"I know, and see by daily experience everywhere, how few there be that in their lifetime deserve the praise of religion in their death. For my part, I never did and never will gild a rotten post or a mud wall, or give false witness in praising; to give the praise of religion to those who deserve it not. I desire those of my own congregation would make their own funeral sermons while they be living, by their virtuous life and conversation. As the apostle saith, He hath not praise that is praised of man, but he that is praised of God.'"

6

From that pulpit, too, came in their first freshness the sermons which were issued in a volume, entitled, Joseph's Parti-coloured Coat, the volume which he dedicated to Lady Jane Covert, with that elegant apology for not using the popular style of flattery: "I will not follow the stream herein, -first, because I account it beneath my calling to speak anything above the truth; secondly, because of you it is needless. Let deformed faces be beholden to their painter: art hath nothing to do where nature hath prevented it."

We could not help sitting for some time in silence before that pulpit, until our inward ear caught a few broken sentences as from our old friend's voice in the distance; he was not seen in the pulpit, but it was Fuller verily saying to us-

"Let the man of meanest parts labour to attain to some competent measure of knowledge in matters of salvation, that so he may not trust every spirit, but be able to try whether he be of God or no. Believe no man with implicit faith in matters of such moment; for he who buys a jewel in a case without ever looking on it deserves to be cozened with a Bristol-stone instead of a diamond."

A pause; and then the voice again—

"What shall I say ? Shall I praise you in this? Pastors may and must praise their people wherein they do well. 1. Hereby they shall peacefully possess themselves of the good wills of their people, which may much advance the power and efficacy of their preaching. 2. Men will more willingly digest a reproof for their faults if praised when they do well. 3. Virtue being commended doth increase and multiply; creepers in goodness will go, goers run, runners fly. Use. Those ministers to be blamed who are ever blaming, often without cause, always without measure (whereas it is said of God, He will not be always chiding, Psalm ciii. 9). Do any desire to hear that which Themis

tocles counted the best music, namely, themselves commended? On these conditions we ministers will indent with them. Let them find matter, we will find words. Let them do what is commendable, and blame us if we commend not what they do. Such work for us would be recreation; such employment a pleasure, turning our most stammering tongue into the pen of a ready writer. To reprove is prest from us, as wine from grapes, but praises would flow from our lips as water from a fountain. But, alas! how can we build when they afford us neither bricks nor straw? How can we praise what they do, when they will not do what is to be praised? If, with Ahab, they will do what is evil, we must always prophesy evil unto them."

N the morning of May 15, 1642, the choir of Exeter Cathedral was the scene of an imposing ecclesiastical solemnity. The richness and elegance of its

noble eastern window had not then been marred by military violence or fanatic fury; nor as yet had blood-stained hands been lifted to "break down the carved work thereof with axes and hammers." There were rumours of gathering troubles, and some hearts were "failing them for fear and for looking after those things which were coming." But all was quiet that morning. And there had been anthem-peals, and chanted psalms, and prayers and intercessions and vows.

The hallowed place was full of reverent hearers. There, upon the episcopal throne, was the newly consecrated Bishop, Dr. Ralph Brownrigg, seated under that splendid canopy, an unrivalled pyramid of oaken arches, columns, niches, and pinnacles, all finishing in a series of ascending spires, and "towering in airy state to the vaulting." There, opposite to the throne, was the Bishop's friend, Dr. Edward Young, in the pulpit. And there, in one of those tasteful and delicately sculptured stalls, was a figure which would be thought to adorn the seat a tall clergyman, above the ordinary height, but well-proportioned, with a sanguine complexion, a pleasingly ruddy countenance, manly features, looking composed, serious, and thoughtful, though evidently capable of brighten

ing into sunny playfulness, and light hair falling gracefully in wavy curls upon his robed shoulders.

His gravity of look that morning might have a touch of the mournful. He had been bereaved. The lonely feeling of widowhood was upon his spirit, and he had come down to this pleasant western province, it may be, to seek some alleviation of his sorrow. It was Dr. Thomas Fuller; and he was now listening to a consecration sermon, founded on what seemed an ominous text, "The waters are risen, O Lord, the waters are risen."

Fuller's sensitive soul heard the distant murmer of the water-floods; nor did he forget the thoughts and feelings which arose under that sermon. As he afterwards said, "The Bishop himself was soon sadly sensible of such inundations, and yet by the procerity of his parts and piety, he not only safely waded through them himself, but also (when ViceChancellor of Cambridge) by his prudence raised such banks, that those overflowings were not so destructive as otherwise they would have been to the university."

The floods had indeed risen, and little, perhaps, did the bereaved Rector of Broadwindsor think that the home which had been left desolate by one flood would soon feel the sweep of another, on whose wider and deeper waters he was destined for some years to be tossed hither and thither in daily peril. How little did he think that he should come back to that same Exeter to undergo the straits and miseries of a siege, in company with those whose loyalty was akin to his own, but whose temper and spirit were so little in concord with his feelings and taste.

It was during this year, however, while the forces of political foes were forming around him, and the character and movements of his own party were beginning to awaken anxiety and fear, that he issued that wonderful volume which has made his name so balmy to following generations, his Holy and Prophane State,-a rich texture of beautifully interwoven biography, parables, history, morals, proverbs, and devotion. In a kind of apology for the appearance of his book in such times, his own character and spirit are happily shown :-

"Who," says he, "is not sensible, with sorrow, of the distractions of this age? To write books, therefore, may seem unreasonable, especially in a time wherein the press, like an

unruly horse, hath cast off his bridle of being licensed; and some serious books which dare fly abroad are hooted at by a flock of pamphlets. But be pleased to know that when I left my home it was fair weather, and my journey was half-past before I discovered the tempest, and had gone so far in the work that I could neither go backwards with credit, nor forwards with comfort. . . . . Nor let it render the modesty of this book suspected because it presumes to appear in company unmanned by any patron. If right, it will defend itself; if wrong, none can defend it. Truth needs not, falsehood deserves not, a supporter: and, indeed, the matter of this work is too high for a subject's the workmanship thereof too low for a prince's-patronage. And now I will turn my pen into prayer, that God would be pleased to discloud these gloomy days with the beams of His mercy."

The book beautifully embodies that calm, temperate, and balanced condition of thought and feeling which Fuller maintained amidst the crowds which were rushing into wide extremes on either hand; and the reader will, perhaps, think of Bishop Hall's beautiful saying, "Moderation is the silken string running through the pearl chain of all virtues;" while Coleridge will be admired for his truthfulness and justice when he says of our author, "It raises, or ought to raise, our estimation of Fuller's good sense, and the general temperance of his mind, when we see the heavy weight of prejudices (the universal code of his age) incumbent on his judgment, and which, nevertheless, left sanity of opinion the general character of his writings."

The "general temperance of his mind" is remarkably sustained in The Holy and Prophane State. With few exceptions its pages exhibit his "sanity of opinion," and afford many a salutary lesson to the one-sided schools and classes of the present day. In some of his cautions and warnings there is a fitness to our own times which it is instructive to observe. The representative characters which live in his pages act before our own eyes. Some people have fondly indulged the notion that his characters are but finely chiselled statues; but while our eyes are on them, they start from their pedestals instinct with life. Look at his figure of false moderation::

"We read (Acts xxvii. 12) of a haven in Crete which lay towards the south-west and towards the north-west'-strange