The Lives of Richard Hooker, Sir Henry Wotton, Dr. Donne, and George Herbert

THE LIFE
OF
RICHARD HOOKER.

MR. RICHARD HOOKER was born at Heavy-Tree, near Exeter, about the year 1553, of parents who were not so remarkable for their extraction or riches, as for their virtue and industry, and Gob's blessing upon both. His motion was slow, even in his Thouth, and so was his speech; neither of them expressing any earnestness, but a gravity suitable to the aged. And it is observed that, even when a school-boy, he was an early questionist; 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 a quick apprehension of many perplexed parts of learning imposed on him as a scholar, made his master, and others, consider him as a little wonder. This meekness, and conjuncture of knowledge with modesty in his conversation, being observed by his school-master, 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 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. This was not unwelcome news, and especially to his mother, to whom he was a dutiful and dear child; and all parties being pleased with this proposal, it was resolved that 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,-the conscientious principles of loving and fearing GOD,-an early belief that he knows the very secrets of our souls, that he punishes our vices, and rewards our innocence, and that we should be free from hypocrisy, and appear to man what we are to GOD. These seeds were so seasonably planted, and so continually watered with the dew of GOD’s Blessed SPIRIT, that his infant virtues grew into those holy habits, which made him grow daily into more and more favor, both with GOD and man.

His school-master was very solicitous with JOHN HOOKER, then Chamberlain of Exeter, and uncle to 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 endeavors to procure an admission for him into some College, assuring him, that his charge would not continue long, because the lad's learning and manners were both so remarkable, that they must be taken notice of, and that doubtless GOD would provide him some second patron, that would free him and his parents from future charge. This his uncle performed, by the assistance of the learned JOHN JEWELL, who about the first year of Queen MARY'S reign, had been expelled from Corpus CHRISTi College, in Oxford, (of which he was a Fellow,) for adhering to those principles of religion, to which he had assented in the days of her brother and predecessor, EDWARD the Sixth. But having afterwards cause to fear a more heavy punishment than expulsion, he had been forced to seek safety in another nation. The cloud of that persecution ending with the life of Queen MARY, he, and many others of the same judgment, had made a happy return into England about the first of Queen ELIZABETH; in which year JEWELL was sent as a visitor of the Churches of the western parts of this kingdom, and especially of those in Devonshire, in which county he was born; where he had contracted a friendship with MR. HOOKER, uncle to RICHARD. In the second or third year of her reign, DR. JEWELL was made Bishop of Salisbury; where MR. HOOKER paid him a visit, and besought him to look favorably upon a poor nephew of his, whom nature had fitted for a scholar, but the estate of whose parents was so narrow, that they were unable to give him the advantage of learning. Upon this, he appointed the boy and his school-master to attend him about Easter, which was done accordingly; and, after some questions and observations respecting the boy's learning and behavior, 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. This was performed; for about the fifteenth year of his age, in the year 1567, he was by the Bishop appointed to remove to Oxford, to attend DR. COLE, President of Corpus-CHRISTi College, which he did. DR. COLE had provided for him both a tutor, and a clerk's place, in that College; which, with the contribution of his uncle, and the pension of his Patron the good Bishop, gave him a comfortable subsistence. In this condition he continued to 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 JOHN the BAPTIST, to be sanctified from his mother's womb.

About this time of his age, he fell into a dangerous sickness, which lasted two months. As soon as he was perfectly recovered from it, he took a journey to Exeter, on foot, to see his mother, accompanied by a companion and countryman of his own college. They 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. At parting, the Bishop gave him good counsel, and his benediction, but forgot to give him money; which when he had considered, he sent' a servant in all haste to call him back, and at his return, said to him, "RICHARD, I sent for Thou back, to lend Thou a horse, which has carried me many a mile, and, I thank GOD, with much ease;" and presently delivered into his hand a walking staff, with which he had traveled through many parts of Germany: he added, " I do not give, but lend Thou my horse; be honest, and bring my horse back at Thour return this way to Oxford. I do now give Thou ten groats to bear Thour charges to Exeter; and here are ten groats more, which I charge Thou to deliver to Thour mother, and tell her, I send her a Bishop's benediction with it, and beg the continuance of her prayers for me. And if Thou bring my horse back to me, I will give Thou ten groats more to carry Thou to the College; and so GOD bless Thou! " All this, Thou may believe, was performed. But, alas! the next news that followed ML HOOKER to Oxford was, that his Patron had changed this for a better life. As he lived, so he died, in devout meditation and prayer; and in both so zealously, that it became a question, whether his last ejaculations, or his soul, did first enter into heaven.

DR. COLE bade MR. HOOKER go cheerfully to his studies; assuring him that he should neither want food nor raiment, which was the utmost of his hopes, for that he would become his patron. But he did not need it long, for the following reason. EDWIN SANDYS, (then Bishop of LONDON, and afterwards Archbishop of York,) had also been forced, in the days of Queen MARY, to seek safety in another nation; where, for some years, Bishop JEWELL and he were companions at bed and board in Germany, and by that means began such a friendship as lasted till the death of Bishop JEWELL, which was in September, 1571. A little before that time, the two Bishops meeting, JEWELL began a story of 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 many friends, yet his resolution was, that his son EDWIN should be sent to Corpus CHRISTi -College in Oxford, and be a pupil of MR. HOOKER, Though his son was not then much younger. 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. Therefore MR. HOOKER shall be the man into whose hands I will commit my EDWIN." And the Bishop did so, in about twelve months, or not much longer, after this resolution.

MR. HOOKER was now in the nineteenth year of his age, had spent five in the University, and had by unwearied diligence attained to perfection in all the learned languages; by the help of which, he was an excellent tutor. His unintermitted study had made the subtlety 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 industry added to both, he did not only know more, but what he knew, he knew better than other men. And with this knowledge he had a clear method of demonstrating what he knew, to the great advantage of all his pupils, who, in course of time, were many; but especially to his two first, his dear EDWIN SANDYS, and his equally dear GEORGE CRANMER.

In four years, he was but twice absent from the chapel prayers; and his behavior there was such, as showed an awful reverence of that GOD whom he then worshipped; giving all outward testimonies that his affections were set on heavenly things. This was his behavior towards GOD; and as for that to man, it is observable that he was never known to be angry, or passionate, or extreme in any of his desires; nor was he ever heard to repine at any thing, but, by a quiet and gentle submission and resignation of his will to the wisdom of his Creator, bore the burden of the day with patience, and was never known to utter an uncomely word: and by this, and a grave behavior, which is a divine charm, he begot an early reverence to his person, even from those that, at other times, and in other companies, took a liberty to cast off that strictness of behavior and discourse that is required in a collegiate life. Thus mild, thus innocent and exemplary, was his behavior in his College; and thus this good man continued till his death, still increasing in learning, in patience, and in piety.

In the nineteenth year of his age, he was, on December 24, 1573, admitted to be one of the twenty scholars of the foundation. And now he was perfectly incorporated into this beloved College, which was then noted for an eminent library, strict students, and remarkable scholars. In the year 1577, he was admitted Fellow of the College; happy also in being the contemporary and friend of DR. JOHN REYNOLDS, and of DR. SPENCER, both whom were afterwards successively made Presidents of Corpus CHRISTi College;-men of great learning and merit, and famous in their generations.

MR. HOOKER continued his studies with all quietness for the space of three years; about which time he entered into Holy Orders, and was made Deacon and Priest, and, not long after, was appointed to preach at St. Paul's Cross. In order to this, he came to LONDON, and went immediately to the Shunamite's house; which is a house so called, because, besides the stipend paid to the Preacher, there is provision made for his lodging and diet, two days before and one day after his sermon. This was then kept by JOHN CHURCHMAN, sometime a Draper of good note in Watling.street. But to this house MR. HOOKER came so wet, 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 found him easier a horse. And at this time also such a faintness possessed him, that he would not be persuaded that any 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, enabled him to perform the office of the day, in or about the year 1581.

The kindness of MRS. CHURCHMAN, in curing him of his late distemper, 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 an one as might both prolong his life, and make it more comfortable; and such an one she could and would provide for him, if he Thought fit to marry. Like a true NATHANAEL, fearing no guile, because he meant none, he did give her such a power as ELEAZAR was trusted with, when he was sent to choose a wife for ISAAC; so he trusted her to choose for him, promising upon summons to return to LONDON, and accept of her choice; and he did so in that or the following year. The wife provided for him was her daughter JOAN, who brought him neither beauty nor portion; and as to conditions, they were too like that wife's who is by SOLOMON compared to a dripping-house, so that he had no reason to " rejoice in the wife of his Thouth," but too just cause to say with the holy Prophet, "Woe is me, that I am constrained to have my habitation in the tents of Kedar." By this means the good man was drawn from the tranquility of his College, 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, to which he was presented by JOHN CHENY, ESQ., on the 9th of December, 1584, and in which he behaved himself so as to give no occasion of evil;-" in much patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in poverty," yet troubling no man with his discontents and wants.

In this condition he continued about a year, in which time his two pupils, EDWYN SANDYS and GEORGE CRANMER, took a journey to see their tutor, where they found him with a book in his hand, he being then, like humble 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 come to dine, and assist his Wife to do some necessary household business. When his servant returned and released him, his two pupils attended him to his house, where their best entertainment was his quiet company, which was presently denied them, for "RICHARD" was called to "rock the cradle." The rest

of their welcome was so like this, that they stayed but till next morning, which was time enough to discover and pity their tutor's condition; and having in that time given him as much comfort as they were able, they were forced to leave him to the company of his wife JOAN, and

seek themselves a quieter lodging. But at their parting, MR. CRANMER said, " Good tutor, I am sorry Thour lot is fallen in no better ground, as to Thour parsonage; and more sorry that Thour wife proves not a more comfortable companion, after Thou have wearied Thourself in Thour rest

less studies." To this the good man replied, " My dear GEORGE, If saints have usually a double share in the miseries of this life, that am no saint, ought not to repine at what _ry wise Creator has appointed for me, but to labor, as indeed I do daily, to submit mine to his will, and possess my soul in patience and peace." At their return to LONDON, EDWYN SANDY; acquainted his father, who was then Bishop of LONDON, and afterwards

Archbishop of York, with his tutor's sad condition, and solicited for his removal to some benefice that might give him a more comfortable subsistence. And not long after this time, in the year 1585, MR. ALVIE, Master of the Temple, died, who was a man of a strict. life, of great learning, and of a venerable behavior. Here came in a fair occasion for the Bishop to recommend MR. HOOKER; which he did with so effectual an earnestness, that he was sent for from Drayton-Beauchamp to LONDON, and made Master of the Temple, on the 17th of March, 1585, being then in the thirty-fourth year of his age.

Here it was that he began to write a treatise on the Power of the Church to make canons for the use of ceremonies; and this he proposed to do in Eight Books on the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity; intending therein to show such arguments as should force an assent from all men, if reason, delivered in sweet language, and void of any provocation, were able to do it. And that he might prevent all prejudice, he wrote before it a large preface, or epistle to the dissenting brethren, wherein there were such bowels of love, and such a mixture of that love with reason, as were never exceeded but in Holy Writ, and particularly by that Letter of ST. PAUL to his dear brother and fellow-laborer, PHILEMON, than which none ever was more like this epistle of MR. HOOKER; 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 were all things that proceeded from him breathed as from the spirit of love; as if he, like the bird of the HOLY GHOST, the dove, had wanted gall! Let those that knew him not in his person, judge by these living images of his soul, his writings."

The foundation of these books was laid in the Temple, but he found it no fit place to finish what he had designed; and therefore solicited the Archbishop for a remove, to whom he spoke to this purpose; " My LORD, when I lost the freedom of call, 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 here with MR. TRAVERS have proved the more unpleasant to me, because I believe him to be a good man. This belief has 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. In this examination, I have not only satisfied myself, but have begun a treatise, in which I intend the justification of our laws of church-government; and I shall never be able to finish it, but where I may study, and pray for GOD’s blessing upon my endeavors, and keep myself in peace and privacy, and behold GOD’s blessing spring out of my mother earth, and eat my own bread without, oppositions. And therefore, if Thour Grace can judge me worthy of such a favor, let me beg it, that I may perfect what I have begun."-About this time the Rectory of Boscum, in the diocese of Sarum, six miles from that city, became void. The Bishop of Sarum is Patron of it; but, in the vacancy of that see, the disposal of that and all benefices belonging to the see, during this said vacancy, came to be disposed of by the Archbishop of Canterbury; and he presented RICHARD HOOKER 1O it, in the year 1591. In this he continued, till he bad finished four of his eight books of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, being then in the thirty-ninth year of his age.

He left Boscum in the year 1595, by a surrender of it into the hands of Bishop CALDWELL; being then presented to the parsonage of Bishop's-Borne, in Kent, three miles from Canterbury. At Borne he continued his customary rules of mortification and self-denial; being much in fasting, and frequent in meditation and prayers, and 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, then one of the Prebends of Canterbury, a German by birth, and sometime -a Pastor both in Flanders and Holland.

In this year of 1595, these two excellent persons began a holy friendship; which increased daily to so high and mutual affections, that their two wills, and their designs both for the glory of GOD and the peace of the church, seemed to be but one and the same; each still assisting and improving the other in virtue, and the desired comforts of a peaceable piety. This I have willingly mentioned, because it gives a foundation to some things that follow.

This parsonage of Borne is near to the common road that leads from Canterbury to Dover; in which. parsonage MR. HOOKER had not been twelve months, before 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. But, as our SAVIOR said Of JOHN the 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 being 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; and his face full of heat-pimples, begot by his inactivity and sedentary life. And to this true character of his person, let me add this of his disposition and behavior. GOD and nature blessed him with so great 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 he was short and weak sighted; and where he fixed his eyes at the beginning of his sermon, there they continued till it was ended.

In this place, 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 custom was to preach once every Sunday, and to catechise after the second lesson in the evening prayer. His sermons were uttered with aa grave zeal, and an humble voice;, his eyes were always fixed on one place, to prevent his imagination from wandering, Insomuch that he seemed to study as he spoke; the design of his sermons, as indeed of all. his discourses, was to show reasons for what he spoke, 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 laboring by hard words to get glory to himself, but glory only to GOD, which intention, he would often say, was as discernible in a Preacher, as an artificial front a natural beauty.

He never failed, the Sunday before every Ember-week, to give notice of it to his parishioners; persuading them both to fast, and also to double their prayers for a learned and a pious clergy, but especially the last; and 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 them. And to his persuasion of 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, into which he retired every day, and locked himself up for many hours. He did the like on 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, which most of them did. In these perambulations he would always drop some loving 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 kindnesses, and love; because love thinks not evil, but covers a multitude of infirmities.

He was diligent in inquiring who of his parish were sick, or in any way distressed, and in visiting them, unsent for; supposing that to be the fittest time to discover those errors, to which health and prosperity had blinded them; and having, by pious reasons and prayers, molded them into holy resolutions for the time to come, he would incline them to confess and bewail their sins, with purpose to forsake them, and then to receive the Communion both as a strengthening of those holy resolutions, and a seal between GOD and them of his mercies to their souls.

And as he was thus watchful and charitable to the sick, so he was diligent to prevent law-suits; still urging his parishioners and neighbors to bear with each other's infirmities, and to 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, because it was both a confirming and a strengthening of their graces. And at his entrance or departure out of any house, he would usually speak to the whole family, and bless them by name; insomuch, that as he seemed in his Thouth to be taught of GOD, so he seemed in this place to teach his precepts, as ENocu did, by walking with him in all holiness and humility, making each day a step towards a blessed eternity.

This was his constant behavior at Borne;-so he walked with GOD, and thus he did tread in the footsteps of primitive piety. Arid 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, and holy man. His was a slander parallel to that cast upon chaste SUSANNAH by the wicked elders. But this is certain, that he lay under 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 burden, but that the protector of the innocent gave such an occasion as forced him to make it known to his two dearest friends, EDWYN SANDYS, and GEORGE CRANMER. They were so sensible of their tutor's sufferings, that they gave themselves no rest, till 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 this message, the good man's reply was, "The LORD forgive them, and the LORD bless Thou for this comfortable news: now I have just occasion to say, with SOLOMON,’Friends are born for the days of adversity;' and such Thou have proved to me: and to my GOD I say, as did the mother of JOHN the Baptist, C Thus has 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 is safe in mine 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."

About the year 16OO, and at the age of forty-six, he fell into a long and sharp sickness, occasioned by a cold taken in his passage between LONDON and Gravesend, from which he never recovered. But a submission to the will of Him, who makes the sick man's bed easy by giving rest to his soul, ren tiered his very languishment comfortable; and yet all this time he was solicitous in his study, and observed often to DR. SARA VIA, (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 that he might live to finish the three remaining books of his Polity; " and then, LORD," said be, LQ let thy servant depart in peace." This was his usual expression. It is Thought he hastened his own death, by hastening to give life to his books: but this is certain, that the nearer he was to his death, the more he grew in humility, and in holy Thoughts and resolutions. About a month before that event, he began to lose his appetite, and then to have an aversion to all food; insomuch that he seemed to live some weeks by the smell of meat only, and yet still continued to study and write. And now his guardian angel seemed to foretell him, that the day of his dissolution drew near, for which his vigorous soul appeared to thirst. In this time of his sickness, and not many days before his death, his house was robbed; of which 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, Doctor SARAVIA, who knew the very secrets of his soul, came to him. After a short retirement they returned to the company, and then the Doctor administered to him, and some friends who were with him, the blessed Sacrament. This service being performed, the Doctor Thought he saw a reverent 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 that death was ready to seize him; yet after some amendment, he left him at night, with a promise to return early the day following. He did so, and then found him better in appearance, but deep in contemplation, and not inclinable to discourse; which gave the Doctor occasion to inquire what were his present Thoughts. To this he replied, " That he was meditating on the number and nature of angels, and on their blessed obedience and order, without which, peace could not be in heaven;-and O that it might be so on earth!" After these words he said, " I have lived to see that 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 Thouth, and feared him in my age, and labored to have a conscience void of offence to him, and to all men; yet, if Thou, O LORD, be extreme to mark what I have done amiss, who can abide it? And therefore, where I have failed, LORD show mercy to me, for I plead not my righteousness, but the forgiveness of my unrighteousness, for his merits who died to purchase pardon for penitent sinners. And since I owe thee a death, LORD, let it not be terrible; and then take thy own time,-I submit to it; let not mine, O LORD, but let thy will be done." With this expression, he fell into a slumber; recovering from which he said, " Good Doctor, GOD has 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 an inward joy, which this world can neither give nor take from me." More he would have spoken, but his spirits failed him; and after a short conflict between nature and death, a quiet sigh put a period to his last breath, and so he fell asleep.

THE LIFE
OF
SIR HENRY WOTTON.

SIR HENRY WOTTON was born in the year 1568, at Bocton-Hall, commonly called Bocton, or Bougton Place, in the parish of Bocton-Malherb, in Kent. His father was twice married;-first, to ELIZABETH, the daughter Of SIR JOHN RUDSTONE. After her death, Though his inclinations were averse to all contentions, he was necessitated to undertake several suits in law. In the prosecution of these, he was by divers of his friends earnestly persuaded to a re-marriage; to whom he as often answered, that. if ever he did adopt a resolution to marry, he was seriously resolved to avoid three sorts of persons, namely, those that had children; that had law-suits; and that were of his kindred. And yet, following his own law-suits, he met in Westminster-Hall with one MRS. MORTON, widow of MORTON, ESQ., who was also engaged in several suits; and observing her deportment at the time of hearing one of her causes, he could not but, at the same time, both compassionate her condition, and so affect her person, that although there were in her a concurrence of all those accidents, against which he had so seriously resolved, yet his affection grew so strong, that he resolved to solicit her for a wife; which he did, and obtained her.

By her, he had HENRY his youngest son. His mother undertook to be tutoress to him during much of his childhood, for which care and pains he paid her each day with visible-signs of future perfection ii learning; till his father took him into his own care, and disposed of him to a tutor in his own house at Bocton. When time and diligent instruction had made him fit for a removal, he was sent to Winchester School, and thence, at a fit age, was removed to New College in Oxford; both being founded by WILLIAM WICKHAM, Bishop of Winchester. There he continued, till about the eighteenth year of his age; and was then transplanted into Queen's College. About the nineteenth year of his age, he proceeded Master of Arts. But his stay there was not long; for, the year after he proceeded Master of Arts, his father changed this for a better life; leaving to SIR HENRY, as to his other younger sons, a rent-charge of an hundred marks a year, to be paid for ever out of one of his manors.

In Oxford he stayed till about two years after his father's death; at which time, he was in about the twenty-second year of his age; and having added to his great wit the ballast of learning, and knowledge of the arts, he then laid aside his books, and betook himself to travel, and a more general conversation with mankind; employing the remaining part of his Thouth, his industry, and fortune, to adorn his mind, and to purchase the rich treasure of foreign knowledge; of which, both for the secrets of nature, the dispositions of many nations, and their several laws and languages, he was the possessor in a very large measure.-In his travels, for al most nine years, he stayed but one year in France, and most of that in Geneva; where he became acquainted with THEODORE BEZA, then very aged, and with ISAAC CASAUBON, in whose father's house, if I be rightly informed, SIR HENRY WOTTON lodged, and there contracted a most worthy friendship with him and his learned son. Three of the remaining eight years were spent in Germany; the other five in Italy, the stage on which GOD appointed he should act a great part of his life. Both in Rome, Venice, and Florence, he became acquainted with the most eminent men for learning, and all manner of arts, as picture, sculpture, chemistry, architecture, and divers other manual arts, even arts of inferior nature; of all which he was a most dear lover, and a most excellent judge.

He returned into England about the thirtieth year of his age, being then noted by many, both for his person and deportment: for indeed he was of a choice shape, tall of stature, and of a most persuasive behavior, which was so mixed with sweet discourse and civilities, as gained him much love from all persons with whom he entered into an acquaintance. And whereas he was noted, even in his Thouth, to have a sharp wit, it was so polished by time, travel, and conversation, that his company seemed to be one of the delights of mankind; insomuch that ROBERT, Earl of Essex, then in great favor with Queen ELIZABETH, invited him first into a friendship, and, after knowledge of his great abilities, to be one of his Secretaries.

SIR HENRY being now taken into a serviceable friendship with the Earl of Essex, did personally attend his counsels and employments in two voyages at sea against the Spaniards, and also in that, which was the Earl's last, into Ireland. In that voyage, he did much provoke the Queen to anger, and still worse at his return into England, Though upon her immoveable favor he had built those sandy hopes which encouraged him to such undertakings as, with the help of a contrary faction, suddenly caused his commitment to the Tower. SIR HENRY WOTTON observing this, Though he was not of that faction, (for the Earl's followers were also divided into their several interests, which encouraged the Earl to those undertakings which proved so fatal to him,) yet, knowing treason to be so comprehensive as to take in even circumstances, and out of them to make such conclusions as subtle statesmen shall project, Thought prevention by absence a better security, than to stay and plead innocency in a prison. Therefore did he very quickly and privately ride ~o Dover; and was, by favorable winds, within sixteen hours after his departure from LONDON, set upon the French shore, where he heard, shortly after, that the Earl was arraigned, condemned, and beheaded, and that divers other persons of eminent quality were executed. Thence he went to Italy, where he renewed his friendship with his old acquaintance in that nation, and more particularly in Florence; which city is not more eminent for the Great Duke's Court, than for the great recourse of men of choicest note for learning and arts.

After some stay in Florence, he went the fourth time to visit Rome, where in the English college he had very many friends. Their humanity made them really so, Though they knew him to be a dissenter from many of their principles of religion; and having enjoyed their company, he returned to Florence, where a most notable accident befell him, and introduced him into a knowledge and an interest with King JAMES, then King of Scotland.

Immediately after SIR HENRY WOTTON'S return from Rome to Florence, which was about a year before the death of Queen ELIZABETH, FERDINAND, the Great Duke of Florence, had intercepted certain letters which discovered a design to take away the life of the then King of Scotland. The Duke, abhorring the fact, advised with his Secretary VIETTA, by what means a caution might be best given to that King; and after consideration, it was resolved to be done by SIR HENRY WOTTON, whom VIETra commended to the Duke. SIR HENRY was gladly called by VIETTA to the Duke, who after much profession of trust and friendship, acquainted him with the secret, and dispatched him into Scotland with letters to the King, and, together with those letters, such Italian antidotes against poison, as the Scots till then had been strangers to. Having parted from the Duke, he took up the name and language of an Italian; and thinking it best to avoid the line of English intelligence, he posted into Norway, and through that country towards Scotland, where he found the King at Sterling. He then used means, by BERNARD LINDSEY, one of the King's bedchamber, to procure a speedy and private conference with his Majesty; assuring him, that the business which he was to negotiate was of such consequence, as had caused the Great Duke of Tuscany to enjoin him suddenly to leave Italy, to impart it to his King. This being, by BERNARD LINDSEY, made known to the King, the King, after a little wonder, mixed with jealousy, at hearing of an Italian Ambassador, required his name, which was said to be OCTAVIO BALDI; and appointed him to be beard privately at a fixed hour that evening. When OCTAVIO BALM came to the presence chamber-door, he was requested to lay aside his long rapier, which (Italianlike) he then wore; and having entered the chamber, he found there, with the King, three or four Scotch LORDs, standing at a distance in several corners of the chamber. At the sight of them, he made a stand; which the King observing, bade him be bold, and deliver his message, for he would undertake for the secrecy of all that were present. Then did OCTAVIO BALM deliver his letters and his message to the King in Italian; which, when the King had graciously received, after a little pause, OCTAVIO BALDI stepped to the table, and whispered to the King in his own language, that he was an Englishman, praying that he might have a more private conference with his Majesty, and that he might be concealed during his stay in that nation. This was promised, and performed by the King, during his abode of about three months there; all which time was spent with much pleasantness to the King, and with as much to OCTAVIO BALDI himself as that country could afford.

To the Duke at Florence he returned with a grateful account of his employment; and within some few months there came news to Florence that Queen ELIZABETH was dead, and JAMBS proclaimed King of England. The Duke, knowing travel and business to be the best schools of wisdom, and that SIR HENRY WOTTON had been tutored in both, advised him to return presently to England, and Congratulate the King on his new and better title.

When King JAMES came into England, he found, amongst others of the late Queen's officers, the LORD WorroN, Comptroller of the house; of whom he demanded, if he knew one HENRY WOTTON, that had spent much time in foreign travels? The LORD replied, he knew him well, and that he was his brother. Then the King asking where he then was, was answered, that he was at Venice, or Florence; but that, by late letters, he understood he would suddenly be at Paris. « Send for him," said the King; "and when he shall come. into England, bid him repair to me." The LORD WoTToN, after a little wonder, asked the King if he knew him? To which the King answered, "Thou must rest unsatisfied of that, till Thou bring the gentleman to me."-Not many months after this discourse, the LORD WOTTON brought his brother to attend the King, who took him in his arms, arid bade him welcome by the name of OCTAVIO BALDI, saying, " Thou are the most honest, and therefore the best dissembler, that ever I met with; and seeing that I know Thou neither want learning, travel, nor experience, and that I have had so real a testimony of Thour faithfulness and abilities to manage an embassage, I have sent for Thou to declare my purpose; which is, to make use of Thou in that kind hereafter." Andd so the King did, during most of the two and twenty years of his reign; but before he dismissed OC'IAViO BALDI from his attendance, he restored him to his old name of HENRY WOTTON, by which he then knighted him.

Not long after this, the King having resolved to have a friendship with his neighboring kingdoms of France and Spain, and also, for divers weighty reasons, to enter into an alliance with the state of Venice, and, to that end, to send ambassadors to those several places, did propose the choice of these employments to SIR HENRY WOTTON; who inclined most to that of Venice, as being a place of more retirement, and best suiting with his genius. For he ever loved to connect study, and the trial of natural experiments, with business; for both which, fruitful Italy, that darling of nature, and cherisher of all arts, is so justly famed in all parts of the Christian world. A large allowance being appointed by the King for his voyage thither, and a settled maintenance during his stay there, be left England, nobly accompanied through France to Venice by gentlemen of the best families. Sin ALBERTUs MORTON, his nephew, went as his Secretary, and WILLIAM BEDELL, a man of choice learning, and sanctified wisdom, went as his Chaplain.

For eight years after SIR HENRY WOTTON'S going into Italy, he stood fair, and highly valued, in the King's opinion; but at last became much clouded by an accident, which I shall proceed to relate.-On his first going as Ambassador into Italy, as he passed through Germany, he was requested by CHRISTOPHER FLECAMORE to write some sentence in his Aibo; (a book of white paper, which, for that purpose, many of the German gentry usually carry about them;) and SIR HENRY WOTTON consenting, took an occasion, from some accidental discourse, to write a pleasant definition of an Ambassador, in these words:-Legatus est vir bonus peregre missus ad mentiendum Reipublicce causd.-This slept quietly among the other sentences in the Albo, for almost eight years; till, by accident, it fell into the hands of JASPER SCIOPPIUS, a Romanist, and a man of a restless spirit. He, in books against King JAMES, printed this, as a principle of that religion which was professed by the King and his Ambassador at Venice; and in Venice it was presently after written in several glass-windows, and declared to be SIR HENRY WOTTON's. This coming to the knowledge of King JAMES, he apprehended it to be such a weakness in SIR HENRY WOTTON, as caused him to express much wrath against him; and` this induced SIR HENRY to write an apology to King JAMES, which was so ingenious, so clear, and so eloquent, that his Majesty could not forbear to declare- publicly, that SIR HENRY WOTTON had commuted sufficiently for a greater offence.

And now, as broken bones well set become stronger, so SIR HENRY WOTTON did not only recover, but was much more confirmed in his Majesty's favor, than for merly he had been. His interest also still increased with the Duke, LEONARDO DONATO; after whose death, (as

Though it been au entailed love,) it was still found living in the succeeding Dukes, during all the time of his employment in that state; which was almost twenty years. And such was his interest in the whole state of Venice, that it was observed they never denied him any request. Under his arms, which he left at all those houses where he rested, or lodged, when he returned from his last Embassy into England, he wrote this inscription " *”. He came to LONDON in the year in which King JAMES died; who, for the reward of his foreign service, promised him the reversion of an office, which was fit to be turned into present money, for a supply of his present necessities; and also granted him the reversion of the place of Master of the Rolls, if he out-lived SIR JULIUS. C.ESAR, who then possessed it. But these were only in hope; and his condition required a present support. For, in the beginning of these employments, he sold to his elder brother, the LORD WOTTON, the rent-charge left

by his good father; and (which is worse) was now, on his return, indebted to several persons whom he was not able to satisfy, but by the King's payment of his arrears due for his foreign employments.

It pleased GOD that, in this juncture of time, the Provostship of his Majesty's College of Eton became void. SIR HENRY, who had for many years (like SISIPHUS) rolled the restless stone of a state employment,-and who knew experimentally that the great blessing of sweet content was not to be found in multitudes of men or business, and that a college was the fittest place to nourish holy Thoughts, and to afford both to his body and mind the rest which his age (being now almost threescore years) seemed to require,-did therefore use his interest to procure it, and got a grant of it from his Majesty. There his happiness seemed to have its beginning; the College being to his mind as a quiet harbour to a seafaring man, after a tempestuous voyage. There, by the bounty of the pious founder, his very food and raiment were plentifully provided for him in kind: there he was freed from all corroding cares; and might sit in a calm, and, looking down, behold the busy multitude tossed in a tempestuous sea of dangers!

Being thus settled according to the desires of his heart, his first study was that of the statutes of the College, by which he conceived himself bound to enter into holy orders, which he did. Shortly after, as he came in his surplice from the church-service, an old friend, a person of quality, met him so attired, and gave him joy of his new habit; to whom SIR HENRY WOTTON replied, " I thank GOD and the King, by whose goodness I am now in this condition; a condition which the Emperor CHARLES the Fifth seemed to approve, who, after so many remarkable victories, freely gave up his crown and after a tempestuous life, I now have the like advantage from Him who " makes the out-goings of the morning to praise him," even from my GOD, whom I daily magnify for this particular mercy of an exemption from business, a quiet mind, and a liberal maintenance, even in this part of Iny life, when my age and infirmities seem to sound a retreat, and invite nee to contemplation, in which I have ever taken the greatest felicity."

And now to speak a little of the employment of his time:-After his customary public devotions, his usage was to retire into his study, and there to spend some hours in reading the Bible, and authors in divinity; closing up his meditations with private prayer. This was, for the most part, his employment in the forenoon. When he was sat at dinner, cheerful Thoughts possessed his mind; and those were still increased by the constant company of such persons as brought thither additions both of learning and pleasure. But part of most days was spent in philosophical conclusions.

He was a constant cherisher of all those Thouths in that school, in whom he found either diligence, or a genius for learning. For their encouragement, he was (beside many other things) at the charge of setting up in it two rows of pillars, on which he caused to be drawn the pictures of divers of the most famous Greek and Latin historians, poets, and orators;-persuading them not to neglect rhetoric, because Almighty GOD has left mankind affections to be wrought upon. And he would often say, that none despised eloquence, but such as were not capable of it. He would also often make choice of some observations out of those historians and poets; and would never leave the school, without dropping some choice Greek or Latin sentence, that might be worthy of a room in the memory of a growing scholar.-He was pleased constantly to breed up one or more hopeful Thouths, whom he picked out of the school, and took into his own domestic care; out of whose discourse and behavior he gathered observations for the better completion of his intended Work on Education.

He was a great enemy to wrangling disputes of religion. -Having in Rome made acquaintance- with a priest, who invited him one evening to hear their vesper-music, the priest, seeing SIR HENRY stand in a corner, sent to him this question, written on a small piece of paper, " Where was Thour Religion to be found before LUTHER?" To this question SIR HENRY presently underwrit, a My Religion was to be found then, where Thours is not to be found now, IN THE WRITTEN WORD OF GOD." The next Vesper, SIR HENRY went purposely to the same church, and sent one of the Choir-boys to his honest friend the priest, with this question; " Do Thou believe that all those Thousands of poor Christians were damned, that were excommunicated because the Pope and the Duke of Venice could not agree? " To this the Priest underwrit in French, " Monsieur, cxcusez moi."-To one that asked him, whether a Papist may be saved, he replied, " Thou may be saved without knowing that. Look to Thourself."-To another, whose earnestness exceeded his knowledge, and who was still railing against the Papists, be gave this advice, "Pray, Sir, forbear, till Thou have studied the points bettter: and take heed of thinking that the farther Thou go from the church of Rome, the nearer Thou are to GOD."-And to another that spoke indiscreet and bitter words against ARuIxIUS, I heard him reply to this purpose, " In my travels towards Venice, as passed through Germany, I rested almost a year at Leyden; where I entered into an acquaintance with ARAIINIIIS, (then the Professor of Divinity in that University,) a man much talked of in this age, which is made up of opposition and controversy. And indeed, if I mistake not ARMINIUS in his expressions, I differ from him in some points; yet I profess my judgment of him to be, that he Was a man of most rare learning; and I knew him to be of a most strict life, and of a most meek spirit. And that he was so mild, appears by his proposals to our MR. PERKINS, from Whose book, ` On the Order and Causes of Salvation,' ARMINIUS took the occasion of writing some queries to him concerning the consequents of his doctrine, intending them to come privately to MR. PERKINS'S own hands, and to receive from him a like private, and a like loving answer. But MR. PERKINS died before those queries came to him; and it is Thought that ARMINIUS meant them to die with him; for Though he lived long after, he forbore to publish them, but since his death, his sons did not. And it is a pity, if GOD had so pleased, that MR. PERKINS did not live to see, consider, and answer those proposals himself; for he also was of a most meek spirit, and of great sanctified learning: and Though, since their deaths, many have undertaken to clear the controversy, yet they have rather satisfied themselves, than convinced the dissenting party. And doubtless, many men who may mean well, and many scholars who may preach well,’shall never know, till they come to heaven, where the questions stick between ARIMINIUS and us: and yet they -will be.tampering with, and thereby perplexing the controversy and therefore justly fall under the reproof Of ST. JUDE, for being’ busy-bodies,' and for I meddling with things they understand not.' "

A friend of his being designed for an Ambassador, came to Eton, and requested from him some experimental rules for his conduct, to whom he smilingly gave this for an infallible aphorism; that to be in safety himself, and serviceable to his country, he should always, and upon all occasions, speak the truth; " for then, " (said SIR HENRY WorroN,) " Thou shall never, be believed; and by this. means, Thour truth will secure Thourself, if Thou shall ever be called to any account; and it will also put Thour adversaries, who will. still hunt counter, to a loss in all their disquisitions and undertakings." ,

He went, usually, once a year to the beloved Boston Hall; where, he would say, he found both cure for all cares, by the company (which he called the living furniture) of that place, and -a restorative of his strength, by the connaturalness of that which he called his genial air.

He went yearly also to Oxford. But the summer before his death, he changed that for a journey to Winchester-College. As he returned from Winchester, towards Eton-College, he said to a friend, " How useful was that advice of a holy monk, who persuaded his friend to perform his customary devotions in a constant place; because in that place we usually meet with those very Thoughts which possessed us at our last being there. And I find it thus far experimentally true; that my now being in that school, and seeing that very place, where I sat when I was a boy, occasioned me to remember those very Thoughts of my Thouth which then possessed me:-sweet Thoughts indeed, that promised my growing years numerous pleasures, without mixture of cares; and those to be enjoyed, when time (which I therefore Thought slow) had changed my Thouth into manhood. But age and experience have taught me, that those were but empty hopes. And Though my days have been many, and those mixed with' more pleasures than the sons of men usually enjoy; yet I have always found it true, as my SAVIOR foretold, I Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.' Nevertheless, I saw there a succession of boys using the same recreations, and, questionless, possessed with the same Thoughts that then possessed me. Thus one generation succeeds another, both in their lives, recreations, hopes, fears, and deaths."

After his return from Winchester, he fell into a dangerous fever, which weakened him much. He was also much troubled with an asthma; but that he seemed to overcome in a good degree by leaving tobacco. About two months before his death, in October, 1639, he again fell into a fever, which left him so weak, that those common infirmities, which were wont to visit him, and after some short time to depart, both came oftener, and at last took up their constant habitations with him, still weakening his body; of which he grew daily more sensible, retiring oftener into his study, and making many papers that had passed his pen, both in the days of his Thouth and business, useless by fire. These, anti several unusual expressions to his friends, seemed to foretell his death, for which he Was well prepared, free from all fear, and cheerful; as several letters written in his bed, and but a few days before his death, may testify. In the beginning of December following, he fell again into a quartan fever; and, in the tenth fit, his better part put off mortality with much content and cheerfulness; being in perfect peace with GOD and man. And thus the circle of his life was, by death, closed up and completed, in the seventy-second year of his age, at Eton College, where, according to his will, be now lies buried; dying worthy of his name and family, worthy of the love and favor of so many princes, and persons of eminent wisdom and learning, and worthy of, the trust committed unto him for the service of his Prince and country.

THE LIFE
OF
DR. DONNE.

DR. JOHN DONNE was born in LONDON, of good and virtuous parents. He had his first breeding in his father's house, where a private tutor had the care of him, until the ninth year of his age; and in his tenth year he was sent to the University of Oxford, having at that time a good command both of the French and Latin tongues. This, and some others of his remarkable abilities, made one say, that this age had brought forth another MIRANDULA; of whom story says, that he was rather born wise, than made wise by study. He remained in Hart-Hall, having, for the advancement of his studies, tutors of several sciences to instruct him, till about his fourteenth year, when he was transplanted from Oxford to Cambridge, and where he staid till his seventeenth year; all which time he was a most laborious student.

About the seventeeth year of his age he was removed to LONDON, and admitted into Lincoln's-Inn, with an intent to study the Law; where he gave great testimonies of his wit, his learning, and his improvement in that profession, which, however, never served him for any other use than an ornament and satisfaction. His father died before his admission into this society; and, being a merchant, left him his portion in money. It was £3OOO. His mother, and those to whose care he was committed, were watchful to improve his knowledge; and to that.end appointed him tutors in the mathematics, and all the liberal sciences. But with these arts they were advised to instil particular principles of the Romish Church, of which those tutors professed themselves, Though secretly, to be members.

He had now entered into the eighteenth year of his age; and had at that time betrothed himself to no religion that might give him any other denomination than a Christian. And reason and piety had both persuaded him, that there could be no such sin as schism, if an adherence to some visible church were not necessary. He did therefore, at his entrance into the nineteenth year of his age, begin to survey the body of divinity, as it was then controverted between the Reformed and the Roman Church. And as "GOD’s blessed SPIRIT did then awaken him to the search, and in that industry did never forsake hint," (these are his own words,) so he calls the same HOLY SPIRIT to witness this protestation; that, " in that disquisition and search, he proceeded with humility and diffidence in himself, and by that which he took to be the safest way, namely, frequent prayers, and an indifferent affection to both parties." Indeed truth had too much light about her to be hid from so sharp an inquirer; and he had too much ingenuousness not to acknowledge that he had found her.

The year following he resolved to travel; and the Earl of Essex going, first the Cales, and afterwards the Island Voyages, he took the advantage of those opportunities, waited upon his LORDSHIP, and was an eye-witness of those happy and unhappy employments. But he returned not back into England, till he had staid some years, first in Italy, and then in Spain; where he made many useful observations on those countries, their laws, and manner of government; and he returned perfect in their languages.

The time which he spent in Spain, he had, at his first going into Italy, designed for traveling in the Holy Land; but the disappointment of company, or of a safe:convoy, denied him that happiness. Not long after his return into England, that exemplary pattern of wisdom, the LORD ELLESMERE, then Keeper of the Great Seal, and LORD Chancellor of England, taking notice of his learning, and other abilities, took him to, be his Chief Secretary, intending it to be an introduction to some more weighty employment. He continued in that employment for five years, being daily useful to his friends. During that time, he fell into such a liking, as, with her approbation, increased into a love with a young gentlewoman that lived in that family, who ways niece to the Lady ELLESMERE, and daughter of SIR GEORGE MOORE, then Chancellor of the Garter, and Lieutenant of the Tower. Some time afterwards, he married her privately. This was made known to SIR GEORGE, by his honorable friend and neighbor, HENRY Earl of Northumberland. But it so offended him, that, be presently engaged his sister, the Lady ELLESMERE, to join with him to induce her LORD to discharge MR. DONNE from the place he held under his LORDSHIP. Nor did this satisfy SIR GEORGE, till DR. SAMUEL BROOK, who married them, his brother, MR. CHRISTOPHER BROOK, who gave her away, and MR. DONNE, were committed to three several prisons. MR. DONNE was first enlarged; and neither gave rest to his body or brain, nor to any friend with whom he had an interest, until he had procured an enlargement for his two friends.

He was now at liberty, but his days were still cloudy; and being past these troubles, others did still multiply upon him. His wife was, to her extreme sorrow, detained from him; and he was forced to make good his title to her, and to get possession of her, by a long and restless suit in law. This proved troublesome and chargeable to one, whose Thouth, and travel, and needless bounty, had brought his estate into a narrow compass. But his wants were prevented by the seasonable courtesy of their noble kinsman, SIR FRANCIS WOLLY, of Pirford in Surry, who entreated them to reside with him; where they remained, with much freedom to themselves, and equal content to him, for many years; and, as their charge increased, -(for she had a child yearly,) so did his love and bounty.

At length DR. MORTON, the most laborious and learned Bishop of Durham, one whom GOD had blessed with perfect intellects, and a cheerful heart, at the age of ninety-four years, sent for MR. DONNE, and spoke to this purpose: " MR. DONNE, the occasion of sending for Thou is, to propose to Thou what I have revolved on in my own Thoughts since I last saw Thou, but which, nevertheless, I will not do, but upon this condition, that Thou shall not return me a present answer, but forbear for three days, bestowing some part of that time in fasting and prayer, and, after a serious consideration of what I shall propose, shall then return to me with Thour answer."

This request being granted, he expressed himself thus " MR. DONNE, I know Thour education and abilities; I know Thour expectation of a state-employment, and I know Thour fitness for it; I know too the many delays and contingencies that attend court-promises; and let me tell Thou, that my love, begot by our long friendship, has prompted me to such an inquisition respecting Thour present temporal estate, as makes me no stranger to Thour necessities. Thou know, I have formerly persuaded Thou to wave Thour court-hopes, and enter into holy orders; which I now again persuade Thou to embrace, with this reason added to my former request: the King has yesterday made me Dean of Gloucester, and I am possessed of a benefice, the profits of which are equal to those of my deanery; I shall think my deanery enough for my maintenance, (for I am, and resolve to die, a single man,) and will quit my benefice, and give it Thou, if GOD shall incline Thour heart to embrace this motion. Remember, MR. DONNE, no man's education or parts make him too good for this employment; which is to be an ambassador for the GOD of glory, who by a vile death opened the gates of life to mankind. Make me no present answer, but remember Thour promise, and return to me the third day with Thour resolution."

At the hearing of this, MR. DONNE's faint breath, and perplexed countenance, gave a visible testimony of an inward conflict;' but he performed his promise, and departed, without returning an answer till the third day; and then it was to this effect " My most worthy friend, since I saw Thou, I have been faithful to my promise; and have also meditated much of Thour great kindness, Though I may not accept of Thour offer. But, Sir, my refusal is not because I think myself too good for that calling, for which kings, if they think so, are not good enough: nor because my education and learning, Though not eminent, may not, being assisted by GOD’s grace, and humility, render me in some measure fit for it. But I dare make so dear a friend as Thou are my confessor: some irregularities of my life have been so visible to some men, that Though I have, I thank GOD, made my peace with him, yet this, which GOD knows to be so, is not so visible to men, as to free me from their censures, or (it may be) that sacred calling from dishonor. Besides, it is determined by the best of casuists, ` that GOD’s glory should be the first end, and a maintenance the second motive to embrace that. calling;' and, Though each man may propose to himself both together, yet the first may not be put last without a violation of conscience, which He that searches the heart will judge. And truly my present condition is such, that if I ask my own conscience, whether it be reconcileable to that rule, it is at this time so perplexed about it, that I can neither give myself nor Thou an answer. Thou know, Sir, who says, `Happy is that man whose conscience does not accuse him for that thing which he does.' "

This was his present resolution, but the heart of man is not in his own keeping; and he was destined to- this sacred service by a higher hand; a hand so. powerful, as at last forced him to a compliance. MR. DONNE and his wife continued with SIR FRANCIS WOLLV till his death: a little before which time, SIR FRANCIS was so happy as to make a perfect daughter; between SIR GEORGE and his forsaken son and p/IR. DONNE Sir GEORGE conditioning by bond to pay, *, at a certain day, as a portion with his wiy j,t for it, till quarterly for their maintenance, as the interest the said portion Was paid FRANCIS. Most of those years that he lived with SIR FRANCIS acquired and studied the civil and canon laws; in which oration with such a perfection, as was judged to hold proponent of their many who had made that study the employment that happy whole life. Sift FRANCIS being dead, and the family dissolved, MR. DONNE took a house near Croydon in Surty, where his wife in LONDON, remained; and for himself he took lodgings near Whitehall, whither his friends and occasionally visited by him very often, arid where he was as often join in their many of the nobility and others, who used hi/ awn nobility counsels of greatest consideration. Nor did our acquaintance and only value and favor him, but his acquaint/ o of foreign friendship was sought for by most ambassadors j learning or nations, and by many other strangers, whose business occasioned their stay in this nation.

He was much importuned by many friends he denied it, his constant residence in LONDON; but he still chain, and having settled his wife and children at Mitci fn and him; near some friends that were bountiful to them on may the for they, GOD knows, needed it; and that yot; mind and better now judge of the then condition of his et of some fortune, I shall present Thou with an extract One of his letters.

" The reason why I did not send an answe' under too last week's letter, was, because it found me t~,~ me: There great a sadness; and at present it is thus with r{ lily; I have is not one person, but myself, well of my family, and of hers, already lost half a child; and with that mischant: as would my wife is fallen into such a discomposure of all her afflict her extremely, but that the sickness children stupifies her; of one of which I have not much hope; and these meet with a fortune so ill provided for physic, and such relief, that if GOD should ease us with burials, I know not how to perform even that; but I flatter myself with this hope, that I am dying too, for I cannot waste faster than by such griefs.

" From my hospital at Mitcham, JOHN DONNE."

August 1O.

We hardly discover a sin, when it is but an omission of some good, and no accusing act. With this, or the former, I have often suspected myself to be overtaken, which is, with an over-earnest desire of the next life; and Though I know it is not merely a weariness of this, because I had the same desire when I went with the tide, and enjoyed fairer hopes, yet I doubt worldly troubles have increased it. It is now spring, and all the pleasures of it displease me; every tree blossoms, and I wither. I grow older and not better; my strength diminisheth, and my load grows heavier; and yet, I would fain be or do something; but I cannot tell what. I began early, when I understood, the study of our laws; but was diverted by leaving that, and embracing the worst voluptuousness, an hydropic and immoderate desire of human learning and languages. Beautiful ornaments indeed to men of great fortunes; but mine was grown so low as to need an occupation; which I Thought I entered well into, when I subjected myself to such a service as I Thought might exercise my poor abilities; and there I stumbled, and fell too: and now I am become so little, or such a nothing, that I am not a subject good enough for one of my own letters. I fear my present discontent does not proceed from a good root, that I am so well content to be nothing, that is, dead. But, Sir, Though my fortune has made me such, as that I am rather a sickness or a disease of the world, than any part of it, and therefore neither love it, nor life; yet I would gladly live to become some such thing as. that Thou should not repent loving me. Sir, Thour own soul cannot be more zealous of Thour good than I am, and GOD who loves that zeal in me, will not suffer Thou to doubt it. Thou would pity me now, if Thou saw me write, for my pain has drawn my head so much awry, and holds it so, that my eye cannot follow my pen. I therefore receive Thou into my prayers with my own weary soul, and commend myself to Thours. I doubt not but next week will bring Thou good news, for I have either mending or dying on my side. But if I do continue longer thus, I shall have comfort in this, that my blessed SAVIOR in exercising his justice upon my two worldly parts, my fortune and my body, reserves his, mercy for that which most needs it, my soul, which is, I doubt, too like a porter, who is very often near the gate, and yet goes not out. Sir, I profess to Thou truly, that my lothness to give over writing now, seems to myself a sign that I shall write no more.

Thour poor friend, and GOD’s poor patient,

" September 7. JOHN DONNE."

By this Thou have seen a part of his perplexities And thus it continued with him for about two years; all which time his family remained at Mitcham, to which place he often retired himself, and destined some days to study; and to that place and such studies he could willingly have wedded himself during his life. But the earnest persuasion of friends became at last so powerful as to cause the removal of himself and family to LONDON, where SIR ROBERT DRURY, a gentleman of very noble estate, and a more liberal mind, assigned him a house rent-free, next to his own house in Drury-Lane; and was also a cherisher of his studies, and such a friend as sympathized with him and his in all their joy and sorrow.

About three years after, having then overcome his scruples, he was ordained both. Deacon and Priest. And now all his studies, which had been occasionally diffused, were concentred in Divinity. Now he had a new calling, new Thoughts, and a new employment for his wit and eloquence. Now all his earthly affections were changed into divine; and all the faculties of his own soul were engaged in the conversion of others,-in preaching the glad tidings of remission to repenting sinners, and peace to each troubled soul. To these he applied himself with all care and diligence; and now such a change was wrought in him, that he could say with DAVID, " Oh how amiable are thy tabernacles, O LORD GOD OF HOSTS "

Now he declared openly, that when he required a temporal, GOD gave him a spiritual blessing; and that he was more glad to be a door-keeper in the house of GOD, than he could be to enjoy the noblest of all temporal employments. Presently after, the King sent for him, and made him his Chaplain in Ordinary; and promised to take a particular care of his preferment. And Though his long familiarity with scholars, and persons of the greatest quality, was such as might have given some men boldness to have preached to any eminent auditory, yet his modesty was such, that he could not be persuaded to it, but went usually, accompanied by some one friend, to preach privately in some village not far from LONDON; his first sermon being preached at Paddington. This he did, till his Majesty sent and appointed him a day to preach to him at Whitehall; and, Though much was expected from him, both by his Majesty and others, yet he was so happy (which few are) as to exceed their expectations; preaching the word in such a manner, as showed his own heart was possessed with those very Thoughts and joys that he labored to instill into others; a preacher in earnest, weeping sometimes for his auditory, sometimes with them; -always preaching to himself, like an angel from a cloud, but in none; carrying some, as ST. PAUL was carried, to heaven in holy raptures, and enticing others by a sacred art to amend their lives; here picturing a vice so as to make it ugly to those that practiced it, and a virtue so as to make it be beloved even by those that loved it not.

That. summer, in the same month in which he: entered into sacred orders, and was made the King's Chaplain, his Majesty going his progress, was entreated to receive an entertainment in the University of Cambridge: and MR. DONNE attending him, his Majesty was pleased to recommend him to the University, to be made Doctor in Divinity.

His abilities and industry in his profession were so eminent, that within the first year of his entering into sacred orders, he had fourteen advowsons of several benefices presented to him; but he would not leave LONDON, having there contracted a friendship with many, whose conversation multiplied the joys of his life.

Immediately after his return from Cambridge his wife died, leaving him a man of an unsettled estate, and (having buried five) the careful father of seven children then living, to whom he gave a voluntary assurance never to bring them under the subjection of a step-mother; which promise be kept most faithfully, burying with his tears all his earthly joys in his clear and deserving wife's grave, and betaking himself to a most retired and solitary life.

In this retiredness, which was often from the sight of his dearest friends, he became "crucified to the world," and all those imaginary pleasures that are daily acted on that restless stage, and they crucified to him. Nor is it hard to think, that from the abundant affection which once subsisted between him and her who had long been the delight of his eyes and the companion of his Thouth, and with whom he had divided so many pleasant sorrows and contented fears, but who was now removed by death, grief took as full a possession of him as joy had done; and so indeed it did: sadness now took so full possession of his heart, as to leave no place for joy: if it did, it was a joy to be alone, where, like a pelican in the wilderness, he might bemoan himself without witness or restraint, and pour forth his passions like JOB in the days of his affliction,-" Oh that I might have the desire of my heart! Oh that GOD would grant the thing that I long for! For then, as the grave is become her house, so I would hasten to make it mine also; that we two might make our beds together in the dark." Thus he began the day, and ended the night;-ended the restless night, and began the weary day, with lamentations. And thus he continued, till a consideration of his new engagements to GOD, and ST. PAUL's " Woe is me, if I preach not the Gospel," dispersed those clouds that had benighted his hopes, and forced him to behold the light.

His first motion from his house was to preach where his beloved wife lay buried, (in St. Clement's church, near Temple-Bar, LONDON,) and his text was a part of the Prophet JEREMIAH'S Lamentation: " Lo, I am the man that has seen affliction." And indeed, his very words and looks testified him to be truly such a man; and they, with the addition of his sighs and tears, expressed in his sermon, did so work upon the affections of his hearers, as melted them into a companionable sadness.

In this time of sadness he was importuned by the Benchers of Lincoln's-Inn, once the friends of his Thouth, to accept of their lecture. He did so; being most glad to renew his intermitted friendship with those whom he so much loved; and where he had been a SAUL, Though not to persecute Christianity, yet to neglect it, there to become a PAUL, and preach salvation to his beloved brethren. And now his life was as a shining light among his old friends: Now he might say, as ST. PAUL said to the Corinthians, " Be ye followers of me, as I am of CHRIST, and walk as ye have me for an example;" not the example of a busy-body, but of a contemplative, an humble, and an holy life and conversation.

Here he continued two years, preaching faithfully and constantly to them, and they liberally requiting him. About this time the Emperor of Germany died, and the PALSGRAVE, who had lately married the Lady. ELIZABETH, the` King's only daughter, was elected and crowned King of Bohemia, the unhappy beginning of many miseries in that nation. King JAMES endeavored first to prevent, and afterwards to compose, the discords of that discomposed state; and amongst other endeavors sent the Earl of Doncaster as his Ambassador to those unsettled Princes; and by a Special command from his Majesty DR. DONNE was appointed to assist and attend that employment.

At his going he left his friends of Lincoln's-Inn, and they him, with much reluctance: for, Though he could not say as ST. PAUL, "Behold, Thou to whom I have. preached the kingdom of GOD, shall from henceforth see my face no more; " yet he, believing himself to be in a consumption, questioned, and they feared it, all concluding that his troubled mind, with the help of his unintermitted studies, hastened the decays of his weak body. But GOD turned it to the best; for this employment did not only divert him from those studies and sad Thoughts, but seemed to. give him a new life, by a true occasion of joy, namely, to be an eye-witness of the health of his most dear mistress the Queen of Bohemia, and to be a witness of that gladness which she expressed to see him, and to hear his excellent and powerful preaching.

About fourteen months after his departure out of England, he returned to his friends of Lincoln's-Inn, with his sorrows moderated, and his health improved; and there he betook himself to his constant course of preaching. About a year after his return, the deanery of ST. PAUL'S being vacant, the King bestowed it upon him. Inmmediately after he came to his deanery, he employed workmen to repair and beautify the chapel; suffering his eyes and temples to take no rest, till he had first beautified the house of GOD.

The next quarter following, when his father-in-law, SiR GEORGE MOORS, whom tune had made a lover and admirer of him, came to pay to him the twenty pounds, he said as good JACOB did, when he heard that his beloved son JOSEPH was alive, " It is enough: "-" Thou have been kind to me and mine: I know Thour present condition is such as not to abound; and I hope mine is or will be such as not to need it: I will therefore receive no more from Thou upon that contract: “ and in testimony of it he freely gave him up his bond.

Immediately after his admission into his deanery, the vicarage of St. Dunstan in the West, LONDON, fell to him by the death of DR. WHITE, the advowson of it having been given to him long before, by his honorable friend, RICHARD Earl of Dorset.

The next Parliament, which was within that present' year, he was chosen Prolocutor to the Convocation; and about that time was appointed by his Majesty to preach many occasional sermons, as at St. Paul's Cross, and other places; all which employments he performed to the admiration of the representative body of the whole clergy of this nation.

He was once, and but once, clouded with the King's displeasure, and it was about this time; which was occasioned by some malicious whisperer, who had told his Majesty, that DR. DONNE was become busy in insinuating a fear of the King's inclining to Popery. The King received this news with so much restlessness, that he would not suffer the sun to set and leave him under this doubt, but sent for DR. DONNI?, and required his answer to the accusation; which was so clear and satisfactory, that the King said, "He was right glad he rested no longer under the suspicion." When the King had said this, Dr. DONNE kneeled down and thanked his Majesty, and protested his answer was faithful and free from all collusion, and therefore desired that he might not rise, till, as in like cases he always had from GOD, so he might have from his Majesty, some assurance that he stood clear in his opinion. Then the King raised him from his knees with his own hands, and protested he believed him; and that he knew he was an honest man, and doubted not but that he loved him truly. And having thus dismissed him, he called some LORDs of his Council, and said with much earnestness, " My Doctor is an honest man; and, my LORDs, I was never better satisfied with an answer than he has now made me: and I always rejoice when I think that by my means he became a Divine."

He was made Dean in the fiftieth year of his age; and in his fifty-fourth year a dangerous sickness seized him. But GOD, as Jon thankfully acknowledged, " preserved his spirit," and kept his intellectuals clear and perfect; yet it continued long, and threatened him with death, which he dreaded not. This sickness brought him so near to the gates of death, that he would often say, his recovery was supernatural. But that GOD, who then restored his health, continued it to him till the fifty-ninth year of his life. And then in August, 163O, being with his eldest daughter, MRS. HARVEY, at Abury-Hatch in Essex, he fell into a fever, which, with the help of his constant infirmity, hastened him into so visible a consumption, that his beholders might say, as ST. PAUL of himself, " He dies daily;" and he might say with JOB, " My welfare passes away as a cloud; the days of my affliction have taken hold of me; and weary nights are appointed for me."

But before I speak of his death, I would add some observations on his life, which are not unworthy of our consideration.

In his penitential years, viewing some of his pieces of poetry loosely scattered in his Thouth, he wished they had been abortive, or so short-lived that his own eyes had witnessed their funerals. But, Though he was no friend to them, he was not so fallen out with heavenly poetry as to forsake that; no, not in his declining age. Yea, even on his sick-bed he wrote this hymn, expressing the joy that possessed his soul in the assurance of GOD’s: favor.

A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER,

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun, which was my sin, Though it was done before? Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run,

And do run still, Though still I do deplore? When Thou have done, Thou have not done, For I have more. Wilt Thou forgive that sin, which I have won

Others to sin, and made my sin their door Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun A year or two, but wallowed in a score? When Thou has done, Thou has not done, For I have more. I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun My last thread, I shall perish on the shore Swear by Thyself, that at my death thy SON Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore; And having done. that, Thou has done, I fear no more.

I have the rather mentioned this Hymn, because he caused, it to be set to a solemn tune, and to be often sung to the organ at St. Paul's Church in his own hearing; and at his return from his customary devotions in that place, he said to a friend, "The words of this hymn have restored to me the same joy that possessed my soul in my sickness, when I composed it. And, O the power of church-music! That harmony, added to it, has raised the affections of my heart, and quickened my graces of zeal and gratitude; and I observe, that I always return from paying this public duty of prayer and praise to GOD, with an inexpressible tranquility of mind, and a willingness to leave the world."

Not long before his death he caused to be drawn a figure of CHRIST extended upon an anchor, like those which painters draw when they would present us with the picture of CHRIST crucified; varying his no otherwise than to affix him to an anchor, the emblem of hope; this be caused to be drawn in miniature, and then many of those figures thus drawn to be engraven very small, and set in gold, which he sent to many of his dearest friends, to be used as seals or rings, and kept as memorials of him, and of his affection to them.

The latter, part of his life was a continued study. As he usually preached, once a week, if not oftener, so after his sermon he never gave his eyes rest, till he had chosen a new text, and that night cast his sermon into a form, and his text into divisions; and the next day betook himself to consult the Fathers, and so commit his meditations to his memory: only upon Saturday he usually gave himself rest from the weary burden of his week's meditations, and usually spent that day in visitation of friends, saying, " He gave both his body and mind that refreshment, that he might be enabled to do the work of the day following, not faintly, but with courage and cheerfulness."

Nor was his age only so industrious, but in the most unsettled days of his Thouth, his bed was not able to detain him beyond four in a morning: this may gain a belief by the visible fruits of his labors, some of which remain as testimonies of it; for he left fourteen hundred authors, most of them abridged and analysed with his own hand. Nor were these only found in his study; but all businesses that passed of any public consequences, either in this, or any of our neighboring nations, he abbreviated, either in Latin, or in the language of that nation, and kept them by him for useful memorials. So he did the copies of divers letters and cases of conscience that had concerned his friends, with his observations and solutions of them; and divers other businesses of importance, all particularly and methodically digested.

The following is the beginning and end of his will. In the name of the blessed and glorious TRINITY, Amen. l, JOHN DONNE, by the mercy of CHRIST JESUS, and by the calling of the Church of England, Priest, being at this time in good health and perfect understanding, (praised be GOD therefore,) do hereby make my last will and testament, in manner and form following " First, I give my gracious GOD an entire sacrifice of body and soul, with my most humble thanks for that assurance which his blessed SPIRIT imprints in me now of the salvation of the one, and the resurrection of the other; and for that constant and cheerful resolution which the same SPIRIT has established in me to live and die in the religion now professed in the Church of England. In expectation of that resurrection, I desire that my body may be buried in the most private manner that may be, in that place of St. Paul's Church, LONDON, that the now Residentiaries have at my request designed for that purpose, &c."

"And this my last will and testament, made in the fear of GOD, whose mercy I humbly beg, and constantly rely upon in JESUS CHRIST, and in perfect love and charity with all the world, whose pardon I ask, from the lowest of my servants, to the highest of my superiors; written all with my own hand, and my name subscribed to every page, of which there are five in number. Scaled December 13, 163O."

Nor was his charity expressed only at his death, but in bis life also, by a cheerful and frequent visitation of any friend whose mind was dejected; or his fortune necessitous; he was inquisitive after the wants of prisoners, and redeemed many from thence that lay for their fees or small debts; he was a continual giver to poor scholars, both of this and foreign nations. Besides what he gave with his own hand, he usually sent a servant, or a discreet and trusty friend, to distribute his charity to all the prisons in LONDON, at all the festival times of the year, especially at the birth and resurrection of our SAVIOR. He gave a hundred pounds at one time to an old friend, -whom he had known live plentifully, Though then decayed in his estate.

He was a happy reconciler of many differences in the families of his friends and kindred, which he never undertook faintly, for such undertakings have usually faint effects; and they had such a faith in his judgment and impartiality, that he never advised them to any thing in vain. He was even to her death a most dutiful son to his mother, careful to provide for her support, of which she had been destitute, but that GOD raised him up to prevent her necessities.

We left the Doctor sick in Essex, where he was forced to spend mneh of that winter, by reason of his disability to remove. - He had never, for almost twenty years, omitted his attendance on his Majesty in that month in which he was to preach to him; nor had ever been left out of the roll and number of Lent-Preachers. He was appointed to preach upon his old constant day, the first Friday in Lent. He had notice of it, and had in his sickness so prepared for that employment, that as he had long thirsted for it, so he resolved his weakness should not -hinder his journey; he calve therefore to LONDON, some few days before his day of preaching. At his coming thither, many of his friends (who with sorrow saw that his sickness had left him only so much flesh as did just cover his bones,) doubted his strength to perform the task, and did therefore dissuade him from undertaking it, assuring him, it was like to shorten his life; but he passionately denied their requests, saying, " He could not think that GOD who in so many weaknesses had assisted.him with an unexpected strength, would now withdraw it in his last employment." And when, to the amazement of some beholders, he appeared in the pulpit, many of them Thought he presented himself not to preach mortification by a living voice, but mortality by a dying face. And doubtless, many did secretly ask that question in Ezekiel, a Do these bones live? Or, can that soul organize that tongue, to measure out an hour of this dying man's unspent life P Doubtless it cannot." And yet, after some faint pauses in his zealous prayer, his strong desires enabled his weak body to discharge his memory; the text being, " To GOD the LORD belong the issues from death." Many that then saw his tears, and heard his faint and hollow voice, professed they Thought the text prophetically chosen, and that DR. DONNE had preached his own funeral-sermon. Being full of joy that GOD had enabled him to perform this duty, he hastened to his house, out of which he never moved, till, like S-r. STEPHEN, he was carried by devout men to his grave.

The next day after his sermon, his strength was much wasted, and his spirits so spent, as indisposed him to business. A friend that had often been a witness of his free discourse, asked him, ` Why are Thou so sad?' To whom he replied, with a countenance so full of cheerful gravity, as gave testimony of an inward tranquility, and of a soul willing to take a farewell of this world, and said, « I am not sad, but most of the night past I have entertained myself with many Thoughts of several friends that have left me here, and are gone to that place from which they shall not return; and that within a few days I also shall go hence, and be no more seen. And my preparation for this change is become my nightly meditation upon my bed, which my infirmities have now made restless to me. But at this present time, I was in a serious contemplation of the providence and goodness of GOD to me, who am less than the least of his mercies; and looking back upon my life past, I now plainly see it was his hand that prevented me from all temporal employment; and it was his will that I should never settle nor thrive till I entered into the ministry; in which I have now lived almost twenty years, I hope to his glory, and by which, I most humbly thank him, I have been able to requite most of those friends who showed me kindness when my fortune was very low, as GOD knows it was and as it has occasioned the expression of my gratitude, I thank GOD that most of them have stood in need of my requital. I have lived to be useful to my good father-inlaw, SIR GEORGE MOORE, whose patience GOD has been pleased to exercise with many temporal crosses. I have maintained my mother, whom it has pleased GOD, after a plentiful fortune, to bring to a great decay. I have quieted the consciences of many that have groaned under the burden of a wounded spirit, whose prayers, I hope, are available for me. I cannot plead innocency of life, especially of my Thouth; but I am to be judged by a merciful GOD. And Though of myself I have nothing to present to him but sins and misery; yet I know he looks not upon me as I am of myself, but as' I am in my SAVIOR, and has given me even at this time the testimony by his HOLY SPIRIT, that I am his: I am therefore full of joy,. and shall die in peace."

By the persuasion of DR. Fox, he yielded at this very time to have a monument made for him. This being resolved, DR. Do-,;NE sent for a carver to make for him in wood the figure of all urn, giving him directions for the compass and height of it, and ordering him to bring with it a board of the height of his body. These being got, then, without delay, a choice painter was in readiness to draw his picture, which was taken as follows: he brought into his study his winding-sheet in his hand; and having put off all his clothes, he had this sheet put on him, and tied with knots at his head and feet, and his hands so placed as dead bodies are usually fitted to be put into the grave, Upon this urn he thus stood with his eyes shut, and with so much of the sheet turned aside, as might show his lean, pale, and death-like face; which was purposely turned towards the east, from whence he expected the second coming of his and our SAVIOR. Thus he was drawn at his just height; and when the picture was finished, he caused it to be set by his bed-side, where it continued, and became his hourly object till his death, and was then given to his dearest friend and executor, DR. KING, who caused him to be thus carved in one entire piece of white marble, as it now stands in the Cathedral Church of St. Paul; and by DR. DONNE'S own appointment, these words were to be affixed to it as his epitaph

JOHANNES DONNE, *.

Upon Monday following, be took his last leave of his beloved study, and, being sensible of his hourly decay, retired to his bed-chamber; and, that week, sent at several times for many of his friends, of whom he took a solemn farewell; commending to their considerations some sentences useful for the regulation of their lives, and then dismissing them, as good JACOB did his sons, with a spiritual benediction. The Sunday following he appointed his servants, that if there were any business undone that concerned him or themselves, it should be prepared against Saturday next; for, after that day, he would not mix his Thoughts with any thing that concerned this world: and he never did; but, as JOB, so he a waited for the appointed time" of his dissolution.

And now he had nothing to do but to die; to do which, be stood in need of no longer time: for he had studied it long, and to so happy a perfection, that in a former sickness be called GOD to witness he was that minute ready to deliver his soul into his hands. In that sickness he begged of GOD to be preserved in that estate for ever; and his patient expectation to have his immortal soul disrobed from her garment of mortality, makes me confident he now had an assurance that his prayers were heard, and his petition granted. He lay fifteen days earnestly expecting his hourly change. In the last hour of his last day, as his body melted away, his soul having, I verily believe, some revelation of the beatific vision, he said, " I were miserable if I might not die;" and, after those words, closed many periods of his faint breath, by saying often," Thy kingdom come, thy will be done." His speech, which had long been his ready and faithful servant, left him not till the last minute of his life, and then forsook him, for that it was become useless to him that now conversed with GOD on earth, as angels are said to do in heaven,- only by Thoughts and looks. Being speechless, he did, as ST. STEPHEN, " look steadfastly towards heaven, till he saw the SON OF GOD standing at

the right hand of his FATHER: “ and being satisfied with this blessed sight, as his soul ascended, and his last breath departed from him, he closed his own eyes, and then disposed his hands and body into such a posture as required not the least alteration by those that came to shroud him.

Thus variable, thus virtuous, was the life, thus excellent, thus exemplary, was the death, of this memorable man.

He was buried in that place of St. Paul's Church, which he had appointed some years before his death, and by which he passed daily to pay his public devotions to Almighty GOD; but he was not buried privately, Though he desired it; for, besides an unnumbered number of others, many persons of nobility and of eminency for learning, who loved and honored him in his life, showed it at his death, by a voluntary and sad attendance of his body to the grave, where nothing was so remarkable as a public sorrow. To the place of his burial some mournful friends repaired, and, as ALEXANDER the Great did to the grave of ACHILLES, so they strewed his with abundance of curious flowers; which course they (who were never yet known) continued morning and evening for many days; not ceasing, till the stones that were taken up in that church, to give his body admission into the cold earth, now his bed of rest, were again by the masons so leveled as they had been formerly, and his place of burial undistinguishable to common view.

Nor was this all the honor done to his reverend ashes; for, as there are some persons that will not receive a reward for that which GOD accounts himself a debtor for, -persons that dare trust GOD with their charity, without a witness; so by some grateful unknown friend, that Thought DR. DONNE's memory ought to be perpetuated, a hundred marks were sent to his two faithful friends and executors, DR. KING and DR. MoUNTFORT, towards the making of his monument. It was not for many years known by whom; but, after the death of DR. Fox, it was known that it was he that sent it; and he lived to see as lively a representation of his dead friend, as marble can express; a statue indeed, so like DR. DONNE, that (as his friend Sin, HENRY WOTTON has expressed himself) " it seems to breathe faintly; and posterity shall look upon it as a kind of artificial miracle."

He was of stature moderately tall, of a straight and equally-proportioned body, to which all his words and actions gave an inexpressible comeliness. The melancholy and pleasant humor were in him so tempered, that each gave advantage to the other, and made his company one of the delights of mankind. His fancy was inimitably high, equalled only by his great wit, both being made useful by a commanding judgment. His aspect was cheerful, and such as gave a silent testimony of a clear and knowing soul, and of a conscience at peace with itself. His melting eye showed that he had a soft heart, and was full of noble compassion, of too brave a soul to offer injuries, and too much a Christian not to pardon them in others.

He did much contemplate (especially after he entered into his sacred calling) the mercies of Almighty GOD, the immortality of the soul, and the joys of heaven; and would often say, " Blessed be GOD, that he is GOD, divinely like himself." He was a great lover of the offices of humanity, and of so merciful a spirit, that he never beheld the miseries of mankind without pity and relief. He was earnest and unwearied in the search of knowledge; with which his vigorous soul is now satisfied, and employed in a continual praise of that GOD who first breathed it into his active body; that body which once was a temple of the HOLY GHOST, and is now become a small quantity of Christian dust, But I £hall see it re-animated. J. W.

THE LIFE
OF
GEORGE HERBERT.

MR. GEORGE HERBERT was born the third day of April, in the year of our redemption 1593. The place of his birth was near the town of Montgomery, and in the Castle which did then bear the name of that town and county. The 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 neighbors; a family that has been blessed with men of remarkable wisdom, and with a willingness to serve their country, and indeed, to do good to all mankind; for which they were eminent. But,

THE LIFE OF RICHARD HOOKER.

THE LIFE
OF
RICHARD HOOKER.