APPENDIX, No. VII.

JULIAN THE APOSTATE.

THIS work is undertaken with the view of answering Dr. Hickes, who, in his sermons, had asserted the dogma of non-resistance. It had been maintained, that the Gospel does not prescribe any remedy but flight against the persecutions of the lawful magistrate, allowing of no other means, when we cannot escape, but denying or dying for the faith; and that the professors of Christianity ought rather to die than resist by force, not only the King, but all that are put in authority under him. According to which doctrine, as Mr. Johnson observes, the lives of all subjects would lie at the mercy of every constable or tything-man who should have violence or baseness sufficient to destroy them. It is needless to dwell upon the arguments brought forward to overturn a theory which no longer imposes on the meanest understanding, and which the authority of two great national acts has set

aside.

But it may be proper to insert the propositions which Mr. Johnson enforces as the result of his arguments, since it is probable that they were sanctioned by the approbation of Lord Russell. They are as follows:

1. Christianity destroys no man's natural or civil rights, but confirms them. 2. All men have a natural and civil right and property in their lives, till they have forfeited them by the laws of their country.

3. When the laws of God and of our country interfere, and it is made death by the laws of the land to be a good Christian, then we are to lay down our lives for Christ's sake. This is the only case wherein the Gospel requires passive obedience; namely, when the laws are against a man. And this was the case of the first Christians.

4. That the killing of a man contrary to law is murder.

5. That every man is bound to prevent murder, as far as the law allows, and ought not to submit to be murdered, if he can help it.

It will be seen, that these propositions reserve resistance for an extreme case of tyranny and oppression, which makes it the more improbable that Lord Russell should have afterwards consented to an insurrection, but upon the prospect of immediate danger.

The pamphlet of Mr. Johnson is, as the title implies, in the form of a life of the Emperor Julian, whose persecutions, his adversaries said, had been resisted only by prayers and tears. The historical applications, though drawn into too great a length for the present taste, are not without sharpness, of which one passage may serve as a specimen. He had mentioned a passage of Gregory Nazianzen, where he relates that his father so far resented an attempt of Julian upon the Temple, that he was very near kicking him. “And now,” says the author," know I no more than the Pope of Rome what to make of all this, what they meant by it, or upon what principles these men proceeded. Whether the laws of their country allowed them (which I am sure the laws of our country do not allow a man to imagine) to offer violence to their lawful Emperor; or whether old Gregory distinguished, and did not resist Julian, but only the devil, which his son so often tells us was in him; or how it was, I will never stand guessing; only this we may be assured of, that none of these Bishops had ever been in Scotland, nor had learned to fawn upon an apostate, and a mortal enemy to their religion."

APPENDIX, No. VIII.

BURNET'S JOURNAL.

THE first time I came to my Lord Russell, which was on Monday at three o'clock, he received me with his ordinary civility and smiling countenance, in all respects as he used to do. He was then folding up his letter to the Duke, which he showed me, and said, "This will be printed, and will be selling about the streets as my submission, when I am led out to be hanged." He said, there was nothing in the letter that went against him, but the whole of writing to one, whom he had so much opposed. As he was folding up the paper, he told me the story of Colonel Sydney's razor with as much cheerfulness as ever I saw in him. Then he fell a lamenting my Lord of Essex's misfortune, and said, a great part of it was on his account, which he gathered from a message he had sent to his father the night before, that he was more sorry for his son's condition than he was, and from the time in which he did it; and the reason of it he believed was, that the Earl of Essex had almost forced him to admit my Lord Howard to a meeting at his house. For when he saw the Lord Howard, Colonel Sydney, and Mr. Hampden coming in, he said to the Earl of Essex, who was come before, "What have we to do with this R―――?” and would have gone out, but the Earl of Essex made him stay. Yet he said, having that mistrust, he said very little. And (to put all that belongs to this matter together) the night before his death, he said to me, in my lady's hearing, that my Lord Howard, in many particulars, had sworn falsely, and done him wrong. But I did not reckon them up. He added, concerning the Earl of Essex, that the day before he, seeing his window open, looked towards it through the glass in the head of his staff, and saw him leave the window as soon as he appeared, and go into the room. that he believed his condition gave the fatal crisis to his melancholy. He

So

spoke often of him to me, and very largely, the day before his death: he said, he was the worthiest, the justest, the sincerest, and most concerned for the public of any man he ever knew. And he also told me, me, that my Lord of Essex was afterwards much troubled for admitting the Lord Howard to their meetings, and thought he would betray them; upon which he answered, he had ventured upon the confidence the other had in him, for, added he, if you should betray me, every body would blame you, and not me; but if we should let such a man as my Lord Howard betray us, every body would blame us, as much as him. These discourses lasted about half an hour, till my lady was gone with the letter, and then he entered upon the most serious discourses I ever heard. He told me, for death, he thanked God as a man, he never was afraid of it, and did not consider it with so much apprehension as the drawing of a tooth. But he said he found the courage of a man, that could venture in the heat of blood, was very different from the courage of a dying Christian, and dying in cold blood. That must come from an inward peace of conscience and assurance of the mercy of God; and that he had to such a degree, that though from the first day of his imprisonment he reckoned he was a dead man, it had never given him any sort of trouble. He added, that God knows the trouble I saw him in some weeks ago, when his son was ill, had gone nearer his heart, and taken more of his rest from him, than his present condition had done. And he remembered of a colic he had lately, which had filled him with so much pain, and so oppressed his spirits, that he saw how little a man could do, if he came to die in such a manner; whereas he had now all his thoughts perfectly about him, and had no other apprehensions of death, but being a little gazed at by his friends and enemies, and a moment's pain. He said that though he had been guilty of many defects and failings, (amongst which he reckoned his seldom receiving the sacrament,) yet he thanked God, he had a clear conscience, not only in relation to the public, (in which he had gone so sincerely, that he was sure he had nothing to answer for, but the sense of ignorance, and some indecent discourses, in which he had been generally more guilty by hearing them, and being pleased with them, than by much speaking,) but in relation to all his other concerns, he had spent much, but it was in no ill way. He could never limit his bounty to his condition; and all the thoughts he had of the great estate that was to descend upon him, was to do more good with it; for he had resolved not to live much above the pitch he was then at. He thanked God, that now for these many years he had made great conscience of all he did; so that the sins of omission were the chief things he had to answer for. God knew the

sincerity of his heart, that he could not go into a thing he thought ill, nor could he tell a lie. After an hour's discourse, we prayed together. Then he came to talk of his condition; he then thought the sentence would, perhaps, be executed by hanging; but he said if his friends could hear that as well as he could, it was no matter. He next fell to speak of a paper to be left behind him; he was resolved to say very little on the scaffold, but to leave a larger paper. So he went over the heads he thought fit to speak to, which I perceived he had considered much. He said he had much leisure in the Tower, and had always looked for this; for that he did not doubt but the sheriff would take care to return such a jury as was resolved to condemn him, if the King's council should bid them; so he had been forming in his mind what was fit for him to do in this matter; for in most of the particulars, he expressed himself very near in the same words that are in his paper. So I left him for that night. He desired me to come again the next day at noon; and, in his modest way, desired as much of my time as I could conveniently spare.

Next day I came to him, and found him in the same temper I had left him, so sedate, and, upon occasion, so cheerful, that I never saw the like before. He then went again over the heads of his paper, and a minute was made of the points he was to write off, according to their order. I shall not mix in this relation any thing of what I said to him upon any of them; but this in general, that I discharged my conscience in all respects, both as a faithful subject to the King, and as a sincere minister of the gospel ought to have done. The thing is as it is, and I will neither say what I approved or disapproved; but this I will add, that all the critical and nicer parts were very well weighed, to an exactness in the choice of every word. He thought it was incumbent upon him to write all he had written; but he promised me to consider every thing that I had offered to him. When this was done, he ran out into a long discourse of the providence of God in this matter. were two men he had always a secret horror at. of, till he was told he had betrayed Walcotte. not he had sworn falsely of him; but till then he thought he had forgot himself. His coming up to town occasionally; his being called by the Duke of Monmouth with so good an intention; his not going to a formal meeting where Rumsey was not, but to that where he was present; and the fatal melancholy of the Earl of Essex that morning; all had such marks of a providence of God, that he was fully satisfied it was well ordered by God for some good ends, that it should be as it was. After two hours' discourse my Lady came. He dined, ate, and drank as heartily, and did every thing in as cheer

TT

Rumsey and Lord Howard Shepherd he thought better Then he said he wondered