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the truth of things, time makes no alteration; things are still the same they are, let the time be past, present, or to come. Those things which we reverence for antiquity, what were they at their first birth? Were they false?-time cannot make them true. Were they true-time cannot make them more true. The circumstance, therefore, of time, in respect of truth and error is merely impertinent.

[Prevalence of an Opinion no Argument for its Truth.] Universality is such a proof of truth, as truth itself is ashamed of; for universality is nothing but a quainter and a trimmer name to signify the multitude. Now, human authority at the strongest is weak, but the multitude is the weakest part of human authority: it is the great patron of error, most easily abused, and most hardly disabused. The beginning of error may be, and mostly is, from private persons, but the maintainer and continuer of error is the | multitude.

the king. Milton, who, as secretary to the council of state, wrote an answer to it, which he entitled Iconoclastes,' or The Image-breaker, alludes to the doubts which prevailed on the subject; but at this time the real history of the book was unknown. The first disclosure took place in 1691, when there appeared in an Amsterdam edition of Milton's 'Iconoclastes,' a memorandum said to have been made by the Earl of Anglesey, in which that nobleman affirms he had been told by Charles II. and his brother that the Ikon Basiliké' was the production of Gauden. This report was confirmed in the following year by a circumstantial narrative published by Gauden's former curate, Walker. Several writers then enbuttered the field on both sides of the question; the principal defender of the king's claim being Wagstaffe, a nonjuring clergyman, who published an elaborate Vindication of King Charles the Martyr,' in 1693. For ten years subsequently, the literary war continued; but after this there ensued a long interval of repose. When Hume wrote his history, the evidence on the two sides appeared so equally balanced, that, with regard to the genuineness of that production, it is not easy,' says he, 'for a historian to fix any opinion which will be entirely to his own satisfaction. The proofs brought to evince that this work is or is not the king's, are so convincing, that if any impartial reader peruse any one side apart, he will think it impossible that arguments could be produced sufficient to counterbalance so strong an evidence; and when he compares both sides, he will be some time at a loss to fix any determination.' Yet Hume confesses that to him the arguments of the royal party appeared the strongest. In 1786, however, the scale of evidence was turned by the publication, in the third volume of the Clarendon State Papers, of some of Gauden's letters, the most important of which are six addressed by him to Lord Chancellor Clarendon after the Restoration. He there complains of the poverty of the see of Exeter, to which he had already been appointed, and urgently solicits a further reward for the important secret service which he had performed to the royal cause. Some of these letters, containing allusions to the circumstance, had formerly been printed, though in a less authentic form; but now for the first time appeared one, dated the 13th of March 1661, in which he explicitly grounds his claim to additional remuneration, not on what was known to the world under my name, but what goes under the late blessed king's name, the Ikon or Portraiture of his majesty in his solitudes and sufferings. This book and figure,' he adds, was wholly and only my invention, making, and design; in order to vindicate the king's wisdom, honour, and piety.' Clarendon had before this learnt the secret from his own intimate friend, Morley, bishop of Worcester, and had otherwise ample means of investigating its truth and not only does he, in a letter to Gauden, fully acquiesce in the unpalatable statement, but, in his History of the Rebellion,' written at the desire of Charles I., and avowedly intended as a vindication of the royal character and cause, he maintains the most rigid silence with respect to the Ikon Basiliké-a fact altogether unaccountable, on the supposition that he knew Charles to be the author of what had brought so much advantage to the royal party, and that he was aware of the falsity of the report current among the opposite faction. Nor is it easy, on that supposition, to conceive for what reason the troublesome solicitations of Gauden were so effectual as to lead to his promotion, in 1662, to the bishopric of Worcester; a dignity, however, of which he did not long enjoy the fruits, for he died in the same year, through dis




JOHN GAUDEN was a theologian of a far more worldly and ambitious character than either of the three preceding divines. He was born in 1605, and when about thirty years of age became chaplain to the Earl of Warwick, one of the Presbyterian leaders, besides obtaining two preferments in the church. Being of a temporising disposition, he professed the opinions in vogue with the carl's party, and in 1640 preached before the house of commons a sermon which gave so much satisfaction, that the members not only voted thanks to him, but are said to have presented him with a silver tankard. Next year, the rich deanery of Bocking, in Essex, was added to his preferments; all of which, when the Presbyterian form of church government and worship was substituted for the Episcopal, he kept by conforming to the new order of things, though not without apparent reluctance. When the army resolved to impeach and try the king in 1648, he published A Religious and Loyal Protestation against their purposes and proceedings: this tract was followed in subsequent years by various other pieces, which he sent forth in defence of the cause of the royalists. But his grand service to that party consisted in his writing the famous Ikon Basiliké; or the Portraiture of his Most Sacred Majesty, in his Solitude and Sufferings, a work professing to emanate from the pen of Charles I. himself, and to contain the devout meditations of his latter days. There appears to have been an intention to publish this Portraiture' before the execution of the king, as an attempt to save his life by working on the feelings of the people; but either from the difficulty of getting it printed, or some other cause, it did not make its appearance till several days after his majesty's death. The sensation which it produced in his favour was extraordinary. It is not easy,' says Hume, to conceive the general compassion excited towards the king by the publishing, at so critical a juncture, a work so full of piety, meekness, and humanity. Many have not scrupled to ascribe to that book the subsequent restoration of the royal family. Milton compares its effects to those which were wrought on the tumultuous Romans by Antony's reading to them the will of Cæsar.' So eagerly and universally was the book perused by the nation, that it passed through fifty editions in a single year; and probably through its influence the title of Royal Martyr was applied to the king. It being of course desirable, for the interest of the ruling party, that the authenticity of the work should be discredited, they circulated a vague rumour that its true author was one of the household chaplains of

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appointment, it is said, at not having obtained the richer see of Winchester, which Clarendon had bestowed upon Morley. Notwithstanding the cogency of the evidence above-mentioned, and of many corroborative circumstances which it is impossible to detail here, the controversy as to the authorship of the Ikon Basiliké' is by some still decided in favour of the king. Such is the conclusion arrived at in a The English church at this time was honoured work entitled Who wrote Ikon Basiliké?' published by the services of many able and profound theoloin 1824 by Dr Wordsworth, master of Trinity col-gians; men who had both studied and thought lege, Cambridge; and a writer in the Quarterly deeply, and possessed a vigorous and original chaReview has ranged himself on the same side. But racter of intellect. The most eloquent and imagiin a masterly article by Sir James Mackintosh, in the Edinburgh Review, the question, notwithstanding some difficulties which still adhere to it, has, we think, been finally and satisfactorily set at rest in favour of Gauden.†


As a sample of the 'Ikon,' we present the following meditations upon

[The Various Events of the Civil War.]

The various successes of this unhappy war have at least afforded me variety of good meditations. Sometimes God was pleased to try me with victory, by worsting my enemies, that I might know how with moderation and thanks to own and use his power, who is only the true Lord of Hosts, able, when he pleases, to repress the confidence of those that fought against me with so great advantages for power and number.

From small beginnings on my part, he let me see that I was not wholly forsaken by my people's love or his protection.

against the present laws and governors, which can never be such as some side or other will not find fault with, so as to urge what they call a reformation of them to a rebellion against them.


Other times God was pleased to exercise my patience, and teach me not to trust in the arm of flesh, but in the living God.

Jeremy Taylor.

My sins sometimes prevailed against the justice of my cause; and those that were with me wanted not matter and occasion for his just chastisement both of them and me. Nor were my enemies less punished by that prosperity, which hardened them to continue that injustice by open hostility, which was begun by most riotous and unparliamentary tumults.

native of all her divines was, however, JEREMY TAYLOR, who has been styled by some the Shakspeare, and by others the Spenser, of our theological literature. He seems to be closely allied, in the complexion of his taste and genius, to the poet of the

I am sure the event or success can never state the justice of any cause, nor the peace of men's consciences, nor the eternal fate of their souls.

There is no doubt but personal and private sins may ofttimes overbalance the justice of public engage-Faery Queen.' He has not the unity and energy, ments; nor doth God account every gallant man (in or the profound mental philosophy, of the great the world's esteem) a fit instrument to assert in the dramatist; while he strongly resembles Spenser in way of war a righteous cause. The more men are his prolific fancy and diction, in a certain musical arprone to arrogate to their own skill, valour, and rangement and sweetness of expression, in prolonged strength, the less doth God ordinarily work by them description, and in delicious musings and reveries, for his own glory. suggested by some favourite image or metaphor, on which he dwells with the fondness and enthusiasm of a young poet. In these passages he is also apt to run into excess; epithet is heaped upon epithet, and figure upon figure; all the quaint conceits of his fancy, and the curious stores of his learning, are dragged in, till both precision and propriety are sometimes lost. He writes like an orator, and produces his effect by reiterated strokes and multiin one of his sermons, is in the highest style of plied impressions. His picture of the Resurrection, poetry, but generally he deals with the gentle and familiar; and his allusions to natural objects-as trees, birds, and flowers, the rising or setting sun, the charms of youthful innocence and beauty, and the helplessness of infancy and childhood-possess fancy. When presenting rules for morning median almost angelic purity of feeling and delicacy of tation and prayer, he stops to indulge his love of nature. Sometimes,' he says, 'be curious to see the preparation which the sun makes when he is coming forth from his chambers of the east.' He compares a young man to a dancing bubble, empty and gay, and shining like a dove's neck, or the image of a rainbow, which hath no substance, and whose

Those with me had, I think, clearly and undoubtedly for their justification the word of God and the laws of the land, together with their own oaths; all requiring obedience to my just commands; but to none other under heaven without me, or against me, in the point of raising arms.

Those on the other side are forced to fly to the shifts of some pretended fears, and wild fundamentals of state, as they call them, which actually overthrow the present fabric both of church and state; being such imaginary reasons for self-defence as are most impertinent for those men to allege, who, being my subjects, were manifestly the first assaulters of me and the laws, first by unsuppressed tumults, after by listed forces. The same allegations they use, will fit any faction that hath but power and confidence enough to second with the sword all their demands


*Vol. xxxii. p. 467.

† Edinburgh Review, vol. xliv. p. 1. The same opinion had previously been supported with great ability by Mr Laing, in his History of Scotland,' vol. i. pp. 390 and 516.

eth the raging of the sea, and the noise of his waves, and the madness of his people, had provided a plank for me, I had been lost to all the opportunities of content or study; but I know not whether I have been more preserved by the courtesies of my friends, or the gentleness and mercies of a noble enemy.'

very imagery and colours are fantastical.' The fulfilment of our duties he calls presenting a rosary or chaplet of good works to our Maker;' and he dresses even the grave with the flowers of fancy. This freshness of feeling and imagination remained with him to the last, amidst all the strife and violence of the civil war (in which he was an anxious This fine passage is in the dedication to Taylor's participator and sufferer), and the still more deaden- Liberty of Prophesying, a discourse published in ing effects of polemical controversy and systems of 1647, showing the Unreasonableness of Prescribing casuistry and metaphysics. The stormy vicissitudes to other Men's Faith, and the Iniquity of Persecuting of his life seem only to have taught him greater Differing Opinions. By 'prophesying' he means gentleness, resignation, toleration for human failings, preaching or expounding. The work has been and a more ardent love of humankind. justly described as 'perhaps, of all Taylor's writJeremy Taylor was a native of Cambridge (bap-ings, that which shows him farthest in advance of tised on the 15th of August, 1613), and descended the age in which he lived, and of the ecclesiastical of gentle, and even heroic blood. He was the system in which he had been reared-as the first lineal representative of Dr Rowland Taylor, who distinct and avowed defence of toleration which had suffered martyrdom in the reign of Queen Mary; been ventured on in England, perhaps in Christenand his family had been one of some distinction in dom.' He builds the right of private judgment upon the county of Gloucester. The Taylors, however, the difficulty of expounding Scripture-the insuffihad fallen into the portion of weeds and outworn ciency and uncertainty of tradition-the fallibility faces,' to use an expression of their most illustrious of councils, the pope, ecclesiastical writers, and the member, and Jeremy's father followed the humble church as a body, as arbiters of controverted points occupation of a barber in Cambridge. He put his son to college, as a sizar, in his thirteenth year, having himself previously taught him the rudiments of grammar and mathematics, and given him the advantages of the Free Grammar school. In 1631, Jeremy Taylor took his degree of bachelor of arts in Caius college, and entering into sacred orders, removed to London, to deliver some lectures for a college friend in St Paul's cathedral. His eloquent discourses, aided by what a contemporary calls his florid and youthful beauty, and pleasant air,' entranced all hearers, and procured him the patronage of Archbishop Laud, the friend of learning, if not of liberty. By Laud's assistance, Taylor obtained a fellowship in All Souls college, Oxford; became chaplain to the archbishop, and rector of Uppingham, in Rutlandshire. In 1639 he married Phoebe Langdale, a female of whom we know nothing but her musical name, and that she bore three sons to her accomplished husband, and died three years after her marriage. The sons of Taylor also died before their father, clouding with melancholy and regret his late and troubled years. The turmoil of the civil war now agitated the country, and Jeremy Taylor embarked his fortunes in the fate of the royalists. By virtue of the king's mandate, he was made a Doctor of Divinity; and at the command of Charles, he wrote a defence of Episcopacy, to which he was by principle and profession strongly attached. In 1644, while accompanying the royal army as chaplain, Jeremy Taylor was taken prisoner by the parliamentary forces, in the battle fought before the castle of Cardigan, in Wales. He was soon released, but the tide of war had turned against the royalists, and in the wreck of the church, Taylor resolved to continue in Wales, and, in conjunction with two learned and ecclesiastical friends, to establish a school at Newton-hall, county of Caermarthen. He appears to have been twice imprisoned by the dominant party, but treated with no marked severity. In the great storm,' he says, 'which dashed the vessel of the church all in pieces, I had been cast on the coast of Wales, and, in a little boat, thought to have enjoyed that rest and quietness which in England, in a far greater, I could not hope for. Here I cast anchor, and thinking to ride safely, the storm followed me with so impetuous violence, that it broke a cable, and I lost my anchor. And here again I was exposed to the mercy of the sea, and the gentleness of an element that could neither distinguish things nor persons: and, but that He that still

and the consequent necessity of letting every man choose his own guide or judge of the meaning of Scripture for himself; since, says he, any man may be better trusted for himself, than any man can be for another-for in this case his own interest is most concerned, and ability is not so necessary as honesty, which certainly every man will best preserve in his own case, and to himself (and if he does not, it's he that must smart for it); and it is not required of us not to be in error, but that we endeavour to avoid it.' Milton, in his scheme of toleration, excludes all Roman Catholics-a trait of the persecuting character of his times; and Jeremy Taylor, to establish some standard of truth, and prevent anarchy, as he alleges, proposes the confession of the apostles' creed as the test of orthodoxy and the condition of union among Christians. The principles he advocates go to destroy this limitation, and are applicable to universal toleration, which he dared hardly then avow, even if he had entertained such a desire or conviction. The style of his masterly Discourse' is more argumentative and less ornate than that of his sermons and devotional treatises; but his enlightened zeal often breaks forth in striking condemnation of those who are curiously busy about trifles and impertinences, while they reject those glorious precepts of Christianity and holy life which are the glories of our religion, and would enable us to gain a happy eternity. He closes the work with the following interesting and instructive apologue, which he had found, he says, in the Jews' books:


'When Abraham sat at his tent door, according to his custom, waiting to entertain strangers, he espied an old man stopping and leaning on his staff, weary with age and travel, coming towards him, who was a hundred years of age. He received him kindly, washed his feet, provided supper, and caused him to sit down; but observing that the old man ate and prayed not, nor begged for a blessing on his meat, asked him why he did not worship the God of heaven? The old man told him that he worshipped the fire only, and acknowledged no other God; at which answer Abraham grew so zealously angry, that he thrust the old man out of his tent, and exposed him to all the evils of the night and an unguarded condition. When the old man was gone, God called to Abraham, and asked him where the stranger was? He replied, I thrust him away because he did not worship thee: God answered him, I have suffered him these hundred years, although he dishonoured me, and couldst thou not endure him one night, when he gave thee no trouble? Upon this, saith the story, Abraham fetched

him back again, and gave him hospitable entertainment and wise instruction. Go thou and do likewise, and thy charity will be rewarded by the God of



or fervent piety. Any remains of a controversial
spirit which might have survived the period of his
busy manhood, were now entirely repressed by the
calm dictates of a wise experience, sanctified by af-
fliction, and by his onerous and important duties as
a guide and director of the Protestant church. He
died at Lisburn of a fever on the 13th of August,
1667, in the fifty-fifth year of his age. A finer
pattern of a Christian divine never perhaps existed.
His learning dignified the high station he at last at-
tained; his gentleness and courtesy shed a grace
over his whole conduct and demeanour; while his
commanding genius and energy in the cause of truth
and virtue, render him worthy of everlasting affec-
We have alluded to the ge-
tion and veneration.
neral character and style of Jeremy Taylor's works.
A late eminent scholar, Dr Parr, has eulogised his
controversial writings: fraught as they are,' he
says, with guileless ardour, with peerless eloquence,
and with the richest stores of knowledge-historical,
classical, scholastic, and theological-they may be
considered as irrefragable proofs of his pure, affec-
tionate, and dutiful attachment to the reformed
church of England.' His uncontroversial writings,
however, form the noblest monument to his memory.
His peculiar tenets may be differently judged of by
different sects. He was perhaps too prone to specu-
lation in matters of doctrine, and he was certainly no
blindly-devoted adherent of the church. His mind
loved to expatiate on the higher things of time,
death, and eternity, which concern men of all par-
ties, and to draw from the divine revelation its
hopes, terrors, and injunctions (in his hands irre-
sistible as the flaming sword), as a means of purify-
ing the human mind, and fitting it for a more exalted
destiny. Theology is rather a divine life than a
divine knowledge. In heaven, indeed, we shall first
see, and then love; but here on earth, we must first
love, and love will open our eyes as well as our
hearts; and we shall then see, and perceive, and un-

The following passages are selected as being among the most characteristic or beautiful in Bishop Taylor's works:

In Wales, Jeremy Taylor was married to Mrs Joanna Bridges, a natural daughter of Charles I., and mistress of an estate in the county of Caermarthen. He was thus relieved from the irksome duties of a schoolmaster; but the fines and sequestrations imposed by the parliamentary party on the property of the royalists, are supposed to have dilapidated his wife's fortune. It is known that he received a pension from the patriotic and excellent John Evelyn, and the literary labours of Taylor were never relaxed. Soon after the publication of the Liberty of Prophesying,' he wrote an Apology for Authorised and Set Forms of Liturgy, and in 1648 The Life of Christ, or the Great Exemplar, a valuable and highly popular work. These were followed by his treatises of Holy Living and Holy Dying, Twentyseven Sermons for the Summer Half-Year, and other minor productions. He wrote also an excellent little manual of devotion, entitled the Golden Grove, so called after the mansion of his neighbour and patron the Earl of Carberry, in whose family he had spent many of his happiest leisure hours. In the preface to this work, Taylor had reflected on the ruling powers in church and state, for which he was, for a short time, committed to prison in Chepstow Castle. He next completed his Course of Sermons for the Year, and published some controversial tracts on the doctrine of Original Sin, respecting which his opinions were rather latitudinarian, inclining to the Pelagian heresy. He was attacked both by High Churchmen and Calvinists, but defended himself with warmth and spirit-the only instance in which his bland and benevolent disposition was betrayed into anything approaching to personal asperity. He went to London in 1657, and officiated in a private congregation of Episcopalians, till an offer was made him by the Earl of Conway to accompany him

[The Age of Reason and Discretion.]

to Ireland, and act as lecturer in a church at Lisburn. Thither he accordingly repaired, fixing his residence at Portmore, on the banks of Lough Neagh, about eight miles from Lisburn. Two years appear to have been spent in this happy retirement, when, in 1660, Taylor made a visit to London, to pub- We must not think that the life of a man begins lish his Ductor Dubitantium, or Cases of Conscience, when he can feed himself or walk alone, when he can the most elaborate, but the least successful, of all his fight or beget his like, for so he is contemporary with works. His journey, however, was made at an aus- a camel or a cow; but he is first a man when he picious period. The Commonwealth was on the eve comes to a certain steady use of reason, according to of dissolution in the weak hands of Richard Crom- his proportion; and when that is, all the world of well, and the hopes of the cavaliers were fanned men cannot tell precisely. Some are called at age at by the artifice and ingenuity of Monk. Jeremy fourteen, some at one-and-twenty, some never; but Taylor signed the declaration of the loyalists of all men late enough; for the life of a man comes upon London on the 24th of April; on the 29th of him slowly and insensibly. But, as when the sun apMay Charles II. entered London in triumphal pro-proaching towards the gates of the morning, he first cession, to ascend the throne; and in August follow-opens a little eye of heaven, and sends away the spirits ing, our author was appointed bishop of Down and of darkness, and gives light to a cock, and calls sup the Connor. The Restoration exalted many a worthless lark to matins, and by and by gilds the fringes of a parasite, and disappointed many a deserving loyalist; cloud, and peeps over the eastern hills, thrusting out let us be thankful that it was the cause of the mitre his golden horns like those which decked the brows of descending on the head of at least one pure and pious Moses, when he was forced to wear a veil, because churchman! Taylor was afterwards made chancellor himself had seen the face of God; and still, while a of the university of Dublin, and a member of the man tells the story, the sun gets up higher, till he Irish privy council. The see of Dromore was also shows a fair face and a full light, and then he shines annexed to his other bishopric, on account of his one whole day, under a cloud often, and sometimes virtue, wisdom, and industry.' These well-bestowed weeping great and little showers, and sets quickly: honours he enjoyed only about six years. The so is a man's reason and his life. He first begins to duties of his episcopal function were discharged with perceive himself, to see or taste, making little reflec zeal, mingled with charity; and the few sermons tions upon his actions of sense, and can discourse of which we possess delivered by him in Ireland are flies and dogs, shells and play, horses and liberty: but truly apostolic, both in spirit and language. The when he is strong enough to enter into arts and little evil days and evil tongues on which he had fallen never caused him to swerve from his enlightened toleration


* Via Intelligentiæ,' a sermon preached by Jeremy Taylor to the university of Dublin.

institutions, he is at first entertained with trifles and impertinent things, not because he needs them, but because his understanding is no bigger, and little images of things are laid before him, like a cock-boat to a whale, only to play withal: but, before a man comes to be wise, he is half dead with gouts and consumption, with catarrhs and aches, with sore eyes and worn-out body. So that, if we must not reckon the life of a man but by the accounts of his reason, he is long before his soul be dressed; and he is not to be called a man without a wise and an adorned soul, a soul at least furnished with what is necessary towards his well-being.

And now let us consider what that thing is which we call years of discretion. The young man is passed his tutors, and arrived at the bondage of a caitiff spirit; he is run from discipline, and is let loose to passion. The man by this time hath wit enough to choose his vice, to act his lust, to court his mistress, to talk confidently, and ignorantly, and perpetually; to despise his betters, to deny nothing to his appetite, to do things that, when he is indeed a man, he must for ever be ashamed of; for this is all the discretion that most men show in the first stage of their manhood. They can discern good from evil; and they prove their skill by leaving all that is good, and wallowing in the evils of folly and an unbridled appetite. And by this time the young man hath contracted vicious habits, and is a beast in manners, and therefore it will not be fitting to reckon the beginning of his life; he is a fool in his understanding, and that is a sad death.

[The Pomp of Death.]

Take away but the pomps of death, the disguises, and solemn bugbears, and the actings by candlelight, and proper and fantastic ceremonies, the minstrels and the noise-makers, the women and the weepers, the swoonings and the shriekings, the nurses and the physicians, the dark room and the ministers, the kindred and the watches, and then to die is easy, ready, and quitted from its troublesome circumstances. It is the same harmless thing that a poor shepherd suffered yesterday, or a maid-servant to-day; and at the same time in which you die, in that very night a thousand creatures die with you, some wise men and many fools; and the wisdom of the first will not quit him, and the folly of the latter does not make him

unable to die.


They that enter into the state of marriage cast a die of the greatest contingency, and yet of the greatest interest in the world, next to the last throw for eternity. Life or death, felicity or a lasting sorrow, are in the power of marriage. A woman, indeed, ventures most, for she hath no sanctuary to retire to from an evil husband; she must dwell upon her sorrow, and hatch the eggs which her own folly or infelicity hath produced; and she is more under it, because her tormentor hath a warrant of prerogative, and the woman may complain to God, as subjects do of tyrant princes; but otherwise she hath no appeal in the causes of unkindness. And though the man can run from many hours of his sadness, yet he must return to it again; and when he sits among his neighbours, he remembers the objection that is in his bosom, and he sighs deeply. The boys, and the pedlars, and the fruiterers, shall tell of this man when he is carried to his grave, that he lived and died a poor wretched


The stags in the Greek epigram, whose knees were clogged with frozen snow upon the mountains, came down to the brooks of the valleys, hoping to thaw their joints with the waters of the stream; but there the frost overtook them, and bound them fast in ice,

till the young herdsmen took them in their stranger snare. It is the unhappy chance of many men, finding many inconveniences upon the mountains of single life, they descend into the valleys of marriage to refresh their troubles; and there they enter into fetters, and are bound to sorrow by the cords of a man's or woman's peevishness.



Man and wife are equally concerned to avoid all offences of each other in the beginning of their conversation; every little thing can blast an infant blossom; and the breath of the south can shake the little rings of the vine, when first they begin to curl like the locks of a new-weaned boy: but when by age and consolidation they stiffen into the hardness of a stem, and have, by the warm embraces of the sun and the kisses of heaven, brought forth their clusters, they can endure the storms of the north, and the loud noises of a tempest, and yet never be broken: so are the early unions of an unfixed marriage; watchful and observant, jealous and busy, inquisitive and careful, and apt to take alarm at every unkind word. After the hearts of the man and the wife are endeared and hardened by a mutual confidence and experience, longer than artifice and pretence can last, there are a great many remembrances, and some things present, that dash all little unkindnesses in pieces.

* *

It is fit that I should

There is nothing can please a man without love; and if a man be weary of the wise discourses of the apostles, and of the innocency of an even and a private fortune, or hates peace, or a fruitful year, he hath reaped thorns and thistles from the choicest flowers of Paradise; for nothing can sweeten felicity itself but love; but when a man dwells in love, then the breasts of his wife are pleasant as the droppings upon the hill of Hermon; her eyes are fair as the light of heaven; she is a fountain sealed, and he can quench his thirst, and ease his cares, and lay his sorrows down upon her lap, and can retire home to his sanctuary and refectory, and his gardens of sweetness and chaste refreshments. No man can tell but he that loves his children, how many delicious accents make a man's heart dance in the pretty conversation of those dear pledges; their childishness, their stammering, their little angers, their innocence, their imperfections, their necessities, are so many little emanations of joy and comfort to him that delights in their persons and society. infuse a bunch of myrrh into the festival goblet, and, after the Egyptian manner, serve up a dead man's bones at a feast: I will only show it, and take it away again; it will make the wine bitter, but wholesome. But those married pairs that live as remembering that they must part again, and give an account how they treat themselves and each other, shall, at that day of their death, be admitted to glorious espousals; and when they shall live again, be married to their Lord, and partake of his glories, with Abraham and Joseph, St Peter and St Paul, and all the married saints. All those things that now please us shall pass from us, or we from them; but those things that concern the other life are permanent as the numbers of eternity. And although at the resurrection there shall be no relation of husband and wife, and no marriage shall be celebrated but the marriage of the Lamb, yet then shall be remembered how men and women passed through this state, which is a type of that; and from this sacramental union all holy pairs shall pass to the spiritual and eternal, where love shall be their portion, and joys shall crown their heads, and they shall lie in the bosom of Jesus, and in the heart of God, to eternal ages.

[The Progress of Sin.]

I have seen the little purls of a spring sweat through the bottom of a bank, and intenerate the stubborn

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