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munion after several days' respite, that it may appear it is thy reason guides thee, and not thy passion, invite him kindly and courteously into some retired place, and there let it be determined whether his blood or thine shall satisfy the injury.

Oh, thou holy Christian religion! Whence is it that thy children have sucked this inhuman poisonous blood, these raging fiery spirits? For if we shall inquire of the heathen, they will say, They have not learned this from us; or of the Mohammedans, they will answer, We are not guilty of it. Blessed God! that it should become a most sure settled course for a man to run into danger and disgrace with the world, if he shall dare to perform a commandment of Christ, which is as necessary for him to do, if he have any hopes of attaining heaven, as meat and drink is for the maintaining of life! That ever it should enter into Christian hearts to walk so curiously and exactly contrary unto the ways of God! That whereas he sees himself every day and hour almost, contemned and despised by thee, who art his servant, his creature, upon whom he might, without all possible imputation of unrighteousness, pour down all the vials of his wrath and indignation; yet he, notwithstanding, is patient and long-suffering toward thee, hoping that his long-suffering may lead thee to repentance, and beseeching thee daily by his ministers to be reconciled unto him; and yet thou, on the other side, for a distempered passionate speech or less, should take upon thee to send thy neighbour's soul, or thine own, or likely both, clogged and oppressed with all your sins unrepented of, (for how can repentance possibly consist with such a resolution ?) before the tribunal seat of God, to expect your final sentence; utterly depriving yourself of all blessed means which God has contrived for thy salvation, and putting thyself in such an estate, that it shall not be in God's power almost to do thee any good. Pardon, I beseech you, my earnestness, almost intemperateness, seeing that it hath proceeded from so just, and warrantable a ground, and since it is in your power to give rules of honour and refutation to the whole kingdom, do you not teach others to be ashamed of this inseparable badge of your religion-charity and forgiving of offences: give men leave to be Christians without danger or dishonour; or if religion will not work with you, yet let the laws of that state wherein you live, the earnest desires and care of your righteous prince prevail with you.

JOHN GAUDEN was a theologian of a far more worldly and ambitious character than either of the three preceding divines. He was the son of the vicar of Mayfield, in Essex, and was born in 1605. Having prepared for the university at a grammar-school in Suffolk, at sixteen years of age, he entered St. John's College, Cambridge, where he soon became distinguished for his scholarship, and at the usual time took his successive degrees. In 1630, he married the daughter of Sir William Russel, of Chippenhamme in Cambridgeshire, and was immediately after presented to the vicarage of that place. He also obtained the rectory of Brightwell, in Berkshire; and as this was near Oxford, he entered Wadham College of that university, and became tutor to two of his father-in-law's sons: several other young gentlemen, and some noblemen were also placed under his care. In this situation he passed about five years, faithfully regarding those under his care, and at the same time devoting his leisure hours with such untiring industry to his studies, that, in 1635, he took the degree of bachelor of divinity, and five years after, that of doctor.

When about thirty years of age, Gauden added to his other duties, the chaplaincy to the earl of Warwick, one of the Presbyterian leaders of that

period; and being of a temporizing disposition, he not only professed the opinions current with the earl's party, but, in 1640, preached before the house of commons a sermon which gave so much satisfaction, that the members gave him a vote of thanks, and also presented him with a silver tankard. Next year the rich deanery of Bocking, in Essex, was added to his preferments; all of which, when the Presbyterian form of church government and worship was substituted for the Episcopal, he kept by conforming to the new order of things, though not without apparent reluc


When the army resolved to impeach and try the king, in 1648, Gauden published A Religious and Loyal Protestation against their purposes and proceedings. This tract was followed in subsequent years by various other pieces, in defence of the cause of the royalists. But his grand service to that party consisted in writing the famous Ikon Basiliké; or the Portraiture of his Most Sacred Majesty in his Solitude and Sufferings-a work professing to emanate from the pen of Charles the First himself, and to contain the devout meditations of his latter days. It was the intention of Gauden to publish the 'Portraiture,' before the execution of the king, as an attempt to save his life, by working upon the feelings of the people; but either from the difficulty of getting it printed, or some other cause, it did not appear till several days after his majesty's death. The sensation which it produced in the unfortunate monarch's favor was extraordinary. It is not easy,' says Hume, 'to conceive the general compassion excited toward the king by the publishing, at so critical a juncture, a work so full of piety, meekness, and humanity. Many have not scrupled to ascribe to that book the subsequent restoration of the royal family. Milton compares its effects to those which were wrought on the tumultuous Romans by Antony's reading to them the will of Cæsar.' So eagerly and universally was the book perused by the nation, that it passed through fifty editions in a single year; and probably through its influence the title of Royal Martyr was applied to the king. As a sample of the 'Ikon,' we present the following meditations upon The Various Events of the Civil War :

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

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

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

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

There is no doubt but personal and private sins may ofttimes overbalance the justice of public engagements; nor doth God account every gallant man (in the world's esteem) a fit instrument to assert in the way of war a righteous cause. The more men are prone to arrogate to their own skill, valour, and strength, the less doth God ordinarily work by them for his own glory.

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

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

Those on the other side are forced to fly to the shifts of some pretended fears, and wild fundamentals of state, as they call them, which actually overthrow the present fabric both of church and state; being such imaginary reasons for self-defence as are most impertinent for those men to allege, who, being my subjects, were manifestly the first assaulters of me and the laws, first by unsuppressed tumults, after by listed forces. The same allegations they use, will fit any faction that hath but power and confidence enough to second with the sword all their demands against the present laws and governors, which can never be such as some side or other will not find fault with, so as to urge what they call a reformation of them to a rebellion against them."

In 1662, soon after the Restoration, Gauden was promoted to the bishopric of Worcester; a dignity, however, of which he did not long enjoy the fruits, as he died on the twentieth of September in the same year, through disappointment at not having received the richer see of Winchester, which he had solicited of the king.

Of the numerous profound theologians who, at this time, adorned the English Church, by far the most eloquent and imaginative was JEREMY TAYLOR. He has been styled by some, the Shakspeare, and by others, with more propriety, the Spenser, of English theological literature; and in the complexion of his taste and genius he is certainly closely allied to the author of the Faery Queen.' In his prolific fancy and diction, in a certain musical arrangement and sweetness of expression, in prolonged description, and in delicious musings and reveries, suggested by some favorite image or metaphor on which he dwells with the fondness of a young poet, his resemblance to Spenser is very apparent. He writes like an orator, and produces his effect by reiterated strokes and multiplied impressions. His picture of the Resurrection, in one of his sermons, is in the highest style of poetry, but generally he deals with the gentle and familiar; and his allusions to natural objects-as trees, birds, and flowers, the rising and setting sun, the charms of youthful innocence and beauty, the helplessness of infancy and childhood -possess an almost angelic purity of feeling and delicacy of fancy. When presenting rules for morning meditation and prayer, he often stops to indulge his love of nature. 'Sometimes,' he says, 'be curious to see the preparation which the sun makes when he is coming forth from his chambers of the east.' He compares a young man to a dancing bubble, 'empty and gay, and shining like a dove's neck, or the image of a rainbow, which hath no substance, and

whose very imagery and colors are fantastical.' The fulfillment of our duties he calls, 'presenting a rosmary or chaplet of good works to our Maker,' and he dresses even the grave with the flowers of fancy. This freshness of feeling and imagination remained with him to the last, amidst all the strife and violence of the civil war, and the still more deadening effects of polemical controversy and systems of casuistry and metaphysics. The stormy vicissi tudes of his life seem only to have taught him greater gentleness, resignation, toleration for human failings, and a more ardent love of humanity.

JEREMY TAYLOR was of gentle, and even heroic blood, and was born at Cambridge about the first of August, 1613. He was the lineal representative of Dr. Rowland Taylor, who suffered martyrdom in the reign of Queen Mary; and his family had formerly been distinguished in the county of Gloucester. The Taylors, however, had fallen into the portion of needs and out-worn faces,' to use an expression of their most illustrious member, and Jeremy's father followed the humble occupation of a barber, in Cambridge. He was, however, a man of ambition far above his circumstances, and resolved, therefore, to raise, if possible, through his son, the family to their former position. With this view, he had him carefully instructed in his preparatory learning, and at the early age of thirteen entered him in Caius College, Cambridge, where he successfully prosecuted his studies, until he took his master's degree.

In 1631 Taylor entered into sacred orders, and soon after went to London to deliver some lectures for a college friend, in St. Paul's Cathedral. His eloquent discourses, aided by what a contemporary calls his florid and youthful beauty, and pleasant air,' entranced all hearers, and procured him the patronage of Archbishop Laud, the friend of learning, if not of liberty. By Laud's assistance, Taylor obtained a fellowship in All Souls College, Oxford, became chaplain to the archbishop, and rector of Uppingham, in Rutlandshire. In 1639 he married Phoebe Langdale, of whom we know nothing but her musical name, and soon after, in consequence of the decline of the king's cause, he retired into Wales, where, under the protection of the earl of Carberry, he was permitted to officiate in Carmarthenshire, as a minister, and to teach school for the maintenance of his wife and children. Death, however, removed his wife from him about three years after his marriage, and to this calamity with others of a more public nature, he thus feelingly alludes:-'In the great storm which dashed the vessel of the church all in pieces, I had been cast on the coast of Wales, and in a little boat, thought to have enjoyed that rest and quietness which in England, in a far greater, I could not hope for. Here I cast anchor, and thinking to ride safely, the storm followed me with so impetuous violence, that it broke a cable, and I lost my anchor. And here again I was exposed to the mercy of the sea, and the gentleness of an element that could neither distinguish things nor persons; and, but that He that stilleth the raging of the sea, and the noise of his waves, and the madness of his people, had provided a

plank for me, I had been lost to all the opportunities of content or study; and I know not whether I have been more preserved by the courtesies of my friends, or the gentleness and mercies of a noble enemy. This fine passage is found in the dedication to Taylor's Liberty of Prophesying, a work published in 1647, Showing the Unreasonableness of Prescribing to other Men's Faith, and the Iniquity of Persecuting Different Opinions. By 'prophesying' the author means preaching or expounding the gospel. This work has been justly described as 'perhaps of all Taylor's writings, that which shows him farthest in advance of the age in which he lived, and of the ecclesiastical system in which he had been reared-as the first distinct and avowed defence of toleration which had been ventured on in England, perhaps in Christendom.' He builds the right of private judgment upon the difficulty of expounding Scripture-the insufficiency and uncer tainty of tradition-the fallibility of councils, the pope, ecclesiastical writers, and the church as a body, as arbiters of controverted points-and the consequent necessity of letting every man choose his own guide or judge of the meaning of Scripture for himself.'

The style of this masterly 'Discourse' is more argumentative and less ornate than that of his sermons and devotional treatises; but his enlightened zeal often breaks forth in striking condemnation of those who are 'curiously busy about trifles and impertinences, while they reject those glorious precepts of Christianity and holy life which are the glories of our religion, and would enable us to gain a happy eternity.' He closes the work with the following interesting and instructive apologue, which he had found in the Jew's books:

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

Before Taylor retired into Wales, he had, by virtue of the king's mandate, been made a doctor of divinity; and at the command of Charles, he wrote, soon after, a defence of Episcopacy, to which he was in principle, strongly attached. By a second marriage to a Welch lady of some fortune, he was released from the irksome duties of a schoolmaster, and thenceforth, during his stay in that country, he devoted all his leisure time to writing. Besides

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