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QNV   XON31    'HOieV 


FAVOURITE  PASSAGES 


MODERN  CHRISTIAN  BIOGRAPHY. 


LONDON: 


/  ?ro 


JAMj:S   HOGG   &   SONS. 


CONTENTS. 


Richard  Cecil        .... 

9 

Andrew  Fuller 

.      22 

Adolphe  Monod     .            .            . 

43 

Frederick  William  Krummacher 

.       53 

Robert  Hall          .... 

60 

John  Foster    .            .            ,            , 

.       70 

Thomas  Arnold     .... 

91 

William  Archer  Butler 

.     106 

Thomas  Chalmers 

129 

Henry  Martyn 

.     149 

John  Williams       .... 

171 

Robert  Murray  M'Cheyne     . 

.     186 

John  Mackintosh 

JO- 

Henry  Havelock 

TT            -.T                                     -liHi  more  atten- 

Hedley  Vicars     . 

James  Wilson               .     ^^''^'^^  ^^'^^  ^^^^^^  ^^'^"'^ 

Patrick  Fraser  Tytlei'^^  imagination. 

INTRODUCTION. 


This  book  is  a  Treasury  of  Biographical  facts,  and 
at  the  same  timcj  as  the  title  imports,  a  collection 
of  some  of  the  finer  passages  in  Modern  Christian 
Biography. 

A  few  lines  will  suffice  to  point  out  the  scope 
and  tendency  of  the  Epitome  here  presented  of 
various  noble  lives ;  of  the  choice  passages  drawn 
from  the  pages  of  their  biographers ;  and  of  the 
extracts  from  the  letters  and  writings  of  the  indi- 
viduals themselves. 

Modern  Christian  Biography  occupies  a  higher 
place  in  the  estimation  of  thoughtful  people  than 
merely  fictitious  narrative,  however  ably  written. 
The  reason  is  obvious.  Actions  really  performed, 
sufierings  and  difficulties  actually  endured  and  over- 
come, by  aid^'of  the  noblest  principles  that  can  in- 
fluence humanity,  must  always  claim  more  atten- 
tion, and  awaken  a  deeper  interest,  than  those  which 
have  their  birth  only  in  the  imagination. 


Yl  INTRODUCTION. 

The  following  pages  exhibit  numerous  highly  in- 
teresting passages  in  the  lives  of  eminent  persons. 
Between  many  of  the  individuals  referred  to,  there 
subsists  a  great  diversity  as  respects  their  intel- 
lectual attainments,  their  professional  occupations, 
and  their  favourite  pursuits.  This  cannot  fail  to 
add  to  the  interest  with  which  the  volume  is  pe- 
rused* as  such  dissimilarity  manifests  the  harmony 
and  unity  of  Christian  character  and  Christian 
principle.  The  work,  therefore,  affords  an  illus- 
tration of  the  important  truth,  that  Christianity  can 
shed  its  hallowing  influence  over  every  profession 
and  every  occupation,  and  can  unite  all  who  are 
under  its  dominion,  how  different  soever  their 
powers,  their  attainments,  and  their  pursuits,  in 
the  bonds  of  that  sacred  brotherhood,  where  they 
all  exhibit  the  same  family  likeness,  and  are  one 
in  faith,  in  hope,  and  in  charity. 

Thus,  the  salutary  influence  of  a  well-spent  life 
is  perpetuated  by  the  written  page,  and  is  felt  at 
once  by  the  young  and  the  more  mature  Christian. 
Sometimes,  it  may  be,  in  times  of  doubt — in  the 
sombre  hours  of  dejection — or  amidst^  the  gloom  of 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  the  story  of  the 
manful  struggle  or  patience  and  resignation  of  some 
one  as  forlorn  as  ourselves  will  cheer  and  sustain. 


INTKODUCTION.  VU 

Sometimes  the  naiTative  of  a  noble  enterprise,  un- 
dertaken with  slender  means,  but  steadily  kept  in 
view,  and  perseveringly  carried  out  under  great  diffi- 
culties, will  inspire  or  cherish  a  holy  zeal,  exciting 
in  us  some  spark  of  that  faith  which  can  indeed 
move  mountains.  Again,  perhaps,  we  catch  a 
glimpse  of  that  important  habit  of  self-searching 
which  purifies  and  steels  the  character  j  that  con- 
stant, stern,  introspection  which  scans  our  motives 
and  elevates  our  aims — seeking  to  retrieve  the  past 
by  improving  the  present,  thus  leading  up  to  that 
height  of  spiritual  efibrt,  where,  in  the  placid  ^^com- 
munion of  saints,"  and  beholding  more  clearly  the 
Divine  excellence,  whilst  striving  to  attain  to  it, 
the  earnest  believer  arrives  at  that  peace  "  which 
passeth  all  understanding." 

Above  all,  in  every  truly  Christian  life  we  find 
the  grand  lesson  of  prayerfulness,  and  the  benefits 
of  a  close,  thorough  knowledge  of  Scripture — that 
daily  duty  of  acquaintance  with  the  sacred  page, 
which,  if  faithfully  observed,  becomes  an  hourly 
comfort.  In  these  days  of  many  books  and  much 
reading,  of  eager  ambition  and  anxious  endeavour, 
it  is  very  needful  to  inculcate  and  impress,  by  every 
possible  means,  and  more  especially  by  help  of  the 
light  of  the  past,  and  the  record  of  its  hard- won  ex- 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

perience,  these  cardinal  rules  of  the  Christian  life. 
So  shall  we  wisely  remember,  that  '*  in  quietness 
and  in  confidence"  shall  be  our  strength.  For  al- 
tliough  "  no  chastening  for  the  present  seemeth  to 
be  joyous,  but  gi*ievous  ;  nevertheless,  afterward  it 
yieldeth  the  peaceable  fruit  of  righteousness  unto 
them  which  are  exercised  thereby." 

In  fine,  we  are  here  taught  the  old  yet  ever-bright 
truth,  that  "  all  things  work  together  for  good  to 
them  that  love  God ! " 


FAVOURITE  PASSAGES 

IN 

MODERN  CHRISTIAN  BIOGRAPHY. 


EICHARD    CECIL. 

EiCHAED  Cecil's  father  was  a  dyer  in  London, 
and  possessed  an  extensive  and  lucrative  business; 
but  although  a  man  of  high  intelligence  and  liberal 
education,  he  was  not  remarkable  for  any  very 
decided  religious  sentiments.  His  mother,  how- 
ever— who  was  a  niece  of  the  Rev.  Dr  Benjamin 
Grosvenor — was  a  woman  of  great  personal  piety, 
and  corresponding  excellence  of  character.  Richard 
Cecil  was  the  child  of  her  old  age.  He  was  born 
when  his  mother  had  passed  her  fiftieth  year.  He 
was  the  child,  too,  of  many  prayers  and  many  tears, 
—  of  prayers  which  were  remarkably  heard ;  of 
tears  not  shed  in  vain. 

It  was  his  father's  earnest  desire  that  he  would 
devote  himself  to  business;  but  Richard  Cecil  could 
not  bring  himself  to  engage  in  trade,  and  occupied 
himself  entirely  in  literary  studies,  and  in  pursuits 
connected  with  the  fine  arts.  He  evinced  especially 
great  taste  for  the  art  of  painting,  his  love  of  which 


10  RICIIARD  CECIL. 

amounted  to  a  passion,  and  he  devoted  a  large  por- 
tion of  his  time  to  the  study  and  practice  requisite 
to  improve  in  it.  During  this  period  of  his  early 
life,  not  only  had  he  no  religious  impressions,  but 
he  had  fallen  into  the  depths  of  sin,  nay,  he  was  a 
professed  infidel,  delighting  in  ridiculing  the  Chris- 
tian faith,  and  by  his  singular  ability  extremely 
successful  in  instilling  his  vicious  principles  into 
the  minds  of  others. 

What  grief  and  mourning  must  have  been  thus 
caused  to  his  excellent  and  pious  mother !  With 
what  earnestness  must  she  have  poured  out  her  soul 
to  God,  for  the  redemption  of  a  beloved  child  who 
thus  seemed  utterly  lost !  But  there  are  many  gra- 
cious promises  given  to  the  prayers  and  efforts  of 
parental  love :  the  good  seed  sown  in  the  soil  of 
the  youthful  heart  by  a  tender  mother's  hand,  al- 
though it  may  remain  for  a  time  buried  and  unpro- 
ductive, frequently  springs  up  in  after  years,  affords 
an  ample  return,  and  the  '^  bread  cast  upon  the 
waters  is  found  after  many  days."  In  Mr  Cecil's 
instance,  his  mother's  work  and  labour  of  love  did 
not  prove  in  vain.  She  had  early  laboured,  both 
by  precept  and  example,  to  impress  his  mind  with 
the  value  and  excellence  of  divine  things,  and  her 
endeavours  had  been  far  from  fruitless,  for  they  had 
led  him  to  secret  prayer,  although  subsequently  all 
his  serious  impressions  faded  away,  and  he  became 
abandoned  to  iniquity.  The  time  nevertheless  at 
length  arrived  when  his  mother's  prayers  and  efforts 


EARLY  LIFE.  11 

were  to  meet  their  reward,  in  lier  sou's  complete 
awakening  from  his  spiritual  torpor. 

"  Lying  one  night  in  bed,"  observes  his  biogra- 
pher, ^^  he  was  contemplating  the  case  of  his  mother. 
'  I  see,'  said  he  within  himself, '  two  unquestionable 
facts.  First,  my  mother  is  greatly  afflicted  in  circum- 
stances, body,  and  mind,  and  yet  I  see  that  she  cheer- 
fully bears  up  under  all,  by  the  support  she  derives 
from  constantly  retiring  to  her  closet  and  her  Bible. 
Secondly,  that  she  has  a  secret  spring  of  comfort 
of  which  I  know  nothing ;  while  I  who  give  an  un- 
bounded loose  to  my  appetites,  and  seek  pleasure 
by  every  means,  seldom  or  never  find  it.  If,  how- 
ever, there  is  any  such  secret  in  religion,  why  may 
not  I  attain  it  as  well  as  my  mother?  I  will  im- 
mediately seek  it  of  God.'  He  instantly  rose  in 
his  bed  and  began  to  pray.  But  he  was  soon 
damped  in  his  attempt,  by  recollecting  that  much 
of  his  mother's  comfort  seemed  to  arise  from  her 
faith  in  Christ.  '  Now,'  thought  he,  '  this  Christ  I 
have  ridiculed;  he  stands  much  in  my  way,  and 
can  form  no  part  of  my  prayers.'  In  utter  confu- 
sion of  mind,  therefore,  he  lay  down  again.  Next 
day,  however,  he  continued  to  pray  to  the  '  Su- 
preme Being; '  he  began  to  consult  books,  and  to 
attend  to  preachers;  his  difficulties  were  gradually 
removed,  his  objections  answered,  and  his  course  of 
life  began  to  amend.  He  now  listened  to  the  pious 
admonitions  of  his  mother,  which  he  had  before 
affected  to  receive  with  pride  and  scorn,  yet  they 


12  RICHARD  CECIL. 

had  fixed  themselves  in  his  heart  like  a  barbed 
arrow ;  and  though  the  effects  were  at  the  time  con- 
cealed from  her  observation,  yet  tears  would  fall 
from  his  eyes  as  he  passed  along  the  streets,  from 
the  impression  she  had  left  on  his  mind.  Now  he 
would  discourse  with  her,  and  hear  her  without  out- 
rage, w^hich  led  her  to  hope  that  a  gracious  prin- 
ciple was  forming  in  his  heart,  and  more  especially 
as  he  then  attended  the  preaching  of  the  Word." 
Thus  he  made  some  progress ;  but  felt  no  small 
difficulty  in  separating  from  his  favourite  connec- 
tions. Light,  however,  broke  into  his  mind,  till 
he  gradually  discovered  that  Jesus  Christ,  so  far 
from  '^  standing  in  his  way,"  was  the  '^  only  Way, 
the  Truth,  and  the  Life  to  all  that  came  unto  God 
by  him."  Under  such  impressions  of  divine  things, 
Mr  Cecil  proceeded  to  Oxford,  entering  Queen's  Col- 
lege on  the  19th  of  May,  1773.  He  was  ordained  in 
due  time,  and  entered  on  his  ministerial  labours. 

After  obtaining  a  temporary  engagement  in  Lei- 
cestershire, Mr  Cecil  was  appointed  to  two  small 
livings  in  the  County  of  Sussex.  His  infirm  health, 
however,  rendered  it  necessary  for  him  to  remove 
to  London,  where  for  several  years  it  pleased  divine 
Providence  to  fix  the  scene  of  his  subsequent  use- 
fulness. In  1800  he  was  prevailed  upon  to  accept 
the  livings  of  Chobham  and  Bisley,  where  the  same 
remarkable  success  with  which  he  had  previously 
been  blessed  continued  to  follow  his  labours.  Mr 
Cecil  died  in  1810. 


REMARKS  ON  THE  SCRIPTURES.  13 

The  sound  judgment,  sterling  pietj,  and  remark- 
able eloquence  with  which  this  excellent  man  was 
endowed  render  it  a  matter  of  deep  regret  that  so 
small  a  portion  of  his  writings  has  been  preserved. 
During  his  last  illness  he  exacted  a  promise  from 
Mrs  Cecil,  that  after  his  decease  all  his  MSS.  should 
be  destroyed,  and  it  was  with  great  reluctance  that 
he  yielded  to  her  request,  that  one  fragment  might 
be  spared.  From  this  portion  of  his  writings  we 
make  the  following  miscellaneous  extracts  on  the 
subject  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  : — 

'^  I  am  an  entire  disciple  of  Butler.  He  calls  his 
book  'Analogy;'  but  the  great  subject  from  be- 
ginning to  end  is  human  ignorance.  Berkeley  has 
done  much  to  reduce  man  to  a  right  view  of  his 
attainments  in  real  knowledge;  but  he  goes  too  far: 
he  requires  a  demonstration  of  self-evident  truths: 
he  requires  to  demonstrate  that  that  table  is  before 
me.  Beattie  has  well  replied  to  this  error,  in  his 
'Immutability  of  Truth;'  though  it  pleased  Mr 
Hume  to  call  that  book — '  Philosophy  for  the 
Ladies.'  " 

''Metaphysicians  seem  born  to  puzzle  and  confound 
mankind.  I  am  surprised  to  hear  men  talk  of  their 
having  demonstrated  such  and  such  points.  Even 
Andrew  Baxter,  one  of  the  best  of  these  metaphy- 
sicians, though  he  reasons  and  speculates  well,  has 
not  demonstrated  to  my  mind  one  single  point  by 


14  RICHARD  CECIL. 

his  reasonings.  They  know  nothing  at  all  on  the 
subject  of  moral  and  religious  truth  beyond  what 
God  has  revealed.  I  am  so  deeply  convinced  of 
this,  that  I  can  sit  by  and  smile  at  the  fancies  of 
these  men;  and  especially  when  they  fancy  they 
have  found  out  demonstrations.  Why,  there  are 
demonstrators,  who  will  carry  the  world  before  them; 
till  anotlier  man  rises,  who  demonstrates  the  very 
opposite,  and  then,  of  course,  the  world  follows 
him! 

'^  We  are  mere  mites  creeping  on  the  earth,  and 
oftentimes  conceited  mites  too.  If  any  Superior 
Being  will  condescend  to  visit  us  and  teach  us, 
something  may  be  known.  '  Has  God  spoken  to 
man  ?  '  This  is  the  most  important  question  that 
can  be  asked.  All  ministers  should  examine  this 
matter  to  the  foundation.  ]Many  are  culpably  ne- 
gligent therein.  But  when  this  has  been  done,  let 
there  be  no  more  questionings  and  surmises.  My 
son  is  not,  perhaps,  convinced  that  I  am  entitled  to 
be  his  teacher.  Let  us  try.  If  he  finds  that  he 
knows  more  than  I  do — well:  if  he  finds  that  he 
knows  nothing,  and  submits — I  am  not  to  renew 
this  conviction  in  his  mind  every  time  he  chooses 
to  require  me  to  do  so. 

''  If  any  honest  and  benevolent  man  felt  scruples 
in  his  breast  concerning  revelation,  he  would  hide 
them  there,  and  would  not  move  wretched  men 
from  the  only  support  which  they  can  have  in  this 
world.     I  am  thoroughly  convinced  of  the  want  of 


EEMAEKS  ON  THE  SCEIPTUEES.  15 

real  integritj  and  benevolence  in  all  infidels.  And 
I  am  as  thoroughly  convinced  of  the  want  of  real 
belief  of  the  Scriptures,  in  most  of  those  who  pro- 
fess to  believe  them. 

'^  Metaphysicians  can  unsettle  things,  but  they  can 
erect  nothing.  They  can  pull  down  a  church,  but 
they  cannot  build  a  hovel.  The  Hutchinsonians 
have  said  the  best  things  about  the  metaphysicians. 
I  am  no  Hutchinsonian ;  yet  I  see  that  they  have 
data,  and  that  there  is  something  worth  proving  in 
what  they  assert." 

"  Principle  is  to  be  distinguished  from  prejudice. 
The  man  who  should  endeavour  to  weaken  my  be- 
lief of  the  truth  of  the  Bible,  and  of  the  fair  deduc- 
tion from  it  of  the  leading  doctrines  of  religion, 
under  the  notion  of  their  being  prejudices,  should  be 
regarded  by  me  as  an  assassin.  He  stabs  me  in  my 
dearest  hopes;  he  robs  me  of  my  solid  happiness; 
and  he  has  no  equivalent  to  offer.  This  species  of 
evidence  of  the  truth  and  value  of  Scripture  is  with- 
in the  reach  of  all  men.  It  is  my  strongest.  It 
assures  me  as  fully  as  a  voice  could  from  heaven, 
that  my  principles  are  not  prejudices.  I  see  in  the 
Bible  my  heart  and  the  world  painted  to  the  life; 
and  I  see  just  that  provision  made,  which  is  com- 
petent to  the  highest  ends  and  effects  on  this  heart 
and  this  world." 

"  The  Bible  resembles  an  extensive  and  highly 


16  RTCHAED  CECIL. 

cultivated  garden,  where  tliere  is  a  vast  variety  and 
profusion  of  fruits  and  flowers,  some  of  which  are 
more  essential  or  more  splendid  than  others;  but 
there  is  not  a  blade  suffered  to  grow  in  it  which  has 
not  its  use  and  beauty  in  the  system.  Salvation 
for  sinners,  is  the  grand  truth  presented  everywhere, 
and  in  all  points  of  light;  but  'the  pure  in  heart' 
sees  a  thousand  traits  of  the  divine  character,  of 
himself,  and  of  the  world — some  striking  and  bold, 
others  cast  as  it  were  into  the  shade,  and  designed  to 
be  searched  for  and  examined — some  direct,  others 
by  way  of  intimation  or  inference." 

''He  who  reads  the  Scriptures  only  in  the  trans- 
lation, is  but  meanly  prepared  as  a  public  teacher. 
The  habit  of  reading  the  Scriptures  in  the  original 
throws  a  new  light  and  sense  over  numberless  pas- 
sages. The  original  has,  indeed,  been  obtruded 
so  frequently,  and  sometimes  so  absurdly,  on  the 
hearers,  that  their  confidence  in  the  translation  has 
been  shaken.  The  judicious  line  of  conduct  herein 
is  to  think  with  the  wise,  and  talk  with  the  vulgar 
— to  attain,  as  far  as  possible,  and  by  all  means,  the 
true  sense  and  force  of  every  passage,  and,  wherever 
that  differs  from  the  received  translation,  work  it  in 
imperceptibly,  that  the  hearers  may  be  instructed 
while  they  receive  no  prejudice  against  that  form  in 
which  they  enjoy  the  Scriptures." 

''  No  man.  will  preach  the  gospel  so  freely  as  the 


REMARKS  ON  THE  SCRIPTURES.  17 

Scriptures  preach  it,  unless  he  will  submit  to  talk 
like  an  Antinomian,  in  the  estimation  of  a  great 
body  of  Christians ;  nor  will  any  man  preach  it  so 
practically  as  the  Scriptures,  unless  he  will  submit 
to  be  called,  by  as  large  a  body,  an  Arminian. 
Many  think  that  they  find  a  middle  path;  which 
is,  in  fact,  neither  one  thing  nor  another;  since  it 
is  not  the  incomprehensible,  but  grand  plan  of  the 
Bible.  It  is  somewhat  of  human  contrivance.  It 
savours  of  human  poverty  and  littleness." 

"  Were  the  Scriptures  required  to  supply  a  direct 
answer  to  every  question,  which  even  a  sincere  in- 
quirer might  ask,  it  would  be  impracticable.  They 
form,  even  now,  a  large  volume.  The  method  of  in- 
struction adopted  in  them  is  therefore  this: — The 
rule  is  given — the  doctrine  is  stated — examples  are 
brought  forward — cases  in  point,  which  illustrate 
the  rule  and  the  doctrine;  and  this  is  found  suffi- 
cient for  every  upright  and  humble  mind." 

"  The  simple  and  unprejudiced  study  of  the  Bible, 
is  the  death  of  religious  extravagance.  Many  read 
it  under  a  particular  bias  of  mind.  They  read  books 
written  by  others  under  the  same  views.  Their 
preaching  and  conversation  run  in  the  same  channel. 
If  they  could  awaken  themselves  from  this  state,  and 
come  to  read  the  whole  Scriptures  for  everything 
which  they  could  find  there,  they  would  start  as 
from  a  dream — amazed  at  the  humble,  meek,  for- 
c 


18  RICHARD  CECIL. 

bearing,  holy,  heavenly  character  of  the  simple  re- 
ligion of  the  Scriptures,  to  which,  in  a  greater  or 
less  degree,  their  eyes  had  been  blinded." 

"The  right  way  of  interpreting  Scripture  is  to  take 
it  as  we  find  it,  without  any  attempt  to  force  it  into 
any  particular  system.  Whatever  may  be  fairly 
inferred  from  Scripture  we  need  not  fear  to  insist  on. 
Many  passages  speak  the  language  of  what  is  called 
Calvinism,  and  that  in  almost  the  strongest  terms. 
I  would  not  have  a  man  clip  and  curtail  these  pas- 
sages to  bring  them  down  to  some  system;  let  him 
go  with  them  in  their  free  and  full  sense ;  for  other- 
wise, if  he  do  not  absolutely  pervert  them,  he  will 
attenuate  their  energy.  But  let  him  look  at  as 
many  more,  which  speak  the  language  of  Armini- 
anism,  and  let  him  go  all  the  way  with  these  also. 
God  has  been  pleased  tlius  to  state  and  to  leave  the 
thing;  and  all  our  attempts  to  distort  it,  one  way  or 
the  other,  are  puny  and  contemptible. 

'^A  man  may  find  much  amusement  in  the  Bible 
— variety  of  prudential  instruction — abundance  of 
sublimity  and  poetry;  but  if  he  stops  there,  he  stops 
short  of  its  great  end — for  ^  the  testimony  of  Jesus 
is  the  spirit  of  prophecy.'  The  grand  secret  in  the 
study  of  the  Scriptures  is  to  discover  Jesus  Christ 
therein,  '  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life.' " 

"  In  reading  the  Scriptures,  we  are  apt  to  think 
God  farther  removed  from  us  than  from  the  persons 


KEMAKKS  ON  THE  SCEIPTUEES.  19 

to  whom  he  spake  therein:  the  knowledge  of  God 
will  rectify  this  error  j  as  if  God  could  be  farther 
from  us  than  from  them.  In  reading  the  Old  Testa- 
ment especially,  we  are  apt  to  think  that  the  things 
spoken  there,  in  the  prophet  Hosea,  for  instance, 
have  little  relation  to  us;  the  knowledge  taught  by 
Christian  experience  will  rectify  this  error;  as  if 
religion  were  not  always  the  same  sort  of  transac- 
tion between  God  and  the  soul." 

*'  There  are  two  different  ways  of  treating  the 
truths  of  the  gospel — the  scientific  and  the  simple. 
It  was  seriously  given  me  in  charge,  when  I  first 
entered  into  the  ministry,  by  a  female  who  attended 
my  church,  that  I  should  study  Baxter's  'Catholic 
Theology.'  I  did  so ;  but  the  best  idea  that  I  ac- 
quired from  this  labour  was,  that  the  most  saga- 
cious and  subtle  men  can  make  out  little  beyond 
the  plain,  obvious,  and  broad  statement  of  truth  in 
the  Scriptures.  I  should  think  it  a  very  proper 
and  suitable  punishment  for  a  conceited  and  prag- 
matical dogmatist,  to  oblige  him  to  digest  that 
book.  Another  great  truth,  indeed,  we  may  gather 
from  it ;  and  that  is,  that  the  intemperate  men  on 
either  side  are  very  little  aware  of  the  consequences 
which  may  be  legitimately  drawn  from  their  prin- 
ciples. Even  Dr  Owen  has  erred.  I  would  not 
compare  him,  in  this  respect,  with  Baxter ;  for  he 
has  handled  his  points  with  far  greater  wisdom  and 
simplicity :  yet  he  errs  ex  ahundanti.     He  attempts 


20  RICHARD  CECIL. 

to  make  out  things  with  more  accuracj,  and  clear- 
ness, and  system,  than  the  Bible  will  warrant.  The 
Bible  scorns  to  be  treated  scientifically.  After  all 
your  accurate  statements  it  will  leave  you  aground. 
The  Bible  does  not  come  round  and  ask  our  opinion 
of  its  contents.  It  proposes  to  us  a  constitution  of 
grace,  which  we  are  to  receive  though  we  do  not 
wholly  comprehend  it.  Numberless  questions  may 
be  started  on  the  various  parts  of  this  constitution. 
Much  of  it  I  cannot  understand,  even  of  what  re- 
spects myself;  but  I  am  called  to  act  on  it.  And 
this  is  agreeable  to  analogy.  My  child  will  ask 
me  questions  on  the  fitness  or  unfitness  of  what  I 
enjoin,  but  I  silence  him:  'You  are  not  yet  able 
to  comprehend  this ;  your  business  is  to  believe  me, 
and  obey  me.'  But  the  schoolmen  will  not  be  satis- 
fied with  this  view  of  things ;  yet  they  can  make 
nothing  out  satisfactorily.  They  have  their  de  re 
and  their  de  nomine;  but  nothing  is  gained  by  these 
attempts  at  clearness  and  nice  distinctions.  These 
very  accurate  men,  who  think  they  adjust  every- 
thing with  precision,  cannot  agree  among  one  an- 
other, and  do  little  else  than  puzzle  plainer  minds." 

''  Whatever  definitions  men  have  given  of  re- 
ligion, I  can  find  none  so  accurately  descriptive  of 
it  as  this — that  it  is  such  a  belief  of  the  Bible  as 
maintains  a  living  influence  on  the  heart.  Men  may 
speculate,  criticise,  admire,  dispute  about,  doubt,  or 
believe  the  Bible;  but  the  religious  man  is  such 


REMARKS  ON  THE  SCKIPTUKES.  21 

because  lie  so  believes  it,  as  to  cany  habitually  a 
practical  sense  of  its  truths  on  his  mind." 

^'  The  fears  of  the  general  class  of  Christians  are 
concerned  about  the  superstructure  of  religion ;  but 
those  of  speculative  minds  chiefly  relate  to  the  foun- 
dation. The  less  thinking  man  doubts  whether  he 
is  on  the  foundation ;  he  whose  mind  is  of  a  more 
intellectual  turn  doubts  concerning  the  foundation 
itself.  I  have  met  with  many  of  these  speculative 
cases.  Attacks  of  this  nature  are  generally  sudden. 
A  suspicion  will,  by  surprise,  damp  the  heart,  and, 
for  a  time,  will  paint  the  Bible  as  a  fable.  I  have 
found  it  useful  on  such  occasions  to  glance  over  the 
whole  thread  of  Scripture.  The  whole,  presented 
in  such  a  view,  brings  back  the  mind  to  its  proper 
tone ;  the  indelible  characters  of  simplicity  and 
truth  impress  with  irresistible  effect  that  heart  which 
can  discern  them  as  having  once  felt  them-" 


ANDREW    FULLER. 

Fe\y  writers  have  made  more  valuable  contributions 
to  theological  literature  than  Andrew  Fuller ;  and 
whether  we  regard  him  as  an  author,  a  preacher  of 
the  gospel,  or  a  private  Christian,  few  men  have 
been  more  successful  in  obtaining  the  respect  and 
affection  of  their  contemporaries,  or  the  gratitude 
and  veneration  of  posterity.  This  excellent  man 
was  born  at  Wicken,  a  small  village  near  Soham, 
on  the  6th  February,  1754.  His  father  was  a  far- 
mer, and  although  in  comparatively  humble  circum- 
stances, greatly  esteemed  for  the  excellence  of  his 
character.  Andrew  Fuller  followed  his  father's  oc- 
cupation till  he  was  about  twenty  years  of  age, 
and  notwithstanding  the  instruction  he  had  received 
from  his  parents,  and  the  admirable  example  by 
which  that  instruction  was  enforced,  his  character 
and  conduct  were  far  from  being  exemplary.  He 
had  contracted  from  some  dissolute  companions  a 
habit  of  swearing  and  a  disregard  for  truth,  which 
filled  them  with  distress  and  anxiety.  Happily, 
however,  their  pious  efforts  were  not  wholly  lost ; 
the  impressions  which  they  had  made  on  his  mind 
were  revived,  and  instead  of  pursuing  the  down- 
ward course  he  had  begun,  he  stopped  sliort  in  his 
career  of  folly,  and  by  the  salutar}  change  of  his 
conduct  afforded   unquestionable   e^idence   of  his 


A  HAPPY  CHANGE.  23 

being  savingly  affected  by  the  influences  of  gospel 
truth.  He  now  abandoned  his  occupation  as  a 
farmer,  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  theology, 
and  ultimately  became  pastor  of  the  Baptist  Church 
at  Soham,  exhibiting,  notwithstanding  the  defects 
of  his  early  education,  the  most  remarkable  fitness 
for  the  office  of  a  Christian  teacher.  Mr  Fuller 
gives  the  following  account  of  the  happy  change 
which  had  been  effected  in  his  life  before  he  devoted 
himself  to  the  ministry  : — 

"  Notwithstanding  various  convictions  and  tran- 
sient affections,  I  was  pressing  on  in  a  lamentable 
career  of  wickedness ;  but,  about  the  autumn  of 
1769,  my  convictions  revisited  me,  and  brought  on 
such  a  concern  about  my  everlasting  welfare,  as 
issued,  I  trust,  in  real  conversion. 

''  It  was  my  common  practice,  after  the  business 
of  the  day  was  over,  to  get  into  bad  company  in 
the  evening,  and  when  there  I  indulged  in  sin  with- 
out restraint.  But,  after  persisting  In  this  course 
for  some  time,  I  began  to  be  very  uneasy,  particu- 
larly in  a  morning  when  I  first  awoke.  It  was 
almost  as  common  for  me  to  be  seized  with  keen 
remorse  at  this  hour,  as  it  was  to  go  into  vain  com- 
pany in  the  evening.  At  first  I  began  to  make 
vows  of  reformation,  and  this,  for  the  moment, 
would  afford  a  little  ease ;  but  as  the  temptations 
returned,  my  vows  were  of  no  account.  It  was  an 
enlightened  conscience  only  that  was  on  the  side  of 
God :  my  heart  was  still  averse  to  everything  that 


24  ANDREW  FULLER. 

was  spiritual  or  holy.  For  several  weeks  I  went 
on  in  this  way,  vowing,  and  breaking  my  vows,  re- 
flecting on  myself  for  my  evil  conduct,  and  yet 
continually  repeating  it. 

"  It  was  not  now,  however,  as  heretofore ;  my 
convictions  followed  me  up  closely.  I  could  not, 
as  formerly,  forget  these  things,  and  was  therefore 
a  poor  miserable  creature :  like  a  drunkard,  who 
carouses  in  the  evening,  but  mopes  about  the  next 
day  like  one  half  dead. 

''  One  morning  (I  think  in  November,  1769),  I 
walked  out  by  myself,  with  an  unusual  load  of  guilt 
upon  my  conscience.  The  remembrance  of  my  sin, 
not  only  on  the  past  evening,  but  for  a  long  time 
back;  tlie  breach  of  my  vows,  and  the  shocking 
termination  of  my  former  hopes  and  affections,  all 
uniting  together,  formed  a  burden  which  I  knew 
not  how  to  bear.  The  reproaclies  of  a  guilty  con- 
science seemed  like  the  gnawing  worm  of  hell.  I 
thought  surely  that  must  be  an  earnest  of  hell  itself. 
The  fire  and  brimstone  of  the  bottomless  pit  seemed 
to  burn  within  my  bosom.  I  do  not  write  in  the 
language  of  exaggeration.  I  now  know  that  the 
sense  which  I  then  had  of  the  evil  of  sin  and  the 
wrath  of  God  was  very  far  short  of  the  truth,  but 
yet  it  seemed  more  than  I  was  able  to  sustain.  In 
reflecting  upon  my  broken  vows,  I  saw  that  there 
was  no  truth  in  me.  I  saw  that  God  would  be 
perfectly  just  in  sending  me  to  hell,  and  that  to 
hell  I  must  go,  unless  I  were  saved  of  mere  grace, 


DAKKNESS.  25 

and,  as  it  were,  in  spite  of  myself.  I  felt  that,  if 
God  were  to  forgive  me  all  my  past  sins,  I  should 
again  destroy  my  soul,  and  that  in  less  than  a  day's 
time.  I  never  before  knew  what  it  was  to  feel  my- 
self an  odious  lost  sinner,  standing  in  need  of  both 
pardon  and  purification.  Yet,  though  I  needed 
these  blessings,  it  seemed  presumption  to  hope  for 
them,  after  what  I  had  done.  I  was  absolutely 
helpless,  and  seemed  to  have  nothing  about  me  that 
ought  to  excite  the  pity  of  God,  or  that  I  could 
reasonably  expect  should  do  so;  but  everything 
disgusting  to  him,  and  provoking  to  the  eyes  of  his 
glory.  'What  have  I  done?  what  must  1  do?'  These 
were  my  inquiries,  perhaps  ten  times  over.  Indeed, 
I  knew  not  what  to  do.  I  durst  not  promise  amend- 
ment, for  I  saw  that  such  promises  were  self-decep- 
tion. To  hope  for  forgiveness,  in  the  course  that  I 
was  in,  was  the  height  of  presumption ;  and  to  think 
of  Christ,  after  having  so  basely  abused  his  grace, 
seemed  too  much.  So  I  had  no  refuge.  At  one 
moment  I  thought  of  giving  myself  up  to  despair. 
'  I  may,'  said  I,  within  myself,  '  even  return  and 
take  my  fill  of  sin;  I  can  but  be  lost.'  This  thought 
made  me  shudder  at  myself.  My  heart  revolted. 
What,  thought  I,  give  up  Christ,  and  hope,  and 
heaven!  Those  lines  of  Ralph  Erskine's  then  oc- 
curred to  my  mind: — 

"  '  But  say,  if  all  the  gusts 

A.nd  grains  of  love  be  spent. 
Say,  Farewell  Christ,  and  Welcome  lusts!  "^ 

Stop,  stop:  I  melt,  I  faint.'  .aUSC 

D 


26  ANDREW  FULLER. 

I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  plunging  myself 
into  endless  ruin. 

*^It  is  difficult,  at  this  distance  of  time,  to  recollect 
with  precision  the  minute  workings  of  my  mind; 
but,  as  near  as  I  can  remember,  I  was  like  a  man 
drowning,  looking  eveiy  way  for  help,  or  rather 
catching  for  something  by  which  he  might  save  his 
life.  I  tried  to  find  whether  there  were  any  hope 
in  the  divine  mercy — any  in  the  Saviour  of  sinners  j 
but  felt  repulsed  by  the  thought  of  mercy  having 
been  so  basely  abused  already.  In  this  state  of 
mind,  as  I  was  moving  slowly  on,  I  thought  of  the 
resolution  of  Job :  '  Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I 
trust  in  him.'  I  paused,  and  repeated  the  words 
over  and  over.  Each  repetition  seemed  to  kindle  a 
ray  of  hope  mixed  with  a  determination,  if  I  might, 
to  cast  my  perishing  soul  upon  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
for  salvation,  to  be  both  pardoned  and  purified;  for 
I  felt  that  I  needed  the  one  as  much  as  the  other. 

'^  I  was  not  th^n  aware  that  any  poor  sinner  had 
a  warrant  to  believe  in  Christ  for  the  salvation  of 
his  soul,  but  supposed  there  must  be  some  kind  of 
qualification  to  entitle  him  to  do  it;  yet  I  was  aware 
I  had  no  qualification.  On  a  review  of  my  resolu- 
tion at  that  time,  it  seems  to  resemble  that  of  Esther, 
who  went  into  the  king's  presence  contrary  to  the 
law,  and  at  the  hazard  of  her  life.  Like  her,  I 
seemed  reduced  to  extremities,  impelled  by  dire 
rnecessity  to  run  all  hazards,  even  tJiough  I  should 
'"ish  in  the  attempt.     Yet  it  was  not  altogether 


LIGHT  ARISES.  i27 

from  a  dread  of  wrath  that  I  fled  to  this  refuge;  for 
I  well  remember  that  I  felt  something  attracting  in 
the  Saviom*.  I  must — I  will — yes,  I  will  trust  my 
soul,  my  sinful  lost  soul,  in  his  hands.  If  I  perish,  I 
perish !  However  it  was,  I  was  determined  to  cast 
myself  upon  Christ,  thinking  peradventure  he  would 
save  my  soul ;  and,  if  not,  I  could  but  be  lost.  In 
this  way  I  continued  above  an  hour,  weeping  and 
supplicating  mercy  for  the  Saviour's  sake  (my  soul 
hath  it  still  in  remembrance,  and  is  humbled  in  me): 
and,  as  the  eye  of  the  mind  was  more  and  more  fixed 
upon  him,  my  guilt  and  fears  were  gradually  and 
insensibly  removed. 

''I  now  found  rest  for  my  troubled  soul;  and  I 
reckon  that  I  should  have  found  it  sooner,  if  I  had 
not  entertained  the  notion  of  my  having  no  warrant 
to  come  to  Christ  without  some  previous  qualifica- 
tion. This  notion  was  a  bar  that  kept  me  back  for 
a  time,  though,  through  divine  drawings,  I  was  en- 
abled to  overleap  it.  As  near  as  I  can  remember, 
in  the  early  part  of  these  exercises,  when  I  sub- 
scribed to  the  justice  of  God  in  my  condemnation, 
and  thought  of  the  Saviour  of  sinners,  I  had  then 
relinquished  every  false  confidence,  believed  my 
help  to  be  only  in  him,  and  approved  of  salvation 
by  grace  alone,  through  his  death ;  and  if  at  that 
time  I  had  known  that  any  poor  sinner  might  war- 
rantably  have  trusted  in  him  for  salvation,  I  con- 
ceive I  should  have  done  so,  and  have  found  rest  to 
my  soul  sooner  than  I  did.    I  mention  this,  because 


28  ANDREW  FULLER. 

it  may  be  the  case  with  others,  who  may  be  kept  in 
darkness  and  despondency  by  erroneous  views  of  the 
gospel,  much  longer  than  1  was. 

'^  I  think,  also,  I  did  repent  of  my  sin  in  the  early 
part  of  tliese  exercises,  and  before  I  thought  that 
Christ  would  accept  and  save  my  soul.  I  conceive 
that  justifying  God  in  my  condemnation,  and  ap- 
proving the  way  of  salvation  by  Jesus  Christ,  ne- 
cessarily included  it ;  but  yet  I  did  not  think  at  the 
time  that  this  was  repentance,  or  anything  truly 
good.  Indeed,  I  thought  nothing  about  the  exer- 
cises of  my  own  mind,  but  merely  of  my  guilty  and 
lost  condition,  and  whether  there  were  any  hope 
of  escape  for  me.  But,  having  found  rest  for  my 
soul  in  the  cross  of  Christ,  I  was  now  conscious  of 
my  being  the  subject  of  repentance,  faith,  and  love. 
When  I  thought  of  my  past  life,  I  abhorred  myself, 
and  repented  as  in  dust  and  ashes ;  and  when  I 
thought  of  the  gospel  way  of  salvation,  1  drank  it 
in,  as  cold  water  is  imbibed  by  a  thirsty  soul.  My 
heart  felt  one  with  Christ,  and  dead  to  every  other 
object  around  me.  I  had  thought  I  had  found  the 
joys  of  salvation  heretofore  ;  but  now  I  knew  I  had 
found  them,  and  was  conscious  that  I  had  passed 
from  death  unto  life. 

"  From  this  time  my  former  wicked  courses  were 
forsaken.  I  had  no  manner  of  desire  after  them. 
They  lost  their  influence  upon  me.  To  those  evils, 
a  glance  at  which  before  would  have  set  my  pas- 
sions in  a  flame,  I  now  felt  no  inclination.    My  soul, 


SORROW  COMES.  29 

said  Ij  with  joy  and  triumph,  is  as  a  weaned  child. 
I  now  knew  experimentally  what  it  was  to  be  dead 
to  the  world  by  the  cross  of  Christ,  and  to  feel  an 
habitual  determination  to  devote  my  future  life  to 
God  my  Saviour ;  and  from  this  time  I  considered 
the  vows  of  God  as  upon  me." 

Soon  after  his  appointment  to  his  charge  at 
Soham,  Mr  Fuller  married  Miss  Sarah  Gardiner,  a 
member  of  his  church,  and  a  lady  possessed  of  all 
those  qualities  which  were  requisite  to  his  happi- 
ness. This  event  took  place  in  December  1776. 
His  circumstances  at  this  time  w^ere  such  as  to  be 
scarcely  compatible  with  a  vigorous  performance  of 
his  duties,  or  a  successful  course  of  study.  His 
income  was  extremely  limited,  and  in  order  to  sup- 
port his  family  he  had  recourse  to  business,  by 
opening  a  shop.  His  efforts,  however,  were  not 
sufficient  to  prevent  the  pecuniary  embairassment 
to  which  he  was  subjected,  and  which  necessarily 
unfitted  him  to  discharge  his  duties,  as  well  as  in- 
jured his  bodily  health.  Indeed,  the  manner  in 
which  he  sustained  those  severe  trials  affords  of 
itself  unquestionable  evidence  of  the  singular  men- 
tal vigour  with  which  he  was  endowed. 

In  the  midst  of  those  painful  privations,  he  was 
invited  to  become  the  pastor  of  the  Baptist  Church 
at  Kettering,  and  this  invitation,  after  considerable 
reluctance,  he  accepted,  removing  to  Kettering  in 
1782.  Ten  years  afterwards,  it  pleased  divine 
Providence  to  remove  from  him  his  beloved  wife, 


30  ANDREW  FULLER. 

after  a  lingering  illness,  and  although  he  subse- 
quently married  a  second  time,  he  had  no  small 
share  of  affliction  to  sustain.  The  conduct  of  his 
son  Kobert  occasioned  him  the  deepest  grief  and 
anguish.  The  young  man  had  been  apprenticed 
in  London,  but  he  proved  so  unsteady  that  he  was 
obliged  to  leave  his  employment.  He  then  enlisted, 
but  was  discharged  on  the  ground  of  being  an  ap- 
prentice, and  having  subsequently  entered  the  Ma- 
rines, he  was  liberated  from  the  service  by  his 
father's  efforts.  Neither  his  father's  entreaties  or 
exhortations  had  any  influence  upon  him ;  and  as 
he  seemed  bent  upon  a  seafaring  life,  arrangements 
were  made  for  his  joining  a  merchant  vessel  JBe 
fore  this  could  be  effected,  however,  he  fell  into  the 
hands  of  a  pressgang,  and  was  carried  on  board  a 
man-of-war.  The  unhappy  youth  at  last  died  at 
sea,  in  1809,  after  having  undergone  many  vicis- 
situdes, and  this  event,  terminating  a  career  such 
as  his  had  been,  filled  his  fiither's  heart  with  the 
deepest  sorrow. 

Notwithstanding  such  fifflictions,  Mr  Fuller  still 
continued  to  labour  amidst  his  flock,  to  pursue  his 
favourite  studies,  to  prepare  his  works  for  the  press, 
and  to  project  and  carry  out  various  schemes  of 
Christian  philanthropy.  The  Baptist  Society  for 
the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel  owed  its  existence  to 
him  and  a  few  zealous  friends;  and  although  the 
impediments  and  obstacles  they  met  with  at  the 
outset  Averc  of  the  most  formidable  description,  they 


PEACE  AT  LAST.  <31 

continued  their  efforts  with  unremitting  energy  and 
perseverance.  The  funds  requisite  to  such  under- 
takings as  this  society  had  in  view,  could  be  raised 
only  by  the  most  earnest  and  incessant  labour,  and 
to  this  Mr  Fuller  devoted  himself,  advocating  the 
cause  of  the  society  in  many  parts  of  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland,  and  happily  with  no  inconsiderable 
success.  In  addition  to  the  personal  toil  arising 
from  this  indispensable  advocacy,  there  was  an  ex- 
tensive correspondence  to  be  maintained,  and  vari- 
ous arrangements  to  be  made  from  time  to  time, 
the  principal  burden  of  which  devolved  almost 
wholly  on  Mr  Fuller,  who,  as  the  sphere  of  the 
society's  labours  extended  itself,  underwent  a  de- 
gree of  toil,  physical  and  mental,  which  it  would  be 
difficult  fully  to  estimate.  Independently  of  the 
exertion  requisite  to  procure  adequate  funds,  the 
special  arrangements  of  the  various  missions,  the  en- 
countering and  removing  of  obstacles  to  their  pro- 
gress, the  sending  out  of  suitable  missionaries,  and 
the  necessity  of  supporting  the  society's  claims 
through  the  instrumentality  of  the  press,  would 
have  constituted  an  amount  of  duty  more  than  suf- 
ficient of  itself  for  any  one  individual.  It  was  no 
wonder,  therefore,  that,  notwithstanding  all  his 
mental  activity  and  energy  of  character,  his  abun- 
dant and  incessant  labours  proved  too  much  for 
him.  His  health  at  length  gave  way,  and  lie  died 
on  the  7th  of  May,  1814,  deeply  regretted  not  only 
by  those  of  his  own  denomination,  but  by  all  sin- 


32  ANDREW  FULLER. 

cere  Christians  of  every  church.  The  celebrated 
Robert  Hall  preached  his  funeral  sermon,  and  re- 
ferred to  his  lamented  friend  as  "  a  man  whose  sa- 
gacity enabled  him  to  penetrate  to  the  depths  of 
every  subject  he  explored  ;  whose  conceptions  were 
so  powerful  and  luminous,  that  what  -was  recondite 
and  original  appeared  familiar,  what  was  intricate, 
easy  and  perspicuous,  in  his  hands ;  equally  suc- 
cessful in  enforcing  the  practical,  in  stating  the  the- 
oretical, and  discussing  the  polemical  branches  of 
theology.  Without  the  advantages  of  early  edu- 
cation, he  rose  to  high  distinction  among  the  reli- 
gious writers  of  his  day,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  most 
active  and  laborious  life,  left  monuments  of  his  piety 
and  genius  which  will  survive  to  distant  posterity. 
Were  I  making  his  eulogium,  I  should  necessarily 
dwell  on  the  spotless  integrity  of  his  private  life,  his 
fidelity  in  friendship,  his  neglect  of  self-interest,  his 
ardent  attachment  to  truth,  and  especially  the  series 
of  his  unceasing  labours  and  exertions  in  superin- 
tending the  mission  to  India.  He  had  nothing 
feeble  or  indecisive  in  his  character ;  but  to  every 
undertaking  in  which  he  engaged  he  brought  all 
the  powers  of  his  understanding,  all  the  energies  of 
his  heart ;  and,  if  he  were  less  distinguished  by  the 
comprehension  than  the  acumen  and  solidity  of  his 
thoughts,  less  eminent  for  the  gentler  graces  than 
for  stern  integrity  and  native  grandeur  of  mind,  we 
have  only  to  remember  the  necessary  limitation  of 
human  excellence.     While  he  endeared  himself  to 


TESTIMONY  OF  ROBERT  HALL.  3:5 

his  denomination  by  a  long  course  of  most  useful 
laboui-j  by  his  excellent  works  on  the  Socinian  and 
Deistical  controversies,  as  well  as  his  devotion  to  the 
cause  of  missions,  he  laid  the  world  under  lasting 
obligations." 

In  the  memoir  of  Mr  Toller  by  the  same  eloquent 
writer,  appears  a  masterly  comparison  of  the  peculi- 
arities of  both : — 

"  It  has  rarely  been  the  privilege  of  one  to^sm, 
and  that  not  of  considerable  extent,  to  possess,  at 
the  same  time,  and  for  so  long  a  period,  two  such 
eminent  men  as  Mr  Toller  and  Mr  Fuller.  Their 
merits  as  Christian  ministers  were  so  equal,  and  yet 
so  different,  that  the  exercise  of  their  religious  func- 
tions in  the  same  place  was  as  little  adapted  to  pro- 
duce jealousy  as  if  they  had  moved  in  distant  spheres. 
The  predominant  feature  in  the  intellectual  charac- 
ter of  Mr  Fuller  was  the  power  of  discrimination 
by  which  he  detected  the  minutest  shades  of  differ- 
ence among  objects  which  most  minds  would  con- 
found. Mr  Toller  excelled  in  exhibiting  the  com- 
mon sense  of  mankind  in  a  new  and  impressive 
form.  Mr  Fuller  never  appeared  to  so  much  ad- 
vantage as  when  occupied  in  detecting  sophistry, 
repelling  objections,  and  ascertaining,  with  a  micro- 
scopic accuracy,  the  exact  boundaries  of  truth  and 
error.  Mr  Toller  attached  his  attention  chiefly  to 
those  parts  of  Christianity  which  came  most  into 
contact  with  the  imagination  and  the  feelings,  over 
which  he  exerted  a  sovereign  ascendency.    Mr  Ful- 


M  ANDREW  FULLER. 

ler  convinced  by  his  arguments,  Mr  Toller  subdued 
by  his  pathos ;  the  former  made  his  hearers  feel  the 
grasp  of  his  intellect,  the  latter  the  contagion  of  his 
sensibility.  Mr  Fuller's  discourses  identified  them- 
selves after  they  were  heard  with  trains  of  thought ; 
Mr  Toller's  with  trains  of  emotion.  The  illustra- 
tions employed  by  Mr  Fuller,  for  he  also  excelled 
in  illustration,  were  generally  made  to  subserve  the 
clearer  comprehension  of  his  subject ;  those  of  Mr 
Toller  consisted  chiefly  of  appeals  to  the  imagi- 
nation and  the  heart.  Mr  Fuller's  ministry  was 
peculiarly  adapted  to  detect  hypocrites,  to  expose 
fallacious  pretensions  to  religion,  and  to  separate 
the  precious  from  the  vile.  Mr  Toller  was  most  in 
his  element  when  exhibiting  the  consolations  of 
Christ,  dispelling  the  fears  of  death,  and  painting 
the  prospects  of  eternity.  Both  were  original ;  but 
the  originality  of  Mr  Fuller  appeared  chiefly  in  his 
doctrinal  statements;  that  of  Mr  Toller  in  his  prac- 
tical remarks.  The  former  was  unquestionably  most 
conversant  with  speculative  truth ;  the  latter  pos- 
sessed, perhaps,  the  deeper  insight  into  the  human 
heart. 

''  Nor  were  the  characters  of  these  eminent  men, 
within  the  limits  of  that  moral  excellence  which 
was  the  attribute  of  both,  less  diversified  than  their 
mental  endowments.  Mr  Fuller  was  chiefly  distin- 
guished by  the  qualities  that  command  veneration; 
Mr  Toller  by  those  which  excite  love.  Laborious, 
zealou?,  intrepid,  Mr  Fuller  passed  through  a  thou- 


TESTIMONY  OF  ROBEKT  HALL.  35 

sand  obstacles  in  the  pursuit  of  objects  of  public  in- 
terest and  utility;  Mr  Toller  loved  to  repose,  de- 
lighting and  delighted,  in  the  shade  of  domestic 
privacy.  The  one  lived  for  the  world ;  the  other 
for  the  promotion  of  the  good  of  his  congregation, 
his  family,  and  friends.  An  intense  zeal  for  the 
advancement  of  the  kingdom  of  Christ,  sustained 
by  industry  that  never  tired,  a  resolution  not  to  be 
shaken,  and  integrity  incapable  of  being  warped, 
conjoined  to  a  certain  austerity  of  manner,  were  the 
leading  characteristics  of  Mr  Fuller ;  gentleness,  hu- 
mility, and  modesty,  those  of  Mr  Toller.  Mr  Fuller 
attached,  in  my  opinion,  too  much  importance  to  a 
speculative  accuracy  of  sentiment,  while  Mr  Toller 
leaned  to  the  contrary  extreme.  Mr  Fuller  was 
too  prone  to  infer  the  character  of  men  from  their 
creed;  Mr  Toller  to  lose  sight  of  their  creed  in  their 
character. 

"  Between  persons  so  dissimilar,  it  was  next  to 
impossible  a  very  close  and  confidential  intimacy 
should  subsist:  a  sincere  admiration  of  each  other's 
talents,  and  esteem  for  the  virtues  which  equally 
adorned  them  both,  secured,  without  interruption, 
for  more  than  thirty  years,  those  habits  of  kind  and 
respectful  intercourse  which  had  the  happiest  effect 
in  promoting  the  harmony  of  their  connections,  and 
the  credit  of  religion. 

"  Much  as  Mr  Fuller  was  lamented  by  the  reli- 
gious public  in  general,  and  especially  in  his  own 
denomination,  1  have  reason  to  believe  there  was 


36  ANDREW  FULLER. 

not  a  single  individual,  out  of  the  circle  of  his  im- 
mediate relatives,  who  was  more  deeply  affected  by 
liis  death  than  Mr  Toller.  From  that  moment  he 
felt  himself  nearer  to  eternity;  he  accepted  the  event 
as  a  most  impressive  warning  of  his  own  dissolu- 
tion; and,  while  a  thousand  solemn  and  affecting 
recollections  accompanied  the  retrospect  of  a  con- 
nection which  had  so  long  and  so  happily  subsisted, 
one  of  his  favourite  occupations  was  to  revive  a 
mental  intercourse,  by  the  frequent  perusal  of  the 
sermons  of  his  deceased  friend.  It  is  thus  that  the 
friendship  of  high  and  sanctified  spirits  loses  no- 
thing by  death  but  its  alloy ;  failings  disappear, 
and  the  virtues  of  those  whose  '  faces  we  shall  be- 
hold no  more'  appear  greater  and  more  sacred  when 
beheld  through  the  shades  of  the  sepulchre." 

From  Mr  Wilberforce  the  following  brief  refe- 
rence was  received  by  a  friend  of  Mr  Fuller: — '^But 
all  this  time  1  have  been  thinking  of  our  departed 
friend;  for  ours,  not  yours,  I  must  term  him;  at 
least,  it  will  go  ill  with  me  and  with  any  one  who  does 
not  belong  to  that  blessed  society  to  which  he  be- 
longs. There  is  a  part  of  his  works,  '  The  Gospel 
its  own  Witness,'  which  is  enough  to  warm  the 
coldest  heart." 

The  pen  of  his  friend  Dr  Stuart  has  exhibited  his 
character  in  some  points  of  view  scarcely  touched 
upon  in  the  ])receding  delineations.  '^  He  was  distin- 
guished by  talents  rarely  united,  by  strong  reason- 
ing powers,  and  a  very  vivid  and  inventive  imagina- 


37 

tion,  accompanied  with  the  more  unusual  attendants 
of  extreme  diligence,  application,  activity,  and  perse- 
verance. His  conceptions  were  clear  and  precise, 
his  language  perspicuous  and  animated.  Though 
no  orator,  if  graceful  action  and  melody  of  voice  are 
requisite  in  one  so  deemed,  he  yet  possessed  a  force, 
a  vehemence,  and  a  tenderness  also  of  address,  which 
qualified  him  to  rouse  and  awaken  as  well  as  per- 
suade, indeed,  to  soothe  and  plead  in  pathetic  tones, 
the  effect  of  which  has  been  witnessed  in  audiences 
of  all  descriptions.  Perhaps  more  beautiful  instances 
will  not  anywhere  be  found  of  picturesque  writing 
than  several  parts  present  of  his  '  Expository  Dis- 
courses on  Genesis;'  the  reference  here  is  chiefly  to 
his  remarks  on  the  history  of  Joseph.  Let  the 
reader  judge  if  he  does  not  display  here  singular 
felicity  of  taste,  and  very  skilful  disposition,  arrange- 
ment and  selection  of  circumstances  worked  up,  but 
not  artfully,  so  as  to  excite  the  most  affecting  feel- 
ings in  every  susceptible  mind.  His  usual  conver- 
sation with  his  friends  was  rich,  profitable,  and 
interesting  in  no  common  degree;  and  had  they 
followed  the  example  of  Lauterbach  and  Aurifaber 
with  respect  to  Martin  Luther,  or  of  Boswell  to- 
wards Johnson,  preserved  in  writing  memorandums 
of  his  daily  discourse,  perhaps  instruction  as  in- 
teresting might  now  be  laid  before  the  public, 
and  even  entertainment  as  rich  and  inviting,  as 
the  'Colloquia  Mensalia'  of  the  former,  or  the 
life  and  conversation  of  the  latter.      His  natural 


38  ANDREW  FULLEE. 

temper,  although  it  might  have  been  thouglit 
deficient  in  what  is  amiable  by  some  who  have 
smarted  perhaps  under  his  castigatiorij  7iot  unae- 
servedhjj  to  his  friends  was  not  only  agreeable 
but  captivating,  and  productive  of  the  warmest 
attachment;  and  by  his  friends  I  mean  not  those 
only  whose  sentiments  were  the  same  as  his  in 
all  respects." 

To  these  testimonies  of  friendship  may  be  appro- 
priately added  that  of  his  bereaved  widow  in  a  let- 
ter to  Dr  Eyland: — 

"  I  think,  dear  sir,  there  was  no  one  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  dear  deceased,  in  his  public  cha- 
racter, than  yourself;  we  can,  therefore,  give  you 
no  information  on  that  head ;  but  far  be  it  from  me 
to  wish  it  to  be  held  up  in  the  style  of  panegyric. 
I  am  certain  that  would  have  ill  accorded  with  his 
sentiments  and  feelings ;  and  I  know  that  this  may 
be  safely  left  to  your  discretion.  But  I  cannot  for- 
bear adding  my  testimony  to  my  late  dear  hus- 
band's conduct  in  his  domestic  character;  which, 
so  far  as  his  mind  was  at  liberty  to  indulge  in  such 
enjoyments,  I  must  testify  to  have  been,  ever  since 
I  had  the  happiness  of  being  united  to  him,  of  the 
most  amiable  and  endearing  kind.  But  to  so  great 
a  degree  was  he  absorbed  in  his  work,  as  scarcely 
to  allow  himself  any  leisure  or  relaxation  from  the 
severest  application  ;  especially  since,  of  late  years, 
his  work  so  accumulated  on  his  hands.  I  was  some- 
times used  to  remark,  how  much  we  were  occupied, 


LETTER  TO  DR  RYLAND.  39 

for,  indeed,  I  had  no  small  share  of  care  devolved 
upon  me  in  consequence;  his  reply  usually  was, 
'  Ah,  my  dear,  the  v- ay  for  us  to  have  any  joy  is 
to  rejoice  in  all  our  labour,  and  then  we  shall  have 
plenty  of  joy.'  If  I  complained  that  he  allowed 
himself  no  time  for  recreation,  he  would  answer, 
'Oh  no;  all  my  recreation  is  a  change  of  work.'  If 
I  expressed  an  apprehension  that  he  would  soon 
wear  himself  out,  he  would  reply,  'I  cannot  be 
worn  out  in  a  better  cause.  We  must  work  while 
it  is  day;'  or,  'Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do, 
do  it  with  thy  might.' 

''  There  was  a  degree  of  bluntness  in  his  manner, 
which  yet  did  not  arise  from  an  unsociable  or  chur- 
lish disposition,  but  from  an  impatience  of  interrup- 
tion in  the  grand  object  of  his  pursuit.  In  this 
sense,  he  seemed  not  to  know  his  relations  or  friends. 
Often,  when  a  friend  or  an  acquaintaace  on  a  jour- 
ney has  called,  when  they  had  exchanged  a  few 
words,  he  would  ask,  '  Have  you  anything  more  to 
say?'  or  something  to  that  effect;  'if  not,  I  must 
beg  to  be  excused;'  at  the  same  time,  asking  them 
to  stay  and  take  some  refreshment,  if  they  chose. 
Yet  you  know,  dear  sir,  he  had  a  heart  formed  for 
the  warmest  and  sincerest  friendship  with  those 
whose  minds  were  congenial  with  his  own,  and  who 
were  engaged  in  similar  pursuits;  and  I  never 
knew  him  to  be  weary  of  their  company.  I  am 
fially  persuaded  that  my  dear  husband  fell  a  sacri- 
fice to  his  unremitting  application  to  the  concerns 


40  ANDREW  FULLER. 

of  the  mission;  but  I  dare  not  murmur.  The  Lord 
has  done  as  it  pleased  him;  and  I  know  that  what- 
ever he  does  is  right." 

An  anecdote  or  two  may  serve  to  ilkistrate  some 
peculiar  features  of  his  character.  Speaking  of  Dr 
Franklin  as  an  example  of  a  philosopher: — 

'^Well,"  said  Mr  Fuller,  '^what  do  jou  call  a 
philosopher,  or  in  what  respect  was  he  one?"  "Oh, 
he  seems  to  have  made  rules  for  himself  in  child- 
hood, which  regulated  him  even  in  old  age."  Mr 
Fuller  replied,  "If  this  be  any  mark  of  a  philosopher, 
you  will  make  me  one.  My  father  was  a  farmer, 
and?  in  my  younger  days  it  was  one  great  boast 
among  the  ploughmen,  that  they  could  plough  a 
straight  line  across  the  furrows  or  ridges  of  a  field. 
I  thought  I  could  do  this  as  well  as  any  of  them. 
One  day,  I  saw  such  a  line,  which*  had  just  been 
drawn,  and  I  thought,  ^  Now  I  have  it.'  Accord- 
ingly, I  laid  hold  of  the  plough,  and,  putting  one 
of  the  horses  into  the  furrow  which  had  been  made, 
I  resolved  to  keep  him  walking  in  it,  and  thus 
secure  a  parallel  line.  By  and  by,  however, 
I  observed  that  there  were  what  might  be  called 
wriggles  in  this  furrow;  and,  when  I  came  to 
them,  they  turned  out  to  be  larger  in  mine  than 
in  the  original.  On  perceiving  this,  I  threw  the 
plough  aside,  and  determined  never  to  be  an  imi- 
tator." 

The  late  ]\Ir  Hinton,  of  Oxford,  relates  of  him, 
that  passing  down  some  of  the  college  walks  in  that 


41 

university,  his  attention  was  directed  to  the  gran- 
deur of  the  buildings.  ''  Brother,"  said  he,  "  I 
think  there  is  one  question  which,  after  all  that  has 
been  written  on  it,  has  not  yet  been  answered: 
'What  is  justification?'  Mr  Hinton  proposed  re- 
turning to  discuss  the  subject;  to  which  Mr  Fuller 
agreed,  adding,  "  that  inquiry  is  far  more  to  me 
than  all  those  fine  buildings."  Yet  he  was  far 
from  being  insensible  to  these  memorials  of  genius, 
still  less  to  the  charms  of  natural  scenery,  as  his 
graphic  allusions  to  York,  Lincoln,  Stirling,  and 
many  other  places  referred  to  in  his  letters  to  Mrs 
Fuller,  evince. 

Though  Mr  Fuller's  celebrity  was  chiefly  derived 
from  his  writings,  his  preaching  was  characterised 
by  great  power,  which  resulted  not  less  from  a  ten- 
der pathos  both  of  tone  and  sentiment,  than  from 
the  unafiected  gravity  and  authority  w4iich  distin- 
guished it.  As  an  expositor  of  the  Scriptures  he 
was  singularly  happy,  both  in  the  light  which  he 
shed  on  difficult  passages,  and  the  rich'  evangelical 
unction  which  attended  his  application  of  them. 
During  his  ministry  he  went  over  the  greater  part 
of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments.  His  expositions 
of  Genesis  and  the  Revelation  are  all  that  remain, 
with  the  exception  of  some  fragments  which  ap- 
peared in  various  periodicals,  which,  with  number- 
less other  communications,  are  comprised  in  his 
published  works.  The  comment  on  the  Apocalypse 
does  not  appear  to  have  thrown  much  additional 
F 


42  ANDREW  FULLER. 

light  on  that  prophecy.  A  vohime  of  sermons  pub- 
lished in  1814,  some  of  v.-luch  had  appeared  singly 
in  preceding  years,  afford  a  favourable  specimen  of 
the  originality,  simplicity,  and  power  of  his  pulpit 
labours. 


ADOLPHE    MONOD. 

Dr  Adolphe  Monod  was  the  son  of  the  late  Eev. 
John  Monod  of  Paris,  and  one  of  a  large  family  of 
brothers  and  sisters,  many  of  whom  still  survive 
him.  Three  of  his  brothers  have  been  like  himself 
distinguished  for  their  success  and  eloquence  as 
preachers  of  the  gospel.  After  having  been  edu- 
cated at  home,  he  presented  himself  for  examina- 
tion— in  accordance  with  the  liberal  and  judicious 
practice  which  prevails  in  France — at  one  of  the 
colleges  of  Paris,  and  received  his  diploma  as  Ba- 
chelor of  Letters.  He  afterwards  pursued  his  theo- 
logical studies  at  the  University  of  Geneva,  and 
commencing  his  clerical  career,  became  chaplain  to 
the  Prussian  embassy  at  Xaples,  whence  he  was 
called  to  be  one  of  the  pastors  of  the  National  Pro- 
testant Church  in  Lyons  in  France. 

In  this  important  field  of  labour,  his  great  abi- 
lities soon  made  him  widely  known  and  extremely 
popular.  In' or  can  this  be  a  matter  of  surprise, 
when  we  consider  the  remarkable  qualities  with 
which  he  was  endowed.  Although  not  a  large 
man,  or  possessed  of  a  commanding  presence,  he 
was  peculiarly  suited  to  excel  in  the  eloquence  of 
the  pulpit.  His  scholarship  was  accurate  and  ex- 
tensive, his  style  singularly  beautiful  and  perspi- 


44  ADOLPHE  MONOD. 

cuous,  and  his  discourses,  wliich  were  composed 
with  the  utmost  care,  were  delivered  with  a  voice 
which  was  melody  itself. 

Excellent  as  his  gifts  for  pulpit  oratory  were,  Dr 
Monod's  theological  views,  when  he  first  settled  at 
Lyons,  were  not  in  strict  accordance  with  a  truly 
evangelical  system.  It  was  not  long,  however,  be- 
fore, through  divine  grace,  he  was  enabled  to  per- 
ceive and  to  embrace  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus. 
He  beheld  Christ  in  his  Divine  as  well  as  in  his 
Human  nature,  and  recognised  him  as  the  only  Me- 
diator between  God  and  men.  As  the  necessary 
consequence,  his  preaching  underwent  a  vast  change, 
and  the  result  was  similar  to  that  which  has  so  fre- 
quently been  manifested  in  the  history  of  Christi- 
anity. Many  of  the  rich  and  worldly  among  his 
congregation  were  astonished  and  offended  not  only 
at  his  doctrines,  but  at  the  plainness  with  which  he 
pressed  those  doctrines  upon  them.  The  dissatisfac- 
tion soon  spread,  and  Dr  ^lonod,  unable  to  make  any 
alteration  on  those  views  of  the  accuracy  of  which 
he  was  thoroughly  convinced,  found  it  requisite  to 
resign  his  charge,  and  open  a  place  of  worship  in 
which  he  should  be  at  liberty  to  proclaim  the  whole 
counsel  of  God.  Nothing  could  be  more  success- 
ful than  this  step ;  for,  although  at  first  only  a  few 
poor  people  attended  upon  his  ministry  in  a  private 
house,  the  congregation  speedily  increased  to  several 
hundreds,  and  a  chapel  was  at  length  erected  in  a 
central  part  of  the  city. 


HIS  VARIOUS  LABOURS.  45 

In  1836,  Dr  Monod  received  from  Baron  Petit, 
who  was  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  under  Louis 
Philippe,  an  appointment  to  the  Chair  of  Sacred 
Eloquence  in  the  Theological  Seminary  at  I\Iontau- 
ban,  an  institution  connected  with  the  National 
Eeformed  Church  of  France.  The  duties  of  this 
professorship  he  discharged  for  several  years  with 
great  ability,  finding  leisure  at  the  same  time  for 
the  production  of  some  of  his  most  valuable  publi- 
cations. But  he  did  not  restrict  his  labours  only 
to  those  which  related  to  his  chair,  or  to  the  press. 
During  his  vacations  he  visited  Paris  and  other  im- 
portant cities,  or  occupied  himself  in  making  mis- 
sionary tours  in  the  southern  provinces  of  France, 
and  wherever  he  preached,  his  ministry  was  at- 
tended by  multitudes  of  people.  The  last  eight  or 
nine  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  the  French 
capital,  where  he  devoted  himself  with  great  effect 
to  the  preaching  of  the  gospel,  and,  by  the  divine 
blessing,  greatly  contributed  to  spread  the  influence 
of  evangelical  truth  throughout  the  ecclesiastical 
body  with  which  he  was  connected.  Dr  Monod 
rested  from  his  labours  in  1856,  and  amidst  the 
iatense  bodily  suffering  with  which  he  was  visited, 
he  gave  triumphant  testimony  to  the  truth  of  those 
glorious  doctrines  he  had  devoted  his  life  to  pro- 
claim. He  died  universally  lamented  by  the  whole 
Protestant  community  of  France. 

Before  presenting  our  readers  with  a  specimen  of 
Dr  Monod's  composition,  we  shall  cite  a  passage 


46  ADOLPHE  MONOD. 

referring  to  liim  from  the  pen  of  the  Eev.  Dr  Baird  : 
"  I  have  no  hesitation,"  says  the  rev.  doctor,  ^'  in 
decLaring  that  Adolphe  Monod  is  the  most  finished 
orator  I  have  heard  on  the  Continent.  Modest, 
humble,  simple  in  his  appearance  and  dress,  pos- 
sessing a  voice  which  is  music  itself,  his  powerful 
mind,  and  vivid  but  chaste  imagination,  made  their 
influence  felt  on  the  soul  of  every  hearer  in  a  vray 
that  is  indescribable.  The  nearest  approach  to  giv- 
ing a  true  idea  of  it  would  be  to  say,  that  his  elo- 
quence is  of  the  nature  of  a  charm,  which  steals 
over  one,  and  yet  is  so  subtle,  that  it  is  not  possible 
to  say  in  what  consists  its  elemental  force.  I  have 
often  heard  Ravignan,  the  great  Jesuit  preacher  in 
France,  and  Bautrin,  by  far  the  best  preacher  in  my 
opinion  in  the  Eoman  Catholic  Church,  but  they 
were  much  inferior  to  Adolphe  Monod.  If  Pro- 
fessor Vinet  of  Lausanne  was  the  Pascal  of  the 
French  Protestants  in  those  days,  Dr  Monod  was 
their  Bossuet.  But  Drs  Vinet  and  Monod  were 
incomparably  superior  to  Pascal  and  Bossuet  as 
expounders  of  evangelical  truth,  which  is,  after  all, 
the  highest  glory  of  the  Christian  teacher." 

The  following  extracts  are  from  an  eloquent  and 
admirable  discourse  on  the  Mission  of  Woman : — 

'^  Am  .1  mistaken,  my  sisters  (it  is  for  you  to 
say),  am  I  mistaken  in  thinking  that  there  is  no- 
thing upon  earth  more  in  sympathy  with  Jesns  Christ 
than  the  heart  of  w^oman?  Superfluous  question! 
Ah,  no,  I  am  not  deceived,  or  your  heart  would 


THE  MISSION  OF  WOMAN.  47 

deny  all  its  instincts !  Tlie  Christian  faith,  so  truly 
founded  in  the  depths  of  humanity  that  it  is  not 
wonderful  only  because  common,  adapts  itself  so 
marvellously  to  all  the  needs  of  your  moral  being, 
that  you  cannot  be  truly  woman  except  upon  condi- 
tion of  receiving  the  Gospel.  The  Christian  woman 
is  not  only  the  best  of  women,  but  at  the  same  time 
most  truly  a  woman.  0,  you,  then,  who  would  ac- 
complish the  humble  and  benevolent  mission  of 
your  sex — heneath  the  cross ^  or  never! 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  sisters,  the  first  aid  which  man 
has  a  right  to  expect  from  you  is  spiritual  aid.  It  is 
little  to  be  indebted  to  you  for  the  consolation  of 
this  life  of  a  day,  if  he  owes  not  to  you,  so  far  as  it 
is  in  your  power,  the  possession  of  eternal  life.  Not 
only  that  true  charity,  which  subordinates  time  to 
eternity,  demands  it  of  you,  but  justice  itself,  as  we 
have  shown  from  the  Scriptures.  Your  sex  has  an 
original  wrong  to  repair  towards  ours,  and  a  spiritual 
wrong.  That  with  which  we  reproach  you  in  the 
lall  where  we  have  followed  you,  if  we  feel  not  bound 
to  restrict  our  reproaches  to  ourselves,  is  not  that 
death  which  you  have  introduced  into  the  world, 
neither  that  embittered  life  which  your  sympathy 
even  cannot  always  alleviate — it  is  a  much  greater 
evil,  the  only  real  and  absolute  evil — Sin^  which  the 
first  man  was  doubtless  inexcusable  in  committino^, 
but  which  he  was  beguiled  to  commit  by  woman. 

"  Imagine  Eve  kneeling  with  Adam  beside  the 
corpse  of  one  son  murdered  by  the  other,  whom  the 


48  ADOLPHE  MONOD. 

divine  curse  drives  far  out  upon  the  wild  and  soli- 
tary earth.  In  sight  of  the  visible  and  present  fruits 
of  sin,  and  with  the  thoughts  of  its  invisible  and 
future  results,  if  the  tender  look  of  Adam  said  not 
to  Eve,  Give  me  back  the  favour  of  my  God!  give  me 
back  my  peace  with  myself!  give  me  back  the  days 
of  Eden,  and  my  sweet  innocence,  and  my  holy  love 
for  the  Saviour  and  for  thee! — doubt  not  that  she 
said  all  this  to  herself!  To  her,  it  seemed  very 
little  to  heap  upon  him  the  consolations  of  earth, 
if  she  could  not  bring  to  him  those  of  heaven;  and, 
unable  to  repair  the  wrong  she  had  done  him,  she 
urges,  she  implores  him  to  turn  his  weeping  eyes  to 
the  Deliverer  promised  to  repair  all,  to  re-establish 
all,  and  to  open  to  the  fallen  but  reconciled  race,  a 
second  Eden  more  beautiful  than  that  to  which  the 
sv.'ord  of  the  cherubims  henceforth  forbade  entrance. 
If  such  are  the  sentiments  of  Eve,  let  her  be  blessed, 
although  she  be  Eve !  With  this  heart.  Eve  ap- 
proximates Mary ;  and  in  the  woman  who  ruined 
the  world  by  sin,  I  discover  already  the  woman 
who  will  save  it  by  giving  to  it  the  Saviour. 

*^  Well,  now,  this  that  she  would  do,  do  yourselves. 
Though  no  one  of  you  has  been  an  Eve  to  man, 
yet  be  each  of  you  a  Mary  to  him,  and  give  him  a 
Saviour!  This,  this  is  your  task!  But,  if  you 
respond  not  to  it,  refusing  to  pass  your  life  in  the 
exercise  of  beneficence,  you  shall  fail  of  your  call- 
ing; and,  after  having  been  saluted  of  man  by  the 
name  of  '  good  woman,'  '  deaconess,'  or  '  sister  of 


THE  MISSION  OF  WOMAN.  49 

charity,'  you  shall  be  accounted  of  God,  ^  as  sound- 
ing brass  and  a  tinkling  cymbal.'  But  how  can 
you  give  the  Saviour  to  others,  if  you  do  not  pos- 
sess him  in  your  own  heart?  Women  who  hear 
me,  yet  again — heneath  the  cross,  or  never/ 

"  We  say  nothing  of  those  holy  women  of  the  Old 
Testament,  who  died  in  faith  before  the  coming  of 
the  Saviour, '  not  having  received  the  promises,  but 
having  seen  them  afar  off  and  embraced  them : ' 
neither  of  the  pious  Sarah,  nor  of  the  modest  Re- 
bekah,  nor  of  the  tender  Rachel,  nor  of  the  heroic 
Deborah,  nor  of  the  humble  Ruth,  nor  of  the  sweet 
wife  of  Elkanah,  nor  of  the  prudent  Abigail,  nor  of 
the  intrepid  Rizpah,  nor  of  the  retiring  Shuna- 
mite.  We  confine  ourselves  to  the  women  of  the 
New  Testament. 

^^  Beneath  the  cross,  Mary,  more  touching  now 
than  at  the  cradle,  offering  herself  without  a  mur- 
mur to  the  sword  which  pierces  her  soul,  associates 
herself  with  the  sacrifice  of  her  son  by  a  love  more 
sublime  than  any  other  after  that  of  the  adorable 
Son,  and  presents  to  us  a  type  of  the  Christian 
woman,  who  knows  not  how  to  aid  and  to  love  but 
in  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  upon  '  Jesus  and  him 
crucified.'  Beneath  the  cross,  Anna  the  prophetess, 
type  of  the  faithful  woman,  gives  glory  first,  in  this 
same  temple,  where  ^  she  served  God  day  and  night 
with  fastings  and  prayers,'  to  Him  whom  the  aged 
Simon  had  confessed  by  the  Spirit,  and  in  spite  of 
her  fourscore-and-four  years,  renews  the  energy  and 
G 


50  ADOLPHE  MONOD. 

activity  of  youth  '  to  speak  of  Him  unto  all  them 
that  looked  for  redemption  in  Jerusalem.'    Beneath 
the  cross,  Mary  of  Bethany,  type  of  the  contempla- 
tive woman,  eager  for  the  one  thing  needful,  and 
jealous  of  that  good  part,  sits  now  at  the  feet  of 
Jesus,  and  feeds  in  silence  upon  the  word  of  life, 
and  at  another  time,  in  the  same  silence,  anoints 
those  blessed  feet  with  pure  spikenard  of  great  price, 
and  wipes  them  with  the  hairs  of  her  head,  as  if  she 
could  not  find  a  token  sufficiently  tender  of  her  re- 
spect and  love.     Beneath  the  cross,   Martha,  her 
sister,  type  of  the  active  woman,  sometimes  lavishes 
her  unwearied  attentions  upon  a  brother  whom  she 
loved,    sometimes  busies   herself  for  the   Saviour 
whom  she  adored,  serving  him  in  everyday  life, 
invoking  his  aid  in  bitter  suffering,  and  blessing 
him  in  the  joy  of  deliverance.     Beneath  the  cross, 
the  Canaanitish  mother,  type  of  the  persevering 
woman,  surpassing  in  faith  and  light  those  apostles 
whom  she  wearies  with  her  cries,  triumphs  over  the 
silence,  refusal,  disdain  even,  by  which  the  Lord 
himself  seems  to   contend  against  her  invincible 
prayer,  and  wrests  from  him  at  last,  with  the  cure 
so  much  desired,  the  most  brilliant  homage  that 
any  child  of  Adam   ever   obtained:    'O  woman, 
great  is  thy  faith!   be  it  unto  thee  as  thou  wilt.' 
Beneath  the  cross,   Mary  Magdalene,  freed  from 
seven  devils,  type  of  the  grateful  woman,  surpass- 
ing these  same  apostles  in  love  and  courage,  after 
them  at  Calvary  and  before  them  at  the  sepulchre, 


THE  MISSION  OF  WOMAN.  51 

Is  also  chosen  from  among  them  all,  the  first  to 
behold  her  Lord  as  he  comes  forth  from  the  tomb, 
and  charged  to  carry  the  good  news  of  his  resurrec- 
tion to  those  who  would  announce  it  to  the  world. 
Beneath  the  cross,  Dorcas,  '  full  of  good  works  and 
alms  deeds,'  type  of  the  charitable  woman,  after  a 
life  consecrated  to  the  relief  of  the  poor  and  of  the 
widows  of  Joppa,  in  her  death  shows  what  she  was 
to  the  church  by  the  void  she  left  in  it,  and  by  the 
tears  she  caused  to  flow;  and,  in  the  same  spirit, 
Phebe,  the  deaconess  of  Cenchrea,  'a  succourer  of 
many,'  and  in  particular  of  the  Apostle  Paul,  gives 
birth  in  all  succeeding  times  by  her  example  to  a 
multitude  of  deaconesses,  clothed  or  not — it  little 
signifies — with  this  official  title  before  men.  Be- 
neath the  cross,  Priscilla,  type  of  the  servant  of 
Jesus  Christ,  shares  with  Aquilla,  her  husband, 
many  of  those  perils  incurred  to  preserve  to  the 
church  of  the  Gentiles  their  great  missionary,  or 
engages  in  those  conversations  by  which  the  faith  of 
the  eloquent  Apollos  was  enlightened  and  strength- 
ened ;  and,  in  the  same  spirit,  Lydia  hazards  her 
life,  by  opening  her  house  to  the  apostles,  which, 
transformed  at  once  into  a  church,  becomes  the 
centre  of  evangelical  charity  in  Philippi  and  Mace- 
donia. 

^'  What  more  shall  I  say  ?  Shall  I  speak  of 
Julia,  and  Lois,  and  Enodias,  and  Sintyche,  and 
Mary,  and  Persis,  and  Salome,  and  Tryphena,  and 
Tryphosa,  and  of  the  many  women  of  the  Gospel, 


52  ADOLPHE  MONOD. 

and  of  so  many  others  who  have  followed  in  their 
stepSj  the  Perpetuas,  the  Monicas,  the  Mary  Cala- 
niys,  and  the  Elizabeth  Frys  ?  Beneath  the  cross, 
with  the  Bible  in  hand — this  Bible  to  which  no 
human  creature  owes  more  than  she,  both  in  re- 
spect to  the  world  and  to  Christ — beneath  the  cross 
— it  is  there  that  I  love  to  see  woman !  Restored 
to  God,  to  man,  to  herself,  so  worthy  in  her  sub- 
mission, so  noble  in  her  humility,  so  strong  in  her 
gentleness,  gathering  all  the  gifts  she  has  received 
to  consecrate  them  to  the  service  of  humanity  with 
an  ardour  which  we  hardly  know  how  to  exhibit 
except  in  passion,  she  obliges  us  to  confess  that  she 
wdio  effaced  our  primitive  holiness,  is  also  she  who 
now  offers  of  it  on  this  apostate  earth  the  brightest 


FREDEEICK  WILLIAM  KRUMMACHER. 

The  father  of  this  eloquent  and  distinguished 
divine  was  Dr  Frederick  Adolph  Krummacher, 
Professor  of  Theology  and  pastor  of  a  church  in 
Bremen.  Frederick  William  was  born  at  Meurs 
on  the  Lower  Rhine  in  Germanj,  in  January 
1797.  He  was  educated  at  Halle  and  Jena,  and 
was  remarkable  for  his  progress  and  attainments 
in  the  various  branches  of  knowledge  requisite 
to  a  liberal  education.  His  mind  having  been 
directed  to  the  great  principles  of  divine  truth, 
by  the  writings  chiefly  of  Gerhard  Tersteegen,  he 
devoted  himself  to  theological  study,  and  in  1819 
was  ordained  as  assistant  minister  at  Frankfort-on- 
the-Maine.  He  was  first  settled  as  pastor  at  Ruh- 
rort.  In  1823  he  was  called  to  Barmen,  and  sub- 
sequently to  Elberfeld,  whence,  after  labouring  suc- 
cessfully for  many  years,  he  removed  to  Berlin,  at 
the  request  of  the  King  of  Prussia,  taking  up  his 
residence  in  that  city,  as  Court  Preacher  and  Pastor 
of  the  Court  and  Garrison.  Dr  Kruramacher,  who 
may  be  justly  considered  one  of  the  most  eloquent 
divines  of  the  present  age,  is  the  author  of  several 
works  of  remarkable  excellence.  Many  of  these 
are  we  doubt  not  familiar  to  our  readers ;  we  shall 
therefore  take  the  following  extracts,  probably  less 


54  FREDERICK  WILLIAM  KRUMMACHER. 

generally  known,  as  a  specimen  of  the  style  of  this 
distinguished  divine.  In  an  eloquent  sermon  on 
Psalm  xlvi.  3-5,  he  thus  expresses  himself: — 

^*  Hear  what  the  sweet  singer  says  in  our  Psalm : 
'  Though  the  waters  thereof  roar  and  be  troubled, 
though  the  mountains  shake  with  the  swelling 
thereof;  [yet]  there  is  a  river,  the  streams  whereof 
shall  make  glad  the  city  of  God,  the  holy  place  of 
the  tabernacles  of  the  Most  High.'  Oh,  what  words 
of  comfort !  Are  they  not  like  a  golden  rainbow  in 
the  clouds,  and  like  a  float  to  the  net,  to  keep  it 
above  water?  They  are  sufficient  at  once  to  over- 
come all  faintheartedness,  and  to  put  to  flight  a 
whole  host  of  misgivings.  It  is  not  the  word  of 
man,  but  the  word  of  God  delivered  by  the  mouth 
of  man ;  and  hence  the  power  with  which  it  is  en- 
dowed. '  Yet ! '  Oh,  a  precious  '  yet ! '  This 
'  Yet '  of  our  God,  is  more  than  these  mountains 
and  hills,  which  it,  in  fact,  renders  unnecessary. 
If  we  have  this  '  Yet '  in  the  hand  of  faith,  what 
should  alarm  and  make  us  uneasy?  With  this 
'  Yet,'  we  take  from  the  storms  their  terrors,  and 
from  the  fiery  waves  their  fearfulness.  With  this 
*  Yet,'  we  may  stand  with  confidence  on  our  walls ; 
and,  however  gloomy  the  prospect,  however  the 
thunder-clouds  may  lour  and  the  deep  roar,  we  pro- 
claim this  ^  Yet '  of  our  Lord ;  and  though  the 
storm  were  never  so  great  and  awful,  so  severe  that 
voices  should  call  to  us  on  all  sides,  '  You  are  fools, 
to  hope  where  no  hope  is,'  we  will  not  be  con- 


DIVINE  BLESSINGS.  55 

founded :  our  watchword  is  '  Yet,  Yet ; '  and  we 
answer, '  What  is  impossible  must  become  possible, 
sooner  than  that  the  city  of  God  shall  not  be  glad 
with  its  streams.'  He  has  spoken  the  Word,  and 
He  is  the  Amen. 

"  And  now  consider  what  unheard-of  things  are 
here  promised  to  the  congregation  of  God.  Not 
only  that  they  shall  abide  in  the  hour  of  tempta- 
tion, and  be  preserved  from  despondency  and  back- 
sliding ;  but  they  shall  even  be  glad  with  their 
streams,  and  bloom  yet  more  fair  than  in  times  of 
peace.  There  are  but  few  rejoicing  Christians,  yet 
we  learn  that  it  is  no  sin  to  be  joyful  in  God.  He 
who  has  no  occasion  to  mourn,  may  lift  up  his 
head,  and  need  not  bow  it  down  like  a  bulrush. 
We  have  cause  and  reason  enough  to  be  glad  in  the 
Lord,  and  to  pass  through  life  with  a  joyful  spirit. 
For  what  do  we  yet  want,  we  who  are  in  Christ, 
and  in  him  have  all  that  heart  can  desire ;  we  who 
go  clothed  in  the  purple  of  our  King,  and  in  his  robe 
are  glorious  before  the  eyes  of  God ;  we  who  know 
that  our  names  are  wTitten  in  the  book  of  life,  and 
that  our  souls  are  in  hands  from  which  nothing  and 
nobody  can  pluck  them  away;  we  who  have  the 
assurance  that  he  has  always  loved  us,  and  that  he 
will  keep  that  which  we  have  committed  to  him 
against  that  day ;  we  who  are  certain  that  all  our 
enemies  already  lie  vanquished  under  our  feet,  and 
that  one  day,  adorned  with  the  victor-crowns  of  our 
surety,  we  shall  cast  anchor  on  the  golden  coast  of 


56  FllEDEPJCK  ^YILLIAM  KKUMMACHER. 

tlie  Promised  Land  ?  Naj,  if  wc  could,  we  might 
sit  from  morning  till  evening  at  the  harp,  and  none 
could  justly  reproach  us  for  being  so  glad.  If  we 
could,  our  whole  life  might  be  a  dance,  like  that  of 
David  before  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant;  and  we 
might  be  drunk  with  the  wine  of  the  house  of  God, 
and,  as  Zechariah  says,  '  make  a  noise  as  through 
wine,  and  be  filled  like  bowls,  and  as  the  corners  of 
the  altar.'  God  would  have  nothing  against  it ;  he 
would  have  pleasure  in  it.  But  the  eye  of  our  faith 
is  so  dim,  and  the  hand  of  our  confidence  takes  such 
loose  hold ;  we  look  more  to  ourselves  than  to 
Christ,  and  will  not  seek  in  him  alone,  but  would 
also  iind  something  in  ourselves ;  and  hence  it 
comes,  that  with  all  our  riches  we  are  so  poor  in 
joy ;  and  that  our  treasure  which  we  have  through 
grace,  is  like  a  talent  buried  in  tlie  earth,  from 
which  we  do  not  even  get  the  interest ;  and  our  life 
is  miserable,  like  that  of  a  poor  beggar,  and  yet  we 
are  told  '  All  is  yours.' 

'^  This  wretched  life,  however,  shall  one  day  cease 
in  the  city  of  God  on  earth ;  and,  wonderful  to  tell, 
just  at  the  moment  when  it  should  seem  to  be  only 
beginning  in  earnest — namely,  w^hen  the  sea  around 
foams  and  rages  in  the  height  of  its  fury,  and  the 
mountains  shake  with  the  swelling  thereof.  Bat 
thus,  too,  it  often  fares  with  the  individual  Chris- 
tian. When  fierce  temptations  assail  him,  so  that 
all  his  supports  give  way,  and  all  the  mountains 
and  hills  of  his  own  power  and  will,  and  of  his 


THE  BRIDE  OF  THE  LAMB.  57 

own  ligliteousness,  are  overtlirown,  so  that  he  must 
wholly  lean  on  Christ,  and  be  content  \vith  his 
grace;  then,  and  not  till  then,  he  becomes  glad. 
And  so  has  it  fared  w4th  the  church  of  God  on 
earth  up  to  this  very  day.  Never  has  she  blos- 
somed more  fair,  never  has  she  shone  in  the  night 
wath  brighter  splendour,  than  in  evil  days,  and  of 
the  time  of  persecution.  Read  the  history  of  the 
church ;  it  is  even  so.  The  most  glorious  stars  in 
the  firmament  of  the  church,  the  most  joyful  con- 
fessors of  the  faith,  became  great  amid  storms  and 
tempest ;  and  never  has  the  Bride  of  the  Lamb  on 
earth  stood  forth  more  gloriously  adorned  than  in 
the  times  of  martyrdom,  and  of  the  martyrs  whose 
footsteps  still  shine  up  to  this  day.  Their  souls 
were  naturally  w^eak ;  and  wdien  we  are  weak,  then 
we  are  strong :  then  nothing  remained  to  them  but 
to  go  out  of  themselves,  and  to  hide  themselves  in 
Christ ;  and  in  Christ  we  can  do  all  things.  And, 
indeed,  if  the  Lord  be  ever  out  on  the  field  among 
his  people,  with  his  Spirit  and  his  gifts,  it  is  in  such 
days  of  distress  and  affliction,  when  the  sea  roars 
and  rages,  and  the  mountains  shake.  Then  he 
opens  more  wide  the  floodgates  of  his  divine  powder, 
and  his  refreshing  streams  flow  more  abundantly, 
and  keep  equal  course  with  the  sea  of  troubles  and 
afflictions ;  the  more  violent  the  latter,  the  richer 
are  the  former  ;  for  the  city  of  God  shall  be  '  glad 
with  its  streams.' 

'^  And  so,  probably,  matters  will  not  change  with 

H 


58  FREDERICK  WILLIAM  KRUMMACHER. 

the  city  of  God  in  our  vale ;  which,  on  the  whole, 
actually  appears  right  meagre,  poor,  and  miserable, 
and  is  closely  covered  and  hidden.  Yes,  truly ;  so 
long  as  the  good  days  last,  so  long  ye  may  go 
about  languid  and  faint ;  so  long  ye  may  be  so  full 
of  complaints  with  your  riches,  and  so  bowed  down 
with  your  treasures,  so  cold  in  the  embraces  of  your 
Bridegroom,  so  lukewarm  and  indifferent  in  the 
confession  of  his  name ;  so  long  you  are  permitted 
to  continue  your  disputes  and  dissensions,  to  carry 
on  your  petty  wars  of  opinion,  and  to  indulge  in 
idle  speculations.  But  I  answer  for  it,  at  the  first 
sound  of  the  trumpet  that  shall  announce  to  you 
the  approach  of  the  hour  of  temptation,  at  the  first 
deluge  of  the  waves  of  the  great  struggle,  which 
shall  break  in  upon  our  valley,  everything  will  be 
suddenly  changed,  and  the  city  be  glad  with  her 
streams. 

"  Dissension  will  cease,  and  there  will  be  a  holding 
together  and  unity  in  love  such  as  will  astonish  the 
world.  There  will  be  no  more  disputing  about  the 
restoration  of  all  things,  or  whether  there  will  be  a 
third  place,  &c.  ;  but  all  will  regard  one  place  only 
— Jesus !  Jesus ! — and  be  anxious  only  about  com- 
plete restoration  to  his  favour,  his  blood,  and  his 
wounds ;  and  in  this  stronghold  that  which  was  se- 
parated will  again  be  united.  Then  the  covering 
will  be  removed,  and  the  gentle  dove  in  the  clefts 
of  the  rock  will  be  seen  to  soar  as  with  eagle's 
wings,  and  sucklings  shall  be  as  the  horses  capari- 


ETERNAL  JOY.  59 

soiled  for  the  battle ;  and,  as  the  prophet  says,  they 
shall  devour  and  subdue  with  sling-stones.  For, 
'though  the  sea  roars  and  is  troubled,  and  the 
mountains  shake,  there  is  a  river  the  streams  ^Yhere- 
of  make  glad  the  city  of  God ! '  " 


EOBEET    HALL. 

The  name  of  Kobert  Hall  will  always  occupy  a 
high   place  among  those  who   have  been  distin- 
guished for  intellectual  power  and  brilliant  genius. 
This  very  able  and  eloquent  divine  was  the  son  of 
a  clergyman  of  the  Baptist  communion,  and  was 
born  at  Arnsby,  near  Leicester,  in  May  1764.     In 
his  earliest  childhood  he  gave  proof  of  being  en- 
dowed with  uncommon  ability.     It  is  affirmed,  that 
in  his  eighth  year  he  had  mastered  Butler's  '  Ana- 
logy '  and  Edward's  '  Freedom  of  the  Will,'  two 
works,  the  study  of  which  demands  no  inconsider- 
able effort  even  from  the  maturest  minds.     Such  a 
statement  is  made  on  very  authentic  testimony, 
and  cannot  be  regarded  as  wholly  fabulous,  never- 
theless it  is  scarcely  possible  to  receive  it  without 
some  considerable  limitation.      In  order  fully  to 
comprehend  and  follow  out  the  various  reasonings 
contained  in  those  two  celebrated  books,  an  amount 
of  knowledge  is  required  which  no  child  of  eight 
years  of  age  could,  short  of  a  miracle,  possess  ;  and 
yet  it  is  quite  conceivable  that  a  clever  child,  even 
at  that  tender  age,  might  obtain  a  distinct  percep- 
tion of  the  effect  of  many  of  the  beautiful  and  strik- 
ing illustrations  in  the  '^Analogy" — such,  for  in- 
stance, as  those  relating  to  a  future  life ;  and  that 


HIS  EARLY  LIFE.  61 

he  might  perceive  the  force  of  some  parts  of  Ed- 
ward's workj  without  being  capable  of  fully  com- 
prehending the  profound  metaphysical  arguments 
which  it  contains.  Certain  it  is,  however,  that  in 
the  case  of  Robert  Hall  there  was  fi  most  remark- 
able development  of  the  intellectual  powers  in  child- 
hood, and  although  such  precocity  too  frequently 
indicates  a  morbid  state,  and  often  issues  in  a  com- 
monplace, if  not  in  an  imbecile  condition,  such 
was  happily  not  the  result  in  this  instance.  The 
blossoms  which  in  early  life  gave  such  abundant 
promise  were  not  blighted  by  too  much  culture  ; 
and  were  consequently  followed  in  mature  years  by 
an  ample  return  of  fruit.  We  shall  now  proceed  to 
notice  the  principal  incidents  in  Mr  Hall's  career. 

The  unaffected  piety  which  he  exhibited,  com- 
bined with  his  thirst  for  knowledge  and  his  studi- 
ous habits,  led  his  parents  to  dedicate  him  to  the 
ministry  of  the  gospel,  for  which  his  natural  gifts 
seemed  so  remarkably  to  qualify  him.  He  was 
accordingly  placed  under  the  care  of  the  Rev.  Mr 
Ryland,  of  Northampton,  and  afterwards  he  was 
admitted  to  a  place  in  Dr  Ward's  foundation  at 
Bristol,  which  he  entered  in  his  fifteenth  year,  and 
where  he  applied  himself  with  the  utmost  ardour  to 
the  study  of  theology,  and  gave  evidence  of  the 
possession  of  those  oratorical  powers  for  which  he 
was  subsequently  so  remarkable.  From  Bristol, 
he  proceeded,  in  1781,  to  King's  College,  Aberdeen, 
returning  to  Arnsby  at  the  close  of  each  session. 


62  ROBERT  HALL. 

and  occasionally  preaching  with  great  effect  for  va- 
rious ministers  in  the  district  in  which  his  father 
resided.  About  two  years  after  entering  King's 
College,  he  accepted  the  situation  of  assistant  to 
Dr  Evans  at  Broadmead  Churchj  Bristol,  and  en- 
tered upon  his  duties  between  the  college  terms  of 
1784  and  1785.  He  was  shortly  afterwards  ap- 
pointed Classical  Master  of  the  Bristol  Academy, 
on  the  retirement  of  Mr  Newton ;  and  thus,  both 
as  an  eloquent  preacher  and  an  accomplished  scholar, 
he  was  elevated  to  a  very  eminent  position.  His 
church  was  crowded  to  excess,  and  he  became  the 
object  of  universal  admiration,  not  only  from  his 
eloquence  as  a  preacher,  but  on  account  of  the  zeal, 
ability,  and  learning  with  which  he  discharged  his 
academical  duties. 

It  is  not  often,  however,  in  this  mutable  world, 
that  the  highest  prosperity  continues  without  some 
interruption.  Not  long  after  his  settlement  at 
Broadmead,  an  occurrence  took  place  which  not 
only  tended  to  deprive  Mr  Hall  of  all  the  satisfac- 
tion which  his  success  in  his  profession  very  natu- 
rally afforded  him,  but  which  threatened  to  inflict 
serious  damage  on  the  religious  community  with 
which  he  was  connected.  This  was  a  dispute  which 
sprung  up  between  him  and  Dr  Evans  on  a  com- 
paratively trivial  subject,  but  which  continued  for 
nearly  two  years,  and  produced  much  disunion  in 
the  congregation.  How  long  this  unseemly  strife 
would  have  lasted  it  is  impossible  to  affirm,  but  it 


MENTAL  AFFLICTION.  63 

was  at  length  happily  brought  to  a  close,  by  Mi- 
Hall's  appointment  as  successor  to  Mr  Robinson  in 
the  Baptist  Church  at  Cambridge,  to  which  charge 
he  removed  in  1790. 

During  his  ministry  at  Cambridge,  Mr  Hall  at- 
tained the  zenith  of  his  fame  as  a  Christitin  orator, 
and  at  this  period  some  of  his  most  celebrated  pro- 
ductions were  given  to  the  public  through  the  press. 
Such  was  the  admiration  his  talents  excited,  that 
the  most  eminent  men  in  every  profession  hastened 
to  do  him  honour.  His  church  was  crowded  to  ex- 
cess, not  by  ordinary  hearers,  but  by  tlie  most  in- 
tellectual and  learned  persons  in  his  vicinity.  Not 
only  numerous  students  of  the  university,  but  Tutors 
and  Fellows,  constantly  attended  his  church  during 
the  afternoon  service,  recognising  in  Mr  Hall  one 
of  the  ablest  and  most  eloquent  champions  of  divine 
truth  which  the  age  had  produced. 

During  his  ministry  at  Cambridge,  Mr  Hall  was 
visited  by  a  painful  malady,  which  superinduced 
extreme  depression,  resulting  at  last  in  mental 
aberration.  This  rendered  it  necessary  that  he 
should  be  placed  under  m.edical  superintendence, 
and  by  judicious  treatment  he  was  happily  soon  re- 
stored to  the  full  possession  of  his  mental  faculties, 
having  been  laid  aside  only  for  a  year.  After  re- 
suming his  professional  labours,  he  accepted  the 
charge  of  a  congregation  in  Leicester,  of  which  the 
celebrated  Carey  of  Serampore  had  been  the  pastor. 
Here  his  marriage  took  place,  an  event  which  gave 


64  ROBERT  HALL. 

great  satisfaction  to  his  old  and  intimate  friends. 
His  courtship  exhibited  great  eccentricity.  The  fol- 
lowing account  of  it  is  understood  to  be  authentic, 
although  it  has  been  related  in  many  different  ways  : 
One  day,  when  dining  with  a  clerical  friend,  he  was 
jested  witli  on  his  state  of  bachelorhood.  He  said 
little  on  the  subject,  but  was  observed  to  take  spe- 
cial notice  of  a  servant  girl  w^ho  entered  to  replenish 
the  fire.  After  dinner,  while  sitting  alone  in  the 
study,  the  young  woman  entered  the  apartment  with 
the  coal-scuttle,  when  Mr  Hall  thus  addressed  her, 
"  Betty,  do  you  love  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  ?  "  The 
girl,  who  was  sincerely  pious,  taking  the  question 
as  a  natural  one  addressed  to  her  by  a  minister,  re- 
plied, that  she  hoped  she  did,  when,  to  her  utter 
astonishment,  and  perhaps  consternation,  Mr  Hall 
fell  upon  his  knees,  and  said,  ^'  Then,  Betty,  you 
must  love  me,"  and  concluded  by  asking  her  to 
marry  him.  Betty,  however,  in  great  astonishment, 
quitted  the  room,  under  the  impression  that  Mr 
Hall  had  lost  his  senses.  But  this  was  by  no 
means  the  case,  and  Mr  Hall  declared  to  her  master 
his  intention  of  marrying  the  girl,  who  had  taken 
his  fancy  by  the  manner  in  which  she  performed 
her  domestic  duties.  The  marriage  thus  strangely 
brought  about  took  place,  and  was  productive  of 
much  happiness  to  Mr  Hall. 

After  labouring  in  Leicester  for  the  long  period 
of  twenty  years,  Mr  Hall  removed  to  Bristol,  on 
the  death  of  his  early  friend,  Dr  Kyland.     Bristol 


DIES  AT  BRISTOL.  65 

had  been  the  scene  of  his  earliest  labours  in  the 
ministry,  but  it  cost  him  a  severe  struggle  to  sever 
the  tie  which  bound  him  to  his  people  at-  Leicester. 
"The  day  of  separation,"  says  Dr  Gregory,  "the 
last  Sacrament- Sabbath,  March  26,  1826,  was  a 
day  of  anguish  to  him  and  them.  He  went  through 
the  ordinary  public  duties  of  the  day  with  tolerable 
composure ;  but  at  the  sacramental  service  he  strove 
in  vain  to  conceal  his  emotion.  In  one  of  his  ad- 
dresses to  the  members  of  his  church,  on  adverting 
to  the  pain  of  separation,  he  was  so  much  affected 
that  he  sat  down,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands, 
and  wept,  and  they,  sharing  in  his  distress,  gave 
unequivocal  signs  of  the  deepest  feeling.  Mr  Eus- 
tace Carey,  who  was  present,  continued  the  devo- 
tional part  of  the  service,  until  Mr  Hall  was  suffi- 
ciently recovered  to  proceed.  At  the  close  of  the 
solemnity  the  weeping  became  universal,  and  they 
parted,  '  sorrowing  most  of  all  that  they  should  see 
his  face  no  more.'  " 

Mr  Hall  had  completed  his  sixty-first  year  be- 
fore his  removal  to  Bristol,  and  his  health  was  un- 
doubtedly on  the  wane.  Everything  that  care  and 
skill  could  effect  to  prolong  his  valuable  life  was 
resorted  to,  but  to  little  purpose,  and  he  had  not 
completed  his  fifth  year  at  Bristol  when  he  was 
called  from  his  labours,  to  enter  upon  that  glorious 
rest  which  "  remaineth  for  the  people  of  God." 

"  His  preaching,"  says  an  eloquent  critic,  "  has 
been  frequently  described,  but  generally  by  those 
I 


66  ROBERT  HALL. 

■vvho  heard  him  iu  the  decline  of  his  powers.  It 
came  to  a  climax  in  Cambridge,  and  was  never  so 
powerful  after  his  derangement.  To  have  heard 
him  in  Cambridge,  must  have  been  a  treat  almost 
unrivalled  in  the  history  of  pulpit  oratory.  In  the 
prime  of  youth  and  youthful  strength,  '  hope  still 
rising  before  him,  like  a  fiery  column,  the  dark  side 
not  yet  turned; '  his  fancy  exuberant ;  his  language 
less  select,  perhaps,  but  more  energetic  and  abundant 
than  in  later  days  ;  full  of  faith  without  fanaticism, 
and  of  ardour  without  excess  of  enthusiasm;  with  an 
eye  like  a  coal  of  fire ;  a  figure  strong,  erect,  and 
not  yet  encumbered  with  corpulence ;  a  voice  not 
loud,  but  sweet,  and  which  ever  and  anon  'trembled' 
below  his  glorious  sentences  and  images,  and  an 
utterance  rapid  as  a  mountain  torrent — did  this 
young  apostle  stand  up,  and,  to  an  audience  as  re- 
fined and  intellectual  as  could  then  be  assembled  in 
England,  '  preach  Christ  and  him  ciTicified.'  Sen- 
tence followed  sentence,  each  more  brilliant  than 
its  forerunner,  like  Venus  succeeding  Jupiter  in  the 
sky,  and  Luna  drowning  Venus;  shiver  after  shiver 
of  delight  followed  each  other  through  the  souls  of 
the  hearers,  till  they  wondered  ^hereunto  this  thing 
should  grow,'  and  whether  they  were  in  the  body  or 
out  of  the  body  they  could  hardly  tell.  To  use  the 
fine  words  of  John  Scott,  '  he  unveiled  the  mighty 
foundations  of  the  Kock  of  Ages,  and  made  their 
hearts  vibrate  with  a  strange  joy,  which  they  shall 
recognise  in  loftier  stages  of  their  existence.'    What 


THE  SERMON  ON  INFIDELITY.  (3/ 

a  pity,  that,  with  the  exception  of  his  sermon  on 
*  Modern  Infidelity,'  all  these  Cambridge  discourses 
have  irrevocably  perished." 

On  the  subject  of  the  celebrated  discourse  to  which 
tlie  critic  we  have  thus  quoted  refers,  the  following 
statement  is  made  by  Dr  Gregory  as  an  illustration 
of  the  peculiar  structure  of  Mr  Hall's  intellect: — 

"  He  preached  it  first  at  Bristol,  in  October  1799, 
and  again  at  Cambridge  early  in  the  month  of  No- 
vember. Having  yielded  to  the  solicitations  of  his 
friends,  and  consented  to  its  publication,  there  re- 
mained two  difficulties,  that  of  writing  down  the 
sermon  (of  which  not  a  single  sentence  was  upon 
paper),  and  that  of  superintending  the  press.  I, 
who  then  resided  at  Cambridge,  offered  to  under- 
take both  these,  provided  he  would  engage  not  to 
go  farther  then  ten  miles  from  Cambridge,  and  allow 
me  to  follow  him,  wherever  he  went,  to  obtain  ^copy/ 
as  it  should  be  needed.  He  acceded  to  that  part  of 
the  arrangement  which  related  to  the  printing;  but 
would  not  consent  that  I  should  be  his  amanuensis 
on  that  occasion.  The  writing,  therefore,  he  under- 
took himself,  but  with  great  reluctance,  on  account 
of  the  severe  pain  which  even  then  (and  indeed 
much  earlier)  he  experienced  when  remaining  long 
in  a  sitting  posture.  The  work,  in  consequence, 
proceeded  slowly,  and  with  many  interruptions.  At 
first  I  obtained  from  him  eight  pages,  and  took  them 
to  the  printer;  after  a  few  days,  four  pages  more; 
then  two  or  three  pages;  then  a  more  violent  attack 


68  ROBERT  HALL. 

of  his  distressing  pain  in  the  back  compelled  him  to 
write  two  or  three  pages  lohile  lying  on  the  floor; 
and  soon  afterwards  a  still  more  violent  paroxysm 
occasioned  a  longer  suspension  of  his  labour.  After 
an  interval  of  a  week,  the  work  was  renewed  at  the 
joint  entreaty  of  myself  and  other  friends.  It  was 
pursued  in  the  same  manner,  two  or  three  pages 
being  obtained  for  the  printer  at  one  time,  a  similar 
portion  after  a  day  or  two,  until,  at  the  end  of  seven 
weeks,  the  task  was  completed.  During  the  whole 
time  of  the  composition,  thus  conducted,  Mr  Hall 
never  saw  a  single  page  of  the  printer's  work.  When 
I  applied  for  more  ^  copy,'  he  asked  what  it  was  that 
he  had  written  last,  and  then  proceeded.  Very  often, 
after  he  had  given  me  a  small  portion,  he  would  in- 
quire if  he  had  written  it  nearly  in  the  words  which 
he  had  employed  in  delivering  the  sermon  orally. 
After  he  had  written  down  the  striking  apostrophe 
— '  Eternal  God!  on  what  are  thine  enemies  intent! 
what  are  those  enterprises  of  guilt  and  horror,  that, 
for  the  safety  of  their  performers,  require  to  be  en- 
veloped in  a  darkness  which  the  eye  of  Heaven  must 
not  penetrate/^ — he  asked,  Mid  I  saj  pe7iefrate,  sir, 
when  I  preached  it?'  ^  Yes.'  '  Do  you  think,  sir, 
I  may  venture  to  alter  it  ?  for  no  man  who  considered 
the  force  of  the  English  language  would  use  a  word 
of  three  syllables  there,  but  from  absolute  necessity.' 
^  You  are  doubtless  at  liberty  to  alter  it,  if  you  think 
well.'  '  Then  be  so  good,  sir,  as  to  take  your  pencil, 
and  for  penetrate  -put  pierce;  pierce  is  the  word,  sir, 


SERMON  ON  INFIDELITY.  69 

and  the  only  word  to  be  used  there.'  I  have  now 
the  evidence  of  this  before  me,  in  the  entire  manu- 
script^ which  I  carefully  preserve  among  my  richest 
literary  treasures." 

The  following  is  the  eloquent  passage  referred 
to: — ^^More  than  all,  their  infatuated  eagerness, 
their  parricidal  zeal  to  extinguish  a  sense  of  Deity, 
must  excite  astonishment  and  horror.  Is  the  idea 
of  an  almighty  and  perfect  Euler  unfriendly  to  any 
passion  which  is  consistent  with  innocence,  or  an 
obstruction  to  any  design  which  it  is  not  shameful 
to  avow?  Eternal  God!  on  what  are  thine  enemicvS 
intent?  What  are  those  enterprises  of  guilt  and 
horror,  that,  for  the  safety  of  their  performers,  re- 
quire to  be  enveloped  in  a  darkness  which  the  eye 
of  Heaven  must  not  pierce?  Miserable  men !  Proud 
of  being  the  offspring  of  chance;  in  love  with  uni- 
versal disorder;  whose  happiness  is  involved  in  the 
belief  of  there  being  no  witness  to  their  designs,  and 
who  are  at  ease  only  because  they  suppose  them- 
selves inhabitants  of  a  forsaken  and  fatherless 
world!" 


JOHN    FOSTEK. 

The  parents  of  the  celebrated  John  Foster  were 
]')ersons  in  humble  life,  occupying  a  small  farm, 
and  when  not  engaged  in  the  labour  it  required, 
adding  to  their  means  of  subsistence  bj  weaving. 
They  were  both  remarkable  alike  for  the  soundness 
of  their  understanding  and  the  sincerity  of  their 
piety.  The  farmhouse  they  inhabited  was  in  the 
parish  of  Halifax,  between  Wainsgate  and  Hebden- 
bridge,  and  there  the  subject  of  this  memoir  was 
born,  on  the  17th  of  September,  1770. 

*'  When  not  twelve  years  old,"  observes  Mr  Ey- 
land,  "  he  had — to  use  his  own  words — ^  a  painful 
sense  of  an  awkward  but  entire  individuality.'  This 
was  apparent  in  his  manners  and  language.  His 
observations  on  characters  and  events  resembled 
those  of  a  person  arrived  at  maturity,  and  obtained 
for  him  from  the  neighbours  the  appellation  of  'old 
fashioned.'  Thoughtful  and  silent,  he  shunned  the 
companionship  of  boys  whose  vivacity  was  merely 
physical  and  uninspired  by  sentiment.  His  natural 
tendency  to  reserve  was  increased  by  the  want  of 
juvenile  associates  at  home;  for  his  only  brother, 
Thomas,  was  four  years  younger  than  himself,  and 
they  had  no  sisters.  His  parents,  partly  from  tlie 
lateness  of  their  marriage,  had  acquired  habits  of 
too  fixed  a  gravity  to  admit  of  that  confiding  inter- 


HIS  EARLY  LIFE.  71 

course  wliicli  is  adapted  to  promote  the  liealtliy  ex- 
ercise of  the  affections.  Had  a  freer  interchange  of 
feeling  existed,  it  might  have  rendered  less  intense 
(though  it  could  not  have  removed)  tliat  constitu- 
tional pensiveness  of  Foster's  mind,  which  at  times 
induced  ^  a  recoil  from  human  beings  into  a  cold  in- 
terior retirement,'  where  he  felt  as  if  ^  dissociated 
from  the  whole  creation.'  But  emotion  and  senti- 
ment being  thus  repressed,  his  outward  life  was 
marked  by  a  timidity  that  amounted  to  'infinite 
shyness.'  A  very  large  proportion  of  his  feelings 
were  so  much  his  own,  that  he  either  4'elt  precisely 
that  they  could  not  be  communicated,  or  he  did  not 
feel  that  they  could.'  His  early  antipathies  were 
strong,  but  '  not  malicious.'  His  associations  were 
intensely  vivid;  he  had,  for  instance,  an  insuperable 
dislike  to  a  book  during  the  reading  of  which  he 
had  done  anything  that  strongly  excited  self-re^s 
proach;  or  to  whatever  was  connected  with  feeb/eav- 
of  disgust  and  horror.  For  a  number  of  ye?,d  that 
would  not  sit  on  a  stool  which  had  belong'mployed 
man  who  died  in  a  sudden  and  strange .d  take  no 
whose  ghost  was  said  to  have  appear'^ns  piece  into 
near  his  house.  In  short,  his  ima.emonly  called,  he 
perious  and  tyrannical,  and  woujd  submit  with  un- 
with  a  scene  of  Indian  tort.e  ordeal  of  inspection, 
skeleton  meeting  him  each  which  he  was  employed 
to  pass  through  to  bed.  'intion,  being  a  mere  dull 
was  an  awful  season  of  eerations.  Not  that  he  ever 
to  strong  emotion  by  rr  aptitude  for  mechanical  con- 


72  JOHN  FOSTER. 

authors,  such  as  Young's  'Night  Thoughts.'  Even 
single  words  (as  chalcedony)  j  or  the  names  of  an- 
cient heroes,  had  a  mighty  fascination  over  him, 
simply  from  their  sound;  and  other  words  from  their 
meaning,  as  hermit. 

His  sensibility,  though  checked  in  its  social  ope- 
ration, was  kindled  into  intense  activity  by  the  con- 
templation of  natural  scenery,  which  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood was  highly  picturesque.    The  very  words 
looocls  and  forests  J  would  produce  the  most  power- 
ful emotion.    In  matters  of  taste  the  gy^eat  interested 
him  more  than  the  beautiful;  gi*eat  rocks,  vast  trees 
and  forests,  dreary  caverns,  volcanoes,  cataracts,  and 
tempests,  were  the  objects  of  his  highest  enthusiasm: 
and  in  the  same  way,  among  the  varieties  of  human 
character,  the  great  and  the  heroic,  excited  the  deep- 
est interest.    An  abhorrence  of  cruelty  was  among 
^^•is  earliest  habitual  feelings.    He  'abhorred  spiders 
^"^^ killing  flies,  and  abominated  butchers,'  though 
those  v.gj,y  gr^i-iy  agg^  q^  ^^tq  occasions,  his. curiosity 
tor  hmi    ^Q  ^  slaughter-house. 

tashioned.  ^haviour  towards  his  parents  was  uni- 
corn pamonshr.^il.  j^j-^(j  though  his  juvenile  manifes- 
physical  and  uni-^Qj^  vrere  checked  from  the  causes 
tendency  to  reserve  j^^  ^^  mature  life  no  one  could 
juvenile  associates  at -.filial  regard  than  he  did,  by 
Thomas,  was  four  years  ^on  to  his  means  very  largely) 
they  had  no  sisters.  His  .t  of  their  declining  years, 
lateness  of  their  marriage,  .gm  in  weaving,  and  till 
too  fixed  a  gravity  to  admit  c  at  spinning  wool  to  a 


HIS  EAELY  HISTORY.  73 

thread  by  the  hand-whecL  In  the  three  following 
years  he  wove  what  are  called  double  stuffs,  such 
as  lastings,  &c.  But  while  thus  employed,  he  ^had 
no  idea  of  being  permanently  employed  in  handi- 
craft;' he  had  the  fullest  persuasion  that  something 
else  awaited  him,  not  from  the  consciousness  of  su- 
perior abilities,  but  from  indulging  romantic  wishes 
and  plans.  ^  I  had  when  a  child,'  was  his  affecting 
confession  to  Mr  Hughes,  ^the  feelings  of  a  foreigner 
in  the  place,  and  some  of  the  earliest  musings  that 
kindled  my  passions,  were  on  plans  for  abandoning  it. 
lyiy  heart  felt  a  sickening  vulgarity  before  my  know- 
ledge could  make  comparisons.'  '  My  involuntary, 
unreflecting  perceptions  of  the  mental  character  of 
my  very  few  acquaintance  was  probably  just,  as  to 
their  being  qualified  to  reciprocate  my  sentiments 
and  fancies.'  Thus,  full  of  restless  thoughts,  wishes, 
and  passions,  on  subjects  that  interested  none  of  his 
acquaintance,  it  can  excite  no  surprise  that  his  weav- 
ing was  often  performed  very  indifferently,  and  that 
the  master-manufacturer  by  whom  he  was  employed 
was  continually  resolving  that  he  would  take  no 
more  of  it.  When  Foster  brought  his  piece  into 
the  ^  taking-in-room,'  as  it  is  commonly  called,  he 
would  tarn  his  head  aside,  and  submit  with  un- 
equivocal repugnance  to  the  ordeal  of  inspection. 
The  kind  of  weaving  in  which  he  was  employed 
allowed  no  scope  for  invention,  being  a  mere  dull 
repetition  of  manual  operations.  Not  that  he  ever 
showed  any  particular  aptitude  for  mechanical  con- 


74  JOHN  FOSTER. 

trivance.  The  only  instance  of  the  kind  known 
was  the  construction  of  a  terrestrial  globe,  when  he 
was  ten  or  eleven  years  old,  on  which  the  various 
countries  were  marked  with  a  pen.  It  had  no  meri- 
dian; the  frame  was  made  of  three  pieces  of  wood, 
joined  at  the  centre,  the  lower  part  of  which  served 
for  feet.  This  self-imposed  task  was  executed  with 
a  penknife,  and  was  a  long  time  in  hand.  He  had 
also  *  a  passion'  for  '  making  pictures  with  a  pen.' 

While  residing  with  his  parents  he  studied  closely, 
hut  irregularly;  he  would  often  shut  himself  up 
in  the  barn  for  a  considerable  time,  and  then 
come  out  and  weave  for  two  or  three  hours,  '  work- 
ing,' as  an  eye-witness  expressed  it,  '  like  a  horse.' 
His  attention  during  this  period  was  necessarily 
confined  to  English  literature,  his  home  education 
not  allowing  a  wider  range.  His  father,  however, 
was  ambitious  of  a  higher  training  for  him,  and 
when  the  lad  was  only  four  years  old,  would  lay 
his  hand  upon  him  and  say,  '  This  head  will  one 
day  learn  Greek.'  There  was  an  excellent  gram- 
mar-school at  the  neighbouring  village  of  Hepton- 
stall,  conducted  by  a  Mr  Shackleton ;  and  we  have 
no  reason  for  supposing  that  the  nonconformist 
principles  of  the  Fosters  operated  on  their  minds, 
or  on  the  master,  to  preclude  their  son  from  enjoy- 
ing its  advantages.  Most  probably,  his  assistance 
at  the  loom  could  not  be  dispensed  with,  and  was 
incompatible  with  regular  attendance  at  the  school. 

With  much  that  was  uncongenial  and  disadvan- 


EARLY  IMPEESSIONS.  75 

tageous  in  Foster's  circumstances,  their  moral  and 
religious  influences  were  for  the  most  part  highly 
salutary.  In  his  parents  he  had  constantly  before 
him  examples  of  fervent  piety,  combined  with  great 
sobriety  of  judgment  and  undeviating  integrity. 
Their  house  also  was  the  resort  of  their  Christian 
neighbours  for  the  purposes  of  social  devotion,  or 
to  obtain  the  benefit  of  their  advice  in  the  perplex- 
ities of  daily  life.  A  meeting  Avas  held  there  every 
Tuesday  evening,  which  was  always  closed  with  a 
prayer  by  Mr  Foster,  who  never  omitted  one  peti- 
tion— '  O  Lord,  bless  the  lads ! '  meaning  his  son 
John,  and  his  young  (and  at  that  time  only)  com- 
panion Henry  Horsfall.  The  earnestness  with  which 
these  words  were  uttered  made  a  deep  impression 
on  the  two  youths.  To  trace  the  progress  of  Fos- 
ter's piety  in  its  earliest  stages,  '  mingled,'  as  it 
was,  '  almost  insensibly  with  his  feelings,'  would 
be  impracticable ;  its  genuineness,  happily,  was 
proved  by  its  '  shining  more  and  more  unto  the 
perfect  day.'  When  about  fourteen  years  old,  he 
communicated  to  the  associate  just  named  the  poig- 
nant anxiety  he  had  suffered  from  comparing  his 
character  with  the  requirements  of  the  divine  law, 
and  added,  that  he  had  found  relief  only  by  plac- 
ing a  simple  reliance  on  the  sacrifice  of  Jesus  Christ 
for  acceptance  before  God.  Six  days  after  the  com- 
pletion of  his  seventeenth  year,  he  became  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Baptist  church  at  Hebden-bridge.  His 
venerable  pastor,  Dr  Fawcett,  and  other  friends  who 


76  JOHN  FOSTER. 

had  watched  with  deep  interest  his  early  thought- 
fuhiess  and  piety,  urged  him  to  dedicate  his  talents 
to  the  Christian  ministry.  Whether  he  had  him- 
self previously  formed  such  a  design  or  not,  the  ob- 
ject of  their  wishes  soon  became  his  deliberate  choice, 
and  after  giving  satisfactory  proofs  of  his  abilities, 
he  was  '  set  apart '  for  the  ministerial  office  by  a 
special  religious  service.  For  the  purpose  of  re- 
ceiving classical  instruction  and  general  mental  im- 
provement, he  became  shortly  after  an  inmate  at 
Brearley  Hall,  where  Dr  Fawcett,  in  connection 
with  his  labours  as  an  instructor  of  youth,  directed, 
at  that  time,  the  studies  of  a  few  theological  candi- 
dates. Part  of  each  day  was  still  spent  in  assisting 
his  parents  at  their  usual  employments.  During 
the  rest  of  the  time,  his  application  to  study  was 
so  intense  as  to  excite  apprehensions  for  his  health. 
Frequently,  whole  nights  were  spent  in  reading  and 
meditation,  and  on  these  occasions,  his  favourite  re- 
sort was  a  grove  in  Dr  Fawcett's  garden.  His 
scholastic  exercises  were  marked  by  great  labour, 
and  accomplished  very  slowly.  Many  of  his  in- 
feriors in  mental  power  surpassed  him  in  the  readi- 
ness with  which  they  performed  the  prescribed  les- 
sons. One  method  which  he  adopted  for  improving 
himself  in  composition,  was  that  of  taking  para- 
graphs from  different  writers,  and  trying  to  remodel 
them,  sentence  by  sentence,  into  as  many  forms  of 
expression  as  he  possibly  could.  His  posture  on 
these  occasions  was  to  sit  with  a  hand  on  each  knee. 


]\[ENTAL  CHARACTER.  77 

and,  moving  his  body  to  and  fro,  lie  would  remain 
silent  for  a  considerable  time,  till  his  invention  in 
shaping  his  materials  had  exhausted  itself.  This 
process  he  used  to  call  pumpiiig.  He  had  a  great 
aversion  to  certain  forms  of  expression  which  were 
much  in  vogue  among  some  religious  people,  and 
declared  that  if  possible  he  w^ouid  expunge  them 
from  every  book  by  act  of  parliament ;  and  often 
said,  'We  want  to  put  a  new  face  upon  things.' 

At  Dr  Fawcett's,  Foster  had  access  to  a  large 
and  miscellaneous  library.  His  course  of  reading, 
though  extensive,  was  by  no  means  indiscriminate; 
and  it  was  observed  that  he  invariably  read  his  fa- 
vourite authors  with  extreme  care  and  attention. 
In  general  literature  no  class  of  books  delighted  him 
so  much  as  voyages  and  travels ;  and  the  taste  for 
this  kind  of  reading,  which  so  gratified  his  imagi- 
native faculty,  and  his  love  of  the  marvellous  and 
romantic,  never  forsook  him.  In  practical  theology 
he  was  very  partial  to  Watson's  '  Heaven  taken  by 
Storm,'  the  work  mentioned  by  Dr  Doddridge  as 
having  been  read  by  Col.  Gardiner  on  the  evening 
of  his  memorable  conversion. 

Brearley  Hall  was  environed  with  hanging  woods, 
except  on  the  south,  where  it  opened  by  a  gentle 
declivity  to  the  valley.  The  scenery  harmonised 
with  Foster's  temperament;  and  lonely  rambles 
in  the  surrounding  woodlands  formed  almost  his 
only  recreation.  On  one  occasion  he  persuaded 
a  young   companion   to   walk   with   him   by   the 


78  JOHN  FOSTER. 

river's  side,  from  evening  to  dawn,  just,  as  lie  said, 
that  they  might  see  how  the  light  in  its  first 
approach  affected  the  surrounding  scenery.  Some 
years  afterwards,  when  on  a  visit  to  his  parents,  he 
suddenly  quitted  the  house,  and  started  off  in  a 
heavy  shower  to  look  at  a  waterfall  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, of  which  he  had  often  heard,  and  on  his 
return  said,  '  I  now  understand  the  thing,  and  have 
got  some  ideas  on  the  subject,  with  which  I  should 
not  like  to  part.' 

'  No  one,'  an  early  friend  remarks,  ^  was  better 
qualified  to  write  on  '^  decision  of  character."  It 
was  from  early  life  the  habitual  characteristic  of 
his  mind.  He  formed  his  purposes,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  execute  them ;  nothing  wavering.  He 
was  always  examining  everything  that  came  with- 
in the  range  of  his  observation ;  neither  wind  nor 
weather,  night  nor  day,  offered  any  obstacle ;  he 
accomplished  his  purpose.' 

In  his  sermons,  not  less  than  in  his  conversa- 
tion, he  constantly  aimed  at  imparting  freshness  to 
ordinary  topics,  and  generally  succeeded.  Yet  it 
happened  not  unfrequently  that  his  hearers  were 
more  startled  and  perplexed  than  edified.  He  once 
preached  at  Thornton,  near  Bradford,  from  the 
words, '  I  am  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life.'  His 
object  was  to  show  the  awful  condition  of  the 
human  race,  liad  not  a  way  of  access  been  provided 
by  God ;  but  his  novel  mode  of  treating  the  subject 
led  an  old  man  (the  oracle  of  his  little  circle)  to  re- 


PROCEEDS  TO  BRISTOL.  79 

mark,  ^  I  don't  know  what  he  lias  been  driving  at 
all  this  afternoon,  unless  to  set  riddles.'  '  He  is 
going  to  take  us  to  the  stars  again,'  was  a  frequent 
observation  of  his  hearers.  Yet  instances  were  not 
wanting  in  which  his  discourses  made  a  salutary 
and  indelible  impression ;  two  especially — one  from 
the  words,  '  And  on  his  head  were  many  crowns,' 
the  other  on,  ^  Doing  the  will  of  God  from  the 
heart ' — were  long  remembered. 

He  w^as  very  assiduous  in  visiting  the  cottages 
of  the  poor,  particularly  the  sick  and  aged  ;  on  these 
occasions,  besides  religious  conversation  and  prayer, 
he  generally  read  the  145th  Psalm. 

After  spending  about  three  years  at  Brearley, 
application  was  made  for  his  admission  into  the 
Baptist  College,  Bristol.  He  entered  that  institu- 
tion shortly  after  the  decease  of  the  president,  Dr 
Caleb  Evans,  a  man  deservedly  held  in  high 
esteem  among  his  connections.  The  classical  tutor, 
Robert  Hall  (^  clarum  et  memorabile  nomen'),  had 
just  removed  to  Cambridge ;  but  his  place  was  ably 
filled  by  Joseph  Hughes,  the  founder  and  secretary 
of  the  British  and  Foreign  Bible  Society ;  he  was 
only  one  year  and  eight  months  older  than  Foster ; 
their  minds  were  congenial,  and  the  preceptor  and 
the  pupil  were  each  soon  merged  in  the  friend.  In 
piety,  in  mental  activity,  in  ambition  of  intellectual 
superiority,  in  a  deep  shade  of  pensiveness,  they  re- 
sembled one  another ;  and  if  one  possessed  greater 
originality  of  thought  and  affluence  of  imagination, 


80  JOHN  FOSTER. 

the  otlicr  probably  wa?  superior  in  a  more  exact 
intellectual  training,  and  had  attained  a  greater  ma- 
turity of  religious  character  and  sentiment." 

After  leaving  Bristol,  he  was  engaged  in  the 
duties  of  his  profession  at  Newcastle- on -Tyne, 
where,  however,  he  remained  but  for  a  few  months, 
at  the  ex])iry  of  which  time,  after  visiting  his  friends 
in  Yorkshire,  he  proceeded  to  take  charge  of  a  small 
congregation  of  the  Baptist  Church  in  Dublin. 
Here  he  found  it  impossible  to  remain,  and  from 
the  account  he  gives  in  his  letters,  it  is  more  than 
])robable  that  the  few  who  were  accustomed  to  at- 
tend his  ministrations  were  incapable  of  appreciat- 
ing him.  "  The  congregation,"  he  says,  '^  was  very 
small  when  I  commenced,  and  almost  nothing  when 
I  voluntarily  closed.  A  dull  scene  it  w^as,  in  which 
I  preached  with  but  little  interest,  and  they  heard 
with  less."  A  subsequent  attempt  to  keep  a  clas- 
sical and  mathematical  school  in  Dublin  was,  to- 
gether with  other  projects,  equally  unsuccessful. 
Early  in  1797,  ^Ir  Foster  undertook  the  charge 
of  the  Baptist  Church  at  Chichester,  where  he 
remained  for  two  years  and  a-half.  In  1800  he 
removed  to  Downend,  near  Bristol,  where  he 
preached  regularly  in  a  small  chapel  erected  by  Dr 
Caleb  Evans.  Here  he  remained  about  four  years, 
when,  in  consequence  of  the  high  testimony  borne 
to  his  qualifications  by  the  celebrated  Robert  Hall, 
lie  was  invited  to  become  minister  of  a  congregation 
at  Frome.     This  invitation  he  accepted,  but  it  soon 


HIS  MARRIAGE.  81 

appeared  that  he  was  not  long  to  be  permitted  to 
discharge  the  duties  of  the  pulpit.  Prior  to  his  set- 
tlement at  Frome,  a  swelling  had  taken  place  in 
one  of  the  glands  of  his  neck,  and  the  exertion  of 
speaking  continued  greatly  to  aggravate  the  disease. 
''  I  am  strongly  apprehensive,"-  he  wrote  in  !May 
1805,  '',that  a  short  time  longer  will  put  an  end  to 
ray  preaching."  This  anticipation  was  at  length 
realised.  In  spite  of  every  remedy,  the  swelling 
continued  to  increase,  and  in  midsummer  1806  he 
found  it  indispensable  to  resign  his  ministerial 
charge.  It  was  a  most  providential  circumstance 
that,  when  thus  laid  aside  from  that  <l^ty  for  which 
lie  was  so  eminently  qualified,  he  was  enabled  in 
another  way  not  only  to  obtain  an  independence, 
but  to  be  perhaps  more  useful  than  when  his  exer- 
tions were  confined  to  the  narrow  sphere  of  his  con- 
gregation. The  "  Essays  "  had  already  appeared, 
and  had  been  thrice  reprinted,  the  third  edition 
having  been  published  about  the  same  time  that  he 
retired  from  public  duty.  He  had  already  attained 
to  a  high  degree  of  celebrity,  and  was  able  to  de- 
vote himself  to  literature  with  little  fear  of  the  re- 
sult. About  two  years  after  retiring  from  his  public 
duty  at  Frome,  Mr  Foster's  marriage  took  place, 
and  those  prospects  of  domestic  comfort  and  happi- 
ness, which  the  character  and  the  congenial  tastes 
of  his  partner  enabled  him  to  entertain,  were  com- 
pletely realised. 

After  his  marriage,  Mr  Foster  took  up  his  resi- 

L 


82  JOHN  FOSTER. 

dence  at  Bourton,  where  five  of  his  children  were 
born;  but  towards  the  close  of  1817  he  once  more 
became  a  resident  and  stated  preacher  at  his  former 
charge  of  Downend,  his  ailments  having  in  some 
degree  subsided,  vet  he  had  no  purpose  of  perma- 
nently devoting  himself  to  the  duties  of  the  pulpit. 
In  1821  he  once  more  quitted  Downend,  but  still 
occupied  liimself  in  occasionally  preaching,  in  addi- 
tion to  his  industrious  labours  through  the  press. 
In  1832  Mr  Foster  was  called  to  endure  the  irre- 
parable loss  of  his  excellent  wife — his  "  beloved, 
affectionate,  and  invaluable  companion  for  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  century."     Sustaining  this  severe  af- 
fliction with  the  fortitude  consistent  with  his  cha- 
racter and  principles,   Mr   Foster    still  continued 
his  literary  labours,  till  his  own  health  began  to 
give  way.     In  December  1836  ^'  he  was  attacked 
with  bronchitis,  a  '  visitation  '  which,  he  remarked, 
'  came  as  a  very  strange  one  to  a  man  wdio  had  not 
for  fifty  years  been  confined  to  bed  a  single  day.' 
He  kept  his  room  somewhere  about  two  months. 
He  manifested,  throughout,  the  greatest  patience ; 
and  his  letters,  written  when  he  became  convales- 
cent, disclose  how  anxiously  he  sought  to  derive 
spiritual  improvement  from  the  affiiction  :  '  1  hope,' 
he  says,  '  this  season  of  imprisonment  has  not  been 
without  a  real  advantage  in  respect  to  the  highest 
concern.     It  has  brought  with  it  many  grave,  ear- 
nest, and  ]^ainful  reflections.     The  review  of  life 
has  been  solemnly  condemnatory — such  a  sad  defi- 


PIETY  IN  SICKNESS.  83 

ciency  of  the  vitality  of  religion,  the  devotional 
spirit,  the  love,  the  zeal,  the  fidelity  of  conscience. 
I  have  been  really  amazed  to  think  how  I  could — 
I  do  not  say,  have  been  content  with  such  a  low 
and  almost  equivocal  piety,  for  I  never  have  been 
at  all  content — but  how  I  could  have  endured  it, 
without  my  whole  soul  rising  up  against  it,  and 
calling  vehemently  on  the  Almighty  Helper  to 
come  to  my  rescue,  and  never  ceasing  till  the 
blessed  experience  was  attained.  And  then  the 
sad  burden  of  accumulated  guilt ! — and  the  solemn 
future ! — and  life  so  near  the  end  ! — Oh  what  dark 
despair  but  for  that  blessed  light  that  shines  from 
the  Prince  of  Life,  the  only  and  the  all-sufficient 
Deliverer  from  the  second  death.  I  have  prayed 
earnestly  for  a  genuine  penitential  living  faith  on 
Him.  Do  you  pray  for  me.  Thus  I  hope  this 
temporary  experience  of  suspended  health  will  have 
a  salutary  effect  on  the  souVs  health.  I  do  not 
mean  that  these  exercises  of  mind  are  a  new  thing;, 
brought  on  by  this  visitation.  They  have  grown 
upon  me  in  this  late  declining  stage  of  life.  But 
for  everything  that  enforces  and  augments  them  I 
have  cause  to  be  thankful.  There  is  much  work 
yet  to  be  done  in  this  most  unworthy  soul ;  my  sole 
reliance  is  on  divine  assistance ;  and  1  do  hope  and 
earnestly  trust  (trust  in  that  assistance  itself),  that 
every  day  I  may  yet  have  to  stay  on  earth,  will  be 
employed  as  part  of  a  period  of  persevering,  and  I 
almost  say  passionate^  petitions  for  the  divine  mercy 


84  JOHN  FOSTER. 

in  Christ,  and  so  continue  to  the  last  day  and  hour 
of  life,  if  consciousness  be  then  granted.  .  .  . 
Often  I  am  making  humble  comparisons  between 
my  lot,  and  that  of  the  many  ten  thousands  who 
are  suffering  at  this  time  all  the  miseries  of  hope- 
less destitution.  Why  am  I  so  favoured,  and  mil- 
lions so  wretched  ?  " 

About  Christmas  1842,  Mr  Foster  had  one  or 
two  attacks  of  spitting  of  blood,  and  again  about 
the  middle  of  January  1843.  These  attacks  did 
not  confine  him  at  all  to  his  bed  or  to  his  room,  but 
obliged  him  to  be  very  careful,  and  to  remain  in 
the  house  for  many  weeks.  As  the  milder  weather 
came  on,  he  ventured  out  again,  and  did  not  seem 
in  a  very  perceptibly  different  state  from  what  he 
had  been  in  during  the  previous  summer.  He  was 
somewhat  thinner  and  more  languid — less  disposed 
and  less  able  to  move  about.  His  cough  also  was 
often  very  troublesome. 

'^  The  three  years  that  I  am  in  advance  of 
you,"  he  writes  to  Mr  Hill  (August  31),  "have 
brought  on  me  the  most  cogent  mementos  of  mor- 
tality. Within  less  than  two  years,  two  protract- 
ed seasons  of  very  great  prostration,  resulting  in  a 
settled  debility,  which  will  continue  through  what- 
ever remains  of  life.  I  have  the  great  grievance 
of  a  cough,  of  an  anomalous  kind,  having  ap- 
parently nothing  to  do  with  the  chest,  but  caused 
by  a  local  irritation  somewhere  at  the  bottom  of 
the  throat.     No  medicaments  take  any  effect  on  it. 


SPIRITUAL  IMPROVEMENT.  85 

Of  a  dozen  things  tried,  laudanum  is  the  only  one 
to  which  it  yields.  i\.n  unwelcome  resource,  which 
I  use  as  sparingly  as  I  can,  for  I  feel  it  has  an  un- 
pleasant effect  on  the  head.' 

In  his  last  letter  to  the  same  friend,  of  rather 
later  date  (Sept.  18),  he  says,  '  This  is  a  grand  mis- 
sionary week  in  our  town ;  of  which  I  shall  not  see 
a  particle,  or  hear  a  sentence.  I  shall  not  be  called 
on  by  any  of  them,  it  being  understood  that  I  can- 
not loorlc  a  conversation  J  talking  being  sure  to  irri- 
tate a  very  injurious  cough.  On  this  account,  last 
evening  I  sent  away  without  seeing  him  the  person 
whom,  at  all  times,  I  am  more  pleased  to  see  than 
any  one  else  from  the  town.  I  fancy  some  little 
abatement  of  the  extreme  debility.  Any  material 
amendment  will  be  slow;  as  to  recovery^  in  any 
moderate  or  ordinary  sense  of  the  word,  1  never 
think  of  it.  It  may  be  that  life  may  last  on  two 
or  three  lingering  years;  as  the  constitution,  radi- 
cally, is  of  the  sounder  order,  and  very  sound  till 
within  the  last  two  years.  But  my  business  is  to 
be  looking  habitually  to  the  end^  and  making  all 
serious  preparation  for  it,  under  such  constant  strong 
admonition.  In  considering,  a  day  or  two  since, 
the  balance  of  good  and  evil  of  this  last  year  and 
more,  I  hoped  I  could  say,  I  am  a  gainer^  by  the 
salutary  effects  I  hope  I  have  reaped  from  this  disci- 
pline. I  never  prayed  more  earnestly,  nor  pro- 
bably with  such  faithful  frequency.  '  Fray  witli- 
out  ceasing j''  has  been  the  sentence  repeating  itself 


8G  JOHN  FOSTER. 

in  the  silent  tliouglit;  and  I  am  sure,  I  think,  that 
it  will,  that  it  must^  be  my  practice  to  the  last  con- 
scious hour  of  life.  Oh  why  not  throughout  that 
long,  indolent,  inanimate  half- century  past!  I 
often  think  mournfully  of  the  difference  it  would 
have  made  now,  when  there  remains  so  little  time 
for  a  more  genuine,  effective,  spiritual  life.  What 
would  become  of  a  poor  sinful  soul,  but  for  that 
blessed,  all -comprehensive  Sacrifice,  and  that  in- 
tercession at  the  right  hand  of  the  Majesty  on 
high?' 

On  the  24th  of  September  he  took  to  his  room, 
which  he  never  again  left.  There  exists  no  doubt 
that  his  lungs  had  been  diseased  for  many  years. 
With  very  rare  and  slight  exceptions,  he  betrayed 
none  of  the  irritability  so  generally  attendant  upon 
the  disease.  The  religious  remarks  and  admoni- 
tions addressed  to  those  around  him  were  deeply 
interesting  and  affecting ;  but  it  was  not  often  that 
his  cough  and  extreme  weakness  allowed  him  to  say 
much.  On  one  occasion,  however,  he  spoke  at  great 
length  on  '  the  duty  of  earnest,  persevering,  impor- 
tunate prayer ; '  and  at  another  time,  on  the  abso- 
lute necessity  of  casting  ourselves  on  the  mercy  of 
God  in  Christ  Jesus,  concluding  in  the  following 
words,  'We  can  do  nothing  in  our  own  strength; 
we  must  look  to  Jesus— our  only  Mediator — our 
only  Kedecmer— our  only  hope.'  But  no  exhorta- 
tions could  have  been  half  so  impressive  as  the  uni- 
form patience  he  displayed,  and  the  sclf-condemna- 


LAST  HOURS.  87 

tory  remarks  he  often  made,  indicating  a  profound 
feeling  of  the  evil  of  sin. 

One  evening  when  he  appeared  very  much  ex- 
hausted, it  was  remarked  '  You  are  very  languid 
to-night.'  'Yes,'  he  replied,  'I  shall  languish  out 
of  this  mortal  life  some  time  not  long  hence.'  On 
being  told  of  the  frequent  kind  inquiries  made  for 
him  by  friends  in  the  neighbourhood,  he  said,  '  To 
all  inquiries  it's  always  the  same  answer,  and  the 
last  will  be  the  best  of  all.'  On  the  Sabbath  pre- 
vious to  his  death,  while  a  friend  was  reading  to 
him  one  of  Doddridge's  sermons,  he  fell  asleep;  on 
awaking,  he  said,  in  a  tone  very  expressive  of  a 
grateful  feeling,  '  'Tis  a  thankless  office  to  read  to 
sleepy  people.' 

In  the  earlier  stages  of  his  illness  he  was  very 
much  in  the  habit  of  speaking  of  the  value  of  time, 
and  sometimes  quoted  Young's  lines  on  the  subject. 
Another  frequent  topic  of  conversation  was  the  sepa- 
rate state.  After  the  death  of  any  friend,  he  seemed 
impatient  to  be  made  acquainted  with  the  secrets  of 
the  invisible  world.  On  one  occasion  of  this  kind 
(rather  more  than  a  twelvemonth  before  his  own 
decease),  he  exclaimed,  'They  don't  come  back  to 
tell  us ! '  and  then,  after  a  short  silence,  emphatically 
striking  his  hand  upon  the  table,  he  added,  with  a 
look  of  intense  seriousness,  '  But  we  shall  know 
some  tionef 

He  sat  up  for  a  few  hours  almost  daily  till  the 
day  before  his  death.     Towards  the  latter  part  of 


S8  JOHN  FOSTER. 

thn  time  ho.  often  expressed  a  wish  to  be  left  alone 
f..r  a  little  while,  saying,  that  there  was  much  he 
ono^ht  to  think  of,  and  that  in  a  state  of  great  de- 
bility it  was  a  difficult  thing  to  think. 

Duriner  the  whole  course  of  his  illness  he  showed 
the  greatest  consideration  for  the  servants  and  all 
about  him,  and  was  anxious  to  give  them  as  little 
trouble  as  possible.  He  never  allowed  any  one  to 
sit  up,  even  for  part  of  the  night — he  would  not 
listen  to  such  a  proposal,  and  when  urged  would 
say,  that  it  would  so  annoy  him  as  to  prevent  his 
sleeping. 

Speaking  of  his  weakness  to  one  of  his  two  ser- 
vants who  had  both  lived  with  him  for  about  thirty 
years,  he  mentioned  some  things  which  he  had  not 
strength  to  perform ;  and  then  added,  '  But  I  can 
pray,  and  that  is  a  glorious  thing.'  On  another 
occasion  he  said  to  his  attendant,  '  Trust  in  Christ 
— trust  in  (Christ.'  At  another  time,  the  servant 
heard  him  repeating  to  himself  the  words,  ^  O  death, 
where  is  thy  sting?  O  grave,  where  is  thy  vic- 
tory? Thanks  be  to  God,  who  giveth  us  the  vic- 
tory, through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.' 

On  October  3  he  wrote  to  Sir  J.  Easthope,  and 
stated  that  he  had  no  expectation  of  surviving  more 
than  a  very  few  months,  but  tliough  he  felt  unequal 
to  the  exertion  of  a  personal  interview,  he  '  would 
not  yet  say  Farewell.'  Two  days  later,  however, 
his  debility  had  increased  so  rapidly,  that  he  li- 
mited his  expectations  of  prolonged  life  to  only  a 


THE  END.  89 

few  days,  and  ended  his  last  letter  to  the  same 
friend  with  the  words, '  I  commend  you  to  the  God 
of  mercy,  and  very  affectionately  bid  you — Fare- 
welV 

His  family  were  much  struck  by  the  perfect  dig- 
nity and  composure  with  which,  as  soon  as  he  relin- 
quished all  hope  of  even  a  partial  recovery,  he  re- 
signed himself  to  the  divine  appointment. 

On  Saturday,  October  14,  the  day  before  his 
death,  he  complained  of  feeling  some  confusedness  in 
his  head,  and  was  much  oppressed  in  his  breathing; 
he  was  therefore  obliged  to  desist  that  day  from  his 
usual  practice  of  hearing  some  one  read  to  him;  and 
finding  it  very  difficult  to  converse,  he  requested  to 
be  left  quite  alone  during  the  afternoon  and  even- 
ing. This  desire  was  complied  with;  some  of  his 
family  going  occasionally  into  his  room,  but  so  as 
not  to  disturb  him,  till  the  usual  hour  of  retiring 
to  rest;  they  then  particularly  requested  that  some 
one  might  be  allowed  to  sit  up  with  him  through 
the  night.  This,  however,  he  steadily  refused, 
though  in  consequence  of  a  long-continued  fit  of 
coughing  he  was  in  a  state  of  greater  exhaustion 
than  usual.  The  kind  old  servant  who  attended 
upon  him,  from  an  apprehension  lest  she  should 
disturb  him,  did  not  go  at  all  into  his  room  in  the 
course  of  that  night,  as  she  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  doing  every  night  for  the  past  fortnight.  But 
towards  four  o'clock  she  went  to  the  door  of  his 
room  to  listen,  and  being  satisfied  from  the  sound 
M 


00  JOHN  FOSTER. 

slie  liranl  that  lie  was  sleeping,  returned  wltliout 
going  in.  At  about  six  o'clock  she  went  again  to 
the  door,  and  this  time  hearing  no  sound  she  went 
in,  and  found  that  he  had  expired.  His  arms  were 
gently  extended,  and  his  countenance  was  as  tran- 
quil as  that  of  a  person  in  a  peaceful  sleep.  Death 
had  taken  place  but  a  very  short  time,  for  only  the 
forehead  was  cold. 

On  the  following  Saturday  his  remains  were 
laid  in  the  grave,  which  just  seventeen  years  before 
had  been  opened  to  receive  those  of  his  son,  in  the 
burial-ground  belonging  to  the  chapel  at  Downend, 
where  he  formerly  preached." 


THOMAS    ARNOLD. 

The  distinguished  divine  and  historian  to  whom  we 
are  now  to  refer  was  born  on  the  13th  of  June, 
1795,  at  West  Cowes  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  where 
his  father  held  the  situation  of  Collector  of  Customs. 
After  obtaining  his  earliest  education  at  Warmin- 
ster, lie  was  sent  in  1807  to  Winchester  School, 
where  he  remained  four  years,  entering  Oxford  in 
1811  as  a  scholar  of  Corpus  Christi  College.  Hav- 
ing greatly  distinguished  himself,  and  in  the  exami- 
nation in  1814  taken  a  first-class  degree,  he  was 
elected  a  Fellow  of  Oriel  College  in  the  following 
year,  and  gained  the  Chancellor's  Prize  for  the  two 
university  essays,  Latin  and  English,  for  the  years 
1815  and  1817.  Thus,  at  a  very  early  period  of 
life,  Mr  Arnold  attained  a  high  position  in  the  ce- 
lebrated seat  of  learning  of  which  he  was  a  member. 
Duruig  his  residence  at  the  university,  he  made 
many  valuable  friends,  with  many  of  whom  he  re- 
mained intimate  through  life,  and,  like  some  of 
them,  there  can  be  no  doubt,  that,  if  it  had  pleased 
divine  Providence  to  prolong  his  life,  he  would  have 
attained  to  the  highest  dignity  in  the  Church  of 
England.  Among  those  of  his  college  companions 
whose  talents  and  learning  have  raised  them  to 
places  of  dignity  and  trust,  may  be  mentioned  such 


J»2  TIIUMAS  AKXOLD. 

men  as  Judge  Coleridge,  Dr  Copleston,  Bishop  of 
LlandafV,  and  Dr  AVliately,  Archbishop  of  Dublin. 
In  Stanley's  Life  of  Dr  Arnold  is  inserted  a  letter 
from  Judge  Coleridge,  which  gives  a  very  graphic 
account  of  his  college  life,  and  exhibits  a  most  in- 
teresting view  of  the  personal  appearance,  the  in- 
tense love  of  study,  and  the  high  intellectual  and 
moral  qualities  of  the  youthful  scholar. 

'^  His  passion  at  the  time  I  am  treating  of,"  says 
the  learned  Judge,  "  was  for  Aristotle  and  Thucy- 
dides;  and  however  he  became  some  few  years  after 
more  sensible  of  the  importance  of  the  poets  in  classic 
literature,  this  passion  he  retained  to  the  last;  those 
who  knew  him  intimately  or  corresponded  with  him, 
will  bear  me  witness  how  deeply  he  was  imbued  with 
the  language  and  ideas  of  the  former;  how  in  earnest 
and  unreserved  conversation,  or  in  writing,  his  train 
of  thoughts  was  affected  by  the  Ethics  and  Rhetoric; 
how  he  cited  the  maxims  of  the  Stagyrite  as  oracles, 
and  how  his  language  was  quaintly  and  racily 
pointed  with  phrases  from  him.  I  never  knew  a 
man  who  made  such  familiar,  even  fond  use  of  an 
author:  it  is  scarcely  too  much  to  say,  that  he 
spoke  of  him  as  of  one  intimately  and  affectionately 
known  and  valued  by  him  ;  and  when  he  was  select- 
ing his  son's  university,  with  much  leaning  for 
Cambridge,  and  many  things  wliich  at  the  time 
made  him  incline  against  Oxford,  dearly  as  he  loved 
her,  Aristotle  turned  the  scale ;  '  I  could  not  con- 
sent,' said  he,  '  to  send  my  son  to  a  university  where 


HIS  SCHOLARSHIP.  93 

he  would  lose  the  study  of  him  altogether.'  '  You 
may  believe,'  he  said  with  regard  to  the  London 
University,  '  that  I  have  not  forgotten  the  dear  old 
Stagyrite  in  our  examinations,  and  I  hope  that  he 
will  be  construed  and  discussed  in  Somerset  House 
as  well  as  in  the  schools.'  His  fondness  for  Thucy- 
dides  first  prompted  a  Lexicon  Thucydideum,  in 
which  he  made  some  progress  at  Laleham  in  1821 
and  1822,  and  ended  as  you  know  in  his  valuable 
edition  of  that  author. 

Next  to  these  he  loved  Herodotus.  I  have  said 
that  he  was  not,  while  I  knew  him  at  Oxford,  a 
formed  scholar,  and  that  he  composed  stiffly  and 
with  difficulty,  but  to  this  there  was  a  seeming  ex- 
ception ;  he  had  so  imbued  himself  with  the  style 
of  Plerodotus  and  Thucydides,  that  he  could  write 
narratives  in  the  style  of  either  at  pleasure  with 
wonderful  readiness,  and  as  we  thought  with  the 
greatest  accuracy.  I  remember,  too,  an  account  by 
him  of  a  Vacation  Tour  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  after 
the  manner  of  the  'Anabasis.' 

Arnold's  bodily  recreations  were  walking  and 
bathing.  It  was  a  particular  delight  to  him,  with 
two  or  three  companions,  to  make  what  he  called  a 
skirmish  across  the  country ;  on  these  occasions  we 
deserted  the  road,  crossed  fences,  and  leaped  ditches, 
or  fell  into  them  :  he  enjoyed  the  country  round 
Oxford,  and  while  out  in  this  way  his  spirits  would 
rise,  and  his  mirth  overflowed.  Though  delicate  in 
appearance,  and  not  giving  promise  of  great  mus- 


*J4  THOMAS  AKNOLD. 

cular  strength,  yet  his  form  was  light,  and  he  was 
capable  of  going  long  distances  and  bearing  mucli 
fatigue. 

You  know  that  to  his  last  moment  of  health  he 
liad  the  same  predilections  ;  indeed  he  was,  as  much 
as  any  I  ever  knew,  one  whose  days  were 

'  Bound  each  to  eacli  by  natural  piety,' 

His  manner  had  all  the  tastes  and  feelings  of  his 
youth,  only  more  developed  and  better  regulated. 
The  same  passion  for  the  sea  and  shipping,  and  his 
favourite  Isle  of  Wight ;  the  same  love  for  external 
nature,  the  same  readiness  in  viewing  the  character- 
istic features  of  a  country  and  its  marked  positions, 
or  the  most  beautiful  points  of  a  prospect,  for  all 
wliich  he  was  remarkable  in  after  life,  we  noticed 
in  him  then.  When  Professor  Buckland,  then  one 
of  our  Fellows,  began  his  career  in  that  science,  to 
the  advancement  of  whicli  he  has  contributed  so 
much,  Arnold  became  one  of  his  most  earnest  and 
intelligent  pupils,  and  you  know  how  familiarly 
and  ])ractically  he  applied  geological  facts  in  all  his 
lat<'r  years.     .     .     . 

I  believe  1  have  exhausted  my  recollections ; 
and  if  I  have  accom})lished  as  I  ought,  what  I  pro- 
posed to  myself,  it  will  be  hardly  necessary  for  me  to 
sum  up  formally  his  character  as  an  Oxford  under- 
.graduate.  At  the  commencement  a  boy — and  at 
the  close  retaining,  not  ungracefully,  much  of  boy- 
ish spirits,  frolic,  and  simplicity ;  in  mind  vigorous, 


HIS  CHARACTEII.  95 

active,  clear-sighted,  industrious,  and  daily  accumu- 
lating and  assimilating  treasures  of  knowledge  ;  not 
adverse  to  poetry,  but  delighting  rather  in  dialectics, 
philosophy,  and  history,  with  less  of  imaginative 
than  reasoning  power  ;  in  argument  bold  almost  to 
presumption,  and  vehement;  in  temper  easily  roused 
to  indignation,  yet  more  easily  appeased,  and  entirely 
free  from  bitterness;  fired,  indeed,  by  what  he  deemed 
ungenerous  or  unjust  to  others,  rather  than  by  any 
sense  of  personal  wrong;  somewhat  too  little  defe- 
rential to  authority;  yet  without  any  real  inconsis- 
tency loving  what  was  good  and  great  in  antiquity 
the  more  ardently  and  reverently  because  it  was  an- 
cient ;  a  casual  or  unkind  observer  might  have  pro- 
nounced him  somewhat  too  pugnacious  in  conversa- 
tion and  too  positive.  I  have  given,  I  believe,  the 
true  explanation ;  scarcely  anything  would  have 
pained  him  more  than  to  be  convinced  that  he  had 
been  guilty  of  want  of  modesty,  or  of  deference 
where  it  was  justly  due  ;  no  one  thought  these  vir- 
tues of  more  sacred  obligation.  In  heart,  if  I  can 
speak  w^ith  confidence  of  any  of  the  friends  of  my 
youth,  I  can  of  his,  that  it  was  devout  and  pure, 
simple,  sincere,  affectionate,  and  faithful. 

It  is  time  that  I  should  close ;  already,  I  fear,  I 
have  dwelt  with  something  like  an  old  man's  pro- 
lixity on  passages  of  my  youth,  forgetting  that  no 
one  can  take  the  same  interest  in  them  which  I  do 
myself;  that  deep  personal  interest  must,  however, 
be  my  excuse.     Whoever  sets  a  right  value  on  the 


06  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

events  of  liis  life  for  good  or  for  evil,  will  agree 
that,  next  in  importance  to  the  rectitude  of  his  own 
course  and  tlie  selection  of  his  partner  for  life,  and 
far  beyond  all  the  wealth  or  honours  which  may 
reward  his  labour,  far  even  beyond  the  unspeakable 
gift  of  bodily  health,  are  the  friendships  w^liich  he 
forms  in  youth.  That  is  the  season  when  natures 
soft  and  pliant  grow  together,  each  becoming  part 
of  the  other,  and  coloured  by  it ;  thus  to  become 
one  in  heart  with  the  good,  and  generous,  and  de- 
vout, is,  by  God's  grace,  to  become,  in  measure, 
good,  and  generous,  and  devout.  Arnold's  friend- 
ship has  been  one  of  the  many  blessings  of  my  life. 
I  cherish  the  memory  of  it  with  mournful  grati- 
tude, and  I  cannot  but  dwell  with  lingering  fond- 
ness on  the  scene  and  the  period  which  first  brought 
us  together.  Within  the  peaceful  walls  of  Corpus 
I  made  friends,  of  whom  all  are  spared  me  but  Ar- 
nold— he  has  fallen  asleep — but  the  bond  there 
formed,  which  the  lapse  of  years  and  our  differing 
walks  in  life  did  not  unloosen,  and  which  strong 
opposition  of  opinions  only  rendered  more  intimate, 
though  interrupted  in  time,  I  feel  not  to  be  broken 
— may  I  venture,  without  unseasonable  solemnity,  to 
express  the  firm  trust,  that  it  will  endure  for  ever 
in  eternity." 

Having  remained  at  Oxford  pursuing  his  studies 
and  taking  pupils,  he  at  length  settled  at  Laleham, 
near  Staines,  and  in  1820  married  Miss  Mary  Pen- 
rose, youngest  daughter  of  the  Ecv.  John  Penrose, 


APPOINTED  TO  RUGBY.  97 

Eector  of  Fleclborougli  in  NottinghamsTiire.  At 
Laleham,  his  income  was  derived  from  taking  pupils, 
whom  he  prepared  for  the  universities — a  duty  for 
the  successful  discharge  of  which  he  was  peculiarly 
fitted,  not  only  by  the  extent  and  accuracy  of  his 
learning,  but  by  the  admirable  qualities  of  his  mind. 
After  having  been  thus  occupied  for  nine  years,  he 
was  induced,  by  the  urgent  solicitation  of  his  friend, 
the  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  to  become  a  candidate 
for  the  Head-mastership  of  Rugby  School,  an  office 
of  great  importance,  for  which  the  highest  scholar- 
ship was  indispensable.  Dr  Whately,  Dr  Hawkins, 
Provost  of  Oriel  College,  and  other  highly  compe- 
tent judges,  were  anxious  that  Mr  Arnold  should 
obtain  the  appointment,  from  the  certainty  they  felt 
that  the  institution  would  obtain  great  advantages 
under  his  superintendence.  In  deference  to  the 
opinions  of  his  friends,  and  desirous  himself  of  a 
wider  sphere  of  usefulness,  he  became  a  candidate, 
and  was  appointed  to  the  vacant  office,  on  the  duties 
of  which  he  entered  in  August  1828. 

The  high  expectations  of  his  friends  were  amply 
realised  by  this  appointment.  It  is  well  known 
that  a  great  demand  had  existed,  not  only  at  Eugby, 
but  at  all  the  great  schools  in  England,  for  reform 
and  improvement.  The  system  of  education  itself 
required  modification,  and  was  regarded  by  compe- 
tent judges  as  by  no  means  efficient  as  regards 
cither  intellectual  or  moral  discipline.  On  the  one 
hand,  an  undue  preference  was  given  to  mere  ele- 
N 


98  TilUMAS  AIINOLD. 

gant  scliolarsliip  over  the  real  life  and  miiicl  of  the 
ancients,  while  there  was  generally  a  total  disregard 
of  modern  languages  and  modern  literature,  and 
practical  science  of  every  kind,  and  in  a  word,  of 
that  which  constitutes  sound  learning  and  useful 
knowledge ;  on  the  other  hand,  except  when  actu- 
ally receiving  instruction,  the  boys  were  left  almost 
wholly  to  themselves,  to  form  their  own  friendships, 
their  own  code  of  moral  conduct,  and  their  own 
standard  of  public  opinion. 

On  being  appointed  to  the  head-mastership,  Ar- 
nold directed  the  whole  energy  of  his  powerful  and 
enlightened  mind  to  the  benevolent  and  patriotic 
task  of  mitigating,  if  not  entirely  removing  those 
evils.  "  Of  all  the  painful  things  connected  with 
my  employment,"  he  observed,  '^  nothing  is  equal 
to  the  grief  of  seeing  a  boy  come  to  school,  inno- 
cent and  promising,  and  tracing  the  corruption  of 
his  character  from  the  influence  of  the  temptations 
around  him  in  the  very  place  which  ought  to  have 
strengthened  and  improved  it."  Accordingly  his 
chief  care  was  to  raise  the  standard  of  moral  senti- 
ment, and  for  that  end  to  imbue  the  minds  of  the 
pupils  with  those  religious  principles  which  lie  at 
the  foundation  of  all  that  is  truly  generous  and 
noble  in  human  intercourse.  The  plans  he  adopted 
for  this  purpose  were  various.  Instead  of  permit- 
ting the  boys  to  live  in  boarding-houses  in  the 
town,  he  obliged  them  to  take  up  their  abode  in 
the  houses  of  the  various  under-masters,  so  as  to  be 


IMPEOVEMENTS  AT  RUGBY.  99 

subject  in  some  degree  to  their  control  when  out  of 
school.  He  laboured  to  impress  the  boys  of  the 
highest  classes  with  a  sense  of  their  responsibility 
in  exercising  authority  over  their  juniors.  He  re- 
moved from  the  school  those  pupils  whose  influence 
was  pernicious,  and  who  were  incapable  of  obtain- 
ing benefit  from  his  system ;  and  thus,  by  his  sin- 
gular energy  and  perseverance,  he  neutralised  in  a 
great  measure  tlie  defects  which  had  been  inherent 
in  the  system.  The  other  object  which  he  laboured 
to  effect  was  an  improvement  in  the  quality  of  the 
education  given  at  Eugby.  This  was  accomplished 
by  the  introduction  into  the  school  of  the  study  of 
modern  languages,  mathematics,  history,  and  geo- 
graphy, the  multiplication  of  examinations  and 
prizes,  and  the  pervading  influence  of  his  own  en- 
thusiastic love  of  sound  and  useful  scholarship. 
The  beneficial  effects  of  the  reforms  thus  introduced 
were  not  confined  to  the  institution  under  Dr  Ar- 
nold's immediate  jurisdiction,  but  were  felt  in  all 
the  other  great  schools  in  England.  On  this 
subject,  Dr  Maberly,  Head-master  of  Winchester 
School,  thus  expresses  himself:  '^  A  most  singular 
and  striking  change  has  come  upon  our  public 
schools — a  change  too  great  for  any  person  to  appre- 
ciate adequately,  who  has  not  known  them  in  both 
these  times.  This  change  is  undoubtedly  part  of  a 
general  improvement  of  our  generation  in  respect 
of  piety  and  reverence ;  but  I  am  sure  that  to 
Dr  Arnold's  personal   earnest   simplicity  of  pur- 


100  THOxMAS  AENOLD. 

pose,  strength  of  character,  power  of  influence, 
and  piety,  which  none  who  ever  came  near  him 
could  mistake  or  question,  the  canying  of  this  im- 
provement into  our  schools  is  mainly  attribut- 
able." 

The  profound  learning  and  high  character  of  Dr 
Arnold,  and  his  invaluable  services  in  the  cause  of 
education,  could  not  fail  to  attract  notice  in  the 
most  influential  quarters,  and  must  eventually  have 
led,  had  his  life  been  prolonged,  to  his  preferment 
to  the  highest  ecclesiastical  dignity.  Lord  J\Iel- 
bourne,  indeed,  is  understood  to  have  desired  to 
appoint  him  to  a  bishopric,  and  would  have  done 
so,  had  not  Dr  Howley,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
opposed  the  appointment;  his  lordship,  however, 
oftered  Dr  Arnold,  in  1841,  the  Wardenship  of 
Manchester  College,  which,  however,  he  declined 
accepting;  but  in  the  following  year  he  was  ap- 
pointed Regius  Professor  of  Modern  History  at 
Oxford,  an  office  which  he  gladly  accepted.  The 
first  course  of  lectures  which  he  delivered  soon  after 
his  appointment  amply  justified  the  high  expecta- 
tions which  had  been  formed  of  him.  The  con- 
course of  students  was  so  great,  that  the  ordinary 
lecture-room  could  not  contain  them,  and  it  became 
requisite  that  they  should  be  delivered  in  the  theatre 
— a  circumstance  almost  without  a  parallel  at  Ox- 
ford, at  least  in  modern  times. 

Dr  Arnold  had  purchased  in  1833  a  small  pro- 
perty called  Fox  How,  in  Westmoreland ;  and  in 


RESIDENCE  AT  FOX  HOW.  101 

tliis  retreat  he  spent  his  vacations,  and  engaged  in 
those  literary  pursuits  for  which  he  was  so  eminently 
qualified.  Referring  to  his  favourite  residence,  '^  It 
is  with  a  mixed  feeling  of  solemnity  and  tender- 
ness," he  said,  "  that  I  regard  our  mountain  nest, 
whose  surpassing  sweetness,  I  think  I  may  safely 
say,  adds  a  positive  happiness  to  every  one  of  my 
waking  hours  passed  in  it."  When  absent  from 
it,  it  still,  he  said,  ''dwelt  in  his  memory  as  a  vision 
of  beauty  from  one  vacation  to  another,"  and  when 
present  at  it  he  felt  that  "no  hasty  or  excited  admi- 
ration of  a  tourist  could  be  compared  wdth  the  quiet 
and  hourly  delight  of  having  the  mountains  and 
streams  as  familiar  objects,  connected  with  all  the 
enjoyments  of  home,  one's  family,  one's  books, 
and  one's  friends" — "associated  w4th  our  work-day 
thoughts  as  well  as  our  gala-day  ones." 

Then  it  was  that,  as  he  sat  working  in  the  midst 
of  his  family,  "never  raising  his  eyes  from  the  paper 
to  the  window  without  an  influx  of  ever  new  de- 
lights," he  found  that  leisure  for  writing,  which  he 
so  much  craved  at  Rugby.  Then  it  was  that  he 
enjoyed  the  entire  relaxation,  w^hich  he  so  much 
needed  after  his  school  occupations,  whether  in  the 
journeys  of  coming  and  returning,  those  long  jour- 
neys, which,  before  they  were  shortened  by  rail- 
way travelling,  were  to  him,  he  used  to  say,  the 
twelve  most  restful  days  of  the  whole  year; — or  in 
the  birth-day  festivities  of  his  children,  and  the  cheer- 
ful evenings  when  all  subjects  wxre  discussed,  from 


102  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

the  gravest  to  tlie  lightest,  and  when  he  would  read 
to  them  his  favourite  stories  from  Herodotus,  or  his 
favourite  English  poets.  Most  of  all,  perhaps,  was 
to  be  observed  his  delight  in  those  long  mountain 
walks,  when  they  would  start  with  their  provisions 
for  the  day,  himself  the  guide  and  life  of  the  party, 
always  on  the  look-out  how  best  to  break  the  ascent 
by  gentle  stages,  comforting  the  little  ones  in  their 
falls,  and  helping  forward  those  w^ho  were  tired, 
himself  always  keeping  with  the  laggers,  that  none 
might  strain  their  strength  by  trying  to  be  in  front 
with  liim — and  then,  when  his  assistance  was  not 
wanted,  the  liveliest  of  all;  his  step  so  light,  his  eye 
so  quick  in  finding  flowers  to  take  home  to  those 
who  were  not  of  the  party. 

Year  by  year  bound  him  with  closer  ties  to  his 
new  home;  not  only  Fox  How  itself  with  each  par- 
ticular tree,  the  growth  of  which  he  had  watched, 
and  each  particular  spot  in  the  grounds,  associated 
by  him  with  the  playful  names  of  his  nine  children; 
but  also  the  whole  valley  in  which  it  lay  became 
consecrated  with  something  of  a  domestic  feeling. 
Eydal  Chapel,  with  the  congregation  to  which  he 
had  so  often  preached — the  new  circle  of  friends  and 
acquaintance  with  whom  he  kept  up  so  familiar  an 
intercourse — the  gorges  and  rocky  pools  which  owed 
their  nomenclature  to  him,  all  became  part  of  his 
habitual  thoughts.  He  delighted  to  derive  his  ima- 
gery from  the  hills  and  lakes  of  Westmoreland, 
and  to  trace  in  them  the  likenesses  of  his  favourite 


PLEASURES  OB   RETIREMENT.  103 

scenes  in  poetry  and  history;  even  their  minutest 
features  were  of  a  kind  that  were  most  attractive  to 
him;  '4he  running  streams,"  which  were  to  him 
"  the  most  beautiful  objects  in  nature" — the  wild 
flowers  on  the  mountain  sides,  which  were  to  him, 
he  said,  "his  music;"  and  which,  whether  in  their 
scarcity  at  Rugby,  or  their  profusion  in  Westmore- 
land, '^ loving  them,"  as  he  used  to  say,  ''as  a  child 
loves  them,"  he  could  not  bear  to  see  removed  from 
their  natural  places  by  the  Avayside,  where  others 
might  enjoy  them  as  well  as  himself.  The  very 
peacefulness  of  all  the  historical  and  moral  associa- 
tions of  the  scenery — free  alike  from  the  remains  of 
feudal  ages  in  the  past,  and  suggesting  compara- 
tively so  little  of  suffering  or  of  evil  in  the  present — 
rendered  doubly  grateful  to  him  the  refreshment 
which  he  there  found  from  the  rough  world  in  the 
school,  or  the  sad  feelings  awakened  in  his  mind  by 
the  thoughts  of  his  church  and  country.  There  he 
hoped,  when  the  time  should  have  come  for  his  re- 
treat from  E,ugby,  to  spend  his  declining  years. 
Other  visions,  indeed,  of  a  more  practical  and  labo- 
rious life,  from  time  to  time  passed  before  him,  but 
Fox  How  was  the  image  which  most  constantly 
presented  itself  to  him  in  all  prospects  for  the  fu- 
ture; there  he  intended  to  have  lived  in  peace, 
maintaining  his  connection  with  the  rising  genera- 
tion by  receiving  pupils  from  the  universities;  there, 
under  the  shade  of  the  trees  of  his  own  planting,  he 
hoped  in  his  old  age  to  give  to  the  world  the  fruits 


104  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

of  his  former  experience  and  labours,  bv  executing 
those  works  for  which  at  Rugby  he  felt  himself  able 
only  to  prepare  the  way,  or  lay  the  first  foundations, 
and  never  again  leave  his  retirement  till  (to  use  his 
own  expression)  ^^  his  bones  should  go  to  Grasmere 
Cliurchyard,  to  lie  under  the  yews  which  Words- 
w  ortli  planted,  and  to  have  the  Eotha  wath  its  deep 
and  silent  pools  passing  by." 

But  those  visions  of  earthly  happiness  w^ere  not 
to  be  realised.  The  year  on  which  he  opened  his 
course  of  lectures  on  history  at  Oxford  w^as  destined 
to  be  his  last.  On  the  11th  of  June,  1842,  he 
closed  the  business  of  his  school  for  the  summer 
half-year,  and  with  the  utmost  cheerfulness  looked 
forward  to  the  enjoyments  of  his  vacation.  In  his 
diary  of  that  day  is  the  following  entry : — ''  The 
day  after  to-morrow  is  my  birth-day,  if  I  am  per- 
mitted to  see  it — my  forty-seventh  birth-day  since 
my  birth.  How  large  a  portion  of  my  life  on  earth 
is  already  passed !  And  then — what  is  to  follow 
this  life?  How  visibly  my  outward  work  seems 
contracting  and  softening  away  into  the  gentler  em- 
ployments of  old  age !  In  one  sense,  how  nearly 
can  I  now  say,  Vixi !  And  I  thank  God  that,  so 
far  as  ambition  is  concerned,  it  is  I  trust  fully  mor- 
tified. I  have  no  desire  other  than  to  step  back 
from  my  present  place  in  the  world,  and  not  to  rise 
to  a  higlier.  Still  there  are  works  which  with 
God's  permission  I  would  do  before  the  night  com- 
cth,  especially  that  great  work,  if  I  might  be  per- 


HIS  UNEXPECTED  DExVTH.  105 

mitted  to  take  part  in  it.  But  above  all  let  me 
mind  my  own  personal  work — to  keep  myself  pure, 
and  zealous,  and  believing,  labouring  to  do  God's 
will,  yet  not  anxious  that  it  should  be  done  by  me 
rather  than  by  others,  if  God  disapproves  of  my 
doing  it." 

But  he  was  not  destined  to  complete  his  forty- 
seventh  year,  near  as  its  completion  was.  Next 
morning  he  was  suddenly  seized  with  an  attack  of 
angina  pectoris,  and  after  two  or  three  hours  of  se- 
vere suffering  he  breathed  his  last,  surrounded  by 
his  wife  and  those  of  his  children  who  had  not  yet 
proceeded  to  his  residence  at  Fox  How.  So  passed 
away,  in  the  midst  of  his  usefulness  and  in  the 
prime  of  life,  one  of  the  most  eminent  men  of  the 
age;  one  whose  influence  will  long  survive  him, 
and  whose  memory  will  always  be  sacred  in  the 
estimation  of  those  who  are  able  to  estimate  his 
worth  as  well  as  perceive  the  importance  of  those 
objects  to  which  he  so  earnestly  and  so  successfully 
devoted  his  talents  and  his  learning. 


WILLIAM  AKCHEE,  BUTLER. 

This  eminent  scholar  and  divine,  whose  early  death 
must  ever  be  a  matter  of  lamentation,  was  born  at 
Annerville,  near  Clonmel,  in  the  year  1814.  He 
was  a  member  of  an  ancient  and  honourable  family. 
His  father  was  a  Protestant,  but  his  mother  a  zeal- 
ous member  of  the  Romish  Church,  in  which,  at 
her  earnest  desire,  he  was  baptised  and  educated. 
His  early  days  were  passed  at  Garnavilla,  a  lovely 
spot  on  the  romantic  banks  of  the  Suir ;  and  the 
extraordinary  beauty  of  the  scenery  around  the 
home  of  his  childhood  seems  to  have  awakened 
within  him  the  spirit  of  poetry,  under  the  inspi- 
ration of  which,  even  in  his  boyish  days,  he  com- 
posed pieces  which  would  have  done  no  discredit  to 
the  most  mature  genius  and  the  most  refined  taste. 
The  following  stanzas,  which  he  produced,  it  is  pro- 
bable, in  his  fifteenth  or  sixteenth  year,  soon  after 
entering  college,  contain  many  passages  of  such  ge- 
nuine poetry,  as  to  prove  that  their  youthful  author 
had  all  the  qualities  which  unite  in  forming  a  true 
worshipper  of  the  Muses ;  and  that  the  brilliancy 
of  his  imagination,  united  with  the  profound  ac- 
quirements he  subsequently  attained,  would  have 
placed  him  in  the  foremost  rank  among  the  most 
celebrated  poets  of  the  past  or  the  present  age.    The 


HIS  POETRY.  107 

poem  wliicli  we  now  present  to  our  readers  appeared 
in  "Blackwood's  Magazine"  in  1835,  some  years 
after  it  was  written,  and  although  it  is  of  consider- 
able length,  we  make  no  apology  for  giving  it  in 
full:— 

THE  EVEN-SONG  OF  THE  STREAMS. 

Lo!  couch'd  within  an  odorous  vale,  where  May 
Had  smiled  the  tears  of  April  into  flowers, 
I  was  alone  in  thought  one  sunny  even: 
Mine  eye  was  wandering  in  the  cloudlets  grey, 
Mass'd  into  wreaths  above  the  golden  bowers, 
Where  slept  the  sun  in  the  far  western  heaven. 

I  was  alone,  and  watch'd  the  glittering  threads, 
So  deftly  woven  upon  the  purple  woof 
By  severing  clouds,  as  parting  into  lines 
Of  slender  light,  their  broken  brilliance  spreads 
Thin  floating  fragments  on  the  blue-arch'd  roof, 
And  each,  a  waving  banner,  streams  and  shines. 

A  mountain  lay  below  the  sun,  its  blue 

Veird  in  a  robe  of  luminous  mist,  and  seeming 
To  melt  into  the  radiant  skies  above; 
A  broken  turret  near,  and  the  rich  hue 

Of  faded  sunlight  through  its  window  gleaming. 
Fainting  to  tremulous  slumber  on  a  grove. 

But  Evening  grew  more  pale.     Her  zoneless  hair 

Wound  in  dim  dusky  tresses  round  the  skies, 

And  dews  like  heavenly  love,  with  unseen  fall. 

Came  showering.     Insect  forms  swarm  on  the  air. 

To  dazzle  with  their  tangling  play  mine  eyes. 

That  droop'd  and  closed — and  mystery  bosom'd  all ! 

Unsleeping  thus — yet  dreamingly  awake — 

Fancies  came  wooing  me,  and  gently  rose 

To  the  soft  sistering  music  of  a  stream 

That  pilgrim'd  by;  and,  as  I  list,  they  take 

A  form,  a  being — such  as  deep  repose 

Begets — a  reverie,  almost  a  dream. 


lOS        WILLIAM  ARCHER  BUTLER. 

I  lit\ir(I,  I  read  the  language  of  the  waters— 
That  low  monotonous  murmur  of  sweet  sound, 
Unheard  at  noon,  but  creeping  out  at  eren  ! 
That  language  known  but  to  the  delicate  daughters 
01  Tethys  the  bright  Naiads.     All  around 
The  thrilling  tones  gush  forth  to  silent  heaven. 
*'  We  come,"  they  sweetly  sang,  "we  come  from  roving, 
The  long  still  summer  day,  'mid  banks  of  flowers. 
Through  meads  of  waving  emerald,  groves,  and  woods. 
Ours  were  delights:  the  lilies,  mild  and  loving, 
Bent  o'er  us  their  o'erarching  bells— those  bowers 
For  fays  hung  floating  on  our  bubbling  floods. 
"We  come— and  whence?     At  early  morn  we  sprung, 
Like  free-born  mountaineers,  from  rugged  hills, 
"Where  bursts  our  rock-ribb'd  fountain.     We  have  sped 
Through  many  a  quiet  vale,  and  there  have  sung 
The  aurmuring  descant  of  the  playful  rills, 
To  thank  the  winds  for  the  sweet  scent  they  shed  ! 

"  Our  sapphire  floods  were  tinctured  by  the  skies 
With  their  first  burst  of  blushes,  as  we  broke 
At  morn  upon  a  meadow.     Not  a  voice 
Rose  from  the  solemn  earth  as  ruby  dyes 
Swam  like  a  glory  round  us,  and  awoke 

The  trance  of  heaven,  and  bade  the  world  rejoice. 

"Enwreath'd  in  mists,  the  perfumed  breath  of  morn, 
Our  infancy  of  waters  freshly  bright 

Cleft  the  hush'd  fields,  warbling  a  matin  wild; 
While  beaming  from  the  kindled  heavens,  and  borne 
Un  clouds  instinct  with  many-colour'd  light. 
The  spirit  of  nature  heard  the  strain,  and  smiled  ! 
"  Heaven's  flushing  East,  its  western  wilds  as  pale 
As  is  the  wan  cheek  of  deserted  love, 

Its  changeful  clouds,  its  changeless  deeps  of  blue. 
Lay  glass'd  within  us  when  that  misty  veil, 
Evanid,  diseushrouding  field  and  grove. 
Left  us,  a  mirror  of  each  heavenly  hue, 

"An  echo  of  heaven's  loveliest  tints  !     But  lo ! 
The  spell  that  bound  us  broke;  in  foaming  leap 
Our  sheeted  waters  rush'd;  our  silvery  vest 


HIS  POETRY.  109 

Of  liglit  o'erhuDg  the  cliffs,  our  gorgeous  bow 
Arch'd  them  at  mid-fall, — till  below  the  steep 
The  maniac  waves  sunk  murmuring  into  rest. 
"  Now  mourn'd  our  lone  stream  down  a  dusky  vale, 
Like  passion  wearied  into  dull  despair. 
The  sole  sad  music  of  that  sunless  spot; 
And  prison'd  from  the  sunbeam  and  the  gale 
By  nodding  crags  above,  all  wildly  bare, 
We  slowly  crept  where  life  and  light  were  not. 

"  To  greet  us  from  that  salvage  home  there  came 
A  form — 'twas  not  the  Spirit  of  the  wild. 

But  one  more  mortal,  on  whose  wasted  cheek 
Sorrow  had  wi-itten  death;  a  child  of  Fame, 
Perchance,  yet  far  less  Fame's  than  Nature's  child, 
He  loved  the  languid  lapse  of  streams  to  seek. 

"  Some  cherish'd  wo,  some  treasured  fond  regret. 
Lay  round  his  heart,  and  drew  the  gentlest  tear 
That  ever  sanctified  a  pitying  stream. 
Or  crystallised  in  lucent  cells  was  set 
By  Naiads,  in  their  wavy  locks  to  wear 
As  priceless  jewel  of  celestial  beam, 

"  The  dirge  of  nature  is  her  Streams  !     Their  Song 
Speaks  a  soft  music  to  man's  grief,  and  those 
Most  love  them  who  have  loved  all  else  in  vain: 
We  charm'd  that  lone  one  as  he  paced  along 

From  the  dark  thraldom  of  his  dream  of  woes, — 
His  sadness  died  before  our  sadder  strain  ! 

"  Once  more  amid  the  joyance  of  the  Sun, 
And  light,  the  life  of  nature,  we  have  taught 
The  pensive  mourner  of  our  marge  to  smile 
In  answer  to  our  smile  of  beams,  and  won 

The  venom  from  the  poison'd  heart,  and  wrought 
A  spell  to  bless  the  wearied  brain  awhile ! 

"  The  imaged  sun  floats  proudly  on  our  breast, 
Uver  beside  each  loanderer,  though  there  be 
Many  to  tread  our  path  of  turf  and  flowers: 
A  thousand  sparkling  orbs  for  one  imprest 
On  us, — for  ours  is  the  bright  mimicry 
Of  Nature,  cliangiiig  with  her  changeful  hours. 


110  WILLIAM  ARCHER  BUTLER. 

"  And  thus  we  have  a  world,  a  lovely  world, 
A  soften'd  picture  of  the  upper  sphere. 
Sunk  in  our  crystal  depths  and  glassy  caves; 
And  every  cloud  beneath  the  heavens  unfurl'd, 
And  every  shadowy  tint  they  wear,  sleeps  here, 
Here  in  this  voiceless  kingdom  of  the  waves. 

"  On  to  the  ocean !  ever,  ever  on ! 
Our  banded  waters,  hurrying  to  the  deep, 
Lift  to  the  winds  a  song  of  wilder  strife; 
And  white  plumes  glittering  in  to-morrow's  sun, 
Shall  crest  our  waves  when  starting  out  of  sleep 
For  the  glad  tumult  of  their  ocean-life. 

"On  to  the  ocean  !  through  the  midnight  chill. 
Beneath  the  glowing  stars,  by  woodlands  dim; 
A  silvery  wreath  of  beauty  shall  we  twine. 
Thus  may  our  course — ceaseless — unwearied  still — 
Pure — blessing  as  it  flows — aye  shadow  Him 
Our  sources  who  unlock'd  with  hand  divine ! " 

The  soft  and  golden  Eve  had  glided  through 
Her  portals  in  the  West,  and  night  came  round. 
The  glamour  ceased,  and  nothing  met  mine  eye 
But  waters,  waters  dyed  in  deepening  blue — 
Nothing  mine  ear,  but  a  low  bubbling  sound, 
Mingled  with  mine — and  the  faint  night-wind's — sigh. 

At  nine  years  of  age  our  youthful  poet  and  phi- 
losoplicr  was  sent  to  the  endowed  school  of  Clon- 
mel,  the  Principal  of  which  institution  was  the  Rev. 
Dr  Bell,  a  man  distinguished  alike  for  his  learning 
and  his  scholastic  ability.  Dr  Bell  soon  discovered 
in  the  modest  and  retiring  child  placed  under  his 
care  those  rare  intellectual  endowments  for  which 
he  was  subsequently  so  distinguished,  and  Butler 
soon  became  an  object  of  the  warmest  affection  to 
his  preceptor  himself,  as  well  as  an  especial  favour- 
ite throughout  the  school.     "  He  was  never  a  pro- 


SCHOOL-BOY  DAYS.  Ill 

licient  in  the  noisy  games  of  his  coevals,  but  his 
playful  wit  and  amiable  manners  made  him  univer- 
sally popular.  His  leisure  hours  were  devoted  to 
poetry  and  music,  in  wdiich  he  became  exquisitely 
skilled.  He  was  not  a  hard  student  in  the  ordi- 
nary courses,  but  he  was  a  constant  and  discursive 
reader.  He  was  early  familiar  wdth  the  philoso- 
phical writings  of  Lord  Bacon  (of  wdiich  he  w^as  an 
enthusiastic  admirer),  and  of  the  most  distinguished 
of  the  Scottish  metaphysicians.  He  perused  the 
classics  as  a  poet  rather  than  a  philologist,  for  ver- 
bal criticism  was  a  branch  of  knowledge  to  w^hich 
he  was  never  much  attracted.  While  still  a  school- 
boy, he  had  penetrated  deep  into  the  profundities 
of  metaphysics,  his  most  loved  pursuit,  and  was 
accomplished  in  the  whole  circle  of  the  helles  lettres. 
His  taste  for  oratory  was  fostered  by  the  annual 
exhibitions  for  which  Dr  Bell's  seminary  was  so 
famous ;  and  some  of  his  youthful  efforts  are  still 
remembered  as  masterpieces  of  public  speaking. 
It  was  during  his  pupilage  at  Clonmel,  about  two 
years  before  his  entrance  into  college,  that  the 
important  change  took  place  in  Butler's  religious 
views,  by  which  he  passed  from  the  straitest  sect  of 
Eoman  Catholicism  into  a  faithful  son  and  cham- 
pion of  the  Church  of  Ireland.  He  had  been  from 
the  cradle  deeply  impressed  with  a  sense  of  reli- 
gion, and  conscientious  in  the  observance  of  the 
rites  and  ceremonies  of  his  creed.  His  moral  feel- 
ings were  extraordinarily  sensitive.    For  long  hours 


112        WILLIAM  ARCHER  BUTLER. 

of  niglit  he  would  lie  prostrate  on  the  ground,  filled 
with  remorse  for  offences  which  would  not  for  one 
moment  have  disturbed  the  self-complacency  of 
even  well-conducted  youths.  Upon  one  occasion, 
when  his  heart  was  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  sin- 
fulness, he  attended  confession,  and  hoped  to  find 
relief  for  his  burdened  spirit.  The  unsympathising 
confessor  received  these  secrets  of  his  soul  as  if  they 
were  but  morbid  and  distempered  imaginations,  and 
threw  all  his  poignant  emotions  back  upon  himself. 
A  shock  was  given  to  the  moral  nature  of  the  ardent, 
earnest  youth ;  he  that  day  began  to  doubt  ,*  he  exa- 
mined the  controversy  for  himself,  and  his  power- 
ful mind  was  not  long  before  it  found  and  rested  in 
the  truth.  Upon  his  entrance  into  Trinity  College, 
Dublin,  Butler  still  pursued  the  same  extensive  but 
desultory  course  of  studies  for  which  he  had  been  re- 
markable at  school.  He  never  much  applied  him- 
self to  the  mathematics,  nor  did  he  cultivate  the 
classic  tongues  as  a  grammarian  or  philologist. 
Soon,  however,  his  character  was  known  through- 
out the  university  as  a  wit  and  an  accomplished 
scholar.  His  prize  compositions,  both  in  prose  and 
verse,  were  so  pre-eminently  distinguished,  that, 
unlike  most  essays  of  that  sort,  they  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  heads  of  the  college,  and  stamped 
him  as  a  man  of  rare  and  varied  genius.  While 
still  an  undergraduate,  he  became  a  copious  contri- 
butor, in  both  verse  and  prose,  to  the  periodical 
literature  of  the  day.     His  refined  taste  in  criti- 


HIS  LITERARY  EXCELLENCE.  113 

cism,  and  his  eloquence  of  diction,  naturally  made 
him  one  of  the  most  popular,  as  well  as  the  ablest, 
of  reviewers.  In  the  ^  Dublin  University  Maga- 
zine '  alone,  there  appeared,  from  time  to  time,  dur- 
ing his  college  course,  enough  of  poetry  and  of  es- 
says on  the  most  various  subjects,  historical,  cri- 
tical, and  speculative,  to  fill  several  volumes.  It  is 
much  to  be  hoped  that  some  selection  from  this  va- 
luable mass  of  material  may  be  made,  and  given  to 
the  public.  It  would  be  hard  to  point  to  compo- 
sitions w^hich  exhibit  greater  variety  of  power  in  a 
single  mind,  than  the  Analysis  of  the  Philosophy 
of  Berkeley,  the  articles  on  Sismondi,  on  Whewell's 
History  of  the  Inductive  Sciences,  on  Oxford  and 
Berlin  Theology,  and  the  playful  effusions  entitled 
^  Evenings  with  our  Younger  Poets.'  The  sub- 
jects range  over  widely  distant  fields,  but  all  are 
handled  and  elucidated  with  the  same  masterly  faci- 
lity. His  poetical  contributions  to  the  same  peri- 
odical, and  to  others,  were  frequent,  and  many  of 
them  are  of  an  extremely  high  class  of  merit.  It  is 
impossible  for  any  reader  not  to  admire  them  as  com- 
positions, but  there  is  a  certain  air  of  melancholy 
pervading  their  whole  tone  of  thought,  with  which 
many  true  lovers  of  poetry  could  not  sympathise. 
The  very  beauties  of  the  landscape,  of  which  he 
was  a  passionate  lover,  produced  an  impression  on 
his  mind,  in  which  sadness  seemed  to  be  mingled 
in  far  larger  proportion  than  joy." 

At  the  Degree  Examination  in  1834,  Butler  ob- 


114  WILLIAM  ARCHER  BUTLER. 

tained  the  Ethical  Moderatorship,  a  distinguished 
prize  for  proficiency  in  ethical  philosophy,  which 
had  recently  been  instituted  by  Provost  Lloyd. 
After  he  had  taken  his  degree,  Butler  continued  his 
residence  as  a  scholar  of  Trinity  College  for  two 
years,  and  employed  himself  in  adding  to  those 
stores  of  learning  which  he  had  already  accumu- 
lated. At  the  expiiy  of  his  scholarship,  his  con- 
nection with  the  university  must  have  terminated, 
but  the  extraordinary  abilities  he  possessed  pointed 
him  out  as  eminently  fitted  to  occupy  the  Chair  of 
Moral  Philosophy,  which  was  instituted  in  1837. 
To  this  distinguished  professorship  he  was  accord- 
ingly appointed,  and  the  loss  which  the  university 
would  have  sustained  by  his  removal  was  thus  hap- 
pily averted.  The  manner  in  which  he  fulfilled  the 
arduous  duties  of  this  important  office  amply  rea- 
lised the  high  expectations  which  his  friends  had 
formed.  His  lectures  were  remarkable  at  once  for 
brilliant  eloquence  and  profound  philosophy. 

^'  Simultaneously  with  his  appointment  to  the 
Professorship  of  Moral  Philosophy,  Mr  Butler  was 
presented  by  the  Board  of  Trinity  College  to  the 
prebend  of  Clondehorka,  in  the  diocese  of  Raphoe, 
and  county  of  Donegal.  He  resided  constantly  upon 
his  benefice,  except  while  his  professorial  duties  ren- 
dered absence  necessary.  Amongst  a  large  and 
humble  flock  of  nearly  two  thousand  members  of 
the  Church,  he  was  the  most  indefatigable  of  pas- 
tors.    In  the  pulpit  he  accommodated  himself  with 


PAROCHIAL  LABOURS.  115 

admirable  success  to  their  simple  comprehension. 
He  imagined  that  the  interest  of  his  rural  auditors 
was  more  engaged  by  an  unwritten  address,  and 
unfortunately  he  soon  ceased  to  write  any  sermons. 
His  exquisite  skill  in  music  was  brought  down  to 
the  instruction  of  a  village  choir.  Never  was  there 
more  fully  realised  in  any  one  that  union  of  contem- 
plation and  action,  of  which  Lord  Bacon  speaks  as 
the  perfection  of  human  nature.  His  loftiest  specu- 
lations in  mental  science,  his  erudite  researches  into 
Grecian  and  German  philosophy,  were  in  a  moment 
cheerfully  laid  aside  at  every  call  of  suffering  and 
of  sorrow.  His  parishioners  were  widely  scattered 
over  an  extensive  district  along  the  shore  of  the 
Atlantic,  interspersed  with  bogs  and  mountain. 
Many  of  their  residences  were  difficult  of  access 
even  upon  foot ;  but  they  were  all  visited  with  con- 
stant assiduity.  Amongst  the  papers  left  behind 
him  were  found  catalogues,  containing  not  merely 
the  names  of  each  individual,  but  comments,  often 
copious,  upon  their  characters  and  circumstances, 
that  he  might  reflect  at  leisure  upon  their  peculiar 
vvants,  and  supply  consolation,  instruction,  or  re- 
proof, according  to  their  several  necessities.  The 
obscure  and  laborious  prebend  of  Clondehorka  was 
held  by  Mr  Butler,  along  with  his  professorship, 
until  the  year  1 842,  when  he  was  re-elected  to  the 
Chair  of  Moral  Philosophy,  and  promoted,  by  the 
Board  of  Trinity  College,  to  the  rectory  of  Eay- 
moghy,  in  the  diocese  of  E-aphoe.     His  flock  was 


IIG  WILLIAM  ARCHER  BUTLER. 

here  considerably  smaller  than  in  his  former  bene- 
fice, but  his  labours  were  scarcely  less  abundant. 
In  a  life  thus  made  up  of  parochial  ministrations 
and  closet  study,  it  is  hard  to  find  incidents  for  nar- 
ration. These  tasks,  indeed,  furnished  to  him  all 
he  asked — 

'  Room  to  deny  himself,  a  path 
To  bring  him  daily  nearer  God.' 

Throughout  the  year  1845,  the  Koman  Catholic 
controversy  seems  to  have  principally  engaged 
the  attention  of  Professor  Butler.  He  has  left 
behind  him  several  large  books  of  his  manuscript 
filled  with  collections  upon  the  subject.  In  De- 
cember he  published  in  the  '  Irish  Ecclesiastical 
Journal,'  to  which  he  was  a  constant  contributor, 
the  first  of  his  ^  Letters  on  Mr  Newman's  Theory 
of  Development.'  These  letters  have  been  pro- 
nounced, by  some  of  the  first  living  divines,  models 
and  masterpieces  of  polemical  composition.  One 
judgment  may  among  others  be  referred  to — that  of 
the  late  venerated  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  That 
profound  scholar  was  so  struck  with  the  merits  of 
the  Letters  on  Development,  as  to  express  his  com- 
mendation in  the  highest  terms,  and  to  acknowledge 
his  sense  of  obligation  for  this  triumphant  refutation 
of  the  great  neophyte  of  Romanism.  During  the 
latter  part  of  1847,  and  the  first  six  months  of 
the  next  year,  Mr  Butler  was  employed  in  prepa- 
ration for  a  work  on  Faith.  Never  was  that  great 
subject  undertaken  by  one  more  calculated  to  attain 


ABILITY  AS  A  PREACHER.  117 

tLe  object  wliich  he  designed, — to  heal  divisions, 
by  reconciling  and  harmonising  apparent,  though 
not  real,  discrepancies  of  opinion.  His  collections 
contain  a  vast  mass  of  materials,  drawn  from  the 
Fathers,  the  Schoolmen,  the  continental  Reformers, 
and  the  Anglican  divines.  No  clue,  unfortunately, 
is  left  to  guide  us  as  to  the  method  which  he  in- 
tended, or  the  system  which  he  proposed  to  con- 
struct. While  thus  employed,  that  summons  came 
which  removed  him  from  the  scene  of  faith  to  the 
^  fruition  of  the  glorious  Godhead.'  The  last  week 
of  his  health  was  passed  at  the  house  of  his  valued 
friend,  Archdeacon  Gough.  He  had  gone  there 
preparatory  to  the  ordination  of  the  Lord  Bishop 
of  Derry,  holden  on  Trinity  Sunday,  in  the  Church 
of  Dunboe,  on  which  occasion  he  was  selected  to 
preach.  During  his  visit  to  the  Archdeacon,  his 
unaffected  simplicity,  his  brilliant  wit,  his  deep- 
toned  piety,  were  the  admiration  of  the  entire  party. 
Full  of  health  and  spirits,  he  seemed  like  one  des- 
tined to  be  long  an  ornament  and  pillar  of  the 
Church.  But  God's  ways  are  not  our  ways,  nor 
His  thoughts  our  thoughts.  He  assisted  at  the 
ordination,  and  preached  the  sermon.  His  text 
was  Matt,  xxviii.  18-20.  Unfortunately,  accord- 
ing to  his  usual  custom,  the  discourse  was  unwrit- 
ten. The  following  brief  notice  was  obtained 
from  one  of  the  clergy  who  heard  it : — '  He  showed 
liow  with  this,  the  great  apostolic  commission,  was 
combined,  in  a  sort  of  comprehensive  symbol,  the 


118  WILLIAM  ARCHER  BUTLER. 

Catholic  Faitli,  even  the  doctrine  of  the  ever-blessed 
Trinity  contained  in  these  words,  "  In  the  name  of 
the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost." 
We  may  not  be  able  to  se^  the  link  which  binds 
the  Apostolic  Order  of  bishops,  priests,  and  dea- 
cons, to  the  conservation  of  the  Apostolic  Faith. 
But  in  a  rapid  and  masterly  sketch  of  those  reformed 
communions  which  had  forfeited  the  Apostolic  Order 
by  abolishing  episcopacy,  he  proved  that,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  those  bodies  had,  as  corporate  bodies^  failed 
to  bear  witness  to  the  Apostolic  Faith ;  while  the 
episcopal  churches  of  Christendom,  however  other- 
wise corrupted,  had  preserved  this  great  truth  in- 
tact in  the  worst  of  times.  He  then  proceeded  to 
show  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  so  far  from 
being  merely  abstract  and  speculative,  was  intensely 
personal  and  practical,  calculated  to  form  the  staple 
of  the  teaching  of  an  Apostolic  Church.  More  es- 
pecially as  regarded  the  divinity  of  our  Lord,  he 
said  it  might  be  proved  by  internal  evidence  to  any 
mind  which  could  be  brought  to  feel  what  sin  was, 
for  such  a  mind  could  never  feel  sure  of  an  ade- 
quate atonement  without  an  infinite  sacrifice.  This 
led  him  to  speak  of  those  divines  of  the  Anglican 
Church,  in  whose  writings  would  be  found  an  ar- 
moury against  all  heresies,  as  well  as  the  most 
touching  lessons  of  practical  holiness.  He  took  a 
series  of  these  authors ;  he  dismissed  each  w^ith  a 
few  sentences,  but  not  before  he  had  characterised 
liis  peculiar  excellencies,  and  made  the  audience  feel 


HIS  ILLNESS.  119 

his  distinguishing  merits.  His  description  of  Tay- 
lor, in  particular,  was  startUngly  beautiful,  and  lite- 
rally took  aioay  our  hreatli.  He  recommended  us 
to  read  some  works  of  a  practical  character  by 
Dissenters.  Baxter,  Howe,  and  Edwards  were 
amongst  the  number  mentioned.  And  now  came 
the  promise,  without  which  all  knowledge  and 
all  zeal  were  vain.  Christ  had  promised  to  be 
with  his  apostles  and  their  successors  always,  whe- 
ther in  the  blaze  of  noon  or  the  dark  night,  or  in 
that  twilight  between  the  two,  wherein  mostly  the 
course  of  our  probation  moves  on.  Still  he  was 
with  his  ministers,  and  to  that  presence  they  should 
look  when  heart-sick  with  disappointment  in  their 
work,  or  bowed  down  under  the  weight  of  conscious 
imperfections.  They  had  to  preach  the  Cross  of 
Christ — on  the  one  hand  its  efficacy  to  save,  on  the 
other,  its  sharpness  and  its  sternness ;  its  contra- 
dictoriness  to  luxury  and  ease,  and  its  daily  self- 
denials.  This  aspect  of  the  cross  was  what  men 
did  not  wish  to  see,  and  what  might  not  be  popular, 
but  a  woe  was  on  us  if  we  preached  it  not.  The 
Friday  after  the  ordination,  Mr  Butler  returned  to 
his  home,  a  few  miles  distant.  On  the  road  his 
death-sickness  struck  him.  He  had  heated  himself 
by  walking  before  he  took  his  place  upon  the  public 
car  by  which  he  travelled.  He  became  chilled,  and 
on  his  arrival  at  home  felt  indisposed.  Fever 
rapidly  set  in.  He  was  soon  aware  of  the  danger- 
ous nature  of  his  malady,  and  expressed  a  wish 


120  WILLIAM  ARCHER  BUTLER. 

if  it  were  God's  will,  that  he  might  survive  one 
month,  until  he  had  completed  the  work  already 
alluded  to  on  Christian  Faith.  One  ejaculation 
was  constantly  upon  his  tongue,  '  Christ  my  right- 
eousness ! '  The  Rev.  Mr  Ball,  a  neighbouring 
clergyman,  who  attended  him  night  and  day  with 
a  brother's  tenderness,  declares  that  his  very  wan- 
derings were  full  of  the  most  splendid  eloquence 
and  exalted  devotion.  Upon  Wednesday  the  5th 
July,  his  spirit  was  translated  to  a  more  conge- 
nial atmosphere,  even  the  glorious  company  of  the 
Church  Triumphant  in  heaven.  He  breathed  his 
last  without  a  struggle,  so  softly  that  they  who 
watched  beside  his  bed  knew  not  that  he  was  no 
more  on  earth.  Upon  Saturday  the  8th  of  July, 
his  remains  were  laid  in  his  own  churchyard.  The 
bishop,  the  surrounding  clergy  and  gentry,  and 
several  thousands  of  the  humbler  classes,  were  as- 
sembled to  pay  the  last  tribute  of  respect.  When 
the  coffin  was  lowered,  a  burst  of  grief  was  heard 
from  the  collected  throng,  and  many  a  manly  heart 
was  dissolved  in  tears." 

In  preaching  in  the  Cathedral,  on  the  18th  of 
July,  the  Bishop  of  Derry  thus  referred  to  Profes- 
sor Butler : — 

"  I  cannot,  however,  dismiss  this  subject  without 
alluding  (painful  as  I  feel  the  task)  to  the  truly 
melancholy  event  which  has  so  recently  deprived 
these  religious  societies  of  an  eloquent  and  power- 
ful advocate,  and  removed  from  the  Church  one  of 


I 


HIS  CHARACTER.  121 

her  brightest  ornaments ;  this^  too,  at  a  period  of 
life  when  we  might,  without  presumption,  have 
hoped  that  the  career  of  usefulness  for  which  his 
unrivalled  talents  held  out  so  fair  a  promise,  would 
have  been,  under  the  divine  blessing,  lasting  and 
prosperous.  But  ^  God's  ways  are  not  our  ways,' 
and  he  has  been  pleased  to  call  him  from  amongst 
us.  To  him  the  change,  we  humbly  hope,  has  been 
from  a  transitory  world  to  '  an  inheritance  incor- 
ruptible, undeiiled,  and  that  fadeth  not  away.'  To 
those  who  enjoyed  an  intimacy  with  him,  it  affords 
a  melancholy  consolation  to  dwell  for  a  moment  on 
the  attractions  of  his  character.  He  possessed  that 
habitual  placidity  of  temper  which  flowed  from  a 
mind  at  peace  with  God,  and  furnished  a  perma- 
nent spring  of  pure  and  fresh  enjoyment.  His  con- 
versation was  instructive  and  enlightened,  and  ex- 
hibited the  outlines  of  genuine  Christian  humility. 
To  the  poor  of  his  parish  his  loss  has  been  truly 
afflicting;  the  vigorous  and  warm  benevolence  of 
his  heart  extended  his  active  assistance  to  the  deso- 
late habitations  of  poverty  and  hunger ;  and  here- 
after, when  those  over  whose  spiritual  welfare  he 
watched  with  such  unceasing  vigilance  shall  them- 
•  selves  approach  the  hour  of  death,  they  will  grate- 
fully recollect  and  bless  Ms  name,  who,  under  God, 
impressed  on  their  minds  the  truths  of  eternal  life, 
who  '  fed  them  with  food  convenient  for  them,  and 
gave  them  the  meat  which  perisheth  not.'  The 
deep  concern  so  visible  in  the  countenances  of  his 


1l>L>  WILLIAM  ARCHER  BUTLER. 

sorrowing  parishioners,  while  in  silent  procession  they 
followed  him  to  his  tomb,  marked  how  large  a  share 
he  had  possessed  in  their  affections ;  and  the  tears 
which  fell  upon  his  untimely  bier,  as  it  descended  to 
its  '  long  home,'  bore  a  gratifying  testimony  to  the 
place  which  he  had  occupied  in  their  hearts.  How 
essential  is  it  for  us,  my  brethren,  to  learn  from  this 
afflicting  occurrence  the  great  lesson  of  entire  de- 
pendence on  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God,  and  to  bow 
before  the  dispensations  of  him  who  needs  not  the 
midit  and  wisdom  of  his  creatures,  but  removes  the 
most  promising  bulwarks  of  defence  from  his  Church, 
when  they  seem  to  be  most  valuable,  that  we  may 
look  not  to  them,  but  to  Him,  without  whom  *  the 
counsels  of  man  are  vain.'  " 

As  a  specimen  of  Professor  Butler's  sermons,  we 
shall  now  present  the  reader  with  a  few  extracts 
from  a  discourse  preached  by  him  in  behalf  of  the 
]\Iolyneux  Asylum  for  Blind  Females.  Of  this 
most  admirable  sermon  we  shall  extract  only  the 
commencement,  in  which  the  judicious  reader  will 
find  passages  replete  with  profound  and  solemn 
truth,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  brilliant  elo- 
quence. Taking  the  very  appropriate  text,  1  John 
i.  7 — ''  If  we  walk  in  the  light  as  He  is  in  the  light, 
we  have  fellowship  one  with  another  " — the  preacher 
tlius  opens  this  truly  admirable  and  striking  dis- 
course : — 

"  The  great  Evangelist,  my  brethren,  whose  lan- 
guage is  at  all  times  the  most  wonderful  union  of 


SEEMON  FOR  THE  BLIND.  123 

depth  and  simplicity  the  world  has  ever  seen,  has 
compressed  into  a  few  blessed  words  the  whole  mys- 
tery of  Christian  truth.  It  is,  indeed,  one  inimi- 
table mark  of  profound  reality,  that  in  the  New 
Testament  almost  every  sentence  of  doctrinal  or 
practical  importance  may  be  perceived  to  bear  its 
secret  relation  to  an  universal  and  presiding  plan. 
There  is  nothing  superfluous,  nothing  isolated  ;  but 
there  are  degrees  in  even  the  excellencies  of  divine 
knowledge.  In  the  firmament  of  revelation,  '  one 
star  differeth  from  another  star  in  glory ; '  and  as- 
suredly this  declaration  of  peace  and  purity  stands 
conspicuous  among  those  glimpses  of  an  inner  and 
diviner  splendour — of  a  heaven  within  heaven — 
which  gleam  through  the  veil  of  Scripture  upon  the 
people  of  God.  The  soul  of  man  is  but  an  exile  in 
this  ruined  world ;  his  affections  yearn,  even  in 
their  very  degradation,  for  something  better ;  yea, 
every  capricious  form  of  that  degradation,  its  thou- 
sand petty  ambitions,  are  but  crippled  struggles  for 
a  something  above  it ;  the  pupil  of  the  Spirit  alone 
is  taught  where  and  how  to  seek  it ; — let  but  such 
an  one  possess  even  this  fragment  of  truth,  and  it 
almost  suffices  to  be  the  chart  that  directs  his  course 
to  glory.  But  what  an  office  it  is,  thus  to  stand 
among  an  assembly  of  eternal  souls ;  and,  disregard- 
ing the  veil  of  flesh  that  hides  us  one  from  another, 
to  speak — spirit  to  spirit — in  the  presence  of  the 
living  God,  and  of  all  those  between  us  and  God, 
who,  unseen  by  our  eyes,  may  be  privileged  to 


124  WILLIAM  AKCIIER  BUTLER. 

mi?i<,'Ic  among  the  throng  of  men !  What  an  office 
— if  wc  could  but  cast  aside  the  blinding  influences 
of  habit — to  stand  forth  an  immortal  among  im- 
mortals, to  proclaim  a  message  whose  reception  is  yet 
to  fix  an  eternity !  How  it  requires  us  to  recall  every 
instance  we  have  ever  witnessed,  of  the  manner  in 
which  God  perpetually  suspends  great  things  upon 
things  aiiparenthj  of  small  moment,  to  conceive  it 
possible,  that  a  time  shall  yet  be  present,  when  the 
course  of  endless  ages  shall  not  exhaust  the  effects 
(immediate  or  remote)  of  this  single  meeting;  when 
year  after  year,  yea,  century  after  century,  shall  re- 
turn but  the  melancholy  echo  of  an  abused  or  ne- 
glectful past,  reverberated  from  all  the  unfathomed 
abysses  of  eternity;  or  shall  prolong,  in  strains  of 
triumph,  the  remembrance  of  some  one  blissful 
Sabbath  when  the  grace  of  God  was  welcomed  and 
harboured  in  the  adoring  soul !  I  am  to  speak  to 
you  of  that  bond  of  love,  which  binds  soul  to  soul 
in  binding  all  to  God  ;  of  that  walk  of  light  which 
assimilates  us  to  Him  who  is  light;  and  of  the 
union  which  identifies  these,  in  connecting  them 
both  with  the  purifying  work  of  Christ.  But  you 
know  that  I  am  here  this  day  for  a  temporal,  no 
less  than  for  an  eternal  purpose ;  that  I  am  here  to 
speak,  not  only  on  behalf  of  God.  but  of  God's 
afflicted  servants ;  and  to  summon  you,  as  you 
yourselves  value  the  holy  privileges  of  the  Chris- 
tian life,  to  aid  that  work  which  perpetuates  them 
among   your   fellow-creatures.       But   why   divide 


UNION  OF  TKUTU  AND  ClIAIilTY.  125 

these  topics?  Why  '  put  asunder '  those  wliich 
'God  hath  joined  together'?'  To  preach  the  truth 
is  the  straig'htest  road  to  preaching  the  cliarity  of 
the  gospeL  To  publish  the  message  of  love  is 
essentially  to  infuse  love!  This  gospel  story  of 
ours  is  no  mere  register  of  surprising  events,  which 
men  are  to  hear,  and  perhaps  to  credit,  and  coldly 
return  to  forget ;  it  is  no  chronology  of  barren  in- 
cidents, digested  out  of  fragments  of  half-perished 
authors,  by  the  diligence  of  modern  erudition — it 
is  a  living  and  a  life-giving  story!  It  is  not  an- 
cient only,  nor  modern  only,  but  both,  and  of  all 
time!  It  fills  the  amplitude  of  eternity;  for  its 
Author  is  one  who  is  4he  same  yesterday,  and  to-day, 
and  for  ever !  '  It  links  us  with  Him  who  was  be- 
fore all  worlds;  and  who  will  Je,  and  be  ours^  when 
He  shall  have  rebuked  into  annihilation  the  worlds 
his  word  summoned  to  exist!  To  preach  Christ 
may,  then,  be  to  preach  the  facts  of  a  history;  but 
they  are  the  facts  of  this  hour,  no  less  than  of 
eighteen  centuries  ago.  What  he  has  done,  he  is 
doing;  to  show  him  to  you,  the  living  impersona- 
tion of  Almighty  love,  as  he  walked  among  us  of 
old,  is  to  show  him  to  you  the  same  quickening 
Spirit  of  love,  as  he  works  among  us  now!  And, 
therefore,  to  tell  you  Gospel  truth  is  to  do  more 
than  tell  you  truth;  it  is — if  the  Spirit  will — to 
transform  you  into  the  likeness  of  Him  who  wrought 
that  wondrous  work,  to  shed  his  beams  upon  you 
as  you  come  near  to  contemplate  his  glory,  to  act 


12(3  WILLIAM  ARCHER  BUTLER. 

over  again  the  story  of  Christ  in  every  heart  that 
beats  and  burns  to  hear  it!  If  then  this  truth  be  a 
love-creating  truth,  which  to  believe  is  to  imitate, 
I  will,  in  God's  name,  deliver  this  truth,  and  let  it 
work  among  you  the  divine  charity  it  exhibits!  1. 
The  blessed  apostle  declares  himself  commissioned 
to  proclaim  a  ^message'  of  transcendent  importance; 
a  message  which  he  declares  calculated  to  consum- 
mate the  joy  of  all  the  believing  people  of  God.  Of 
his  own  qualifications  there  can  be  no  doubt.  He 
is  no  deviser  of  conjectural  wisdom,  no  framer  of 
untried  theory.  ThricO  over  he  reiterates,  within 
the  compass  of  as  many  verses,  that  he  speaks  of 
*  that  which  he  has  seen,  and  heard,  and  his  hands 
have  handled.'  The  aim  of  the  message  is  no  less 
momentous.  It  is  to  be  the  instrument  of  pro- 
ducing a  blessing  so  surpassing  all  human  anti- 
cipation, that  even  long  familiarity  cannot  yet  have 
deadened  the  emphasis  of  the  phrase  in  any  mind 
capable  of  thought — it  is  to  produce  '  a  fellow- 
ship with  the  Father  and  the  Son!''  What  then 
is  this  message  thus  solemnly  introduced,  thus 
earnestly  enforced?  This  is  the  message  which 
we  have  heard  of  him  and  declare  unto  you — that 
'  God  is  light,  and  in  him  is  no  darkness  at  all.' 
2.  It  is  manifest,  then,  that  this  revelation  of  the 
divine  excellency  is  directly  connected  with  the  mys- 
tical communion  of  which  he  speaks ;  the  one  is,  in 
some  measure,  the  condition  on  which  the  other  is 
suspended.     But  the  connection  becomes  yet  more 


WALKING  IN  LIGHT  AND  LOVE.  127 

distinct  when  we  come  to  tlie  passage  before  ns. 
We  there  learn  that  this  light,  with  which  God 
himself  is  identified,  becomes  also  the  element  in 
which  his  elect  children  breathe  and  move  : — '  If 
we  ivalk  in  the  light,  as  He  is  in  the  light : ' — and 
we  learn  that  the  high  communion  or  fellowship, 
before  proposed  as  the  prize  and  glory  of  the  spiri- 
tual life,  directly  belongs  to  such  a  position.  Nor 
that  alone ;  but  this  very  communion  is  now  made 
to  extend  through  the  entire  society  of  the  regene- 
rate—  (Sve  have  fellowship  one  with  another^) — to 
link  them,  each  to  each,  as  all  are  linked  in  heaven; 
to  entwine  every  member  of  every  tribe  of  the  faith 
in  the  same  golden  bands  which  bind  them  all  to 
the  Church  on  high,  and  the  Church  on  high  to 
them,  and  both  to  their  common  head,  '  the  man 
Christ  Jesus ; '  until  the  last  link  of  the  whole  dis- 
appears from  the  view,  lost  in  the  central  light  that 
surrounds  the  'unapproachable'  throne  of  God! 
3.  Thus,  then,  the  apostle,  in  these  words  of  holy 
mystery,  contemplates  the  Church  of  the  Sanctified 
walking  together  under  the  radiance  of  a  common 
light,  which  streams  from  the  presence  of  God,  and 
which,  involving  them  all,  assimilates  them  all. 
He  sees  them  move,  in  holy  fear  and  yet  holler 
hope,  beneath  the  meridian  blaze  of  the  everlasting 
glory,  receiving  its  rays,  and,  in  the  very  commu- 
nity of  the  same  gift,  by  the  very  force  of  a  common 
investiture,  enjoying  blessed  ^fellowship  one  with 
another.'     The  fair  procession  of  the  people  of  God 


128  WILLIAM  ARCHER  BUTLER. 

passes  calmly  on  before  his  gifted  eyes ;  and  each, 
in  the  luminous  robe  that  vests  him,  wears  the  high 
insignia  of  a  celestial  adoption.  Co-heirs  of  heaven, 
they  know  their  brotherhood ;  walking  in  that  light, 
which  issues  from  no  earthly  sun,  they  feel  it  theirs 
alone,  and  recognise  in  each  other  the  mystic  fel- 
lowship it  gives !  Ours,  then,  be  it  to  ask — and  to 
dare  to  answer — what  is  that  fellowship,  and  what 
that  light,  which  (by  uniting  this,  with  an  easy  in- 
ference from  the  preceding  verse)  are  declared  to 
involve  each  the  other  ?  How  are  these  twin  bless- 
ings thus  wondrously  interwoven,  that  where  the 
one  is  present  the  other  cannot  be  away? — that 
where  the  '  light '  is  found,  there  is  the  communion 
inevitably  established,  and  where  the  ^  communion ' 
exists,  there  must  be  presupposed  the  light  that  pro- 
duces, animates,  and  cheers  it?  Supposing  the  factis 
admitted,  where  is  the  connection?  " 


THOMAS    CHALMEES. 

Thomas  Chalmers  was  bom  at  Anstmther,  a  town 
on  the  coast  of  Fifeshire,  on  the  17th  March,  1780. 
During  his  school-boy  days,  he  exhibited  little  or 
nothing  of  those  qualities  by  the  exercise  of  which 
he  afterwards  rose  to  distinction.  ^^  By  those  of  his 
schoolfellows,  few  now  in  number,  who  survive,  Dr 
Chalmers  is  remembered  as  one  of  the  idlest,  strong- 
est, merriest,  and  most  generous-hearted  boys  in  An- 
struther  School.  Little  time  or  attention  would  have 
been  required  from  him  to  prepare  his  daily  lessons, 
so  as  to  meet  the  ordinary  demands  of  the  schoolroom; 
for  when  he  did  set  himself  to  learn,  not  one  of  all 
his  schoolfellows  could  do  it  at  once  so  quickly  and 
so  well.  When  the  time  came,  however,  for  saying 
them,  the  lessons  were  often  found  scarcely  half- 
learned  ;  sometimes  not  learned  at  all.  The  punish- 
ment inflicted  in  such  cases  was  to  send  the  culprit 
into  the  coal-hole,  to  remain  there  in  solitude  till 
the  neglected  duty  was  discharged.  If  many  of 
the  boys  could  boast  over  Thomas  Chalmers  that 
they  were  seldomer  in  the  place  of  punishment, 
none  could  say  that  they  got  more  quickly  out  of 
it.  Joyous,  vigorous,  and  humorous,  he  took  his 
part  in  all  the  games  of  the  playground — ever  ready 
to  lead  or  to  follow,  when  school-boy  expeditions 

K 


130  THOMAS  CHALMERS. 

were  planned  and  executed ;  and  wherever  for  fun 
or  for  frolic  any  little  group  of  the  merry-hearted 
was  gathered,  his  full,  rich  laugh  might  be  heard 
rising  amid  their  shouts  of  glee." 

In  1791  he  became  a  student  in  the  United  Col- 
lege of  St.  Andrews.  His  preliminary  education, 
however,  both  in  English  and  Latin,  was  so  defec- 
tive, that  he  could  not  obtain  any  great  profit  from 
the  learned  prelections  of  the  professors  whom  it  was 
his  duty  to  attend.  This  deficiency  in  his  early 
education,  so  far  as  it  referred  to  classical  learning, 
was  never,  save  in  a  slight  degree,  remedied ;  for, 
although  he  afterwards  attained  considerable  ma- 
thematical skill,  he  could  never  be  called  a  Latin 
or  a  Greek  scholar.  His  two  first  sessions  at  the 
university  seem  to  have  been  spent  without  any  se- 
rious effort  to  improve  himself.  But  what  could  be 
expected  from  a  boy  of  twelve  or  thirteen?  '*  He 
was  at  that  time,"  says  one  of  his  earliest  compa- 
nions, "  very  young,  and  volatile,  and  boyish,  and 
idle  in  his  habits,  and  like  the  rest  of  us  in  those 
days,  but  ill  prepared  by  previous  education  for 
reaping  the  full  benefit  of  a  college  course.  I 
think  that  during  the  first  two  sessions  a  great  part 
of  his  time  must  have  been  occupied  (as  mine  was) 
in  boyish  amusements,  such  as  golf,  football,  and 
particularly  handball,  in  which  latter  he  was  re- 
markably expert,  owing  to  his  being  left-handed. 
I  remember  that  he  made  no  distinguished  progress 
in  his  education  during  these  two  sessions." 


I 


VIEWS  OF  THE  DEITY.  131 

In  1795  he  was  enrolled  as  a  Student  of  Divi- 
nity. The  love  of  boyish  amusements,  which,  in 
common  with  other  lads  of  his  age,  he  had  hereto- 
fore exhibited,  had  already  given  way  before  the 
rapid  development  of  his  intellectual  powers,  and  he 
had  successfully  devoted  himself,  under  the  powerful 
impulse,  to  the  study  of  mathematics.  The  mental 
vigour  thus  awakened  into  action,  he  now  applied 
to  the  study  of  divinity.  His  earliest  conceptions 
on  this  subject,  however,  were  confined  to  such 
views  of  the  Deity  as  are  suggested  by  the  study  of 
Natural  Theology.  But  those  conceptions  were  ex- 
tremely vivid  and  intense.  "  I  remember,"  he  him- 
self said,  "  when  a  student  of  divinity,  and  long  ere 
I  could  relish  evangelical  sentiment,  I  spent  nearly 
a  twelvemonth  in  a  sort  of  mental  elysium,  and  the 
one  idea  which  ministered  to  my  soul  all  its  rapture 
was  the  magnificence  of  the  Godhead,  and  the  uni- 
versal subordination  of  all  things  to  the  one  great 
purpose  for  which  He  evolved  and  was  supporting 
creation.  I  should  like  to  be  so  inspired  over  again, 
but  with  such  a  view  of  the  Deity  as  coalesced  and 
was  in  harmony  with  the  doctrine  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament." 

His  progress  at  that  period  was  extremely  rapid; 
and  although  when  he  first  entered  the  university 
his  knowledge  of  the  rudiments  even  of  English 
composition  was  very  imperfect,  he  now,  by  dint  of 
perseverance,  mastered  every  difficulty,  and  acquired 
a  great  command  over  the  language.     His  public 


132  THOMAS  CHALMERS. 

duties  showed  tlie  benefit  he  thus  secured,  inas- 
much as  he  was  able  to  employ  a  suitable  vehicle 
for  those  vivid  conceptions  which  it  was  the  cha- 
racter of  his  intellect  to  form.  "  I  remember  still," 
says  one  of  his  friends,  "  after  the  lapse  of  fifty- 
two  years,  the  powerful  impression  made  by  his 
prayers  in  the  Public  Hall,  to  which  the  people  of 
St.  Andrews  flocked  when  they  knew  that  Chalmers 
was  to  pray.  The  wonderful  flow  of  eloquent,  vivid, 
ardent  description  of  the  attributes  and  works  of 
God,  and  still  more,  perhaps,  the  astonishing  har- 
rowing delineation  of  the  miseries,  the  horrid  cru- 
elties, immoralities,  and  abominations  inseparable 
from  war,  which  always  came  in  more  or  less  in 
connection  wnth  the  bloody  warfare  in  which  we 
were  engaged  with  France,  called  forth  the  wonder- 
ment of  the  hearers.  He  was  then  only  sixteen 
years  of  age,  yet  he  showed  a  taste  and  capacity  for 
composition  of  the  most  glowing  and  eloquent  kind. 
Even  then,  his  style  was  very  much  the  same  as  at 
the  period  when  he  attracted  so  much  notice,  and 
made  such  powerful  impression  in  the  pulpit  and 
by  the  press." 

After  completing  the  course  of  study  prescribed 
by  the  Church  of  Scotland,  Chalmers  obtained  li- 
cense as  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel  on  the  31st  of 
July,  1799.  About  a  month  afterwards  he  made 
his  first  appearance  as  a  preacher  in  a  chapel  in 
Wigan,  and  on  the  Sunday  following  he  delivered 
the  same  discourse  in  Liverpool.     On  these  occa- 


HIS  FIRST  SERMON.  Id3 

sions  he  was  accompanied  by  his  brother  James, 
who,  in  a  letter  referring  to  the  occasion,  thus  ex- 
presses himself: — "His  mode  of  delivery  is  ex- 
pressive, his  language  beautiful,  and  his  arguments 
very  forcible  and  strong.  His  sermon  contained  a 
due  mixture  of  the  doctrinal  and  practical  parts  of 
religion ;  but  I  think  it  inclined  most  to  the  latter. 
The  subject,  however,  required  it.  It  is  the  opinion 
of  those  who  pretend  to  be  judges,  that  he  will 
shine  in  the  pulpit,  but  as  yet  he  is  rather  awkward 
in  his  appearance."  In  October  the  same  year,  he 
established  himself  in  the  house  of  a  relative  in 
Edinburgh,  and  pursued  with  great  ardour  his  fa- 
vourite studies  of  mathematics  and  philosophy.  In 
July  1801,  however,  he  became  assistant  to  the  Rev. 
Mv  Elliot,  minister  of  Cavers,  but  in  November  in  the 
same  year  was  elected  by  the  Principal  and  Profes- 
sors of  the  University  of  St.  Andrews  to  the  living 
of  Kilmany.  At  the  same  period  he  was  appointed 
assistant  to  the  Professor  of  Mathematics  in  the 
University  of  St.  Andrews.  The  manner  in  which 
he  discharged  the  duties  of  this  office  was  such  as 
might  be  expected  from  the  ardour  with  which  he 
pursued  the  study  of  mathematical  science.  "  He 
was  ready  to  guide  his  students  steadily  and  conse- 
cutively along  a  strictly  scientific  course;  but  as 
they  trod  that  path,  he  would  have  all  their  bosoms 
to  glow  with  the  same  philosophic  ardours  which 
inflamed  his  own ;  for  to  him  the  demonstrations  of 
geometry  were  not  mere  abstractions  to  be  curiously 


134  THO^IAS  CHALMERS. 

but  unmovedlj  gazed  at  by  the  cold  eye  of  specu- 
lation. A  beauty  and  a  glory  liung  over  them 
which  kindled  the  most  glowing  emotions  in  his 
breast.  To  his  eye,  his  favourite  science  did  not 
sit  aloof  and  alone,  in  the  pride  of  her  peculiar  me- 
thods disdaining  communion  with  those  of  her  fel- 
lows who  tread  the  humbler  walks  of  experience 
and  induction.  Links  of  sympathy  bound  her  to 
them  all — while  to  more  than  one  of  them  she  be- 
came the  surest  ally  and  closest  friend.  And  all 
that  his  beloved  science  was  to  himself,  he  would 
have  her  to  become  to  the  youths  in  the  class-room 
around  him." 

On  entering  upon  his  parochial  charge  at  Kil- 
many,  Chalmers  resolved,  if  possible,  to  retain  the 
Mathematical  Assistantship  at  St.  Andrews,  hold- 
ing out,  as  it  did,  a  prospect  of  distinction  in  a  de- 
partment of  learning  to  which  he  was  devoted.  He 
found  himself,  however,  summarily  dismissed  on  the 
charge  of  inefficiency  as  a  teacher.  This  treatment, 
to  one  of  his  ardent  temperament,  must  have  been  ex- 
tremely irritating;  and  in  order  to  disprove  the  ac- 
cusation, he  opened  classes  in  St.  Andrews  for  ma- 
thematics and  chemistry,  and  met,  notwithstanding 
considerable  opposition,  a  great  measure  of  success. 
The  chemical  lectures  he  afterwards  delivered  in  his 
own  parish  and  at  Cupar.  He  remained  about  eleven 
years  at  Kilmany,  engaging  with  characteristic 
energy  in  his  pastoral  duties,  and  occupying  himself 
in  a  variety  of  literary  undertakings.     In  1814,  he 


A  CONTRAST.  135 

was  chosen  minister  of  the  Tron  Church,  Glasgow. 
Here  he  had  a  wide  field  on  which  to  carry  out  all 
his  enterprises  of  Christian  benevolence.  And  he 
speedily  rose  to  an  unparalleled  degree  of  popularity 
in  consequence  of  the  extraordinary  eloquence  and 
power  which  in  his  public  services  he  displayed. 
His  "Astronomical  Discourses"  were  at  this  time 
delivered,  and  excited  universal  admiration.  He 
had  at  this  period  an  unquestionable  superiority  over 
all  other  preachers  5  and  that,  too,  although  his  de- 
fects were  such  as  rhetoricians  consider  incompatible 
with  oratorical  excellence.  His  manner  was  awk- 
ward, his  voice  unmusical,  his  pronunciation  barba- 
rous in  the  extreme;  yet  such  was  the  intellectual 
and  moral  energy — such  the  earnestness  and  pro- 
found sincerity  that  pervaded  all  he  uttered,  that 
any  defect  was  more  than  counterbalanced.  An 
eminent  critic  makes  the  following  remarks  on  this 
distinguished  orator: — "While  admitting  Chalmers 
to  be  the  most  powerful  Christian  orator  our  coun- 
try has  produced  for  two  centuries,  we  must  place 
him,  as  a  writer,  in  the  second  rank,  alike  of  past 
and  present  preachers.  When  you  compare  his 
style  with  Barrow's,  you  are  ashamed  to  think  that, 
in  the  course  of  two  hundred  years,  the  language 
seems  so  to  have  retrograded;  the  contrast  is  so 
great  between  the  true  tasie,  the  copiousness,  and 
the  power  of  at  once  cutting  the  most  delicate  dis- 
criminations and  catching  the  freshest  colours,  which 
belongs  to  the  diction  of  the  one,  and  the  compara- 


136  THOMAS  CHALMEES. 

tive  coarseness,  scantiness,  and  mannerism  of  the 
other.  When  you  compare  his  imagination  with 
Jeremy  Taylor's,  you  become  sensible  of  the  differ- 
ence between  a  strong,  but  bounded,  and  an  inex- 
haustible faculty.  When  you  put  his  discourses 
as  wholes  beside  those  of  Horsley,  in  their  manly 
vigour,  they  seem  imperfect,  spasmodic,  and  mono- 
tonous. As  a  thinker,  he  is,  compared  to  Foster, 
hackneyed,  and  to  Isaac  Taylor,  timorous.  But 
as  an  orator,  hurried  away  himself  by  a  demoniac 
energy,  his  faculties  and  his  heart  alike  subservient 
to,  and  swimming  in,  a  current  of  ungovernable  elo- 
quence; and  with  the  power  of  conveying  entire  to 
others  his  most  peculiar  emotions,  and  of  breathing 
out  upon  them,  as  from  snorting  nostrils,  his  conta- 
gious fire;  not  only  does  he  stand  alone  in  this  age, 
but  we  question  if  in  any  period,  in  this  single 
quality,  his  equal  has  appeared.  Demosthenes, 
everybody  knows,  had  immense  energy,  but  rarely 
the  rushing  fluency  we  mean  to  ascribe  to  Chalmers. 
Cicero  is  ornate  and  elaborate;  he  is  a  river  cut 
through  an  artificial  bed,  rather  than  a  mountain 
torrent.  Jeremy  Taylor's  stream  meanderfS,  '  glid- 
ing at  its  own  sweet  will,'  rather  than  sweeps 
right  onward  to  the  sea  of  its  object.  Barrow,  to 
vary  the  figure,  takes  sometimes  the  gallop  in  grand 
style,  but  his  eye  never  gets  red  in  the  race,  nor  do 
his  nostrils  breathe  fire  or  spring  blood.  Howe 
makes  every  now  and  then  a  noble  leap,  and  then 
subsides  into  a  quiet  and  deliberate  pace.     Burke 


HIS  PORTRAIT.  137 

is  next  Chalmers  in  this  quality.  Curran,  Grattan, 
Sheil,  and  Phillips,  frequently  exhibit  this  rapid  and 
involuntary  movement  of  mind  and  style ;  but  it  is 
marred  in  the  first  by  diffusion;  in  the  two  next  by 
a  certain  irregular  and  starting  motion,  springing 
from  their  continual  antithesis;  and  in  the  last  by 
the  enormous  degree  in  which  he  possesses  his  coun- 
try's diseases,  of  intellectual  incontinence  and  ple- 
thora verhorum.  Hall  occasionally  nses  to  this 
style,  as  in  the  close  of  his  Sermon  on  the  Threat- 
ened Invasion ;  but  is  too  fastidious  and  careful 
of  minute  elegancies  to  sustain  it  long  or  reach  it 
often.  Irving  shines  in  brief  and  passionate  bursts, 
but  never  indulges  in  long  and  strong  sweeps  through 
the  gulfs  of  ether.  But  with  Chalmers  such  peril- 
ous movement  is  a  mere  necessity  of  his  mind :  his 
works  read  like  one  long  sentence ;  a  unique  enthu- 
siasm inspirits  with  one  deep  glow  all  his  sermons, 
and  all  his  volumes ;  and  so  far  from  needing  to 
lash  or  sting  himself  into  this  rapid  rate,  he  must 
pursue  a  break-neck  pace,  or  come  to  a  full  stop. 
Animation  is  a  poor  word  for  describing  either  his 
style  or  manner.  Excitement,  con-^ulsion,  are  fit 
yet  feeble  terms  for  his  appearance,  either  at  the 
desk  or  the  pulpit.  And  yet,  what  painter  has  ever 
ventured  to  draw  him  preaching?  And  hence  the 
dulness  and  paltriness  of  almost  all  the  prints  (we 
except  Duncan's  admirable  portrait) ;  they  show  the 
sybil  off  the  stool ;  the  eye  dim  and  meaningless, 
not  shot  with  excitement,  and  glaring  at  vacancy; 


138  THOMAS  CHALMEES. 

the  lion  sleeping,  not  the  mane-shaking,  tail-toss- 
ing, and  sand-spurning  lord  of  the  desert.  In  re- 
pose, neither  his  face  nor  form  are  much  better  than 
an  unstrung  bow  or  an  unlighted  lustre.  After  all 
that  Chalmers  has  written,  the  'Astronomical  Dis- 
courses' are,  in  our  opinion,  his  best  and  greatest 
work.  They  owe  not  a  little,  it  is  true,  to  their 
subject — Astronomy,  that ' star-eyed  science'  which, 
of  all  others,  most  denotes  the  grandeur  of  our  des- 
tiny, and  plumes  our  wing  for  the  researches  and 
the  flights  of  unembodied  existence;  which,  even  in 
its  infancy,  has  set  a  crown  upon  the  head  of  man 
— worthy  of  an  angelic  brow — a  crown  of  stars;  and 
has  opened  up  a  field  so  vast  and  magnificent,  that 
it  was  impossible  for  a  mind  like  that  of  Dr  Chalmers 
altogether  to  fail  in  its  exposition.  And,  so  far  as 
the  Newtonian  astronomy  goes,  the  poetry,  as  the 
religion  of  the  sky,  never  found  before  such  a  worthy 
and  enthusiastic  expounder.  Kindling  his  soul  at 
those  '  street-lamps  in  the  city  of  God,'  he  descants 
upon  creation  in  a  style  of  glowing  and  unaffected 
ardour.  He  sets  the  '  Principia'  to  music.  He 
leaves  earth  behind  him,  and  now  drifts  across  the 
red  light  of  Mars ;  now  rests  his  foot  upon  the 
bright  bosom  of  Sirius;  now  bespeaks  the  wild 
comet;  and  now  rushes  in  to  spike  the  guns  of 
that  battery  against  the  Bible,  which  the  bold 
hands  of  sceptical  speculators  have  planted  upon 
the  stars." 

In  1818  Dr  Chalmers  was  elected  minister  of  St. 


HIS  LABOUES  IN  GLASGOW.  139 

John's  in  Glasgow.  Tins  cliurcli,  which  had  been 
recently  built,  was  considerably  larger  than  the 
Tron  Church,  and  the  parish  in  which  it  was  placed 
afforded  immense  scope  for  his  labours.  In  this 
vsphere  of  exertion  he  continued  several  years,  car- 
rying out  with  his  usual  energy  and  perseverance 
a  variety  of  plans  of  usefulness,  devoting  almost  his 
whole  attention  to  the  claims  of  the  humbler  classes, 
which  in  a  densely-peopled  city  are  too  often  ne- 
glected. 

In  1823  he  was  chosen  Professor  of  Moral  Philo- 
sophy in  the  University  of  St.  Andrews.  His  ac- 
ceptance of  this  appointment  produced  the  utmost 
disappointment  in  Glasgow,  and  filled  with  regret 
those  friends  whom  he  had  associated  with  him  in 
the  various  projects  of  benevolence  he  had  organ- 
ised and  kept  in  motion  in  the  parish  under  his 
care.  His  reasons  for  taking  this  step,  however, 
seemed  to  him  sufficiently  strong  to  justify  it,  as 
will  appear  from  the  following  letter  i-ead  to  a 
meeting  of  his  elders,  deacons,  and  Sabbath-school 
teachers : — "  I  have  called  together  the  gentlemen 
of  the  agency  of  St.  John's,  for  the  purpose  of  mak- 
ing known  my  acceptance  of  the  offered  Chair  of 
Moral  Philosophy  in  the  University  of  St.  An- 
drews ;  and  it  is  not  without  much  agitation  that  I 
contemplate  the  prospect  of  leaving  such  a  number 
of  friends,  in  whose  kindness  and  Christian  worth 
I  have  found  a  refuge  from  many  disquietudes.  The 
appointment  is  altogether  unlooked  for  and  unso- 


140  THOMAS  CHALMERS. 

licited  on  my  part,  and  just  happens  to  be  the 
seventh  that  has  been  submitted  to  my  consider- 
ation since  I  have  been  connected  with  Glasgow. 
You  will  therefore  believe,  that  it  is  not  upon  a 
slight  or  hasty  deliberation  that  I  have  resolved  to 
accept  of  it ;  and  I  now  hasten  to  offer  the  expla- 
nation of  my  reasons  to  those  who  are  best  entitled 
to  know  them.  My  first  is  a  reason  of  necessity, 
and  is  founded  on  the  imperative  consideration  of 
my  health.  I  should  like  to  unite  the  labour  of 
preparation  for  the  pulpit  with  the  labour  of  house- 
hold ministrations  in  the  parish ;  this  is  a  union 
which  I  have  made  many  attempts  to  realise,  and 
I  now  find  myself  to  be  altogether  unequal  to  it : 
this  mortifying  experience  has  grown  upon  me  for 
a  good  many  months,  but  never  did  it  become  so 
distinct  and  decisive  until  the  present  winter.  My 
very  last  attempt  at  exertion  out-of-doors  has  been 
followed  up  by  several  weeks  of  utter  incapacity  for 
fixed  thought.  I  find  it  impossible  any  longer  to 
acquit  myself  both  of  the  personal  and  mental 
fatigues  of  my  present  office ;  and  when,  under  an 
impressive  sense  of  this,  a  vacant  professorship  came 
to  my  door,  1  entertained  it  as  an  opening  of  Pro- 
vidence, and  have  resolved  to  follow  it.  My  second 
is  a  reason  of  conscience.  I  am  aware  that  the 
fatigue  of  my  present  ofiice  is  shortly  to  be  light- 
ened by  the  erection  of  a  Chapel  of  Ease,  and  the 
subdivision  of  the  parish  into  two  equal  parts.  I 
have  often  taken  encouragement  to  myself  from  the 


PROFESSORSHIP  AT  ST.  ANDREWS.  141 

anticipation  of  this  important  relief;  and  if  my 
successor  be  possessed  of  ordinary  strength,  and 
have  nothing  to  carry  off  his  mind  from  the  direct 
work  of  the  ministry,  he  will  now,  I  am  persuaded, 
feel  the  comforts  of  a  sphere  so  reduced  within  ma- 
nageable limits,  that  it  may  be  overtaken.  But  it 
so  happens  of  me,  that  my  attention  of  late  has 
been  divided  between  the  cares  of  my  profession 
and  the  studies  of  general  philanthropy  ;  and  while 
sensible  of  the  rebuke  to  which  this  might  expose 
me  from  those  whose  piety  and  Christian  excellence 
are  entitled  to  veneration,  yet  I  can  affirm  of  every 
excursion  that  I  have  recently  made  in  the  fields  of 
civic  and  economic  speculation,  that  I  have  the 
happiness  of  him  who  condemneth  not  himself  in 
that  which  he  hath  allowed.  I  can  truly  say,  that 
when  I  entered  on  this  field  it  was  not  because  I 
knowingly  turned  me  away  from  the  object  of 
Christian  usefulness,  but  because  I  apprehended 
that  I  there  saw  the  object  before  me  ;  but  the 
field  has  widened  as  I  have  advanced  upon  it,  inso- 
much that  I  cannot  longer  retain  the  office  which 
I  now  hold  without  injustice  to  my  parish  and  con- 
gregation— without,  in  fact,  becoming  substantially, 
and  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  a  pluralist.  In 
these  circumstances,  gentlemen,  I  have  been  met, 
and  most  unexpectedly,  with  the  unanimous  invi- 
tation of  a  college  within  whose  walls  I  can  enjoy 
the  retirement  that  I  love,  and  again  unbosom  my- 
self among  the  fondest  remembrances  of  my  boy- 


142  THOMAS  CHALMERS. 

hood.  It  was  there  tliat  I  passed  through  the 
course  of  my  own  academical  studies,  and  that  I 
am  now  called  upon  to  direct  the  studies  of  another 
generation.  Some  of  you  have  long  known  what 
I  think  of  tlie  great  worth  and  importance  of  a  pro- 
fcssorsliip,  and  that  I  have  even  held  a  literary  office 
in  a  university,  through  which  the  future  ministers 
of  our  parishes  pass  in  numerous  succession  every 
year,  to  be  a  higher  station  in  the  vineyard,  even 
of  Christian  usefulness,  than  the  office  of  a  single 
minister  of  a  single  congregation.  Moral  philosophy 
is  not  theology,  but  it  stands  at  the  entrance  of  it, 
and  so,  of  all  human  sciences,  is  the  most  capable 
of  being  turned  into  an  instrument  either  for  guid- 
ing aright,  or  for  most  grievously  perverting  the 
minds  of  those  who  are  to  be  the  religious  instruc- 
tors of  the  succeeding  age.  It  is  my  anxious  wish 
that  these  reasons,  which  have  satisfied  myself, 
should  satisfy  you.  In  the  calm  retreat  of  an  an- 
cient and  much-loved  university — in  the  employ- 
ment which  it  offers,  so  akin  to  the  themes  that 
I  hold  in  the  highest  estimation — in  the  post  of 
superior  usefulness  which  is  there  assigned  to  me — 
in  the  unbounded  leisure  and  liberty  of  its  summer 
vacation,  during  which  I  may  prosecute  my  other 
favourite  pursuits,  and  more  particularly,  may  re- 
new, for  months  together,  my  converse  with  Glas- 
gow, and  so  perpetuate  my  intimacy  with  your- 
selves ; — in  these  there  are  charms  and  inducements 
which  I  have  not  been  able  to  resist,  and  which  I 


PROFESSOESHIP  IN  EDINBURGH.  143 

have  not  seen  it  my  duty  to  put  away  from  me.  I 
feel  the  highest  gratitude  for  your  affectionate  ser- 
vices, nor  shall  I  ever  cease  to  remember  your  tole- 
ration for  my  errors,  and  the  kind  indulgent  friend- 
ship wherewith  you  have  ever  regarded  me.  My 
prayer  for  you  all  is,  that  you  may  be  enabled,  by 
the  grace  of  God,  to  live  the  lives  and  to  die  the 
deaths  of  the  righteous — that  you  hold  fast  the  doc- 
trine which  is  unto  salvation,  and  grow  daily  in  the 
faith  of  the  Gospel,  which  both  pacifies  the  consci- 
ence and  purifies  the  heart.  Quit  not,  I  beseech 
you,  those  stations  of  usefulness  to  which  you  w^ere 
guided,  not,  I  trust,  by  any  human  attachment,  but 
by  a  principle  of  allegiance  to  Him  who  is  the  same 
to-day,  yesterday,  and  for  ever.  Do  with  all  your 
might  that  which  your  hand  findeth  to  do ;  and 
more  particularly  do  I  crave,  that  throughout  the 
remaining  months  of  my  abode  in  the  midst  of  you, 
you  w^ill  afford  me  the  aid  of  all  your  light  and  ex- 
perience in  the  maturing  of  those  final  arrangements 
by  which  the  parish  may  be  transmitted  in  the  best 
possible  condition  to  my  successor." 

After  discharging  the  duties  of  his  professorship 
at  St  Andrews  for  four  years,  he  was  appointed  to 
the  Chair  of  Divinity  in  the  University  of  Edin- 
burgh, and  commenced  his  duties  in  November 
1828.  The  occasion  on  which  he  delivered  his  in- 
troductory lecture  is  thus  referred  to  by  one  of  the 
gentlemen  present: — "It  was  a  day,  as  you  will 
easily  believe,  of  no  common  expectation  and  ex- 


144  THOMAS  CHALMERS. 

citement,  not  only  among  those  who  were  profes- 
sionally required  to  become  his  pupils,  but  also  to 
not  a  few  of  the  worthiest  citizens  of  Edinburgh, 
who  having  once  and  again  listened  with  impas- 
sioned wonder  and  delight  to  his  mighty  words  as 
a  preacher  of  the  Gospel,  scarcely  knew  what  to 
expect  from  him  as  an  academic  expounder  and 
disciplinarian  in  the  science  of  theology.  If  I  may 
judge  of  other  minds  from  the  state  of  my  own  feel- 
ings at  the  time,  I  may  safely  state,  that  at  no  time, 
either  before  or  since,  has  a  tumult  of  emotions,  so 
peculiar  and  intense,  agitated  the  hearts  of  the  many 
who  waited  for  his  first  appearance  in  the  Chair  of 
Theology.  I  well  remember  his  look  as  he  first  came 
from  the  vestry  into  the  passage  leading  to  the  desk. 
He  had  an  air  of  extreme  abstraction,  and  at  the 
same  time  of  full  presence  of  mind.  Ascending  the 
steps  in  his  familiar  resolute  manner,  he  almost  im- 
mediately engaged  in  his  opening  prayer:  that  was 
most  startling,  and  yet  deeply  solemnising.  In 
closest  union  with  a  simple,  forcible  antithesis  of 
intellectual  conception,  clothed  in  still  more  anti- 
thetical expressions,  there  was  the  deep  vital  con- 
sciousness of  the  glory  of  the  Divine  presence.  The 
power  of  tlie  dialectician,  restrained  and  elevated  by 
the  prayerful  reverence  as  of  some  prophet  in  ancient 
Israel,  imparted  a  most  remarkable  peculiarity  of 
aspect  to  his  first  devotional  utterances  in  the  class. 
On  his  discourse  I  shall  not  presume  on  your 
])atience  by  anything  like  detailed  remark.     All  felt 


HIS  OPENING  LECTURE.  145 

far  more  deeply  than  they  could  worthily  declare, 
that  it  was  a  most  glorious  prelude,  and  that  at  once 
and  for  ever  his  right  to  reign  as  a  king  in  the 
broad  realms  of  theological  science,  and  to  rule 
over  their  own  individual  minds  as  a  teacher,  was 
as  unequivocal  as  his  mastery  over  a  popular  as- 
sembly. Personally  I  always  feel,  in  recalling  that 
scene,  as  if,  by  some  peculiar  enchantment  of  asso- 
ciation, I  had  listened,  all  unconscious  of  the  pre- 
sent world,  to  one  or  other  of  Handel's  most  su- 
blime efforts  of  harmony.  To  this  hour  I  dwell  with 
all  the  mysterious  delight  that  is  awakened  by  some 
grand  choral  symphony  on  some  of  his  novel  expres- 
sions, which,  borrowed  from  physical  science,  directly 
tended,  by  almost  more  than  the  force  of  the  best  dia- 
grams, to  make  his  noble  thoughts  all  our  own." 

Without  any  attempt  to  present  the  reader  with 
the  numerous  particulars  which  unite  to  make  up 
his  history  from  the  period  of  his  appointment  as 
Professor  of  Divinity,  we  shall  present  them  with  a 
passage  from  the  writings  of  Mr  Gilfillan: — '^We 
linger  as  we  trace  over  in  thought  the  leading  in- 
cidents of  his  well-known  story.  We  see  the  big- 
headed,  warm-hearted,  burly  boy,  playing  upon  the 
beach  at  Anstruther,  and  seeming  like  a  gleam  of 
early  sunshine  upon  that  coldest  of  all  coasts.  We 
follow  him  as  he  strides  along  with  large,  hopeful, 
awkward  steps  to  the  gate  of  St.  Andrews.  We 
see  him,  a  second  Dominie  Sampson,  in  his  tutor's 
garret  at  Arbroath,  in  the  midst  of  a  proud  and 


146  THOMAS  CHALMERS. 

pompous  family — himself  as  proud,  though  not  so 
pompous,  as  they.  We  follow  him  next  to  the 
peaceful  manse  of  Kilmany,  standing  amid  its  green 
woods  and  hills,  in  a  very  nook  of  the  land,  whence 
he  emerges,  now  to  St.  Andrews,  to  battle  with 
the  stolid  and  slow-moving  professors  of  that  day  ; 
now  to  Dundee,  to  buy  materials  for  chemical  re- 
search (on  one  occasion  setting  himself  on  fire  with 
some  combustible  substance,  and  requiring  to  run 
to  a  farmhouse  to  get  himself  put  out!);  now  to  the 
woods  and  hills  around  to  botanise;  and  now  to 
Edinburgh  to  attend  the  General  Assembly,  and 
give  earnest  of  those  great  oratorical  powers  which 
were  afterwards  to  astonish  the  Church  and  the 
world.  With  solemn  awe  we  stand  by  his  bedside 
during  that  long,  mysterious  illness,  which  brought 
him  to  himself,  and  taught  him  that  religion  was  a 
reality,  as  profound  as  sin,  sickness,  and  death.  We 
mark  him,  then,  rising  up  from  his  couch,  like  an 
eagle  newly  bathed — like  a  giant  refreshed — and 
commencing  that  course  of  evangelical  teaching  and 
action  only  to  be  terminated  in  the  grave.  We  pur- 
sue him  to  Glasgow,  and  see  him  sitting  down  in  a 
plain  house  in  Sauchiehall  Eoad,  and  proceeding  to 
write  sermons  which  are  to  strike  that  city  like  a 
planet,  and  make  him  the  real  King  of  the  West. 
We  mark  him,  next,  somewhat  worn  and  wearied, 
returning  to  his  alma  mater ^  to  resume  his  old  games 
of  golf  on  the  Links,  his  old  baths  in  the  Bay,  and 
to  give  an  impetus,  which  has  never  yet  entirely 

\ 


HIS  LAST  EVENING.  147 

subsided,  to  that  grass-grown  city  of  Rutherford 
and  Halyburton.  Next  we  see  him  bursting  like 
a  shell  this  narrow  confine,  and  soaring  away  to 
^  stately  Edinburgh,  throned  on  crags,'  to  become 
there  a  principality  and  power  among  many,  and 
to  give  stimulus  and  inspiration  to  hosts  of  young 
aspirants.  What  divine  of  the  age,  on  the  whole, 
can  we  name  with  Chalmers?  Horsley  was,  per- 
haps, an  abler  man,  but  where  the  moral  grandeur? 
Hall  had  the  moral  grandeur,  and  a  far  more  culti- 
vated mind ;  Foster  had  a  sterner,  loftier,  and  richer 
genius ;  but  where,  in  either,  the  seraphic  ardour, 
activity,  and  energy  of  Christian  character  pos- 
sessed by  Chalmers?  Irving,  as  an  orator,  had 
more  artistic  skill,  and,  at  the  same  time,  his  blood 
was  warm  with  a  more  volcanic  and  poetic  fire;  but 
he  was  only  a  brilliant  fragment,  not  a  whole — he  was 
a  meteor  to  a  star — a  comet  to  a  sun — a  Vesuvius, 
peaked,  blue,  crowned  with  fire,  to  a  domed  Mont 
Blanc.  Chalmers  stood  alone ;  and  centuries  may 
elapse  ere  the  Church  shall  see — and  when  did  she 
ever  more  need  to  see? — another  such  spirit  as  he?" 
Dr  Chalmers  died  on  the  night  of  the  30th  May, 
1847.  He  had  recently  returned  from  London,  and 
apparently  in  his  usual  good  health.  "  During  the 
whole  of  the  evening,  as  if  he  had  kept  his  brightest 
smiles  and  fondest  utterances  to  the  last,  and  for 
his  own,  he  was  peculiarly  bland  and  benignant.  '  I 
had  seen  him  frequently,'  says  Mr  Gemmel,  ^at  Fair- 
lie,  and  in  his  most  happy  moods,  but  I  never  saw 


148  THOMAS  CHALMERS. 

him  happier.  Christian  benevolence  beamed  from 
his  countenance,  sparkled  in  his  eye,  and  played 
upon  his  lips.'  Immediately  after  prayers  he  with- 
drew, and  bidding  his  family  remember  that  they 
must  be  early  to-morrow,  he  waved  his  hand,  say- 
ing, 'A  general  good-night.'  The  housekeeper,  who 
had  been  long  in  the  family,  knocked  next  morning 
at  the  door  of  Dr  Chalmers's  room,  but  received  no 
answer.  Concluding  that  he  was  asleep,  and  unwill- 
ing to  disturb  him,  she  waited  till  another  party 
called  with  a  second  message;  she  then  entered  the 
room — it  was  in  darkness ;  she  spoke,  but  there  was 
no  response.  At  last  she  threw  open  the  windov/- 
shutters,  and  drew  aside  the  curtains  of  the  bed. 
He  sat  there,  half  erect,  his  head  reclining  gently 
on  the  pillow;  the  expression  of  his  countenance 
that  of  fixed  and  majestic  repose.  She  took  his 
hand — she  touched  his  brow ;  he  had  been  dead  for 
hours :  very  shortly  after  that  parting  salute  to  his 
family  he  had  entered  the  eternal  world.  It  must 
have  been  wholly  without  pain  or  conflict.  The 
expression  of  the  face  undisturbed  by  a  single  trace 
of  suffering^  the  position  of  the  body  so  easy  that 
the  least  struggle  would  have  disturbed  it,  the  very 
posture  of  arms  and  hands  and  fingers  known  to 
his  family  as  that  into  which  they  fell  naturally  in 
the  moments  of  entire  repose, — conspired  to  show, 
that,  saved  all  strife  with  the  last  enemy,  his  spirit 
had  passed  to  its  place  of  blessedness  and  glory  in 
the  heavens." 


HENEY    MAETYN. 

Among  those  who  having  dedicated  themselves  to 
the  service  of  Godj  have  been  distinguished  by  a 
compassionate  love  of  their  fellow-men,  and  an  in- 
tense desire  to  promote  their  highest  interests,  one 
of  the  most  honoured,  and  most  worthy  of  honour, 
is  the  Rev.  Henry  Martyn.  The  apostolic  simpli- 
city and  fervour  with  which  he  proclaimed  the 
Gospel ;  the  indefatigable  zeal  with  which  he  de- 
voted himself  to  his  sacred  work ;  the  great  intel- 
lectual ability  and  scholarship  he  employed  in  it ; 
and  the  deep  and  unfeigned  humility  with  which 
he  regarded  himself, — these  were  among  the  many 
valuable  qualities  he  possessed,  and  in  which,  if  it 
can  be  said  that  he  was  ever  equalled,  it  must  be 
affirmed  that  he  has  been  seldom  surpassed. 

He  was  born  at  Truro,  on  the  18th  of  February, 
1781.  His  father  was  originally  a  poor  Cornish 
miner,  who,  by  improving  his  mind  during  the  in- 
tervals of  his  labours,  raised  himself  out  of  his 
hnmble  position  to  the  comparatively  superior  situ- 
ation of  chief  clerk  to  a  merchant  in  Truro.  His 
son  Henry — the  subject  of  this  notice — was  put  to 
school  in  his  native  town  in  1788,  where  he  was 
under  the  care  of  the  Eev.  Dr  Cardetv,  a  man  ot" 
talent  and  learning. 


150  HENRY  MARTYN. 

'^  Little  Harry  Marty n  "  (for  by  that  name  he 
usually  went),  says  one  of  his  earliest  friends  and 
companions,  ''  was  in  a  manner  proverbial  among 
his  schoolfellows  for  a  peculiar  tenderness  and  inof- 
fensiveness  of  spirit,  which  exposed  him  to  the  ill 
offices  of  many  overbearing  boys  ;  and  as  there  was 
at  times  some  peevishness  in  his  manner  when  at- 
tacked, he  was  often  unkindly  treated.  That  he 
might  receive  assistance  in  his  lessons,  he  was  placed 
near  one  of  the  upper  boys,  with  whom  he  con- 
tracted a  friendship  that  lasted  through  life,  and 
whose  imagination  readily  recalls  the  position  in 
which  he  used  to  sit,  the  thankful  expression  of 
his  affectionate  countenance  when  he  happened  to 
be  helped  out  of  some  difficulty,  and  a  thousand 
other  little  incidents  of  his  boyish  days."  Besides 
assisting  him  in  his  exercises,  his  friend,  it  is  added, 
"  had  often  the  happiness  of  rescuing  him  from  the 
grasp  of  oppressors,  and  has  never  seen  more  feel- 
ing of  gratitude  evinced  than  was  shown  by  him  on 
those  occasions." 

After  remaining  under  Dr  Cardew's  tuition  till 
he  was  between  fourteen  and  fifteen  years  of  age, 
and  making  great  progress  in  classical  learning,  he 
offered  himself  for  a  vacant  scholarship  at  Oxford, 
but  was  unsuccessful,  although  he  passed  a  most 
creditable  examination.  The  friend,  however,  who, 
as  above  mentioned,  had  been  his  protector  during 
his  school-boy  days,  having  met  with  signal  success 
at  Cambridge,  he  directed  his  views  to  that  univer- 


UNIVERSITY  HONOURS.  151 

sity,  and  entered  St.  John's  College  in  October 
1796,  where  he  enjoyed  that  counsel  and  friend- 
ship, the  advantage  and  value  of  which  he  had 
already  so  frequently  experienced.  It  was  by  the 
advice  of  this  friend,  that  his  mind  was  first  di- 
rected to  spiritual  things ;  but  it  was  by  an  affect- 
ing visitation  of  divine  Providence  that  he  was  led 
seriously  to  contenaplate  their  supreme  importance. 
This  was  the  death  of  his  father,  whose  approbation 
had  hitherto  formed  the  great  stimulus  to  his  ex- 
ertions. This  afflictive  incident  had  the  effect  of 
directing  his  mind  to  the  future  world,  and  through 
divine  grace,  at  the  same  time,  the  ministry  of  the 
truly  excellent  Mr  Simeon  was  made  greatly  in- 
strumental to  his  advancement  in  spiritual  know- 
ledge. While  he  was  thus  growing  in  grace,  he 
was  also  increasing  in  secular  learning,  and  at  the 
examination  in  January  1801,  he  obtained  the  high- 
est honour  which  the  university  can  bestow,  that  of 
Senior  Wrangler.  On  the  subject  of  this  exami- 
nation, the  following  interesting  passage  occurs  in 
his  biography  : — "  From  Henry  Marty n  much  was 
expected;  and  had  he  altogether  failed,  his  tem- 
poral interests  would  have  materially  suffered.  Nor 
was  he  naturally  insensible  to  those  perturbations 
which  are  apt  to  arise  in  a  youthful  and  ambitious 
breast.  It  happened,  however  (as  he  was  fi'equently 
known  to  assert),  that,^  upon  entering  the  Senate- 
House — in  which  a  larger  than  the  usual  proportion 
of  able  young  men  were  his  competitors — his  mind 


152  HENRY  MARTYN. 

was  singularly  composed  and  tranquillised  by  the 
recollection  of  a  sermon  which  he  had  heard  not 
long  before,  on  the  text,  '  Seekest  thou  great  things 
for  thyself?  seek  them  not,  saith  the  Lord.'  He 
thus  became  divested  of  that  extreme  anxiety  about 
success,  which,  by  harassing  his  spirit,  must  have 
impeded  the  free  exercise  of  his  powers.  His  de- 
cided superiority  in  mathematics  therefore  soon  ap- 
peared, and  the  highest  academical  honour — that  of 
Senior  Wrangler — was  awarded  to  him  in  January 
1801,  at  which  period  he  had  not  completed  the 
twentieth  year  of  his  age.  Nor  is  it  any  disparage- 
ment to  that  honour,  or  to  those  who  conferred  it  on 
him,  to  record  that  it  was  attended  in  this  instance 
with  that  sense  of  disappointment  and  dissatisfac- 
tion to  which  all  earthly  blessings  are  subject.  His 
description  of  his  own  feelings  on  this  occasion  is 
very  remarkable :  '  I  obtained  my  highest  wishes, 
but  -was  surprised  to  find  that  I  had  grasped  a 
shadow.'  So  impossible  is  it  for  earthly  distinc- 
tions, even  though  awarded  for  successful  exertions 
of  the  intellect,  to  fill  and  satisfy  the  mind,  especi- 
ally after  it  has  tasted  ^  the  good  word  of  God,  and 
the  power  of  the  world  to  come.'  So  certain  is  it, 
that  he  v.'ho  drinks  of  the  water  of  the  wells  of  this 
life  must  thirst  again,  and  that  it  is  the  water  which 
springs  up  to  everlasting  life  which  alone  affords 
never-failing  refreshment." 

Not  long  after  the  signal  honours  which  Henry 
Martyn  had  attained,  he  was  elected  a  Fellow  of 


ENTERS  ON  THE  MINISTRY.  153 

St.  John's  College,  and  gained  the  first  prize  for 
the  best  Latin  prose  composition,  a  distinction  all 
the  more  remarkable,  as  he  had  directed  his  at- 
tention previously  almost  wholly  to  mathematics. 
These  important  incidents  occurred  in  1802,  and 
were  followed  by  a  visit  to  his  relatives  in  Corn- 
wall, of  which  he  has  left  an  interesting  account  in 
his  Journal.  In  October  1803,  he  was  ordained  at 
Ely,  and  immediately  afterwards  commenced  his 
ministerial  labours  as  curate  to  his  friend  the  Eev. 
Charles  Simeon.  The  various  passages  from  his 
letters  and  diaries  are  such  as  to  prove  that  no  man 
ever  entered  on  the  sacred  office  of  the  ministry 
with  brighter  prospects.  What  singleness  of  aim, 
what  beautiful  simplicity  of  soul,  what  purity  of 
heart,  what  humility  of  spirit,  what  sincere  piety 
toward  God  and  charity  toward  men,  breathe  in 
everything  he  has  written!  And  if  to  such  re- 
markable endowments  are  added  his  profound  and 
accurate  attainments,  and  the  earnestness  of  his 
preaching,  we  cannot  err  in  saying,  that  he  assur- 
edly possessed  prospects,  both  of  the  greatest  future 
usefulness  in  the  Church,  and  of  the  highest  dig- 
nity which  it  can  bestow.  But,  however  ample  the 
emoluments  or  honours  might  have  been,  which 
would  have  rewarded  such  singular  talents  and  ac- 
quirements as  those  of  Henry  Martyn,  nevertheless 
the  ardour  of  his  piety  and  the  spirituality  of  his 
mind  led  him  to  regard  worldly  distinctions  as 
nothing,  compared  with  the  honour  of  being  an  am- 
u 


154  HENKY  MARTYN. 

bassador  for  Christ,  although  amidst  peril,  incon- 
venience, and  suffering.  Some  remarks  made  on 
one  occasion  by  Mr  Simeon,  as  to  the  benefit  which 
had  arisen  from  the  labours  of  Dr  Carey  in  the 
East,  the  perusal  subsequently  of  the  Life  of  Brai- 
nerd,  who  had  devoted  himself  with  apostolical 
zeal  to  the  conversion  of  the  North  American  In- 
dians, directed  his  thoughts  to  missionary  labours 
abroad;  and  after  much  consideration  and  prayer, 
he  resolved  to  give  himself  to  the  work.  ''  Nor 
let  it  be  conceived  that  he  could  adopt  this  reso- 
lution without  the  severest  conflict  in  his  mind ;  for 
he  was  endued  with  the  truest  sensibility  of  heart, 
and  was  susceptible  of  the  warmest  and  tenderest 
attachments.  No  one  could  exceed  him  in  love  for 
his  country,  or  in  affection  for  his  friends ;  and  few 
could  surpass  him  in  an  exquisite  relish  for  the  va- 
rious and  refined  enjoyments  of  a  social  and  literary 
life ;  how  then  could  it  fail  of  being  a  moment  of 
extreme  anguish,  when  he  came  to  the  deliberate 
resolution  of  leaving  for  ever  all  he  held  dear  upon 
earth  ?  But  he  was  fially  satisfied  that  the  glory  of 
that  Saviour,  who  loved  him  and  gave  himself  for 
him,  would  be  promoted  by  his  going  forth  to 
preach  to  the  heathen :  he  considered  their  pitiable 
and  perilous  condition;  he  thought  on  the  value 
of  their  immortal  souls;  he  remembered  the  last 
solemn  injunction  of  his  Lord,  '  Go  and  teach  all 
nations,  baptising  them  in  the  name  of  the  Father, 
and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost;' — an  in- 


FAREWELL.  155 

junction  never  revoked,  and  commensurate  with 
that  most  encouraging  promise,  '  Lo,  I  am  with 
you  alway,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world.'  Actu- 
ated by  these  motives,  he  offered  himself  in  the 
capacity  of  a  Missionary  to  the  Society  for  Missions 
to  Africa  and  the  East ;  and  from  that  time  stood 
prepared,  with  a  child-like  simplicity  of  spirit  and 
an  unshaken  constancy  of  soul,  to  go  to  any  part  of 
the  world,  whither  it  might  be  deemed  expedient  to 
send  him." 

It  could  not  be  difficult  for  a  person  so  justly 
eminent  as  Mr  Martyn  to  carry  out  this  resolution, 
and  without  much  trouble  he  obtained  an  appoint- 
ment to  a  chaplainship  under  the  East  India  Com- 
pany, and  early  in  1805  was  summoned  to  leave 
England  for  the  scene  of  his  future  toils.  We  re- 
luctantly pass  over  the  many  deeply  interesting  in- 
cidents related  of  him,  between  the  period  of  his 
ordination  and  the  time  of  his  departure  to  India. 
All  his  engagements,  whether  as  one  of  the  learned 
examiners  at  Cambridge  or  as  an  eloquent  preacher 
of  the  Gospel,  and  his  whole  conduct  as  a  private 
Christian,  in  the  various  relations  in  which  he  stood 
to  others,  indicated  with  beautiful  harmony  the  ar- 
dent piety  which  appears  to  have  governed  all  his 
words,  actions,  and  thoughts. 

On  the  8th  of  July,  1805,  he  left  London,  to  em- 
bark at  Portsmouth,  and  great  was  the  grief  with 
which  he  quitted  his  native  land.  During  his  jour- 
ney to  Portsmouth,  the  agony  of  his  grief  was  so 


156  HENRY  MAETYN. 

acute  as  to  result  in  fainting  and  convnlsionSj  al- 
though on  the  following  day  he  was  able  to  proceed 
upon  his  journey.  But  he  learnt  what  was  to  him 
a  great  comfort,  because  a  proof  of  the  love  with 
which  his  flock  at  Cambridge  regarded  him,  that 
on  the  day  of  his  departure  they  intended  to  give 
themselves  to  fasting  and  prayer. 

On  the  17th  of  July  the  ship  in  which  he  had 
embarked  sailed,  in  company  with  a  large  fleet, 
and  came  to  an  anchor  two  days  afterwards  in  the 
harbour  of  Falmouth,  where  he  was  detained  three 
weeks.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Cornwall  was 
his  native  county,  and  we  learn  from  his  Journal 
how  much  sufl'ering  would  have  been  spared  him, 
had  his  ship  not  visited  the  shores  endeared  to  him 
by  the  recollections  of  his  early  days.  The  ships 
sailed  on  the  10th  of  August,  during  the  whole  of 
which  day  and  greater  part  of  the  next  Cornwall 
was  still  in  sight ;  '^  and  who  is  there,"  asks  Mr 
Sargent,  ''  endued  with  the  sensibilities  of  our 
common  nature,  but  must  have  been  subjected  to 
the  most  painful  emotions,  whilst  slowly  passing 
for  the  last  time  along  a  coast,  where  every  object 
which  caught  the  eye — every  headland — every  build- 
ing— every  wood,  served  to  remind  him  of  endear- 
ments that  were  past,  and  of  pleasures  never  to  be 
renewed!  That  Apostle  who  professed  that  he  was 
'  ready,  not  to  be  bound  only,  but  even  to  die  at 
Jerusalem,  for  the  name  of  tlie  Lord  Jesus,'  ex- 
claimed also — 'What  mean  ye  to  weep  and  to  break 


HOME  STILL  IN  SIGHT.  157 

my  heart?'  And  lie,  too,  when  sailing  to  Rome 
along  the  '  sea  of  Cilicia,'  may  be  well  supposed  to 
have  looked  mournfully  towards  the  region  of  his 
nativity,  and  to  have  thought  with  pain  on  Tarsus. 
But  Mr  Martyn's  own  hand  shall  portray  his  feel- 
ings.— ^  Sunday,  August  11. — I  rose  dejected,  and 
extremely  weak  in  body.  After  simply  crying 
to  God,  for  mercy  and  assistance,  I  preached  on 
Heb.  xi.  16: — "  But  now  they  desire  a  better  coun- 
try, that  is,  an  heavenly:  wherefore  God  is  not 
ashamed  to  be  called  their  God,  for  he  hath  pre- 
pared for  them  a  city."  On  repeating  the  text  a 
second  time,  I  could  scarcely  refrain  from  bursting 
into  tears.  For  the  Mount  and  St.  Hilary  spire 
and  trees  were  just  discernible  by  the  naked  eye  at 
the  time  I  began  my  sermon,  by  saying, ''  that  now 
the  shores  of  England  were  receding  fast  from  our 
view,  and  that  we  had  taken  a  long,  and  to  many 
of  us  an  everlasting  farewell,"  &c.  We  had  made 
little  way  during  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  I 
was  pleased  to  find  that  we  were  in  Mount's  Bay, 
midway  between  the  Land's  End  and  the  Lizard ; 
and  I  was  often  with  my  glass  recalling  those  be- 
loved scenes  ;  till  after  tea,  when,  on  ascending  the 
poop,  I  found  that  they  had  disappeared :  but  this 
did  not  prevent  my  praying  for  all  on  shore.  Amidst 
the  extreme  gloom  of  my  mind  this  day,  I  found 
great  pleasure,  at  seasons  of  prayer,  in  interced- 
ing earnestly  for  my  beloved  friends  all  over  Eng- 
land.' " 


158  HENRY  MARTYN. 

The  occurrences  of  the  voyage  are  all  deeply  in- 
teresting. We  can  refer  but  to  a  few.  The  ship, 
after  touching  at  Funchal,  proceeded  to  St.  Salva- 
dor in  South  America,  where  Mr  Martyn  went  on 
shore.  Here  he  made  acquaintance  with  Signor 
Antonio  Corr^,  as  to  his  intercourse  with  whom  we 
shall  cite  a  few  passages  from  his  Journal.  '^  I  con- 
tinued my  walk,"  he  says,  "  in  quest  of  a  wood,  or 
.some  trees  where  I  might  sit  down :  but  all  was 
appropriated;  no  tree  was  to  be  approached  except 
through  an  enclosure.  At  last  I  came  to  a  magni- 
ficent porch,  before  a  garden-gate,  which  was  open ; 
I  walked  in,  but  finding  the  vista  led  straight  to 
the  house,  I  turned  to  the  right,  and  found  myself 
in  a  grove  of  cocoanut-trees,  orange-trees,  and  seve- 
ral strange  fruit-trees;  under  them  was  nothing  but 
rose-trees,  but  no  verdure  on  the  ground ;  oranges 
were  strewed  like  apples  in  an  orchard.  Perceiving 
that  I  was  observed  by  the  slaves,  1  came  up  to  the 
house,  and  was  directed  by  them  to  an  old  man  sit- 
ting under  a  tree,  apparently  insensible  from  illness. 
I  spoke  to  him  in  French  and  in  English ;  but  he 
took  no  notice.  Presently  a  young  man  and  a  young 
lady  appeared,  to  whom  I  spoke  in  French,  and  was 
very  politely  desired  to  sit  down  at  a  little  table, 
which  was  standing  under  a  large  space  before  the 
house  like  a  verandah.  They  then  brought  me 
oranges,  and  a  small  red  acid  fruit,  the  name  of 
which  I  asked,  but  cannot  recollect.  The  young 
man  sat  opposite,  conversing  about  Cambridge;  he 


INCIDENT  AT  ST.  SALVADOR.  159 

had  been  educated  in  a  Portuguese  university.  Al- 
most immediately  on  finding  I  was  of  Cambridge, 
he  invited  me  to  come  when  I  liked  to  his  house. 
A  slave,  after  bringing  the  fruit,  was  sent  to  gather 
three  roses  for  me ;  the  master  then  walked  with 
me  round  the  garden,  and  showed  me  among  the 
rest  the  coffee  plant ;  when  I  left  him,  he  repeated 
his  invitation.  Thus  did  the  Lord  give  his  servant 
favour  in  the  eyes  of  Antonio  Joseph  Corr^. — Nov. 
14. — Senor  Antonio  received  me  with  the  same  cor- 
diality; he  begged  me  to  dine  with  him.  I  was 
curious  and  attentive  to  observe  the  difference  be- 
tween the  Portuguese  manners  and  ours;  there  were 
but  two  plates  laid  on  the  table,  and  the  dinner  con- 
sisted of  a  great  number  of  small  mixed  dishes,  fol- 
lowing one  another  in  quick  succession ;  but  none 
of  them  very  palatable.  In  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
we  walked  out  to  see  his  plantation ;  here  every- 
thing possessed  the  charm  of  novelty.  The  grounds 
included  two  hills,  and  a  valley  between  them.  The 
hills  were  covered  with  cocoanut-trees,  bananas, 
mangoes,  orange  and  lemon  trees,  olives,  coffee,  cho- 
colate, cotton-plants,  &c.  In  the  valley  was  a  large 
plantation  of  a  shrub  or  tree,  bearing  a  cluster  of 
small  berries,  which  he  desired  me  to  taste ;  I  did, 
and  found  it  was  pepper.  It  had  lately  been  intro- 
duced from  Batavia,  and  answered  very  well.  It 
grows  on  a  stem  about  the  thickness  of  a  finger,  to 
the  height  of  about  seven  feet,  and  is  supported  by 
a  stick,  which,  at  that  height,  has  another  across  it 


160  HENRY  MARTYN. 

for  the  branches  to  spread  upon.  Slaves  were  walk- 
ing about  the  grounds,  watering  the  trees  and  turn- 
ing up  the  earth ;  the  soil  appeared  very  dry  and 
loose.  At  night  I  returned  to  the  ship  in  one  of 
the  country  boats;  which  are  canoes  made  of  a  tree 
hollowed  out,  and  paddled  by  three  men." 

The  following  extract  proves  how  amiable  his 
manners  must  have  been,  to  render  him  an  object 
of  such  affectionate  interest  to  persons  whom  he  had 
never  seen  before,  and  to  whom  he  was  an  utter 
stranger.  ^' '  In  the  afternoon  took  leave  of  my  kind 
friends,  Senor  and  Senora  Corr^.  They  and  the 
rest  came  out  to  the  garden-gate,  and  continued 
looking,  till  the  winding  of  the  road  hid  me  from 
their  sight.  The  poor  slave  Raymond,  who  had  at- 
tended me,  and  carried  my  things,  burst  into  a  flood 
of  tears  as  we  left  the  door;  and  when  I  parted 
from  him,  he  was  going  to  kiss  my  feet;  but  I 
shook  hands  with  him,  much  affected  by  such  ex- 
traordinary kindness,  in  people  to  whom  I  had  been 
a  total  stranger,  till  within  a  few  days.  What  shall 
I  render  unto  the  Lord  for  all  his  mercies ! '  After 
little  more  than  a  fortnight,  the  fleet  sailed ;  whilst 
many  a  gi'ateful  recollection  filled  the  breast,  and 
many  a  fervent  prayer  ascended  from  the  heart  of 
My  iMartyn,  in  behalf  of  Senor  and  Senora  Corrfe : 
from  them  he  had  received  signal  kindness  and  hos- 
pitality ;  and  it  might  not  perhaps  be  too  much  to 
observe,  that  not  being  ^  forgetful  to  entertain  stran- 
gers,' they  had   'entertained  an  angel  unawares.' 


ARRIVES  IN  INDIA.  161 

*  I  have  been  with  my  friend  Antonio/  said  he,  *  as 
a  wayfaring  man  that  tarrieth  but  for  a  night ;  yet 
the  Lord  hath  put  it  into  his  lieart  to  send  me  on 
after  a  goodly  sort.  And  now  we  prosecute  our 
voyage ;  a  few  more  passages,  and  I  shall  find  my- 
self in  the  scene  of  my  ministry  j  a  few  more  changes 
and  journeys,  and  I  am  in  eternity.'  " 

During  the  voyage  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
we  find  Mr  Martyn,  besides  displaying  his  usual 
zeal  in  the  service  of  the  Gospel,  attending  the  sick 
and  dying,  seized  by  illness,  and  renewing  his  mi- 
nistry to  others  as  soon  as  he  recovers  strength  j  at 
the  Cape,  wx  find  him  going  ashore,  with  the  pur- 
pose of  doing  some  good  to  those  dying  of  their 
wounds  in  a  battle  which  had  just  been  fought,  and 
devoting  himself  with  his  usual  assiduity  to  such 
spiritual  work  as  he  had  an  opportunity  of  perform- 
ing. After  a  very  eventful  voyage,  in  which  his 
ship  was  more  than  once  in  the  most  imminent 
danger  of  being  wrecked,  he  arrived  in  India,  where 
he  was  cordially  welcomed.  The  order  of  talent 
with  which  he  was  endowed,  and  his  very  remark- 
able acquirements,  were  such  as  suited  him  in  a 
peculiar  manner  to  Calcutta,  but  no  solicitations  of 
his  friends  in  that  city  could  shake  his  resolution 
to  devote  himself  to  missionary  work  among  the 
heathen ;  and  fixing  his  residence  at  Dinapore,  his 
immediate  objects  were,  to  establish  native  schools, 
study  Hindostanee,  ro  as  to  speak  it  readily,  and 
prepare  translation  ^^^Df  the  Scriptures  and  of  leli- 

X 


1G2  HENRY  MARTYN. 

gious  books.  To  the  accomplisliment  of  these  ob- 
jects, he  devoted  himself  with  indefatigable  indus- 
try. At  Dinapore  he  remained  till  early  in  1809, 
when  he  was  removed  to  Cawnpore,  where  he  re- 
mained till  about  the  close  of  1810,  when  the  state 
of  his  health  rendered  a  change  of  residence  impe- 
ratively necessary.  He  resolved  therefore  to  go 
into  Persia  and  Arabia,  so  that,  while  the  change  of 
climate  and  the  journey  might  restore  his  health, 
he  might  also  carry  out  his  view^s  as  to  a  translation 
into  Persian  of  the  New  Testament.  It  was  with 
great  regret  that  his  friends  perceived  the  inevi- 
table necessity  of  his  departure ;  but  the  hope  of  his 
health  and  life  being  prolonged  by  it,  as  well  as  the 
prospect  of  his  completing  a  translation  of  such 
value,  reconciled  them  to  the  step.  ^^  Can  I  then," 
said  one  of  his  friends  in  a  letter  to  him,  "  bring 
myself  to  cut  the  string  and  let  you  go  ?  I  con- 
fess I  could  not,  if  your  bodily  frame  were  strong, 
and  promised  to  last  for  half-a-century.  But  as 
you  burn  with  the  intenseness  and  rapid  blaze  of 
heated  phosphorus,  why  should  we  not  make  the 
most  of  you?  Your  flame  may  last  as  long,  and 
perhaps  longer,  in  Arabia  than  in  India.  Where 
should  the  phoenix  build  her  odoriferous  nest,  but 
in  the  land  prophetically  called  '  the  blessed  ? '  and 
where  shall  we  ever  expect,  but  from  that  country, 
the  true  comforter  to  come  to  the  nations  of  the 
East?  I  contemplate  your  New  Testament,  spring- 
ing up,  as  it  were,  from  dust ,  ai  ashes,  but  beau- 


SAILS  FOR  PERSIA.  163 

tiful  *  as  the  wings  of  a  dove  covered  witli  silver, 
and  her  feathers  like  yellow  gold.'  " 

On  his  way  to  Persia,  he  revisited  Calcutta,  after 
an  absence  of  four  years,  pale  and  enfeebled,  but 
filled  with  unabated  zeal  in  the  great  cause  to  which 
he  had  devoted  himself.  On  this  occasion,  the  Kev. 
Mr  Thomason  thus  wrote  to  Mr  Martyn's  friend, 
the  Eev.  Charles  Simeon  :  — "  This  bright  and 
lovely  jewel  first  gratified  our  eyes  on  Saturday 
last.  He  is  on  his  way  to  Arabia,  where  he  is 
going  in  pursuit  of  health  and  knowledge.  You 
know  his  genius,  and  what  gigantic  strides  he  takes 
in  everything.  He  has  some  great  plan  in  his  mind 
of  which  I  am  no  competent  judge  ;  but  as  far  as  I 
do  understand  it,  the  object  is  far  too  grand  for  one 
short  life,  and  much  beyond  his  feeble  and  ex- 
hausted frame.  Feeble  it  is  indeed !  how  fallen  and 
changed !  His  complaint  lies  in  the  lungs,  and  ap- 
pears to  be  an  incipient  consumption.  But  let  us 
hope  that  the  sea-air  may  revive  him,  and  that 
change  of  place  and  pursuit  may  do  him  essential 
service,  and  continue  his  life  many  years.  In  all 
other  respects,  he  is  exactly  the  same  as  he  was ; 
he  shines  in  all  the  dignity  of  love,  and  seems  to 
carry  about  him  such  a  heavenly  majesty,  as  im- 
presses the  mind  beyond  description.  But,  if  he 
talks  much,  though  in  a  low  voice,  he  sinks,  and 
you  are  reminded  of  his  being  '  dust  and  ashes.'  " 

After  touching  at  Colombo,  Goa,  and  Bombay, 
Mr  Martyn  arrived  m  Bushire,  and  proceeded  to 


164  HENRY  MAETYN. 

Shiraz.  From  his  account  of  the  latter  part  of  his 
journey  to  that  famous  seat  of  Persian  literature,  it 
will  be  perceived  how  much  he  had  to  suffer: — 
"  At  sunrise  we  came  to  our  ground  at  Ahmeda, 
six  parasangs,  and  pitched  our  little  tent  under  a 
tree ;  it  was  the  only  shelter  we  could  get.  At 
first  the  heat  was  not  greater  than  we  had  felt  it  in 
India,  but  it  soon  became  so  intense  as  to  be  quite 
alarming.  When  the  thermometer  was  above  112", 
fever  heat,  I  began  to  lose  my  strength  fast ;  at  last 
it  became  quite  intolerable.  I  wrapped  myself  up 
in  a  blanket,  and  all  the  warm  covering  I  could  get, 
to  defend  myself  from  the  external  air ;  by  which 
means  the  moisture  was  kept  a  little  longer  upon 
the  body,  and  not  so  speedily  evaporated  as  when 
the  skin  was  exposed ;  one  of  my  companions  fol- 
lowed my  example,  and  found  the  benefit  of  it.  But 
the  thermometer  still  rising,  and  the  moisture  of  the 
body  being  quite  exhausted,  I  grew  restless,  and 
thought  I  should  have  lost  my  senses.  The  ther- 
mometer at  last  stood  at  126°:  in  this  state  I  com- 
posed myself,  and  concluded  that,  though  I  might 
hold  out  a  day  or  two,  death  was  inevitable.  Cap- 
tain   ,  who  sat  it  out,  continued  to  tell  the  hour, 

and  height  of  the  thermometer;  and  with  what 
pleasure  did  we  hear  of  its  sinking  to  120°,  118^, 
&c.  At  last  the  fierce  sun  retired,  and  I  crept  out, 
more  dead  than  alive.  It  was  then  a  difficulty  how 
I  could  proceed  on  my  journey :  for,  besides  the 
immediate  effects  of  the  heat,  t  had  no  opportunity 


HARDSHIPS  ENDURED.  1G5 

of  making  up  for  the  last  night's  want  of  sleep,  and 
had  eaten  nothing.  However,  while  they  were  load- 
ing the  mules  I  got  an  hour's  sleep,  and  set  out,  the 
muleteers  leading  my  horse,  and  Zechariah,  my 
servant,  an  Armenian  of  Isfahan,  doing  all  in  his 
power  to  encourage  me.  The  cool  air  of  the  niglit 
restored  me  wonderfully,  so  that  I  arrived  at  our 
next  munzel  with  no  other  derangement  than  that 
occasioned  by  want  of  sleep.  Expecting  another 
such  day  as  the  former,  we  began  to  make  prepa- 
ration the  instant  we  arrived  on  the  ground.  I  got 
a  tattie  made  of  the  branches  of  the  date-tree,  and 
a  Persian  peasant  to  water  it ;  by  this  means  the 
thermometer  did  not  rise  higher  than  114°.  But 
what  completely  secured  me  from  the  heat  was  a 
large  wet  towel,  which  I  wrapped  round  my  head 
and  body,  muffling  up  the  lower  part  in  clothes. 
How  could  I  but  be  grateful  to  a  gracious  Provi- 
dence, for  giving  me  so  simple  a  defence  against 
what  I  am  persuaded  would  have  destroyed  my  life 
that  day !  We  took  care  not  to  go  without  nou- 
rishment, as  we  had  done  :  the  neighbouring  village 
supplied  us  with  curds  and  milk.  At  sunset,  rising 
up  to  go  out,  a  scorpion  fell  upon  my  clothes  ;  not 
seeing  where  it  fell,  I  did  not  know  what  it  was ; 

but  Captain ,  pointing  it  out,  gave  the  alarm, 

and  I  struck  it  off,  and  he  killed  it.  The  night 
before  we  found  a  black  scorpion  in  our  tent ;  this 
made  us  rather  uneasy;  so  that  though  the  kafila 
did  not  start  till  midnight,  we  got  no  sleep,  fearing 


166  HENRY  MARTYN. 

we  might  be  visited  by  another  scorpion.  June  2. — 
We  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  at  a  place 
where  we  seemed  to  have  discovered  one  of  nature's 
ulcers.  A  strong  suffocating  smell  of  naphtha  an- 
nounced something  more  than  ordinarily  foul  in  the 
neighbourhood.  \¥e  saw  a  river — what  flowed  in 
it,  it  seemed  difficult  to  say,  whether  it  were  water 
or  green  oil ;  it  scarcely  moved,  and  the  stones 
which  it  laved,  it  left  of  a  greyish  colour,  as  if  its 
foul  touch  had  given  them  the  leprosy.  Our  place 
of  encampment  this  day  was  a  grove  of  date-trees, 
where  the  atmosphere,  at  sunrise,  was  ten  times 
hotter  than  the  ambient  air.  1  threw  myself  down  on 
the  burning  ground,  and  slept;  when  the  tent  came 
up  I  awoke,  as  usual,  in  a  burning  fever.  All  this 
day  I  had  recourse  to  the  wet  towel,  which  kept  me 
alive,  but  would  allow  of  no  sleep.  It  was  a  sorrow- 
ful Sabbath ;  but  Captain read  a  few  hymns, 

in  which  I  found  great  consolation.  At  nine  in  the 
evening  we  decamped.  The  ground  and  air  were 
so  insufferably  hot  that  I  could  not  travel  without 
a  wet  towel  round  my  face  and  neck.  This  night, 
for  the  first  time,  we  began  to  ascend  the  moun- 
tains. The  road  often  passed  so  close  to  the  edge 
of  the  tremendous  precipices,  that  one  false  step  of 
the  horse  would  have  plunged  his  rider  into  inevi- 
table destruction.  In  such  circumstances  I  found 
it  useless  to  attempt  guiding  the  animal,  and  there- 
fore gave  him  the  rein.  These  poor  animals  are  so 
used  to  journeys  of  this  sort  that  they  generally  step 


HARDSHIPS  ENDURED.  1G7 

sure.  There  was  nothing  to  mark  the  road  but  the 
rocks  being  a  little  more  worn  in  one  place  than  in 
another.  Sometimes  my  horse,  which  led  the  way, 
as  being  the  muleteer's,  stopped,  as  if  to  consider 
about  the  way ;  for  myself,  I  could  not  guess  at 
such  times  where  the  road  lay,  but  he  always  found 
it.  The  sublime  scenery  would  have  impressed  me 
much  in  other  circumstances;  but  my  sleepiness 
and  fatigue  rendered  me  insensible  to  everything 
around  me.  At  last  we  merged  siqjeras  ad  aut^asj 
not  on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  to  go  down  again, — 
but  to  a  plain,  or  upper  world.  At  the  pass,  where 
a  cleft  in  the  mountain  admitted  us  into  the  plain, 
was  a  station  of  Rahdars.  While  they  were  ex- 
amining the  muleteer's  passports,  &c.,  time  was 
given  for  the  rest  of  the  kalila  to  come  up,  and  I  got 
a  little  sleep  for  a  few  minutes. — June  4. — We  rode 
briskly  over  the  plain,  breathing  a  purer  air,  and 
soon  came  in  sight  of  a  fair  edifice,  built  by  the 
king  of  the  country  for  the  refreshment  of  pilgrims. 
In  this  caravansera  we  took  our  abode  for  the  day. 
It  was  more  calculated  for  Eastern  than  European 
travellers,  having  no  means  of  keeping  out  the  air 
and  light.  We  found  the  tliermometer  at  110". 
At  the  passes  we  met  a  man  travelling  down  to 
Bushire  with  a  load  of  ice,  which  he  willingly  dis- 
posed of  to  us.  The  next  night  w^e  ascended  an- 
other range  of  mountains,  and  passed  over  a  plain, 
where  the  cold  was  so  piercing,  that,  with  all  the 
clothes  we  could  muster,  we  were  shivering.     At 


1G8  HENRY  MARTYN. 

the  end  of  tins  plain  we  entered  a  dark  valley,  con- 
tained by  two  ranges  of  hills  converging  one  to  an- 
other. The  muleteer  gave  notice  that  he  saw  rob- 
bers. It  proved  to  be  a  false  alarm  ;  but  the  place 
was  fitted  to  be  a  retreat  for  robbers ;  there  being 
on  each  side  caves  and  fastnesses  from  which  they 
might  have  killed  every  man  of  us.  After  ascend- 
ing another  mountain,  we  descended  by  a  very  long 
and  circuitous  route  into  an  extensive  valley,  where 
we  were  exposed  to  the  sun  till  eight  o'clock. 
Whether  from  the  sun,  or  from  continued  want  of 
sleep,  I  could  not,  on  my  arrival  at  Carzeroon,  com- 
pose myself  to  sleep;  there  seemed  to  be  a  fire 
within  my  head,  my  skin  like  a  cinder,  and  the 
pulse  violent.  Through  the  day  it  was  again  too 
hot  to  sleep ;  though  the  place  we  occupied  was  a 
sort  of  summer-house,  in  a  garden  of  cypress-trees, 
exceedingly  well  fitted  up  with  mats  and  coloured 
glass.  Had  the  kafila  gone  on  that  night,  I  could 
not  have  accompanied  it ;  but  it  halted  there  a  day ; 
by  which  means  I  got  a  sort  of  a  night's  rest, 
though  I  awoke  twenty  times  to  dip  my  burning 
head  in  water.  Though  Carzeroon  is  the  second 
greatest  town  in  Fars,  we  could  get  nothing  but 
bread,  milk,  and  eggs,  and  those  with  difficulty. 
The  governor,  who  is  under  great  obligations  to  the 
English,  heard  of  our  arrival,  but  sent  no  message." 
The  incidents  which  took  place  during  his  abode 
in  Persia  are  extremely  interesting,  and  highly 
characteristic;  but  we  can  only  add,  that  on  the 


HIS  DEATH  AT  TOCAT.  1 G9 

completion  of  his  version  of  the  INew  Testament, 
the  state  of  his  health  led  him  to  resolve  to  return 
to  England,  and  he  set  forth  on  his  long  journey  on 
the  2d  of  September,  1812,  intending  to  proceed  by 
way  of  Constantinople,  to  the  British  ambassador 
at  which  city  he  had  letters.  His  Journal  refers  to 
liis  passing  through  Ech-Miazin,  Kars,  Erzeroum, 
and  other  places,  on  his  way  to  the  Turkish  capital ; 
and  during  his  journey  he  suffered  much  in  his 
state  of  infirm  health.  The  last  entry  in  his  Jour- 
nal is  dated  the  6th  of  October,  about  a  week  after 
he  had  left  Erzeroum,  and  after  having  endured  the 
greatest  hardships  : — "  JSo  horses  being  to  be  had, 
I  had  an  unexpected  repose.  I  sat  in  the  orchard, 
and  thought  with  sweet  comfort  and  peace  of  my 
God ;  in  solitude  my  company,  my  friend,  and  com- 
forter. Oh  !  when  shall  time  give  place  to  eternity  ! 
When  shall  appear  that  new  heaven  and  new  earth 
wherein  dwelleth  righteousness  !  There,  there  shall 
in  no  wise  enter  in  anything  that  defileth :  none  of 
that  wickedness  which  has  made  men  worse  than 
wild  beasts — none  of  those  corruptions  which  add 
still  more  to  the  miseries  of  mortality,  shall  be  seen 
or  heard  of  any  more." 

At  the  time  of  his  arrival  at  Tocat,  a  few  days 
afterwards,  the  plague  was  raging,  and  the  inhabi- 
tants were  quitting  the  town  in  terror.  And  here, 
on  the  16th  of  October,  1812,  Henry  Marty n  ceased 
from  his  labours,  and  entered  into  rest,  stricken 
down  cither  by  the  plague  or  by  the  ailment  under 
Y 


170  HENKY  MARTYN. 

-which  he  had  been  previously  suffering.     We  shall 
close  this  brief  notice  with  an  extract  from  the  elo- 
quent eulogy  pronounced  on  him  by  Mr  Sargent, 
in  which  he  speaks  of  the  example  he  has  left : — 
^'  Nor  is  the  example  which  he  has  left  behind  him 
to  be  left  out  of  our  account,  in  estimating  the 
effects  of  his  holy  and  devoted  life.     He  doubtless 
forsook  all  for  Christ ;  he  loved  not  his  life  unto  the 
death.     He  followed  the  steps  of  Ziegenbalg  in  the 
old  world,  and  of  Brainerd  in  the  new ;  and  whilst 
he  walks  with  them  in  white,  for  he  is  worthy,  he 
speaks  by  his  example  to  us  who  are  still  in  our 
warfare  and  pilgrimage  upon  earth.     For  surely  as 
long  as  England  shall  be  celebrated  for  that  pure 
and  Apostolical  Church,  of  which  he  was  so  great 
an  ornament;  as  long  as  India   shall  prize  that 
wdiich  is  more  precious  to  her  than  all  her  gems 
and  gold ;  the  name  of  the  subject  of  this  memoir, 
as  a  translator  of  the  Scriptures  and  of  the  Liturgy, 
will  not  wholly  be  forgotten  ;  and  whilst  some  shall 
delight  to  gaze  upon   the  splendid   sepulchre  of 
Xavier,  and  others  choose  rather  to  ponder  over  the 
granite  stone  which  covers  all  that  was  mortal  of 
Swartz,  there  will  not  be  wanting  those  who  will 
think    of  the  humble  and  unfrequented  grave  of 
Henry  ]\Iartyn,  and  be  led  to  imitate  those  works 
of  mercy,  which  have  followed  him  into  the  world 
of  light  and  love." 


JOHN  WILLIAMS. 

Among  the  names  wliicli  have  become  permanently 
associated  with  the  history  of  missionary  enterprise, 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  is  that  of  John  Wil- 
liams. This  remarkable  man  was  born  at  Totten- 
ham, near  London,  on  the  29th  of  June,  1796.  His 
parents  intended  that  he  should  be  brought  up  to 
trade,  and  he  was  sent  to  school  to  receive  such  in- 
structions as  were  adapted  to  a  life  of  business. 
His  education,  therefore,  was  strictly  commercial ; 
and  he  possessed  none  of  the  advantages  derived 
from  an  early  acquaintance  with  classical  literature. 
On  his  arrival  at  a  suitable  age  he  was  apprenticed 
to  a  person  of  the  name  of  Tonkin,  an  ironmonger 
in  London,  under  whose  care  he  soon  acquired  a 
knowledge  of  business,  exhibiting  at  the  same  time 
a  high  degree  of  mechanical  skill.  His  mother  had 
given  him  the  inestimable  blessing  of  a  religious 
education.  Mr  Tonkin  and  his  wife,  also,  were  per- 
sons remarkable  for  the  excellence  of  their  relis-ious 
character ;  it  appears,  however,  that,  notwithstand- 
ing the  advantages  he  thus  enjoyed,  John  WiUiams, 
during  part  of  his  apprenticeship,  so  far  from  ex- 
hibiting any  disposition  towards  a  life  of  piety  by 
giving  obedience  to  the  instructions  he  had  received, 
or  by  taking  the  example  set  before  him,  seemed 


172  JOHN  WILLIAMS. 

entirely  devoid  of  any  religious  impressions :  "  I 
was,"  he  says  of  himself,  "  regardless  of  the  Sab- 
bath ;  a  lover  of  pleasure  more  than  a  lover  of  God  ; 
I  often  scoffed  at  the  name  of  Christ  and  his  reliofion, 
and  totally  neglected  those  things  which  alone  caa 
afford  solid  consolation."  But  this  unhappy  con- 
dition did  not  continue ;  an  impressive  discourse  by 
the  Kev.  Timothy  East  of  Birmingham,  awakened 
him  to  a  sense  of  his  sin  and  folly.  To  this  im- 
portant incident  in  his  history  Mr  Williams  himself 
thus  refers,  in  a  discourse  delivered  by  himself  in 
the  same  church : — ''  It  is  now  twenty-four  years 
ago,  since,  as  a  stripling  youth,  a  kind  female  friend 
invited  me  to  come  into  this  place  of  worship.  I 
have  the  door  in  my  view  at  this  moment  at  which 
1  entered,  and  I  have  all  the  circumstances  of  that 
important  era  in  my  history  vividly  impressed  upon 
my  mind ;  and  I  have  in  my  eye  at  this  instant 
the  particular  spot  on  which  I  took  my  seat.  I 
have  also  a  distinct  impression  of  the  powerful  ser- 
mon that  was  that  evening  preached  by  the  excel- 
lent ]\Ir  East,  now  of  Birmingham ;  and  God  was 
pleased,  in  his  gracious  providence,  to  influence  my 
mind  at  that  time  so  powerfully  that  I  forsook  all 
my  worldly  companions."  Nor  was  this  the  only 
effect.  ''  From  that  hour,"  he  wrote  subsequently, 
"  my  blind  eyes  were  opened,  and  I  beheld  won- 
drous things  out  of  God's  law.  I  diligently  at- 
tended the  means  of  grace.  I  saw  that  beauty  and 
reality  in  religion  which  I  had  never  seen  before. 


ARRIVES  AT  NEW  ZEALAND.  173 

3Iy  love  to  it  and  delight  in  it  increased ;  and  I 
may  add,  in  the  language  of  the  apostle,  that  I 
'  grew  in  grace,  and  in  the  knowledge  of  my  Lord 
and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ.'  " 

The  impressions  thus  made  upon  him  becoming 
more  and  more  vivid,  he  at  length  offered  himself 
to  the  London  Missionary  Society ;  and  being  set 
apart  to  the  South  Sea  Mission,  he  and  his  wife — 
for  he  had  been  married  for  about  a  month  previ- 
ously— sailed  for  Sydney  on  the  17th  of  November, 
1816.  Mr  AYilliams,  therefore,  had  not  reached  his 
twenty-first  year  when  he  entered  upon  the  duties 
and  perils  of  a  missionary's  life.  After  a  singularly 
prosperous  voyage  across  the  Atlantic,  the  ship  in 
which  he  sailed  entered  the  harbour  of  Eio  :  ''  The 
splendid  scenery  filled  him  with  delight.  His  ima- 
gination and  his  heart  were  kindled  by  the  new 
and  noble  objects  which  rose  up  on  every  hand 
around  him.  But  these  first  impressions  were  soon 
supplanted  and  effaced  by  others ;  for  whilst  admir- 
ing the  position  of  the  town,  and  the  heights  tower- 
ing above  it  clothed  and  crowned  with  the  luxuriant 
vegetation  of  the  tropics,  he  found  that  the  rich 
productions  of  the  soil  alone  flourished  there,  and 
that  nothing  was  free,  save  the  birds  of  brilliant 
plume,  and  the  insects  of  every  hue  which  sported 
in  the  sun." 

From  Eio  Mr  Williams  proceeded  to  Sydney, 
and  thence  to  New  Zealand,  and  on  the  17th  No- 
vember, 1817,  exactly  a  year  after  his  departure 


174  .J'»HN'  WILLIAMS. 

from  England,  landed  on  tlie  lovely  island  of  Tahiti. 
He  thus  speaks  of  his  impressions  on  attending 
divine  service,  conducted  by  natives,  in  the  chapel, 
a  few  days  after  his  arrival :—''  Here  my  eyes  be- 
licld  seven  or  eight  hundred  people,  who,  not  five 
years  ago,  were  worshipping  idols,  and.  wallow- 
ing in  the  most  dreadful  wickedness,  now  praying 
to  and  praising  our  Lord  and  God.  Surely,  thought 
I,  the  work  is  done,  there  is  no  need  of  us.  Though 
there  are  hundreds  in  these  islands  who  do  not 
know  our  Lord  and  Saviour,  they  are  as  eager  to 
learn  as  the  miser  is  to  get  money.  I  hope  and 
])ray  that  they  will  obtain,  with  an  increase  of 
knowledge,  a  change  of  heart.  It  was  pleasing  to 
see  so  many  fine-looking  females,  dressed  in  white 
native  cloth,  and  their  heads  decorated  with  white 
tlowers,  and  cocoa-nut  leaves  plaited  in  the  shape 
of  tlie  front  of  a  cottage  bonnet,  surrounding  the 
])reac]ier,  who  occupied  the  centre  of  the  place." 
In  a  similar  strain  he  wrote  to  the  Directors : — 
"  When  we  arrived  at  the  islands,  we  were  much 
struck  with  the  attention  which  the  people  paid 
while  the  Gospel  was  preached.  Our  hearts  were 
much  affected.  It  rejoiced  us  to  hear  them  sing  the 
prai=?es  of  Jesus,  and  to  see  them  bow  the  knee  in 
prayer  to  him.  We  could  not  help  contrasting  what 
they  arc  with  wliat  they  were  when  'The  Duff' 
first  visited  their  shores,  and  we  asked  ourselves  the 
question,  Can  these  be  the  people  who  murdered 
their  own  children,  for  whom  they  have  now  the 


SHIPBUILDING  IN  EIMEO.  175 

greatest  affection  ?  Are  these  the  people  who  once 
offered  human  sacrifices  to  appease  the  anger  of 
their  deities  ?  Behold  they  are  pleading  the  blood 
of  Jesus  for  the  pardon  of  their  sin.  The  state  of 
the  mission  is  very  gratifying,  and  calls  loudly  for 
thankfulness.  From  what  w^e  knew  of  the  former 
condition  of  the  people,  we  were  really  astonished, 
on  our  first  landing,  at  the  great  and  glorious  change 
which  has  taken  place — a  complete  change  from 
idolatry  to  Christianity ;  and  we  trust  there  are 
some,  though  there  are  not  many,  really  converted 
to  God.  On  the  Sabbath  morning  after  our  arrival 
we  went  and  stood  outside  their  place  of  worship, 
and  heard  one  of  the  natives  engage  in  prayer.  He 
began  by  addressing  God  as  the  God  of  Abraham, 
Isaac,  and  Jacob ;  thanking  him  for  hearing  their 
prayers,  and  sending  them  missionaries,  and  for 
bringing  their  wives  and  their  little  ones  safely  over 
the  mighty  ocean.  He  next  prayed  that  we  might 
soon  attain  their  language,  so  that  we  might  be  able 
to  teach  them  the  word  of  God ;  adding  many  other 
suitable  petitions,  which  gave  us  much  pleasure, 
warmed  our  hearts,  and  excited  in  ns  feelings  of 
gratitude  and  praise." 

Mr  Williams  soon  found  ample  employment.  At 
Eimeo  he  was  called  on  to  assist  in  building  a 
ship.  ''  Prior  to  the  arrival  of  '  The  Active,'  the 
missionaries,  anxious  to  possess  the  means  of  com- 
munication with  the  suiTounding  islands,  and  to 
serve  Pomare,  w^ho  proposed  to  open  a  trade  with 


176  JOHN  WILLIAMS. 

New  South  Wales,  had  made  an  attempt  to  build  a 
small  vessel ;  but  the  difficulty  of  the  undertaking, 
and  apprehensions  that  a  gainful  commerce  with 
the  colony  could  not  be  carried  on,  had  induceof 
them  to  abandon  their  work;  and  it  is  probable 
that  their  labour  would  have  been  lost  had  not  thei? 
energetic  young  brethren  proposed  to  complete  it. 
Of  those  with  whom  the  purpose  originated  Mi 
AVilliams  was  not  the  last  nor  the  least.  ^A  day 
or  two  after  our  arrival,'  he  writes,  '  we  held  a  meet- 
ing respecting  the  vessel,  and  resolved  to  finish  her 
forthwith.  We  set  to  work  immediately,  every  man 
to  his  post ;  my  department  was  the  iron-work ; 
the  others  did  the  wood ;  and  in  eight  or  ten  days 
she  was  ready  to  be  launched.  A  great  concourse 
of  natives  was  gathered  to  see  this  extraordinary 
spectacle.  Pomare  was  requested  to  name  the  vessel 
as  she  went  off.  To  effect  this  we  passed  ropes 
across  the  stern,  which  were  pulled  by  from  two  to 
three  hundred  natives  on  either  side.  No  sooner 
was  the  signal  given  than  the  men  at  the  ropes  be- 
gan to  pull  most  furiously,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment Pomare,  who  stood  on  the  left-hand  side  of 
the  vessel,  threw  the  bottle  of  wine  against  her 
bow ;  this  so  startled  those  who  held  the  ropes  on 
the  side  of  the  ship  where  the  king  stood,  that  they 
lost  their  hold,  and  as  those  on  the  opposite  side 
continued  to  pull,  she  gave  a  lurch  and  fell  upon 
lier  side.  The  natives  immediately  raised  the  la- 
mentation, Aue  tepahi e!  (0  the  poor  ship!)  and 


ENCOURAGEMENT.  177 

were  dreadfully  discouraged.  Pomare  had  always 
maintained  that  she  could  never  be  launched,  but 
must  be  broken  in  pieces  when  we  should  attempt 
it;  and  now  he  went  away,  exclaiming  that  his 
v/ord  had  come  true.  But  not  discouraged,  we  set 
to  work  again,  and  by  the  afternoon  had  raised  her 
upon  the  stocks,  and  prepared  everything  for  a  se- 
cond attempt  on  the  Monday,  as  it  was  Saturday 
when  she  fell.  Monday  arrived.  We  drove  in  the 
wedges,  placed  a  cable  round  her  stern,  stationed 
the  natives  as  before,  and  had  the  satisfaction  to  see 
her  go  off  beautifully,  amidst  the  shouts  of  the 
people.  While  this  was  passing,  there  was  an  old 
warrior,  called  by  the  natives  a  taata  faa  ito  iio 
{i.  e.,  a  man  who  puts  life  and  energy  into  them 
during  a  battle),  who  stood  on  a  little  eminence, 
exerting  himself  to  animate  the  men  at  the  ropes. 
I  was  near  him,  and  he  did  in  reality  ^  put  life  into 
them.'  His  action  was  most  inspiriting:  there 
seemed  not  a  fibre  of  his  frame  which  he  did  not 
exert;  and  from  merely  looking  at  the  old  man,  I 
felt  as  though  I  was  in  the  very  act  of  pulling." 

Mr  Williams,  while  thus  engaged  in  any  kind  of 
labour  likely  to  do  good,  was  at  the  same  time  anxi- 
ously preparing  for  carrying  out  the  great  work  to 
which  he  had  devoted  himself.  On  visiting  the  prin- 
cipal islands  of  the  Society  Group,  he  found  much  to 
encourage  him,  although  there  existed  many  evils 
yet  to  be  subdued,  and  many  inveterate  habits  to 
be  overcome.      On  the  4th  of  September,  1818,  he 


178  JOHN'  WILLIAMS. 

prcaclied  liis  first  sermon  at  Hualiine  in  the  native 
language.  '^  This  progress  was  unprecedented,  and 
such  as  to  call  forth  strong  expressions  of  surprise 
from  tlie  elder  brethren,  some  of  whom,  on  hearing 
him  preach,  affirmed  tliat  he  had  done  as  much  in 
ten  months  as  miglit  have  reasonably  occupied  three 
years.  Thus  enabled  to  open  his  commission,  he 
preached  thrice  each  week  at  Eaiatea  from  the  com- 
mencement of  his  sojourn  there,  and  was  rejoiced  to 
find  tliat  the  natives  easily  understood  him.  In  a 
letter  to  his  mother,  written  shortly  after  his  settle- 
ment in  the  island,  he  thus  refers  to  his  own  minis- 
try:— '  You  pray,  my  dearly-beloved  mother,  that 
*'  your  boy  may  be  enabled  to  preach  the  unsearch- 
able riches  of  Christ  to  the  perishing  heathen." 
Your  prayer  is  heard,  my  dear  mother,  and  an- 
swered. I  am  now  actively  engaged  in  preaching 
Christ.  0!  that  I  may  have  gi*ace  to  preach  him, 
and  him  alone ;  to  be  faithful  unto  death.  I  have 
made  great  progress  in  the  language,  for  which  I 
desire  to  be  very  grateful,  and  to  ascribe  the  praise 
to  him  who  is  both  mouth  and  wisdom.  I  hope  that 
your  son  may  prove  a  crown  of  rejoicing  to  you. 
I  now  shed  the  tear  of  affection,  my  dear  mother, 
while  I  think  that  I  cannot  indulge  any  very  strong 
expectation  of  seeing  my  beloved  mother  again  in 
the  flesh,  but  I  do  entertain  "  a  good  hope  through 
grace"  of  meeting  you,  where  the  ravishing  hand 
of  death  will  never  cause  the  briny  tear  of  sorrow 
to  roll  down  the  cheek.    Press  on,\my  dear  mother, 

\ 


RESIDENCE  AT  RAIATEA.         179 

be  of  good  courage,  and  remember  that,  although 
you  have  given  up  me,  it  is  to  Him  who  gave  him- 
self for  you.' " 

Mr  Williams'  resolution  to  build  a  house  at  Raia- 
tea,  not  merely  to  accommodate  himself,  but  to  stimu- 
late the  imitative  powers  and  interest  the  minds  of 
the  people,  exhibits  the  sound  sense  and  judgment 
with  which  he  acted.  ^'  Having  selected  a  convenient 
plot  of  ground,  Mr  Williams  resolved  to  erect  upon 
it  a  dwelling-house  in  the  English  style,  and  in  all 
respects  superior  to  any  building  ever  seen  or  even 
imagined  by  the  people  around  him.  To  this  he 
was  incited,  not  merely  by  a  desire  to  obtain  for  him- 
self and  his  family  a  commodious  and  respectable  re- 
sidence, but  by  the  hope  of  elevating  the  standard 
and  awakening  the  emulation  of  those  whom  he  was 
anxious  to  benefit.  Before  this  time  the  best  na- 
tive houses  consisted  of  but  one  apartment,  which 
was  used  by  the  whole  family,  and  for  all  domestic 
purposes.  This  was  covered  with  a  thatched  roof, 
but  open  at  the  sides,  and  carpeted  with  dry,  and 
too  frequently  dirty,  grass.  Mr  Williams  perceived 
the  unfitness  of  such  abodes  for  the  purposes  he  had 
in  view.  He  knew  that  domestic  comfort,  social 
morality,  and  spiritual  religion  could  never  flourish, 
unless  the  degraded  habits,  inseparable  from  such 
a  mode  of  living,  were  first  destroyed.  He  there- 
fore resolved  to  show  the  people  a  more  excellent 
way.  '  It  was  my  determination,'  he  writes,  Svhen 
I  left  England,  to  have  as  respectable  a  dwelling- 


i 

lyO  JOHN  WILLIAMS. 

liouse  as  I  could  erect ;  for  the  missionary  does  not 
go  to  barbarisc  himself,  but  to  elevate  the  heathen ; 
not  to  sink  himself  to  their  standard,  but  to  raise 
ihom  to  his.'  " 

Other  means  to  tlie  same  end  were  adopted.  '*  We 
liave  established,"  says  Mr  Williams, ''  in  our  little 
way,  a  Society  for  the  Encouragement  of  Arts  and 
Sciences.  The  first  reward  or  encouragement  was 
from  Brother  Threlkeld.  Brother  Orsmond  and  I 
have  proposed  to  give  fifty  nails  each  to  the  man 
who  begins  first  to  build  his  boat.  An  old  chief  is 
now  gone  to  cut  the  keel  of  one  which  he  is  to  build 
in  my  yard ;  and  he  is  to  have  one  hundred  and 
iifty  nails  to  fasten  the  ends  of  the  planks  on  the 
gunwale,  and  to  use  in  any  other  place  wdiere  the 
cinet  does  not  bind  sufiiciently  tight.  Thus,  while 
we  are  actively  engaged  in  promoting  the  eternal 
interests  of  the  natives,  we  are  not  forgetful  of  their 
temporal,  remembering  the  injunction,  '  not  sloth- 
ful in  business,  fervent  in  spirit,  serving  the  Lord.' 
We  are  glad  to  be  able  to  inform  you,  that  many 
liave  built  themselves  very  neat  little  houses,  and 
are  now  living  in  them  wdth  their  wdves  and  fami- 
lies. The  king,  through  seeing  ours,  and  by  our 
advice,  has  liad  a  house  erected  near  to  us.  It  con- 
tains four  rooms,  wattled,  and  plastered  inside  and 
out,  and  floored.  He  is  the  first  native  on  these 
islands  that  ever  had  such  a  house ;  but  many  others 
are  now  Ibllowing  his  example.  Thus,  while  teach- 
ing them  the  things  which  belonc;  to  their  eternal 


Ills  KETUIJN  TO  ENGLAKD.  181 

jieace,  we  do  not  forget  their  temporal  improvement, 
and  desire  to  remember  the  connection  between  be- 
ing fervent  in  spirit,  and  diligent  in  business." 

The  preaching  of  the  Gospel,  the  establishment 
of  schools  for  the  old  as  well  as  the  young,  and  the 
active  assistance  and  judicious  labours  of  Mr  Wil- 
liams and  his  coadjutors,  produced  a  vast  improve- 
ment in  an  incredibly  short  period  of  time  ;  but  for 
a  particular  account  of  those  labours  and  their  results, 
we  must  refer  the  reader  to  the  Memoirs  by  Mr 
Prout,  the  incidents  related  in  wdiich  will  prove  in 
the  highest  degree  interesting. 

After  a  long  residence  among  those  lovely  islands 
which  constituted  the  scene  of  his  indefatigable  ex- 
ertions, and  on  which  he  had  been  instrumental  in 
conferring  incalculable  benefit,  Mr  Williams  re- 
turned to  England  in  1834.  His  principal  object 
in  visiting  his  native  country  was  to  awaken  public 
interest  in  the  cause  he  had  espoused,  and  procure 
the  means  of  carrying  out  his  enterprise  with  addi- 
tional vigour.  The  success  which  attended  this 
effort  was  most  cheering.  Mr  Williams  held  meet- 
ings in  most  of  the  important  cities  of  Britain,  and 
communicated  information  of  the  highest  interest. 
On  the  completion  of  his  ''  Missionary  Enterprises," 
he  sent  copies  of  the  work  to  many  persons  of  high 
rank,  from  whom  he  obtained  much  encouragement. 
The  sale  of  the  book  was  extremely  rapid,  and  it 
effectually  aided  Mr  Williams  in  his  efforts  to  sti- 
mulate the  interest  which  the  people  of  England 


182  JOHN  WILLIAMS. 

took  in  bis  labours.  Ample  funds  were  soon  col- 
lected, a  ship  was  purchased,  and  freighted  with 
everything  likely  to  minister  to  the  comfort  of  the 
voyagers  and  the  success  of  their  future  efforts, 
and  ^Ir  Williams  once  more  took  his  departure  to 
Polynesia.  On  his  arrival  at  the  scene  of  his  labours, 
he  met  with  a  most  cordial  reception  from  all  the 
people  in  every  island  he  visited,  and  once  more 
engaged  in  the  same  untiring  course  of  exertion, 
leaving  nothing  undone  that  might  contribute  in 
advancing  the  civilisation  of  the  natives,  or  pro- 
moting their  knowledge  of  divine  things.  But  the 
successes  which  this  enterprising  missionary  had 
already  obtained  encouraged  him  to  make  new  ef- 
forts to  extend  the  Gospel  to  other  islands  still  in 
heathen  darkness.  The  New  Hebrides,  especially, 
a  group  far  to  the  west  of  the  Society  Islands,  en- 
gaged his  attention,  and  he  found  it  impossible  to 
rest  until  he  had  made  an  effort  to  convey  thither 
the  unspeakable  blessings  already  communicated  to 
the  natives  of  the  Society  Islands.  In  this  attempt 
^Ir  Williams  lost  his  life,  and,  perhaps,  it  may  be 
affirmed  that  the  attempt  was  rash  and  unjustifiable. 
There  was  abundant  scope  for  all  his  activity  at 
Tahiti  and  the  surrounding  islands.  It  had  pleased 
God  in  a  remarkable  manner  to  bless  his  labours 
there ;  and  so  long  as  there  remained  much  yet  to 
be  accomplished  in  the  scene  where  those  labours 
were  thus  divinely  recognised,  it  could  be  nothing 
less  than  an  imprudent  excess  of  zeal  which  led 


GRIEF  OF  THE  NATIVES.  183 

him  to  expose  to  danger  that  life,  the  continuance 
of  which  would  have  been  so  valuable  to  those 
\vhora  he  had  already  contributed  to  enlighten. 
Such  considerations,  however,  do  not  appear  to 
have  had  any  weight  wdth  him. 

The  grief  which  Mr  Williams'  death  occasioned  is 
well  exhibited  in  the  following  passage: — "  It  was  at 
the  dead  hour  of  night  that  Mrs  Williams  was  awoke 
by  the  messenger  who  bore  these  heavy  tidings;  but 
who  could  depict  that  scene,  or  describe  her  sorrows? 
Great  as  was  her  fortitude,  and  it  has  been  rarely 
surpassed,  this  astounding  stroke  for  a  season  para- 
lysed and  prostrated  her  powers  of  thought  and  ut- 
terance. Hers  was  anguish  too  deep  for  tears.  But 
grief  was  not  confined  to  this  solitary  house  of 
mourning.  Had  the  death-scene  in  Egypt  been 
that  night  repeated  in  Samoa,  there  could  scarcely 
have  been  lamentations  more  bitter,  or  cries  more 
piercing,  than  those  which  this  intelligence  awak- 
ened. In  a  short  time  every  sleeping  native  had 
been  aroused,  and  through  the  morning  twilight 
they  were  seen  grouped  together  in  solemn  and  sor- 
rowful communication,  wdiile  on  every  hand  were 
heard  the  sounds  of  deep  distress.  Early  on  the 
following  day  the  report  brought  to  the  spot  chiefs, 
teachers,  and  multitudes  of  natives,  who  gathered 
around  the  house  of  their  departed  friend,  uttering 
the  pathetic  cries,  ^  Aue  WilUamu!  Aue  Tamaf 
"■  Alas,  Williams !  alas,  our  father ! '  Even  the 
heathen  were  drawn  to  the  place,  and  joined  in 


184  JOHN  WILLIAMS. 

tlicse  lamentations.  All  were  anxious  to  see  Mrs 
Williams,  and  to  administer  consolation ;  but  this 
for  many  hours  slie  vvas  unable  to  bear.  At  length, 
towards  the  evening,  she  yielded  to  the  great  im- 
portunity of  Malietoa,  who  had  hastened  from  his 
own  settlement,  and  allowed  him  to  be  admitted ; 
and,  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  room,  he  burst  forth 
into  the  most  passionate  expressions  of  distress, 
weeping,  beating  his  breast,  and  crying,  '  Alas, 
Williamu,  Williamu,  our  father,  our  father !  He 
has  turned  his  face  from  us !  We  shall  never  see 
him  more !  He  that  brought  us  the  good  word  of 
salvation  is  gone !  Oh  !  cruel  heathen  !  they  know 
not  what  they  did !  How  great  a  man  they  have 
destroyed ! '  After  indulging  for  some  time  in 
these  and  similar  exclamations,  he  turned  to  Mrs 
Williams,  who  was  lying  upon  a  sofa,  and,  kneel- 
ing by  her  side,  he  gently  took  her  hand,  and,  while 
the  tears  were  flowing  fast  down  his  cheeks,  he  said 
in  the  softest  and  most  soothing  tones,  ^  Oh !  my 
mother!  do  not  grieve  so  much;  do  not  kill  your- 
self with  grieving.  You,  too,  will  die  with  sorrow, 
and  be  taken  away  from  us,  and  then,  oh !  what 
shall  we  do?  Think  of  John,  and  of  your  very 
little  boy  who  is  with  you,  and  think  of  that  other 
little  one  in  a  far  distant  land,  and  do  not  kill  your- 
self. Do  love,  and  pity,  and  compassionate  us.'  " 
And  the  sorrow  expressed  at  his  death  throughout 
the  whole  of  the  group  of  islands  where  he  had  la- 
boured was  deep  and  unfeigned,  proving  how  greatly 


GREATLY  LAMP:NTED.  185 

he  had  been  beloved,  and  how  highly  the  natives  of 
Polynesia  estimated  the  benefits  he  had  been  in- 
strumental in  conferring  upon  them.  It  need  hardly 
be  said  how  deeply  he  was  lamented  in  England  by 
all  those  either  directly  or  indirectly  interested  in 
the  noble  work  in  the  cause  of  which  he  had 
perished. 


2a 


ROBEET  MURRAY  M^CHEYNE. 

The  amiable  subject  of  this  memoir  was  born  in 
Edinburgh  in  May  1813.  At  the  High  School, 
and  subsequently  at  the  University  of  his  native 
city,  he  maintained  a  respectable  position,  gaining 
considerable  distinction  in  his  various  classes.  It 
was  not,  however,  till  he  entered  the  divinity  classes 
in  1831  that  he  manifested  those  decidedly  religious 
impressions  which  in  subsequent  years  so  remark- 
ably modified  his  character  and  conduct.  Towards 
the  middle  of  his  theological  course  his  diary  clearly 
indicates  that  he  had  already  made  no  small  pro- 
gress in  the  knowledge  of  divine  truth,  and  his  en- 
gagements to  visit  the  poor,  and  carry  to  them  the 
glad  tidings  of  the  Gospel,  evinced  the  sincerity  of 
his  love  to  God.  Having  become,  in  July  1835, 
a  licentiate  of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  he  entered 
on  his  professional  labours  as  assistant  to  the  Rev, 
]\Ir  Bonar,  minister  of  the  united  parishes  of  Lar- 
bert  and  Dunipace : — "  Mr  M^Cheyne  had  great  de- 
light in  remembering  that  Larbert  was  one  of  the 
places  where,  in  other  days,  that  holy  man  of  God, 
Robert  Bruce,  had  laboured  and  prayed.  Writing 
at  an  after  period  from  the  Holy  Land,  he  ex- 
pressed the  wish,  '  May  the  Spirit  be  poured  upon 
Larbert  as  in  Bruce's  days.'     But  more  than  all 


PRAYERS  AND  STUDIES.  187 

associations,  the  souls  of  the  people,  whose  salva- 
tion he  longed  for,  were  ever  present  to  his  mind. 
A  letter  to  Mr  Bonar,  in  1837,  from  Dundee,  shows 
us  his  yearnings  over  them.  '  What  an  interest  I 
feel  in  Larbert  and  Dunipace.  It  is  like  the  land 
of  my  birth.  Will  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  ever 
rise  upon  it,  making  its  hills  and  valleys  bright 
with  the  light  of  the  knowledge  of  Jesus ! '  No 
sooner  was  he  settled  in  his  chamber  here  than  he 
commenced  his  work.  With  him  the  commence- 
ment of  all  labour  invariably  consisted  in  the  pre- 
paration of  his  own  soul.  The  forerunner  of  each 
day's  visitations  was  a  calm  season  of  private  de- 
votion during  morning  hours.  The  walls  of  his 
chamber  were  witnesses  of  his  prayerfulness — I  be- 
lieve of  his  tears,  as  well  as  of  his  cries.  Tlie  plea- 
sant sound  of  psalms  often  issued  from  his  room  at 
an  early  hour.  Then  followed  the  reading  of  the 
W^ord  for  his  own  sanctification ;  and  few  have  so 
fully  realised  the  blessings  of  the  first  Psalm.  His 
leaf  did  not  wither,  for  his  roots  were  in  the  waters. 
It  was  here,  too,  that  he  began  to  study  so  closely 
the  works  of  Jonathan  Edwards — reckoning  them 
a  mine  to  be  wrought,  and  if  wrought,  sure  to  re- 
pay the  toil.  Along  wath  this  author,  the  Letters  of 
Samuel  Rutherford  w^ere  often  in  his  hand.  Books 
of  general  knowledge  he  occasionally  perused  ;  but 
now  it  w^as  done  with  the  steady  purpose  of  finding 
in  them  some  illustration  of  spiritual  truth.  He 
rose  from  reading  '  Insect  Architecture,'  with  the 


188  ROBERT  MURRAY  m'CHEYNE. 

observation,  '  God  reigns  in  a  community  of  ants 
and  ichneumenons,  as  visibly  as  among  living  men 
or  mighty  seraphim ! '  His  desire  to  grow  in  ac- 
quaintance with  Scripture  was  very  intense ;  and 
both  Old  and  New  Testament  were  his  regular 
study.  He  loved  to  range  over  the  wide  revelation 
of  God.  'He  would  be  a  sorry  student  of  this 
world,'  said  he  to  a  friend,  '  who  should  for  ever 
confine  his  gaze  to  the  fruitful  fields  and  well- 
watered  gardens  of  this  cultivated  earth.  He  could 
have  no  true  idea  of  what  the  world  was,  unless  he 
had  stood  upon  the  rocks  of  our  mountains,  and 
seen  the  bleak  muirs  and  mosses  of  our  barren  land ; 
unless  he  had  paced  the  quarterdeck  when  the  ves- 
sel was  out  of  sight  of  land,  and  seen  the  waste  of 
waters  without  any  shore  upon  the  horizon.  Just 
so,  he  would  be  a  sorry  student  of  the  Bible,  who 
would  not  know  all  that  God  has  inspired ;  who 
would  not  examine  into  the  most  barren  chapters 
to  collect  the  good  for  which  they  were  intended ; 
who  would  not  strive  to  understand  all  the  bloody 
battles  which  are  chronicled,  that  he  might  find 
"  bread  out  of  the  eater,  and  honey  out  of  the  lion."  ' 
In  the  field  of  his  labour,  he  found  enough  of  work 
to  overwhelm  his  spirit.  The  several  collieries  and 
the  Carron  Iron- works  furnish  a  population  who 
are,  for  the  most  part,  either  sunk  in  deep  indiffer- 
ence to  the  truth,  or  are  opposed  to  it  in  the  spirit 
of  infidelity.  Mr  M'Cheyne  at  once  saw  that  the 
pastor  whom  he  had  come  to  aid,  whatever  was  the 


SPIKITUAL  LABOURS.  189 

measure  of  his  health,  and  zeal,  and  perseverance, 
had  duties  laid  on  him  which  were  altogether  be- 
3^ond  the  power  of  man  to  overtake.  When  he 
made  a  few  weeks'  trial,  the  field  appeared  more 
boundless,  and  the  mass  of  souls  more  impene- 
trable, than  he  had  ever  conceived.  It  was  pro- 
bably, in  some  degree,  his  experience  at  this  time 
that  gave  him  such  deep  sympathy  with  the  Church 
Extension  Scheme,  as  a  truly  noble  and  Christian 
effort  for  bringing  the  glad  tidings  to  the  doors  of 
a  population  who  must  otherwise  remain  neglected, 
and  were  themselves  willing  so  to  live  and  die. 
He  conveyed  his  impressions  on  this  subject  to  a 
friend  abroad,  in  the  following  terms  : — '  There  is 
a  soul-destroying  cruelty  in  the  cold-hearted  oppo- 
sition which  is  made  to  the  multiplicrtion  of  mi- 
nisters in  such  neglected  and  overgrown  districts  as 
these.  If  one  of  our  Royal  Commissioners  would 
but  consent  to  undergo  the  bodily  fat^'gue  that  a 
minister  ought  to  undergo  in  visiting  merely  the 
sick  and  dying  of  Larbert  {let  alone  the  visitation 
of  the  whole,  and  preparation  for  the  pulpit),  and 
that  for  one  month,  I  would  engage  that,  if  he  be 
able  to  rise  out  of  his  bed  by  the  end  of  it,  he  would 
change  his  voice  and  manner  at  the  Commission 
Board.'  A  few  busy  weeks  passed  over,  occupied 
from  morning  to  night  in  such  cares  and  toils,  when 
another  part  of  the  discipline  he  was  to  undergo 
was  sent.  In  the  end  of  December,  strong  oppres- 
sion of  the  heart  and  an  irritating  cough  caused 


190  EGBERT  MURRAY  m'CHEYNE. 

some  of  liis  friends  to  fear  that  his  lungs  were 
affected;  and  for  some  weeks  he  was  laid  aside 
from  public  duty.  On  examination,  it  was  found 
that,  though  there  was  a  dulness  in  the  right  lung, 
yet  the  material  of  the  lungs  was  not  affected.  For 
a  time,  however,  the  air-vessels  were  so  clogged  and 
irritated,  that  if  he  had  continued  to  preach,  disease 
would  have  quickly  ensued.  But  this  also  was  soon 
removed,  and,  under  cautious  management,  he  re- 
sumed his  work." 

The  ailment  with  which  he  was  thus  affected 
happily  passed  away,  and  Mr  M'Cheyne  having 
accepted  the  charge  of  St.  Peter's  Church,  Dundee, 
was  ordained  in  November  1836.  The  field  of 
labour  on  which  he  thus  entered  was  extremely 
arduous ;  and  in  this  respect  ill  suited  to  one  who 
like  him  possessed  so  much  more  intellectual  and 
moral  vigour  than  bodily  strength.  Preparing  for 
his  pulpit  duties,  visiting  his  flock — and  especially 
the  sick  and  dying — attending  to  the  claims  of  Sab- 
bath schools,  and  performing  the  various  other 
duties  incident  to  such  a  charge,  speedily  proved  to 
be  too  severe  a  course  of  exertion.  "  In  the  close 
of  1838,  some  symptoms  appeared  that  alarmed  his 
friends.  Ills  constitution,  never  robust,  began  to 
feel  the  effects  of  unremitting  labour;  for,  occasion- 
ally, he  would  spend  six  hours  in  visiting,  and  then, 
the  same  evening,  preach  in  some  room  to  all  the 
families  whom  he  had  that  day  visited.  Very  gene- 
rally, too,  on  Sabbath,  after  preaching  twice  to  his 


LAID  ASIDE  FROM  DUTY.  191 

ovvm  flock,  lie  was  engaged  in  ministering  some- 
where else  in  the  evening.  But  now,  after  any 
great  exertion,  he  was  attacked  by  violent  palpita- 
tion of  heart.  It  soon  increased,  affecting  him  in 
his  hom-s  of  study ;  and,  at  last,  it  became  almost 
constant.  Upon  this,  his  medical  advisers  insisted 
on  a  total  cessation  of  his  public  work ;  for  though, 
as  yet,  there  was  no  organic  change  on  his  lungs, 
there  was  every  reason  to  apprehend  that  that  might 
be  the  result.  Accordingly,  with  deep  regret,  he 
left  Dundee  to  seek  rest  and  change  of  occupation, 
hoping  it  would  be  only  for  a  week  or  two.  A  few 
days  after  leaving  Dundee,  he  writes  from  Edin- 
burgh, in  reply  to  the  anxious  inquiries  of  his  friend 
Mr  Grierson,  ^  The  beating  of  the  heart  is  not  now 
so  constant  as  it  was  before.  The  pitcher  draws 
more  quietly  at  the  cistern ;  so  that,  by  the  kind 
providence  of  our  Heavenly  Father,  I  may  be 
spared  a  little  longer  before  the  silver  cord  be  loosed, 
and  the  golden  bowl  be  broken.'  It  was  found 
that  his  complaints  were  such  as  would  be  likely  to 
give  way  under  careful  treatment,  and  a  temporary 
cessation  from  all  exertion.  Under  his  father's  roof, 
therefore,  in  Edinburgh,  he  resigned  himself  to  the 
will  of  his  Father  in  heaven.  But  deeply  did  he 
feel  the  trial  of  being  laid  aside  from  his  loved  em- 
ployment, though  he  learnt  of  Him  who  was  meek 
and  lowly,  to  make  the  burden  light  in  his  own  way, 
by  saying,  ^  Even  so.  Father,  for  so  it  seemeth  good 
in  thy  sight.'      He  wrote  to  Mr  Grierson  again, 


192  ROBERT  MURRAY  m'CHEYNE. 

Jaiuiaiy  5,  1839,  '  I  liope  this  affliction  will  be 
blessed  to  me.  1  always  feel  much  need  of  God's 
afflictins:  hand.  In  the  wliirl  of  active  labour  there 
is  so  little  time  for  watching,  and  for  bewailing,  and 
seeking  grace,  to  oppose  the  sins  of  our  ministry, 
that  I  always  feel  it  a  blessed  thing  when  the 
►Saviour  takes  me  aside  from  the  crowd,  as  He  took 
the  blind  man  out  of  the  town,  and  removes  the 
veil  and  clears  away  obscuring  mists ;  and  by  his 
word  and  Spirit  leads  to  deeper  peace  and  a  holier 
walk.  Ah !  there  is  nothing  like  a  calm  look  into 
the  eternal  world  to  teach  us  the  emptiness  of 
human  praise,  the  sinfulness  of  self-seeking  and  vain- 
glory— to  teach  us  the  preciousness  of  Christ,  who 
is  called  ''  The  Third  Stone."  I  have  been  able  to 
be  twice  at  college  to  hear  a  lecture  from  Dr  Chal- 
mers. I  have  also  been  privileged  to  smooth  down 
the  dying  pillow  of  an  old  school-companion,  leading 
him  to  a  fuller  joy  and  peace  in  believing.  A 
poor  heavy-laden  soul,  too,  from  Larbert,  I  have 
had  the  joy  of  leading  toward  the  Saviour.  So  that, 
even  when  absent  from  my  work,  and  when  exiled, 
as  it  were,  God  allows  me  to  do  some  little  things 
for  his  name.' " 

While  tlms  laid  aside,  and  earnestly  longing  to 
return  to  duty,  it  was  proposed  to  him  to  under- 
take the  Mission  to  the  Holy  Land  wdiich  the 
Church  of  Scotland  had  resolved  upon.  To  this 
proposal  he  acceded,  not  only  because  of  the  deep 
interest  he  took  in  all  missionary  enterprises,  but 


MISSION  TO  PALESTINE.  193 

because  his  medical  advisers  considered  the  change 
of  scene  and  climate  likely  to  conduce  to  the  resto- 
ration of  his  health.  The  narrative  of  the  Mission 
to  Palestine  has  been  given  to  the  public.  ]\Ir 
M/Chejne  returned  to  Scotland  in  1839,  and  re- 
sumed the  duties  of  his  charge  with  his  usual  en- 
ergy. His  health,  however,  was  but  partially  re- 
stored, and  it  was  not  long  before  it  again  exhi- 
bited unquestionable  symptoms  of  giving  way.  He 
was  enabled  nevertheless  to  continue  in  the  dis- 
charge of  his  duties  till  the  spring  of  1843,  when, 
full  of  faith  and  hope,  he  entered  into  rest.  "Whe- 
ther viewed  as  a  son,  a  brother,  a  friend,  or  a  pas- 
tor, often  has  the  remark  been  made,  by  those  who 
knew  him  most  intimately,  that  he  was  the  most 
faultless  and  attractive  exhibition  of  the  true  Chris- 
tian which  they  had  ever  seen  embodied  in  a  living 
form.  His  great  study  was  to  be  Christ-like.  He 
was  a  man  of  remarkable  singleness  of  heart.  He 
lived  but  for  one  object — the  glory  of  the  Eedeemer 
in  connection  with  the  salvation  of  immortal  souls. 
Hence,  he  carried  with  him  a  kind  of  hallowing  in- 
fluence into  every  company  into  which  he  entered, 
and  his  brethren  were  accustomed  to  feel  as  if  all 
were  well  when  their  measures  met  with  the  sanction 
and  approval  of  Mr  M^Cheyne.  He  was,  indeed, 
the  object  of  an  esteem  and  reverence  altogether 
singular  toward  so  young  a  man,  and  which  had 
their  foundation  in  the  deep  and  universal  convic- 
tion of  his  perfect  integrity  of  purpose — his  unbend- 
2b 


194  ROBERT  MURRAY  M'CHEYNE. 

ing  sincerity  and  truthfulness — his  Christian  gene- 
rosity of  spirit — and  in  the  persuasion  that  he  was 
a  man  who  lived  near  to  God,  as  was  evident  from 
his  holy  walk,  his  spiritual  and  heavenly-minded 
frame,  and  his  singularly  amiable  and  affectionate 
temper  and  disposition." 


JOHN    MACKINTOSH. 

There  is  something  unspeakably  melancholy,  as 
well  as  mysterious,  in  the  death  of  young  persons 
of  high  intellectual  and  moral  promise.  Old  people 
must  necessarily  soon  quit  this  life ;  they  ha^e  per- 
formed their  allotted  task,  they  have  accomplished 
their  day ;  they  have  arrived  at  maturity,  and  there 
is  nothing  premature  in  their  ceasing  to  live.  It 
is  different  as  to  young  persons  of  great  promise. 
They  seem  in  every  way  calculated  to  be  useful  in 
the  world,  and  the  world  needs  their  aid.  They 
seem  specially  called  among  their  fellows  to  some 
mission,  to  issue  in  the  furtherance  of  the  cause 
of  humanity,  and  on  their  early  death,  we  cannot 
but  feel  a  deeper  melancholy  than  in  any  other 
case,  because  of  the  disappointment  we  naturally 
experience  from  an  event  strikingly  premature; 
nor  can  we  fail  to  regard  the  event  as  mysteri- 
ous too,  inasmuch  as  the  divine  Creator  permits 
brilliant  genius,  and  high  intellectual  ability,  and 
exquisite  moral  perceptions,  all  to  come  into  exist- 
ence apparently  in  vain,  like  lovely  flowers,  which 
in  the  morning  flourish  and  grow  up,  and  in  the 
evening  are  cut  down  and  withered.  But  we  can 
hardly  doubt  that  the  melancholy  and  the  mystery 
thus  arising,  spring  in  a  great  measure  from  our 


19G  JOHN  MACKINTOSH. 

own  vanity,  as  well  as  from  our  inadequate  percep- 
tion of  the  infinite  power  and  wisdom  by  which 
God,  independently  of  such  instrumentality  as  we, 
are  apt  to  deem  necessary,  carries  out  the  mighty 
sclienie  of  his  moral  administration.  The  name  of 
31  r  John  Mackintosh  is  another  added  to  the  thou- 
sand-and-one  names  of  the  gifted  and  the  good 
snatched  away  in  early  life,  and  as  to  whose  pre- 
mature removal  from  a  scene  where  they  might 
have  been  eminently  useful,  we  have  to  seek  for 
comfort  in  acknowledging  our  own  ignorance,  and 
bowing  down  reverently  before  the  infinite  wisdom 
of  the  great  Disposer  of  all  things. 

John  Mackintosh  was  the  son  of  William  Mack- 
intosh, Esq.  of  Geddes,  in  the  County  of  Nairn, 
and  ^vas  born  in  Edinburgh  on  the  9th  of  January, 
1822.  After  obtaining  his  early  education  at  an 
English  school  in  his  native  city,  he  entered  the 
New  Academy  in  1830,  where  he  greatly  distin- 
guished himself  as  a  scholar.  '^  For  seven  succes- 
sive years,"  says  his  biographer,  "  he  carried  the 
first  medal  of  his  class,  gaining  besides,  during  the 
same  period,  upwards  of  thirty  prizes.  After  his 
last  examination,  the  then  rector.  Archdeacon  Wil- 
liams, in  bidding  him  farewell,  and  complimenting 
him  on  his  distinguished  career  and  admirable  cha- 
racter while  in  the  Academy,  said,  '  You  may  be  a 
great  man,  but  I  am  quite  sure  you  will  be  a  good 
one.'  " 

The  following  interesting  extracts  from  his  diary 


EAELY  IMPRESSIONS.  197 

will  not  be  unacceptable  to  the  reader.  The  pas- 
sages cited  were  written  prior  to,  or  during,  his  at- 
tendance at  the  University  of  Glasgow  in  1838-9, 
and  they  indicate  in  a  striking  manner  the  spiritu- 
ality of  his  mind,  and  his  earnest  desire  to  give 
obedience  to  the  divine  will.  "  This  is  the  last 
Sabbath  which,  this  year  at  least,  I  am  to  spend 
here,  and  as  I  may  not  have  another  opportunity 
of  noting  down  a  few  reflections  upon  this  era  of 
my  leaving  the  country,  I  now  do  so.  Let  me 
meditate  on  the  Lord's  gracious  dealings  with  me 
as  far  back  as  I  can  retrace  them.  As  a  child, 
when  just  entering  on  boyhood,  I  appear  to  have 
been  most  unamiable  and  vicious  to  a  degree  when 
thwarted  in  anything,  yet  perhaps  tender-hearted 
and  fond  of  those  who  showed  me  kindness.  At 
the  age  of  six  or  seven  I  remember  having  had 
some  religious  impressions,  feeling  a  desire  to  be  a 
good  and  a  holy  man  j  and,  strange  to  say,  though 
I  had  read  no  missionary  memoir,  and  had  heard 
very  little  upon  that  subject,  I  have  a  confused  re- 
collection of  wishing  to  become  one  in  after  life.  I 
had  also  many  thoughts  of  heaven,  and  longed  for 
the  certainty  of  going  there  at  last,  deeming  the 
attainment  of  this  sure  hope,  however,  impossible. 
Sometimes  I  even  dreamed  I  was  there,  and  took 
it  as  a  favourable  sign ;  and  frequently,  a  few  years 
afterwards,  when  these  impressions  had  worn  off — 
though  the  desire  of  escaping  hell  was  naturally 
still  strong — I  used  to  look  back  upon  these  early 


198  JOHN  MACKINTOSH. 

feelings,  thinking  with  much  comfort,  that  him 
whom  God  hath  once  loved,  He  will  love  unto  the 
end.  At  this  time  I  was  attending  a  public  school 
in  Edinburgh,  under  a  very  strict  teacher  (now, 
alas!  departed),  where  I  was  distinguished  by  a 
very  close  but  specious  attention  and  sobriety  of  de- 
portment during  school  hours,  dictated  by  a  slavish 
fear,  and  carried  to  an  extreme  length.  At  the  age 
of  eight,  I  entered  the  lowest  class  of  the  Edinburgh 
Academy,  again  under  a  very  strict  teacher,  where 
my  attention  and  staid  behaviour  continued,  with 
this  difference,  that  the  former  was  now  unfeigned, 
and  was  kept  up  at  home  as  well  as  in  school. 
This  secured  my  gradual  rise  to  the  head  of  a  class 
of  sixty  or  seventy  pupils ;  and  through  the  gra- 
dation of  seven  classes,  the  same  qualities  procured 
me  the  same  honourable  place.  For  five  years  of 
this  large  period  of  life  my  brother  accompanied 
me  side  by  side,  but  in  the  fifth  he  left,  and  since 
then  I  have  pursued  my  studies  alone.  In  the 
sixth  year  my  lamented  teacher  died ;  but  in  the 
seventh  and  last  year  of  my  academical  career,  the 
most  important  circumstance  took  place,  the  effects 
of  which  I  trust  will  be  felt  by  me  throughout  eter- 
nity. Here  for  the  present  I  must  end.  May  the 
Lord  make  me  grateful  for  his  many  mercies ! — June 
21,  1838. — To-day  felt  somewhat  moved  in  prayer 
by  a  sense  of  God's  grace;  the  frame,  however,  was 
soon  over;  in  devotional  reading  was  remiss  and 
unsettled.     All  my  religious  duties  clearly  show 


CHOICE  OF  A  PEOFESSION.  199 

that  I  have  not  yet  attained  a  habitual  sense  of 
God's  omnipresence.  0  for  greater  inclination  and 
strength  to  serve  him  with  my  whole  heart! — 
June  28. — Returning  home  alone  with  my  father, 
took  the  opportunity  of  broaching  a  subject  which 
has  for  some  time  been  pressing  me — my  future 
profession  in  life,  if  spared.  He  is  much  bent  on 
my  following  the  law,  to  which  he  has  dedicated 
me  for  many  years.  If  I  do  so,  Oxford  (a  place 
by  anticipation  dear  to  my  heart!)  and  perhaps 
worldly  honour  await  me.  Within  myself,  how- 
ever, I  think  the  ministry  is  the  profession  in  which 
I  could  lay  myself  out  best  with  heart  and  soul,  and 
which,  on  my  deathbed,  would  afford  me  most  com- 
fort. This  would  crush  my  Oxford  hopes,  and 
those  of  worldly  success — which  I  would  fain  say 
I  disregard,  but  know  too  little  of  my  carnal  and 
deceitful  heart  to  do  so — besides  disappointing  the 
expectations  of  many  of  my  friends.  But  it  must 
be  decided  soon,  and  is  already  fixed  in  the  eternal 
decrees  of  God.  Would  that  the  love  of  Christ  and 
zeal  for  his  glory  were  so  increased  that  they  might, 
like  the  sword  of  the  barbarian  conqueror  of  Eome, 
easily  decide  the  scale. — June  30. — Spoke  of  the 
ministry  to-night,  and  hope  the  balance  in  favour  of 
it  is  preponderating.  To-morrow  is  the  Sabbath. 
O  for  watchfulness  to  commence  a  new  week  well ! 
If  that  day  is  passed  carelessly,  how  can  I  expect 
the  following  six  to  be  otherwise  ?  May  I  receive 
grace  to  obey,  in  some  measure,  Isaiah  Iviii.  13. — 


200  JOHN  MACKINTOSH. 

July  4.— Came  to  a  determination,  after  prayer  for 
guidance,  to  choose  the  ministry.  The  disappoint- 
ment  it  must  occasion  my  father  almost  unnerved 
me,  not  that  he  by  any  means  dislikes  the  profes- 
sion, but  having  my  welfare  in  life  at  heart,  he 
fears  for  my  success  in  a  line  where  getting  an  ap- 
pointment is  now  so  uncertain.  But  if  I  have  been 
called  of  God,  He  will  provide  for  me.  Communi- 
cated my  resolution  to  him,  and  steps  will  accord- 
ingly be  taken.  What  a  solemn  prospect!  I  can 
hardly  bring  myself  to  believe  I  have  undertaken 
it.  What  need  of  improvement !  God  gi'ant  my 
determinations  may  become  more  fixed  daily,  and 
that  grace  and  peace  may  be  given  me.  Probably, 
from  dwelling  too  much  in  thought  on  the  Spirit's 
office  in  the  heart,  I  have  become  vexed  and  unable 
to  prosecute  the  business  I  may  have  in  hand,  from 
my  thoughts  continually  recurring  to  it.  May  I  be 
enabled  to  overcome  this,  or  it  may  become  a  con- 
firmed habit. — August  8. — Began  to  meditate  on 
the  vanity  of  all  earthly  things,  unless  God  have  a 
share  in  them.  Considered  first  the  worthlessness 
of  human  acquirements,  unless  pursued  with  a  single 
eye  to  God's  glory.  Still  squander  much  time,  es- 
])ecially  during  study ;  this  is  very  bad,  after  the 
discipline  in  that  point  I  have  for  many  years  un- 
dergone. Again,  in  humble  trust  on  divine  help,  I 
would  resolve  to  live  wholly  to  (Christ.  This  would 
have  saved  me  from  the  jealousy  1  felt  to-day  on  hear- 
ing I  was  surpassed  in  ability  l.)y  another.     Surely  I 


VISIT  TO  THE  CONTINENT.  201 

know  that  all  natural  talent  is  God's  gift ;  and  that, 
therefore,  whether  mine  is  great  or  small,  I  have  no 
reason  either  to  boast  or  complain,  but  only  to  seek 
to  husband  it  to  the  best  advantage  in  my  Master's 
service,  though  it  be  but  one.'  " 

In  1841  he  accompanied  Professor  Forbes,  whose 
class  he  attended  in  Edinburgh  College,  on  a  tour 
to  the  Continent,  with  reference  to  which  there  are 
some  interesting  remarks  in  his  diary.  The  follow- 
ing is  an  example : — ^'  'After  breakfast  crossed  the 
Ard^che.  Professor  took  sketch  from  a  picturesque 
little  house  half-way  up  the  hill.  I  bathed  near 
the  bridge.  The  lava  cut,  probably  the  work  of 
the  stream,  is  very,  very  fine.  Returned  home  by 
some  stairs  formed  out  of  the  natural  basaltic  co- 
lumns, called  here  '  les  echelles  du  roi ' — very  re- 
markable. Paused  long  to  admire  and  meditate  on 
the  beautiful  landscape  before  me,  the  luxuriant 
growth  of  chestnuts,  walnuts,  and  other  trees ;  the 
harvest,  in  little  patches,  already  ripe;  the  hay- 
making diffusing  old  familiar  fragrance,  the  little 
gardens  of  vines  and  vegetables  courting  the  shade 
more  than  the  sun,  and  irrigated  by  gushing,  ripp- 
ling sluices  that  gave  a  freshness  to  the  earth,  and 
indeed  to  the  whole  scene ;  the  stupendous  walls  of 
lava,  carrying  the  thoughts  back  to  oldest  times, 
and  overhead  the  '  witchery  of  the  soft  blue  sky' — 
a  sky  of  southern  softness.  Such  is  a  faint  cata- 
logue of  the  thousand  beauties  of  these  valleys ;  so 
far  as  I  am  aware,  little  known;  and  so  far  as  self- 
2c 


202  JOHN  MACKINTOSH. 

ishness  Is  concerned,  long  may  they  remain  so. 
After  dinner,  walked  witli  Professor  to  examine  the 
volcanic  crater,  and  the  direction  and  spread  of  its 
stream.'  After  thus  spending  a  month  of  rare  en- 
joyment, he  parted  from  the  Professor,  to  return 
home  by  the  Alps,  Geneva,  and  the  Khine.  He 
then  records  his  parting  with  his  friend,  which  we 
cannot  help  quoting.  '  He  (Professor  Forbes)  ac- 
companied me  for  some  miles  up  the  hill,  com- 
manding a  noble  view  of  the  Is^re,  then  bade  me 
God  speed,  kissed,  and  departed  to  return  to  Gren- 
oble, and  thence,  by  Aug.  12,  make  for  the  Grimsel 
with  Mr  Heath,  to  meet  Agassiz,  and  study  the 
glaciers.  I,  with  a  bursting  heart,  proceeded  on 
my  lonely  way,  committing  myself  and  him  to  God 
in  prayer,  and  endeavouring  to  direct  my  thoughts 
heavenward.  His  kindness  to  me  makes  me  ash- 
amed of  my  poor  return,  and  my  great  deficiencies 
as  a  companion ;  having  been,  I  fear,  very  selfish, 
taciturn,  and  foolish  in  my  remarks.  I  trust  I 
have  derived  benefit  from  his  company,  on  the  other 
l)and;  having  seen  an  example  in  his  indefatigable 
energy,  his  exactness  of  observation,  and  acuteness 
of  remark ;  and,  as  a  traveller,  his  patience  under 
vexations,  his  total  want  of  selfishness,  and  his 
universal  kindness  of  heart.  God  grant  that  our 
love  may  be  cemented  in  Christ  Jesus,  and  that  we 
may  both  live  to  his  glory,  the  only  true  way  to  avoid 
selfishness  and  every  other  sin.  May  every  blessing, 
temporal  and  spiritual,  be  multiplied  to  him  ! '  " 


ILL  HEALTH.  203 

Mr  Mackintosli  subsequently  entered  tlie  Uni- 
versity of  Cambridgej  where  he  distinguished  him- 
self as  a  diligent  scholar,  and  unquestionably  might 
have  attained  high  honours.  He  quitted  Cam- 
bridge, however,  in  1843,  with  the  resolution  of 
joining  the  "Free  Church"  in  Scotland,  having 
been  unable  to  make  up  his  mind  to  join  the  Esta- 
blished Church  either  in  England  or  Scotland.  In 
1848  there  were  evident  symptoms  of  declining 
health,  and  he  resolved  to  proceed  to  the  Continent, 
partly  for  his  health's  sake,  and  partly  for  the  pur- 
poses of  study.  The  diary,  from  which  we  have 
already  quoted,  continued  to  be  faithfully  kept,  and 
is  highly  worthy  of  a  careful  perusal.  It  records 
the  impressions  he  received  on  visiting  various  ce- 
lebrated places  on  the  Continent,  and  affords  strik- 
ing indications  of  that  growing  spirituality  of  mind 
for  which  he  was  so  remarkable. 

We  close  our  brief  notice  with  an  extract  from 
his  biographer's  account  of  his  last  days.  Dr 
^lacleod  had  gone  to  Tubingen  on  hearing  of  his 
friend's  serious  illness  ;  and  as  it  had  been  resolved 
that  Mr  Mackintosh  should  remove,  for  the  sake  of  a 
more  genial  climate,  to  Canstadt  (a  small  town  near 
Stuttgart),  Dr  Macleod  accompanied  him  thither. 
He  thus  refers  to  his  journey  to  that  place,  and  his 
last  days  there : — "  On  the  morning  of  Thursday 
the  20th  Sept.,  everything  being  ready,  and  the 
can-iages  at  the  door,  several  students  assembled  to 
bid  him   again  farewell,  and  gathered  round  him 


204  JOHN  MACKINTOSH. 

with  affectionate  greetings,  when,  weak  and  totter- 
ing, but  smiling  and  cheerful,  he  descended  from 
liis  room.  All  the  servants  of  the  hotel,  as  well  as 
the  kind  landlady,  were  also  there— not  from  any 
selfish  motives,  but  with  such  signs  of  grief  on  their 
countenances,  as  betokened  singular  interest  in  the 
sufferer.  Henry,  the  boy  w^ho  had  attended  him, 
was  in  floods  of  tears;  and  even  Kieka,  the  poor 
woman  whose  only  work  was  the  lowest  drudgery 
about  the  house,  and  who  used  to  feed  his  stove 
with  fuel,  was  present,  and  while  humbly  keeping 
in  the  background,  covered  her  face  with  her  apron 
as  she  sobbed  aloud  :  for,  during  his  sojourn  in  the 
hotel,  he  had  been  kind  and  considerate  to  them  all; 
giving  lessons  in  English  to  one ;  a  Bible  to  an- 
other ;  and  on  every  fitting  occasion  speaking  lov- 
ingly to  them,  as  a  brother,  of  the  good  which  was 
for  them  in  Christ  Jesus.  And  so,  when  he  noticed 
each  at  parting,  and  the  carriage  drove  off,  they  felt 
that  a  friend  had  left  them,  and  they  truly  sorrowed 
because  '  they  should  see  his  face  no  more.'  He 
bore  the  fatigue  of  the  long  journey  with  great 
patience ;  and  in  the  evening  once  more  crossed  the 
bridge  of  Canstadt,  on  which  he  had  stood  in  Sep- 
tember, '  totally  uncertain,'  as  he  then  wrote,  about 
his  future  plans,  but  trusting  God  for  guidance. 
His  new  lodgings  pleased  him  much.  As  he  paced 
through  them,  and  looked  from  their  windows  to 
the  quiet  scene  without,  he  remarked  with  an  ex- 
pression of  great  gratitude,  '  How  sweet  this  place 


HIS  LAST  DAYS.  205 

is !  how  good  God  is  ! '  His  bedroom  was  conve- 
niently situated  between  mine  and  our  common  sit- 
ting apartment,  having  a  communication  with  botli. 
It  was  soon  set  in  order  under  his  own  minute  di- 
rections. The  books  were  unpacked,  and  with  desk, 
thermometers,  watch,  MS.  note-books,  &c.,  were 
systematically  arranged  upon  his  table — each  thing 
in  the  same  relative  position  which  it  occupied  on 
his  table  at  Tubingen,  and  probably  when  in  Rome 
also.  The  routine  of  his  daily  life  at  Canstadt,  un- 
til very  shortly  before  it  ended,  was  this  : — He  rose 
generally  about  seven  o'clock ;  breakfasted  by  him- 
self immediately  after  dressing;  and  until  ten  o'clock, 
when  our  morning  meal,  with  family  worship,  was 
past,  he  was  left  undisturbed  to  his  own  private  de- 
votions. We  then  sat  beside  him,  conversing  or 
reading  to  him — perhaps  the  English  newspapers,  or 
from  some  favourite  author — until  half-past  twelve, 
when  he  dined.  After  dinner  he  walked  with  me 
for  half -an -hour  or  an  hour.  The  greater  part 
of  the  afternoon  and  evening  we  usually  spent  all 
together,  occupied  as  in  the  morning,  with  con- 
;  versation,  reading  aloud,  or  listening  to  music; 
while  he  generally  sat  in  a  large  arm-chair,  or  on 
the  edge  of  his  bed,  with  his  forehead  resting  on 
the  back  of  a  chair,  and  his  chest  wrapped  in  a  tar- 
tan plaid.  The  day  was  always  concluded  by  our 
meeting  in  his  room  for  reading  the  Scriptures, 
praise  and  prayer.  He  very  often  selected  the 
chapters  or  the  psalm,  and  never  failed  to  add  his 


206  JOHN  MACKINTOSH. 

hearty  amen  to  my  prayer,  and  to  breathe  a  few 
words  of  blessing  in  the  ears  of  each  as  we  parted 
from  him  for  tlie  night." 

Dr  ]\raclcod  left  him  on  the  11th  of  March  to  re- 
turn to  Scotland,  little  expecting  that  that  was  to 
be  the  day  of  his  friend's  departure  on  that  great 
journey  we  have  all  to  take.  He  thus  refers  to  his 
last  hours : — '^  He  requested  that  the  window  should 
be  opened,  and  tottering  to  it  in  his  dressing-gown, 
had  his  chair  so  placed  as  to  be  able  to  extend  his 
arm  into  the  open  air.  It  was  a  day  of  great 
beauty.  The  sun  shone  brightly,  and  with  almost 
a  summer  heat ;  and  already  the  sounds  of  spring 
were  heard  from  the  birds  in  the  surrounding  orch- 
ards. The  same  oppression  returned  later  in  the 
afternoon,  in  a  still  more  aggravated  form.  Dr  J., 
who  had  been  sent  for,  made  him  immediately  re- 
turn to  bed,  and  did  everything  that  skill  could  sug- 
gest to  relieve  him  ;  but  was  soon  obliged  to  inform 
his  friends  apart  that  his  end  was  fast  approaching. 
He  lay  in  silence  upon  his  bed  with  his  eyes  shut, 
and  in  silence  all  stood  around  him.  About  four 
o'clock  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  motioned  to  his 
mother  first  to  come  near  him  and  kiss  him.  His 
sister  came  next,  and  he  said  to  her,  *  Love  Jesus.' 
And  after  this  he  bade  each  farewell,  and  to  each 
repeated  the  same  counsel,  '  Love  Jesus.'  *  Any 
one  else  in  the  room  ?  '  he  asked.  Marie,  the«kind 
daughter  of  the  landlady,  approached,  weeping  bit- 
terly.    He  thanked  her  for  all  her  goodness  to  him 


HIS  DEATH.  207 

during  his  illness,  and  requested  that  she  should 
send  her  mother  and  sisters  up-stairs  to  bid  him 
farewell.  They  came,  and  he  spoke  kindly  to  them. 
Having  motioned  to  his  sister  to  sit  beside  him,  he 
drew  her  to  him,  again  kissed  her,  and  began  to 
speak  to  her ;  but  his  lips  were  cold,  and  she  re- 
quired to  put  her  ear  almost  to  his  mouth  to  hear 
what  he  said.  But  so  calm  and  self-possessed  was 
he,  that  he  gave  her  directions  even  then  as  to  how 
she  might  get  his  portmanteau,  which  he  had  for- 
warded to  Berlin  when  he  intended  to  have  gone 
there  to  study ;  and  told  her  where  in  it  she  should 
find  the  key  of  his  desk  at  home,  in  which  his  will 
was  deposited.  He  then  requested  to  know  how 
much  she  proposed  to  give  the  doctor,  and  men- 
tioned a  sum  which  he  thought  generous  and  be- 
coming. Then,  beckoning  to  the  doctor,  he  thanked 
hiai  for  his  great  attention,  and  begged  him  to  tell 
him  truly  how  long  he  thought  he  had  to  live.  The 
doctor  replied, '  Perhaps  not  many  minutes.'  After 
a  pause,  he  began  to  repeat  the  names  of  his 
near  relatives — *  Jane ;  Alick  ;  Chris ;  James ;  Ned 
Smith  ;  uncle ;  my  aunts  ;  Tom.  Tell  them  all  to 
seek  Jesus.'  Then,  in  the  same  way  he  enume- 
rated his  old  friends — ^  The  Professor  ;  Madden ; 
Burn  Murdoch  ;  John  Shairp  ;  Boyle ;  Dr  Duncan  ; 
Charles  Brown ; '  and  others,  whose  names  his  sis- 
ter could  not  distinctly  catch.  'AH  my  friends  at 
Tubingen,'  he  added.  He  spoke  about  me  also. 
Soon  after,  he  said,  '  Read.'     Miss  Hodges  took  up 


208  JOHN  MACKINTOSH. 

the  Bible— for  slie  deemed  the  task  too  trying  for 
either  his  mother  or  sister.  But  he  had  told  his 
mother  some  days  before,  that  when  it  came  to  the 
last  she  was  to  read  to  him  from  a  little  book  con- 
taining texts  of  Scripture  selected  for  the  sick  and 
dying,  and  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  using; 
and  now,  as  if  remembering  this,  the  moment  he 
heard  the  voice  of  Miss  Hodges,  he  opened  his  eyes, 
and  with  earnestness  said,  '  No.  My  mother !  my 
mother ! '  She  was  strengthened  to  minister  this 
comfort  also  to  him.  The  last  things  read  to  him 
were  the  first  two  verses  of  the  43d  chapter  of 
Isaiah,  the  hymns — '  The  hour  of  my  departure's 
come ; '  '  Hark,  how  the  adoring  hosts  above ; '  and 
the  23d  Psalm.  When  these  were  ended,  he  said 
to  his  sister,  ^  Bury  me  beside  Chalmers  ; '  and  after 
a  short  pause,  '  Jesus  !  oh,  Jesus ! '  He  then  lay 
again  in  silence,  with  a  look  of  deepest  calm  and 
peace ;  but  spoke  no  more.  Once  only  he  opened 
his  eyes,  and  gazed  on  all  around  him,  as  if  bid- 
ding them  farewell.  The  setting  sun  filled  the 
room  with  a  flood  of  light.  At  five  o'clock,  the 
cliurcli-bclls  were  ringing  their  evening  chimes ; 
and  as  they  rang,  he  left  his  friends  on  earth,  and 
met  his  Saviour.  They  knelt  around  that  quiet 
bed ;  and  she  who  bore  him  was  able  to  praise  the 
Lord,  who  had  redeemed  him  and  taken  him  to 
himself!" 


HENRY    HAVELOCK. 

The  sacred  principles  of  Christianity  are  of  univer- 
sal application,  adapted  to  every  profession,  and  every 
condition  of  human  life,  and  capable  of  accommo- 
dating themselves  to  the  various  exigencies  of  man- 
kind, amidst  all  the  difficulties  of  the  most  arduous 
duty  or  the  most  perilous  enterprise.  In  every  pos- 
sible circumstance  in  which  man  can  be  placed, 
they  are  calculated  to  dignify  and  to  ennoble  the 
individual  who  lives  and  acts  under  their  influence. 
This  inherent  quality  of  universal  adaptation — 
which  may  justly  be  considered  as  one  of  the  many 
striking  evidences  of  the  divine  origin  of  our  most 
holy  faith — has  been  frequently  exemplified  in  the 
history  of  eminent  Christians  belonging  to  the  pro- 
fession of  arms — a  profession,  the  engagements  and 
temptations  of  which  cannot  be  said  to  be  peculi- 
arly favourable  to  the  practice  of  religion.  The 
brave  and  heroic  soldier,  whose  history  we  are  now 
to  notice,  affords  an  admirable  example  of  what  re- 
ligion can  effect  amidst  circumstances  most  unfa- 
vourable to  its  development. 

Henry  Havelock   was   born   at  Bishop  Wear- 
mouth  on  the  5th  April,  1795.    His  father  was  de- 
scended from  a  family  who   formerly  resided  at 
Grimsby,  in  Lincolnshire.     He  was   engaged  in 
2  D 


210  HENRY  HAVELOCK. 

shipbuilding  and  commerce  at  Sunderland,  but  in 
1799  settled  in  the  County  of  Kent,  where  he  pur- 
chased an  estate  called  Ingress,  near  Dartford.  After 
obtaining  his  earliest  education  at  a  school  at  Dart- 
ford,  Henry  Havelock  was  sent  to  the  Charterhouse 
in  1804,  where  among  his  school  companions  were 
several  boys  who  have  since  become  distinguished 
in  life.  While  at  the  Charterhouse  he  occupied  a 
respectable  place  in  his  class,  and  although  remark- 
ably expert  in  all  boyish  amusements,  he  was  of  a 
thoughtful,  meditative  turn  of  mind.  He  had  been 
early  impressed  with  the  truths  of  religion  by  his 
excellent  mother,  w4io  was  accustomed  to  assemble 
her  children  together,  in  her  own  apartment,  for 
prayer  and  the  study  of  the  Scriptures.  The  early 
impressions  thus  made  began  to  produce  their  re- 
sult at  the  Charterhouse,  where  Henry  Havelock 
and  several  other  boys — afterwards  eminent  in  their 
respective  professions — were  accustomed  to  meet  to- 
gether privately  for  the  purpose  of  reading  sermons 
and  conversing  upon  the  subjects  they  read.  And 
that  his  religious  impressions  must  have  produced 
considerable  effect  in  his  demeanour  we  may  readily 
judge  from  the  circumstance,  that  he  was  subjected 
to  no  small  amount  of  scorn  and  ridicule  from  his 
companions,  who  called  him  ''  Methodist,"  and 
"  canting  hypocrite ;  "  taunts,  however,  which  he 
bravely  endured. 

His  relatives  wished  him  to  adopt  the  law  as  his 
profession  ;  and  his  thoughtful,  studious  habits,  ac- 


ENTERS  TH  E  ARM  Y.  211 

quired  and  fostered  at  tlie  Charterhouse,  seemed  to 
warrant  their  desire.  He  was  accordingly  placed 
as  a  pupil  with  an  eminent  barrister,  under  whose 
care  he  entered  on  his  legal  studies.  Probably, 
however,  he  had  no  great  taste  for  the  profession, 
and  his  mother  seeaied  to  be  aware  of  this,  and  to 
have  perceived  in  him  manifest  tendencies  toward 
the  profession  of  arms,  in  the  great  interest  he  took 
in  everything  relating  to  military  affairs.  Her  im- 
pression proved  to  be  correct,  although  she  did  not 
live  to  see  it  verified.  In  1815 — five  years  after 
her  death — he  renounced  the  law  for  ever,  and  yield- 
ing, to  use  his  own  words,  "  to  the  military  pro- 
pensities of  his  race,"  entered  the  army  as  an  officer 
of  the  Eifle  Brigade.  "  No  very  active  service 
awaited  him  for  some  time.  '  He  served,'  he  writes, 
'  in  England,  Ireland,  and  Scotland,  in  the  interval 
between  his  first  nomination  and  the  year  1823,  tra- 
velled in  France  and  the  north  of  Italy,  read  a  good 
deal  in  a  discursive  way,  and  acquired  some  know- 
ledge of  his  profession  which  was  useful  to  him  in 
after  days.'  Again  was  it  his  lot  to  fall  in  with 
men  of  mark,  whose  names  were  to  become  after- 
wards illustrious  and  renowned.  '  He  was  subaltern 
in  the  95th  Rifle  Brigade,  and  the  present  Sir  Harry 
Smith,  the  victor  of  Aliwal,  was  his  captain.  Some 
time  elapsed,  and  he  was  at  length  induced  to  look 
for  an  exchange.  The  augmentation  of  the  13th 
Light  Infantry  taking  place,  he  was  transposed  to 
that  regiment.    He  embarked  for  India  in  January 


212  HENRY  HAVELOCK. 

1823.  It  was  his  own  clioice  to  serve  in  this  part 
of  the  world,  and  he  had  fitted  himself  for  Indian 
service  by  studying  Ilindostanee  and  Persian  under 
l)r  Gilclirist,  in  London,  before  he  left.'  The  lieu- 
tenant was  now  at  sea,  when  an  event  occurred 
in  relation  to  what  he  deemed  '  the  most  important 
part  of  the  history  of  a  man's  life,'  w^hich  he  attri- 
buted most  gratefully  to  the  providence  of  a  graci- 
ous God.  For  years  had  he  knowm  what  it  was  to 
be  anxious  about  his  soul,  and  also  about  the  per- 
formance of  the  divine  will.  Life  had  not  been 
given  to  him  to  be  spent  exactly  as  he  pleased. 
The  Scriptures  had  not  been  put  into  his  possession 
to  be  set  at  naught  or  disregarded.  The  Son  of 
God  had  not  died  for  him  in  sacrifice  for  sin,  with- 
out having  the  strongest  claim  upon  him  for  the 
most  grateful  and  responsive  love.  All  this  had 
been  at  work  upon  him  for  years,  with  more  or  less 
activity  and  power ;  and  it  w^as  at  work  upon  him 
when  he  set  sail  for  India.  His  condition  appears 
to  have  been  that  of  feeling  after  God,  if  happily  he 
might  find  him.  Somewhat  like  his  military  pre- 
decessor mentioned  in  the  tenth  chapter  of  the  Acts 
of  the  Apostles,  the  centurion  of  the  Italian  band 
at  Caesarea,  Havelock  was  a  devout  man,  and  one 
that  prayed  to  God  alway ;  but  he  needed  more 
instruction  about  the  perfect  freeness  of  salvation, 
or,  at  least,  a  clearer  conception  of  his  own  welcome 
to  the  immediate  participation  of  all  that  Christ 
had  lived  and  died  to  procure.    He  needed,  in  fact, 


RELIGIOUS  INFLUENCES.  213 

very  much  what  Cornelius  needed  :  and  in  his  so- 
vereignty God  sup})lied  the  need.  The  set  time  to 
favour  the  devout  inquirer  came.  Thus  runs  his 
account  of  the  blessing  which  was  so  opportunely 
vouchsafed : — ^A  far  more  important  event,  as  re- 
garded the  interests  of  the  waiter,  ought  to  have 
been  recorded  whilst  narrating  the  events  of  1823; 
for  it  was  while  he  was  sailing  across  the  wide  At- 
lantic towards  Bengal,  that  the  Spirit  of  God  came 
to  him  with  its  offers  of  peace  and  mandate  of  love, 
which,  though  for  some  time  resisted,  were  received, 
and  at  length  prevailed.  There  was  wrought  that 
great  change  in  his  soul  which  has  been  productive 
of  unspeakable  advantage  to  him  in  time,  and  he 
trusts  has  secured  him  happiness  through  eternity. 
The  '  General  Kyd,'  in  which  he  was  embarked, 
conveyed  to  India  Major  Sale,  destined  tliereafter 
to  defend  Jellalabad  :  but  she  also  carried  out  a 
humble,  unpretending  man,  James  Gardner,  then  a 
lieutenant  in  the  13th,  now  a  retired  captain,  en- 
gaged in  Home  Missionary  objects  and  other  works 
of  Christian  benevolence  at  Bath.  This  excellent 
person  was  most  influential  in  leading  Havelock  to 
make  public  avowal,  by  his  works  of  Christianity, 
in  earnest.'  .  .  In  a  narrative  written  by  him  of 
the  occurrences  of  that  time,  he  writes  : — '  He  was  in 
garrison  w^ith  his  regiment  at  Fort  William,  Cal- 
cutta, when,  in  April  1824,  war  was  declared  against 
the  Burmans.  He  was  thereupon  appointed  to  the 
general  staff  of  Sir  Archibald  Campbell  as  Deputy- 


214  HENRY  HAVELOCK. 

Assistant- Adjutant-General  at  lieacl-quarters.  He 
])roceccled  to  Rangoon,  and  took  part  in  the  actions 
near  it.  Thousands  there  fell  victims  to  the  climate, 
and  his  health  liaving  been  for  the  first  time  broken 
in  upon  by  an  attack  of  liver  complaint,  he  was  com- 
pelled to  return,  first  to  Calcutta,  and  then  to  Bom- 
bay and  the  Deccan.'  The  change  of  air  and  the 
rehixation  had  a  most  favourable  effect  in  the  resto- 
ration of  his  health.  'He  sailed  back  by  Madras 
to  Rangoon,  found  the  army  at  Prome,  and  fought 
with  it  at  Napadee,  Patanago,  and  Pagham-Myo. 
On  tlie  conclusion  of  the  peace  at  Yandabo,  he  was 
associated  with  Lieutenant-Colonel,  then  Captain 
Lumsden,  of  the  Bengal  Artillery,  and  with  Dr 
Knox,  of  the  Madras  Army,  in  a  mission  to  the 
Burman  capital  at  Ava,  and  they  had  audience  of 
tlie  monarch.'  " 

The  following  interesting  circumstances  are  re- 
lated of  tliis  Christian  soldier,  which  are  highly 
characteristic  of  the  earnestness  and  sincerity  of  his 
religious  professions:  —  ''During  his  sojourn  in 
Rangoon,  Havelock  kept  up  his  practice  of  assem- 
bling his  men  for  religious  worship  and  instruction. 
He  was  also  busily  occupied  in  holding  back  the 
soldiers  from  the  excesses  to  which,  in  a  captured 
city  like  Rangoon,  there  were  so  many  strong  in- 
ducements. Abstemious  himself,  if  not  altogether 
an  abstainer  from  alcoholic  beverages,  he  went  about 
imploring  the  men  to  keep  clear  of  intemperance. 
'  There  is  no  such  soldier  in  the  world,'  he  used  to 


A  DEVOUT  SOLDIER.  215 

say,  ^  as  tlie  Englisli  soldier,  if  he  can  be  kept  from 
drink.'  And,  believing  that  the  strength  of  Chris- 
tian principle  was  the  only  effectual  safeguard 
against  tlie  evil,  he  laboured  to  bring  it  into  exist- 
ence and  operation.  He  would  warn  and  encou- 
rage, as  best  he  could,  leaving  it  with  God  to  give 
the  blessing.  There  is  in  Rangoon  a  famous  hea- 
then temple  devoted  to  the  service  of  Boodh,  which 
is  known  as  The  magnificent  Shivey  Dagoon  pa- 
goda. It  is  deemed  the  glory  of  the  city.  Of  a 
chamber  in  this  building  Havelock  obtained  posses- 
sion for  his  own  purposes.  All  around  the  cham- 
ber were  smaller  images  of  Boodh,  in  the  usual 
position,  sitting  with  their  legs  gathered  up  and 
crossed,  and  the  hands  resting  on  the  lap,  in  symbol 
and  expression  of  repose.  No  great  changes  were 
necessary  to  prepare  the  place  for  Christian  service. 
It  needed  no  ceremonial  exorcising  to  make  it  fit 
either  for  psalmody  or  prayer.  Abominable  idola- 
tries had  been  witnessed  there  beyond  all  doubt,  but 
no  sacerdotal  purifications  were  requisite  ere  adora- 
tion of  the  true  God  could  be  offered,  and  service 
well-pleasing  to  him,  through  Jesus  Christ.  Have- 
lock remembered  well  that  ^  neither  in  this  moun- 
tain nor  yet  at  Jerusalem  '  were  men  to  worship  the 
Father  now.  To  the  true  worshippers  any  place 
might  become  a  place  for  worship.  Even  the  pa- 
goda of  Shivey  Dagoon  might  be  none  otiier  than 
the  house  of  God  and  the  gate  of  heaven.  Accord- 
ingly it  was  announced  that  that  would  be  the  place 


2l(j  heni:y  havelock. 

of  meeting.  An  officer  relates  that,  as  lie  was  wan- 
dering round  about  the  pagoda  on  one  occasion,  he 
heard  the  sound,  strange  enough  as  he  thought,  of 
sinjrinjr.  He  listened,  and  found  that  it  was  cer- 
tainly  psalm  singing.  He  determined  to  follow  the 
sound  to  its  source,  and  started  for  the  purpose.  At 
length  he  readied  the  chamber,  and  what  should 
meet  his  eye  but  Havelock,  with  his  Bible  and 
hymn-book  before  him,  and  more  than  a  hundred 
men  seated  around  him  giving  earnest  heed  to  his 
proclamation  to  them  of  the  glad  tidings  of  great 
joy.  How  had  they  got  their  light  by  which  to 
read,  for  the  place  was  in  dark  shade?  They  had 
obtained  lamps  for  the  purpose,  and  putting  them 
in  order,  had  lit  them  and  placed  them  one  by  one 
in  an  idol's  lap.  There  they  were,  those  dumb  but 
significant  lamp-bearers,  in  constant  use;  and  they 
were  there,  we  may  be  well  assured,  to  suggest  stir- 
ring thoughts  to  the  lieutenant  and  his  men.  How 
well  the  115th  Psalm  would  be  understood  there! 
How  impressively  some  parts  of  the  1st  chapter  of 
the  Eomans  would  be  explained !  How  earnestly 
the  prayer  would  be  offered  that  the  Burmese  might 
be  induced,  through  the  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
to  cast  tliese  and  all  other  idols  to  the  moles  and  to 
the  bats !  How  gratefully  would  thanksgiving  be 
offered  that  He  who  is  our  God  is  the  God  of  sal- 
vation, the  God  and  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ!" 

From  the  period  of  his  arrival  in  India  to  his  re- 


PROMOTION  AND  SERVICE.  217 

turn  to  Britain,  in  consequence  of  ill  liealtli,  Have- 
lock  saw  an  extraordinary  amount  of  active  service, 
throughout  which  he  displayed  on  all  occasions  the 
highest  military  skill,  consistently  maintaining  at 
the  same  time  that  devout  and  religious  spirit  for 
which  he  was  so  remarkable.  It  was,  however, 
only  after  serving  twenty-three  years  as  a  subaltern 
that  he  obtained  his  captaincy.  This  promotion 
was  followed  by  other  steps.  He  gained  the  rank 
of  Major  and  the  Cross  of  Companion  of  the  Bath 
in  1843  ;  in  the  following  year  he  was  promoted  to 
the  rank  of  Lieutenant-Colonel  by  brevet ;  in  1 855 
he  became  Adjutant-General  to  the  Forces ;  and 
was  Brigadier-General  in  1857. 

The  name  of  General  Havelock  is  imperishably 
associated  with  the  exploits  of  the  British  forces 
during  the  rebellion  in  India.  In  the  numerous 
battles  in  which  his  troops  were  engaged  prior  to 
the  capture  of  Cawnpore  and  the  relief  of  Luck- 
now,  he  displayed  an  amount  of  military  skill  and 
personal  heroism  which  places  him  on  a  level  with 
the  most  illustrious  generals  either  of  ancient  or 
modern  times ;  but  for  the  many  striking  incidents 
which  occurred,  and  in  which  this  distinguished 
hero  took  an  active  part,  we  must  refer  our  readers 
to  those  works  which  give  in  detail  the  history  of 
the  frightful  occurrences  which  marked  the  progress 
of  the  rebellion. 

After  removing  from  Lucknow  with  the  garrison 
which  he  had  been  instrumental  in  delivering  from 
2  E 


218  HENRY  HAVELOCK. 

the  imminent  peril  in  wliich  they  were  placed, 
General  Ilavelock  felt  seriously  indisposed.  It  is 
not  improbable  that  he  may  have  been  ill  during  the 
tremendous  conflict,  or  rather  series  of  conflicts 
with  the  enemy,  which  preceded  his  entrance  into 
the  besieged  Residency,  and  that  the  excitement 
kept  him  from  feeling  himself  ill,  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  a  soldier  wounded  amidst  the  wild  tumult  of 
the  fight  scarcely  feels  the  hurt.  Beyond  doubt, 
too,  the  fatigue  and  the  privation,  and  the  mental 
pressure  he  had  endured,  could  hardly  fail  to  injure 
one  whose  general  health  a  long  residence  in  a  hot 
climate  had  deteriorated.  The  symptoms  which 
appeared  were  those  of  indigestion  and  dysentery, 
and  for  a  short  time,  under  careful  medical  treat- 
ment, there  seemed  to  be  some  degree  of  improve- 
ment. In  a  letter,  dated  November  the  19th,  which 
he  wrote  to  his  family  whom  he  had  left  at  Bonn, 
he  refers  to  his  elevation  to  the  Commandership 
of  the  Bath,  to  the  wound  his  son  had  received, 
and  other  matters  of  interest.  This  was  his  last 
letter.  In  order  to  his  improvement,  he  was  re- 
moved for  change  of  air  from  Alum  Bagh  to  Sir 
Colin  Campbell's  camp  at  the  Dilkoosha.  This 
change  was  productive  of  much  comfort,  and  even 
of  improvement,  in  the  symptoms  of  his  complaint. 
But  the  improvement  was  not  permanent,  and  the 
disease  soon  assumed  a  malignant  form,  the  result 
of  which  in  his  reduced  condition  could  no  longer 
be  doubtful. 


SUPPORT  IN  SICKNESS.  219 

The  divine  principles  which  had  been  his  guide 
through  life  did  not  prove  unavailing  now  in  the  hour 
of  his  extremity.  It  had  been  his  continual  effort  to 
discharge  the  duties  of  his  station  from  the  highest  of 
all  motives — the  constraining  influence  of  the  love 
of  God;  and  the  same  principles  which  enabled 
him  to  give  obedience  to  the  demands  of  duty  also 
effectually  aided  him  to  submit  to  the  divine  will 
by  suffering  patiently.  "  The  23d  passed,"  to  quote 
from  a  biographical  sketch  of  his  life,  "  in  the  calm- 
est submission  to  the  Lord's  will.  Every  faculty 
was  active,  and  every  sensibility  of  his  nature  in 
fullest  power.  No  mere  indifference  was  upon  him. 
It  was  not  because  he  did  not  choose  to  realise  his 
position  that  he  contrived  to  be  at  peace.  He  knew 
that  he  was  about  to  make  the  great  transition  from 
the  life  that  now  is  to  that  which  is  to  come.  He 
remembered  his  unworthiness  of  all  God's  favours. 
He  was  actually  conscious,  as  he  was  lying  there 
in  his  prostration,  of  his  personal  desert  of  banish- 
ment from  God.  But  then  he  was  in  Christ ;  and, 
being  there,  it  was  impossible  he  should  perish. 
He  must  needs  have  everlasting  life.  His  illus- 
trious companion.  Sir  James  Outram,  having  called, 
he  thought  it  right  to  say  to  him  what  was  then 
upon  his  mind.  '  For  more  than  forty  years,'  was 
his  remark  to  Sir  James, — '  for  more  than  forty 
years  I  have  so  ruled  my  life  that  when  death  came 
I  might  face  it  without  fear.'  Often  had  they  faced 
it  together,  even  during  that  recent  memorable  ad- 


220  HENRY  HAVELOCK. 

vance  for  the  relief  of  Lucknow.  There,  however, 
God  had  averted  it ;  but  here  it  was  present  in  all 
its  ]wwer,  and  must  be  met.  '  So  be  it,'  was  the 
imperturbed  response  of  Outram's  comrade ;  '  I  am 
not  In  the  least  afraid.  To  die  is  gain.'  '  I  die 
happy  and  contented,'  he  kept  on  saying,  knowing 
wliom  he  had  believed,  and  persuaded  that  he  was 
able  to  keep  what  he  had  committed  to  him  until 
that  day.  On  tlie  24th  his  end  was  obviously  near 
at  hand.  His  eldest  son  was  still  his  loving  and 
faithful  nurse,  himself,  it  should  be  remembered,  a 
wounded  man,  and  specially  needing  kindly  care. 
AValtIng  on  his  father  with  unflagging  and  womanly 
assiduity,  he  was  summoned  to  hearken  to  some 
parting  words.  '  Come,'  said  the  disciple  thus  faith- 
ful unto  death-  'come,  my  son,  and  see  how  a 
Christian  can  die.'  On  the  25th  a  grave  was  pre- 
})ared  for  his  remains  in  the  Alum  Bagh,  and  Sir 
Colin  Campbell,  with  his  sorrowing  comrades,  who 
had  followed  him  through  so  many  vicissitudes, 
burled  him  out  of  sight,  in  sure  and  certain  hope 
of  the  resurrection  unto  eternal  life." 


HEDLEY  VICARS. 

The  amiable  young  soldier,  to  whose  short  and 
simple  history  we  are  now  to  turn,  was  the  son  of 
an  officer  in  the  Royal  Engineers,  and  was  born  at 
Mauritius  in  December  1826.  The  history  of  his 
early  days  exhibits  nothing  very  remarkable.  He 
was  open-hearted  and  generous,  and  although  pos- 
sessed of  much  sweetness  of  disposition,  yet  some- 
what playful  and  wayward,  not  more  so,  however, 
than  boys  usually  are,  who,  without  any  special 
love  of  mischief,  are  in  good  health,  and  conse- 
quently in  high  spirits.  But  the  amiability  and 
gentleness  of  his  disposition,  and  the  natural  strength 
and  vigour  of  his  moral  sentiments,  as  exemplified 
in  the  warmth  of  his  affections,  as  a  son,  a  brother, 
and  a  friend,  all  point  him  out  as  one  in  whose  heart 
the  seed  of  divine  truth  would  find  an  appropriate 
soil  in  which  to  spring  up  and  bear  fruit. 

Having  obtained  a  commission  in  the  army,  Mr 
Vicars  commenced  his  military  career  in  the  spring 
of  184-4,  by  joining  the  depot  of  the  97th  Foot,  in 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  in  the  autumn  of  the  same 
year  proceeding  with  his  regiment  to  Corfu.  From 
Europe  the  corps  was  ordered  to  Jamaica  in  1848. 
The  correspondence  he  kept  up  during  this  period 
with  his  mother  and  sisters  is  highly  interesting, 


222  HEDLEY  VICARS. 

and  evinces  a  most  amiable  and  affectionate  spirit. 
It  appears  that  he  had  incurred  some  debt  before 
proceeding  to  the  West  Indies,  and  although  the 
amount  was  not  great,  he  fancied  that  the  anxiety 
caused  by  the  circumstance  affected  his  mother's 
health,  and  he  thus  writes,  expressing  his  sincere 
regret  and  penitence : — ^*  I  see  it  all  now.  It  is  I 
that  have  caused  your  illness,  my  darling  mother. 
Ever  since  the  receipt  of  your  last  letter  I  have  been 
in  a  dreadful  state  of  mind.  I  feel  that  I  deserve 
God's  severest  punishment  for  my  undutiful  con- 
duct towards  the  fondest  of  mothers,  but  the  excru- 
ciating thought  had  never  before  occurred  to  me,  that 
He  might  think  fit  to  remove  her  from  me.  Oh,  what 
agony  I  have  endured  !  what  sleepless  nights  I  have 
passed,  since  the  perusal  of  that  letter !  The  re- 
view of  my  past  life,  especially  the  retrospect  of  the 
last  two  years,  has  at  last  quite  startled  me,  and  at 
tlie  same  time  disg-usted  me.  You  will  now  see  the 
surest  sign  of  repentance  in  my  future  conduct  j  and 
believe  me,  that  never,  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  shall 
another  moment's  anxiety  be  caused  you  by  your 
dutiful  and  now  repentant  son." 

At  this  period  of  his  history  it  does  not  appear 
that  any  very  serious  impressions  as  to  divine 
things  had  been  made  upon  his  mind ;  but  of  this 
there  can  be  no  doubt,  that  the  deep  and  bitter  re- 
gret he  felt  for  having  caused  his  mother  pain  and 
anxiety,  was  a  sentiment  intimately  allied  to  that 
"  repentance  unto  life "  by  which   an   awakened 


KELIGIOUS  SENTIMENTS.  223 

sinner  mourns  bis  transgressions  before  God,  seeks 
to  be  forgiven,  and  forms  resolutions  of  future 
amendment. 

Tbe  letter  from  wbicb  the  foregoing  extract  is 
made  was  written  in  1848.  The  spirit  which  it 
breathes  still  continued  to  animate  him,  and  in  his 
correspondence  during  the  two  following  years  we 
may  trace  the  gradual  strengthening  of  his  religious 
sentiments.  In  an  affectionate  letter  to  his  mother, 
written  in  1849,  the  following  passage  indicates 
this  : — ''  I  must  now  tell  you  of  the  death  of  a  bro- 
ther officer.  Lieutenant  Bindon.  He  died  on  the 
13th  of  May,  at  about  five  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Poor  fellow,  his  was  a  short  but  painful  illness.  I 
remember  when  I  went  into  his  room  the  sun  was 
shining  brightly  through  the  windows,  the  birds 
were  singing  cheerily,  and  the  merry  laugh  of  the 
light-hearted  soldiers  (plainly  audible  from  their 
barracks)  grated  harshly  on  my  ear.  He  was  dead! 
Looking  at  his  meek  and  placid  face,  calm  and  un- 
ruffled, I  could  hardly  believe  that  I  was  not  gaz- 
ing on  the  living  man.  But,  alas!  his  soul  had 
fled.  He  was  a  robust  and  stalwart-looking  man, 
about  twenty-four  years  of  age.  With  God's  help 
I  tmst  I  have  learned  a  lesson  and  a  warning  from 
his  sudden  death.  He  was  buried  the  same  even- 
ing in  the  small  graveyard  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  as 
you  enter  the  cantonmeit.  I,  as  senior  subaltern, 
had  command  of  the  firing  party.  When  we  ar- 
rived, the  twilight  was  fast  verging  into  darkness, 


224  HEDLEY  VICARS. 

and  the  funeral  service  ^Yas  read  by  the  light  of  a 
cindle.  Tliis  is  soon  over,  and  then  all  retire  from 
the  grave  except  myself  and  armed  party  of  forty 
men.  We  then  gave  three  volleys — the  rolling 
echoes  are  still  reverberating  when  the  earth  is 
tlirown  in — and  all  is  over.  Such  has  been  the 
melanclioly  end  of  my  poor  friend  and  messmate. 
I  was  deeply  affected,  and  could  not  restrain  my 
tears  all  the  time.  I  felt  my  voice  choked  when  I 
gave  tlie  command,  '  Fire  three  volleys  in  the 
air.'  " 

In  another  letter  the  following  year  he  again  in- 
dicates the  seriousness  and  solemnity  of  those  de- 
vout sentiments  which  had  been  so  distinctly  awak- 
ened:— "A  poor  gunner  of  the  Royal  Artillery 
died  last  niglit.  His  remains  are  to  be  buried  to- 
day. While  I  write,  I  hear  the  Dead  March,  and 
now  the  funeral  party  are  winding  their  way  to  the 
graveyard,  the  muffled  drum  and  shrill  fife  calling 
forth  the  soldiers  from  their  barracks  to  see  their 
lately  gay  and  laughing  comrade  borne  to  his  last 
resting-place.  AVho  amongst  them  can  tell  which 
shall  be  next  ?  Little  they  care,  poor  fellows.  The 
sound  of  their  meiTy  laughter  will  soon  be  heard 
again,  as  unsubdued  as  ever.  I  hope,  my  dear 
mother,  that  these  warnings  will  have  a  salutary 
effect  upon  me.  Those  have  lately  been  carried  off 
whom  1  knew,  and  who  (li'vc  myself)  thought  little 
of  death,  until  he  knocked  at  their  own  door,  and 
beckoned  tliem  to  come  away — where  f  " 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  SALVATIOX.  225 

It  was  not  long  before  this  dawn  of  the  clivii)e 
light — this  ''day-spring  from  on  high" — was  suc- 
ceeded by  the  "  perfect  day,"  and  the  ''  Sun  ot 
Highteousness "  arose  in  full  splendour  upon  his 
soul.  The  work  of  divine  grace  had  been  making 
sure  but  gradual  progress,  altliough  the  subject  of 
it  himself  was  scarcely  conscious  of  its  influence, 
when  suddenly  he  received  a  new  impulse,  which 
gave  a  decided  form  to  his  hitherto  comparatively 
imperfect  religious  impressions.  '"  It  was  in  the 
month  of  November  1851,"  says  his  biograj^her, 
''  that,  whilst  awaiting  the  return  of  a  brother  officer 
to  his  room,  he  idly  turned  over  the  leaves  of  a 
Bible  which  lay  on  the  table.  The  words  caught 
his  eye,  '  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  his  Son  cleans- 
eth  us  from  all  sin.'  Closing  the  book,  he  said, '  If 
this  be  true  for  me,  henceforth  I  will  live,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  as  a  man  should  live  v/ho  has  been 
washed  in  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ.'  That  night 
he  scarcely  slept,  pondering  in  his  heart  whether  it 
were  presumptuous  or  not  to  claim  an  interest  in 
those  words.  During  those  wakeful  hours,  he  was 
watched,  we  cannot  doubt,  with  deep  and  loving  in- 
terest, by  One  who  never  slumbereth  nor  sleepeth  ; 
and  it  was  said  of  him  in  heaven, '  Behold,  he  pray- 
eth ! '  In  answer  to  those  prayers,  he  was  enabled 
to  believe,  as  he  rose  in  the  morning,  that  the  mes- 
sage of  peace  teas  '  true  for  him,' — '  a  faithful  say- 
ing, and  worthy  of  all  acceptation.'  '  The  past,'  he 
fcaid,  '  then  is  blotted  out.  What  I  have  to  do  is  to 
2f 


ooj;  IIKDLEY  VIC'AKS. 

g(j  forward.  1  cannot  return  to  the  sins  from  which 
my  Saviour  has  cleansed  me  with  his  own  blood.' 
An  impetus  was  now  given  in  a  new  direction,  of 
sufficient  force  to  last  till  the  race  was  run — until 
he  could  say  with  tlie  Apostle  Paul, '  I  have  fought 
a  good  fight,  I  have  finished  my  course,  I  have  kept 
the  faith.'  Tlicnceforth  lie  lived.  And  the  life  he 
now  lived  in  tlie  flesh,  he  lived  by  the  faith  of  the 
Son  of  God,  of  whom  he  delighted  to  say,  with  rea- 
lising faith  and  adoring  gratitude,  '  He  loved  me 
and  gave  himself  for  me.'  On  the  morning  which 
succeeded  that  memorable  night,  he  bought  a  large 
Bible,  and  placed  it  open  on  the  table  in  his  sitting- 
room,  determined  that  ^  an  open  Bible,'  for  the  fu- 
ture, should  be  ^  his  colours.'  '  It  was  to  speak  for 
me,'  he  said,  '  before  I  was  strong  enough  to  speak 
for  myself.'  His  friends  came  as  usual  to  his  rooms, 
and  did  not  altogether  fancy  the  new  colours.  One 
remarked,  that  he  had  turned  Methodist,'  and,  with 
a  shrug,  retreated.  Another  ventured  on  the  bolder 
measure  of  warning  him  not  to  become  a  hypocrite : 
'  Bad  as  you  were,  I  never  thought  you  would  come 
to  tlii.=!,  old  fellow.'  So,  for  the  most  part,  for  a 
time,  his  quarters  were  deserted  by  his  late  com- 
panions. During  six  or  seven  months  he  had  to  en- 
counter no  slight  opposition  at  mess,  '  and  had  hard 
work,'  as  he  said, '  to  stand  his  ground.'  But  the  pro- 
mise did  notfail/The  righteous  shall  hold  on  his  way, 
and  he  that  Jtath  dean  hands  shall  wax  stronger  and 
Btronger.'     All  this  time  he  found  gi-eat  comfort  in 


HIS  DEVOUT  PURPOSES.  227 

the  society  of  a  few  brother  officers  who  were  walk- 
ing with  God,  but  especially  in  the  faithful  preaching 
of  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  by  Dr  Twining,  Gar- 
rison Chaplain  at  Halifax,  and  in  the  personal  friend- 
ship of  that  man  of  God,  which  he  enjoyed  uninter- 
ruptedly from  that  time  until  the  day  of  his  death. 
Under  so  deep  an  obligation  did  he  consider  himself 
to  Dr  Twining,  that  he  frequently  referred  to  him 
as  his  spiritual  father ;  and,  to  his  scriptural  preach- 
ing and  teaching,  and  blessed  example  of  ^  walk- 
ing with  God,'  may  doubtless  be  traced,  under  the 
mighty  working  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  those  clear 
and  happy  views  of  religion,  and  that  consistency 
and  holiness  of  life,  which  succeeded  his  conver- 
sion." 

The  following  letter  to  his  sister,  written  in  April 
1852,  clearly  evinces  the  reality  and  completeness 
of  the  spiritual  change  which  had  now  taken  place: 
— ''  My  darling  Mary, — I  am  going  on  much  in  the 
same  manner  as  usual,  with  nothing  to  disturb  the 
even  tenor  of  my  w^ay.  But  no ;  I  must  correct 
myself  here,  for  I  trust  that  I  have  really  turned 
over  a  new  leaf,  and  that  my  heart  is  gradually  but 
surely  undergoing  a  purifying  process.  I  have  been 
fighting  hard  against  sin.  I  mean,  not  only  what 
the  world  understands  by  that  term,  but  against 
the  power  of  it  in  my  heart :  the  conflict  has  been 
severe :  it  is  so  still ;  but  I  trust,  by  the  help  of 
God,  that  I  shall  finally  obtain  the  mastery.  What 
I  pray  for  most  constantly  is,  that  I  may  be  en- 


228  IIEDLEY  VICARS. 

cabled  to  see  more  clearly  the  wicked  state  of  my 
heart  by  nature,  and  thus  to  feel  my  greater  need 
of  an  Almighty  Saviour.  You  cannot  imagine 
what  doubts  and  torments  assail  my  mind  at  times 
— how  torn  and  harassed  I  am  by  sinful  thoughts 
and  want  of  faith.  You,  Mary,  can  never  experi- 
ence my  feelings,  for  you  know  not  in  what  a  sinful 
state  my  life  has  been  passed.  Well  may  I  call 
myself  '  the  chief  of  sinners  !  '  I  sometimes  even 
add  to  my  sins,  by  doubting  the  efficacy  of  Christ's 
atonement,  and  the  cleansing  power  of  his  precious 
blood  to  wash  away  my  sins.  Oh,  that  I  could  re- 
alise to  myself  more  fully  that  his  blood  ^  cleansetli 
us  from  all  sin.'  I  was  alwaj^s  foremost  and  daring 
enough  in  sin.  Would  that  I  could  show  the  same 
spirit  in  the  cause  of  religion ;  would  that  1  felt  as 
little  fear  of  being  called  and  thought  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian, as  I  used  to  feel  of  being  enlisted  against 
Christianity  ! 

.'Am  I  a  soldier  of  the  Cross, 
A  follower  cf  the  Lamb: 

And  shall  I  fear  to  own  his  cause, 
Or  blush  to  speak  his  narac  1 ' 

I  trust  I  am  beginning  to  see  and  feel  the  folly  and 
vanity  of  the  world  and  all  its  pleasures,  and  that 
I  have  at  length  entered  the  strait  gate,  and  am 
travelling  the  narrow  road  that  leadeth  unto  eternal 
life.  1  trust  you  will  not  consider  me  a  confirmed 
egotist,  for  writing  so  much  of  myself.  I  have 
done  so,  because  I  thought  you  would  like  to  hear 
how  changed  I  am  become.     I  trust,  dearest,  that 


HIS  PERSONAL  PIETY.  229 

your  heart  has  been  changed,  long  before  mine  was 
touched.  Let  us  both  remember  that  we  can  cTo  no 
good  thing  of  ourselves,  for  it  is  the  Lord  alone 
who  worketh  in  us  both  to  will  and  do  of  his  good 
pleasure.  Let  us  not  trast  in  our  own  righteous- 
ness, which  is  but  as  '  filthy  rags,'  but  let  us  trust 
entirely  in  the  merits  and  blood  of  our  blessed  Sa- 
viour. I  never  can  sufficiently  show  my  gi*atitudc 
to  God,  who  has  shown  such  long-suffering  forbear- 
ance towards  me — who  has  spared  me  through  so 
many  scenes  of  sin  and  folly.  Summer  has  begun 
to  change  the  face  of  nature,  and  everything  is  look- 
ing green  and  lovely.  I  took  a  delightful  walk  into 
the  country  yesterday  evening  —  the  first  time  I 
ever  enjoyed  the  blessed  sense  of  communion  with 
God.  But  when  I  came  home  it  had  all  fled,  and 
left  me  in  a  disturbed  and  restless  state  of  mind ; 
my  summer  heart  of  warmth  and  love  had  changed 
back  into  its  natural  state  of  winter — cold  and  dead! 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  poor  Lieutenant  J is  in 

a  very  precarious  state ;  even  if  he  recovers,  he  will 
never  have  the  use  of  his  leg.  I  go  sometimes  to 
sit  with  him,  and  endeavour  to  bring  to  his  mind 
the  things  which  belong  to  his  everlasting  peace. 
He  said  to  me  one  day,  'Vicars,  tell  me,  do  you 
really  feel  happier  now  than  you  did  !  '  Poor  fel- 
low, he  is  in  a  very  desponding  state  of  mind.  I 
generally  spend  four  or  five  hours  each  day,  when 
not  on  duty,  in  reading  the  Bible,  and  meditation 
and  prayer,  and  take  a  walk  every  afternoon  for  a 


230  IIEDLEY  VICARS. 

couple  of  hours.  I  am  longing  to  see  you  all  again, 
but  I  do  not  know  when  I  shall  be  able.  Write  soon, 
and  tell  me  how  you  all  are  getting  on,  especially 
how  my  darling  mother  is.  Is  she  looking  ill? 
Does  she  get  out  every  day  ?  Do  not  you  think 
that  the  summer  will  make  her  better?  Give  my 
fond  love  to  her.  I  will  write  to  her  by  the  next 
mail,  please  God.  Pray  for  me,  and  believe  me,  I 
never  forget  to  pray  for  you  all  How  little  we  do 
to  show  our  love  for  that  Saviour  who  agonised  on 
the  cross  for  our  sakes  !  I  cannot  close  my  letter 
better  than  by  beseeching  him  to  give  us  his  Holy 
Spirit,  to  draw  our  hearts  above  this  world,  to  look 
to  the  Saviour  with  the  eye  of  faith." 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  his  diary.  It 
exhibits  an  accurate  view  of  tlie  ground  of  his  faith 
and  hope.  It  is  deeply  interesting  to  observe  how 
thoroughly  he  had  realised  the  great  doctrine  of  the 
atonement : — "  I  have  got  over  some  rough  ground 
since  I  was  first  led  to  seek  after  happiness,  where 
alone  it  can  be  found — in  the  religion  of  Jesus.  I 
have  had  to  battle  much  against  the  temptations  of 
the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil;  but,  though 
often  on  the  point  of  giving  up  the  struggle  in  de- 
spair, the  goodness,  the  long-suffering,  the  won- 
drous loving-kindness  of  my  God  liave  guarded  and 
watched  over  me,  and  kept  me  from  falling  utterly 
away  from  him.  Oh,  what  cause  have  I  to  give 
him  most  humble  and  hearty  thanks  for  all  his 
goodness  towards  me !     When  I  look  back  on  mv 


HIS  RELIGIOUS  VIEWS.  231 

past  life,  nearly  six-and-twenty  years,  I  see  nothing 
but  an  accumulation  of  transgression  and  sin.  Oh, 
my  soul,  let  me  remember  with  disgust  and  horror 
that  for  nearly  five-and-twenty  years  I  was  a  will- 
ing servant  of  Satan.  What  aggravates  my  wick- 
edness is,  that  it  has  been  all  committed  in  spite  of 
the  advice  and  warnings  of  a  truly  Christian  mo- 
ther, and  how  often  I  have  silenced  the  voice  of 
conscience.  But  why  dwell  any  more  on  a  life 
which  has  been  wasted?  Why  bring  up  the  re- 
membrance of  sins,  each  one  of  which  would  have 
murdered  my  soul,  had  I  died  in  the  act  of  com- 
mission ?  I  do  it  that  they  may  humble  and  pro- 
strate me  in  the  dust  before  that  holy  God  who  has 
said,  '  The  soul  that  sinneth  it  shall  die.'  I  ac- 
knowledge, O  my  God,  that  hell  is  only  my  desert 
— that  were  I  ever  consigned  to  its  abode,  it  would 
be  but  a  just  recompense  for  my  transgressions. 
Let  me  ever  keep  in  mind,  that,  if  I  am  saved,  it 
must  be  entirely  and  solely  through  divine  mercy 
in  Christ  Jesus.  Were  I  to  be  judged  according 
to  my  works,  1  should  be  justly  condemned.  But 
thanks  be  to  God  for  the  gift  of  his  precious  Word, 
which  reveals  his  wondrous  love  in  sending  his  only 
begotten  Son  into  the  world  to  die  for  sinners. 
There  I  read  that  Jesus  Christ  was  crucified  for  me; 
that  he  bore  in  his  own  body  all  my  sins ;  that  his 
blood  cleanseth  from  all  sin ;  that  he  has  paid  the 
penalty  due  to  sin ;  that  he  has  satisfied  God's  in- 
tense hatred  towards  sin.     Had  my  salvation  de- 


232  HEDLEY  VICARS. 

pendecl  upon  keeping  the  law,  I  should  be  without 
hope,  for  I  have  broken  it  thousands  of  times.  But 
through  this  man,  the  Lord  Jesus,  is  preached  the 
forgiveness  of  sins,  and  they  that  believe  are  justi- 
fied from  all  things.  Oh,  then,  let  me  close  with 
God's  free  offer  of  salvation  to  all,  ^  Believe  on  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  thou  shalt  be  saved.'  Let 
me  look  to  Christ  as  my  righteousness,  sanctifi- 
cation,  and  redemption.  Let  me  lay  aside  every 
weight,  and  the  sin  which  doth  so  easily  beset  me, 
and  let  me  run  with  patience  the  race  set  before  me, 
looking  unto  Jesus,  the  author  and  finisher  of  my 
faith,  working  out  my  own  salvation  with  fear  and 
trembling,  remembering  that  it  is  God  that  work- 
eth  in  me  to  will  and  to  do  of  his  good  pleasure.  I 
would  from  this  day  give  up  the  remainder  of  my 
life  to  the  service  of  God.  I  will  keep  on  this  diary, 
that  I  may  be  able  to  trace  the  progress  I  make  in 
the  Christian  life,  and  I  will  faithfully  put  down 
everything.  I  will  draw  up  some  rules,  to  enable 
me  the  better  to  devote  some  portion  of  each  day  to 
God's  service.  By  these  I  will  be  guided  while  I 
remain  in  Halifax." 

]Mr  Yicars  returned  to  England  with  his  regi- 
ment in  May  1853,  and  in  the  following  year  ac- 
companied it  to  Greece,  and  thence  to  tlie  Crimea. 
His  conduct  on  his  return  home  evinced  in  a  strik- 
ing manner  the  simplicity  and  sincerity  of  his  faith. 
No  true  disciple  of  tlie  Redeemer  can  fail  to  desire 
and  labour  to  advance  his  Master's  cause.     The 


CONDUCT   IX  PERIL.  2/53 

gratitude  he  feels  for  tlie  mercy  sliown  to  himself, 
impels  him  to  endeavour  to  bring  others  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  truth.  He  exemplifies  the  apos- 
tle's words:  ''If  God  so  loved  us,  we  ought  also  to 
love  one  another."  These  principles  Mr  Vicars' 
conduct  strikingly  illustrated.  The  delight  he  had 
in  holding  communion  with  those  of  a  like  devout 
spirit ;  his  earnest  addresses  to  the  soldiers  on  va- 
rious occasions ;  his  fervent  prayers  with  them  ;  his 
efforts  to  promote  vital  religion  in  the  army ;  the 
tender  and  affectionate  spirit  he  manifested  to  the 
poor,  the  sick,  the  dying, — all  united  to  prove  the 
completeness  of  the  change  he  had  undergone,  and 
how  truly  he  had  been  ''  born  again."  While  in 
Greece,  before  proceeding  to  the  seat  of  war,  his  re- 
giment suffered  much  from  fever  and  cholera.  Dur- 
ing the  whole  of  tliese  dreadful  visitations — far  more 
trying  and  severe  than  the  field  of  battle — Mr 
Vicars  was  a  constant  visitor  at  the  hospitals,  ex- 
posing himself  fearlessly  to  the  contagion,  and  at 
the  bedside  of  the  sick  and  dying  administering  the 
comfort  he  himself  so  eminently  enjoyed. 

On  joining  the  army  before  Sebastopol  other 
duties  awaited  him,  but,  amidst  all  the  danger  and 
suffering  to  which  he  was  exposed,  the  fountain 
from  which  he  drew  his  consolation  was  never  un- 
visited,  and  there  never  was  a  better  proof  than  that 
which  he  afforded,  of  the  perfect  compatibility  of 
the  sincerest  piety  towards  God,  and  the  tenderest 
charity  towards  man,  with  the  utmost  personal  he- 
2g 


234  HEDLEY  VICARS. 

roisiri,  and  the  most  unflinching  courage.  A  few 
extracts  from  his  letters,  written  from  the  camp  be- 
fore Sebastopol,  avIII  afford  evidence  of  this ;  they 
are  addressed  to  his  mother  or  his  sisters : — "  We 
had  delightful  weather  while  sailing  up  the  Bos- 
phorus ;  the  scenery  was  charming,  but  the  large 
white  hospital  at  vScutari  gave  me  rather  a  sicken- 
ing feeling  at  my  heart.  In  the  Black  Sea  we  en- 
countered very  stormy  weather,  but  came  all  safe 
in  sight  of  the  Crimea  on  the  afternoon  of  the  19th, 
and  the  same  night  anchored  in  a  small  bay.  The 
sea  was  covered  with  floating  pieces  of  wrecked 
vessels,  many  ships  having  been  lost  off  the  coast 
but  a  few  days  before ;  and  some  of  our  fellows 
saw  dead  bodies  floating  about.  The  harbour  of 
Balaklava  is  very  small,  and  the  entrance  narrow. 
Here  about  a  hundred  sail  were  anchored  side  by 
side,  all  of  them  more  or  less  damaged,  some  en- 
tirely dismasted.  We  did  not  go  on  shore  till 
the  evening  of  the  20th.  The  rain  poured  in 
torrents  all  day.  We  landed  in  boats,  and  were 
well  drenched  before  we  reached  The  encamping 
ground,  and  looked  more  like  drowned  rats  than 
live  soldiers.  It  was  dark  before  the  ':ents  were 
pitched.  Parties  were  at  once  sent  out  to  collect 
firewood,  the  wrecked  vessels  furnishing  us  with 
ample  materials.  Soon,  camp-fires  were  blazing  in 
all  directions,  and  officers  and  men  gathered  round 
them  to  dry  their  clothes  and  warm  themselves,  for 
the  nights  here  arc  bitterly  cold.     I  can  assure  you 


RELIGION  IN  THE  CAMP.  235 

I  enjoyed  some  clieese  and  biseuit  not  a  little.  But 
before  I  looked  after  myself  I  saw  my  company  as 
snug  and  comfortable  as  '  adverse  circumstances 
would  admit  of,'  and  afterwards  made  them  a  little 
speech  around  the  bivouac  fire,  combining,  as  well 
as  I  could,  some  religious  advice  with  a  few  words 
about  our  duties  as  British  soldiers,  and  ended  by 
saying,  '  Lads,  while  I  have  life  I  will  stick  to  the 
colours,  and  I  know  you  will  never  desert  me.'  (My 
position  in  line  is  next  to  the  officer  who  bears  the 
regimental  colours.)  The  poor  fellov/s  cheered  me 
long  and  loud.  I  have  had  very  little  trouble  with 
them — less  so  by  far  than  others  complain  of.  In- 
deed (though  I  Sciy  it,  that  should  not),  1  know 
they  like  me,  and  would  do  anything  for  me ;  and 
all  officers  who  treat  soldiers  like  men  with  the  same 
feelings  as  their  own,  and  take  an  interest  in  their 
welfare,  find  they  do  not  see  much  insubordination, 
nor  want  many  courts-martial.  Yet  I  am  very 
strict  with  my  men,  but  they  soon  get  accustomed 
to  this.  About  ten  o'clock  I  read  by  the  light  of 
my  first  bivouac  fire  Psalmis  xxiii.,  xc,  and  xci., 
with  Captain  Ingram,  and  derived  great  comfort 
and  peace  from  them. — Dec.  1. — I  have  just  re- 
turned from  another  nis-ht  in  the  trenches.  The 
rain  is  descending  in  torrents.  Last  night,  whilst 
standing  opposite  an  embrasure,  serving  out  to  my 
men  their  allowance  of  grog,  a  shell  whizzed  over 
ray  head  within  a  foot.  The  men  made  a  most 
humble  salaam,  but  i  soon  got  them  on  their  legs 


236  IIEDLEY  VICAHS. 

a<^^ain,  Lj  threatening  to  withhold  the  spirits.  Tlie 
enemy  gave  us  a  few  more  shots,  one  of  which  hit 
the  ground  so  near  as  to  send  the  gravel  into  my 
face.  The  accounts  of  the  Kussians  killing  our 
wounded  officers  and  men  are  too  true — confirmed 
by  all  here.  Poor  Sir  Robert  Xewman  was  left 
wounded  on  the  ground  during  the  temporary  re- 
treat of  his  regiment,  the  Grenadier  Guards  ;  when 
they  returned,  he  was  found  stabbed  through  the 
head  and  body  in  several  places.  I  saw  the  rude 
tablet  erected  over  his  grave  at  Balaklava.  These 
words  are  engraved  on  it — 'And  I  say  unto  you, 
my  friends,  Be  not  afraid  of  them  that  kill  the 
body,  and  after  that  have  no  more  that  they  can 
do.  But  I  will  forewarn  you  w^hom  ye  shall  fear : 
Fear  Him  which  after  He  hath  killed,  hath  power 
to  cast  into  hell ;  yea,  I  say  unto  you,  Fear  Him.' 
(Luke  xii.  4,  5.)  ^Ye  all  hope  soon  to  have  an  op- 
portunity of  thrashing  these  savages,  and  have  not 
a  doubt  we  shall  do  so  when  we  come  across  them. 
—Dec.  15.— On  picquet  the  other  night  I  was  look- 
ing up  at  the  bright  moon  and  stars,  thinking  of 
the  power  and  love  of  Him  who  made  them,  and  of 
the  star  in  the  east  which  '  came  and  stood  where 
the  young  child  lay,'  and  the  Saviour's  sorrows 
and  sufferings  from  Bethlehem  to  Calvary  passed 
in  review  before  my  mind.  .  .  This  afternoon, 
whilst  speaking  to  our  poc  kdlows  in  the  cholera 
hospital,  who  were  lying  c.-id  and  comfortless  on 
the  bare  grouiul,  rays  of  smisliine  seemed  to  illu- 


KELIGIOX  IN  THE  CAMT.  237 

mine  that  cliarnel  tent  as  I  brought  the  crucified 
Saviour  before  those  men,  for  tears  glistened  in 
many  an  eye,  and  the  smile  of  hope  and  peace  was 
on  many  a  lip.  I  feel  it  to  be  indeed  a  pleasure 
and  a  privilege  to  talk  to  my  sick  comrades  and 
fellow-sinners  of  Jesus ;  and  I  am  sure  that  they 
who  never  visit  the  suffering  and  dying  deprive 
themselves  of  the  deepest  happiness  this  life  affords. 
It  is  painful,  often  heartrending^  to  witness  agony 
we  cannot  alleviate ;  to  see  the  distorted  face  and 
hear  the  cry  of  anguish  of  friends  and  comrades. 
But  it  is  sweet  to  be  the  bearer  to  them  of  glad 
tidings  of  joy  and  peace  through  the  great  Ke- 
deemer's  atonement  and  love ;  and  to  see  some  of 
them  gently  falling  asleep  murmuring  the  life-restor- 
ing name  of  Jesus.  /  have  seen  these,  and  I  cannot 
find  words  to  tell  the  delight  of  hope  which  has  then 
filled  my  breast.'  .  .  On  March  22,  1855,  soon 
after  ten  o'clock  at  night,  a  loud  firing  commenced, 
and  was  sustained  in  the  direction  of  the  Victoria 
Redoubt,  opposite  the  Malakhoff  Tower.  Taking 
advantage  of  the  darkness  of  the  night,  a  Russian 
force  of  15,000  men  issued  from  Sebastopol.  Pre- 
serving a  sullen  silence,  they  approached  from  the 
Mamelon  under  cover  of  the  fire  of  their  ambuscades, 
and  effected  an  entrance  into  the  French  advanced 
parallel,  before  any  alarm  could  be  given  by  the 
sentries.  After  a  short  but  desperate  struggle,  the 
French  were  obliged  to  fall  back  on  their  reserves. 
The  columns  of  the  enemy  then  marched  along  the 


238  HEDLEY  VrCAKS. 

parallel,  and  came  up  tlie  ravine  on  the  right  of  the 
British  lines,  for  the  purpose  of  taking  them  in 
flank  and  rear.  On  their  approach  being  observed, 
they  were  supposed  to  be  the  French,  as  the  ravines 
separated  the  allied  armies.  Hedley  Vicars  was  the 
first  to  discover  that  they  were  Russians.  With  a 
coolness  of  judgment  wdiich  seems  to  have  called 
forth  admiration  from  all  quarters,  he  ordered  his 
men  to  lie  down  until  the  Eussians  came  w^ithin 
twenty  paces.  Then,  with  his  first  war-shout, 
^  Now  97th,  on  your  pins,  and  charge!'  himself 
foremost  in  the  conflict,  he  led  on  his  gallant  men 
to  victory,  charging  two  thousand  with  a  force  of 
barely  two  hundred.  A  bayonet  w^ound  in  the 
breast  only  fired  his  courage  the  more ;  and  again 
his  voice  rose  high,  *  Men  of  the  97th,  follow  me! ' 
as  he  leaped  that  parapet  he  had  so  well  defended, 
and  charged  the  enemy  dow^i  the  ravine.  One 
moment  a  struggling  moonbeam  fell  upon  his  flash- 
ing sword,  as  he  waved  it  through  the  air,  with  his 
last  cheer  for  his  men — '  This  w\ay,  97th ! '  The 
next,  the  strong  arm  which  had  been  uplifted  hung 
])0werles3  by  his  side,  and  he  fell  amidst  his  ene- 
mies. But  friends  followed  fast.  His  men  fought 
their  way  through  the  ranks  of  the  Russians,  to 
defend  the  parting  life  of  the  leader  they  loved. 
Koble,  brave  men !  to  w^hom  all  w^ho  loved  Hedley 
Vicars  owe  an  unforgotten  debt  of  gratitude  and 
honour.  In  their  arms  they  bore  him  back,  amidst 
shouts  of  victor}^,  so  dearly  bought.     An  officer  of 


HIS  DEATiT.  239 

the  Royal  Engineers  stopped  them  on  their  way,  to 
ask  whom  they  camcd.  Tlie  name  brought  back 
to  him  the  days  of  his  boyhood.  The  early  play- 
mate, since  unseen,  who  now  lay  dying  before  him, 
w^as  one  whose  father's  deathbed  had  been  attended 
and  comforted  by  his  own  father  as  minister  and 
friend.  Captain  Browne  found  a  stretcher,  and 
placing  his  friend  upon  it,  cooled  his  fevered  lips 
with  a  draught  of  w^ater.  That  '  cup  of  cold  water 
shall  in  no  wise  lose  its  reward.'  To  each  inquiry 
Hedley  Vicars  answered  cheerfully  that  he  believed 
his  wound  was  slight.  But  a  main  artery  had  been 
severed,  and  the  life-blood  flowed  fast.  A  few 
paces  onward,  and  he  faintly  said,  ^  Cover  my  face ; 
cover  my  face !  '  What  need  for  covering,  under 
the  shadow  of  that  dark  night  ?  Was  it  not  a  sud- 
den consciousness  that  he  w^as  entering  into  the 
presence  of  the  Holy  God,  before  w^hom  the  cheru- 
bims  veiled  their  faces  ?  As  the  soldiers  laid  him 
down  at  the  door  of  his  tent,  a  w^elcome  from  the 
armies  of  the  sky  sounded  in  his  hearing.  He  had 
fallen  asleep  in  Jesus,  to  aw^ake  up  after  his  like- 
ness, and  be  satisfied  w^ith  it," 


JAMES   WILSON. 

The  excellent  person  to  whose  history  we  now  refer, 
was  the  brother  of  the  celebrated  John  Wilson, 
Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  the  University  of 
Edinburgh,  and  for  many  years  Editor  of  "  Black- 
wood's Magazine."  He  was  born  in  Paisley,  in 
1795;  and  on  the  death  of  his  father,  who  was  a 
banker  and  manufacturer  in  his  native  town,  his 
mother  removed  to  Edinburgh,  where  James  Wil- 
son, after  passing  through  the  usual  course  of  study 
at  the  University,  entered  on  the  profession  of  law, 
as  a  Writer  to  His  Majesty's  Signet,  a  title  equi- 
valent to  that  of  an  Attorney-at-law  in  England. 
AVant  of  vigorous  health  for  some  years  rendered 
impossil)le  the  very  laborious  duties  of  his  profes- 
sion, and  he  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  iNatu- 
ral  History,  for  which  his  turn  of  mind,  and  his 
powers  of  accurate  and  minute  observation,  pecu- 
liarly fitted  him,  and  for  the  pursuit  of  which  he 
had  evinced  from  his  boyhood  a  remarkable  pre- 
dilection. The  celebrated  Jamieson,  Professor  of 
Natural  History  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh, 
admitted  him  a  member  of  the  Wernerian  Society 
in  1812,  when  he  was  only  in  his  seventeenth  year ; 
a  striking  evidence  of  the  impression  which  he  had 
made,  even  at  that  early  period  o^  life,  as  an  ardent 


VIISIT  TO  DELFT.  241 

admirer  and  zealous  cultivator  of  his  favourite 
science.  From  1816  to  1821,  Mr  Wilson,  in  conse- 
quence of  tlie  state  of  his  health,  spent  a  considerable 
portion  of  his  time  on  the  Continent,  and  visited 
Holland,  Germany,  Switzerland,  Sweden,  Italy,  and 
France,  occupying  himself,  as  opportunities  served, 
in  pursuing  his  favourite  studies.  Some  passages 
in  his  account  of  this  tour  are  highly  interesting, 
and  exhibit  very  considerable  powers  of  description. 
Referring  to  his  visit  to  Delft,  he  thus  writes : — 
*'  One  of  the  most  interesting  and  picturesque  fea- 
tures which  I  have  yet  witnessed  in  the  scenery  of 
Holland  is  the  appearance  of  the  storks  on  the 
chimney-tops,  preening  their  feathers,  and  feeding 
their  callow  young.  The  snowy  whiteness  of  their 
plumage,  and  their  elegant  and  stately  forms,  have 
a  fine  effect  amidst  the  confusion  of  a  populous  and 
bustling  city.  This  bird,  like  the  ibis  among  the 
ancient  Egyptians,  is  considered  sacred  by  the  Hol- 
landers. It  is  never  killed  or  disturbed,  however 
familiar  or  troublesome  it  may  prove,  and  that 
dwellina:  is  considered  as  fortunate  on  which  it 
chooses  to  take  up  its  abode.  The  young  are,  how- 
ever, sometimes  captured  and  sold  to  slavery,  which 
seems  in  some  degree  inconsistent  with  the  venera- 
tion which  is  paid  to  the  personal  dignity  of  the 
parent  bird.  I  am  told  that  they  observe  an  asto- 
nishing regularity  in  their  migrations  to  and  from 
the  country.  They  usually  make  their  appearance 
in  spring,  towards  the  end  of  March,  and  depart  in 
2  II 


242  JAMES  WILSON. 

the  autumn,  about  the  beginning  of  September. 
They  are  said  to  winter  in  Egypt  and  the  north  of 
Africa.  Yesterday  evening,  which  was  beautifully 
calm  and  serene,  when  the  sun  had  sunk,  and  dim 
twilight  overspread  the  land,  I  found  myself  alone 
in  a  clmrcliyard  :  not  a  voice  was  audible  to  disturb 
the  utter  solitude  and  silence  with  which  I  was  sur- 
rounded. A  soft  and  winnowing  sound  in  the  air 
suddenly  attracted  my  attention,  and  immediately 
a  beautiful  pair  of  storks  alighted  in  the  church- 
yard, within  a  few  paces  of  the  place  where  I  then 
stood.  It  was  a  mild  and  dewy  night,  and  they 
were  no  doubt  attracted  there  by  the  expectation  of 
a  plentiful  supper  on  the  slugs  and  insects  which 
might  have  left  their  hiding-places.  My  unex- 
pected presence,  however,  seemed  to  disturb  them ; 
for,  in  a  few  seconds,  they  mounted  to  the  steeple 
of  the  church,  where  they  sat,  uttering  their  wild 
and  singularly  plaintive  cries,  which  added  greatly 
to  those  impressions  of  loneliness  and  seclusion 
which  the  situation  tended  naturally  to  inspire. 
Besides  the  usual  note,  I  observed  these  birds  make 
a  singular  noise,  apparently  by  striking  the  two 
mandibles  of  the  bill  forcibly  against  each  other. 
This,  too,  in  the  silence  of  a  summer  night,  during 
which  it  is  usually  made,  and  when  heard  from  the 
top  of  some  lofty  cathedral — a  name  which  most  of 
the  churches  in  Holland  deserve  to  bear — produces 
a  fine  effect ;  and  is,  indeed,  in  my  mind,  already 
intimately  connected  with  those  undelinable  sensa- 


HABITS  OF  THE  STOJJK.  2Vc\ 

tloiis,  tlie  remnants  as  it  were  of"  the  superstitions  of 
our  infancy,  which,  1  believe,  most  men  experience 
while  wandering  alone  and  in  darkness,  among  those 
venerable  piles  which  have  been  for  so  many  ages 
consecrated  to  the  purposes  of  religion.  But  I  must 
for  the  present  bid  adieu  to  those  '  dwellers  in  the 
temple,'  though  what  I  have  said  is  due  to  their 
memory,  from  the  pleasure  which  they  afforded  me 
during  one  beautiful  evening  of  summer." 

Speaking  of  the  view  from  the  tow^er  of  the  prin- 
cipal church,  he  says  : — ''  From  this  elevated  situa- 
tion I  had  a  fine  view  of  my  old  friends  the  storks, 
all  busily  employed  in  feeding  their  young.  I  could 
even  keep  them  in  sight  during  their  excursions  to 
the  neighbouring  canals,  in  search  of  food  for  their 
unfledged  offspring.  The  impatience  of  the  callow 
nestlings,  on  perceiving  the  approach  of  the  assidu- 
ous parent,  was  extreme.  They  stretched  their  long 
necks  over  the  nests  from  the  chimney-tops,  the 
sooner  to  enjoy  the  wished-for  morsel,  and  appeared 
every  moment  as  if  about  to  precipitate  themselves 
into  the  streets  below.  E7i  passant,  I  may  remark, 
that  when  in  Rotterdam  I  questioned  a  Dutchman 
concerning  the  probable  origin  of  the  respect  and 
protection  which  is  afforded  to  this  bird;  he  an- 
swered, as  I  expected)  that  it  was  on  account  of 
their  clearing  the  canals  of  frogs  and  other  amphi- 
bious gentry  with  which  they  abound.  I  had  not, 
however,  proceeded  ten  yards  after  Mynheer  had 
left  me,  when  I  observed  an  old  woman  sitting  under 


244  JAMES  AYILSOX. 

a  tree,  wltli  a  most  excellent  supply  of  frogs  in  a 
basket,  ready  for  sale  ;  and  in  fact,  before  I  left  her, 
a  girl  came  up,  ^  nothing  loth,'  and  made  a  purchase. 
If,  therefore,  frogs  are  in  request  as  an  article  of 
food,  as  it  is  known  they  have  been  for  ceaturies, 
no  thanks  are  due  to  the  storks  for  their  efforts  in 
diminishing  their  number,  and  as,  in  as  far  as  I 
have  heard  or  read,  there  are  no  noxious  or  poison- 
ous animals  in  the  country,  it  is  probable  that  tlie 
])opular  superstition  in  favour  of  these  birds  must 
have  originated  in  some  other  cause.  Besides,  it  is 
generally  admitted  that  still  waters  stagnate  sooner 
when  deprived  of  animal  life  than  when  teeming 
with  aquatic  myriads,  so  that  their  claims  to  pro- 
tection as  purifiers  of  the  water,  are  at  best  of  a  du- 
bious nature.  They  may,  howxver,  act  as  a  check 
to  the  superabundant  production  of  such  creatures 
during  the  heats  of  summer,  the  increase  of  which 
is  no  doubt  favoured  by  the  natural  moisture  of  the 
soil  and  climate." 

The  following  is  a  fine  description  of  a  view  on 
the  Kliine  : — "  At  six  in  the  evening  I  found  my- 
self standing  by  the  side  of  the  monarch  of  Euro- 
])ean  rivers,  and  a  most  magnificent  object  it  is. 
Here  it  is  not  less  than  six  hundred  feet  broad,  and 
runs  apparently  at  the  rate  of  nearly  seven  miles  an 
hour.  Immediately  opposite  the  German  fortress 
its  waters  are  confined  within  two  hundred  feet  of 
tlieir  natural  bed,  and  the  impetuous  flow  is  pro- 
digious;  it  rages  past  the  dark  rock  which  here 


VIEVr  ON  THE  KlIINE.  245 

endeavours  to  oppose  its  course,  and  appears  as  if 
rejoiced  in  avenging  this  violation  of  its  power  on 
the  low  willowy  isles  which  are  scattered  on  its 
bosom.  The  trees  on  these  islands  have  suffered 
from  its  force,  and  bend  before  it,  their  summits 
being  only  a  few  feet  from  the  ground,  and  pointing 
down  the  stream.  Even  those  on  the  banks  have 
the  same  oppressed  appearance,  having  probably 
felt  the  power  of  the  green  despot  during  the  raging 
of  the  winter  flood.  This  gives  a  singular  character 
to  many  parts  of  the  scenery,  and  impresses  one 
more  forcibly  than  any  other  circumstance  could  do 
with  an  idea  of  the  strength  and  rapidity  of  the 
river,  besides  bestowing  upon  it  the  aspect  of  an 
almost  living  power.  The  sun  was  now  sinking 
behind  the  purple  summits  of  the  mountains  of 
Lorraine,  the  outline  of  which  was  bordered  by  a 
brilliant  line  of  golden  light,  and  many  lovely 
clouds,  adorned  with  the  brightest  hues,  were  rest- 
ing in  the  western  sky.  The  Rhine  appeared  in 
the  distance,  sweeping  down  the  valley,  and  reflect- 
ing on  its  waters  the  last  beams  of  the  god  of  day, 
while,  on  the  opposite  side,  was  heard  the  voice  of 
the  sentinel,  and  the  war-like  flourish  of  the  trum- 
])et,  warning  the  peaceful  labourers  in  the  fields 
that  the  gates  of  the  fortress  were  about  to  be  closed. 
In  the  back-ground  the  high  hills  of  Suabia  were 
visible,  embrowned  with  the  remnants  of  the  an- 
cient forest,  and  their  broad  expanse  rendered  more 
magnificent  as  seen  through  the  medium  of  the 


lUG  JAMES  WILSON. 

sultry  twilight.  Ere  long  the  clouds  of  night  de- 
scended on  the  valley ;  the  course  of  the  river  was 
now  only  discernible  by  a  vast  serpentine  wreath  of 
mist  which  gathered  on  its  waters,  though  its  strong 
and  sonorous  flow  was  distinctly  audible,  '  piercing 
the  night's  dull  ear,'  and  the  wild  note  of  the  bit- 
tern was  heard  while  she  ascended  from  her  lonely 
nest  in  some  willowy  isle  to  the  still  region  above 
the  clouds.  Without  other  sight  or  sound  I  stood 
alone  in  this  majestic  wilderness.  I  soon  found, 
however,  that  I  had  unfortunately  wandered  so  long 
and  so  far  among  the  low  brushwood  near  the  river, 
that  I  had  entirely  lost  all  trace  of  anything  resem- 
bling the  footsteps  of  the  human  race.  If  I  turned 
towards  the  land  I  might  walk  into  one  of  those 
deep  pools  filled  with  water  to  defend  the  frontier 
— if  I  bent  my  course  in  the  other  direction,  one 
step  into  the  Khine  would  be  my  first  and  last,  and 
1  might  find  myself  off  the  Dogger-bank  by  the 
morning  of  the  ensuing  day.  AVhat  was  to  be 
done  ?  I  was  about  to  ruminate  seriously  on  this 
important  subject,  when  I  heard  the  vociferous 
shout  of  a  ferryman  within  a  few  yards  of  my  for- 
lorn post.  I  accosted  him  in  good  Scotch  and  bad 
French,  supposing  if  he  were  a  German  he  would 
probably  understand  the  one,  if  a  Frenchman,  pos- 
sibly the  other.  He  seemed  to  comprehend  both, 
and,  with  his  assistance  and  direction,  1  succeeded 
in  returning  to  the  town  which  I  had  left  a  few 
hours  before,  my  head-quarters  for  the  night." 


POKPOISES — FLYINd-FlSII — rETHKLS.         247 

Among  the  incidents  of  his  subsequent  voyage 
to  Italy  he  mentions  the  following: — ''Since  we 
entered  the  Straits  (of  Gibraltar)  we  have  found  the 
climate  quite  another  thing.  When  the  wind  does 
blow,  it  comes  upon  us  as  if  from  a  sea  of  warm 
milk — how  different  from  the  easterly  gales  of  Cale- 
donia !  The  heat  is  now,  indeed,  rather  too  great 
for  anything  like  comfort  in  the  cabin ;  but  then 
we  have  got  a  spare  sail  rigged  up  upon  four  poles 
over  the  quarter-deck,  so  that  we  may  enjoy  the 
sea  breezes  under  a  delightful  awning  from  morn  to 
night.  This  evening  several  porpoises  rushed  past 
us  at  a  gallop,  and  most  opportunely  raised  a  flock 
of  flying-fish  within  a  few  yards  of  the  vessel.  They 
fly  in  a  straightforward  arrowy  fashion,  somewhat 
in  the  style  of  the  kingfisher,  and  their  sides  glitter 
like  fine  silver.  I  took  them  at  first  for  a  flock  of 
sandpipers  flying  towards  the  shore.  There  have 
been  many  of  Mother  Carey's  chickens  in  the  wake 
of  the  vessel  all  day.  Took  a  shot  at  one,  and 
brought  him  down — the  first  I  have  handled  in  a 
recent  state.  I  observed  that  the  eye  is  furnished 
with  a  nictitating  membrane,  like  an  owFs,  which 
I  don't  remember  to  have  seen  in  the  description  of 
the  bird.  These  petrels  kept  flying  astern  of  the 
vessel  till  it  was  too  dark  to  see ;  but  how  they 
spend  the  night  I  can't  say.  It  cannot  be  on  shore, 
for  we  were  twenty  or  thirty  miles  from  land.  They 
seemed  never  to  rest  on  the  water,  unless  when  they 
discovered  the  crumbs  of  cheese  and  biscuit,  or  pieces 


248  JAMES  WILSON. 

of  bacon,  wliich  we  tlirew  for  them  overboard,  and 
then  they  settled  on  the  water  to  enjoy  their  prize 
at  leisure.  They  frequently  just  touched  the  water 
like  a  swallow,  which  they  greatly  resemble,  with 
their  wings  hovering  in  the  air  and  bent  back ;  and 
they  then  appeared  as  if  picking  up  their  food  from 
tlie  surface.  Saw  four  pilot-fish  under  the  bows. 
They  are  very  beautiful  creatures,  coloured  with  al- 
ternate bands  of  transparent  bluish  green  and  rich 
crimson  brovrn,  varying  in  the  sun  to  beryl-green 
and  blood-red.  Saw  a  pale  ghost-like  fish  glide 
]\ist  like  a  shadow,  at  a  great  depth  under  water. 
Signor  Shark  showecj  himself  to-day  for  a  moment 
or  two,  far  beneath  the  surface ;  so  did  not  think  it 
])rudent  to  trust  myself  to  the  bosom  of  the  deep. 
Towards  evening  a  vast  flock  of  flying-fish  rose  at 
a  distance  of  some  hundred  yards  to  windward  of 
the  vessel.  They  were  immediately  pursued  with 
hue  and  cry  by  the  whole  posse  of  gulls,  and  these 
no  sooner  drove  them  into  the  water  than  they  were 
attacked  by  the  bonitos,  who  drove  them  back  into 
the  air,  leaping  after  them  to  the  height  of  several 
feet.  Tims  persecuted  above,  and  finding  no  rest 
below,  they  seemed  to  attempt  a  middle  course,  and 
just  flirted  over  the  sea,  sometimes  in  and  sometimes 
out,  according  as  their  aerial  or  aquatic  tyrants 
})roved  the  most  relentless.  This  singular,  though 
most  unfair,  pursuit  seemed  to  reverse  the  order  of 
nature,  for  in  their  eagerness  the  gulls  frequently 
darted   with  their  finny  prey  beneath  the  waves. 


ALBICORES— PILOT-FISH.  249 

whilst  with  still  greater  impetuosity  tlie  Lonitos 
sprung  after  them  into  the  atmosphere.  A  harder 
lot  than  that  of  a  flying-fish  under  such  circum- 
stances I  do  not  know.  Its  state  is  a  degree  worse 
than  that  of  the  animal  which  *  dies  on  tlie  land,  and 
cannot  live  in  the  water.'  The  wind  is  fair,  and  the 
weather  fine,  and  if  matters  remain  as  they  are  now 
for  a  couple  of  days  longer,  we  sliall  surely  behold 
Genoa  in  all  its  pride  of  place.  There  has  been  an- 
other superficial  war  waging  to-day  between  the 
gulls,  bonitos,  and  flying  flsh.  Some  albicores  also 
favoured  us  with  their  company  for  several  hours, 
and  the  beautiful  pilot-fish  again  showed  themselves 
alongside.  During  a  former  voyage  our  vessel  was 
attended  by  eleven  albicores  for  two  entire  days. 
They  followed  her  into  Genoa,  and  were  every  one 
caught  by  the  natives.  I  suspect  that  the  reason 
which  both  they  and  the  bonitos  would  assign  for 
following  ships,  is  their  greater  chance  of  securing 
the  smaller  fish,  which  are  frightened  to  either  side 
by  the  advance  of  the  vessel.  They  thus  have  a 
command  over  more  water  than  if  they  were  pur- 
suing a  solitary  course." 

In  1824,  Mr  Wilson  married  Isabella  Keith,  a 
young  lady  whose  accomplishments  fitted  her  in  a 
special  manner  to  be  the  partner  of  the  enthusiastic 
naturalist,  and  whose  personal  piety  corresponded 
with  his  own.  Soon  after  his  marriage  he  took  up 
his  abode  at  Woodville,  a  rural  retreat  in  the  vici- 
nity of  Edinburgh,  and  continued  to  pursue  his 
2i 


2/>0  JAMES  AVILSON. 

favourite  studies  amidst  the  delights  of  domestic 
life.  Nearly  all  the  best  articles  in  the  "  Encyclo- 
pedia Britannica,"  on  Natural  History,  were  either 
written  or  edited  by  him  ;  besides  which  he  engaged, 
year  after  year,  in  a  great  variety  and  amount  of 
literary  labour,  producing  various  separate  works 
on  the  subject,  and  contributing  to  the  ''  Quarterly 
Review,"  ^'  Blackwood's  ^lagazine,"  and  many 
other  literary  and  scientific  periodicals.  His  excur- 
sions to  various  parts  of  the  country,  in  pursuit  of 
scientific  knowledge,  afforded  him  great  delight, 
and  of  those  excursions  many  interesting  details 
occur  in  his  journals  and  correspondence.  The 
following  are  a  few  extracts  from  letters  written  at 
various  times,  and  from  different  places,  in  which 
the  reader  may  detect  a  considerable  share  of  quiet 
humour.  They  are  written  from  some  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  romantic  districts  of  Sutherlandshire  : 
— '^  We  made  only  thirteen  miles  yesterday,  from 
Bonar  Bridge  to  Lairg.  We  fished  up  the  river 
Shin  on  our  way.  J.  Jardine  and  I  each  killed  a 
grilse  in  addition  to  our  trouts ;  the  rest  of  the  party 
only  caught  the  last  named  fishes.  Our  grilse, 
however,  were  Jcelts;  that  is,  had  not  run  fresh  from 
the  sea,  but  had  been  kept  in  the  river  all  winter, 
owing  to  the  closing  of  the  cruives  which  had  pre- 
vented their  making  their  way  to  the  ocean  waters. 
We  spent  some  hours  on  our  way  at  Invershin  upon 
the  Oikel,  conversing  with  Mr  Young,  who  has  the 
chief  cliarp^c  of  the  fisheries.     Soon  after  our  arrival 


THE   BLACK-THROATED  DIVER.  251 

here  last  niglit,  we  discovered  a  nest  of  the  black- 
throated  diver.  I  believe  it  had  not  been  previously 
seen  by  any  one,  though  the  bird  has  been  long 
known  to  breed  in  Britain.  We  took  the  eggs,  for 
tliey  sell  in  London  for  a  guinea  a-piece.  There 
are  an  immense  number  of  cuckoos  hereabouts,  so 
many  that  one  sees  them  flying  about  from  tree  to 
tree,  and  the  people  tell  us  that  they  often  find  their 
eggs  in  the  nests  of  small  birds,  particularly  in  that 
of  the  tit-lark.  To-day  Sir  William  and  Mr  Selby 
are  going  to  try  Loch  Shin  for  the  great  loch  trout ; 
Dr  Greville  and  myself  try  a  smaller  loch  among 
the  hills,  and  hope  to  find  a  few  insects :  we  got 
Carabus  datliratus  here  last  year.  Now,  dearest 
wife,  the  party  are  all  keen  to  be  off,  as  we  have 
breakfasted,  and  they  are  scolding  me  for  writing. 
God  bless  you  all !  Although  I  have  been  disap- 
pointed in  receiving  my  Saturday's  letter,  which  I 
fear  has  not  been  sent  to  the  Post-office  in  time  for 
the  north  mail  of  that  day,  yet  I  shall  not  retaliate 
by  allowing  an  opportunity  likely  to  occur  to-mor- 
row to  escape.  I  wrote  to  you  on  Saturday  morn- 
ing somewhat  hurriedly,  for  we  are  generally  all 
pent  up  in  one  little  room  about  the  size  of  my 
thumb,  and  our  occupations  are  so  various  and  so 
numerous,  that  I  have  scarcely  time  to  collect  my 
senses.  The  change  of  life  is  indeed  great,  and  to 
a  monomaniac  like  myself,  who  requires  some  time 
to  shift  his  ideas,  the  effect  produced  is  like  that  of 
a  waking  or  rather  walking  dream.     Our  chief  ob- 


252  JAMES  WILSON. 

ject  here  was  to  fish  Loch  Shin  for  the  great  lake 
trout,  and  Loch  Craggie  for  another  kind,  remark- 
able for  beauty  of  shape  and  colour,  and  excellence 
of  condition  for  the  purposes  of  the  table.  Li  Loch 
Shin  we  have  not  done  much,  but  in  the  other  loch 
we  have  been  extremely  successful.  Selby  has 
made  a  drawing  of  one  which  I  killed,  a  very  fine 
fellow,  weighing  two  pounds  and  a-half.  While 
fisliing  Loch  Craggie  on  Saturday,  I  found  a  nest 
of  the  black-throated  diver.  The  parents  made  off 
when  they  saw  me  wading  towards  their  little  isle, 
but  they  left  behind  them  two  little  black  powder- 
puffs,  about  the  size  of  ?/o?(r  hand,  which /"^^^k/  and 
bit  at  me  wlien  I  came  near  them.  One  of  them 
got  among  the  ruslies  and  tried  to  dive,  but  it  wouki 
not  do.  I  took  them  in  my  hand,  and  immediately 
heard  tlie  parents  uttering  wild  cries  of  anger  and 
anxiety  ;  so  I  laid  them  down  and  went  to  the  other 
side  of  the  loch,  that  their  wild  though  sweet  home 
might  not  be  disturbed.  The  loch  is  a  little  one 
among  the  hills,  with  a  good  sprinkling  of  natural 
birch  wood  at  one  end.  "We  fished  it  last  year, 
though  unsuccessfully,  owing  to  the  violence  of  the 
wind.  On  ]\Ionday,  we  started  again  for  Loch 
Craggie,  Sir  William  and  Selby  each  armed  with 
their  fowling-pieces,  and  much  excited  by  my  ac- 
count of  the  divers  and  their  woolly  young  ones. 
Alas,  for  sentiment  in  the  hands  or  hearts  of  those 
ruthless  destroyers  !  AVhen  1  thought  of  the  happy 
moonlight  nights,  the  bright  mornings,  the  gorgeous 


THE  DIVER — THE  WIDHEOX.  253 

sunsets,  the  balmy  twilights,  which  these  magnifi- 
cent birds  had  enjoyed  together,  and  how  little  they 
had  dreamed  that  their  wild  solitudes,  environed  by 
crags,  and  almost  covered  w^ith  water,  should  be  in- 
vaded by  the  authors  of  ^  Ornithology  Made  Easy,' 
I  almost  regretted  for  tlie  time  that  I  had  betrayed 
their  secret.  But  knowing  that  Sir  William  and 
Mr  Selby  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  Saturday  in 
a  vain  attempt  to  obtain  a  pair  which  they  had  dis- 
covered on  Loch  Shin,  I  thought  it  w^rong  to  con- 
ceal an  ornithological  fact  of  such  importance.  So 
I  directed  them  to  the  island  where  I  knew  the 
birds  would  be,  and  the  consequences  may  be  sup- 
posed. They  crept  towards  the  spot,  and  the  divers, 
less  w^ary  than  usual,  or  at  least  less  careful  of  them- 
selves, from  the  strength  of  their  parental  affection, 
after  swimming  up  the  loch,  followed  by  one  of  the 
young  ones,  returned  again  in  search  of  the  other, 
and  coming  w4thin  range  of  the  marksmen,  were 
both  shot  dead,  along  w4th  their  little  helpless  child. 
I  was  at  this  time  fishing  at  some  distance,  but 
when  I  came  towards  the  island  I  found  the  gorge- 
ous creatures,  which  I  had  so  lately  seen  so  full  of 
life  and  vigour,  extended  cold  and  stiff  upon  the 
shore.  They  are  as  large  as  geese,  and  are  scarcely 
ever  found  in  this  country,  except  during  severe 
winters.  Their  breeding  places  were  previously  un- 
known. That  same  day  we  discovered  also  two 
pair  of  widgeons,  a  bird  the  summer  haunts  of 
which  had  not  been  ascertained.     I  killed  fifteen 


254  JAMES  WILSON. 

very  fine  fronts,  many  of  them  two  pounds  weight, 
and  several  above  it.  As  eating  fish,  they  surpass 
any  fresh-water  fish,  except  salmon,  with  which  I 
am  acquainted,  and  tliey  enable  us  to  fare  sump- 
tuously every  day.  We  have  lamb,  good  soup  or 
broth,  and  roasted  fowls — the  latter,  however,  evi- 
dently made  of  Indian  rubber.  We  find  our  boat 
answer  excellently ;  we  took  it  up  to  Loch  Craggie 
in  a  cart,  and  brought  it  down  again  in  the  evening 
without  any  trouble." 

Mr  Wilson  was  in  1837  called  to  suffer  the  loss 
of  his  excellent  and  beloved  wife.  This  great  ca- 
lamity he  endeavoured  to  sustain  with  Christian 
fortitude ;  and  it  was  well  for  him  that  he  had  also 
in  some  measure  a  refuge  from  his  grief  in  the  pur- 
suits of  literature  and  science ;  but  that  he  conti- 
nued deeply  to  feel  his  loss  is  manifest  from  the 
following  passage  in  one  of  his  letters  from  Stirling- 
shire : — "  Dm-ing  my  former  excursions,  my  chief 
pleasure  was  in  writing  to,  or  receiving  letters  from, 
her  whose  place  knows  her  no  longer ;  and  if  for 
a  moment  the  sun  seems  to  shine  as  it  was  wont, 
and  a  sense  of  pleasure  passes  through  my  heart, 
then  a  wave  of  darkness  seems  to  overshadow  me, 
and  I  feel  as  if  it  were  selfish  and  unkind  to  others 
even  to  seek  for  any  happiness.  But  all  this,  I 
know,  proves  the  low  and  earthly  nature  of  my 
hopes  and  aspirations,  and  how  unable  I  am  to  raise 
my  thoughts  to  that  brighter  world,  where  w^e  know 
there  arc  '  many  mansions.'     I  pray  God  I  may  be 


HIS  CHARACTER  AND  PIETY.  255 

enabled  by  degrees  to  ^Yean  myself  from  all  these 
^  vexing  thoughts/  by  which  for  some  time  past  I 
have  been  so  disquieted.  We  know  unto  whom  we 
may  go  when  weary  and  heavy  laden,  and  lie  will 
give  us  rest." 

Mr  Wilson  survived  his  lamented  partner  for 
many  years,  during  which  period  he  continued  to 
occupy  himself  in  those  scientific  pursuits  which 
had  for  him  so  great  and  irresistible  a  charm.  Pro- 
bably this  amiable  man  had  as  large  an  amount 
of  happiness  as  can  in  general  fall  to  the  lot  of 
humanity ;  for  he  possessed  the  blessings  of  a  well- 
conditioned  mind,  a  good  temper,  an  intellect  cap- 
able of  finding  abundant  employment  for  itself  in 
the  many  beautiful  things  that  lie  everywhere 
around  us,  but  escape  ordinary  people,  and  in  the 
possession  of  that  spirit  of  piety  which  so  greatly 
tends  to  increase  our  happiness  and  to  diminish  our 
sorrow.  He  terminated  his  quiet  career  in  1856; 
and  from  the  glimpses  which  his  papers  afford  of 
his  hidden  life,  we  gather  how  truly  he  was  governed 
and  guided  by  the  light  of  divine  truth.  Of  this 
the  following  extract  will  afford  sufficient  evidence : 
— ''  When  a  person  is  actuated  by  the  love  of  God 
as  well  as  man,  when  he  applies  the  Saviour's  gra- 
cious words,  ^  do  this  in  remembrance  of  me,'  not 
solely  to  the  partaking  of  the  Sacrament  of  the 
Supper,  but  to  the  performance  of  whatever  he  may 
be  called  upon  to  do,  however  destructive  to  him- 
self—when he  has  respect  to  the  recompense  of 


256  JAMES  WILSON. 

reward,  and  remembers  that  the  eye  of  the  all-see- 
ing God,  for  ever  sleepless  and  undimmed,  is  upon 
him  by  night  and  day,  then  is  he  truly  steadfast 
and  not  afraid,  then  shall  not  his  youth  be  joyless, 
nor  his  manhood  useless,  but  even  his  old  age,  so 
often  desolate,  '  shall  be  clearer  than  the  noon-day.' 
I  shall  not  say  that  I  lived  without  God  in  the 
world,  but  I  often  felt  God-forsaken,  which  I  surely 
would  not  have  done  had  I  simply  laid  myself  and 
all  my  sins  and  sorrow^s  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross, 
trusting  to  '  the  blood  of  sprinkling,  which  speaketh 
better  things  than  that  of  Abel.'  I  thought,  in 
trutli,  far  more  of  my  sufferings  than  of  my  sins, 
and  looked  not,  at  least  confidingly,  '  on  Him  whom 
I  had  pierced.'  Had  I  acknowledged  the  Lord  in 
all  my  ways.  He  would  have  directed  my  paths, 
and  made  my  darkness  light.  O  God,  may  I  now 
say,  '  The  Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salvation, 
whom  shall  I  fear?  The  Lord  is  the  streni^th  of 
my  life,  of  whom  shall  I  be  afraid  ? '  May  that 
faithful  saying  be  accepted  and  deeply  engraven  on 
my  heart,  '  that  Jesus  Christ  came  into  the  world 
to  save  sinners,'  to  '  blot  out  the  handwriting  of 
ordinances  that  was  against  us,'  to  reconcile  the 
world  to  God,  '  not  imputing  to  them  their  tres- 
passes,' so  that  I  who  was  some  time  '  afar  off,' 
may  be  made  nigh  by  the  shedding  of  the  Saviour's 
blood,  wliile  I  confess  with  my  tongue  and  believe 
with  my  heart  that  Jesus  is  the  Son  of  God,  who 
raised  Him  from  the  dead.     O  holy  Father,  may  it 


RETROSPECT.  257 

come  to  pass  that  in  the  place  where  it  was  said 
unto  us,  '  ye  are  not  ray  people,'  there  shall  we  be 
called  ^  the  children  of  the  living  God.'  Tlie  test, 
as  it  seems  to  me,  of  a  person  acting  upon,  or  being 
actuated  by  the  highest  principles,  is  this,  that  under 
similar  circumstances  he  would  again  follow  pre- 
cisely the  same  course,  altogether  irrespective  of 
results.  But  as  I  myself  would,  if  I  could  throw 
myself  back  into  former  times  and  circumstances, 
in  all  probability  follow  an  entirely  opposite  course 
from  that  which  I  have  actually  pursued,  I  conceive 
there  must  have  formerly  been  (and  may  still  exist), 
as  great  a  mixture  of  pride  and  folly  in  the  feelings 
by  which  I  have  been  regulated,  as  of  true  humility 
and  Christian  wisdom.  Most  people  in  early  life 
are  fond  of  building  castles  in  the  air,  and  are  con- 
stitutionally careless  at  that  period  of  their  own  in- 
terests ;  and  my  poor  castles,  however  fair  and  glit- 
tering to  my  own  fancy,  certainly  far  brighter  and 
more  beautiful  than  anything  I  can  now  conjure 
up,  were  in  no  way  founded  on  filthy  lucre. 
Alas !  for  ^  gorgeous  cloudland,'  and  the  '  world  of 
dreams  ! '  Alas !  for  the  difference,  now  greater  than 
that  of  light  and  darkness,  between  the  confiding 
imaginations  of  youth  and  the  actual  knowledge  of 
after-years !  Romance  and  reality !  the  peaceful 
repose  of  early  and  undoubting  affection,  and  then 
— the  battle  of  life.  Who  can  relieve  us  from  the 
body  of  sin  and  death  ?  Yain  is  the  help  of  man ; 
may  we  look  evermore  to  that  Kock  which  is  sure 
2k 


258  JAMES  WILSON. 

ami  steadfast,  and  wlilcli,  in  its  serene  brightness, 
overlooks  and  illumines  the  darkness  even  of  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  (making  death  itself 
a  shadow),  and  which  the  waters  of  Jordan  cannot 
overflow.  .  .  Yet,  in  reading  the  Word  of  God, 
althongli  my  views  of  God's  providence  and  sclieme 
of  redemption  were  very  dark,  I  was  not  without 
consolation,  and  I  often  dwelt  with  pleasure  on  such 
passages  as  the  following : — '  The  Lord  is  nigh  unto 
them  that  are  of  a  broken  heart,  and  saveth  such  as 
be  of  a  contrite  spirit.'  '  The  sacrifices  of  God  are 
a  broken  spirit ;  a  broken  and  a  contrite  heart,  O 
God,  thou  wilt  not  despise.'  '  He  healeth  the  broken 
in  heart,  and  bindeth  up  their  wounds.'  '  Sorrow  is 
better  than  laughter,  for  by  the  sadness  of  the  coun- 
tenance the  heart  is  made  better,'  '  To  this  man 
will  I  look,  even  to  him  that  is  of  a  poor  and  con- 
trite spirit,  and  trcmbleth  at  my  word.'  I  fear 
I  trembled  not  at  the  '  word,'  though  my  soul  was 
disquieted  within  me  ;  though  broken  down  by  my 
sorrows,  the  burden  of  sin  was  not  grievous,  and  I 
lightly  esteemed  the  God  of  my  salvation.  Though 
weary  and  heavy  laden,  I  went  not  to  the  fountain 
of  living  water,  I  sought  not  the  bread  of  life  (Lord, 
evermore  give  us  that  bread),  but  endeavoured  (a 
vain  endeavour),  by  a  dogged  resolution,  an  obsti- 
nate endurance  of  great  discomforts  of  mind  and 
body,  to  witlistand  adversities  of  whatever  kind,  in- 
stead of  looking  to  Him  who  redeemeth  the  soul  of 
his  servants,  so  that  '  none  of  those  that  trust  in 


HIS  LAST  ITOUKS.  259 


Him  shall  be  desolate.'     For  we  have  not  an  hi^-l 


priest  who  ^  cannot  be  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our 
infirmities.'  ...  I  had  great  consolation  then 
from  all  promises  to  the  downcast  and  disconsolate, 
such  as,  *  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit,  for  theirs  is 
tlie  kingdom  of  heaven;'  *  Blessed  are  they  that 
mourn,  for  tliey  shall  be  comforted  ;'  and  so  far  this 
was  well.  But  did  I  not  put  my  sufferings  in  front 
of  my  faith,  and  my  patient  endurance  almost  in 
place  of  it,  as  if  Imertted the  compassionate  love  of 
God  simply  because  I  suffered,  instead  of  seeking 
to  be  justified  (solely  as  well  as  freely)  by  his  grace, 
'  through  the  redemption  that  Is  in  Christ  Jesus  ? '  " 
His  last  hours  are  thus  referred  to  by  his  bio- 
grapher : — "  On  the  2d  of  May,  he  was  unable  to 
leave  his  room,  nor  could  he  even  lie  down  ,*  he  sat 
with  his  head  supported  on  a  table,  a  position  which 
he  was  obliged  to  retain  day  and  night  through  the 
remainder  of  his  Illness.  He  liked  to  listen  to  read- 
ing, and  often  asked  to  have  the  Bible  read  to  him  ; 
but  all  utterance  was  attended  with  such  effort  that 
he  seldom  attempted  more  than  a  few  broken  words. 
On  one  occasion  he  said,  '  It  is  not  easy  to  speak 
wdien  one  is  struggling  for  breath,  and  feeling  as 
if  about  to  suffocate ;  but  I  wish  you  to  know  that 
my  mi'nd  Is  perfectly  satisfied  ;  He  is  my  Lord  and 
my  God.  ''  Him  that  cometh  unto  me  I  will  in  no 
wise  cast  out."  I  have  had  much  forgiven  me,  and 
may  well  love  much.'  He  then  gave  several  mes- 
sages and  orders,  mentioning  some  little  memorials 


2G0  JAMES  WILSON. 

wlilcli  lie  wished  to  be  given  to  several  friends.  He 
also  expressed  a  desire  to  be  buried  in  the  Dean 
(Cemetery,  where  his  brother  the  Professor  had  been 
buried  two  years  before,  adding,  in  allusion  to  his 
wife's  grave  elsewhere,  '  The  other  spot  will  still  be 
sacred  ground  to  you.'  Next  day,  when  asked  hoAV 
he  felt,  he  said,  '  Faint,  yet  pursuing.  Looking 
unto  Jesus.'  His  mind  continued  calm  and  peace- 
ful to  the  last.  Even  when  most  exhausted,  he  was 
still  upon  the  watch  lest  those  around  him  should 
be  over-fatigued,  and  many  and  touching  were  his 
expressions  of  affectionate  gratitude.  Amongst  the 
words  which  fell  from  his  lips  are  remembered, 
*  Christ  the  hope  of  glory.'  '  There  is  none  other 
name  given  under  heaven,  whereby  men  can  be 
saved.'  '  Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither 
hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive, 
the  things  which  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that 
love  him.'  During  the  night  between  Saturday  the 
17th  and  Sabbath  the  18th  of  May,  he  took  leave 
of  his  family,  saying,  ^  There  is  no  darkness  in  the 
valley ;  it  is  all  bright.'  The  twenty-third  Psalm 
was  read  to  him,  and  at  the  fourth  verse  he  repeated 
the  words, '  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with 
me : '  and  so,  early  on  that  Sabbath  morning,  the 
beautiful  place  w^hich  had  known  him  so  long,  knew 
him  no  more,  for  he  had  gone  to  dwell  in  the  house 
of  the  Lord  for  ever." 


PATRICK  FRASEK  TYTLER. 

Patrick  Fkaser  Tytler  was  the  son  of  Lord 
Woodliouselee,  one  of  tlie  Judges  of  the  Court  of 
Session  in  Scotland,  and  was  born  at  Edinburgh  in 
1791.  He  obtained  his  early  education  at  the  High 
School  of  his  native  city,  witli  the  assistance  of  very 
able  private  tutors,  one  of  whom  was  Mr  John  Lee, 
afterwards  the  well-known  eminent  Principal  of  the 
University  of  Edinburgh.  At  the  age  of  seventeen 
Mr  Tytler  was  sent  for  a  short  time  to  a  school  at 
Chobham,  about  twenty-six  miles  from  London, 
prior  to  his  commencing  the  course  of  study  requi- 
site to  the  profession  of  law,  which  it  was  his  father's 
desire  he  should  enter.  At  Chobham  he  remained 
for  about  a  year,  when  he  returned  to  Scotland,  and 
after  the  usual  course  of  legal  studies,  entered  his 
profession  as  an  advocate.  But  it  does  not  appear 
that  Mr  Tytler  had  ever  much  taste  for  the  profession 
on  which  he  had  entered.  Probably  his  mental 
qualifications  were  not  completely  adapted  either  to 
the  study  or  the  practice  of  law  ;  it  is  certain,  how- 
ever, that  literary  pursuits  were  those  which  had  for 
him  the  greatest  charms  ;  and  having  devoted  him- 
self to  such  pursuits,  he  gradually  lost  all  relish  for 
the  dry  details  of  legal  business,  and  the  bustle  and 
turmoil  of  a  barrister's  life.     The  most  important 


2G2         PATRICK  FRASER  TYTLER. 

production  of  Mr  Tytler's  pen  is  his  History  of 
Scotland.  It  was  his  opinion  that  ''an  author,  in- 
stead of  frittering  away  his  energies  on  a  multitude 
of  subjects  of  minor  interest,  should,  as  soon  as 
practicable,  take  up  some  large  inquiry,  and  then 
make  it  the  business  of  his  literary  life  to  prosecute 
that  inquiry  with  exclusive  attention,  making  his 
other  studies  subsidiary  to  his  one  great  master 
study,  and  reading  every  book  with  a  constant  re- 
ference to  this  one  ruling  object  of  his  ambition. 
To  periodical  literature  especially  he  had  a  rooted 
dislike.  The  systematic  contribution  to  such  pub- 
lications he  not  only  thought  derogatory  to  the  dig- 
nity of  an  author,  but  he  regarded  it  as  a  most  in- 
jurious practice.  It  is  fatal,  he  would  say,  to  the 
habit  of  sustained  investigation,  and  diminishes  the 
sense  of  responsibility.  It  induces  carelessness  of 
statement,  and  a  slip-shod  style  of  writing.  What 
is  worst  of  all,  if  a  man  has  a  great  pursuit  before 
him,  the  task  of  writing  on  any  other  subject  for 
one  of  our  great  periodicals  (he  spoke  from  expe- 
rience), entails  a  degree  of  labour  to  which  the  pro- 
posed remuneration  must  be  wholly  disproportion- 
ate, while  it  carries  a  man  into  fields  of  inquiry 
alike  irrelevant  and  distracting.  If  a  man  is  with- 
out such  a  great  and  engrossing  subject,  he  is  con- 
firming himself  in  those  desultory  habits  which  my 
friend  discouraged  in  others  as  well  as  avoided  him- 
self. From  this  time  forward  he  steadily  resisted 
the  many  applications  which  were  made  to  him  to 


HI.STOKIC'AL  STUDIES.  2G.'5 


contribute  papers  to  literary  journals.  I  am  aware 
of  only  one  artiele  in  the  ^  Quarterly,'  and  another 
in  the  ^  Foreign  Quarterly  Review,'  which  were  from 
his  pen." 

With  such  views,  he  was  prepared  to  enter  upon 
some  important  undertaking  of  a  literary  character, 
which  might  occupy  him  for  many  years ;  and  on 
occasion  of  a  visit  to  Sir  Walter  Scott  at  Abbots- 
ford — probably  in  the  year  1 823 — the  illustrious  an- 
tiquarian and  novelist  suggested  to  him  the  scheme 
of  writing  a  History  of  Scotland.  In  a  letter  to  Mr 
Tytler's  sister  from  ]\Ir  Pringle  of  Yair,  who  was 
his  fellow-guest  at  Abbotsford  at  the  time,  the  fol- 
lowing statements  occur : — ''  Sir  Walter  Scott  had 
taken  him  aside  and  suggested  to  him  the  scheme 
ot  writing  a  history  of  Scotland.  Sir  Walter  stated 
that  some  years  before  the  booksellers  had  urged 
him  to  undertake  such  a  work,  and  that  he  had  at 
one  time  seriously  contemplated  it.  The  subject 
was  very  congenial  to  his  tastes ;  and  he  thought 
that  by  interspersing  the  narrative  with  romantic 
anecdotes  illustrative  of  the  manners  of  his  coun- 
trymen, he  could  render  such  a  work  popular.  But 
he  soon  found,  while  engaged  in  preparing  his  ma- 
terials, that  something  more  was  wanted  than  a  po- 
pular romance  ;  that  a  right  history  of  Scotland  was 
yet  to  be  written ;  but  that  there  were  ample  ma- 
terials for  it  in  the  national  records,  in  collections  of 
documents,  both  private  and  public,  and  in  Scot- 
tish authors,  whose  works  had  become  rare,  or  were 


264         PATRICK  FRASER  TYTLER. 

seldom  perused.  The  research,  however,  which 
would  be  required  for  bringing  to  light,  arranging, 
and  digesting  these  materials,  he  soon  saw  would 
be  iar  more  than  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  give  to 
the  subject ;  and  it  would  be  a  work  of  tedious  and 
patient  labour,  which  must  be  pursued,  not  in  Scot- 
land only,  but  amongst  the  national  collections  of 
records  in  London,  and  wherever  else  such  docu- 
ments may  have  been  preserved.  But  such  a  la- 
bour, his  official  duties  and  other  avocations  would 
not  allow  him  to  bestow  upon  it.  He  had  there- 
fore ended  in  a  resolution  to  confine  his  undertak- 
ing to  a  collection  of  historical  anecdotes,  for  the 
amusement  of  the  rising  generation,  calculated  to 
impress  upon  their  memories  the  worthy  deeds  of 
Scottish  heroes,  and  inspire  them  with  sentiments 
of  nationality.  He  also  mentioned  that  the  article 
on  the  Culloden  Papers,  published  in  the  January 
number  of  the  '  Quarterly  Review'  for  1816,  which 
I  have  always  considered  as  one  of  the  most  attrac- 
tive as  well  as  characteristic  of  all  his  writings,  liad 
been  originally  conceived  in  the  form  of  a  portion 
of  an  introductory  Essay  to  the  contemplated  his- 
torical work,  which  was  now  likely  to  go  no  fur- 
ther. He  then  proposed  to  your  brother  to  enter 
on  the  undertaking  ;  and  remarked  to  him  that  he 
knew  his  tastes  and  favourite  pursuits  lay  so  strongly 
in  the  line  of  history,  and  the  history  of  his  native 
country  must  have  such  peculiar  interest  for  him, 
that  the  labour  could  not  fail  to  be  congenial  to 


HIS  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND.  2G5 

him  :  that,  though  the  requisite  researches  woukl 
consume  a  great  deal  of  time  and  thought,  he  had 
the  advantage  of  youth  on  his  side,  and  might  live 
to  complete  the  work,  which,  if  executed  under  a 
deep  sense  of  the  importance  of  historical  trutli, 
would  confer  a  lasting  benefit  on  his  country;  and 
he  ended  with  offering  all  the  aid  in  his  power  for 
obtaining  access  to  the  repositories  of  information, 
as  well  as  advice  in  pursuing  the  necessary  investi- 
gations. I  asked  my  friend  if  tlie  suggestion  pleased 
him.  He  replied,  that  the  undertaking  appeared 
very  formidable :  that  I  knew  he  had  always  been 
fond  of  historical  pursuits ;  and  though  he  confessed 
he  had  frequently  cherished  an  ambition  for  becom- 
ing an  historical  author,  yet  it  had  never  entered 
into  his  mind  to  attempt  a  history  of  his  own  country, 
as  he  knew  too  well  the  difficulties  which  he  would 
have  to  encounter,  especially  those  of  attaining  ac- 
curacy, and  realising  his  own  conception  of  what  a 
History  of  Scotland  ought  to  be ;  but  that  the  sug- 
gestion coming  from  such  a  quarter,  as  well  as  the 
offered  assistance,  was  not  to  be  disregarded.  You 
may  be  sure  that  I  encouraged  him  to  the  best  of 
my  power  ;  for  though  I  knew  how  much  it  was 
likely  to  withdraw  his  attention  from  his  profes- 
sional avocations,  yet  I  also  knew  how  much  more 
congenial  a  pursuit  it  would  prove,  and  how  much 
more  he  was  likely  to  attain  to  excellence,  and  es- 
tablish his  reputation  in  this  channel.  It  was  there- 
fore with  much  satisfaction  that  I  soon  afterwards 
2l 


26G         PATRICK  FKASER  TYTLER. 

learned  from  lilin  that  he  had  entered  seriously  on 
the  undertaking." 

The  first  volume  of  the  truly  valuable  work  which 
he  thus  undertook  appeared  in  1828,  and  it  was 
completed  in  1843  ;  but  before  the  first  instalment 
of  it  was  published,  his  marriage  took  place  with 
the  amiable  and  accomplished  daughter  of  Mr  Hog 
of  Newliston.  He  thus  refers  to  the  approaching 
event  in  a  letter  to  his  sister : — ' '  My  dearest  Jeanie, — 
I  sit  down  to  write  to  you  on  so  new  a  subject,  that 
I  scarcely  know  how  to  begin  ;  but  to  you,  my  own 
Jeanie,  I  must  write,  because  I  know  you  and  James 
will  deeply  feel  anything  which  makes  me  happy. 
1  am  going  to  be  married ;  and  the  object  of  my 
whole  little  plans  and  wishes,  for  the  last  two  years, 
is  under  the  kind  providence  of  God  realised.  I 
find  myself  in  possession  of  the  sweetest,  kindest, 
9nd  most  faithful  heart  that  ever  dwelt  in  a  human 
bosom  ;  and  this,  united  to  the  purest  religious 
principles,  to  the  most  solemn  feelings  of  the  sacred 
duties  incumbent  on  a  wife,  and  to  manners  which, 
from  being  form.ed  entirely  under  the  domestic  roof, 
are  wholly  free  from  any  mixture  of  worldliness,  or 
vanity,  or  display.  My  dear  little  girl  has  never 
been  one  night  away  from  home ;  and  I  believe,  al- 
though she  is  twenty-one  or  twenty-two,  three  or 
four  balls  or  parties  are  nearly  the  extent  of  her 
gaiety.  The  efiect  of  this  is,  that  she  is  the  most 
timid  and  diffident,  but  I  think  the  most  attractive 
creature  I  ever  saw.      With  excellent   taste  and 


HIS  MARRIAGK.  267 

talents,  and  fine  accomplishments,  she  liardly  thinks 
she  can  do  anything  well.  I  do  not  know  if  I  or 
any  of  my  sisters  ever  mentioned  to  you  how  long 
and  deeply  I  have  been  interested  in  her;  how  often 
I  rode  out  to  meet  lier  in  her  rides ;  and  the  great 
difficulties  I  had  to  overcome,  in  getting  into  the 
Castle  at  Lauriston,  which  is  exactly  like  a  convent, 
with  high  walls  and  locked  doors,  and  an  old  Father 
or  Governor,  aged  84,  in  command;  who  hates  com- 
pany, and  keeps  his  daughters  constantly  employed 
in  reading  to  him.  But  I  must  not  say  a  syllable 
against  him,  for  he  has  behaved  nobly  and  gene- 
rously beyond  measure ;  welcoming  me  into  his 
family  with  a  disinterestedness  which  is  indeed 
rarely  met  with;  giving  to  me  his  daughter,  the 
richest  jewel  in  his  domestic  crown,  and  a  portion 

of  .      You  may  believe,  my  dear  Jeanie,  I 

thought  little  of  money;  for  had  Kachel  not  a  shil- 
ling in  the  world,  my  affections  were,  and  for  ever 
would  have  remained,  hers.  But  it  is  very  pleas- 
ing, having  allowed  my  heart  to  be  in  its  choice 
wholly  unoccupied  (as  I  always  was  determined  it 
should  be)  with  money  matters,  to  find  that  I  shall 
be  quite  independent;  that  having  chosen  love,  I 
have  inadvertently  put  my  hand  upon  riches  too." 
This  event  rendered  Mr  Tytler's  happiness  com- 
plete;  but  Mrs  Tytler's  constitution  was  by  no 
means  robust.  This  was  necessarily  a  cause  of 
much  anxiety,  and  his  letters  to  his  amiable  wife 
evince  at  once  his  deep  affection,  and  his  anxiety 


2G8         PATRICK  FRASER  TYTLER. 

for  her  well-being.  '^Wlien  you  smile  and  are  liappj 
and  seem  to  be  well,  '  it  is  fresh  morning  with  me/ 
as  Shakspcre  says  somewhere.  Everything  looks 
gay  and  gilded,  and  my  spirits  rise  into  joy,  and 
move  on  as  lightly  as  the  little  green-coloured 
wherry  over  our  dear  pond  at  Newliston.  But  all 
is  instantly  overcast  to  me  when  you  are  in  pain. 
My  spirits  sink  like  lead.  I  plump  down  at  once 
into  despondency,  and  cannot  be  comforted." 

Visits  to  London  and  Oxford  in  1830,  for  tlie 
purpose  of  obtaining  access  to  rare  and  valuable 
historical  books  and  MSS.,  were  followed  a  couple 
of  years  afterwards  by  the  removal  of  his  family  to 
Torquay.  This  change  of  abode,  while  it  afforded 
sufficient  literary  quiet  to  himself,  was  beneficial  to 
his  beloved  partner.  Here  he  remained  busily  oc- 
cupied for  a  year,  when  he  and  his  family  returned 
to  Scotland,  and  in  consequence  of  Mrs  Tytler's 
delicate  state  settled  in  the  Island  of  Bute,  the  cli- 
mate of  which  is  in  a  very  high  degree  mild  and 
salubrious.  Leaving  his  wife  and  family  in  the 
vicinity  of  Kothesay,  Mr  Tytler  again  repaired  to 
his  old  haunts  in  London — the  State  Paper  Office 
and  the  British  Museum.  A  few  extracts  from  his 
letters  to  his  w4fe  at  this  period  will  not  be  unac- 
ceptable to  the  reader,  as  exhibiting  at  once  his 
piety  and  the  tenderness  of  his  domestic  affections: 
"  My  first  feeling  in  London  has  been  this  time  the 
same  as  it  always  is,  a  sense  of  loneliness  and  de- 
sertion ;  the  misery  of  bustle,  with  ilie  conscious- 


HIS  PIETY  AND  AFFECTION.  2(jU 

ness  of  solitude.  This  I  seek  to  relieve  in  two 
ways ;  the  iirst  (for  which  I  bless  God)  is  to  pray 
often,  wherever  I  may  be,  and  to  seek  a  nearer 
communion  Avitli  the  source  of  all  Love  and  Good- 
ness, in  his  own  way,  through  my  Saviour.  This 
calms  me,  and  I  am  at  peace.  The  second  is  to 
write  to  my  best  and  dearest  love,  who  is  and  ever 
will  be  more  perfectly  dear  than  any  mortal  thing ; 
and  to  whom  my  thoughts,  in  absence,  constantly 
revert  with  a  fondness  I  cannot  explain  or  describe.' 
His  business  was  now  to  get  on  with  the  works  he 
had  in  hand ;  and  allusions  to  his  literary  occupa- 
tions abound  in  every  letter.  With  these,  he  ever 
intermingles  (as  his  manner  was)  something  play- 
ful : — ^  The  more  I  see  of  the  rich  and  voluminous 
stores  of  manuscript  which  exist  in  London,'  he 
writes,  '  the  more  I  am  compelled  to  wonder  that 
so  little  use  has  been  hitherto  made  of  them.  The 
English  historians  have  been  absolutely  living  in 
tfce  midst  of  a  Golconda  of  manuscripts,  a  mine  full 
of  the  richest  jewels,  and  have  been  contented  to 
build  their  works  from  Birmingham  pastes.  It  is 
passing  strange,  and  tantalising  to  those  who  can- 
not have  constant  access  to  such  treasures  ;  but  I 
shall  make  the  most  of  my  time,  and  try  to  copy 
as  much  as  I  can,  not  forgetting  Henry  VIIL  My 
printers,  now  that  they  have  begun,  keep  me  ex- 
ceedingly busy.  I  have  been  working  also  on 
Henry  VIIL;  and  this,  with  an  endeavour  to  col- 
lect materials  for  my  sixth  volume,  and  to  examine 


270        PATRICK  FRASER  TYTLER. 

tlie  various  depots  of  manuscripts,  holds  me  in  con- 
stant employment.  But  I  obey  your  directions, 
my  own  dear  love,  and  walk  as  much  as  possible ; 
and  as  the  British  Museum,  tlie  State  Paper  Office, 
the  Chapter  House  at  Westminster,  and  the  Heralds' 
College,  are  at  considerable  distances,  I  get  through 
a  great  deal  of  exercise  as  well  as  literary  labour. 
I  dined  yesterday  at  ^neas  Macintosh's.  It  was 
quite  a  small  party ;  but  there  was  a  Sir  James 
Hillyer  there,  an  old  navy  captain  bred  by  Lord 
Nelson,  whom  I  took  a  great  fancy  to.  Lady  Hill- 
yer and  her  daughter,  a  young  unaffected  girl,  gave 
us  in  the  evening  some  music  in  so  exquisite  a  style, 
that  I  could  not  help  wishing  over  and  over  again 
that  my  own  Rachel  had  been  sitting  beside  me. 
Miss  Hillyer  played  the  harp  as  finely  as  any  pro- 
fessional performer,  besides  having  a  rich  full  voice, 
and  no  airs  or  trumpery.  Her  taste  was  admirable; 
but  the  old  Admiral  insisted  on  joining,  and  sung 
out  as  if  he  had  been  hailing  a  French  man-of-w^af, 
till  his  wife  stopped  him,  and  sent  him  away  from 
the  piano.  It  w^as  a  very  funny  scene,  but  the 
veteran  bore  it  with  perfect  good  humour.  I  must 
not  forget  to  tell  you  about  the  party  at  the  Duke 
of  Sussex's.  As  far  as  splendid  rooms  (seven  or 
eight  in  a  suite)  and  brilliant  lighting  could  go,  it 
was  grand  enough;  but  the  brilliance  was  cast  upon 
as  odd-looking  a  set  of  old  codgers  as  ever  my  eyes 
lighted  on.  Some  five  or  six  hundred  philosophers 
and  antiquarians,  poets,  painters,  artists  of  all  de- 


PURSUITS  AND  PROSPECTS.  271 

scriptions,  interspersed  with  some  bishops,  prime 
ministers,  earls,  marquises,  and  big-wigs.  On  the 
tables  were  models  of  machines,  maps,  mathematical 
instruments;  odd-looking  clocks,  and  strange  unin- 
telligible contrivances.  In  one  corner  was  a  little 
fellow,  with  a  huge  head  of  white  hair,  and  a  face 
scarcely  human,  lecturing  upon  the  pyramids  to  a 
ch'cle  of  literati^  some  of  them  more  odd-looking 
than  himself.  In  another  part  stood  the  Koyal 
Duke,  surrounded  by  a  cluster  of  savans,  talking 
very  loud  about  the  constellations  and  signs  of  the 
zodiac,  in  a  voice  like  a  child's  penny  trumpet.  .  . 
I  saw  Prince  Talleyrand,  a  most  inhuman-looking 
old  man,  tottering  under  the  weight  of  years,  with 
long  white  hair  flowing  on  his  shoulders,  and  a  face 
like  a  haggard  old  witch.  Could  I  have  had  any 
one  to  point  out  to  me  the  various  eminent  men 
who  I  daresay  were  there,  it  might  have  been  much 
more  entertaining ;  but,  although  I  saw  some  anti- 
quaries and  keepers  of  manuscripts  whom  I  knew, 
I  could  not  bother  them  by  asking  questions,  which 
at  all  times  I  detest  doing.'  At  this  time,  in  the 
prospect  of  an  immediate  vacancy  in  the  keepership 
of  the  Eecords  in  the  Chapter  House,  Westminster, 
several  candidates  for  that  office  entered  the  field ; 
and  Tytler's  claims  were  powerfully  urged  upon 
Lord  Grey,  who  was  then  Premier,  and  in  whose 
gift  the  appointment  rested.  '  The  salary  is  £400 
a-year,'  he  writes ;  '  the  duties,  exactly  such  as  I 
am  entitled,  fi'om  my  knowledge  and  experience,  to 


272         PATRICK  FKASER  TYTLEK. 

think  I  can  perform.'     It  was,  in  fact,  exa'ctly  the 
office  for  which  his  devotion  to  history,  his  enlight- 
ened familiarity  with  ancient  documents,  his  po- 
pular manners,  and  his  energetic  and  conciliatory 
disposition,  seemed  to  qualify  him.     Plis   slender 
income  and  his  wife's  feeble  health  supplied  an 
additional  inducement;  and  he  became  very  anxious 
to  succeed.     'Whichever  way  it  may  be  decided,' 
he  says, '  I  have  to  bless  God  that  there  is  impressed 
on  my  mind  (and  it  comes  alone  from  Ilim),  the 
most  sweet  and  certain  conviction  that  if  success  is 
for  my  real  good,  it  will  most  assuredly  be  given. 
If  I  succeed,  it  will  be  with  His  blessing ;  if  I  fail, 
still  it  will  be  with  His  blessing.    Why  then  should 
I  for  a  moment  be  anxious?  '     Anxious,  however, 
he  was,  as  his  letters  show ;   and  his  unremitting 
exertions  to  complete  his  collections  for  his  History, 
which  was  the  business  which  had  brought  him  to 
London,  quite  wore  him  out.     'Amid  my  present 
toil,'  he  writes  to  his  beloved  Kachel,  '  your  letters 
are  a  most  sweet  consolation.     They  quite  overcome 
me  when  I  read  them  ;   and  I  feel  that  whatever 
disappointment  may  come,  to  return  and  repose  on 
such  a  heart,  and  be  the  object  of  such  fond  and 
wakeful  love,  is  enough  to  work  an  immediate  cure.' 
At  the  end  of  a  fevv'  days,  he  learnt  that  the  office 
had  been  bestowed  upon  another.     '  The  place  has 
been  given  to  Sir  Francis  Palgrave;  and  now  that 
it  is  all  fixed,  and  my  mind  out  of  suspense,  I  bless 
God  that  Tie  enables  me  to  feel  not  only  not  dis- 


RESIGNATION  IN  DISArPOlNTMENT.  273 

appointed,  but  happy,  and  quite  assured  that  He, 
in  his  infinite  wisdom,  has  ordained  all  well.  Every 
step  I  took  in  the  affair,  I  have  since  carefully 
thought  over ;  and  there  is  none  that  I  would  not 
repeat.  I  prayed  constantly  for  guidance  and  di- 
rection, and  have  been  enabled  to  act  throughout 
in  such  a  way,  that  all  that  is  right,  and  open,  and 
just  has  been  on  our  side.  .  .  .  But  it  is  a 
very  long  story,  my  beloved  Rachel,  and  I  will  not 
attempt  to  give  you  the  particulars  till  we  meet, 
which  please  God  will  not  I  trust  be  long  now. 
The  affair,  although  ended  as  far  as  concerns  the  place 
being  given,  is  not  ended  as  to  the  consequences. 
The  Record  Commission  will  I  trust  be  brought 
before  Parliament ;  and  I  think  it  very  likely  that 
it  will  be  knocked  on  the  head.  No  one  has  been 
more  active  in  this  matter  than  both  Patrick  Stewart 
and  Hibbert.  Sydney  Smith  too  has  acted  a  very 
straightforward  and  friendly  part ;  and  as  for  my 
dear  Campbell,  he  absolutely  bearded  the  lion  in 
his  den.  It  ought  however  to  be  said,  in  justice  to 
Lord  Grey,  that  all  that  he  has  done  has  been  per- 
fectly honourable  and  consistent.'  When  next  he 
wrote — '  The  disappointment  (I  scarcely  ought  to  use 
so  strong  a  word)  has  been  let  fall  so  gently  on  me, 
that  although  at  one  time  my  hopes  were  sanguine, 
and  I  felt  something  of  the  joy  of  approaching  in- 
dependence, I  can  now  say  that  my  mind  is  perfectly 
peaceful  and  happy.  I  feel  that  all  has  been  regu- 
lated by  infinite  Love  and  perfect  Wisdom.'  " 
2  M 


274         TATRICK  FRASER  TYTLER. 

After  the  death  of  liis  wife,  Mr  Tytler  took  up 
his  abode  in  London,  and  continued  to  pursue  his 
literary  labours.  In  October  1843  his  History  of 
Scotland  was  happily  brought  to  a  conclusion, 
after  a  labour  of  nearly  eighteen  years,  and  he  soon 
after  was  gratified  by  finding  himself,  on  the  re- 
commendation of  Sir  Kobert  Peel,  placed  on  the 
civil  list  for  a  pension  of  £200  a-year.  ''  I  be- 
lieve," says  his  friend  Mr  Pringle,  '*  that  it  was  his 
original  intention  to  bring  down  his  History  of 
Scotland  to  the  Union  of  the  Kingdoms ;  but  he 
found  the  materials  of  the  last  century  so  increased 
in  quantity,  that  the  labour  of  discriminating,  se- 
lecting, and  condensing,  appeared  to  him  quite  ap- 
palling; and,  indeed,  it  would  then  have  been  quite 
beyond  his  impaired  strength  ;  for  he  had  so  de- 
voted his  energies  to  the  perfecting  of  his  work, 
that  I  believe  his  health  had  been  irreparably  in- 
jured, and  his  valuable  life  was  shortened  by  the 
inroads  which  incessant  labour  had  made  on  his 
constitution." 

His  letters  from  England  at  this  period  possess 
much  interest.  The  following  is  an  extract  from 
one  from  Wimbledon  Park,  where  he  was  on  a  visit 
to  the  Duke  of  Somerset,  who  was  much  attached 
to  him  : — "  Yesterday,  I  walked  six  miles  to  call  on 
dear  Lady  Dunmore,  in  Richmond  Park.  I  had 
heard  $he  was  so  ill  that  she  saw  nobody  ;  but  after 
I  had  left  my  name,  and  was  walking  away,  the 
servant  came  running  after  me,  and  said  his  mis- 


LETTER  FROM  WIMBLEDON.  275 

tress  must  see  me  ;  so  I  went  Lack.  She  can  only 
speak  in  a  wliisper,  but  hap]nly  it  is  so  clear  and 
distinct  that  I  heard  her  quite  well.  She  was  most 
kind,  and  a  good  deal  affected  at  first  seeing  me 
(you  know  I  used  to  be  very  fond  of  old  Lord  Dun- 
more,  and  much  Avith  him  long  ago).  She  insisted 
on  taking  me  with  her  in  her  carriage,  and  would 
not  hear  of  my  walking  back  again.  The  way  in 
which  she  held  my  hand  as  I  sat  beside  her  in  the 
carriage,  and  listened  to  her  sweet  little  clear  low 
whisper,  was  more  like  the  tenderness  of  a  mother 
or  a  wife,  than  any  other  thing.  She  said  she  was 
so  glad  I  had  come  that  day,  for  it  was  the  only 
day  for  a  long  time  before  that  she  could  have  seen 
me,  as  she  had  slept  five  hours  the  night  before. 
Alas,  how  little  do  we  sometimes  think  of  the  in- 
finite blessing  of  health  and  sleep !  Gladly  would 
I  give  up  three  or  four  hours  of  my  night's  rest,  if 
they  could  be  added  to  the  sleep  of  this  dear  old 
friend,  who  is  so  patient  a  sufferer.  But,  doubtless, 
these  sufferings  will  purify  her  for  that  long  sleep 
which  will  be  followed  by  so  bright  and  blessed  a 
wakening.  Yesterday  and  the  day  before  we  had 
the  Speaker  here,  Mr  Shaw  Lefevre,  of  whom  your 
friends  the  Miss  Aliens  spoke  so  much.  All  they 
said  was  true  ;  for  I  never  was  in  company  with  a 
more  agreeable  man,  full  of  anecdote,  funny,  and 
without  the  least  affectation  of  any  kind.  He  is  a 
noble-looking  man,  too, — quite  like  what  the  head 
of  the  Commoners  of  England  should  be.     I  was 


276         PATRICK  ERASER  TYTLER. 

sorry  he  went  away  so  soon.     We  had  another  treat 

in  another  way  :  a  Mr ,  tlie  son  of  Lord , 

who  is  a  magMilficent  player  on  the  pianoforte.  He 
is  very  very  little,  with  a  small  white  face  like  a  six- 
pence, black  moustaches,  and  little  eyes,  like  the 
tops  of  a  black  pin,  and  very  wee  hands ;  but  when 
this  thing  sits  down  to  the  piano,  if  you  shut  your 
eyes,  you  would  imagine  three  or  four  giants  were 
playing.  He  practises  seven  hours  a-day,  and  wea- 
ries and  wears  his  little  hands  so,  that  his  wrists 
have  large  lumps  on  them,  which  have  to  be  ban- 
daged down,  so  that  in  his  quick  passages  you  see 
nothing  flying  along  the  notes,  but  two  black  rib- 
bons. He  is  a  perfect  delight,  and  amused  me  much, 
both  in  seeing  him,  and  thinking  of  him  after- 
wards." 

In  1845  ^Ir  Tytler  married  Miss  Anastasia  Bonar, 
daughter  of  the  late  Thomson  Bonar,  Esq.  of  Cam- 
den Place,  Kent,  a  lady  of  great  personal  and  intel- 
lectual charms,  sincere  piety,  and  devotedly  attached 
to  his  children.  On  this  subject  he  thus  writes  to 
his  intimate  friend,  Mr  Burgon : — "  How  all  this 
has  come  about,  dear  Johnny,  I  can  scarcely  tell. 
It  has  been  so  gradual  and  so  gentle.  There  was  a 
time,  as  you  well  know,  when  I  never  dreamed  that 
my  heart  could  have  admitted  these  feelings  again ; 
but  now,  without  losing  any  of  the  sweet  and  sacred 
memories  connected  with  that  beloved  being  who 
has  fallen  asleep,  I  have  resigned  myself  to  a  feel- 
ino^  which  I  cannot  resist." 


DECLINlXii  HEALTH.  277 

His  health  had  for  some  years  gradually  declined, 
and  in  June  1846  he  proceeded  to  Vielbach,  near 
Frankfort,  and  after  remaining  there  a  year,  re- 
moved to  Elgersburgli,  in  Thuringia,  to  try  the 
effect  of  the  cold  water  cure ;  thence  he  proceeded 
to  Paris,  and  by  slow  stages  returned  to  England, 
and  reached  Malvern  in  October  1849,  after  an  ab- 
sence on  the  Continent  of  three  years  and  a-half. 
Under  the  care  of  Dr  Gully  he  now  appeared  to 
make  considerable  progress  towards  recovery  ,*  but 
those  happy  indications  did  not  continue.  ''  On 
Monday  the  17th  December,"  says  his  biographer, 
''  Tytler  breakfasted  w^ith  his  family  for  the  last 
time.  He  had  now  grown  exceedingly  weak  and 
languid,  and  slept  through  the  greater  part  of  the 
day.  He  was  equal  to  no  mental  exertion  ;  but  de- 
rived pleasure  from  hearing  Washington  Irving's 
'  Life  of  Goldsmith '  read  aloud  in  the  evening. 
Next  day  he  felt  too  weak  to  leave  his  bed ;  and 
only  shook  off  the  drowsy  torpor  which  seemed  to 
be  stealing  over  him,  to  say  his  prayers,  of  which 
he  made  his  wife  promise  she  w^ould  remind  him  at 
the  customary  hour.  He  rose  on  the  day  follow- 
ing ;  but  was  unequal  to  the  task  of  writing  Mrs 
Tytler's  name  in  a  book  he  had  once  given  her.  A 
fit  of  exhaustion  came  on  in  the  evening ;  and  the 
sunken  eyes,  contracted  eyelids,  and  almost  inau- 
dible voice,  showed  but  too  plainly  what  must 
shortly  follow.  His'wife  asked  him  if  he  felt  ill 
*  Total  exhaustion,'  was  his  reply  :  ^  life  is  ebbing.' 


278        PATRICK  ERASER  TYTLER. 

xSext  day  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  leave 
his  bed  ;  and  remarked  that  it  was  ^  vain  to  struggle 
any  longer.'  His  voice  was  very  low,  and  he  spoke 
as  if  in  his  sleep.  At  every  suggestion  that  he 
should  get  up,  he  replied,  ^  Ten  minutes  longer ! 
A  little  more  rest,  I  entreat  you ; '  and  dropped 
asleep  again.  Once  he  said,  ^I  cannot  rise;  my 
strength  is  gone.'  He  could  not  even  feed  him- 
self; but  he  folded  his  hands  before  and  after  every 
meal,  and  syllabled  the  customary  grace.  Through- 
out almost  all  the  following  day  he  slept,  but  made 
an  effort  to  rise  in  the  evening.  After  hearing  his  fa- 
vourite Psalm  (the  121st)  read  aloud  to  him,  slowly 
and  distinctly,  in  order  (as  he  said)  that  he  might 
understand  it,  he  returned  to  his  bed ;  never  to  rise 
from  it  again.  On  Sunday  the  23rd  he  grew  con- 
fused in  memory,  experienced  difficulty  in  swallow- 
ing, and  complained  of  darkness.  The  curtain  was 
drawn,  and  the  light  of  the  winter  morning  was 
suffered  to  stream  on  his  bed;  but  in  vain.  He 
folded  his  hands,  and  exclaimed,  '  I  see  how  it  is.' 
He  slumbered  throughout  the  day,  and  remarked, 
when  the  doctor  called  upon  him  in  the  afternoon, 
^  I  shall  not  now  be  long  on  the  face,  of  this  earth.' 
Later  in  the  evening  he  kissed  and  blessed  his 
cliildren.  A  night  of  confused  thoughts  followed, 
and  before  the  dawn,  it  became  apparent  that  he 
was  sinking  rapidly.  His  wife,  who  had  been 
seeking  to  administer  some  v/ine  and  water,  sup- 
posing that  his  difficulty  in  swallowing  w^as  owing 


HIS  TALKNT  AND  CHAUACTEU.       279 

to  his  position,  strove  to  alter  it.  lie  gently  shook 
his  head,  and  smiled  faintly.  Suddenly,  at  about 
half-past  seven,  a  deadly  pallor  overspread  his  fea- 
tures, and  his  pulse  became  almost  imperceptible. 
He  drew  one  long  breath, — and  all  was  over !  " 

One  extract  from  a  letter  from  his  old  friend,  Mr 
Pringle  of  Yair,  will  form  a  suitable  conclusion  to 
our  brief  memoir  : — "  I  can  hardly  describe  to  you 
what  a  conflict  of  thought  has  filled  my  mind,  since 
I  heard  of  this  event.  I  was  not  at  all  prepared 
for  it,  having  cherished  the  hope  that  I  might  again 
have  seen  my  early  friend,  and  that,  after  the  effects 
of  his  fatiguing  journey  had  subsided,  his  recovery 
might  have  gone  on  progressively.  But  God  has 
willed  it  otherwise.  May  he  be  a  Father  to  the 
fatherless  children,  in  whom  I  shall  ever  feel  a  very 
warm  interest.  It  is  about  forty-two  years  since 
our  acquaintance,  or  I  should  rather  say  our  inti- 
macy (for  it  was  intimacy  from  the  beginning)  first 
commenced ;  and  in  how  many  events  of  our  lives 
have  we  been  associated !  His  was  a  highly  gifted 
as  well  as  highly  cultivated  mind,  combined  with 
the  sweetest  disposition.  Having  spent  many  of 
my  happiest  hours  in  his  society,  I  cannot  help 
dwelling  on  the  recollection  of  them ;  for  in  the 
circle  of  those  friends  amongst  whom  the  most  ac- 
tive and  interesting  years  of  my  life  were  passed, 
he  filled  an  important  place.  No  one  contributed 
so  large  a  share  to  the  joys  of  that  social  intercourse 
which  lightened  our  toils,  and  excited  us  to  fresh 


280         PATRICK  FRASER  TYTLER. 

exertion.  I  can  hardly  reconcile  myself  to  the  idea 
that  the  scenes  of  those  happy  days  have  passed 
away  for  ever.  I  have  had  various  intimations  of 
this  melancholy  fact ;  but  this  event  is  the  first  that 
has  convinced  my  mind  of  its  certainty.  Some  of 
our  most  esteemed  early  friends  have  departed  be- 
fore him,  and  we  lamented  their  deaths  as  occa- 
sioning premature  blanks  in  our  circle.  But  I  now 
acknowledge  the  fact,  that  that  circle  is  broken  up 
for  ever ;  and  that,  for  the  remainder  of  the  time 
allowed  to  those  of  us  who  survive,  our  social  en- 
joyments must  be  reckoned  amongst  the  things 
Avhich  have  run  their  course.  When  we  meet,  we 
can  never  again  rise  to  that  buoyancy  of  spirits 
which  we  once  enjoyed,  though  we  may  have  a 
melancholy  pleasure  in  dwelling  on  the  memory  of 
the  past ;  and  especially  in  cherishing  our  recollec- 
tions of  one  whose  playful  wit  and  varied  accom- 
plishments  were   the  chief  charm    of  our   inter- 


POPULAR 

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mtlj  C|oi«  Illustrations, 


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CONTENTS. 

The  Christian  Philanthropist — Cyprian  of  Carthage. 

The  Faithful  Minister — Ambrose  of  Milan. 

The  Homely  Preacher — Augustine  of  Hippo. 

The  Fearless  Bishop — Basil  the  Great. 

Tlie  Genial  Theologian — Gregory  Nazianzen. 

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Fathers  usually  are." — English  Churchman. 

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the  communication  of  information  ;  and  deserves  wide  circulation 
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I  —AKIN  FOR  EVER. 

"  Let  Patience  have  its  Perfect  Work  " 
II.— RACHEL  ASTONS  ENGAGEMENT. 

"  Be  of  Good  Cheer." 
IH.-TWO  TIMES  IN  MY  LIFE. 

"  Behold  the  Power  of  Love." 
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and  endurance  "hich  won  and  maintained  naval  power— and  the  innu- 
merable episodes  of  brilliant  daring  which  mark  the  career  of  our  early 
adventurers. 

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Franklin  the  Navigator. 
As  tor  the  Millionaire. 
Hutton  the  Bookseller. 
Linnaeus  the  Naturalist. 
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Eldon  the  Judge. 
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Vignette  Title. 

The  Idea  of  the  "  Spinning  Jenny." 

Stephenson  goes  down  the  Shaft. 

Oberlin  Makes  the  Road  and  Builds  the  Bridge. 

Hutton's  Start  m  Life. 

Wilson  Overcome  by  the  Terror  of  his  Prisoner. 

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The  Worker  of  Charity — Margaret  JNIercer. 

The  Teacher  in  the  Wilds — Sarah  Judson. 

The  Noble  Matron — Lady  Russell. 

The  True  Wife — Lady  Fanshawe. 

The  Pattern  of  Domestic  Virtue — Lucy  Hutchinson. 

The  Friend  of  Columbus — Isabel  the  Catholic. 

The  Queenly  Scholar — Lady  Jane  Grey. 

The  Star  of  Austria — Maria  Theresa. 

The  Pastor's  Helpmate — Madeleine  Oberlin. 

The  Children's  Favourite — Ann  Barbauld. 

The  Estimable  Governess — Suzanne  Curchod. 

The  Patient  Astronomer —  Caroline  Herschel. 

The  Qmet  Reformer — Hannah  More. 

The  Poet's  Companion — Mrs  Wordsworth. 

The  Sculptor's  Assistant — Ann  Flaxman. 

The  Earnest  Chi-istian — Lady  Warwick. 

The  Guardian  Angel — Lady  Mackintosh. 

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John  Flaxman  Ruined  for  an  Artist. 
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Sarah  Martin  and  her  Jail  Congregation. 
Sarah  Judson  and  the  Burmese  Freebooters. 
Columbus  Returns  from  the  "New  World." 
Madeleine  Oberlin  A'isiting  the  Sick. 
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Jejeebhoy  the  Parsee  Merchant. 

Minton  and  Wedgwood  ;  or,  the  History  of  a  Tea-cup 
and  two  great  Potters. 

George  Heriot  the  Shi-ewd  Goldsmith. 

Joseph  Brotherton  the  Factory  Boy. 

Stephen  Girard  the  Cabin  Boy. 

Jolm  Leyden  the  Shepherd  Boy. 

Drake  the  Sea-Kuig  ;  or,  the  Building  of  "  Old  Eng- 
land's Wooden  Walls." 

Dupuytren  the  Resolute  Surgeon. 

Laffitte  the  Banker  ;  or,  a  Fortune  in  a  Pin, 

James  Montgomery,  Poet  and  Editor. 

John  Ray  the  Reverent  Inquirer. 

Breguet  the  Ingenious  Watchmaker. 

David  Wilkie  the  Painter  of  Daily  Life. 

John  Pounds  and  his  Ragged  Scholars ;  or,  the  Cobbler's 
Experiment. 

William  Knil)b  the  Friend  of  the  Slave. 

George  Birkbeck  and  the  Origin  of  Mechanics'  Institutions. 

Edward  Baines  the  Successful  Printer. 

SUBJECTS  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

An  Incident  in  the  Early  Days  of  the  "  Times" — John 

Walter  showing  the  first  sheet  printed  by  steam. 
James  Montgomery  and  his  Prison  Friends. 
The  Modem  Alnaschar  and  his  IVo  Bottles. 
Josiah  Wedgwood  bidding  for  the  Portland  Vase. 
Leyden  in  search  of  the  "  Arabian  Nights." 
The  Duke  and  the  Water- Carrier. 
Wilkie's  first  Drawing  Academy. 
John  Poimds  taming  the  "  hopeful  hopeless." 

London  :  .Tames  Hogg  &  Sons,  St.  Bride's  Avenue. 


In  square  8vo.,  Price  3s.  Gd., 

PICTURES    OF    HEROES, 

%\\b  fessQits  front  Jjjtir  f ibts. 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  ON  TINTED  PAPER. 

CONTENTS. 

An  Imperial  Convert ;  or,  the  Youth  and  Manhood  of  Constantiiie. 
The  Moslem's  Dream  ;  or,  the  Crescent  on  the  Loire. 
Kmg  Alfred  ;  or,  a  Thousand  Years  Ago. 
Frederick  Barbarossa,  the  "  Red-beard  "  of  the  Rhine. 
Brother  Jolm  of  Vicenza. 
Northern  Lights. 
The  Snow  King. 

Scenes  in  the  Life  of  William  the  Silent. 
The  Polish  Wizard. 

Insbrl'ick  and  its  Echoes  ;   or,  the  Rescue,  the  Run,  the  Bribe, 
and  the  Ruin. 


SUBJECTS  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 
King  Alfred  Winning  the  Queen's  Manuscript. 
Barbarossa's  Answer  to  the  Citizens  of  Lodi. 
Tlie  Pulpit  on  the  Field  of  Paquara. 

A  Woman's  Guess  ;  or,  the  King  amongst  the  Mine-folk. 
The  Solemn  Farewell. 
A  Scene  in  the  Life  of  William  the  Silent. 

' '  The  Wizard  himself !  " — A  Look  through  the  W^indows  of  the 
Past. 

A  VOLUME  FOR  THE  YOUNG. 

In  square  8vo.,  Price  3s.  6d., 
THE  BOOK  OF 

ilbreit's  pmuns  itiiir  |Ujiimcs. 

COLLECTED  BY  THE  DArOHTEK  OF  A  CLERGTMAIf. 

♦»*  The  Editor  and  Publishers  have  to  acknowledge  the  courtesy  of  various 
Authors  and  Publishers  in  allowing  them  to  include  in  this  Collection  nume- 
rous Pieces  which  are  Copyright— snch  as  the  Poems  by  Mrs  Howitt,  Mrs 
Duncan,  etc.,  etc.  Many  of  these  contributions  to  the  Literature  of  Hymns 
and  RhjTnes  lay  scattered  through  a  variety  of  books  too  numerous  to  fall 
within  the  limits  of  mo^t  Juvenile  Libraries.  The  pennission  to  reprint,  which 
has  been  kindly  given,  thus  enables  the  Editor  to  carry  out  her  design  of  making 
this  Volume  a  co'mpreheiisive  collection  of  tlic  "  Children's  Favourites." 

The  volume  is  profusely  Illustrated  by  \Yood  Engravings,  and  printed  in 
clear  bold  type. 

London  :  James  IIogq  &  Sons,  St.  Bride's  Avenue, 


Trice  33.  6d., 
THE 

HABITS  OF  GOOD  SOCIETY: 

%  |)!iiiiiljooIi  fff  (Etiquette 

FOR 

LADIES   AND   GENTLEMEN. 

WITH  THOUGHTS,  HLNT3,  AND  ANECDOTES  COXCERXING 
SOCIAL  OBSERVANCES  ;  NICE  POINTS  OF  TASTE  AND  GOOD 
MANNERS  ;  AND  THE  ART  OF  MAKING  OXE's-SELF  AGREE- 
ABLE. THE  WHOLE  IXTERSPERSED  WITH  HUMOROUS 
ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  SOCIAL  PREDICAMENTS,  REMARKS  ON 
THE  HISTORY  AND  CHANGES  OF  FASHION,  AND  THE  DIF- 
FERENCES OF  ENGLISH  AND  CONTINENTAL  ETIQUETTE. 


PART  I.— THE  INDIVIDUAL. 
Chap.  I. — The  DREssixa-RooM. 
II.— The  Lady's  Toilet. 
III.— Dress. 
IV. — Lady's  Dress. 
V. — Accomplishments. 
VI. — Feminine  Accomplishments. 
VII. — Manners,  Carriage,  and  Habits. 
VIII.— The  Carriage  of  a  Lady. 

PART  II.— THE  INDIVIDUAL  IX  INDIVIDUAL  RELATIONS. 
Chap.  IX. — In  Public. 
X. — In  Private. 

PART  III.— THE  INDIVIDUAL  IN  COMPANY. 
Chap.  XI. — Dinners,  Diners,  and  Dinner-Parties. 
XII. — Ladies  at  Dinner. 
XI IL— Balls. 

XIV. — Morning  and  Evening  Parties. 
XV. — Marriage. 

XVI.— PUESENTATION  AT  CoURT. 
London  :  JA>rE3  IIoaG  &  Sons,  St  Bri.le's  .•Avenue. 


-3*;