EXTRACTS
FROM
SUNDRY EMINENT PERSONS.

THE
LIFE OF
DR. H. HAMMOND:

WRITTEN BY
JOHN FELL, D. D.

Dean of CHRIST Church, Oxford.

            DR. HENRY HAMMOND was born the 18th of August, 16O5, at Chertsey in Surrey. He was the youngest son of Dr. JOHN HAMMOND, Physician to Prince HENRY, and from that great favorer of meriting servants and their re­lations, had the honor at the font to receive his Christian name.

            Being yet in his long coats, (which heretofore were usu­ally worn beyond the years of infancy,) he was sent to Eton school; where his pregnancy having been advantaged by the more than paternal care and industry of his father, (who was an exact critic in the learned languages, especially the Greek,) became the observation of those that knew him For in that tenderness of age he was not only a proficient in Greek and Latin, but had also some knowledge in the elements of Hebrew; in which tongue, being then rarely heard of, even out of grammar schools, he grew the tutor of those who began to write themselves men, but thought it no shame to learn of one, in whom the learned languages might be thought to be the mother-tongue.

            His sweetness of carriage is very particularly remember­ed by his contemporaries, who observed that he was never engaged (upon any occasion) in any fight or quarrel; as also that at times allowed for play, he would steal from his fellows into places of privacy, to say his prayers; omens of his future pacific temper and eminent devotion.

            Which softness of temper, his schoolmaster, MR. BUSH, who upon his father's account had a tender kindness for him, looked upon with some jealousy; for he, building up­on the general observation, that gravity and passiveness in children is not from discretion but phlegm, suspected that his scholar's faculties would desert his industry; but the event, gave a full and speedy defeat to those well-meant misgivings; for he so improved, that at thirteen years old he was indeed ripe for the university, and accordingly sent to Magdalen College in Oxford, where not long after he was chosen Demy, and as soon as capable Fellow.

            Having taken his degree, he bought a system of Divinity, with design to apply himself straightway to that study But upon second thoughts, he returned for a time to human learning, and afterwards, when he resumed his purpose, took a quite different course, beginning at the upper end,. as conceiving it most reasonable to search for primitive truth in the primitive writers, and not to suffer his under­standing to be prepossessed by the schemes of. modern authors.       

            In the year 1629, being twenty-four years of age, the statutes of his house directing it, he entered into holy or­ders, and upon the same grounds not long after took the degree of Bachelor in Divinity, giving as happy proof of his proficiency in sacred, as before he had done in secular knowledge.

            During the whole time of his abode in the University, he generally spent thirteen hours of the day in study; by which, besides an exact dispatch of the whole course of philosophy, be read over all classic authors that are extant, and upon the more considerable wrote, as he passed, scholia and critical emendations, and drew up

indexes for his private "use at the beginning and end of each book; all which remain at this time, and testify his:indefatigable pains.

            In the year 16133, the REV. DR. FREWEX, then Pre­sident of his College, gave him the honor to supply one of his courses at the Court; where the EARL of LEICESTER happening to be an auditor, was so deeply affected with the sermon, that the rectory of Pensehurst being at that time void, and in his gift; he immediately offered him the presentation; which being accepted, he was inducted on the 2nd of August in the same year; and thenceforth, from the retirements of an University, applied himself to the more busy entertainments of a rural privacy.

In the discharge of his ministerial function, he satisfied not himself in diligent and constant preaching only, but conceived himself obliged to the offering up the solemn daily sacrifice of prayer for his people, administering the sacraments, relieving the poor, keeping hospitality, recon­ciling differences amongst neighbors, visiting the sick, catechising the youth.

            As to the first of these, his preaching, it was not at.t the ordinary rate of the times, an effusion of shallow and crude conceptions, but a rational" and just discourse, that was to teach the priest as well as the lay-hearer. His method was (which likewise he recommended to his friends) after every• sermon to resolve upon the ensuing subject; that being done, to pursue the course of study which he was then in hand with, reserving the close of the week for the provi­sion for the next LoaD's day: Whereby, not only a con­stant progress was made in science, but materials were gained unto the immediate future work; for, he said, be the subjects treated of never so distant, somewhat will in­fallibly fall in conducible to the present purpose.

            The offices of prayer he had in his church, not only up­on Sundays, and festivals, and their eves, as also Wednes­days and Fridays, but every day in the week, and twice on Saturdays and holiday eves. For his assistance wherein he kept a curate, and allowed him a comfortable salary. And at those devotions he took order that his family should give diligent and exemplary attendance; which was the easilier performed, it being guided by his mother, a woman of ancient virtue, and one to whom he paid a more than filial obedience.

            As to the administration of the sacrament, he reduced it to an imitation, though a distant one, of primitive frequency, to once a month, and therewith its anciently inseparable appendant, the offertory; wherein his instruction and ex­ample so far prevailed, that there was thenceforth little need of making any tax for the poor. Nay, in a short time a stock was raised to be always ready for the apprenticing of young children, whose parents' condition made the provision for them an equal charity to both the child and parent.

            For the relief of the poor, besides the fore mentioned ex­pedient, wherein others were sharers with him, for his pri­vate charity, besides dedicating the tenth of all receipts, and the daily alms given at the door, he constantly set apart over and above every week a certain rate in money; and however rarely his own rent-days occurred, the indigent had two and fifty quarter days returning in his year.

Yet farther, another act of charity he had, the selling corn to his poor neighbors below market-price; which was a great benefit to them, who, besides the abatement of price, and possibly forbearance, saved thereby a day's work.

            He that was thus liberal to the necessitous poor, was no less hospitable to those of better quality; and as at other times he frequently invited his neighbors to his table, so more especially on Sundays; but beyond the weekly treat­ments, the CHRISTmas festival had a peculiar allowance to support it. He knew well how much the application at the table enforced the doctrines of the pulpit, and how subser­vient the endearing of his person was to the recommending his instructions.

            In accordance to which his generous freedom in alms and hospitality, he farther obliged his parishioners in the setting of their tithes and dues belonging to him: For though he understood how little obligation there is on him that lets a bargain to consider the casual loss, who is sure never to share in a like surplusage of gain; yet herein he frequently departed from his right: Insomuch that having set the tithe of a large meadow, and upon agreement received part of the money at the beginning of the year; it happening that the profits were afterwards spoiled and car­ried away by a flood, he, when the tenant came- to make the last payment, not only refused it,, but returned the former sum, saying to the poor man, I GOD forbid I should take the tenth, where you have not the nine parts.

            As by public admonition he most diligently instilled that great doctrine of peace and love, so did he likewise in his private address and conversation, being never at peace in himself, till he had procured it amongst his neighbors; wherein God so blessed him, that he not only at­tained his purpose of uniting distant parties unto each other, but, contrary to the usual fate of reconcilers, gained them to himself: There having been no person of his function better beloved than he when present, or lamented more when absent, by his flock: Of which tender affection, instead of more, we may take two instances: The one, that he being driven away, and his books plundered, one of his neighbors bought them in his behalf, and preserved them for him till the end of the war: The other, that during his abode at Pensehurst, he never had any dispute about his dues, but had his tithes fully paid, and not of the most refuse parts, but generally the very best.

            Though he judged the time of sickness an improper' season for the great work of repentance; yet he esteemed it a most useful preparative,, the voice of GOD -himself ex­horting to it; and therefore he not only, when desired, made his visits to all such as stood in need of this charity, but prevented their requests by early and by frequent coming to them. And this he was so careful of, that after his remove from Pensehurst, being at Oxford, and hearing of the sickness of one of his parishioners, he from thence sent to him those instructions which he judged useful, and which he could not give at nearer distance.

            For the institution of youth in the rudiments of piety, his custom was, during the warmer season of the year, to spend an hour before evening prayer in catechizing, whereat the parents and older sort were wont to be present, and from whence (as he with comfort was used to say) they reaped more benefit than from his sermons.  Besides all this, that there might be no imaginable as­sistance wanting, he took care for the providing an able schoolmaster in the parish, which he continued during the whole time of his abode.

            And as he thus labored in the spiritual building up of souls, he was not negligent of the material fabric com­mitted to his trust; but repaired with a very great expense (the annual charge of one hundred pounds) his Parsonage­house, till from an incommodious ruin he had rendered it a fair and pleasant dwelling, with the adherent conveniences of gardens and orchards.

            While he was thus busy on his charge, though he so prodigally laid out himself upon the interests of his flock, yet when the uses of, the public called him forth, he readily obeyed the summons, and frequently preached both at ST. PAUL'S Cross, and the Visitations of his brethren the Clergy, as also at the cathedral Church of Chichester, where he had the dignity of Archdeacon; which at the beginning of the late troubles falling to him, he managed with great zeal and prudence, not only by the charms of Christian rhetorick, persuading to obedience and union, but by the force of demonstration, charging "it as a most indispensable duty; wherein the eminent importance of the truths he would en­force so prevailed over his otherwise insuperable modesty, that in a full assembly of the clergy, he broke off from what he had premeditated, and out of the abundance of his heart spoke to his auditory; and by the blessing of GOD, to which he attributed it, found a very signal reception.

In the year 1639, he proceeded Doctor in Divinity. About this time he became a member of the Convocation called with the short Parliament in 164O; as after this he was named to be of the Assembly of Divines; his invincible loyalty to his prince not being so valid an argument against his nomination, as the repute of his learning and virtue were, on the other part, to have some title to him.

            And now that conformity became a crime, though the Committee of the country summoned him before them, and used their best arguments, he still went on in his regular practice, and continued it till the middle of July, 1643. At which time there being in his neighborhood about Tunbridge an attempt in behalf of the King, it being de­feated, _ the good doctor was forced to secure himself by re­tirement; withdrawing himself to his old tutor, Dr. BUCK­NER, to whom he came about the 25th of July, early in the morning, in such an habit as that exigence made necessary for him, and whither not many days before his old friend and fellow-pupil, Dr. OLIVER, came upon the same errand. The necessity to leave his flock, as the doctor afterwards acknowledged, was that which most affected him of any he felt in his whole life; amidst which, though he was no valuer of trifles, he had so extraordinary a dream, that he could not then despise, nor ever afterwards forget it.

            It was thus:’ He thought himself and a multitude of others to have been abroad in a bright and cheerful day, when on a sudden there seemed a separation to be made, and he with the far less number to he placed at a distance from the rest; and then the clouds gathering, a most tem­pestuous storm arose, with thundering and lightnings, with spouts of impetuous rain, and violent gusts of wind, and whatever else might add unto a scene of horror; particu­larly balls of Fire that shot themselves amongst the ranks of those that stood in the lesser party; when a gentle whisper seemed to interrupt those louder noises, saying. Be still, and ye shall receive no harm. Amidst these terrors the doctor falling to his prayers, soon after the tempest ceased, and that known anthem begun, Come, LORD JESUS, come away; with which he awoke. The correspondent event of all which he found verified signally in the preservation both of himself and his friends. Beside, being himself taken to the choirs of angels at the close of that land-hur­ricane of ours, whereof that dismal apparition was only a faint emblem: He gave thereby too literal a completion to his dream, and the unhappy credit of bordering upon pro­phecy.  In this retirement the two doctors remained about three weeks, till an alarm was brought, that a strict inquiry was made for Dr. HAMMOND, and one hundred pounds promised as a reward for him that should produce him: Which they concluded a necessary ground for their remove.

            Upon this they resolve to be gone; and DR. OLIVER having an interest in Winchester, which was then in the King's quarters, they chose that as the next place of their retreat. But being on the way thither, DR. OLIVER was met and saluted with the news that DR. FREwEN, President of Magdalen College, was made Bishop of Lich­field, and that the College had pitched upon him as suc­cessor. This put DR. OLIVER to new counsels; and since providence had found out so seasonable a relief, inclined him not to desert it, but to divert to Oxford.

To this DR. HAMMOND made much difficulty to assent, thinking it too far from his living, whither he had hopes to return; and to that purpose had wrote to such of his friends as were in power: But his letters meeting a cold reception, he was at last persuaded, and came to Oxford; where procuring an apartment in his old College, he sought that peace in his study, which was no where else to be met with; taking no other diversion than the giving instruction to young students, and the satisfaction he received from the conversation of learned men.

            In the interim a treaty being labored by his Majesty, to compose (if it were possible) the unhappy differences in Church and State; and in order thereunto the DUKE of RICHMOND and EARL Of SOUTHAMPTON being sent to Lordon, DR. HAMMOND went along as Chaplain to them; where, with great zeal and prudence, he labored to unde­ceive those seduced persons whom he had opportunity to converse with: And when the treaty was solemnly ap­pointed at Uxbridge, several divines being sent thither in behalf of the different parties, he, among other excellent

men that adhered to the King, was made choice of to assist in that employment.

            He was soon after made Canon of CHRIST-Church, and Chaplain in ordinary to his Majesty. But now the King's affairs declining every where, and Oxford being forced upon articles to surrender; though he foresaw a second and more fatal siege approaching, a leaguer of encamped inevitable mischiefs; yet he remitted nothing of his wonted industry.  In the mean time his sacred Majesty, sold by his Scottish into the hands of his English subjects, and brought a pri­soner to Holdenby, being taken from the Parliament Com­missioners into the possession of the army, obtained that kindness from them, the service of some few of his Chap­lains, whom he by name had sent for, and among them of DR. HAMMOND.

            Accordingly the good Doctor attended on his master in the several removes of Woburn, Cavesham, and Hampton­Court, as also thence into the Isle of Wight, where he con­tinued till CHRISTMAS, 1647; at which time his Majesty's attendants were again put from him.

Sequestered from this his melancholy, but desired em­ployment, he returned again to Oxford; where being chosen Sub-Dean, an office to which belongs much of the govern­ment of the College, and soon after the whole, (the Dean being made a prisoner,) he undertook the entire manage­ment of all affairs, and discharged it with great sufficiency and admirable diligence, leaving his beloved studies to interest himself not only in moderating at Divinity disputa­tions, but in presiding at the more youthful exercises of themes and declamations; redeeming still at night these vacuities of the day, scarce ever going to bed till after midnight, sometimes not till three in the morning, and yet certainly rising to prayers at five.

            Nor did his inspection content itself in looking to the general performances of duty, but descended to an accurate survey of every one's both practice and ability; so that this large society of scholars appeared his private family, he scarce leaving any single person without some mark of both his charity and care, relieving the necessitous in their several wants of money and of books, shaming the vicious to sobriety, encouraging the ingenuous to diligence, and finding stratagems to ensnare the idle to a love of study. But above all, he endeavored to prepare his charge for the impending persecution; that they might adorn their' profession, and not at the same time suffer for the cause of righteousness, and as evil-doers.

            To this end he both admitted and solemnly invited all sober persons to his -familiarity and converse; and beside that, received them to his weekly private office of fasting and humiliation.  But now the long-expected ruin breaking in with its full weight, the Doctor became involved in the general calamity.  And whereas the then usual law of expulsion was imme­diately to banish, enjoining to quit -the town within twenty­four hours, Dr. SHELDON and Dr. HAMMOND were sub­mitted to a contrary fate, and voted to be prisoners in that place, from which all else were driven. But such was the authority of exemplary virtue, that the person designed to succeed in the Canonry of CHRIST-church, though he had accepted of the place at Lordon, yet had not courage to pursue his undertaking, but voluntarily relinquished it. And the officer who was commanded to take DR. SHELDON and him into custody, COLONEL EVELIN, Governor of Wal­lingford Castle, (though a man of as opposite principles to Churchmen as any of the adverse party,) wholly declined the employment, solemnly protesting that if they came to him, they should be entertained as friends, and not as pri­soners.

            But these remorses proved of little effect; the Prebend­ of CHRIST-Church being suddenly supplied by a second choice, and Oxford itself being continued the place of their confinement. Dr. HAMMOND having continued about ten weeks in his restraint in Oxford, by the interposition of his brother in­ law, SIR JOHN TEMPLE, had license granted to be removed to a more acceptable confinement, Clapham in Bedford­shire, the house in which his worthy friend SIR PHILIP WARWICK lived. Where soon after his arrival, that horrid mockery of justice, the trial of the King drew on. After whose death, he gave not up himself to an inactive dull amazement, but with the redoubled use of fasting, tears, and solemn prayer, resumed his wonted studies.

            About this time, that strength of body which before had faithfully attended his indefatigable mind began to fail him, and those four torments of disease, which single have been judged a competent trial of human sufferance, the stone, the gout, the choice, and the cramp, (the last of which was to him as tyrannous as any of the former,) became in a manner the constant exercise of his Christian fortitude and

patience; affording him from this time to the end of his life very rare and short intervals of health.

            But among all his labors, his Paraenesis, a persuasive and practical Tract, cost him most throes and pangs of birth, as having being penned first in tears, and then in ink. For, however, with great serenity he. entertained all other accidents, having habituated himself to his beloved doctrine of submitting, not to the will of GOD alone, but to his wis­dom, both which, he used to say, were perfectly one thing in that blessed Agent; (and accordingly, in the most dismal appearance he made this constant motto, earns n na Even this. for good;) yet in this instance the tenderness of his soul seemed to have melted his resolution; the occasion of that treatise being the interdict of January 1655, which disabled the loyal suffering, clergy from doing any ministerial act; which he resented with the highest passion, not only upon the general account of GOD'S more immediate displeasure to the nation legible therein, but (what he had much less reason to do) in reference to his own particular; he looking on this dispensation of Providence as GOD'S pronouncing him unworthy, to do him service:’ The reproaching (to use his own words) his former unprofitableness by casting him out as straw to the dunghill: Nor should any consideration that terminated on himself have persuaded him at all to regard that tyrannous injunction, had not charity to the family where he was, made him content to admit of an expedient' that secured all real duties, whilst he for some short time forbore that attendance on the altar which was the very joy of his life.

            And now, though his physicians had earnestly forbid­den his accustomed fastings, yet he resumed his rigors, esteeming this calamity such an one as admitted no exception, which should not be outlived.  And when the loyal sufferers abroad became subjected to the worst effect of banishment and want, the Doctor, to whose diffusive virtue the limits of the nation were too strait a circle, thought this a season to exert his charity; accord­ingly, though this great duty were solemnly declared treason, he. continued to send over several sums for their relief.

Which practice of his, by the surprise of the person interested, being discovered to CROMWELL, he was alarmed with the expectation of that usage which was then a certain consequent of such meritorious acts. But this adven­ture brought no disturbance to the Doctor. Nay, he -seemed to have gained an opportunity of saying something very home to him, which he purposed within himself to press to the highest advantage: And, indeed, this was the-only issue of that threatening accident, GOD’s restraining power interposing here, and exemplifying upon' him what in others he was wont to observe, that they who least considered hazard in the doing of their duties, fared still best.

Nor did' this danger being over, as with others in all like­lihood it would have done, persuade to caution for the future; but with his wonted diligence, he immediately went on in the pursuit of his charity.

            He was enterprising a Comment on the Old Testament, and begun on  the  book of Proverbs, and finished the third part of it: But the completion' of this, and all his other great intendments, received, here a full period; it pleasing the Divine Providence nowto take him to himself.

The reader will' not be disobliged, if we a while divert from this sadder part of the narrative, and+ entertain him with a survey of the personal accomplishments of the Doctor.

            The frame of his body was such as suited with the noble; use to which it was designed, the entertaining a most pure and active soul, but equally to the advantages of strength and comeliness. His statute was of just height and proportion, avoiding the extremes of gross, and meagre, advantaged by a graceful carriage, at once most grave, and yet as much obliging. His face carried dignity and attractiveness in it, scarce ever clouded with a frown, or so much as darkened by reservedness. His eye was quick and sprightful, his complexion clear and florid, so that (especially in his youth) he had the esteem of a very beauteous person.

            To this outward structure was joined that strength. of constitution, patient of severest toil and hardship; insomuch that for the most part of his life, in the fiercest extremity of cold, he took no other advantage of a fire, than at the greatest distance he could to look upon it. As to diseases (till immoderate study had_ wrought a change) he was in a manner only liable to fevers, which too constant temper­ance did in a great measure prevent, and still assisted to - relieve and cure.     

            Next to his frame of body, if we survey his inward facul­ties, we shall find them just to the promises of his outward shape. His sight was quick to an unusual degree; inso­much, that, if by chance he saw a knot of men, a flock of sheep, or herd of cattle, being engaged in discourse, and not at all thinking of it, he would involuntarily cast up their number, which others after long delays could hardly reckon. His ear was accurate and tuned to his harmonious soul, so that having never learned to sing by book or study,, he would exactly perform his part of many things to an harpsichord or the orbo; and frequently did so in his more vigorous years after the toil and labor of the day, and before the remaining studies of the night. His elocution was free and graceful, prepared at once to charm and to command his audience: And when, with preaching at his country charge, he had, in some degree, lost the due manage of his voice, his late sacred Majesty, by taking notice of the change, became his master of music, and reduced him to his ancient, decent modulation; a kindness which the Doctor very gratefully acknowledged to his dying day, and reported not only as an instance of the meek and tender condescensions of that gracious Prince, but improved to persuade others by so great an -example to that most friendly office of telling per­sons of their faults, without which, very commonly, men must be so far from amending their errors, that it is morally impossible they should know them.

            As to his more inferior faculties, we must allow the first place -to his invention, an altogether unexhausted treasure, whose flowings were with that full torrent, that for several years, after his choice of subject, which generally he had in prospect beforehand, a little meditation:on the Saturday night made up his sermon: But _in the last twelve years of his life, finding the recollection of his thoughts disturb his sleep, he remitted the particular care of the composition and method of his future discourse to the Sunday morning, wherein an hour's consideration fitted him to the office of the day. With the like swiftness he dispatched his writings, usually composing faster than his amanuensis, though a very dexterous person, could transcribe after -him. His’ Consi­derations of present Necessity concerning Episcopacy,,' were drawn -up after ten o'clock at night in a friend's chamber, who professes, that, sitting by all the while, he remembers not that he took off pen from paper till he had done; and the very next morning, it being fully approved by the BISHOP Of SALISBURY, he sent it to the press; to which work he could have no premeditation or second thoughts, he being that very night after supper employed by the before-mentioned BISHOP of SALISBURY, on that task. So likewise he began his Tract of Scandal at eleven at night, and finished it before he went to bed. Nor was this an extraordinary thing with him, but most customary; five sheets having amidst his other diversions been sundry times his one day's work; adding to it so much of the night as frequently borrowed from sleep and supper.

            And indeed such were his diversions, so many and so importunate, that notwithstanding this incredible ease of writing, it is hardly imaginable how he could compass the tithe o€' what he did. For he that shall consider his laborious way, immersed in almost infinite quotations; his perusal of the writings of his friends and strangers intended to be public; his review of his own works, and correcting them with his own hand, sheet by sheet, as they came forth, which be. did to all his later tracts; his reception of visits, whether of civility, or for resolution of conscience, or informa­tion in points of difficulty, which were numerous, and great devourers of his time; his agency for men of quality, providing them schoolmasters for their children, and chap­lains in their houses, in which affair he had set up a kind of office of address; his general correspondencies by letter, which ever took up two days of the week entirely; the time exhausted by his sickness, which, in the latter years of his life; gave him but short and seldom truce, and always made it necessary for him not to stir from his chair, or so much as read a letter for two hours after every meal; his not only constant preaching and instructing the family where he was, and his visiting the sick both there and in the neighborhood, but amidst all, his sure returns of prayer, so frequent and so constant as certainly to challenge to them­selves a great portion of the day: He, I say, that shall sum up this, the particulars whereof are nakedly set down, must be to seek what point of vacant time remained yet undisposed; I do not say to write books, but even to breathe and rest a little in.

            After a serious reflection on the premises, the account given by that excellent person, who had the happiness of being the nearest and most constant witness of all, seems the best that can be made; that he gained time for his writing books by the time he spent in prayer, whilst (a more than ordinary assistance attending his devotions) his closet proved his library, and he studied most upon his knees.

As to his memory, it was serviceable, but not officious; faithful to things and business, but unwillingly retaining the, contexture and punctualities of words; which defect he frequently lamented, it being harder with him to get one sermon by heart than to pen twenty.

            His way of speech and faculty of communicating notions, was sufficiently happy, having only this best kind of defect, exuberance, the torrent of his matter being not easily con­fined by periods; whereby his style, though round and comprehensive, was encumbered sometimes by parentheses, and became difficult to vulgar understandings: But by the use of writing, and his. desire to accommodate himself to all capacities, he in his latter years had mastered that defect.

            His judgment, as in itself the highest faculty, so was it the most eminent among his natural endowments; For though.the finding out the similitudes of different things, wherein the fancy is conversant, is usually a bar to- the dis­cerning the disparities of similar appearances, which is the business of discretion: He had, to his su icient memory and incomparable invention, a clear discerning judgment;, and that not only in scholastic affairs and points of learning, which his writings manifest beyond dispute; but in the concerns of public nature, both of Church and State.

            As to acquired learning, there remains only to observe, that the range and compass of his knowledge filled the whole circle of the arts, and reached those severals which single do exact an entire man unto themselves. To be accurate in the grammar and idioms of tongues, and then, as a rhe­torician, to make all their graces serve his. eloquence; to have traversed ancient, and yet be no stranger in modern writers; to be studied in philosophy, and familiarly versed in all the classic authors; to be learned in school-divinity, and a master in Church-antiquity, perfect and ready in the sense of fathers, councils, ecclesiastical historians and litur­gies; to have devoured so much and yet digested it, is a. rarity in nature and in diligence,, which has but few exam­ples.

            But after all we must take leave to say, that the Doctor's learning was the least thing in him; the scholar was less eminent than the Christian: His speculative knowledge, that gave - light to the most difficult proposals, became eclipsed by the most dazzling lustre of his practice.

            And first, his chaste thoughts, words, and carriage so disciplined his lower faculties, as not only restrained through all the heats of youth, made more than usually importunate by the full vigour of a high and sanguine con_ stitution, but gave a detestation of all those verbal follies, that have not only the allowance of being harmless mirth, but the repute of wit and gaiety of humor: So, that the scurrilous jest could sooner obtain his tears inn penance for it, than the approbation of a smile; and all approaches to this sin he looked upon not only with an utter disallowance in his will, but a kind of natural abhorrence.

            His appetite was good, but the restraint of it was very eminent and extraordinary; for his diet was of the plainest meats, and commonly not only his dishes, but the parts of them were such as most others would refuse. Sauces he scarce ever tasted of, but often expressed it his wonder’ how rational creatures should eat for any thing but health; since he that did eat or drink that which might cause a fit of the stone or gout, though a year after, therein unmanned himself, and acted as a beast.' So that his self-denials were quite contrary to the usual ones; for considering the time lost in eating, and the vacancy succeeding it, his meals were the greatest pressure, and his fasting-day the most sensual part of his week.

            In the time of his full and more vigorous health, he sel­dom did eat or drink more than once in twenty-four hours,, and some fruit towards night and two days in every week, and in Lent and Ember-week three days, he eat but once in thirty-six. Nor did he ever with so much regret submit to any prescript, as when his Physicians, after his great fever in Oxford, required him to eat suppers. Which injunction he soon shook off, and returned to his beloved. abstinence, until renewed infirmities brought him back unto­the penance of more indulgence to himself.

            As he had the greatest indifference to what he ate, so had he the greatest observation too, especially when it came to be made a point of prescription; for in this case he was most exact, never tasting of any, prohibited meats, though some of them had before the advantage of being customary towards their seeming necessary. And herein his palate was so tractable and subdued to the dictates of an higher choice, that he really thought no meat pleasant, but in proportion to its wholesomeness: Even his beloved apples he would oft say he would totally abandon, as soon as they should appear to be no more than barely innocent, and not of use.

            The carving at the table he always made his province, which he said he did as a diversion to keep him from eating too much.; but certainly that practice had another more. immediate cause, a natural distributiveness of humor, andd a desire to be employed in the relief of every kind of­want of every person.

            His temperance in sleep resembled that of his meats; mid­night being the usual time of his going to rest, and four or five, and very rarely six, the hour of his rising. There was scarce any thing he resented so much in his multiplied, diseases as their having abridged him of his night-studies, professing thereby he lost not only his greatest pleasure,, but highest advantage in reference to business. And in his later time of weakness, when to take benefit of a gentle breathing sweat, which usually came in the morning, he had been engaged by his Physician to continue in bed till, it was over; and upon complaint of costiveness he was on, the other side directed to rise somewhat early in the morn­ing; this later injunction he looked upon as a mere rescue and deliverance, often mentioning it with thanks, as if it had been an eminent favor done him.

His disposal of himself in the other parts of time, was to perpetual industry and diligence He not only avoided, but bore a. perfect hate to idleness, and scarcely recom­mended any thing with that concern and vigor, as to be furnished always with somewhat to do. This he proposed

as the best expedient both for innocence and pleasure; assuring, that’ no burden is more heavy or temptation more dangerous, than to have time he on one's hand; the idle man's brain being not only (as he worded it) the Devil's shop, but his kingdom too, a model of an appendage unto hell, a place given up to torment and to mischief.

            Besides those portions of time which the necessities of nature and of civil life extorted from him, there was not a minute of the day which he left vacant. When he walked abroad, which he did not so much to recreate himself,' as to obey his Physician, he never failed to take a book with him, and read all the while; and in his chamber also he had one lying constantly open, out of which his servant read to him while he was dressing and undressing; by which one piece of husbandry in short space he dispatched several con­siderable volumes.

His way was still to cast into paper all his observations, and direct them to his present purposes; wherein he had an incredible dexterity, scarce ever reading any thing which he did not make subservient in one kind or other. In his sicknesses, if they were not so violent as to make the recollection of thoughts impossible, he never intermitted study, but rather reinforced it as the most proper diversion of pain. The gout by its most frequent and importunate returns exceeded his, other maladies; in which although the first most furious assaults were sure to beat him from his study, and for a time confine him to his bed, yet as soon as he had recovered his chair, he resumed his pen too, and applied it as hard as though he had ailed nothing.

            Next to downright idleness he disliked slow and dilatory undertakings, thinking it a great folly to spend that time in gazing upon business which should have served for the doing of it. In his own practice he never considered longer than till he could discern whether the thing proposed was fit or not; when that was seen, he immediately set to work. When he had perfected one business, he could not endure to have his thoughts he fallow, but was presently consulting what next to set about.

            But when we reckon up the expenses of the Doctor's:. time, we cannot pass his constant tribute of it paid by him to heaven in the offices of prayer; which took up so liberal proportions of each day unto itself for the, ten last years of his life, and probably the preceding. Besides occasional. and supernumerary addresses, his certain perpetual returns, exceeded DAVID'S seven times a-day. As soon as he was ready (which was usually early he prayed in his chamber with his servant. After this he retired to his own more secret devotions. Between ten and eleven in the morning, he had solemn intercession in reference to the national calam­ities: To this, after a little distance, succeeded the morn­ing office of the Church, which he particularly desired to, perform in his own person, and would by no means accept the ease of having it read by any other. In the afternoon. he had another hour of private prayer, which on Sundays he enlarged, and so religiously observed, that if any neces­sary business or charity had diverted him at the usual time, he repaired his soul at the cost of his body; and, notwith­standing the injunctions of his physicians, which in other cases he was careful to obey, spent the supper time therein. About five o'clock, the solemn private prayers for the na­tion, and the evening service of the Church returned. At bed-time his private prayers closed the day; and after all, even the night was not without its office, the fifty-first Psalm being his designed midnight entertainment.

            In his prayers, as his attention was fixed and steady, so was it inflamed with passionate fervors, insomuch that very frequently his transport threw him prostrate on the earth; his tears also would interrupt his words; the latter happen­ing not only upon the exigencies of present or impending judgments, but in the common service of the Church; which shows it is the coldness of the votary, and not the prayer, that is in fault, when fervor is deficient at the public office of the Church.

            The charity and extent of his prayers was as exuberant as the zeal and fervour: He thought it very unreasonable that our intercessions should not be as universal as our SA­VIOR's redemption was; and would complain of that nar­rowness of mind to which we are so prone, confining our care either to ourselves and relatives, or at most to those little corners of the, world that most immediately concerned us, and which on due account bear very low proportions to the whole. There was no emergent distress, however re­mote, but it enlarged his Litany; every year's harvest and new birth of mischiefs, was transcribed into pathetical Office of Devotion.

            Nor did he only take to heart general national concern­ments, but even the more private exigencies of the sick and weak. Among all which, none had so liberal a part in his prayers, as they that merited them least, yet wanted them most; his and (what was usually the same thing) the Church's and God's: enemies. He never thought he had assured his forgiveness of injuries, unless he returned good for them; and though other opportunities of this best kind of retaliation might fail him, that of his intercessions never did.

Three persons there were who above all men, by unwor­thy malice and impotent virulence, had highly disobliged him; but he in recompence of their guilt, he had a peculiar daily prayer purposely in their behalf; and though in the openness of his conversation with his most intimate acquaint­ance he confessed thus much, yet he never named the per­sons, though probably that was the only thing which he concealed; it being his method to withhold nothing, espe­cially of confidence or privacy, from one he owned as his friend.

            And having mentioned the name of friend, however inci­dentally, we must not leave it without homage; friendship being the next sacred thing unto religion in the apprehen­sions of our excellent Doctor, a virtue of which he was a passionate lover, and with which he ever seemed to have contracted friendship. The union of minds thereby pro­duced, he judged, the utmost point of human happiness so that with compassion he reflected on their ignorance who were strangers to it, saying, that such must needs lead a pitiful, insipid Herb-John-like life.'

            Upon this ground he used with all industrious art to re­commend and propagate friendship unto others; and where he saw several persons that he judged capable of being made acquainted to mutual advantage, he would contrive that they might; and where himself had kindness unto any so allied, he would still enjoin them to be kinder to each other than to him; besides, he still labored to make all his friends endeared to each of them; resolving it to be an error bot­tomed on the common narrowness of soul which represented amity like sensual love, confined unto two persons.

            When he ever happened to see or be in company with such as had an intimate hearty kindness for each other, he would be much transported in the contemplation of it, and where it was seasonable, would openly acknowledge his satisfaction.  In the number of his friends there chanced to be three persons, who having in their youth contracted a strict inti­macy, had undertaken the same profession; and accordingly had the same common studies and designs; and with these the opportunity through the late troubles to live in view of each other: Whom for that reason be was used with an obliging envy to pronounce the most happy men the nation had.

            Accordingly he professed, that for his particular, he had no such way of enjoying any thing as by reflection from the person whom he loved; so that his friends being happy, was the readiest way to make him so. Therefore when one eminently near him in that relation was careless of health, his most pressing argument was his complaint of unkind­ness to him.- And this way of measuring felicities was so natural to him, that it would occur even in the most trivial instances: When there has been any thing at the table pe­culiarly wholesome, in relation to his infirmities, if his friend, who was in a like weak condition, for bare to eat it in civility to him, he would with vehemence of grief resent it as his singular unhappiness, after so many professions, not to be believed, that he had a thousand times rather that his friend should have that which was conducible to health, than himself; and then assumed, that if this were believed, it were impossible any one should attempt to ex­press kindness by robbing him of his greatest pleasure.

            The principal thing he contracted for in friendship was a free use of mutual admonition; which he confined not to the grosser guilts which enemies and common fame were likely to observe, but extended it to prudential failings, in­decencies, and even suspicious and barely doubtful actions; nay beyond that, unto those virtuous ones which might have been improved and rendered better. He was used to say,’ It was a poor design of friendship to keep the per­son he admitted to his breast only from being scandalous, as if the physician should endeavor only to secure his pa­tient from the plague.' And what be thus articled for, he punctually himself performed, and exacted to be returned unto himself.

And if for any while he observed that no remembrance had been offered to him, he grew almost jealous, suspect­ing that the courtier had supplanted the friend, and there­fore earnestly enforced the obligation of being faithful in this point: And when with much ado something was picked up, he received it always as huge kindness; and though the whole ground of it happened -to be mistake, yet he still returned most affectionate thanks.

            His good-will, when placed on any, was so fixed and rooted, that even supervening vice, to which he had the greatest detestation imaginable, could not easily remove it, the abhorrence of their guilt leaving not only a charity but tenderness to their persons; and, as he has professed, his concern rather increased than lessened by this means, compassion being in that instance added to love.

There were but two things which (he would say) were apt to give check to his affections, pride and falseness; where he saw these predominant, he thought he could never be a friend to any purpose, because he could never hope to do any good; yet even there he -would use prayer, the more, the less he could do besides. But where he saw an honest temper, a JACOB'S plain simplicity, nothing could discourage him; and however inadvertency or pas­sion, or haply some worse ingredient, might frustrate his design, he would attend the mollia tempora, those gentle and more treatable opportunities which might at last be offered. He so much -abhorred artifice and cunning; that he had prejudice to all concealments and preten­sions. He used to say he hated a NON CAUSA, and he had a strange sagacity in discovering it. When any with much circumlocution bad endeavored to shadow their main purpose, he would immediately look through all those mists, and where it was in any degree seasonable, would make it appear he did so: His charity of fraternal correp­tion having only this restraint, the hearer's interest, of which he judged, that when advice did not do good, it was hardly separable from doing harm. But wheresoever he gave an admonition, he prefaced it always with such demon­strations of tenderness and good-will as could not fail to convince of the kindness with which it was sent, if not of the convenience or necessity to embrace it. And this he gave as a general rule, and enforced by his example, never to reprove in anger, or with the least appearance of it. If the passion were real, that was evidently a fault, and the guilty person unfit to be a judge: If it were resemblance only, yet even that would probably divert the offender from the consideration of his failing, to fasten on his monitor; and make him think he was chid, not because he was in fault, but because the other was angry.

            Though his exhortations had as much weight as words could give them, he had over and above a great advantage in his manner of speaking: His little phrase, Don't be simple, had more power to charm a passion, than long harangues from others; and very many who loved not piety in itself, would be well pleased to be advised by him, and venerated the same matter in his language, which they de­rided in others.

He would say, he delighted to be loved, not reverenced; thinking that where there was much of the latter, there could not be-enough of the former; somewhat of restraint and distance -attending on the one, which was not well con­sistent with the. freedom of the other. But as he was no friend to ceremonious respect, he was an open enemy to flattery, especially from a friend, from whom he started at the slightest appearance of that servile kindness.

            Having, upon occasion, communicated a purpose against which there happened to he some objections, they being by a friend of his represented to him, he immediately was con­vinced, and assumed other counsels. But in process of discourse something fell in that brought to mind a passage of a late sermon of the Doctor's, which that person having been affected with, innocently mentioned such apprehen­sions of it, and so passed' on to talk of other matters. The next day the Doctor having recollected that probably the approbation given to the sermon might be an after-design to allay the plain dealing which preceded it, protested, that’ nothing in the world could more deeply disoblige him, than such unfaithfulness.' But being assured there was no such contrivance meant, he gladly yielded himself to have been mistaken.

            In other cases he was no way inclinable to entertain doubts of his friends' kindness: But if any thing chanced to intervene, and cause misapprehensions, he gave them not leave to take root by concealment, but immediately pro­duced his ground of jealousy; and exacted the. like mea­sure back again, if his own proceedings fell at any time under a doubtful or unkind appearance. This he thought, a justice essential to friendship, without which it could not possibly subsist: For we think not fit to condemn the most notorious malefactor before-he has had license to propose his plea; and sure it is strangely barbarous to treat a friend, or rather friendship itself, with less regard.

To the performances of friendship he hated all mercenary returns, where of he was so jealous, as hardly to leave place for gratitude. Love, he said, -was built upon the union and similitude of minds, and not the bribery of gifts and benefits.

            Misery and want, wherever he met with them, sufficiently endeared the object. His alms was as exuberant as his love; and, in calamities, to the exigence he never was a stranger, whatever he might be to the man that suffered.  And here the first preparative was to leave himself no motive to resist or slight the opportunities of giving; which he compassed by being a steward to himself as well as to GOD, and parting still with a set portion of his estate, that when he relieved any, he might become no whit the poorer by his gift, have only the content of giving, and the ease, of being rid of another's money. What he thus devoted was the tenth of all his income; wherein he was so strictly punctual, that commonly the first thing he did was to com­pute and separate the poor man's share. To this he added every week five shillings, which had been his lowest pro­portion in the heat of the war in Oxford, when he lived upon his Pensehurst stock, and no visible means or almost possibility of supply. Over and above this he completed the devotions of his weekly fast by joining alms thereto, and adding twenty shillings to the poor man's heap.

These were his debts to charity, the fixed revenue of the indigent; in the dispensation of which he was so religiously careful, that if at any time he happened to be in doubt whether he had set apart his charitable proportions, he al­ways passed sentence against himself. But beyond' these he had his free-will offerings, and those proportioned more by the occasion of giving, than the surplusage he had to give. His poor man's bag had so many mouths, that it frequently became quite empty: But it being so, never diverted him from relieving any that appeared in need; for in such seasons he chose to give in more liberal proportions than at others.

            Instead of hiding his face from the poor, it was his practice still to seek for theirs. Those persons whom he trusted with (his greatest secret and greatest business) his charity, seldom had recourse to him, but he would make inquiry for new pensioners: And though he had in several parts of the nation those whom he employed to find out indigent persons, and dispose his largesses to them, his covetous bounty still grasped for more.

            Besides his ordinary provision for the neighboring poor, and those that came to look him out in his retirement, (which were not few, for the liberal man dwells always in the road,) his catalogue had an especial place for sequest­ered Divines, their wives and orphans, for young students in the Universities, and those Divines that were abroad in banishment: Where over and above his frequent occasional reliefs to the last of these, the exiled Clergy, besides what he procured from others, he sent constantly over year by year a very considerable sum, such a one as men of far greater revenues do not use upon any occasion to give away, much less as a troublesome excrescence every year prune off from their estates.

            To a friend, who by the falseness of one whom he trusted was reduced to some extremity, and inquired what course he took to escape such usage, the Doctor wrote as fol­lows: To your doubt concerning myself, I thank GOD I am able to answer you, that I never suffered in my life for want of hand or seal, but think I have fared much better than they that have always been careful to secure them­selves by these cautions. I remember I was wont to re­proach an honest fellow-prebend of mine, that whensoever a siege was near, always sent away what he most valued to some other garrison or friend, and seldom ever met with any thing again: Whereas I venturing myself and my cabinet in the same bottom, never lost any thing. And the like I have practiced in this other instance. Whom I trusted to be my friend, all I had was in his power, and by GOD's blessing I was never deceived in my trust.'

            And here amidst all these seeming impossibilities, riches thrust themselves upon him: It pleasing GOD, since he had exemplified the advices of his’ Practical Catechism' to the duties of alms and charitable distributions, in him also to make good the assurance he there made in -the behalf of GOD upon such performance. Nor was he the single in­stance of this truth. About four years since a person of good estate coming to see the Doctor, among other discourse happened to speak of the late Dean of Worcester, DR. POTTER: This gentleman related, that formerly inquiring of the Dean how it was possible for one that had so great a charge of children, was so hospitable in his entertainment, and profuse in liberality, not only to, subsist, but to grow rich; he answered, that several years before he happened to be present at a sermon at ST. PAUL'S Cross, where the Preacher recommending the duty of plentiful giving, as­sured his auditory that that was the certain way to compass riches: He, moved therewith, resolved diligently to follow the counsel, and expect the issue; which was such as now created so much wonder. At that time when this was tell­ing, the Doctor's sermon of’ The Poor Man's Tithing,' was just come out. He, therefore, willing to improve the op­portunity, confessed that he himself was that Preacher which DR. POTTER referred to, and that there was the very sermon; which immediately giving to this visitant, he desired Almighty GOD it might have the like effect on him.

            As to the way and very manner of his charity, even that was a part of it. One great care of his was to dispose of his reliefs so as to be most seasonable; to which purpose he had his agents still employed to give him punctual notice of occurrents in their several stations: His next endeavor was to dispense them so as to be most endearing. To per. sons of quality he consulted to relieve their modesty as well as needs; taking order they should rather find than receive alms; and knowing they were provided for, should not guess by what means they were so. To those who were assisted immediately from his hand, he over and above bestowed the charities of hearty kindness; in the expres­sion of which he was not only assisted by his humility, but much more by the pleasure which the very act of giving transfused into him. 

            Another circumstance in the Doctor's liberality not to be passed over was, his choice of what he gave; his care that it should not be of things vile and refuse, but of the very best he had. It happened that a servant in the family being troubled with the gout, the Doctor gave order that he should have some of the plaster which he used in the like extremity: But the store of that being almost spent, the person entrusted with this office gave of another sort, which was of somewhat less reputation. Which practice the Doc­tor within a while coming to know, was extremely troubled at it, and complained of that unseasonable kindness to him, which disregarded the pressing wants of another, and there­by gave him a disquiet parallel to that which a fit of the gout would have done.

            But besides this of giving, the alms of lending had an eminent place in the practice of the Doctor. When he saw a man honest and industrious, he would trust him with a sum, and let him pay it again, at such times, and in such proportions, as he found himself able: Withal when he did so, he would add his counsel too, examine the per­son's condition, and contrive with him how the present sum might be most advantageously disposed; still closing the discourse with prayer for GOD's blessing, and after that dismissing him with infinite affability and kindness. In which performance, as he was exuberant to all, so most especially to such as were of an inferior degree; giving this for a rule to those of his friends that were of estate and quality, to’ treat their poor neighbors with such a cheer­fulness, that they may be glad to have met with them.  And as upon the grounds of humanity he never suffered any body to wait that came to speak with him, though upon a mere visit, but broke off his beloved studies; so with a more exceeding alacrity he came down when a poor body would speak with him. Such of all others he loved not to delay; and so much he desired that others should do the same, that when the lady of the house, diverted either by his discourse, or some other occasion, delayed the clients of her charity in alms, or that other most commendable one in surgery, he in his friendly way would chide her out of the room.

            As poverty thus recommended to-the Doctor's kindness, in an especial manner it did so when piety was added to it Upon which score a mean person in the neighborhood, one HOUSEMAN, a weaver by trade, but by weakness unable to follow any employment, was extremely his favorite. Him he used with a most affectionate freedom, gave him several of his books, and examined his progress in them; invited him, nay importuned him, still to come to him for whatever he needed, and at his death left him ten pounds. A little before which, he and the Lady P. being walking, HOUSEMAN happened to come by, to whom after the Doctor had talked a while, he let him pass,; yet soon after called him with these words,’ HORSEMAN, if it should please GOD that I should be taken from this place, let me make a bargain between., my lady and you, that you be sure to come to her with the same freedom you would to me for any thing you want.'

            Nor will this treatment from the Doctor seem any thing strange to them that shall consider how low a rate he put.upon those usual distinctions, birth or riches, and withal bow high a value on the souls of men; for them he had so unmanageable a passion, that it often broke out into words of this effect;’ O what a glorious thing, how rich a prize for the expense of a man's whole life, were it to be the instrument of rescuing one soul!' Accordingly in the pur­suit of this design he not only wasted himself in perpetual toil of study, but most diligently attended the offices of his calling, and that many times when he was in so ill a condi­tion of health, that all besides himself thought it impossible, at least very unfit, for him to do it. His subjects were such as had greatest influence, which he pressed with most affec­tionate tenderness, making tears part of his oratory. And if he observed his sermons to have failed of the desired effect, it was a matter of great sadness to him; where instead of accusing the parties concerned, he charged himself that. his performances were incompetent, and would solicit­ously inquire what he might do to speak more plainly or more movingly; and whether his extemporary wording might not be a defect?

            Besides this he liberally dispensed all other- spiritual aids: From the time that the children of the family became capable, of it, till his death, he made it a part of his daily business to instruct them, allotting the interval between prayers and dinner to that work, observing diligently the little deviations of their manners, and applying remedies unto them. In like sort, that he might ensnare the servants also to their benefit, on Sundays in the afternoon he catechized the children in his chamber, giving liberty, nay invitation, to as many as would to come and hear, hoping they might admit the truths obliquely levelled, which bashfulness persuaded not to inquire for, lest they thereby should own the fault of former inadvertence. Besides he publicly declared himself ready and desirous to assist any person single, and to that purpose having particularly invited such to come at their leisure hours, when any did so, he used all arts of encouragement and obliging condescension; inso­much that having once got the scullion in his chamber upon that errand, he would not give him the uneasiness of stand­ing, but made him sit down by his side: Though in other cases, amidst his infinite humility, he knew well how to. assert the dignity of his place and function.

            Upon this ground of ardent love to souls, a very discon­solate solate and almost desponding person happening some years Since to come to him to unload the burden of his mind, he kept him privately in his chamber for several days, answer­ing every scruple which that unhappy temper of mind sug­gested, and with unwearied patience attending for those little arguments which in him were much more easily silenced than satisfied. This practice continued till he at last discovered his impressions had the desired effect, which proceeded carefully in this'method, that duty still preceded promise, and strict endeavor made way for comfort.

            On the same motive, when some years since a young man, (who by the encouragement of an uncle, formerly the head of a house in Oxford, had been bred up to learning, but by his ejectment was diverted from that course to a country life, and being so, was also married and had children,) amidst his avocations continued to employ his vacant hours in study, and happening on some of the Doctor's writings, was so affected with them, as to leave his wife and family, and employment, to seek out the Doctor himself; the Doctor met this unknown romantic undertaker with his accustomed kindness, and most readily received him into his care for several years, affording him' all assistance both in studies and temporal support, till he at last arrived at good pro­ficiency in knowledge, and is at present a very useful per­son in the church.

            Nor could this zeal to the eternal interest of souls be superseded by any sight of danger. The last year, one in the neighborhood mortally sick of the small-pox, desiring the Doctor to come to him, as soon as he heard of it, though  the disease did then prove more than usually fatal, and the Doctor's age and complexion threatened it particularly so to him, he stayed only so long as to be satisfied whether the party was so sensible that a visit might be of use, and then cheerfully went, telling the person that happened to be present, that’ he should be as much in GOD'S bands in the sick man's chamber as in his own:' And not content with going once, he appointed the next day to have returned again; which he had done, had not the patient's death absolved him of his promise.

            But though to advance the spiritual concerns of all was his unlimited design and endeavor, yet to nourish and advance the early virtue of young persons was his more chosen study: When he saw such an one, he would con­trive ways to insinuate and endear himself, lay hold of every opportunity to represent the beauty, pleasure, and advantage of a pious life; and on the other side, the toil, the danger and the mischief of brutal sensuality: Withal he would be still performing courtesies, thereby to oblige, out of very gratitude to him, obedience and' duty to GOD.

And as the Doctor labored in the rescue of single per­sons, he had an eye therein to multitudes; for wherever he  had planted the seeds of piety, he presently cast about to propagate them thereby to others; engaging all his converts not to be ashamed of religion, but own the seducing men to GOD with as, much confidence as others use when they are factors for the Devil; and instead of lying on the de­fensive part, he gave in charge to choose the other of the assailant. This method he commended not only as the greatest service to his neighbor, but as the greatest secu­rity to ourselves; it being like the not expecting a war at home,, but carrying it abroad into the enemy's country. And nothing in the Christian's warfare he judged so dan­gerous as a truce, and the cessation of hostility. And whereas young people are used to varnish their forbearance of good actions, by a pretence to humility, saying, they are ashamed to do this or that, as not being able to do it well be assured them this was arrant pride, and nothing else.

            His meekness to those that slighted him, and disparaged his abilities, was almost incredible.  As he was never angry with his pertinacious dissenters' for not being of his mind;. no more was he in the least with his scornful opposites. Such was the habitual mastery he had gained over himself, that the strictest considerers of his actions have not in ten years' perpetual conversation seen his passion betray him to an indecent speech.

            Nor was his sufferance of other kinds less exemplary than that he evidenced in the reception of calumny and reproach: For though pain were that to which he was used to say he was of all things most a coward,, yet being under it, he showed an eminent constancy and perfect resigna­tion.

            At the approach of sickness his first consideration was, what failing had provoked the present chastisement, and to that purpose he made his earnest prayer to God (and enjoined his friends to do the like) to convince him of it; nor only so, but tear and rend away, though by the great­est violence and sharpest discipline, whatever was displeas­ing in his eyes, and grant not only patience, but fruitfulness under the rod. Then by repeated acts of submission would he deliver himself up into GOD's hands to do with him as seemed him good; amidst the sharpest pains meekly invok­ing him, acid saying, " GOD's holy will be done.' And even then when on the rack of torture, he would be observ­ing every circumstance of allay: When it was the gout, he would give thanks it was not the stone or cramp; when it was the stone, he would say it was not so sharp as others felt, accusing his impatience that it appeared so bad to him as it did. And when some degree of health was given, he exerted all his strength in a return of thanks to the Author of it, which he performed with most cheerful piety, fre­quently reflecting on the Psalmist's phrase, that it was "a joyful thing to be thankful."

            He was a most diligent observer of every blessing he received, and had them still in readiness to confront with those pressures he at any time lay under. In the inter­missions of his importunate maladies he would with full acknowledgment mention the great indulgence, that he who had in his constitution the cause of so much pain still dwelling with him, should yet by Gon's immediate inter­posing be rescued from the effect.

            To facilitate yet more this his serenity and calm of mind, he laid this rule before him,’ Never to trouble himself with future events, being resolved of our SAVIOR'S maxim, that "sufficient to the day is the evil thereof;" and that it were the greatest folly in the world to perplex one's self with that which perchance will never come, but if it should, then GOD who sent it will dispose it to the best, most cer­tainly to his glory, which should satisfy us; and, unless it be our fault, as certainly to our good, which, if we be not strangely unreasonable, must satisfy in reference to our­selves. Besides all this, in the very dispensation GOD will not fail to give such allay as (like the cool gales under the line) will make the greatest heats of suffering very support­able.' In such occasions he usually subjoined EPICTETUS's dilemma,’ Either the thing before us is in our power, or it is not; if it be, let us apply the remedy, and there will be no motive for complaint; if it be not, the grief is utterly impertinent, since it can do no good.' From the same author he annexed this consideration, that’ every thing has two handles; if the one prove hot, and not to be touched, we may take the other that is more temperate.' And in every occurrent he would be sure to find some cool handle that he might lay bold of.

            To enforce all this, he made a constant recourse to the experience of GOD's dealing with him in, preceding acci­dents, which, however dreadful at a distance, at a nearer view lost much of their terror. And for others that he saw perplexed about the management of their difficult affairs, he was wont to ask them, When: they would begin to trust GOD, or permit him to govern the world? Besides, unto himself and friends he was wont solemnly to give this man­date, Quod sis esse velis, nihilque malis; in his English, To rather nothing; not only to be content or acquiesce, but know the present state to be the very best that could be wished or fancied..

            And thus all private concernments he passed over with perfect indifference; the world and its appendages hanging so loose about him, that he never took notice when any part dropped off, or sate uneasily. Herein indeed he was thoughtful, if somewhat intervened that had duty append­ant to it; in which case he would be solicitous to discern where the obligation lay, but he presently rescued himself from that disquiet by his addresses unto GOD in prayer and fasting: And if the thing in question were of moment, he called in the devotions of his friends.

Of all other things he most disliked the being left to make a choice; and hugely applauded the state of subjec­tion to a superior, where an obsequious diligence was the main ingredient of duty; as also he did the state of subjec­tion to pressure, as a privilege and blessing. And though he prayed as heartily as any person for the return of the nation from captivity, he always first premised the being made receptive of such mercy by repentance. He would often both publicly and privately assert,’ that prosperous iniquity would not be deliverance, but judgment; that the nation during its pressures was under the discipline of GOD, and should the Almighty dismiss us from his hands, and put us into our own, give us up to ourselves, with " Why should ye be smitten any more?" this were of all inflictions the most dreadful.' Though with admirable equanimity he could run over the black annals of the nation, while its calamities were reckoned up, he could scarce hear the slight­est mention of its incorrigible guilt, without dissolving into tears.

            During the current of that tyranny which for so many years we all groaned under, he kept a constant serenity and unthoughtfulness in outward accidents; but the approaching change gave him somewhat of pensive recol­lection, insomuch that he broke forth into these words,’ I must confess I never saw that time in all my life wherein I could so cheerfully say my Nunc dimittis as now. Indeed I do dread prosperity, I do really dread it. For the little good I am now able to do, I can do it with deliberation and advice; but if it should please GOD I should live and be called to any higher office in the Church, I must then do many things in a hurry, and shall not have time to con­sult with others, and I sufficiently apprehend the danger of relying on my own judgment.' Which words he spoke with the greatest concern of earnest melting passion imaginable. Accordingly it pleased, Almighty GOD to deal; having granted to his servant a gracious answer to his prayer in the then every day expected reception of his sacred Majesty, to remove him to solid and unmixed rewards.

            At the opening of the year 166O, when every thing visibly tended to the reduction of his Majesty, the Doctor was by the fathers of the Church desired to repair to Lordon, to assist in the composure of breaches in the Church; which summons as he resolved not to disobey, so could he not without much violence to his inclinations submit to. But finding it his duty, he diverted all uneasiness, and pre­pared himself for this new theatre of affairs.  His first care was to fortify his mind against the usual temptations of business, place, and power. And to this purpose, besides his earnest prayers to GOD for his assistance, and disposal of him entirely to his glory, and a diligent survey of all his inclinations, and of his more open and less defensible parts,. he farther solemnly adjured that friend of his with whom he had then the nearest opportunity of commerce, to study and examine the last ten years of his life; and with the jus­tice" due to a Christian friendship to observe his failings of all kinds, and show them to him.

            And now considering the nation was under its great crisis, and that its cure, if imperfect, would only make way to more fatal sickness, he fell to his devotions on that behalf, and made those two excellent prayers which were published immediately after his death, and were almost the last thing he wrote.

            Being in this state of mind, fully prepared for that new course of life, which had nothing to recommend it to his taste but its unpleasantness, he expected hourly the peremp­tory mandate which was to call him forth out of his beloved retirements.  But in the instant, a more importunate, though infinitely more welcome summons engaged him on his last journey. For on the 4th of April he was seized by a sharp fit of the. stone, with those symptoms that are usual in such cases; which yet upon the voidance of a stone ceased for that time. However, on the 8th of the same month, it returned again with greater violence; and though after two days the pain decreased, the suppression of urine yet continued, with fre­quent vomitings, and a distension of the whole body, and likewise shortness of breath, upon any little motion. He seemed to have a certain knowledge of the issue of his sick­ness; and whereas at other times, when he saw his friends fearful, he was used to reply,’ that he was not dying yet:' Now in the whole current of his disease, he never said any thing to avert suspicion, but told his friends,’ he should leave them in GOD's hands, who could supply abundantly all the assistance they could either expect or desire from him.' And when he observed one of them with some earnestness pray for his health, he with tender passion replied,’ I observe your zeal spends itself all in that one petition for my recovery; in the interim you have no care of me in my greatest interest, which is, that I may be per­fectly fitted for my change: I pray that some of your fer­vor be employed that way.' And being pressed to make it his own request to God to be continued longer in the world, to the service of the Church, he immediately began a solemn prayer, which contained first a very humble and melting acknowledgment of sin, and a most earnest inter­cession for mercy and forgiveness through the merits of his SAVIOR: Next resigning himself entirely into his Maker's hands, he begged’ that if the Divine Wisdom intended him for death, he might have a due preparation for it; but if his life might be in any degree useful to the Church, even to one single soul, then GOD would continue him, and by his grace enable him to employ that life industriously and suc­cessfully.' After this he with great affection interceded for this Church and nation, and with particular vigor prayed for’ sincere performance of Christian duty now so much decayed, to the equal supplanting and scandal of that holy calling; that those who professed that faith might live according to the rules of it, and to the form of godliness super add the power.' This with some repetitions and more tears he pursued, and at last closed alt in a prayer for the family where he was. With this he frequently blessed GOD for so far indulging his infirmity, as to make his disease so painless to him; withal to send it before he took his jour­ney, whereas it might have taken him in the way, with far greater disadvantages.

            Nor did he in this exigence desist from the exercise of his accustomed candor and sweetness, whereby he used to entertain the addresses of the greatest strangers. For two scholars coming at this time to see him, when it appeared they were such as he had no acquaintance with, though they that were about the Doctor proposed that a civil excuse might be made, and the visitants dismissed, he resisted the advice with great earnestness, saying,’ I will by no means have them sent away; for I know not how much they may be concerned in the errand they come about.' And when upon trial it appeared that a compliment was the whole affair, yet the Doctor seemed much satisfied.

            Likewise his own necessities, however pressing, diverted not his concern for those of others. A neighboring lady languishing under a long weakness, he took care that the church-office for the sick should be daily said in her behalf. At the beginning of the Doctor's illness the chaplain made no other variation, than to change the singular into the plural: But when his danger increased, he thought fit to pray peculiarly for him; which he would by no means ad­mit, but said,’ O no, poor soul, let not me be the cause of excluding her;' and accordingly had those prayers con­tinued in the more comprehensive latitude.

            On the’2Oth of April, being Good-Friday, he solemnly received the sacrament; and again on the 22d of April, Easter-day. At which time when the number of communi­cants was too great to have place in his bed-chamber, and the whole office was too long for him to go through with, it was ordered, that the service being performed in the usual apartment, a competent number should afterwards come up and communicate with him: Which though he allowed as most fitting, yet he did so with grief, breaking out into this passionate complaint,’ Alas! must I be excommunicated?' -To be absent from any part of public worship he thus deeply resented: So far was he from their opinion, who in their most healthful days make this not their penance, but choice.

            Amidst his indisposition of all parts, in the act of cele­bration, his devotion only was not faint, but most vigorous; yet equalled by his infinite humility, which discovered itself as in his deportment, so particularly in that his pathetical ejaculation, which brake forth at the hearing of those words of the Apostle, " JESUS CHRIST came into the world to save sinners;" unto which he rejoined, " Of whom I am the chief."

But now through the long suppression of urine the blood being grown thin and serous, the Doctor fell into a violent bleeding at the nose; at which the by-standers being in astonishment, he cheerfully admonished’ to lay aside im­patience in his behalf, and to wait Gon's leisure, whose seasons were still the best;' withal thankfully acknowledged GOD'S mercy in the dispensation, alleging,’ that to bleed to death was one of the most desirable passages out of this world.'

            And he very justly made this observation; for it pleased the Divine Providence strangely to balance the symptoms of the Doctor's disease to his advantage: For the sharp pains of the stone were allayed by that heaviness of sense which the recoiling of serous moisture into the habit of the body - occasioned; and when that oppression endangered a lethar­gic torpor, he was retained from that by the flux of blood. Which several accidents succeeded one the other, insomuch that in this whole time of sickness he neither had long violence of torment, nor diminution of his intellectual faculties. And here this violent bleeding being of itself even -miraculously stopped, when all applications were in­effectual, a drowsiness succeeding, at the time of prayers, though he returned every response, he sadly resented it, saying,’ Alas! this is all the return I shall make to His mercy, to sleep at prayers.'

            When he was in pain he often prayed for patience, and while he did so, evidenced that his prayer was heard; for he exercised not only that, but thankfulness too, in his greatest extremity crying out,’ Blessed be GOD, blessed be GOD!'  Nor did he, according to the usual method, inflict his sickness upon those about him, by peevishness disquieting his attendants; but was pleased with every thing that was done, and liked every thing that, was brought, conde­scending to all proposals, and obeying with all readiness every advice of his physicians. Nor was it wonder he should so accept the endeavors of his friends, who had tender kindness for his enemies, even the most inveterate and bloody. When the defeat of LAMBERT and his party was told him, his only triumph was that of his charity, saying with tears in his eyes,’ Poor souls! I beseech GOD to forgive them.' - So habitual was compassion to his soul, that all representations concentred there: Virtue had still his prayers, because he loved it; and vice en­joyed them too, because it wanted them.

            All this time he administered reliefs to those about him, mixing advices with his prayers, and twisting the tenderness of a friend to that of the Christian. He dispensed his best of legacies, his blessings; most passionately exhorting the young growing hopes of the family, whose first innocence and shame of doing ill he above all things labored to have preserved, to be just to the advantage of their education, and maintain inviolate their first baptismal vows: Then he more generally commended to all the- great advantage of mutual friendly admonitions. On which occasion when the good lady asked him what more special thing he would re­commend to her for her whole life, he briefly repled,’ Uni­form obedience:' Whereby he meant not only a sincere reception of duty, because commanded, and not because it is pleasant or honorable, or perchance cheap or easy; but withal the very condition of obeying, of not being to choose for one's self; the being determined in all proposals by human or divine command; and where those left us at large, by the guidance of Gon's providence, or the assist­ance of a friend.

But amidst these happiest Anodynes of sickness, the 9.5th of April, drew on, wherein his flux of blood breaking forth again with greater violence, was not to be stopped by out­ward applications, nor revulsives of any kind; till at last the fountain being exhausted, the torrent ceased its course for the Doctor leaving off to bleed about three in the after­noon, became weak and dispirited, and cold in the extreme parts, having strength only to persevere in his devotions, which he did to the last moment of his life, a few minutes before his death breathing out those words,’ Lord, make haste.'

            And so upon that very day on which the Parliament con­vened, which laid the foundation of our liberty, this great champion of religion, as if reserved for masteries and com­bats, for persecution and sufferings, was taken hence.  The dead body being opened, the principal and vital parts appeared sound: only the right kidney, or rather its remainder, was hard and knotty, and in its cavity, besides several little ones, was a large stone of the figure of an al­mond, though much bigger, whose lesser end was fallen into the Ureter, and as a stopple closed it up so that it is probable that kidney had for divers years been in a manner useless. The other kidney was swoln beyond the natural proportion, otherwise not much, decayed; but within the Ureter four fingers' breadth around white stone was lodged, which was so fastened in the part, that the physician with his probe could not stir it, and was fain at last to cut it out; and so exactly it stopped the passage, that upon the dissection the water before enclosed gushed forth in great abundance From whence it appeared perfectly impossible for art to have ennobled itself in the preservation of this great per­son; as it was also manifest, that nothing but the conse­quences of his indefatigable study took him from us, in the 55th year of his life.

On the morrow in the evening, the 26th day of the same month, he was, according to his desire, without ostentation or pomp, though with becoming decency, buried at the ­neighbor-church of Hampton, with the usual rites of the Church of England, several of the Gentry and Clergy of the County, and affectionate multitudes of persons of less qual­ity attending on his obsequies, the Clergy with ambition offering themselves to bear him on their shoulders; which accordingly they did, and laid that sacred burden in the burial place of the generous family which with such friend­ship had entertained him when alive; where now he rests in peace, and full assurance of a glorious resurrection.

Having thus given a faithful, though imperfect draught of this excellent person, it may possibly be neither useless nor unacceptable to offer a request to the reader in his be­half, and show him an expedient whereby he may pay his debt of gratitude, and eminently oblige  this holy Saint though now with GOD.

            It is this, to add unto his account in the day of retribu­tion by taking benefit by his performances; and as he being dead yet speaks, so let him persuade likewise, That the covetous reader would now put off his sordid vice, and take courage to be liberal, assured by his exam­ple, that if in the worst of times profuseness could make rich, charity shall never bring to beggary.  That the proud would descend from his fond heights,

instructed here that lowly meekness shall compass respect, and instead of hate or flattery be waited on with love and veneration.

            That the debauched or idle would leave his lewd unwarrrantable joys, convinced that strict and rugged virtue made an age of sunshine, a life of constant smiles, amidst the dreadfullest tempests; taught the gout, the stone, the cramp, the choice, to be treatable companions, and made it eligible to live in bad times and die in flourishing.

            That the angry man, who calls passion at least justice, possibly zeal and duty, would believe that arguments may be answered by saying reason, calumnies by saying No, and railings by saying nothing. That the employed in business would from hence dismiss their fears of regular piety, their suspicion that devotion would hinder dispatch of affairs; since his constant office (like the prayer of JOSHUA, which made the sun stand still) seemed to render unto him each day as long as two.

            That the ambitious person, especially the ecclesiastic, would think employment and high place a stewardship, that renders debtors both to GOD and man; a residence at once of constant labor and attendance too; a precipice that equally exposes to envy and to ruin; and consequently that which should be our greatest fear and terror, but at no hand our choice; since it was that which this heroic con­stancy was not ashamed to own a dread of, and whose ap­pearance rendered death itself a rescue.

            Lastly, That the narrow self-designing person, who un­derstands no kindness but advantage; the sensual, that knows no love but lust; the intemperate, that own no com­panion but drink, may all at once from him reform. their bru­tish errors; since he has made it evident, that a friend does fully satisfy these distant and importunate desires, being as the most innocent and certainly ingenuous entertain­ment, so besides that the highest mirth, the greatest interest, and surest pleasure in the world.

            Persuasions to piety are now usually in scorn called preaching; but it is to be hoped that this, how contempti­ble soever it be grown, will be no indecency in this instance; that it will not be absurd if his history, who deservedly was reckoned among the best of preachers, should bear a cor­respondence to its subject, and close with an application That it adjures all persons to be what they promised GOD Almighty they would be in their baptismal vows, what they see the glorious Saints, and Martyrs, and Confessors, and in particular this holy man has been before them; be what is most honorable, most easy and advantageous at present; and, in a word, to render themselves such as they desire to be upon their death-beds, and then would be for ever.

 

THE
LIFE OF GREGORY LOPEZ:
WRITTEN ORIGINALLY IN SPANISH.

CHAPTER l.

His Birth, and Employment till he was Twenty Years of Age.

            Gregory Lopez was born at Madrid: He seemed as one without father, without mother; for no one ever heard him mention his family, or knew him write to his relations, or inquire concerning them. This made many believe, that he was the son of some persons of great quality. What confirmed them in that opinion was, the manner of his be­havior; genteel, noble, and full of an humble gravity; particularly when he had to do with men of rank and emi­nence; for they admired the freedom and firmness with which he spoke to them,’yet without violating the respect which he owed them.

            2. One having pressed him to tell of what family he was, and what was the name of his father, he appeared some­what moved, and replied with a countenance full of gravity quite extraordinary,’ My country is heaven,. and my father is GOD, who has taught me to call no one father upon earth.' Father JUAN Ozoaio having asked,’ Of what country he was?' he replied only,’ Of the same country with your Reverence.' A few days before his death, when I was re­solved to know the name of his parents, in order to send them an account of his life and of his death, he told me,

            Ever since I left all, to live wholly to Gon, I have con­sidered GOD alone as my Father. And as to my brothers, I do not doubt but they are dead; for I was the youngest of all.' Behold how this servant of GOD had forgot the advantages which he drew from his birth; he considered the nobleness of his family as baseness, and esteemed only the honor which GOD has done us, of being his spiritual children.

            3. He was born the 4th of July, 1542, in the reign of the Emperor, CHARLES the Fifth. At his baptism, he was named GREGORY: As to the surname of LOPEZ, I do not believe it was the name of his family, but rather that he endeavored to conceal himself under that borrowed name.

            4. GOD favored him with uncommon grace, even from his tender years.’ Having once asked him,’ Whether he had begun to serve GOD, as soon as he had the use of reason?' He replied,’ He was not sure, whether he had begun then, or a little after: But it is true, God had blessed him very early with different sentiments from those which children use to have. And he was accustomed to say, as from experience, " Happy is he who bears the yoke of the LORD from his youth."

            5. With a wonderful facility be learned to read, and to write so well, that he surpassed his masters; as one may still judge, by the things written by him, with such ele­gance, such strength, and in1o beautiful a character, that one cannot look upon them without admiration.

It is certain, and he owned it freely, that he never learned either Latin, nor any of the liberal arts or sciences;, so that there is no room to doubt, but it was GOD who was his master in several things, and who taught him many truths divine and human, which others hardly attain by much labor.

            6. Being as yet very young, he went, without saying any thing to his parents, into the kingdom of Navarre, where he remained in a re