near the road which leads from that city to Dover; and he had not resided there a year before the fame of his writings, and the sanctity of his life, became so remarkable, that many turned out of the road on purpose to see a man so much admired. But, as our Saviour said of the baptist, What went they out to see? A man cloathed in purple and fine linen? "No indeed, but an obscure, harmless man; a man in poor clothes, his loins usually girt in a coarse gown, or canonical coat; of a mean stature, and stooping, and yet more lowly in the thoughts of his soul; his body worn out, not with age, but study and holy mortifications; his face full of heat-pimples, begot by his inactivity and sedentary life."

His humility and modesty were so great, that his poor parish clerk and he did never talk together, but with both their hats on, or both off, at the same time.

This parish clerk lived till the third or fourth year of the long parliament, at which time the lawful rector of Bourne was sequestered for his loyalty, and a Puritan put into the living, which circumstance so troubled the clerk, that he said, "They had sequestered so many good men, that he doubted if his good master, Mr. Hooker, had lived, they would have sequestered him too."

It was not long before this intruding minister adopted the Genevan mode of receiving the sacrament; to which end the day was appointed for a select company, and forms and stools were set about the altar for them to sit, and eat, and drink; but when they went about this work, they wanted some stools, which the minister sent the clerk to fetch, and also cushions, (but not to kneel upon): when the clerk saw them sit down, he began to wonder, but the minister bad him cease wondering, and to lock the church door; to whom he replied, Pray take you the keys and lock me out, I will never come more into this church: for all men will say, my master Hooker was a good man, and a good scholar, and I am sure it was not used to be thus in his days.

And report says, the old man went home and died a few days after.

But let us leave the grateful clerk in his grave, and return to Mr. Hooker, continuing our observations of his Christian behaviour in this place, where he gave a holy valediction to all the pleasures and allurements of earth, possessing his soul in a virtuous quietness, which he maintained by constant study, prayers, and meditations. His use was to preach once every Sunday, and he or his curate to catechise after the second lesson in the evening prayer; his sermons were neither long nor vehement, but uttered with a grave zeal; his eyes always fixed on one place, to prevent his im agination from wandering, insomuch that he seemed to study as he spake; the design of his sermons was, to show reasons for what he delivered; and with these such a kind of rhetoric as did rather convince and persuade, than alarm men into piety; studying not so much for matter as for apt illustrations to teach his unlearned hearers by familiar examples, and then make them better by convincing applications; never labouring by hard words, and by needless distinctions and sub-distinctions, to amuse his hearers, and get glory to himself, but only glory to God.

He never failed the Sunday before every Ember-week, to give notice of it to his parishioners, persuading them to earnest prayer for a learned and pious Clergy. And his own practice was, to retire into the parish church every day in that week, where he spent many hours in secret devotions.

He was diligent to inquire who of his parish were sick, or any ways distrest, and would often visit them unsent for; supposing that the fittest time to discover to them those errors to which health and prosperity had blinded them; and having, by pious reasons and prayers, moulded them into holy resolutions for the time to come, he would incline them to a confession of their sins, with purpose to forsake them, and then to receive the communion, both as a strengthening of those holy resolutions, and as a seal betwixt God and them of his mercies

to their souls, in case that sickness did put a period to their lives. And as he was thus tender to the sick, so was he as careful to prevent law-suits, urging his parishioners to bear with each other's infirmities, and to live in love.

This was his constant behaviour both at Bourne and in all the places in which he lived; yet even his blameless character could not pass without slander. The Nonconformists hated him on account of his unanswerable book, and to injure him they raised a black report of incontinency against him. The good man bore the reproach with much meekness; but his friends were more zealous for his reputation, and traced the calumny to its source, and when the whole was discovered, his reply was, The Lord forgive them.

The declaration of this judicious divine just before his death, and the account of that event by his honest biographer, are very interesting and instructive.

"I have lived to see," says the good man," that this world is made up of perturbations; and I have been long preparing to leave it, and gathering comfort for the dreadful hour of making my account with God, which I now apprehend to be near. And though I have, by his grace, loved him in my youth, and feared him in mine age, and laboured to have a conscience void of offence towards him and towards all men; yet, if thou, Lord, shouldest be extreme to mark what I have done amiss, who can abide it? And, therefore, where I have failed, Lord show mercy to me; for I plead not my righteousness, but the forgiveness of my unrighteousness, through his merits who died to purchase pardon for penitent sinners. And since I owe thee a death, Lord let it not be terrible, and then take thine own time; I submit to it. Let not mine, Q Lord, but thy will be done!God hath heard my daily petitions; for I am at peace with all men, and he is at peace with me. From such blessed assurance I feel that inward joy which this world can either give nor take from me. My

conscience beareth me this witness ; and this witness makes the thoughts of death joyful. I could wish to live, to do the Church more service, but cannot hope it, for my days are past, as a shadow that returns not."

His worthy biographer then adds, "More he would have spoken, but his speech failed him; and after a short conflict between nature and death, a quiet sigh put a period to his last breath, and so he fell asleep. And now he seems to rest like Lazarus in Abraham's bosom. Let me here draw his curtain, till with the most glorious company of the Patri archs and Apostles, and the most noble army of Martyrs and Confessors, this most learned, most humble, most holy man shall also awake to receive an eternal tranquillity, and with it a greater degree of glory than common Christians shall be made partakers of."

He died in 1600, and lies buried in the parish church of Bourne; where Sir William Cooper erected a monument to his memory; but his best monument is that immortal work on Ec CLESIASTICAL POLITY, of which, as we have already observed, only five books were printed in his lifetime, and the remaining three did not appear till 1662. So great has been the reputa tion of this illustrious champion of Church order, that he has seldom been mentioned by learned men but with the epithets of venerable or judicious affixed to his name.

FOR THE CHRISTIAN JOURNAL.

Extract from a Funeral Discourse, by the Rev. Mr. R—, of P—, occa sioned by the death of Mrs. E-. Ir is proper, my Brethren, on this occasion, that I should somewhat dif fer from my custom of avoiding the publicly giving of characters to deceased Christians. I have always been fully of the opinion, that it is some peculiar combination of circum stances in the life, which alone warrants a Clergyman to proceed to the delicate task of detailing the virtues of the dead. If attempted in many

instances, there arises a necessity of doing it in all; and, if done in all, there is certainly danger of making such precious things too cheap, and of bringing the conscience into an unpleasant servitude. But in the character before us, it will be accounted proper; and, I trust, will prove profitable.

The character of Mrs. E affords to her relatives every ground of consolation which, in this world of sorrow, falls to the lot of man to enjoy; and to them I, with pleasure, adopt the language of the Apostle, "Sorrow not, Brethren, even as others who have no hope." Her modest assurance of a gracious acceptance with her God; her uninterrupted and animated piety; and her patient and humble but undaunted resignation to the Divine will to the last, will be a subject profitable, as well as grateful, to their meditations while they live.

And, my Brethren of this congregation, if, in fact, it be "better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting;" if funeral solemnities, in general, are well calculated to mend the heart; if every tomb, if every human form committed to the dust, be calculated to make men better; surely the case before us will be blessed in its influence.

A sister, in every sense of no comanon character, cut off in the midst of life, is a circumstance which will not fail to powerfully arrest the attention of each of us; will not fail to stimulate us to look forward to the day of our own dissolution, and to prepare our souls for that immortal state to which we are, with the swiftness of life approaching.

Her example, while it may direct our steps, may also animate our zeal in "the race set before us." Let it be understood that it is with this view, rather than a desire of eulogy, that I now speak.

Mrs. E-possessed a mind above the ordinary cast: this she improved and nourished with much valuable reading. Modest, however, in all her pretentions, she was ever averse to every thing like a display of knowledge. Every treasure she gained

from books was rather exhibited in practice than in theory, as, in her opinion, better comporting with that ornament of female character, modest simplicity. Her manners were free, easy, and engaging; her temper mild and sweet: she ever had her passions under her control. She was hence the engaging, as well as faithful and affectionate wife. Venerating the sacredness of matrimony, she seemed to have well learned the duties pertaining to it, in cherishing that reve rence and esteem, in exercising those fine sympathies, in tenderly partaking in those cares, and industriously adhering to that fidelity, which constitute so great a portion of the happiness of the marriage state. As a mother, she displayed all the dignity, while she exercised all the affection, and scrupulous care, and tenderness, of a parent. Thus was Mrs. E-, when, ten years since, she was visited with a most severe affliction; an affliction which, preying upon her originally delicate constitution, reduced her to a state of the most extreme debility and perpetual sufferings. In this state of sad adversity it pleased her Maker to continue her until the period of her death. But, lost as was her constitution to almost the last hope of recovery, and severe and perpetual as were her sufferings of body, her mind serene and vigorous, remained still unimpaired; and her whole soul collected in a firm reliance on her God, she literally arose by faith above the sorrows of sense.

And here, my Brethren, we find something striking in her character; and if not peculiar to her, at least pe culiar to the good Christian,-an undeviating enjoyment in sorrows, a constant growth in the virtues of the divine life, and a piety ripening amidst all the embarrassments of her condi tion. Sensible of the stroke of Divine Providence under which she lay, and remembering who inflicted the wound, she "heard the rod and him who appointed it;" and with the delightful sentiments of gratitude, improved her remaining mercies. Although thus broken down, she remained the intel ligent and watchful mother and mis

as

she was,

tress of her family, and the delight of those few friends whom her remaining strength permitted her to see. Feeble she found means to spend her time profitably to herself and family. The progress she made in surmounting her many cares, and, above all, in the acquirement of valuable and substantial knowledge, by much reading and thought, excited the astonishment of those who well knew her. But her piety best claims our attention. This was of a practical rather than theoretical nature, and was the substantial mean by which she happily sustained her many infirmities. It arose out of those deep and primary principles of the Gospel which inspire a resignation to the Divine will, and was not to be shaken by the severest storms of adversity. She adopted, with an holy simplicity of heart, the character of her blessed Redeemer as her examplar, and went to him, as her immortal friend, with all her sorrows. While she remembered that he went not up into glory until he had first suffered, she account ed it meet that through sufferings she should be perfected for those eternal joys which, by his blessed passion, he had purchased for her. Her's was not a resignation founded on insensibility, but upon an absolute dependance upon God. Hence her piety, chastised by all the fine maxims and sublime doctrines of the Gospel, was ever cheerful and active.

Mrs. E was not one of those Christians who make their piety to consist in a set of peculiar and favourite doctrines, with little regard to practical and spiritual holiness, much less in a round of cant phrases, and a display, by sighs and tones, of much sanctity. Her's was a piety of the heart; a piety which occupied and regulated the whole soul, and mingled itself with the common and ordinary routine of thought and action; a piety which had nothing about it of the rapidity of lightning, which flashes and passes away to return but under certain circumstances; but, on the contrary, resembled the sun in his continued and steady light and warmth. Mence she was never found unadorned

with the virtue of pious resignation. Although at no time, for ten years, privileged with an intermission of severe pain or distress, she was never known, on her own account, to utter a complaining word, or intimate a desponding fear; but, on the contrary, she was more than contented-she was interestingly cheerful. With her friends she conversed much; and in all that converse her good sense was adorned with a modest vivacity, and with a strain of chastised piety.

*

During a seven years intimacy in the family, my parochial duties have repeatedly privileged me with personal interviews with her. I have, hence, become intimately acquainted with the peculiar cast of her mind, her course of reading, and the tenor of her thoughts; and, I must say, I have had much to admire, and much to approve and sanction. I have seen her in one of the most distressing scenes of bereavement, when, notwithstanding her known piety and tried fortitude in sorrows, I had great apprehensions, from her extreme debility, that the candle of her life, already glimmering in the socket, would, by this blast of wo, be extinguished. But her soul fastened to the eternal throne by faith, supported the body, while she adopted the language of the pious Job, and said, "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord."

Few, indeed, my Brethren, are the instances in which even pious persons, worn down with disease, and exercised with pains and sorrows, are enabled to retain their original sweetness, and equanimity of temper, on which depends so much of the happiness of the subjects themselves, as well as those around them. The defections of most Christians are such, that peevishness and ill-humour are the almost certain consequents upon a case bearing any similarity to the one before us. But Mrs. E's piety mastered every liability to this unfortunate state of mind; and by it she so rose above the infirmity of her nature, that for years she uttered no complaint, nor was the

* The sudden death of an only son.