.

In this time of his poor, but contented privacy of life, his casuistical learning, peaceful moderation, and sincerity, became so remarkable, that there were many that applied themselves to him for resolution in cases of conscience; some known to him, many not; some requiring satisfaction by conference, others by letters; so many, that his life became almost as restless as their minds; yet he denied no man: and if it be a truth which holy Mr. Herbert says, "That all worldly joys seem less, when compared with shewing mercy or doing kindnesses;" then doubtless Dr. Sanderson might have boasted for relieving so many restless and wounded consciences; which, as Solomon says, "are a burden that none can bear, though their fortitude may sustain their other infirmities;" and if words cannot express the joy of a conscience relieved from such restless agonies; then Dr. Sanderson might rejoice that so many were by him so clearly and conscientiously satisfied, for he denied none, and would often praise God for that ability, and as often for the occasion, and that God had inclined his heart to do it to the meanest of any of those poor, but precious souls, for which his Saviour vouchsafed to be crucified.

Some of these very many cases that were resolved by letters, have been preserved and printed for the benefit of posterity; as namely,

1. Of the Sabbath. 2. Marrying with a Recusant. 3. Of unlawful love. 4. Of a military life. 5. Of Scandal. 6. Of a bond taken in the King's name. 7. Of the Engagement. 8. Of a rash vow.

But many more remain in private hands, of which one is of Simony; and I wish the world might see it, that it might undeceive some Patrons, who think they have discharged that great and dangerous trust, both to God and man, if they take no money for a living, though it may be parted with for other ends less justifiable.

And in this time of his retirement, when the common people were amazed and grown giddy by the many falsehoods, and misapplications of truths frequently vented in sermons; when they wrested the Scripture by challenging God to be of their party, and called upon him in their prayers to patronise their sacrilege and zealous frenzies; in this time he did so compassionate the generality of this misled nation, that though the times threatened danger, yet he then hazarded his safety by writing the large and bold Preface now extant before his last twenty Sermons;—first printed in the year 1655;—in which there was such strength of reason, with so powerful and clear convincing applications made to the Non-conformists, as being read by one of those dissenting brethren, who was possessed with such a spirit of contradiction, as being neither able to defend his error, nor yield to truth manifest,—his conscience having slept long and quietly in a good sequestered living,—was yet at the reading of it so awakened, that after a conflict with the reason he had met, and the damage he was to sustain if he consented to it,—and being still unwilling to be so convinced, as to lose by being over-reasoned,—he went in haste to the bookseller of whom it was bought, threatened him, and told him in anger, "he had sold a book in which there was false Divinity; and that the Preface had upbraided the Parliament, and many godly Ministers of that party, for unjust dealing." To which his reply was,—'twas Tim. Garthwaite,—"That 'twas not his trade to judge of true or false Divinity, but to print and sell books: and yet if he, or any friend of his, would write an answer to it, and own it by setting his name to it, he would print the Answer, and promote the selling of it."

About the time of his printing this excellent Preface, I met him accidentally in London, in sad-coloured clothes, and, God knows, far from being costly. The place of our meeting was near to Little Britain, where he had been to buy a book, which he then had in his hand. We had no inclination to part presently, and therefore turned to stand in a corner under a penthouse,—for it began to rain,—and immediately the wind rose, and the rain increased so much, that both became so inconvenient, as to force us into a cleanly house, where we had bread, cheese, ale, and a fire for our money. This rain and wind were so obliging to me, as to force our stay there for at least an hour, to my great content and advantage; for in that time he made to me many useful observations, with much clearness and conscientious freedom. I shall relate a part of them, in hope they may also turn to the advantage of my Reader. He seemed to lament, that the Parliament had taken upon them to abolish our Liturgy, to the scandal of so many devout and learned men, and the disgrace of those many martyrs, who had sealed the truth and use of it with their blood: and that no Minister was now thought godly that did not decry it, and at least pretend to make better prayers ex tempore : and that they, and only they, that could do so, prayed by the Spirit, and were godly; though in their sermons they disputed, and evidently contradicted each other in their prayers. And as he did dislike this, so he did most highly commend the Common Prayer of the Church, saying, "the Collects were the most passionate, proper, and most elegant expressions that any language ever afforded; and that there was in them such piety, and so interwoven with instructions, that they taught us to the power, the wisdom, the majesty, and mercy of God, and much of our duty both to him and our neighbour: and that a congregation, behaving themselves reverently, and putting up to God these joint and known desires for pardon of sins, and praises for mercies received, could not but be more pleasing to God, than those raw, unpremeditated expressions, to which many of the hearers could not say, Amen."

And he then commended to me the frequent use of the Psalter, or Psalms of David; speaking to this purpose: "That they were the Treasury of Christian comfort, fitted for all persons and necessities; able to raise the soul from dejection by the frequent mention of God's mercies to repentant sinners; to stir up holy desires: to increase joy; to moderate sorrow; to nourish hope, and teach us patience, by waiting God's leisure: to beget a trust in the mercy, power, and providence of our Creator; and to cause a resignation of ourselves to his will; and then, and not till then, to believe ourselves happy." This, he said, the Liturgy and Psalms taught us; and that by the frequent use of the last, they would not only prove to be our soul's comfort, but would become so habitual, as to transform them into the Image of his soul that composed them. After this manner he expressed himself concerning the Liturgy and Psalms; and seemed to lament that this, which was the devotion of the more primitive times, should in common pulpits be turned into needless debates about Freewill, Election, and Reprobation, of which, and many like questions, we may be safely ignorant, because Almighty God intends not to lead us to Heaven by hard questions, but by meekness and charity, and a frequent practice of devotion.

And he seemed to lament very much, that, by the means of irregular and indiscreet preaching, the generality of the nation were possessed with such dangerous mistakes, as to think, "they might be religious first, and then just and merciful; that they might sell their consciences, and yet have something left that was worth keeping; that they might be sure they were elected, though their lives were visibly scandalous; that to be cunning was to be wise; that to be rich was to be happy, though their wealth was got without justice or mercy; that to be busy in things they understood not, was no sin." These and the like mistakes he lamented much, and besought God to remove them, and restore us to that humility, sincerity, and singleheartedness, with which this nation was blessed before the unhappy Covenant was brought into the nation, and every man preached and prayed what seemed best in his own eyes. And he then said to me, "That the way to restore this nation to a more meek and Christian temper, was to have the body of Divinity—or so much of it as was needful to be known—to be put into fifty-two Homilies or Sermons, of such a length as not to exceed a third, or fourth part of an hour's reading: and these needful points to be made so clear and plain, that those of a mean capacity might know what was necessary to be believed, and what God requires to be done; and then some applications of trial and conviction: and these to be read every Sunday of the year, as infallibly as the blood circulates the body; and then as certainly begun again, and continued the year following: and that this being done, it might probably abate the inordinate desires of knowing what we need not, and practising what we know and ought to do." This was the earnest desire of this prudent man. And Oh that Dr. Sanderson had undertaken it! for then in all probability it would have proved effectual.

At this happy time of enjoying his company and his discourse, he expressed a sorrow by saying to me, "Oh that I had gone Chaplain to that excellently accomplished gentleman, your friend, Sir Henry Wotton! which was once intended, when he first went Ambassador to the State of Venice: for by that employment I had been forced into a necessity of conversing, not with him only, but with several men of several nations; and might thereby have kept myself from my unmanly bashfulness, which has proved very troublesome, and not less inconvenient to me; and which I now fear is become so habitual as never to leave me: and by that means I might also have known, or at least have had the satisfaction of seeing, one of the late miracles of general learning, prudence, and modesty, Sir Henry Wotton's dear friend, Padre Paulo, who, the author of his life says, was born with a bashfulness as invincible as I have found my own to be: a man whose fame must never die, till virtue and learning shall become so useless as not to be regarded."

This was a part of the benefit I then had by that hour's conversation: and I gladly remember and mention it, as an argument of my happiness, and his great humility and condescension. I had also a like advantage by another happy conference with him, which I am desirous to impart in this place to the Reader. He lamented much, that in many Parishes, where the maintenance was not great, there was no Minister to officiate; and that many of the best sequestered livings were possessed with such rigid Covenanters as denied the Sacrament to their Parishioners, unless upon such conditions, and in such a manner, as they could not take it. This he mentioned with much sorrow, saying, "The blessed Sacrament did, by way of preparation for it, give occasion to all conscientious receivers to examine the performance of their vows, since they received their last seal for the pardon of their sins past; and to examine and re-search their hearts, and make penitent reflections on their failings; and, that done, to bewail them, and then make new vows or resolutions to obey all God's commands, and beg his grace to perform them. And this done, the Sacrament repairs the decays of grace, helps us to conquer infirmities, gives us grace to beg God's grace, and then gives us what we beg; makes us still hunger and thirst after his righteousness, which we then receive, and being assisted with our endeavours, will still so dwell in us, as to become our satisfaction in this life, and our comfort on our last sick beds." The want of this blessed benefit he lamented much, and pitied their condition that desired, but could not obtain it.

I hope I shall not disoblige my Reader, if I here enlarge into a further character of his person and temper. As first, that he was moderately tall: his behaviour had in it much of a plain comeliness, and very little, yet enough, of ceremony or courtship; his looks and motion manifested affability and mildness, and yet he had with these a calm, but so matchless a fortitude, as secured him from complying with any of those many Parliament injunctions, that interfered with a doubtful conscience. His learning was methodical and exact, his wisdom useful, his integrity visible, and his whole life so unspotted, that all ought to be preserved as copies for posterity to write after; the Clergy especially, who with impure hands ought not to offer sacrifice to that God, whose pure eyes abhor iniquity.

There was in his Sermons no improper rhetoric, nor such perplexed divisions, as may be said to be like too much light, that so dazzles the eyes, that the sight becomes less perfect: but there was therein no want of useful matter, nor waste of words; and yet such clear distinctions as dispelled all confused notions, and made his hearers depart both wiser, and more confirmed in virtuous resolutions.

His memory was so matchless and firm, as 'twas only overcome by his bashfulness; for he alone, or to a friend, could repeat all the Odes of Horace, all Tully's Offices, and much of Juvenal and Persius, without book: and would say, "the repetition of one of the Odes of Horace to himself, was to him such music, as a lesson on the viol was to others, when they played it to themselves or friends." And though he was blest with a clearer judgment than other men, yet he was so distrustful of it, that he did over-consider of consequences, and would so delay and re-consider what to determine, that though none ever determined better, yet, when the bell tolled for him to appear and read his Divinity Lectures in Oxford, and all the Scholars attended to hear him, he had not then, or not till then, resolved and writ what he meant to determine; so that that appeared to be a truth, which his old dear friend Dr. Sheldon would often say, namely, "That his judgment was so much superior to his fancy, that whatsoever this suggested, that disliked and controlled; still considering, and re-considering, till his time was so wasted, that he was forced to write, not, probably, what was best, but what he thought last." And yet what he did then read, appeared to all hearers to be so useful, clear, and satisfactory, as none ever determined with greater applause. These tiring and perplexing thoughts begot in him an averseness to enter into the toil of considering and determining all casuistical points; because during that time, they neither gave rest to his body or mind. But though he would not be always loaden with these knotty points and distinctions; yet the study of old records, genealogies, and Heraldry, were a recreation and so pleasing, that he would say they gave rest to his mind. Of the last of which I have seen two remarkable volumes; and the Reader needs neither to doubt their truth or exactness.

And this humble man had so conquered all repining and ambitious thoughts, and with them all other unruly passions, that, if the accidents of the day proved to his danger or damage, yet he both began and ended it with an even and undisturbed quietness; always praising God that he had not withdrawn food and raiment from him and his poor family; nor suffered him to violate his conscience for his safety, or to support himself or them in a more splendid or plentiful condition; and that he therefore resolved with David, "That his praise should be always in his mouth."

I have taken a content in giving my Reader this character of his person, his temper, and some of the accidents of his life past; and more might be added of all; but I will with sorrow look forward to the sad days, in which so many good men suffered, about the year 1658, at which time Dr. Sanderson was in a very low condition as to his estate; and in that time Mr. Robert Boyle[24]—a gentleman of a very noble birth, and more eminent for his liberality, learning, and virtue, and of whom I would say much more, but that he still lives—having casually met with and read his Lectures de Juramento , to his great satisfaction, and being informed of Dr. Sanderson's great innocence and sincerity, and that he and his family were brought into a low condition by his not complying with the Parliament's injunctions, sent him by his dear friend Dr. Barlow[25]—the now learned Bishop of Lincoln—50_l._ and with it a request and promise. The request was, that he would review the Lectures de Conscientiâ , which he had read when he was Doctor of the Chair in Oxford, and print them for the good of posterity:—and this Dr. Sanderson did in the year 1659.—And the promise was, that he would pay him that, or a greater sum if desired, during his life, to enable him to pay an amanuensis, to ease him from the trouble of writing what he should conceive or dictate. For the more particular account of which, I refer my Reader to a letter writ by the said Dr. Barlow, which I have annexed to the end of this relation.

Towards the end of this year, 1659, when the many mixed sects, and their creators and merciless protectors, had led or driven each other into a whirlpool of confusion: when amazement and fear had seized them, and their accusing consciences gave them an inward and fearful intelligence, that the god which they had long served was now ready to pay them such wages, as he does always reward witches with for their obeying him: when these wretches were come to foresee an end of their cruel reign, by our King's return; and such sufferers as Dr. Sanderson—and with him many of the oppressed Clergy and others—could foresee the cloud of their afflictions would be dispersed by it; then, in the beginning of the year following, the King was by God restored to us, and we to our known laws and liberties, and a general joy and peace seemed to breathe through the three nations. Then were the suffering Clergy freed from their sequestration, restored to their revenues, and to a liberty to adore, praise, and pray to God in such order as their consciences and oaths had formerly obliged them. And the Reader will easily believe, that Dr. Sanderson and his dejected family rejoiced to see this day, and be of this number.

It ought to be considered—which I have often heard or read—that in the primitive times men of learning and virtue were usually sought for, and solicited to accept of Episcopal government, and often refused it. For they conscientiously considered, that the office of a Bishop was made up of labour and care; that they were trusted to be God's almoners of the Church's revenue, and double their care for the poor; to live strictly themselves, and use all diligence to see that their family, officers, and Clergy did so; and that the account of that stewardship, must, at the last dreadful day, be made to the Searcher of all Hearts: and that in the primitive times they were therefore timorous to undertake it. It may not be said, that Dr. Sanderson was accomplished with these, and all the other requisites required in a Bishop, so as to be able to answer them exactly: but it may be affirmed, as a good preparation, that he had at the age of seventy-three years—for he was so old at the King's Return—fewer faults to be pardoned by God or man, than are apparent in others in these days, in which, God knows, we fall so short of that visible sanctity and zeal to God's glory, which was apparent in the days of primitive Christianity. This is mentioned by way of preparation to what I shall say more of Dr. Sanderson; and namely, that, at the King's return, Dr. Sheldon, the late prudent Bishop of Canterbury,—than whom none knew, valued, or loved Dr. Sanderson more or better,—was by his Majesty made a chief trustee to commend to him fit men to supply the then vacant Bishoprics. And Dr. Sheldon knew none fitter than Dr. Sanderson, and therefore humbly desired the King that he would nominate him: and, that done, he did as humbly desire Dr. Sanderson that he would, for God's and the Church's sake, take that charge and care upon him. Dr. Sanderson had, if not an unwillingness, certainly no forwardness to undertake it; and would often say, he had not led himself, but his friend would now lead him into a temptation, which he had daily prayed against; and besought God, if he did undertake it, so as to assist him with his grace, that the example of his life, his cares and endeavours, might promote his glory, and help forward the salvation of others.

This I have mentioned as a happy preparation to his Bishopric; and am next to tell, that he was consecrated Bishop of Lincoln at Westminster, the 28th of October, 1660.

There was about this time a Christian care taken, that those whose consciences were, as they said, tender, and could not comply with the service and ceremonies of the Church, might have satisfaction given by a friendly debate betwixt a select number of them, and some like number of those that had been sufferers for the Church-service and ceremonies, and now restored to liberty; of which last some were then preferred to power and dignity in the Church. And of these Bishop Sanderson was one, and then chose to be a moderator in that debate: and he performed his trust with much mildness, patience, and reason; but all proved ineffectual: for there be some prepossessions like jealousies, which, though causeless, yet cannot be removed by reasons as apparent as demonstration can make any truth. The place appointed for this debate was the Savoy in the Strand: and the points debated were, I think, many; some affirmed to be truth and reason, some denied to be either; and these debates being then in words, proved to be so loose and perplexed as satisfied neither party. For some time that which had been affirmed was immediately forgot or denied, and so no satisfaction given to either party. But that the debate might become more useful, it was therefore resolved that the day following the desires and reasons of the Non-conformists should be given in writing, and they in writing receive answers from the conforming party. And though I neither now can, nor need to mention all the points debated, nor the names of the dissenting brethren; yet I am sure Mr. Baxter was one, and am sure what shall now follow was one of the points debated.

Concerning a command of lawful superiors, what was sufficient to its being a lawful command; this proposition was brought by the conforming party.

"That command which commands an act in itself lawful, and no other act or circumstance unlawful, is not sinful."

Mr. Baxter[26] denied it for two reasons, which he gave in with his own hand in writing, thus:

One was, "Because that may be a sin per accidens , which is not so in itself, and may be unlawfully commanded, though that accident be not in the command." Another was, "That it may be commanded under an unjust penalty."

Again this proposition being brought by the Conformists, "That command which commandeth an act in itself lawful, and no other act whereby any unjust penalty is enjoined, nor any circumstance whence, per accidens , any sin is consequent which the commander ought to provide against, is not sinful."

Mr. Baxter denied it for this reason, then given in with his own hand in writing thus: "Because the first act commanded may be per accidens unlawful, and be commanded by an unjust penalty, though no other act or circumstance commanded be such."

Again, this proposition being brought by the Conformists, "That command which commandeth an act in itself lawful, and no other act whereby any unjust penalty is enjoined, nor any circumstance, whence directly, or per accidens , any sin is consequent, which the commander ought to provide against, hath in it all things requisite to the lawfulness of a command, and particularly cannot be guilty of commanding an act per accidens unlawful, nor of commanding an act under an unjust penalty."

PETER GUNNING.[27]

JOHN PEARSON.[28]

These were then two of the disputants, still alive, and will attest this; one being now Lord Bishop of Ely, and the other of Chester. And the last of them told me very lately, that one of the Dissenters—which I could, but forbear to name—appeared to Dr. Sanderson to be so bold, so troublesome, and so illogical in the dispute, as forced patient Dr. Sanderson—who was then Bishop of Lincoln, and a moderator with other Bishops—to say, with an unusual earnestness, "That he had never met with a man of more pertinacious confidence, and less abilities, in all his conversation."

But though this debate at the Savoy was ended without any great satisfaction to either party, yet both parties knew the desires, and understood the abilities, of the other, much better than before it: and the late distressed Clergy, that were now restored to their former rights and power, did, at the next meeting in Convocation, contrive to give the dissenting party satisfaction by alteration, explanation, and addition to some part both of the Rubric and Common Prayer, as also by adding some new necessary Collects, and a particular Collect of Thanksgiving. How many of those new Collects were worded by Dr. Sanderson, I cannot say; but am sure the whole Convocation valued him so much that he never undertook to speak to any point in question, but he was heard with great willingness and attention; and when any point in question was determined, the Convocation did usually desire him to word their intentions, and as usually approve and thank him.

At this Convocation the Common Prayer was made more complete, by adding three new necessary Offices; which were, "A Form of Humiliation for the Murder of King Charles the Martyr; A Thanksgiving for the Restoration of his Son our King; and For the Baptising of Persons of riper Age." I cannot say Dr. Sanderson did form, or word them all, but doubtless more than any single man of the Convocation; and he did also, by desire of the Convocation, alter and add to the forms of Prayers to be used at Sea—now taken into the Service-Book.—And it may be noted, that William, the now Right Reverend Bishop of Canterbury,[29] was in these employments diligently useful; especially in helping to rectify the Calendar and Rubric. And lastly, it may be noted, that, for the satisfying all the dissenting brethren and others, the Convocation's reasons for the alterations and additions to the Liturgy were by them desired to be drawn up by Dr. Sanderson; which being done by him, and approved by them, was appointed to be printed before the Liturgy, and may be known by this title—"The Preface;" and begins thus—"It hath been the Wisdom of the Church."—

I shall now follow him to his Bishopric, and declare a part of his behaviour in that busy and weighty employment. And first, that it was with such condescension and obligingness to the meanest of his Clergy, as to know and be known to them. And indeed he practised the like to all men of what degree soever, especially to his old neighbours or parishioners of Boothby Pannell; for there was all joy at his table, when they came to visit him: then they prayed for him, and he for them, with an unfeigned affection.

I think it will not be denied, but that the care and toil required of a Bishop, may justly challenge the riches and revenue with which their predecessors had lawfully endowed them: and yet he sought not that so much, as doing good both to the present age and posterity; and he made this appear by what follows.

The Bishop's chief house at Buckden, in the County of Huntingdon, the usual residence of his predecessors,—for it stands about the midst of his Diocese,—having been at his consecration a great part of it demolished, and what was left standing under a visible decay, was by him undertaken to be erected and repaired: and it was performed with great speed, care, and charge. And to this may be added, that the King having by an Injunction commended to the care of the Bishops, Deans, and Prebends of all Cathedral Churches, "the repair of them, their houses, and augmentation of small Vicarages;" he, when he was repairing Buckden, did also augment the last, as fast as fines were paid for renewing leases so fast, that a friend, taking notice of his bounty, was so bold as to advise him to remember, "he was under his first-fruits, and that he was old, and had a wife and children yet but meanly provided for, especially if his dignity were considered." To whom he made a mild and thankful answer, saying, "It would not become a Christian Bishop to suffer those houses built by his predecessors to be ruined for want of repair; and less justifiable to suffer any of those, that were called to so high a calling as to sacrifice at God's altar, to eat the bread of sorrow constantly, when he had a power by a small augmentation, to turn it into the bread of cheerfulness: and wished, that as this was, so it were also in his power to make all mankind happy, for he desired nothing more. And for his wife and children, he hoped to leave them a competence, and in the hands of a God that would provide for all that kept innocence, and trusted his providence and protection, which he had always found enough to make and keep him happy."

There was in his Diocese a Minister of almost his age, that had been of Lincoln College when he left it, who visited him often, and always welcome, because he was a man of innocence and openheartedness. This Minister asked the Bishop what books he studied most, when he laid the foundation of his great and clear learning. To which his answer was, "that he declined reading many; but what he did read were well chosen, and read so often, that he became Very familiar with them;" and said, "they were chiefly three, Aristotle's Rhetoric, Aquinas's Secunda Secundit , and Tully, but chiefly his offices, which he had not read over less than twenty times, and could at this age say without book." And told him also, "the learned Civilian Doctor Zouch—who died lately—had writ Elementa Jurisprudentiae , which was a book that he could also say without book; and that no wise man could read it too often, or love or commend too much;" and told him, "these had been his toil: but for himself he always had a natural love to genealogies and Heraldry; and that when his thoughts were harassed with any perplexed studies, he left off, and turned to them as a recreation; and that his very recreation had made him so perfect in them, that he could, in a very short time, give an account of the descent, arms, and antiquity of any family of the Nobility or gentry of this nation."

Before I give an account of Dr. Sanderson's last sickness, I desire to tell the Reader that he was of a healthful constitution, cheerful and mild, of an even temper, very moderate in his diet, and had had little sickness, till some few years before his death; but was then every winter punished with a diarrhoea, which left not till warm weather returned and removed it: and this distemper did, as he grew older, seize him oftener, and continue longer with him. But though it weakened him, yet it made him rather indisposed than sick, and did no way disable him from studying—indeed too much.—In this decay of his strength, but not of his memory or reason,—for this distemper works not upon the understanding,—he made his last Will, of which I shall give some account for confirmation of what hath been said, and what I think convenient to be known, before I declare his death and burial.

He did in his last Will,[30] give an account of his faith and persuasion in point of religion, and Church-government, in these very words:

"I, Robert Sanderson, Doctor of Divinity, an unworthy Minister of Jesus Christ, and, by the providence of God, Bishop of Lincoln, being by the long continuance of an habitual distemper brought to a great bodily weakness and faintness of spirits, but—by the great mercy of God—without any bodily pain otherwise, or decay of understanding, do make this my Will and Testament,—written all with my own hand,—revoking all former Wills by me heretofore made, if any such shall be found. First, I commend my soul into the hands of Almighty God, as of a faithful Creator, which I humbly beseech him mercifully to accept, looking upon it, not as it is in itself,—infinitely polluted with sin,—but as it is redeemed and purged with the precious blood of his only beloved Son, and my most sweet Saviour Jesus Christ; in confidence of whose merits and mediation alone it is, that I cast myself upon the mercy of God for the pardon of my sins, and the hopes of eternal life. And here I do profess, that as I have lived, so I desire, and—by the grace of God—resolve, to die in the communion of the Catholic Church of Christ, and a true son of the Church of England: which, as it stands by law established, to be both in doctrine and worship agreeable to the word of God, and in the most, and most material points of both conformable to the faith and practice of the godly Churches of Christ in the primitive and purer times, I do firmly believe: led so to do, not so much from the force of custom and education,—to which the greatest part of mankind owe their particular different persuasions in point of Religion,—as upon the clear evidence of truth and reason, after a serious and impartial examination of the grounds, as well of Popery as Puritanism, according to that measure of understanding, and those opportunities which God hath afforded me: and herein I am abundantly satisfied, that the schism which the Papists on the one hand, and the superstition which the Puritan on the other hand, lay to our charge, are very justly chargeable upon themselves respectively. Wherefore I humbly beseech Almighty God, the Father of mercies, to preserve the Church by his power and providence, in peace, truth, and godliness, evermore to the world's end: which doubtless he will do, if the wickedness and security of a sinful people—and particularly those sins that are so rife, and seem daily to increase among us, of unthankfulness, riot, and sacrilege—do not tempt his patience to the contrary. And I also further humbly beseech him, that it would please him to give unto our gracious Sovereign, the reverend Bishops, and the Parliament, timely to consider the great danger that visibly threatens this Church in point of Religion by the late great increase of Popery, and in point of revenue by sacrilegious inclosures; and to provide such wholesome and effectual remedies, as may prevent the same before it be too late."

And for a further manifestation of his humble thoughts and desires, they may appear to the Reader by another part of his Will which follows.

"As for my corruptible body, I bequeath it to the earth whence it was taken, to be decently buried in the Parish Church of Buckden, towards the upper end of the Chancel, upon the second, or—at the furthest—the third day after my decease; and that with as little noise, pomp, and charge as may be, without the invitation of any person how near soever related unto me, other than the inhabitants of Buckden; without the unnecessary expense of escutcheons, gloves, ribbons, &c., and without any blacks to be hung any where in or about the house or Church, other than a pulpit cloth, a hearse-cloth, and a mourning gown for the Preacher; whereof the former—after my body shall be interred—to be given to the Preacher of the Funeral Sermon, and the latter to the Curate of the Parish for the time being. And my will further is that the Funeral Sermon be preached by my own household Chaplain, containing some wholesome discourse concerning Mortality, the Resurrection of the Dead and the Last Judgment; and that he shall have for his pains 5_l._ upon condition that he speak nothing at all concerning my person, either good or ill, other than I myself shall direct; only signifying to the auditory that it was my express will to have it so. And it is my will, that no costly monument be erected for my memory, but only a fair flat marble stone to be laid over me, with this inscription in legible Roman characters, DEPOSITUM ROBERTI SANDERSON NUPER LINCOLNIENSIS EPISCOPI, QUI OBIIT ANNO DOMINI MDCLXII. ET ÆTATIS SUÆ SEPTUAGESIMO SEXTO, HIC REQUIESCIT IN SPE BEATE RESURRECTIONIS. This manner of burial, although I cannot but foresee it will prove unsatisfactory to sundry my nearest friends and relations, and be apt to be censured by others, as an evidence of my too much parsimony and narrowness of mind, as being altogether unusual, and not according to the mode of these times: yet it is agreeable to the sense of my heart, and I do very much desire my Will may be carefully observed herein, hoping it may become exemplary to some or other: at least however testifying at my death—what I have so often and earnestly professed in my life time—my utter dislike of the flatteries commonly used in Funeral Sermons, and of the vast expenses otherwise laid out in Funeral solemnities and entertainments, with very little benefit to any; which if bestowed in pious and charitable works, might redound to the public or private benefit of many persons."

I am next to tell, that he died the 29th of January, 1662; and that his body was buried in Buckden, the third day after his death; and for the manner, that it was as far from ostentation as he desired it; and all the rest of his Will was as punctually performed. And when I have—to his just praise—told this truth, "that he died far from being rich," I shall return back to visit, and give a further account of him on his last sick bed.

His last Will—of which I have mentioned a part—was made about three weeks before his death, about which time, finding his strength to decay by reason of his constant infirmity, and a consumptive cough added to it, he retired to his chamber, expressing a desire to enjoy his last thoughts to himself in private, without disturbance or care, especially of what might concern this world. And that none of his Clergy—which are more numerous than any other Bishop's—might suffer by his retirement, he did by commission impower his Chaplain, Mr. Pullin,[31] with Episcopal power to give institutions to all livings or Church-preferments, during this his disability to do it himself. In this time of his retirement he longed for his dissolution; and when some that loved him prayed for his recovery, if he at any time found any amendment, he seemed to be displeased, by saying, "His friends said their prayers backward for him: and that it was not his desire to live a useless life, and by filling up a place keep another out of it, that might do God and his Church service." He would often with much joy and thankfulness mention, "That during his being a housekeeper—which was more than forty years—there had not been one buried out of his family, and that he was now like to be the first." He would also often mention with thankfulness, "That till he was three score years of age, he had never spent five shillings in law, nor—upon himself—so much in wine: and rejoiced much that he had so lived, as never to cause an hour's sorrow to his good father; and hoped he should die without an enemy."

He, in this retirement, had the Church prayers read in his chamber twice every day; and at nine at night, some prayers read to him and a part of his family out of "The Whole Duty of Man." As he was remarkably punctual and regular in all his studies and actions, so he used himself to be for his meals. And his dinner being appointed to be constantly ready at the ending of prayers, and he expecting and calling for it, was answered, "It would be ready in a quarter of an hour." To which his reply was, "A quarter of an hour! Is a quarter of an hour nothing to a man that probably has days not many hours to live?" And though he did live many hours after this, yet he lived not many days; for the day after—which was three days before his death—he was become so weak and weary of either motion or sitting, that he was content, or forced, to keep his bed: in which I desire he may rest, till I have given some account of his behaviour there, and immediately before it.

The day before he took his bed,—which was three days before his death,—he, that he might receive a new assurance for the pardon of his sins past, and be strengthened in his way to the New Jerusalem, took the blessed Sacrament of the Body and Blood of his and our blessed Jesus, from the hands of his Chaplain, Mr. Pullin, accompanied with his wife, children, and a friend, in as awful, humble, and ardent a manner, as outward reverence could express. After the praise and thanksgiving for it was ended, he spake to this purpose: "Thou, O God! tookest me out of my mother's womb, and hast been the powerful protector of me to this present moment of my life: Thou hast neither forsaken me now I am become greyheaded, nor suffered me to forsake thee in the late days of temptation, and sacrifice my conscience for the preservation of my liberty or estate. It was by grace that I have stood, when others have fallen under my trials: and these mercies I now remember with joy and thankfulness; and my hope and desire is, that I may die praising thee."

The frequent repetition of the Psalms of David, hath been noted to be a great part of the devotion of the primitive Christians; the Psalms having in them not only prayers and holy instructions, but such commemorations of God's mercies, as may preserve, comfort, and confirm our dependence on the power, and providence, and mercy of our Creator. And this is mentioned in order to telling, that as the holy Psalmist said, that his eyes should prevent both the dawning of the day and night watches, by meditating on God's word (Psal. cxix. 147), so it was Dr. Sanderson's constant practice every morning to entertain his first waking thoughts with a repetition of those very Psalms that the Church hath appointed to be constantly read in the daily Morning service: and having at night laid him in his bed, he as constantly closed his eyes with a repetition of those appointed for the service of the evening, remembering and repeating the very Psalms appointed for every day; and as the month had formerly ended and began again, so did this exercise of his devotion. And if his first waking thoughts were of the world, or what concerned it, he would arraign and condemn himself for it. Thus he began that work on earth, which is now his employment in Heaven.

After his taking his bed, and about a day before his death, he desired his Chaplain, Mr. Pullin, to give him absolution: and at his performing that office, he pulled off his cap, that Mr. Pullin might lay his hand upon his bare head. After this desire of his was satisfied, his body seemed to be at more ease, and his mind more cheerful; and he said, "Lord, forsake me not now my strength faileth me; but continue thy mercy, and let my mouth be filled with thy praise." He continued the remaining night and day very patient, and thankful for any of the little offices that were performed for his ease and refreshment: and during that time did often say the 103rd Psalm to himself, and very often these words, "My heart is fixed, O God! my heart is fixed where true joy is to be found." His thoughts seemed now to be wholly of death, for which he was so prepared, that the King of Terrors could not surprise him as a thief in the night: for he had often said, he was prepared, and longed for it. And as this desire seemed to come from Heaven, so it left him not till his soul ascended to that region of blessed spirits, whose employments are to join in concert with him, and sing praise and glory to that God, who hath brought them to that place, into which sin and sorrow cannot enter.

Thus this pattern of meekness and primitive innocence changed this for a better life. 'Tis now too late to wish that my life may be like his; for I am in the eighty-fifth year of my age: but I humbly beseech Almighty God, that my death may: and do as earnestly beg of every Reader, to say—Amen.

[Footnote 1: This is a mistake; Bishop Sanderson was born at Sheffield on the 19th of September.]

[Footnote 2: Thomas Scot, or Rotheram, so called after his birth-place, Fellow of King's College, in Cambridge, was afterward Master of Pembroke Hall, and 1483 and 1484, Chancellor of the University. He obtained great ecclesiastical preferment, being successively Provost of Beverley, Bishop of Rochester and of Lincoln, and lastly Archbishop of York. Nor was he less adorned with civil honours, having been appointed, first, Keeper of the Privy Seal, and then Lord Chancellor of England. The two Universities and his native town still enjoy the fruits of his bounty. He died 29th May, 1500.]

[Footnote 3: Dr. Gilbert Sheldon was born July 19, 1598.—His father, Roger Sheldon, though of no obscure parentage, was a menial servant to Gilbert Earl of Shrewsbury.—He was of Trinity College, Oxford, and took his Master's degree in May, 1620. He was introduced to Charles I. by Lord Coventry, and became one of His Majesty's Chaplains. Upon the Restoration, he was made Dean of the Chapel Royal, succeeded Dr. Juxon as Bishop of London, and after as Archbishop of Canterbury; in 1667 he was elected Chancellor of the University of Oxford. He died at Lambeth, Nov. 9, 1677.]

[Footnote 4: Dr. Richard Kilbie, born at Ratcliffe, in Leicestershire, and a great benefactor to his College, since he restored the neglected library, added eight new repositories for books, and gave to it many excellent volumes. He became Rector in 1590, and in 1610 he was appointed the King's Hebrew Professor. He died in 1620.]

[Footnote 5: An edition of this work was published in Oxford so recently as 1841.]

[Footnote 6: Mr. Charles Crooke, a younger son of Sir John Crooke, of
Chilton, in Bucks, one of the Justices of the King's Bench. In 1615,
he proceeded D.D., being then Rector of Amersham and a Fellow of Eton
College.]

[Footnote 7: Brother of George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, born at Guildford in 1560, and promoted to the See of Salisbury in 1615, as a reward for his Lectures against Suarez and Bellarmine, in defence of the King's supreme power. On his way to Sarum, he made an oration to the University, and his friends parted from him with tears. He died March 2nd, 1617-8.]

[Footnote 8: Dr. John Prideaux, born at Harford, in Devon in 1578, and Rector of Exeter College in 1612, when he acquired so much fame in the government of it, that several eminent foreigners placed themselves under his care. He was made King's Professor in Divinity in 1615, and Bishop of Worcester in 1641; but was reduced to great poverty in the Civil Wars, and died July 20th, 1650.]

[Footnote 9: Dr. Arthur Lake, born at Southampton about 1550, and educated at Winchester School, whence he proceeded to New College, Oxford. He was created Dean of Worcester in 1608, and Bishop of Bath and Wells in 1616. He died on 4th May, 1626.]

[Footnote 11: Dr. William Laud, born at Reading, Oct. 7, 1573, and educated there, and at St. John's College, Oxford. In 1616, he was made Dean of Gloucester, in 1621 Bishop of St. David's, and in 1622 he had a conference with Fisher the Jesuit, of which the printed account evinces how opposed he was to Popery; but his Arminian tenets gave offence to the Calvinists. In 1626 he was translated to the See of Bath and Wells, in 1628 to London, and in 1633 to Canterbury. His zeal for the establishment of the Liturgy in Scotland produced him numerous enemies, by whose means he was imprisoned in the Tower for three years, and beheaded Jan. 10th, 1644-45. His works were published at Oxford, 6 vols. 8vo., 1847-9.]

[Footnote 12: Dr. Henry Hammond was born at Chertsey, in Surrey, Aug. 18th, 1605, and was educated at Eton, and Magdalen College, Oxford. His loyalty caused him to be deprived of his preferments during the Civil Wars, and at the Restoration he was designed for Bishop of Worcester, but died before consecration, April 25th, 1660. His principal works are, his "Practical Catechism," and "A Paraphrase and Annotations on the New Testament."]

[Footnote 13: Dr. Thomas Pierce, for some years President of Magdalen College, Oxford. In his epitaph composed by himself he says, "Here lies all that was mortal, the outside, dust, and ashes of Thomas Pierce, D.D., once the President of a College in Oxford, at first the Rector of Brington-cum-Membris, Canon of Lincoln, and at last Dean of Sarum; who fell asleep in the Lord Jesus [Mar. 28, an. 1691], but in hope of an awake at the resurrection."]

[Footnote 14: Dr. Matthew Wren, successively Bishop of Hereford, Norwich, and Ely, died April 14, 1667, aged eighty-one years and upwards. He was distinguished for his extraordinary attachment to the royal cause, having suffered an imprisonment for eighteen years with singular patience and magnanimity.

It should not be forgotten, that when Cromwell had repeatedly offered to release the Bishop, he refused to accept of the proffered boon, saying, "that he scorned to receive his liberty from a tyrant and usurper." His life was kindly prolonged by Providence, that as he had seen the destruction, so he might also see the happy restoration of his order.]

[Footnote 15: Born at Geneva on August 14, 1599, and educated at Christ Church, Oxford. Archbishop Laud gave him the living of Minster, Kent, and a Prebend in the Cathedral of Canterbury. He suffered much in the civil wars, but at the Restoration he recovered his preferments. Among his works are "A Treatise of Use and Custom," 1638, "De Quatuor Linguis Commentatio," 1650, "Of Credulity and Incredulity," 1668. He died on July 14, 1671.]

[Footnote 16: Dr. John Williams was then Dean of Westminster. He held this Deanery in Commendam during the whole time of his being Bishop of Lincoln, and likewise three years after his translation to York.]

[Footnote 17: Was born at Anstley, in Wiltshire, in 1590; he received his education in William of Wykeham's school, near Winchester; was matriculated in the University of Oxford in 1608, and admitted Fellow of New College in 1609. He took the degree of LL.B. June 30, 1614, and that of LL.D. April 8, 1619. He no sooner had obtained his first degree than he became an Advocate in Doctors' Commons. Through the influence of his noble kinsman, who was then Lord of the Cinque Ports, he was elected, in 1620, a Burgess to serve in Parliament for Hythe in Kent. In the same year he succeeded Dr. John Budden as Professor of Civil law; and in 1625, he was appointed Principal of Alban's Hall. Though a layman, he held the Prebend of Shipston, in the Church of Salisbury, which was then first annexed to the Law Professorship by James I.

After the Restoration, Dr. Zouch, whose loyalty always remained unimpeached, had the honour of being named by the King, along with several other Commissioners, to restore the splendours and regulate the disorders of the University. He was re-instated in the Court of Admiralty; and if he had lived he would doubtless have attained those higher dignities in his profession, to which his integrity and great abilities entitled him. He died at his apartments in Doctors' Commons, London, March 1, 1660.]

[Footnote 18: Let it ever be remembered to the honour of this Prelate, whom Charles I. was wont to call "the good man," and whom he declared to be his greatest comfort in his most afflictive situation, that he delivered his sentiments without disguise to the King, on the subject of Lord Strafford's fate, telling him plainly, that "he ought to do nothing with an unsatisfied conscience, upon any consideration in the world." His character is thus beautifully pourtrayed by Sir Henry Wotton, in a letter to the Queen of Bohemia. "There is in him no tumour, no sourness, no distraction of thoughts; but a quiet mind, a patient care, free access, mild and moderate answers. To this I must add, a solid judgment, a sober plainness, and a most indubitable character of fidelity in his very face; so as there needs not much study to think him both a good man and a wise man."]

[Footnote 19: This learned person went abroad in 1626, and spent four years in visiting Asia and Africa. He again left England, and travelled over several parts of Europe. He afterwards joined the Parliament against Charles I., whom he was appointed to attend from the very beginning of his imprisonment to the time of his death. He shewed himself a most faithful servant to the King, whose real character he soon discovered to be totally different from that which had been represented to him. In 1660, Charles II. advanced him to the Dignity of a Baronet, by the name of Thomas Herbert of Tinterne, in Monmouth "for faithfully serving his royal father during the two last years of his life."—In 1678 he published "Threnodia Carolina; containing Memoirs of the two last Years of the reign of King Charles I." This little work was reprinted in 1813, upon the opening the tomb of the royal martyr, by Mr. G. Nicoll of Pall Mall, with a "sensible and seasonable Preface." Sir T. Herbert assisted Sir William Dugdale in compiling the third volume of his "Monasticon Anglicanum;" and died at York, his native place, 1682, leaving several MSS. to the public library at Oxford, and others to that of the Cathedral at York.]

[Footnote 20: This is supposed to have been Mr. Swinfen, an ancestor (on the female side) of the late Earl St. Vincent.]

[Footnote 21: They were all, except Dr. Wall, ejected in 1647. Dr. Samuel Fell died of grief, the day he was made acquainted with the murder of Charles I., viz. on Feb. 1, 1648-9. Dr. Gardner, Canon of the third stall, lived to be restored, and died in 1670. Dr. Paine, Canon of the fourth stall, died during the rebellion. Dr. Hammond, Sub-dean and Canon of the second stall, died in 1660. As for Dr. Wall, Canon of the seventh stall, he conformed no doubt to the measures of the Visitors. He died possessed of it in 1666.]

[Footnote 22: Mr. Thomas Brightman, born at Nottingham, and educated at Queen's College in Cambridge, was Rector of Hawnes in Bedfordshire. He died suddenly Aug. 24, 1607.

Mr. Thomas Cartwright, the noted Puritan, in allusion to the name of Mr. Brightman, considers him as full of illumination as "a bright star in the Church of God." Though no favourable opinion can be entertained of his writings, yet the acknowledged innocence of his life and conversation entitles him to every encomium.]

[Footnote 23: Honest Walton rather overstates the case. Thucydides simply says that attendance on the sick promoted the spread of the pestilence. (Lib. II. c. 51.)]

[Footnote 24: This amiable philosopher was born Jan. 25th, 1626-17, at Lismore, in the province of Munster, in Ireland. He was a scholar, a gentleman, a Christian of the most exalted piety and charity, and a very eminent Natural philosopher. He died Dec. 30th, 1691.]

[Footnote 25: Dr. Thomas Barlow was born in 1607, at Orton, in Westmoreland, was made Bishop of Lincoln, in 1675, and died at Buckden, in 1691. His character appears to have been vacillating; he was not among the venerable Prelates who stood forth the Protectors of the Protestant Religion in 1688. His theological learning was considerable.]

[Footnote 26: Richard Baxter was born at Rowton, in Shropshire, 1615, and was a Chaplain in the Parliamentary Army, though he was a defender of Monarchy. He refused the Bishopric of Hereford, and died in 1691. His "Saint's Everlasting Rest" and "Call to the Unconverted" are his most famous books.]

[Footnote 27: Dr. Peter Gunning was a loyalist Divine, who suffered considerably for the Royal cause, and died Bishop of Ely, in 1684.]

[Footnote 28: Dr. John Pearson was the author of the famous
"Exposition of the Creed;" in 1661, he was made Lady Margaret's
Professor of Divinity, at Cambridge, and died Bishop of Chester, in
1686, aged 74.]

[Footnote 29: Dr. William Bancroft, born at Freshingfield, in Suffolk, in 1616, and educated at Emanuel College, Cambridge, where he was deprived of his Fellowship in 1649, for refusing to take the engagement. He was made Archbishop in 1677, and in 1688, he was one of the seven Prelates sent to the Tower by James II. At the Revolution he refused taking the Oaths to the new government, for which he was suspended and deprived. He died in retirement Nov. 14th, 1693.]

[Footnote 30: Bishop Sanderson's Will is recorded in the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, in the volume called Juxon, Article 37. After his death, it was industriously reported that he repented of his writing against the Presbyterians, and would not suffer a Church Minister to pray by him, which is refuted by the narrative of Mr. Pullin's giving him the Sacrament.]

[Footnote 31: Mr. John Pullin, B.D., and formerly Fellow of Magdalen
College, Cambridge. His name is subscribed to a copy of commendatory
Latin verses prefixed to "Duport's Greek Version of Job." He was a
Prebendary, and also Chancellor of Lincoln.]

DR. PIERCE'S LETTER.

GOOD MR. WALTON,

At my return to this place, I made a yet stricter search after the letters long ago sent me from our most excellent Dr. Sanderson, before the happy restoration of the King and Church of England to their several rights: in one of which letters more especially, he was pleased to give me a narrative both of the rise and the progress, and reasons also, as well of his younger, as of his last and riper judgment, touching the famous points controverted between the Calvinians and the Armenians, as they are commonly (though unjustly and unskilfully) miscalled on either side.

The whole letter I allude to does consist of several sheets, whereof a good part had been made public long ago, by the most learned, most judicious, most pious Dr. Hammond, (to whom I sent it both for his private, and for the public satisfaction, if he thought fit,) in his excellent book, entitled, "A Pacific Discourse of God's Grace and Decrees, in full accordance with Dr. Sanderson:" to which discourse I refer you for an account of Dr. Sanderson and the history of his thoughts in his own hand-writing, wherein I sent it to Westwood, as I received it from Boothby Pannel. And although the whole book, (printed in the year 1660, and reprinted since with his other tracts in folio,) is very worthy of your perusal; yet, for the work you are about, you shall not have need to read more at present than from the 8th to the 23rd page, and as far as the end of section 33. There you will find in what year the excellent man, whose life you write, became a Master of Arts: how his first reading of learned Hooker had been occasioned by certain puritanical pamphlets; and how good a preparative he found it for his reading of Calvin's Institutions, the honour of whose name (at that time especially) gave such credit to his errors: how he erred with Mr. Calvin, whilst he took things upon trust in the sublapsarian way: how, being chosen to be a Clerk of the Convocation for the Diocese of Lincoln, 1625, he reduced the Quinquarticular Controversy into five schemes or tables; and thereupon discerned a necessity of quitting the sublapsarian way, of which he had before a better liking, as well as the supralapsarian, which he could never fancy. There you will meet with his two weighty reasons against them both, and find his happy change of judgment to have been ever since the year 1625, even thirty-four years before the world either knew, or, at least, took notice of it; and more particularly his reasons for rejecting Dr. Twiss, (or the way he walks in,) although his acute and very learned and ancient friend.

I now proceed to let you know from Dr. Sanderson's own hand,[1] which was never printed, (and which you can hardly know from any, unless from his son, or from myself,) that, when that Parliament was broken up, and the convocation therewith dissolved, a gentleman of his acquaintance, by occasion of some discourse about these points, told him of a book not long before published at Paris, (A.D. 1623,) by a Spanish Bishop,[2] who had undertaken to clear the differences in the great controversy De Concordia Gratiæ et Liberi Arbitrii . And because his friend perceived he was greedily desirous to see the book, he sent him one of them, containing the four first books of twelve which he intended then to publish. "When I had read," says Dr. Sanderson, in the following words of the same letter, "his Epistle Dedicatory to the Pope (Gregory XV.), he spake so highly of his own invention, that I then began rather to suspect him for a mountebank, than to hope I should find satisfaction from his performances. I found much confidence and great pomp of words, but little matter as to the main knot of the business, other than had been said an hundred times before, to wit, of the co-existence of all things past, present, and future [Latin] in mente divina realiter ab aeterno , which is the subject of his whole third book: only he interpreteth the word realiter so as to import not only præsentialitatem objectivam, (as others held before him,) but propriam et actualem existentiam ; yet confesseth it is hard to make this intelligible. In his fourth book he endeavours to declare a twofold manner of God's working ad extra ; the one sub ordine prædestinationis , of which eternity is the proper measure: the other sub ordine gratia , whereof time is the measure; and that God worketh fortiter in the one (though not irresistibiliter ) as well suamter in the other, wherein the free will hath his proper working also. From the result of his whole performance I was confirmed in this opinion; that we must acknowledge the work of both grace and free will in the conversion of a sinner; and so likewise in all other events, the consistency of the infallibility of God's foreknowledge at least (though not with any absolute, but conditional predestination) with the liberty of man's will, and the contingency of inferior causes and effects. These, I say, we must acknowledge for the [Greek: hoti] but for the [Greek: to pos], I thought it bootless for me to think of comprehending it. And so came the two Acta Synodalia Dordrechtana to stand in my study, only to fill up a room to this day."

And yet see the restless curiosity of man. Not many years after, to wit, A.D. 1632, out cometh Dr. Twiss's[3] Vindiciæ Gratiæ , a large volume, purposely writ against Arminius: and then, notwithstanding my former resolution, I must need be meddling again. The respect I bore to his person and great learning, and the acquaintance I had had with him in Oxford, drew me to the reading of that whole book. But from the reading of it (for I read it through to a syllable) I went away with many and great dissatisfactions. Sundry things in that book I took notice of, which brought me into a greater dislike of his opinion than I had before: but especially these three: First, that he bottometh very much of his discourse upon a very erroneous principle, which yet he seemeth to be so deeply in love with, that he hath repeated it, I verily believe, some hundreds of times in that work: to wit this; That whatsoever is first in the intention is last in execution, and e converso. Which is an error of that magnitude, that I cannot but wonder how a person of such acuteness and subtilty of wit could possibly be deceived with it. All logicians know there is no such universal maxim as he buildeth upon. The true maxim is but this: Finis qui primus est in intentione, est ultimus in executione . In the order of final causes, and the means used for that end, the rule holdeth perpetually: but in other things it holdeth not at all, or but by chance; or not as a rule, and necessarily. Secondly, that, foreseeing such consequences would naturally and necessarily follow from his opinion, as would offend the ear of a sober Christian at the very first sound, he would yet rather choose not only to admit the said harsh consequences, but professedly endeavour also to maintain them, and plead hard for them in large digressions, than to recede in the least from that opinion which he had undertaken to defend. Thirdly, that seeing (out of the sharpness of his wit) a necessity of forsaking the ordinary sublapsarian way, and the supralapsarian too, as it had diversely been declared by all that had gone before him, (for the shunning of those rocks, which either of those ways must unavoidably cast him upon,) he was forced to seek out an untrodden path, and to frame out of his own brain a new way, (like a spider's web wrought out of her own bowels,) hoping by that device to salve all absurdities, that could be objected; to wit, by making the glory of God (as it is indeed the chiefest, so) the only end of all other his decrees, and then making all those other decrees to be but one entire co-ordinate medium conducing to that one end, and so the whole subordinate to it, but not any one part thereof subordinate to any other of the same. Dr. Twiss should have done well to have been more sparing in imputing the studium partlum to others, wherewith his own eyes, though of eminent perspicacity, were so strangely blindfolded, that he could not discern how this his new device, and his old dearly beloved principle, (like the Cadmean Sparti ,) do mutually destroy the one the other.

This relation of my past thoughts having spun out to a far greater length than I intended, I shall give a shorter account of what they now are concerning these points.

For which account I refer you to the following parts of Dr. Hammond's book aforesaid, where you may find them already printed: and for another account at large of Bishop Sanderson's last judgment concerning God's concurrence or non-concurrence with the actions of men , and the positive entity of sins of commission , I refer you to his letters already printed by his consent, in my large Appendix to my Impartial Enquiry into the Nature of Sin, § 68, p. 193, as far as p. 200.

"Sir, I have rather made it my choice to transcribe all above out of the letters of Dr. Sanderson, which lie before me, than venture the loss of my originals by post or carrier, which, though not often, yet sometimes fail. Make use of as much or as little as you please, of what I send you from himself (because from his own letters to me) in the penning of his life, as your own prudence shall direct you: using my name for your warranty in the account given of him, as much or as little as you please too. You have a performance of my promise, and an obedience to your desires from

"THO. PIERCE.

[Footnote 1: Sir, I pray note, that all that follows between inverted commas are Dr. Sanderson's own words, excellently worthy, but no where else extant; and commend him as much as any thing you can say of him. T.P.]

[Footnote 3: This learned nonconformist was born at Reading about 1575, and educated at Winchester School, and New College, Oxford. He had been Chaplain to the Princess Elizabeth. He died at Newbury, July 20, 1646. Wood says, "his plain preaching was esteemed good; his solid disputations were accounted better; but his pious life was reckoned best of all."]

THE BISHOP OF LINCOLN'S LETTER.

MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR. WALTON,

I am heartily glad, that you have undertaken to write the Life of that excellent person, and, both for learning and Piety, eminent Prelate, Dr. Sanderson, late Bishop of Lincoln; because I know your ability to know, and integrity to write truth: And sure I am, that the life and actions of that pious and learned Prelate will afford you matter enough for his commendation, and the imitation of posterity. In order to the carrying on your intended good work, you desire my assistance, that I would communicate to you such particular passages of his life, as were certainly known to me. I confess I had the happiness to be particularly known to him for about the space of twenty years; and, in Oxon, to enjoy his conversation, and his learned and pious instructions while he was Regius Professor of Divinity there. Afterwards, when (in the time of our late unhappy confusions) he left Oxon, and was retired into the country, I had the benefit of his letters; wherein, with great candour and kindness, he answered those doubts I proposed, and gave me that satisfaction, which I neither had nor expected from some others of greater confidence, but less judgment and humility. Having, in a letter, named two or three books writ ( ex professo ) against the being of any original sin; and that Adam, by his fall, transmitted some calamity only, but no crime to his posterity; the good old man was exceedingly troubled, and bewailed the misery of those licentious times, and seemed to wonder (save that the times were such) that any should write, or be permitted to publish any error so contradictory to truth, and the doctrine of the Church of England, established (as he truly said) by clear evidence of Scripture, and the just and supreme power of this nation, both sacred and civil. I name not the books, nor their authors, which are not unknown to learned men (and I wish they had never been known) because both the doctrine and the unadvised abettors of it are, and shall be, to me apocryphal.

Another little story I must not pass in silence, being an argument of Dr. Sanderson's piety, great ability, and judgment, as a casuist. Discoursing with an honourable person[1] (whose piety I value more than his nobility and learning, though both be great) about a case of conscience concerning oath and vows, their nature and obligation; in which, for some particular reasons, he then desired more fully to be informed; I commended to him Dr. Sanderson's book "De Juramento;" which having read, with great satisfaction, he asked me,—"If I thought the Doctor could be induced to write Cases of Conscience, if he might have an honorary pension allowed him to furnish him with books for that purpose?" I told him I believed he would: And, in a letter to the Doctor, told him what great satisfaction that honourable person, and many more, had reaped by reading his book "De Juramento;" and asked him "whether he would be pleased, for the benefit of the Church, to write some tract of Cases of Conscience;" He replied, "That he was glad that any had received any benefit by his books:" and added further, "That if any future tract of his could bring such benefit to any, as we seemed to say his former had done, he would willingly, though without any Pension, set about that work." Having received this answer, that honourable person, before mentioned, did, by my hands, return 50_l_. to the good Doctor, whose condition then (as most good men's at that time were) was but low; and he presently revised, finished, and published that excellent book, "De Conscientiâ:" a book little in bulk, but not so if we consider the benefit an intelligent reader may receive by it. For there are so many general propositions concerning conscience, the nature and obligation of it, explained and proved, with such firm consequence and evidence of reason, that he who reads, remembers, and can with prudence pertinently apply them hic et nunc to particular cases, may, by their light and help, rationally resolve a thousand particular doubts and scruples of conscience. Here you may see the charity of that honourable person in promoting, and the piety and industry of the good Doctor, in performing that excellent work.

And here I shall add the judgment of that learned and pious Prelate concerning a passage very pertinent to our present purpose. When he was in Oxon, and read his public lectures in the school as Regius Professor of Divinity, and by the truth of his positions, and evidences of his proofs, gave great content and satisfaction to all his hearers, especially in his clear resolutions of all difficult cases which occurred in the explication of the subject-matter of his lectures; a person of quality (yet alive) privately asked him, "What course a young Divine should take in his studies to enable him to be a good casuist?" His answer was, "That a convenient under of the learned languages, at least of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, and a sufficient knowledge of arts and sciences presupposed; I there were two things in human literature, a comprehension of which would be of very great use, to enable a man to be a rational and able casuist, which otherwise was very difficult, if not impossible: I. A convenient knowledge of moral philosophy; especially that part of it which treats of the nature of human actions: To know, 'quid sit actus humanus (spontaneus, invitus, mixtus), unde habet bonitatem et malitiam moralem? an ex genere et objecto, vel ex circumstantiis?' How the variety of circumstances varies the goodness or evil of human actions? How far knowledge and ignorance may aggravate or excuse, increase or diminish the goodness or evil of our actions? For every case of conscience being only this—'Is this action good or bad? May I do it, or may I not?'—He who, in these, knows not how and whence human actions become morally good and evil, never can ( in hypothesi ) rationally and certainly determine, whether this or that particular action be so.—2. The second thing, which," he said, "would be a great help and advantage to a casuist, was a convenient knowledge of the nature and obligation of laws in general: to know what a law is; what a natural and a positive law; what's required to the 'latio, dispensato, derogatio, vel abrogalio legis;' what promulgation is antecedently required to the obligation of any positive law; what ignorance takes off the obligation of a law, or does excuse, diminish, or aggravate the transgression: For every case of conscience being only this—'Is this lawful for me, or is it not?' and the law the only rule and measure by which I must judge of the lawfulness or unlawfulness of any action; it evidently follows, that he who, in these, knows not the nature and obligation of laws, never can be a good casuist, or rationally assure himself or others, of the lawfulness or unlawfulness of actions in particular."

This was the judgment and good counsel of that learned and pious Prelate: And having, by long experience, found the truth and benefit of it, I conceive, I could not without ingratitude to him, and want of charity to others, conceal it.—Pray pardon this rude, and, I fear impertinent scribble, which, if nothing else, may signify thus much, that I am willing to obey your desires, and am indeed,

THOMAS LINCOLN.

THE WORKS OF DR. ROBERT SANDERSON.

II. "PHYSICÆ SCIENTIÆ COMPENDIUM, à ROBERTO SANDERSON, Coll. Lincoln, in almâ Oxoniensi olim socio, &c. Oxoniæ , 1671."

III. SERMONS. "Dr. Sanderson's XII. Sermons, 1632." 4to.—"Dr.
Sanderson's Sermons (including the twelve before printed), 1664."
Folio.—"Ditto, with his Life by Isaac Walton, 1689." Folio.

V. "DE JURAMENTI PROMISSORII OBLIGATIONE PRÆLECTIONES SEPTEM: HABITÆ in SCHOLA THEOLOGICA OXONII, Termino Michaëlis anno Dom. MDCXLVI. à ROBERTO SANDERSON. Præmissâ Oratione ab eodem habitâ cùm Publicam Professionem auspicaretur, 26 Octobris, 1646. Lona . 1647."

These Lectures were translated into the English language by Charles I. during his confinement in the Isle of Wight, and printed at London, in 1655—8vo.

VI. "DE OBLIGATIONE CONSCIENTIÆ PRÆLECTIONES DECEM OXONII in SCHOLA
THEOLOGICA HABITÆ, anno Dom. MDCXLVII." An English translation of the
"Prelections on the Nature and Obligation of Promissory Oaths and of
Conscience," was published in 3 vols. 8vo. London , 1722.

VII. "CENSURE OF MR. ANTON. ASCHAM his BOOK of the CONFUSIONS and
REVOLUTIONS of GOVERNMENT, London , 1649." 8vo.

VIII. "EPISCOPACY (as established by Law in England) NOT PREJUDICIAL to REGAL POWER. Written in the Time of the Long Parliament, by the special Command of the late King. London , 1673."

IX. "DISCOURSE CONCERNING the CHURCH, in THESE PARTICULARS: First, concerning the Visibility of the true Church: Secondly, concerning the Church of Rome. London , 1688."

X. 1. "BISHOP SANDERSON'S JUDGMENT concerning SUBMISSION to USURPERS." 2. "PAX ECCLESIÆ." 3. "BISHOP SANDERSON'S JUDGMENT in ONE VIEW for the SETTLEMENT of the CHURCH." 4. "REASONS of the present JUDGMENT of the UNIVERSITY of OXFORD, concerning the SOLEMN LEAGUE and COVENANT, the NEGATIVE OATH, the ORDINANCES concerning DISCIPLINE and WORSHIP. London , 1678."

XI. A large "PREFACE" to a book written at the command of Charles I. by Archbishop Usher, and published by Dr. Sanderson, entitled "The POWER communicated by GOD to the PRINCE, and the OBEDIENCE required of the SUBJECT. London , 1661."—4to. Second corrected edition of this work was published in 8vo. 1683.

XII. "A PREFATORY DISCOURSE," in defence of Usher and his Writings,
prefixed to a collection of Treatises, entitled 'CLAVI TRABALES, or
NAILES fastened by some great MASTERS of ASSEMBLYES, concerning the
KING'S SUPREMACY and CHURCH GOVERNMENT under BISHOPS.'

The Preface is dated "London, Aug. 10, 1661," and subscribed "The unworthy servant of Jesus Christ, Ro. LINCOLN."

XIII. "PROPHECIES concerning the RETURN of POPERY," inserted in a book entitled 'Fair Warning: The Second Part. London , 1663.'

XIV. "The PREFACE to the BOOK of COMMON PRAYER," beginning with these words; "It hath been the wisdom of the Church"——.

XV. "[Greek: EPINOMIS], seu EXPLANATIO JURAMENTI," &c., inserted in the 'Excerpta è Corpore Statutorum Univ. Oxoniensis,' p. 194.

XVI. "ARTICLES of VISITATION and ENQUIRY concerning MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL, exhibited to the Ministers, Churchwardens, and Sidemen of every Parish within the Diocese of Lincoln, in the first episcopal Visitation of the Right Rev. Father in God, ROBERT, by Divine Providence, Lord Bishop of Lincoln; with the oath to be administered to the Churchwardens, and the Bishop's Admonition to them. London , 1662." 4to.

XVII. Peck, in the 'Desiderata Curiosa,' Vol. II., has inserted "The HISTORY and ANTIQUITIES of the CATHEDRAL CHURCH of the Blessed Virgin St. MARY at LINCOLN; containing an exact Copy of all the Monumental Inscriptions there, in Number 163, as they stood in 1641; most of which was soon after torn up, or otherwise defaced. Collected by ROBERT SANDERSON, S.T.P., afterwards Lord Bishop of that Church, and compared with and corrected by Sir WILLIAM DUGDALE'S MS. Survey."

Dr. White Kennet, Bishop of Peterborough, had in his possession the copies of two letters transcribed from the originals that were in the hands of Bishop Barlow. 1. Superscribed "For Mr. Thomas Barlow, at the Library in Oxon," and subscribed "Your very loving friend and servant, ROBERT SANDERSON," dated "Botheby Pagnell, Sept. 28, 1656," importuning Dr. Barlow, "to undertake the managing that dispute in the question of great importance upon the ancient landmarks, by Dr. Jeremy Taylor; so unhappily (and so unseasonably too) endeavoured to be removed in the doctrine of original sin." 2. Another letter of Dr. Sanderson to Dr. Barlow, at Queen's College, dated "Botheby Pagnell, Sept. 17, 1657," expressing himself, "That Dr. Taylor is so peremptory and pertinacious of his errors as not to hearken to the sober advices of his grave, reverend, and learned friends, amidst the distractions of these times," &c.

Dr. Sanderson and Dr. Hammond were jointly concerned in a work entitled "A PACIFIC DISCOURSE of GOD'S GRACE and DECREES," published by the latter in 1660.

It would be improper not to observe, that in the Preface to the Polyglott Bible, printed at London in 1657, Dr. Bryan Walton has classed Dr. Sanderson among those of his much honoured friends who assisted him in that noble work.

ADDITIONAL NOTES

LIFE OF HOOKER

Frontispiece. —The portrait here given is from Hooker's monument in Bishopsbourne Church.

Text, etc. — The Life of Mr. Richard Hooker was first published in small octavo in 1665. The second edition was prefixed to the Ecclesiastical Polity of 1666, folio , and again in 1676 and 1682. It was also included in Walton's collection of 1670. A valuable essay on Hooker by Dean Church is prefixed to the Clarendon Press edition of the first book of Ecclesiastical Polity , 1876.

3. at this time of my age. He says at p. 4 that he was "past the seventy of his age."

7. He was born, etc. "Probably in March, 1553-54," says the Dict. of Nat. Biography .

14. the Bishop said to him. Cf. chap. iii. of the Vicar of Wakefield , where this anecdote is referred to. Indeed Hooker is there alleged to have been the "great ancestor" of George Primrose.

26. I cannot learn the pretended cause. It seems probable that the views of Hooker and his friends had offended Barfoot, who was a zealous Puritan.

30. her conditions , personal qualities, manners. Recent investigations tend to show that honest Izaak's account is prejudiced, as Hooker in his will makes his "wel-beloved wife" sole executrix and residuary legatee, and his father-in-law was one of the overseers. Nevertheless Wood calls her "a clownish, silly woman, and withal a mere Xanthippe."

58. The forenoon … Geneva. The speaker was Fuller, but the quotation is not quite textual.

71. corps , endowment. "When the corps of the profit or benefice is but one the title can be but one man's" (Hooker, Ecclesiastical Polity , v. lxxx, § 11).

94. Judicious Hooker. This is the first application to Hooker of this time-honoured epithet. Sir W. Cowper was the grandfather of William, first Earl Cowper. The monument was erected in 1635.

97. both died before they were marriageable. Alice died unmarried in 1649; but Jane (or Jone) married Edward Nethersole at Bishopsbourne, 23rd March 1600.

108, regiment , regimen, regulation, management. Cf . Bacon's essay "Of Regiment of Health."

LIFE OF HERBERT

Text, etc.—The Life of Mr. George Herbert was first published in 1670, 12mo, with his letters to his mother, etc. It was also included in the collected Lives of 1670. All his known writings have been edited by Dr. Grosart for the Fuller Worthies Library , 1874, and the Aldine Poets , 1876.

134. he was elected … Cambridge. He was admitted scholar 5th May 1609, and matriculated pensioner at Trinity 18th December 1609.

142. Matter of Arts, 1616. See also p. 143. These data were furnished to Dr. Grosart by the University authorities.

154. Prebend of Layton Ecclesia. Grosart points out that Walton was wrong here. Herbert was not a Deacon. He held the prebendary of Layton (Leighton Bromswold) as a laic, as he did the sinecure rectorship of Whitford.

163. she died in the year 1627. In June. On July 1 Donne preached her Funeral Sermon. See ante , p. 139. When it was published (London, 1627, 12mo) Herbert appended to it the Greek and Latin poems to her memory, entitled Parentalia ; these were the chief verses he published in his lifetime.

165. three months after this marriage. It took place at Edington on 5th March 1629.

167. canonical clothes. This, as Dr. Grosart says, shows that he "was still a layman."

167. Parsonage of Bemerton. In the presentation in the Record Office, which is dated 16th April 1630, ten days before his induction, it is styled "Rectory of the parish church of Fulston (Fuggleston) St. Peter's and Bemerton."

175. " The Country Parson. " For further particulars see p. 212. Of the simplicity of this beautiful little book Canon Ainger has well said, "Not for the first or last time in our literature was it to be shown that the euphuistic tendency is killed when the writer begins to think more of his topic than himself" (Craik's English Prose , ii. (1894), 204).

206. my last Will. This, which Walton had not seen, is printed by Dr. Grosart ( Herbert's Poetical Works , 1876, p. lxi).

207. buried 3rd day of March, 1632. I.e. in 1633, as the rest of the note seems to imply. He lies under the altar in the church.

LIFE OF SANDERSON

Text, etc The first separate edition of the Life of Dr. Robert Sanderson was printed in 1678, 8vo. It is corrected and supplemented in Jacobson's edition of Sanderson's works, 1854, 6 vols.

223. the place of his birth was Rotherham. As stated in the note, it was Sheffield, in a house called the Lane Head Stane. He was baptized on the 10th September.

240. about this time. He was presented to the Rectory of Boothby Pagnell in 1619. There is a print of Boothby Parsonage in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1801, i. 105.

282. Little Britain . Like Duck Lane, Little Britain was (in Strype's words) "much inhabited by booksellers."

305. 29th of January 1662. Should be 1663. He was buried in the chancel of Buckden Church.

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