OGICAL SEM 
 Princeton, N. J. 
 
 $ THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY,^ 
 
 BX 5199 .G5 G5 1830 
 Gilpin, William, 1724-180A 
 The life of Bernard Gilpin 
 
SELECT 
 
 CHRISTIAN AUTHORS, 
 
 WITH 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ESSAYS. 
 8. 
 
PTrBUSHEDBYWrLLUTit COXLTN'S GLASGO"A'. 
 
4 
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE 
 
 OF y 
 
 BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM GILPIN, A. M. 
 
 PREBEXDARY OF SALISBURY. 
 
 WITH 
 
 AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY, 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. EDWARD IRVING, A.M. 
 
 LONDON. 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 GLASGOW: 
 
 PRINTED FOR WILLIAM COLLINS; 
 
 OLH'ER & BOYD, WSl. WHYTE & CO. AND V. Af- OLIPHANT, EDINBURGH 
 W. F. WAKEMAN, AND WM. CURRY, J JN. & CO. DUBLIN ; 
 WHITTAKER, TREACHER, & ARNOT ; HAMILTON, ADAMS, & CO. 
 SD»IPKIN & MARSHALL; BALDWIN & CRADOCK; 
 AND HURST, CHANCE, & CO. LONDON. 
 
 MDCCCXXX. 
 
Printed by W. Collins & Co, 
 Glasgow, 
 
The most acceptable offering which we can present 
 unto Godj the author and preserver of our being, 
 and the most grateful return which we can make to 
 the world in which we have passed our days, is to 
 live a life directed according to our best perceptions 
 of truth, and devoted to the ends of everlasting 
 goodness. And when any frail and erring mortal 
 has been enabled, by the light of God's word, and 
 the ministry of his Spirit, or, in the absence of these, 
 by the light of nature, and their strength of natural . 
 virtue, to witness a good confession for truth, and 
 maintain his integrity to the end, he hath done a 
 work of which the world should take knowledge, and 
 carefully treasure up the memorials ; for she hath 
 nothing more estimable of which to make her boast, 
 nor more profitable for accomplishing the spirit of her 
 children, and upholding those high and holy interests, 
 in which stand the grace of her honour, and the se- 
 curity of her well-being. If such a life hath been 
 wrought out in hard and perilous times, against the 
 stream of custom, and in the face of earthly disad- 
 vantage and loss, and be interspersed with calm and 
 
vi 
 
 deliberate protestations against error, and justified by 
 free-will offerings of worldly interest for the sake of 
 truth, and the ready encounter of every risk and 
 hazard in the service of God and righteousness,— 
 then is it to be treasured up as the most precious 
 jewel of the past, and the most valuable endowment 
 of future generations. It is a victory gained over 
 the powers of evil — a trophy reared in the land of 
 the enemy ; whose heroic purpose and adventure be- 
 yond the popular and approved undertakings of the 
 times, will continue to awaken, in the breast of future 
 ages, aims and ambitions beyond the limitations of 
 every-day prudence. Its sure faith in an overruling 
 providence, and cheerful confidence in the steadfast- 
 ness of truth, will breathe courage over those who have 
 arisen to contend with prejudices, and are struggling 
 in the perilous contest with wickedness. The sight 
 and knowledge of it will prove like life from the dead, 
 to the kindred spirits fainting in the wilderness, who , 
 will again bestir themselves in their lonely way, as 
 when one lost in the desert discerneth the track of 
 footsteps, or findeth a guide to conduct him on his 
 path. If, moreover, after many trials of his faithful- 
 ness, and overshadowings of his hope, it hath pleased 
 the Lord at length to bring forth the judgment of his 
 servant like the light, and his righteousness like the 
 noonday — to redeem his life from the bondage of the 
 enemy, and permit it to enlarge itself to the full mea- 
 sure of its good desires, and calmly to decline in hon- 
 our and peace, — it then becomes, to every advocate 
 of noble and magnanimous deeds, the best argument 
 against the prudential and expedient doctrines where- 
 by undertakings for the good of mankind are ob- 
 
vii 
 
 structed. To every worldling, content with visible 
 and temporal things, it is for a stain and a reproach, 
 a rock of stumbling, and an occasion of silence ; while 
 to every noble spirit, whose labour has been crowned 
 with success, it answers for an example in the days of 
 his prosperity, as it was a light in the day of his ad- 
 versity — a guide how to perform and accomplish, as 
 well as a summons to rise and undertake, those high 
 purposes for which his Creator endowed his soul, and 
 which the world, in ministering to his wants, expects 
 him to fulfil. 
 
 A sentiment is but the idea of what may be, an 
 action is the reality of what hath been ; the former 
 liable to every contingency of things unforeseen, and 
 assailable by disputation and doubt — the latter, be- 
 yond all controversy, a thing which human nature hath 
 performed, and which human nature may perform 
 again. A book of noble sentiments is, as it were, 
 the seed of noble actions, which have yet to stand the 
 proof of the world's ungenial climate and ungenerous 
 soil ; but a life of noble actions is the harvest which 
 hath stood through all weathers, proved the capacities 
 of the soil, and is ready to shake the plentiful produce 
 abroad, and flourish like the strong cedars upon the 
 top of Lebanon. And yet, though a book of excel- 
 lent sentiments be but as the embryo-seed of excel- 
 lent things, men are so persuaded of the worth of 
 books, that they come down, preserved by careful 
 hands, from the stream of time, which hath been al- 
 lowed to carry away all contemporaneous things ; they 
 are multiplied innumerably, and strewed like autumn 
 leaves over the face of every land ; and we of this land 
 are so jealous over the integrity of these caskets of 
 
viii 
 
 precious thoughts, that we will permit no will nor 
 authority to molest their native forms, no royal li- 
 cense, nor priestly expurgation, nor censorship of any 
 kind, such as in other countries lord it over truth and 
 knowledge, to intermeddle with their sacred contents. 
 Of what estimation, then, is a noble life, which has 
 been not imagined, but wrought amongst us ! — not 
 worded, but acted, or, if it be written, written with 
 imperishable deeds — not a superficial painting, but a 
 solid statue — not a cold statue, but a living and a 
 moving emblem, and, as it were, an incarnation of 
 truth. How jealous should we be of such evil cen- 
 sorship, and of the sacrilegious and despoiling hand of 
 evil time — seeing such men are as the seed of life, 
 such spirits are the fathers of spirits, and their memory 
 as the star of the morning, in the dark benightings 
 of the light of heaven ! 
 
 Therefore, it hath ever been the aim of wise and 
 good men to testify truth by example, and commend 
 what they nobly thought by noble actions. In an- 
 cient times, the sages, and legislators, and judges, 
 whose names were enrolled next to the gods, were 
 what they taught others to become ; while the sophists, 
 who are now despised, went about filling themselves 
 with vanity, and the public ear with declamations and 
 arguments concerning virtue. But the sages held 
 wisdom too dear to peace and happiness to be so dis- 
 missed. They brought her home, and made her their 
 spouse ; they lived with her, they breathed of her, and 
 in her they sought to have their being. And so much 
 do men prize living evidence above all verbal demon- 
 strations of truth, that they would, I believe, be more 
 content to lose all which Aristotle or Plato have 
 
ix 
 
 written concerning morals, and politics, and criticism, 
 and divine philosophy, than lose the memoirs of So- 
 crates, and the dialogue of his death, though he com- 
 mitted nothing to writing, being content to embody 
 in action what he felt, leaving it to others to admire 
 and record his savings. 
 
 What these sages of antiquity aimed at as most 
 noble, the Lord from heaven taught as most neces- 
 sary, and made incumbent on all his followers. He 
 lived according to his doctrine, leaving others to re- 
 cord both his sayings and his doings ; and he en- 
 joined upon Christians, in like manner, to do that 
 which they knew to be right. To know and not to 
 perform — to put into words and not in practice, that 
 which is holy, just, and good — instead of making a 
 merit, he made a crime ; and declared to be worthy 
 of the worst condemnation. So that Christians are, 
 or ought to be, the practical moralists and sages of 
 modern times. And leaving mere speculators in 
 thought, to commend what is right and noble ; and 
 yet to contradict, in every action, what they say in 
 every word, they should take for themselves the part 
 of saying nothing for truth and excellence, until, like 
 their great Lord and Master, they have embraced the 
 substance of that, with whose shadow the others sport, 
 and submitted every member of their body, and every 
 faculty of their soul, to the great Spirit of truth, who 
 " purifieth the heart, and overcometh the world." 
 So that, if we would find examples of what is mo.st 
 excellent and praise-worthy in the practice and per- 
 formance of men in modern times, we must seek for 
 them among the followers of Christ ; and if we would 
 find the most flagrant inconsistencies between word 
 A 3 
 
X 
 
 and action — high inspiration of thought, coupled with 
 deep depravity of conduct — we shall surely find them 
 among the enemies of Christ ; who, while they eulo- 
 gize wisdom and virtue, leave their Uves in the wild- 
 est and most unreclaimed disorder. 
 
 For a Christian so to leave noble and virtuous life 
 in the background, while he parades noble and vir- 
 tuous sentiments under the eye and ear of men, is a 
 double crime before that Judge to whom he is taught 
 to look up. He stands distinguished from others by 
 this very thing, that, instead of deriving an apology 
 for what he hath foolishly or wickedly done — from 
 what he hath wisely or piously written — he draws 
 down upon himself the greater condemnation. So 
 that the Gospel may be considered as the wonderful 
 device of Heaven, for drawing human conduct into 
 union and harmony with human knowledge and feel- 
 ing ; and so blessing the world with a practical bene- 
 factor, in every man who can discern, or be instructed 
 in what is right. Moreover, not only doth it con- 
 demn the sophistry of words, and make action com- 
 mensurate with feeling, and so construct the parts of 
 noble character; but also, it permits none of those 
 allowances of one part for another — those balancings 
 of the good against the evil, and rough estimations of 
 the whole, which suffer worldly men to rush into ex- 
 tremes, and leave v/hole provinces of their life unat- 
 tended to. Men who fill well those public offices to 
 which they are called, have from the world a sort of 
 dispensation ; and, certainly, without losing place or 
 reputation, do often take liberty to neglect the du- 
 ties of private, and domestic, and social life ; by far 
 the most important to ourselves and others. And by 
 
XI 
 
 the world it is thought not a little invidious to cast 
 up to them their personal and private hlemishes, or 
 to take into account any thing which is not done be- 
 fore public observation. And History, the balance 
 and scales in which character is weighed, seldom con- 
 descends to, or indeed can ascertain, and by some is 
 not thought to have a right to enter upon, any thing 
 more inward than the parts which men act upon the 
 stage of public life. So that those who regard only 
 the judgment of men, are commonly found attentive 
 to nothing beyond that which men observe and pass 
 judgment upon. 
 
 Here, also. Religion interposeth to fulfil the con- 
 sistency of character with itself, and guard the wel- 
 fare of men in every department. For its observa- 
 tion is universal, and its demands are for truth and 
 righteousness from the first to the last — from the 
 highest even to the least: " He that is unjust in 
 the least, is unjust also in the greatest; and he that 
 is righteous in the least, is righteous also in the 
 greatest." It doth not permit the enthusiasm of 
 one pursuit to bend every thing to its headstrong 
 will ; or one class of duties to suffer from the greater 
 importance of another. Whatever is right and just, 
 very dear unto God, is dear to the disciples of his 
 Son ; to whom there is a force in truth, a beauty in 
 righteousness, and a dignity in well-doing, which 
 commends the smallest action, and gives it a weight 
 altogether independent of its visible magnitude here, 
 or present consequence. It is in the defilement of 
 error and iniquity, not in the greatness of the crime, 
 that its hatefulness to Christian minds consists. So 
 that, though like others they may be benighted 
 
xii 
 
 through ignorance, or through weakness betrayed, 
 or by much temptation overcome, they do never 
 coolly or designedly leave out any portion of well- 
 doing which is in their power, much less do they 
 compromise the evil of one part with the good of 
 another, and strike a balance of the whole. But 
 they endeavour as father, as husband, as friend, and 
 in every minute relation, to be as honest and true, 
 as in the more singular and more observed station in 
 which they are placed. 
 
 On which two accounts, first, that the Gospel 
 produces character and conduct out of thought and 
 feeling, and secondly, that it harmonizes by truth 
 and righteousness those characters which are formed 
 by the calls and occasions of the world, it comes to 
 pass, that if we would find good instances of life and 
 character to place before the eyes of men, we must 
 go to discover them from amongst those who have 
 reduced themselves under the authority of God and 
 his Christ. Elsewhere you may find depicted the 
 pattern of a poet's unbridled life, or of a politician's 
 artful life, or of a soldier's adventurous life, or of a 
 scholar's laborious and unvaried life, by which to 
 train up others for the same partial exhibition of ex- 
 cellence or defect ; but no where else than among 
 Christians, thoroughly regulated by the Gospel of 
 Christ, and moved by the fear of God, shall you find 
 patterns for training up men to become thoroughly 
 honest and virtuous, trust-worthy in every particular, 
 and perfect in their generations, so far as it is in the 
 power of man to be perfect. 
 
 Therefore, as there is often abundance of good 
 writing and thinking, when there is little or no good 
 
xiii 
 
 action, and much partial excellence where there is no 
 endeavour after thorough and universal excellence : 
 it is of no small importance to bring before the eye 
 those specimens of Christian worthies, in various de- 
 partments of human life, whose lives commend them 
 to our esteem and imitation : those noble men who 
 have done their utmost, and, by the help of God, 
 succeeded in preserving their integrity, not through 
 one only, but through every department of life and 
 character. 
 
 With this design of presenting a series of excel- 
 lent examples to our countrymen, and displaying 
 some of the gems which are in the crown of the 
 blessed Saviour, we have selected from the noble 
 characters with which the annals of the church are 
 stored, one of the most venerable names in the annals 
 of the Church of England — the venerable Bernard 
 GiLPix, and an excellent model of a faithful minis- 
 ter of Christ. The breadth of character which he 
 manifested in the discharge of his ministerial voca- 
 tion, is that for which we select him from amongst 
 the many worthy ministers upon record. In zeal he 
 was surpassed by none ; but zeal is more frequent 
 than wisdom, which he possessed in equal measure. 
 In soundness of doctrine he is surpassed by none ; 
 nor has he been surpassed by any in his concern and 
 devices for the safety and salvation of the flock. In 
 his hospitalities, his care of the young, his attentions 
 to the poor, his encouragement of learning, his 
 strengthening of the worthy brethren, his ashaming 
 of the unworthy, and his boldness, when occasion 
 required, to his superiors, and in a thousand other 
 qualities becoming, if not necessary, in the ministerial 
 
xvi 
 
 — or his patient homely diligence in the cure of souls, 
 to the faithful pastor — or his protestations against 
 corruption, to the high-spirited reformer. A life in 
 which, with secret communion and strong combination, 
 the elements of the munificent nobleman, the patient 
 scholar, the unwearied missionary, the intrepid re- 
 former, the faithful pastor, and every thing of the 
 martyr but the pangs of death, did meet and exem- 
 plify themselves together, is capable of affording in- 
 struction to men of every class and occupation in the 
 community. The patient inquirer after truth will 
 find such a lesson as he loves in the history of Gil- 
 pin's deliverance from papal errors; and the steady 
 defender of truth will find establishment from Gilpin's 
 trials, such as no Galileo nor mere philosopher can 
 afford him; and the practical performer of things 
 honest, and virtuous, and pure, and lovely, whatever 
 be his profession, and whatever be his sphere of life, 
 will find a companion in the annals and actions of 
 Gilpin's life. The reformer will find here how to 
 distinguish the spirit of reformation from the spirit 
 of demolition. The country gentleman may find 
 here how to use his fortune — the bishop how to lay 
 out the church's patrimony, of which he hath the 
 life-rent dispensation — the missionary how to go 
 about his perilous work — the martyr how to meet 
 his death — and all how to live a life of piety and 
 honour. But these, the collateral uses and advan- 
 tages of this life, we leave to be gathered by every 
 man's taste, and used by his sagacity, while we shall 
 endeavour chiefly to take a review of his life and 
 character as a minister of the Gospel, the parish minis- 
 ter of Houghton-le-spring, in the bishoprick of Dur- 
 
xvii 
 
 ham, where his ashes now He entombed, and where 
 his memory liveth fresh through many generations ; 
 where also, unless our authorities deceive us, the 
 savour of his good actions, and the efficacy of his 
 prayers, have survived in a line of practical successors, 
 not unworthy of him who first founded there the 
 doctrines of the Reformation. And we often doubt 
 with ourselves, whether it is the more noble thus to 
 be entombed in a village church, or church-vard, 
 surrounded by the ashes of those simple peasantry 
 whom you taught the way to heaven, or to be en- 
 shrined beneath cathedral arches, or amongst the 
 worthies whom a nation hath delighted to honour : 
 but, surely, we have no doubt that it is more noble 
 to live from generation to creneration in the hearts 
 of those who are descended from the children we 
 have begotten into Christ; to be transmitted from 
 the mouth of nursing mothers to the lips of lisping 
 children, than to live in the inscriptions of marble 
 monuments, or registered in the annals of the nation, 
 and discoursed of by the tongues of her ambitious 
 children. The former grave, the former life had 
 Bernard Gilpin upon this earth ; but his better life 
 is hid with God in Christ, and shall not be revealed 
 until the second appearing of the Lord. 
 
 Our worthy lived in an age when great and good 
 men were needed in this Island, for the great and 
 good work to which God had then moved the spirit 
 of the nation. It was not, in this case, as it some- 
 times happens, that the most faithful and best gifted 
 are allowed to remain hid, and the best befriended, 
 and highest connected, are advanced to the places 
 and high preferments of trust in the church. And 
 
xviii 
 
 though Bernard Gilpin woukl liave no preferment, 
 conceiving the place of parish minister above any 
 dignity in the gift of the British crown, he was not 
 suttered to live unknown, but drew the attention of 
 all the lofty spirits who stood in those perilous times 
 at the helm of church and state, and when he died 
 he was not forgotten. Soon after his death, Carle- 
 ton, bishop of Chichester, undertook the honourable 
 work of ii'atherino- too-other the memorials of Mr. 
 Gilpin, and preserving them for the use of posterity. 
 From these materials, and other notices which lived 
 in tradition, William Gilpin, prebendary of Salisbury, 
 a collateral descendant of the Reformer's, drew up, 
 in the last century, a more full and better digested 
 biography than that of the bishop. Carleton's life 
 carries with it the freshness and vivacity of one who 
 lived amongst the things he wrote, and breathes the 
 love and reverence with which Mr. Gilpin inspired all 
 that knew him. His facts, however, are all engrossed 
 in the more exact and diliijent work of William 
 Gilpin. It is the original portrait, from which his is 
 a copy, done after the more strict and exact rules of 
 art. Accordingly, the work of William Gilpin is 
 better digested than the work of the bishop, and 
 breathes a Christian-like gravity of temper towards 
 every party, which says much for the spirit of its 
 reverend author, with occasional explanations of the 
 matter in dispute, which say as much for his know- 
 ledge and good sense, while in the narrative there is 
 an air of sanctity and truth which leaves no doubt of 
 his veracity and fidelity on the mind of the reader; 
 and in the style a simplicity, precision, and clearness, 
 which savour of the exact though artificial taste in 
 
xix 
 
 composition, peculiar to the last century. It consti- 
 tutes a biography such as great men should have, 
 and as none but men J;ruly great can do with, con- 
 taining neither compliment nor eulogy, filled with 
 facts which speak more powerfully than words, and 
 offering to the world a severe statue of the man, an 
 unadorned, undressed form of his mind and charac- 
 ter. It is not however the stamp of the work, or 
 the name with which it is superscribed, but the solid, 
 precious materials out of which it is formed, that give 
 it value in our eyes. Every fact of Mr. (lilpin's 
 life is a monument that needed no adorning: it has 
 only to be revealed by the simplest language, in order 
 to take the eye, and please the heart of all good and 
 worthy men. And perhaps the commendation which 
 the reader will give to William Gilpin, will be, that 
 he was so intent upon the strong and noble character 
 of the parish minister, which he had by this act 
 placed under his eye, that he never once thought of 
 the biographer, from the beginning to the end of his 
 work. 
 
 We confess that we have nothing further to add 
 to this memorial, concerning this good and faithful 
 servant of the Lord ; for though we have applied 
 diligently at every source to save from oblivion any 
 remembrances of him which might still survive in the 
 traditions of the country, or the hearts of his kin- 
 dred, we have been able to obtain nothing beyond 
 what has already come before the public, because we 
 believe that nothing more exists in any quarter. 
 Nor do we presume to think, we can add any thing 
 to the glory of his name by our commendation, or 
 that words of man's wisdom can in any thing enhance 
 
XX 
 
 the sterling worth of the character of the Reformer 
 of the North, whom we reverence as one of the 
 hoUest and worthiest men who have officiated at the 
 altar of Christ. 
 
 Bernard Gilpin is a model of a minister of the 
 Gospel, who furnishes an exemplification of the 
 largeness, and majesty, and ethereal purity, of that 
 profession which is the only profession that Christ 
 founded in the world, and to which the world is 
 more indebted, than to kings or statesmen, to phi- 
 losophers or men of science. But the ministry of 
 Christ is too much decHned into a shade and spectre 
 of itself, and no longer lifteth its head above every 
 profession that is professed amongst the sons of men. 
 The worldlings have trampled upon its glorious ex- 
 cellency, and it hath not risen superior to all their 
 down-treadingSj but hath crouched itself under their 
 protecting wing. With some, it hath become a 
 worldly ambition ; with others, a worldly calling ; 
 with others, it is a non-descript office of universal 
 benevolence ; but in those who faithfully fulfil their 
 high calling — whose devotedness to every part of 
 ministerial duty has magnified their office — in whose 
 minds it exalteth itself — in whose life it recordeth 
 itself, we esteem it the most glorious calling upon 
 the earth. What doth man want, to make him 
 greater, or happier, or more useful to his kind, be- 
 sides the condition of a parish minister, and grace 
 to fulfil it as Bernard Gilpin did? Wherefore, 
 having found a man who manifested all its majesty, 
 and reaped all its holy laurels, and stood apart from 
 all its abuses, and withstood the temptations of the 
 devil and the world to lead him astray, we felt that 
 
XXI 
 
 it was a duty to commend him to the world. The 
 breadth and soUdity of his ministerial character 
 should be our study ; his calm earnestness, and steady 
 perseverance in every path of duty should be our 
 admiration and encouragement. He is an excellent 
 commentary upon the fulness of the ministerial voca- 
 tion ; who brought it out of the shade, and made it 
 shine above the brightness of the most exalted pre- 
 ferments in the church. 
 
 He is a model of the student, and of the preacher, 
 and of the pastor, and of the churchman, and of the 
 wise and worthy member of society. In each of 
 these kinds, ministers of Christ have been found 
 conspicuous, and their praise is in the churches ; but 
 here, in the humble form of a parish minister, is one 
 who brought together these various parts of the suf- 
 ficient minister, and bound the separate rods in one 
 bundle of strength. Let his example prepare the 
 way for the holy office, and be seen and known, 
 talked of, and admired by every one ordained over a 
 flock, or preparing for ordination. 
 
 The office of a good and faithful minister of the 
 Gospel of Christ, who is ordained over a flock, hath 
 a distinct aspect and relation, according to the object 
 upon which it looks. The first and most important 
 of these regards the truth itself, for the publication 
 and dissemination of which he is appointed. He is 
 a steward of the mysteries of the Gospel of Christ; 
 and, therefore, must be at pains to ascertain the truth 
 of the Gospel, from the error with which it lies inter- 
 mingled in the opinions of his age. After this comes 
 the publishing of that truth to every creature under 
 heaven, in such a manner as shall be best fitted to 
 
xxii 
 
 convince and persuade them to accept thereof to the 
 saving of their souls. This is the preaching of the 
 Gospel, by the foolishness of which it pleaseth the 
 Lord to save those that believe ; and we give it the 
 place next in importance to the ascertaining of the 
 truth to our own conscience. Next to this comes 
 the care of those souls whom it hath pleased God to 
 convert to the knowledge of the truth ; that is, the 
 pastoral care of the flock over which the Holy Ghost 
 hath made him overseer, to feed the flock of Christ 
 which he hath purchased with his own blood. These 
 three forms, of the student, the preacher, and the 
 pastor, express the ministerial character as it looks 
 upon the things of the revealed or invisible world. 
 But it must likewise look upon the things of the 
 visible world, for the minister of Christ is still a man, 
 and hath the functions of the man, as well as of the 
 minister to discharge. Now, as a man looking upon 
 the present world, there are two forms which he as- 
 sumes according as he looks upon these two things— 
 the visible church, which is in the world; or the 
 world itself, the unconverted world; its people, its 
 affairs, its professions, amongst which he dwells. In 
 the first he is a minister, and hath certain duties to 
 fulfil towards the church to which he belongs; in 
 the latter, he is a man, a citizen, and dweller in the 
 world, and hath certain views of the world peculiar 
 to him, and certain duties which these peculiar views 
 require at his hand. These five forms, or phases of 
 character, go to complete the ordained minister of 
 Christ — he is a student of the truth ; a preacher of 
 the truth, of which he hath convinced himself by 
 patient study; 2i pastor of the souls who have been 
 
XXlll 
 
 converted by the preaching of the truth ; a church^ 
 man, who hath a place to occupy, and a duty to fulfil 
 in the church ; a man, who hath his standing in the 
 world to occupy, and the duties of it to discharge, for 
 himself, for his family, to his country, and to all men. 
 Under these five points of view, we propose to con- 
 sider the character of a minister of the Gospel, and 
 show how well it was fulfilled in each by Bernard 
 Gilpin, and to point out the lessons which may be 
 gathered by us of the present time, from his most 
 excellent example. 
 
 The Student. — The ministry of the Gospel 
 being set up for no other end, and having no other 
 use or significancy, than to plant and propagate upon 
 the earth the belief of those truths which v/ere re- 
 vealed unto men for their salvation, it is the lowest 
 demand that can be made of any one who would take 
 upon himself the ministry, that he should be con- 
 vinced in his own mind of their verity, and under- 
 stand their application to the present wants and ever- 
 lasting destinies of men. Otherwise, he cannot be 
 honest in the overtures which he makes to the faith 
 of others, nor hope to make them with any success. 
 But if he would rise into the true spiritual dignity of 
 his profession, and walk in its high places with those 
 who have obtained a good report, he must be so re- 
 solved of the reality and passing worth of revealed 
 truth, as for its sake to forego all the things of sight, 
 bear all hardships, and encounter all perils of body 
 and estate. The things of faith must pass into the 
 inward sanctuary of his soul, and grow confederate 
 with those dangers and purposes, for which he count- 
 eth it worthy to live, and right to die. 
 
xxiv 
 
 This will never come to be the case with any one 
 who resteth his belief merely upon the authority of 
 men, however wise and revered, or deriveth it merely 
 from the creeds and confessions of any church, how- 
 ever ancient and venerable, and exclusively tendereth 
 for that unchangeable truth, that form and aspect of 
 it which is current in his day and generation. In aU 
 which cases he can only stand while that standeth 
 to which he hath anchored his confidence, with the 
 changes of which he must also change ; and, instead 
 of being a minister of Him who is the same yester- 
 day, to-day, and for ever, what is he but the minister 
 and partizan of erring mortals like himself? Who- 
 soever, therefore, would be a servant of the Unchange- 
 able, must escape out of the cloudy and uncertain 
 region of mere human authority, into the fixed sphere 
 of those truths which cannot be removed, and take 
 there a position from which to judge of those forms 
 of faith and discipline, in the midst of which he hath 
 been reared, however they may be established in the 
 dearest affections of his heart. 
 
 For want of this, Error sitteth authorized in his 
 hoary seats amongst men, and reformation proceed- 
 eth with slow and lazy steps to dispossess him ; one 
 race riseth to the inheritance of the false opinions of 
 another ; and but for those spirits who now and then 
 take to themselves courage and resolution to brave 
 all the risk and danger of inquiry, the race of man 
 would continue stationary, or become retrograde in 
 the ways of truth and righteousness. This duty of 
 looking into the certainty of those things in which 
 we have been instructed, is especially incumbent 
 upon every * Theophilus,' or lover of God, who be- 
 
XXV 
 
 lieveth that there is a form and manner of the truth 
 of all things in the word of God ; and is twice con- 
 demned, if he prostrate himself before those idols of 
 his time — place and profession : first, for carelessness 
 of the commonweal; and next, for giving that wor- 
 ship to another which is due to God alone. A man 
 who hath no revelation of divine truth, or belief in 
 that which hath been given, may well stand aghast at 
 the thought of scanning all the notions and opinions, 
 to the inheritance of which he has been born by his 
 own judgment. But a man who hath received a code 
 of eternal and divine truths, by which alone he be- 
 lieveth that men can be saved ; and who hath appren- 
 ticed himself to the high vocation of applying it to all 
 the conditions and wants of the world, is bound and 
 obliged (but with an honest mind) to look into the 
 notions and opinions by which he findeth the spirit 
 of man to be holden and possessed. 
 
 Now, we are aware that this is no less difficult an 
 undertaking, than it is an incumbent duty. In the 
 self-willedness of the mind of man, reverence for the 
 wisdom of antiquity, and due respect for the present 
 opinions and institutions, is the proper counterpoise; 
 from which being delivered, it is apt to become self- 
 idolatrous, and wander amidst the unreclaimed wilds 
 and wastes of the intellect, until wearied out with 
 scepticism and uncertainty, it settle in some region of 
 vanity or selfishness, and altogether perish from the 
 way of truth. And we reckon, that much injury has 
 sometimes been inflicted upon the student of sacred 
 things, by those writers on Christian Evidence, who 
 begin by divesting the sacred writings of their well- 
 earned reverence amongst men, and undertake to re- 
 B 8 
 
xxvi 
 
 establish it again by a sort of judicial trial of their 
 genuineness and authenticity. And we find, that 
 Luther and those reformers who were loath to part 
 from the Catholic faith, and were constrained to it 
 by the gradual disclosure of its own depravity, and 
 revelation of truth, were the men who served the cause 
 of reformation the most effectually. 
 
 Wherefore, the duty of inquiring into these opin- 
 ions and institutions, under the covert of which we 
 have grown to our present mediocrity of understand- 
 ing, is to be undertaken in a kindly and humble spirit, 
 and prosecuted with a view to their improvement, the 
 advancement of God's glory, and the exoneration of 
 our own conscience ; not sought and hunted after, but 
 compelled and forced upon us by the manifold admo- 
 nitions of the word and Spirit of God. 
 
 In the life of Bernard Gilpin, we have the example 
 of one who passed this difficult and trying stage of a 
 minister's progress, in the spirit of a true and righteous 
 man. And it is highly instructive to every student, 
 to follow the several steps and stages by which he was 
 led from the full conviction of papal errors, to the full 
 conviction of the true doctrines of the word of God : 
 for the spirit in which deliverance from papal error 
 is achieved, is always the same, though the errojs 
 themselves be various and changeable as time itself. 
 No one could be placed under less favourable auspices 
 for the discovery of truth than Bernard Gilpin : he 
 had been educated in the Roman Catholic faith ; and, 
 till his thirtieth year, had never doubted of its con- 
 formity to the mind and word of God. Being from 
 his youth a lover of truth, he had also the convictions 
 of an honest mind, as well as the errors of education 
 
xxvu 
 
 to contend with ; to which were superadded, the pre- 
 judices of pride and reputation, for he had attained a 
 high degree in the University of Oxford, and been 
 singled out by Cardinal Wolsey, as one of the fel- 
 lows of Christ-church, which he founded for the re- 
 storation of learning, and sought to fill with the most 
 distinguished scholars in Europe. And, as if to give 
 these enemies of truth every advantage over him, he 
 was singled out by the University to contend with 
 Peter Martyr, who had come over at the invitation of 
 Edward VI. to read lectures upon Theology at Ox- 
 ford ; than which, a more trying condition could hardly 
 be conceived. 
 
 He not only guarded himself against the then 
 sources of prejudice and fallacy, pride, education, and 
 common honesty, and kept his ear open to truth, from 
 whosever lips it might be uttered : but when he had 
 been a little shaken and unhinged in his opinions, he 
 guarded himself, on the other hand, of opening him- 
 self to the inroads of scepticism, and proceeded cau- 
 tiously to examine the fabric of his faith. He had 
 constructed it according to his best judgment, and 
 of the best materials within his reach ; and he would 
 not take a stone from it, until he had a better to lay 
 in its place. — This comes of making up our opinions, 
 and fixing our faith by the honest and disinterested 
 convictions of our own mind, and not taking it from 
 the authority of others, that when better light cometh, 
 we welcome it like the dawn of day, and proceed to 
 take account of ourselves by its revelations. But if 
 we have listened heretofore to the lower parts of our 
 nature, and consulted for bodily ease and indulgence, 
 for personal ambition, or worldly reputation, we shall 
 B 2 
 
xxviii 
 
 hate and fight agahist the truth, as the Jews in our 
 Lord's day, who loved darkness rather than light, be- 
 cause their deeds were evil ; and could not believe, 
 because they loved the honour which cometh from 
 man, and not the honour which cometh from God. 
 Thus the opposite effects of truth, from those who 
 have listened to conscience, and those who have lis- 
 tened to ease, pleasure, interest, or temper, were never 
 more strikingly manifested, than upon the occasion 
 of this very dispute, from which Gilpin dated the be- 
 ginning of his convictions. 
 
 The student of divine revelation, during the time 
 of his academical novitiate, should be on his guard 
 against the idolatries of the intellect, and of the ob- 
 jects of intellect which he will find established on every 
 hand ; and he must prepare himself for the contempt 
 and cold derision which he will have poured upon the 
 ignorance and fanaticism of those who maintain the 
 self-veiling doctrines of Christ, and endeavour to com- 
 mend the truth to the concern of all, not to the taste 
 and pride of the learned alone. His very teachers 
 he must guard against, for they are frequently the 
 high-priests of the idolatry, and his companions in 
 study, who are often the willing devotees; against 
 the spirit of the public lectures, and of the private 
 conversations. The very atmosphere in which he 
 breathes, is often noxious to the Spirit, and if he be 
 not in constant communion with the word and Spirit 
 of truth, his strength will be prostrated insensibly, 
 and he will come out of his novitiate prepared for any 
 service upon earth, rather than the ministry of Christ. 
 
 This frequent hostility of learning and knowledge 
 to the ministry of Christ, makes it the more incum- 
 
xxix 
 
 bent upon him, while resting in the enemy's country, 
 to study the spirit and weapons of their opposition, 
 that he may afterwards contend with the great host 
 which they draw after them in every civiUzed land. 
 And as the bigotry of learning is only to be met 
 by great learning, and pride of knowledge to be de- 
 feated by still deeper knowledge, it is as much his 
 part to study profoundly in the schools, as it is his 
 part afterwards to study profoundly in the world ; not 
 to fly off from the occupations of the University, and 
 hide himself in a corner of knowledge, but expatiate 
 over its sciences with as large and liberal a mind as 
 he is possessed of; guarding himself all the while 
 against pride and vain-glory, and directing himself by 
 a constant eye to truth and well-doing. From the 
 first, he must learn that he cannot go out of the world, 
 but liiust arm himself to contend with it. The Uni- 
 versity is his first field, and if he refuse to engage, 
 or find himself unable to contend with the intellectual 
 enemies of the truth which he encounters there, he 
 ought to advance no further in this service. An ig- 
 norant and unlearned minister, who hath refused the 
 opportunity of learning and knowledge, is either a 
 seeker of his own ease, or a lover of darkness ; and 
 in either case, he will be a blemish to the church of 
 Christ. Here, also, our venerable worthy, while yet 
 a youth, setteth us the proper example ; for when the 
 writings of Erasmus made their way to Oxford, he 
 was not hindered from perusing them, by the bad 
 odour in which they were held in the University, and 
 derived from them his first taste for studying the 
 Scriptures in the original tongues. And when 
 Hooper and Peter Martyr had shown him that there 
 
XXX 
 
 was good ground for the Protestant opinions, he at 
 once set himself to study the Scriptures and early- 
 Fathers of the church, seeking deliverance from doubt- 
 ful authority, by working his way upwards to the 
 fountain-head of authority. So any student for the 
 ministry, who would be defended from the narrow- 
 mindedness of the schools and times in which he 
 studies, must extend his knowledge beyond their re- 
 gion, and hold converse with other schools and other 
 ages. 
 
 There is something holy in taking a lesson from 
 an enemy ; and the resolution of Gilpin's doubts is 
 a fine illustration of the Christian maxim, " He that 
 doeth the truth, shall know of the doctrine, that it 
 is of God." We have seen him set aside all the in- 
 terests which bound him to his former opinions, put 
 to shame the pride of consistency, brave the oppro- 
 brium of change, and'set himself, like an honest man, 
 to inquire at every source, without any fear of making 
 his doubts and difficulties known. And " while I 
 was thus busied," he writes in a letter to his brother, 
 " I was drawn by certain friends to accept a benefice, 
 being very unwilling thereto. If I offended God in 
 taking such a charge before I was better learned, and 
 better resolved in religion, I cry God mercy, and I 
 doubt not but I have found mercy in his sight." Be- 
 fore going down to occupy this living, he was required 
 to come up to London and preach before the king and 
 his court at Greenwich. This was a great trial of 
 his truth in many ways : there was the vulgar temp- 
 tation of flattering noble personages; there was the 
 more refined temptation of preaching before a king; 
 there was a third temptation of overstepping his con- 
 
xxxi 
 
 victions, and straining his conscience, yet unresolved, 
 to please the spirit of Reformation which then beat 
 high in the English court. How Bernard Gilpin 
 withstood all these temptations, and acquitted himself 
 nobly for God, his country, and his own conscience, 
 may be seen from his sermon which still exists ; suffice 
 it to say, that he went not beyond the uncertain light 
 in theology which he possessed, while he preached 
 such a sermon as is not often preached in royal or 
 courtly ears. Thence proceeding to his living of 
 Norton, in the diocese of Durham, he " made it his 
 principal endeavour to inculcate moral virtue, and to 
 dissuade from those vices which he observed most 
 prevalent. He seldom handled controversial points, 
 being afraid, lest endeavouring to instruct he might 
 only mislead. For, however resolved to war against 
 Popery, he yet saw not the Protestant cause in its 
 full strength ; and was scarcely styled a son of her 
 religious opinions. Hence, by degrees a diffidence 
 of himself arose, which gave him great uneasiness. 
 He thought he had engaged too soon in his office — 
 that he could not sufficiently discharge it — that he 
 should not rest in giving his hearers moral instruction 
 —that, overspread as the country was with Popish 
 doctrine, he did ill to pretend to be a teacher of reli- 
 gion, if he were unable to oppose such errors." These 
 convictions so wrought upon his mind, that being again 
 in perplexity, he consulted his uncle, who advised him 
 to go abroad, and converse with the most able men 
 on both sides of the question, until his mind should 
 be fully made up. This exactly accorded with his 
 own incHnation, and he accordingly resigned the liv- 
 ing, after holding it about a year. 
 
xxxii 
 
 This passage is highly instructive to the student 
 of revelation, to whom it sometimes happens, as to 
 Gilpin, to have the care of souls, before his own soul 
 is resolved in the great matters which concern sal- 
 vation, and who, in his present doubt, is tempted to 
 yield to the imitation of those around him, or to join 
 himself to some one or other of those parties which 
 divide the churches, and to adopt, without due con- 
 viction, those principles and modes of truth, which, 
 however true to them, are not so to him, while he 
 yields to their authority, without the full persuasion 
 and consent of his own conscience. Authority, in 
 all its forms, is often the enemy of truth, whose ser- 
 vant the minister of Christ is, and to which he owes 
 all his allegiance; whose voice, if he cannot discern 
 with his soul, or dare not until sustained by certain 
 men, or parties of men around him, he is not yet fit 
 to be the minister of truth, and should not take upon 
 him the holy ministry. But if, like Gilpin, he find 
 himself by entreaty of others, or at unawares to his 
 own conscience, thus placed, and called upon from 
 Sabbath to Sabbath to bear his testimony to some- 
 thing, let it be to that of which he is convinced, how- 
 ever narrow and insufficient ; though it be but tem- 
 perance, and righteousness, and peace, and other points 
 of good morals, to which let him adhere with religious 
 steadfastness, and go in quest of greater illumination, 
 taking heed to the light which shineth in a dark place, 
 until the day dawn, and the day-star arise on his heart. 
 There is a duty which is due to truth, and which must 
 take precedency of every other in his mind, which, if 
 he postpone to any other duty, he is in so far not the 
 servant of Him who is called the Truth. There 
 
XXXlll 
 
 never hath been any country, or any age, in which 
 parties ran more high than in England, when Gilpin 
 took upon him the cure of Norton ; and there never 
 was a stronger testimony given against the corrup- 
 tions of the Catholic church, than he had just given 
 before the court of the reforming king. So that, 
 from within and from without, he was most strongly 
 solicited to cast himself into the arms of the reformers, 
 who afforded a steady hope of rectifying the mischiefs 
 over which he grieved so much, and complained so 
 loudly. But that were calculation, not conviction ; 
 prudence, not principle ; at the best, love to some good 
 affection of our heart, not love to sacred truth, to 
 which, like an honest man, and good minister, he had 
 connected himself. He was a student, and but young 
 in study, as he modestly said, and truly felt ; he felt 
 his position unfavourable to conviction, and he was 
 pressed with the responsibility of the people's souls, 
 and resolved that he would remove, for a space, until 
 he was better prepared and furnished for his work. 
 
 As was the motive to this step, so was the manner 
 of taking it, consonant with the loftiest and noblest 
 principles of the word and Spirit of God. Having 
 found " a friend whom he knew to be religious and a 
 scholar, and one that would not be idle in the func- 
 tion of the holy ministry," he resigned to him his liv- 
 ing. At which Bishop Tunstal being offended, spoke 
 to him thus : " And I have a care of thee, and thou 
 regardest it as impertinent. But I tell thee this be- 
 forehand, that by these courses thou wilt die a beg- 
 gar." To which Gilpin having replied that he could 
 not hold it with any peace of conscience ; the bishop 
 made answer, " But thou mayest hold it with a dis- 
 b3 
 
xxxiv 
 
 pensation, and in this cure thou shalt be dispensed 
 withal." " But," answered Gilpin, " the devil will 
 not be restrained by any bonds of dispensation, from 
 labouring in mine absence the destruction of my peo- 
 ple committed to my charge : and I fear that when 
 God shall call me to an account of my stewardship, 
 it will not answer my turn to say, that I was dispensed 
 withal, while the devil made havock of my flock." If 
 any thing can enhance the nobility of such an action, 
 it is this, that he was poor, and must depend, for the 
 little which he would require, chiefly upon the gen- 
 erosity of his uncle, with whom he held that aposto- 
 lical dialogue. 
 
 It was fortunate for Gilpin that there were upon 
 the continent of Europe, places where men were to 
 be found who occupied their souls with the sublime 
 researches of theology, which, both at home and 
 abroad, seems at that time to have dwindled away, 
 even in the universities, into the most meagre and 
 lifeless of all pursuits. Which state of things, 
 while it taketh away from the student of divine reve- 
 lation, who may find himself conditioned as Bernard 
 Gilpin was at Norton, the expediency of leaving his 
 cure, in (firder to go in quest of knowledge, into 
 other parts, doth impose upon him the duty of ga- 
 thering around him all the lights of past ages, and 
 meditating deeply upon the word of God, that he 
 may find out its hidden wisdom, and discover by what 
 means the wisdom which is hid may again be made 
 known, and turn men to the law and the testimony, 
 to take counsel from the oracles of the living God. 
 But in those times, when the mechanical and natural 
 sciences had not suppressed in noble minds the spi- 
 
XXXV 
 
 tual sciences ; and when the treasures of wisdom, and 
 the objects of eternity made debate in the common 
 mind, with the commerce and enjoyment of worldly 
 goods, the parish minister of Norton could go forth 
 from England, to the universities of Germany and 
 the Low Countries, and even to Paris itself, in quest 
 of the knowledge of divine truth — places where you 
 shall now find the most concentrated spirit of contempt 
 for the very name of orthodoxy and evangelical doc- 
 trine. After making observations upon the advantages 
 of several stations, he at length settled himself in 
 Louvain, which was at that time a sort of Hans-town 
 for religion, and there he employed himself in a way, 
 which he describes himself, in a letter whereof the 
 occasion was as honourable as the materials are in- 
 teresting. It was on this wise : — His brother George, 
 who was a good deal employed on diplomatic em- 
 prizes by the court of Elizabeth, and with good suc- 
 cess, was at this time residing at Mechlin, in the 
 same country, and had been visited by Bernard in 
 his way to Louvain. To him the kind and prudent 
 bishop, now advanced in years, anxious for the settle- 
 ment of his nephew in worldly comfort, wrote, pray- 
 ing that he would deal with his brother, to accept of 
 a good living which had become vacant in his diocese, 
 and which was in his gift. Therefore George, trust- 
 ing to his diplomatic powers, besought him to come 
 to Mechlin that he might communicate to him in 
 words something of importance, which could not, or 
 so well, be despatched by letters. Bernard who, 
 there is reason to believe, was instrumental to his 
 brother's conversion, imagining some cause very dif- 
 ferent from the real one, did not hesitate to interrupt 
 
xxxvi 
 
 his studies and proceed to the place appointed. But 
 the diplomatist, who was a match, in some instances^ 
 for the intrigues of the Imperial court, was no match 
 for his brother's conscience ; who, somewhat offended 
 by this importunity, wrote to his uncle a letter, which 
 exhibits an expression of the true spirit of a student 
 of revealed truth.* 
 
 In this spirit truth is to be studied, with a single 
 eye to her possession, and with self-denial to every 
 other interest or affection. With such trials doth 
 the Father of truth try his servant, before he disco- 
 vers to him his glorious face ; and, having proved the 
 constancy of his worship in those ways which are not 
 pleasant to flesh, he leadeth him into the temple of 
 truth, and presenteth him with the key of mysteries. 
 For none of the truths of revelation hath its end in 
 mere knowledge or speculation, but in religion^ that 
 so they may bind and oblige our conduct in some 
 way or other. If they be taken into our faith, they 
 involve certain modifications of our inward and our 
 outward being. Our self-love, our self-interest, our 
 accustomed feeling or accustomed conduct, must give , 
 way. There is no indulgence, nor toleration, nor 
 compromise, nor alternative — all must yield, or no- 
 thing is gained. It is not the belief of proportions 
 of mathematics, or properties of matter, which may 
 lie in heaps in the mind, and have no effect whatever 
 on any of its practical occupations. But it is the 
 belief of our own condition, as lost or saved, of God's 
 right over us, and his ways of inferring it, of our 
 duty, of our destiny. Upon all these subjects, our 
 
 ♦ See page 99. 
 
XXXV ii 
 
 faith is, as it were, already prepossessed and preju- 
 diced to an opposite view of the subject, and indis- 
 posed to that which is revealed to us. For every 
 man, the most sceptical, has a faith upon the things 
 which revelation concerneth itself withal, hath some 
 theory of human life, some idea of human dignity, 
 some governor of the invisible world, some controller 
 of destiny, some opinion as to the future world — in 
 short, some state of mind, belief, doubt, or disbelief, 
 towards all these things respecting which revelation 
 requires positive belief in one given and prescribed 
 form. The first effect of knowing the things which 
 are revealed, will be, if the mind be of an honest, 
 sincere, and true disposition, to enter into competition 
 and strife with some of the former possessors of the 
 soil, and a little to trouble its equanimity ; to disturb 
 their certainty and assurance ; to reprove the hesita- 
 tion; to affright the scepticism, in which it was for- 
 merly held. Now, the true disciple of faith is to 
 deal fairly by that state and condition in which he 
 findeth himself, upon knowing the matters of revela- 
 tion. All the advocation and pleading, both of the 
 inward and outward man, • are against hearing it fur- 
 ther, because of the bar and interruption which it 
 will bring athwart the present course of our exis- 
 tence. There are arguments, doubtless, the other 
 way ; for if the truth were firmly possessed by us, all 
 would be well, both in this world and the next. But 
 the truth is yet but knocking at the door. Had 
 Bernard Gilpin Ustened to the pride of a scholar, or 
 to the prejudices of early education, or followed the 
 desire of victory, or loved the ease of a country cure, 
 or sought preferment, or been content with human 
 
xxxviii 
 
 authority, or popular opinion, who does not see that 
 his travail for the birth of truth would have been 
 abortive. So, in like manner, if the self-denial of 
 the soul, and change of life, in every direction, which 
 are most hateful to nature, do terrify the beginnings 
 of our faith, or make its earnestness to intermit, then 
 we shall surely fail in the end. The difficulty with 
 a student of revelation, therefore, is to keep inward 
 insurrection against the truth quiet, and to set out- 
 ward fright at defiance ; to bring himself into a me- 
 ditative, contemplative condition of soul, and into an 
 indifference and carelessness to outward consequences: 
 to give the truth of God fair play, for the field is all 
 in arms against it. It is not by deep abstraction of 
 the intellect, that the light is to be discovered from 
 the darkness, nor by weight of facts that the flood- 
 gates of error are to be broke open ; but by reining 
 in the passions, and holding the affections in check, 
 and denying the appetite, and bridling the impetuous 
 moods of the soul, and veiling the visible world, and 
 hiding self from our admiration : by a thousand ope- 
 rations of this kind, the impediments to believing, 
 which are the dispositions to believe the other way, 
 are to be removed, and the truth is to have justice 
 done it. And without this, it is mere absurdity to 
 say we are true students of faith. This is to study 
 faith ; and there is no other way but this, namely, to 
 give the other side as fair a hearing as we have given 
 to those which now possesseth us. They cry out, 
 that we ought to be sceptical of what we believe. 
 We say so. Be sceptical. But sceptical where ? 
 On that side where you have a chance to be misled. 
 Which is that ? There where your passious, and 
 
xxxix 
 
 inclinations, and interests all lie. Then I should be 
 on my guard against being deceived there. Yes, 
 surely. But how shall I? By watchfulness, by 
 self-possession, by self-restraint, by giving ear to no- 
 thing but the inward character of truth, as Bernard 
 Gilpin did. 
 
 It is good for perfecting this example of a student 
 of revelation, that we know not only the spirit in 
 which he made his researches, but also the manner 
 of them, into which also we have some insight given 
 us in these Memoirs. " He was present at all pub- 
 lic readings and disputations : he committed every 
 thing material to writing ; all his opinions he re-ex- 
 amined ; proposed his doubts in private to his friends; 
 and, in every respect, made the best use of his time." 
 This was necessary, to inform himself sufficiently of 
 what the advocates of each side had to say for their 
 opinions ; but, like a good judge, he did not make 
 up his own from their distempered and party plead- 
 ings, but betook himself, when they had sufficiently 
 awakened his mind, to an authority above them both. 
 This was like a wise man, to remove his spmt, when 
 deliberating on truth, from the influence and autho- 
 rity of great living persons, and the contentions and 
 questions of his times ; although he refused not the 
 counsel of the one, or the excitement of the other. 
 He conversed with all men of worth and learning, to 
 whom he had access, in England ; and to meet with 
 more, he sojourned in Louvain, Antwerp, and Paris 
 — he went to the places where arguments were held 
 and discourses entertained upon the questions con- 
 cerning which he was in doubt ; but when he pro- 
 ceeded to the solemn work of givjng judgment to his 
 
xl 
 
 conscience and his future life, he retired into his se- 
 cret study, and called upon his soul to converse with 
 the word and Spirit of God, and with the elders who 
 had obtained a good report in the church of Christ. 
 So be it with every one who would know any thing 
 deep or important in the knowledge of revelation and 
 his own duty. He must not be caught away by the 
 questions of the day, to figure in the parades which 
 each sect and party maketh for itself ; their meetings, 
 their movements, their encounters, and their tri- 
 umphs; nor allow his spirit, in the expression of 
 self-exaltation, and party bitterness, which they in- 
 dulge. He should neither absent himself from the 
 coteries which they keep, nor present himself at them 
 as a spy, or as an enemy, but look on with great ob- 
 servation and calm consideration ; taking part when 
 he honestly can, and when he cannot, withholding ; 
 and being interrogated, he should give a reason for 
 the conduct which is in him : and especially he should 
 be on his guard against the error of every age, that 
 it hath all the truth, and the error of every sect, that 
 it is altogether in the right. Yea, if he would be 
 preserved from being carried headlong away with the 
 stream — if he would be of any use in guiding it in a 
 better course, he must, like Gilpin, often retire from 
 the field of present action, and hold converse with all 
 ages, and with all men, who have peopled the world; 
 and, above all, with the oracles of truth, which are 
 eternal, immortal, and immutable, and liable to no 
 fluctuation of time, or alteration from the hand of 
 men. O how blessed, how hallowed, should be the 
 study of the man of God — how sanctified by the 
 Spirit of truth, and all the offices of high devotion — 
 
xli 
 
 how sequestered from noise, and bustle, and business, 
 and consecrated to great thought, and patient medi- 
 tation, and the busy occupation of the soul. It 
 should be no less than the nursery of faith, and the 
 solemn temple of truth, the council-chamber of the 
 church, and the luminary of the benighted and erro- 
 neous world. 
 
 He found the conviction which he sought with so 
 much travail of soul, yet not at once but by degrees. 
 The errors of an honest mind are not easily removed, 
 being interwoven with the consciousness of honesty, 
 which is the asbestos of the spiritual world, and giv- 
 eth to the fabric, with which it is interwoven, an al- 
 most indestructible character. Had Gilpin been 
 schooled at Cambridge, where Cranmer and the 
 Scripturists had already betaken themselves to free 
 inquiry, there can be no doubt that he would have 
 found his way more early to the truth. But in 
 Oxford, which had from heaven the first presentation 
 of a Scriptuiist, and had cast him out, there had 
 arisen none as yet to doubt of the infallibility of the 
 Papal doctrines; and our student had been evincing 
 his love of truth for thirty years, with no materials 
 to exercise it upon but the most insidious errors; 
 and it was only by slow degrees, and gradual ap- 
 proaches, that he came at length to the knowledge 
 of the truth ; which is the common way in which 
 the Lord maketh his revelation known to his ser- 
 vants, fulfilling therein the saying of his word : 
 " The path of the just is as the shining fight, which 
 shineth more and more unto the perfect day." He 
 had advanced so far as to disbelieve transubstantia- 
 tion, and to be grieved in his conscience at the re- 
 
xlii 
 
 ceiving of the priests alone. But while he waited 
 humbly for the opening of these strongholds of error, 
 he was not silent concerning those things whereof 
 he was resolved, and at Paris he withstood the gross 
 enormities of images, relics, pilgrimages, buying mass 
 and trentals, and reasoned with the priests daily, con- 
 cerning the reformation of these and other things, 
 which they themselves confessed did want reformation. 
 And when they put him off with their fears and ap- 
 prehensions of the ignorant people, he says, " It 
 grieved me, and made me seek for quietness in God's 
 word ; no where else could I find any stay." 
 
 The Preacher. — Of Bernard Gilpin's ordinary 
 discourses we have no relics. His discourses to his 
 people live where they were intended to live, in the 
 souls of those whom he begat by the Gospel ; but it 
 hath pleased the Lord to preserve for our instruction 
 and edification, that discourse which he preached be- 
 fore king Edward and his peers, which reveals the 
 true grace of his character, and the proper end of 
 preaching, and will justify all that has been said con- 
 cerning its high and lofty purpose — its love of truth 
 — :-its fearlessness of consequences — its good sense 
 and wisdom, and its faithful application to all classes. 
 It ought to be remembered, however, that this was 
 preached while he was not thoroughly enlightened, 
 but young in study ; before he entered on the living 
 which he afterwards resigned, in order to go abroad, 
 for the more expeditious resolution of those doubts 
 which then distressed his mind. But there is a 
 cFearness of exposition, and a spiritual application of 
 the subject, not less striking than the condensation 
 
xliii 
 
 of thought, and fulness of truth, which it contains. 
 The language, also, is rich and full of various allu- 
 sions, and the discourse is studded over with the 
 finest incidents and quotations from all departments 
 of knowledge at that time followed amongst men. 
 
 The Pastor. — How Bernard Gilpin fulfilled 
 the part of the pastoral care, in the parish of Hough- 
 ton-le-spring, may be seen laid out at large in the 
 7th and 8th chapters of the following life ; and with 
 what success he laboured in the parish, which he 
 found dark as midnio-ht : the condition into which he 
 brought it into love with a spiritual ministry, and 
 even now rejoicing in the memory of him who brought 
 them out of papal darkness, are the best testimonials. 
 In this, indeed, he passed beyond the bounds of all 
 men of whom any memorial is known to us. His 
 watchfulness of the poor — his tender care of the af- 
 flicted — his encouragement of industry — his humane 
 and wise relief of the distressed — his free-will errands 
 of well-doing — his Christian errantry of charity — his 
 self-denial and perfect disinterestedness, made him 
 the father of his people. And what was the tenor of 
 his discourses with his people, we may judge from a 
 letter which he wrote to Mrs. Carr, one of his pa- 
 rishioners, when the infirmities of age did not permit 
 him to go to comfort her in person. It is quite a 
 counterpart to the sermon preached before the king 
 and his nobles, and doth evince how the most intrepid 
 boldness for Christ is generally connected with the 
 most tender watchfulness of his afilicted members.* 
 
 See page 170. 
 
xliv 
 
 His care of the orphan is manifested in a still more 
 striking manner, by a letter which he wrote to one 
 Mr. Barns, who is supposed to have been brother to 
 the bishop of the diocese, and who had defrauded 
 three orphans of their patrimony : — " It will be but 
 a very few years before you and I must give up our 
 great accounts. I pray God give us both the grace 
 to have them in a constant readiness. And may you 
 take what I have written in as friendly a manner as 
 is meant. My daily prayers are made for you to 
 Almighty God, whom I beseech evermore to preserve 
 you." 
 
 His whole establishment and conduct as a pastor 
 was such, that Lord Burleigh, attracted by the re- 
 putation of his worth, having spent some time with 
 him, after parting from his hospitable and pious 
 house, took a parting look of it from Rainton-hill, 
 and said, " There is the enjoyment of life indeed I 
 — who can blame that man for not accepting of a 
 bishopric ! — what doth he want to make him greater, 
 or happier, or more useful to mankind !" 
 
 But the office of a pastor over a flock, hath rela- 
 tion not only to those who are at present the sub- 
 jects of divine grace, and the gospel ministry, to 
 comfort them in all their afflictions, to support them 
 in all their trials, and do to them every office of a 
 spiritual Father ; but it hath no less relation to those 
 who are rising into the capacity of divine grace and 
 gospel ministry, the young who are soon to be the 
 aged, the children who are soon to be the fathers and 
 mothers in the church of Christ. And one great 
 use which infant-baptism serveth in the dispensation 
 of the Gospel, is to teach pastors, as it teacheth pa- 
 
xlv 
 
 rents, that' from the earliest beginnings of life, there 
 is extended over infants a fatherhood, a brotherhood, 
 and a spiritual guidance, from the three several 
 persons in the Godhead, and that whosoever hath 
 reverence for the authority of the Godhead upon 
 earth, or professional obedience thereto, is obliged 
 in the high name of heaven, to take a charge of help- 
 less childhood, and rear it up in the nurture and 
 admonition of the Lord. For if such care be not 
 exercised over the rising generation, to make them 
 know of Christ, their Redeemer and King, and bind 
 them over to a fealty to the King who died for them, 
 the church must forthwith come to an end, and the 
 earth be divested of its spiritual influences. There- 
 fore, that the name of Jesus may outlast the sun and 
 moon, and be glorious to all generations, it is a se- 
 cond grand function of the pastoral oflBce, to give all 
 diligence to the tender lambs of the flock, and to 
 shelter them, like a good shepherd, in his bosom, till 
 they are able to bear all the blasts which howl over 
 the wilderness of life. 
 
 And in all well-ordered churches, it is made in- 
 cumbent upon the pastoral office, that it should con- 
 sider itself responsible for every child within the 
 bounds of the flock. In all the churches, a certain 
 portion of time ought to be devoted to the work of 
 catechizing the young, especially when preparing them 
 for the communion of tlie Church. In the Church of 
 Scotland, a school is provided in each parish, and 
 placed under the cognizance of the minister, in which 
 a man of competent knowledge, and assured piety, is 
 required by the acts of the church, to be placed and 
 maintained at the public charge, which the presbytery. 
 
xlvi 
 
 from time to time, is called upon to examine. And 
 besides this, the pastor of the parish is required to 
 examine, from time to time, the state of religious 
 knowledge in families, and diligently to make trial 
 of each young person who seeks admission to the 
 table of the Lord. Tl^is is wisely ordained in the 
 churches, and ought to be rigorously seen after ; for 
 it is no less important than the ministrations from 
 the pulpit to the full-grown people. 
 
 Now, this is a point of pastoral duty too little 
 understood and practised, and, in the neglect of it, 
 the education of the youth hath come to be so sepa- 
 rate from religion ; which is to separate it, not merely 
 from a creed, but from truth, and verity, and duty. 
 
 This other great division of pastoral duty, Ber- 
 nard Gilpin discharged with the same wisdom and 
 enlargement of heart which make him in every thing 
 remarkable. He adopted the idea of our Scottish 
 Reformers, and out of the means of his living, set 
 aside a portion for erecting a free school, in which 
 the children of the parish might be reared up in the 
 knowledge of godliness. He had from Oxford, 
 where his chief acquaintance lay, men of learning 
 and piety to take the management thereof ; but he 
 never absented himself from giving it what attention 
 and oversight he had to spare ; and was wont, not 
 with incitements of envy and emulation, to reward 
 the worthy and diligent youth, but by marks of his 
 personal affection, and by lessons from his own lips. 
 And to convert it into a public good for the church, 
 he was wont to send up to college, and entertain at 
 his proper charge, those youth who seemed of most 
 promising parts, and endowed with the richest graces ; 
 
xlvii 
 
 of whom several afterwards distinguished themselves 
 in the church. And so enlarged was his soul, that 
 if he met a poor boy roving on the highways, an or- 
 phan, or an outcast, he would question him, and if 
 he found in him such qualities as he judged hopeful, 
 he would bring him home and treat him to an inheri- 
 tance of knowledge. And in his journey into the 
 dark regions of the border, he would always be pick- 
 ing up by the way destitute and hopeful children, to 
 train them up in the paths of godliness. And so 
 much did the pleasure of the Lord prosper in this 
 undertaking, that, in his old age, desirous to secure 
 so great a good to his people, he used the influence of 
 the Earl of Bedford, that good man, and son of a 
 good man, to advocate the matter of a charter at the 
 court of Queen Elizabeth, whose answer is worthy 
 of perusal by all to whom the memory of good things 
 in noble men is due.* 
 
 The Churchman. — He did not withhold his 
 union to the Church of England because he per- 
 ceived her full of infirmity, and dissent because she 
 would not embody all his ideas of Church purity ; 
 but, like a good Christian, and a good Churchman, 
 lent his help in her infirmity, and embraced the oc- 
 casions and opportunities which she offered of well- 
 doing. And when the non-conformists of those days, 
 conscious of the weight which his accession w^uld 
 give to their party, made a strenuous application to 
 him concerning the things which were in question 
 between them and the court, he replied, " The re- 
 
 See page 19a 
 
xlviii 
 
 formation was just : essentials were there concerned. 
 But at present he saw no ground for dissatisfaction. 
 The Church of England, he thought, gave no rea- 
 sonable offence. Some things there might be in it, 
 which had been perhaps as well avoided : but to dis- 
 turb the peace of a nation for such trifles, he thought, 
 was quite unchristian." 
 
 While, then, like a wise man and peaceable 
 Christian, thankful for what they had obtained from 
 the mercy of God, and intent upon its reformation, 
 he stood apart from the violent agitations of the po- 
 pular mind : he did not approve that those who dif- 
 fered from him in their matters of dress and cere- 
 mony should be ejected from the church, which he 
 manifested in the continuance of his re^jard for some 
 to whom they showed that severity. But while he 
 thus manifested to both sides his attachment to the 
 infant Church of England, he was not so blinded as 
 to suppose her full-grown and perfect ; but laboured, 
 as best he could, to rear her to perfection. And if 
 those who then stood aloof, had in like manner la- 
 boured as Parker did in the south, and as Gilpin did 
 in the north, instead of fomenting the evil spirit of 
 opposition, we make no doubt that England would 
 have been saved from much of her sorest sufferings, 
 and the Church of England would have contained 
 within her bosom those noble puritans, who became 
 soured by being cast out ; and for want of which she 
 hardly breathed for a whole century, and is but even 
 now beginning to recover. Being appointed to the 
 archdeaconry of Durham, when he arrived from the 
 continent, he did not shut his eyes to the clergy, then 
 brought in some measure under his care, nor hesitate 
 
xlix 
 
 to speak of them, and to them, concerning their 
 errors and blemishes, which were to him a matter of 
 heartfelt concern and serious prayer, as we have from 
 his own words.* But, like a man who was willing 
 to risk all for Christ, and the truth which is in 
 Christ, he was not content with doing the soul- 
 penance of sleeplessness, but constantly, though in 
 the reign of the bloody Mary, wherever his office 
 called him, openly rebuked them for their vices. 
 Nor could courtesy and affection to his uncle the 
 bishop, which are more dangerous disarmers of noble 
 minds than personal danger, hinder him from this 
 honest Churchman's course. And he cared not that 
 he procured himself " many mighty and grievous ad- 
 versaries, by preaching against pluralities and non- 
 residence." They raised the cry, " That he was an 
 enemy to the church — a scandalizer of the clergy — 
 a preacher of damnable doctrines — and that religion 
 must suffer from the heresies which he was daily 
 broaching, if they spared him any longer." They 
 openly accused him before the bishop of Durham, 
 seeking his blood, by whose mildness and moderation 
 being delivered, he was permitted to continue his 
 course a little longer unmolested. But what no 
 earthly fear, nor human affection could force him to, 
 his sense of duty prevailed to bring about. Finding 
 that he could not both fulfil the duties of archdeacon 
 of Durham, and minister of Easington, which had 
 always been united, he sought to be relieved from 
 one, and, like a dutiful minister, left his diocesan 
 to continue him in whichsoever he pleased. The 
 
 * See page 1 10. 
 C 
 
 8 
 
1 
 
 bishop resolving that they should continue united, 
 his nephew resigned both rather than not discharge 
 both, and give an example of a pluralist. He then 
 became one of the chaplains of the bishop's house- 
 hold, and was brought to contend for the truth in 
 the bosom of a family — with table-companions and 
 friends, which every one of a gentle nature knows to 
 be tenfold more trying to flesh and blood, than from 
 a public place, and in an official station. And how he 
 stood for the doctrines of the reformation amongst 
 the chaplains of a Roman CathoHc bishop, in bloody 
 times, his dialogue with them testifies.* 
 
 Soon after he was presented by the bishop to 
 Houghton-le-spring, where he had not been settled 
 long until he was called upon to give another testi- 
 mony of his love to the church. One of his sine- 
 cures falling vacant, (a golden stall of Durham,) the 
 bishop wishing to deliver his nephew from the cala- 
 mity of " dying a beggar," offered it to him, saying, 
 " There lay not the same objection to this as to the 
 archdeaconry ; that it was quite a sinecure, and that 
 he could have no reasonable pretence for refusing it." 
 But words, which are but the counters of wise men, 
 could not pass for money in the eyes of Gilpin, and 
 he refused to accept a preferment, to which there 
 was attached no duty, for it touched him on another 
 tender point. He answered, " That by his bounty 
 he had already more wealth than he was afraid he 
 could give a good account of. He begged, there- 
 fore, he might not have an additional charge ; but 
 that his lordship would rather bestow this preferment 
 
 See page 116, 
 
li 
 
 on one by whom it was more needed." To how 
 many engrossers in all churches doth that answer 
 read a lesson — and to how many prudent men, who 
 would have rebuked the rector of Houghton for not 
 taking the money, that he might appropriate it to a 
 good use ! But the rector of Houghton had other 
 and nobler calHngs than to lay out money, and was 
 glad to escape from such equivocal and suspicious 
 ways of serving God. What were his views of 
 money, and the use he put it to, is well set forth in 
 a letter to his brother.* 
 
 The last proof which a minister of Christ can 
 give of his devotedness to the church, is to die for 
 it, and propagate with his blood, that which in his 
 life he laboured to plant. This honour was not 
 yielded to Bernard Gilpin. The Lord had taken 
 enow of the first fruits of reformation, when he took 
 Cranmer, Latimer, Ridley, and Hooper. He wished 
 one to stand through the storm — one noble stem 
 of the same generation, he wished to stand for a 
 model to other ages. This he did in mercy, that 
 we might know, not only how to die nobly, but how 
 to live nobly, for the sake of truth. 
 
 Next, as if the Lord had given Satan a commis- 
 sion to tempt our reformer, as heretofore he did the 
 man of Uz, he was offered the bishopric of Car- 
 lisle ; and, when the good Earl of Bedford prevailed 
 not, he used the influence of Edwin Sandys, bishop 
 of Worcester, (a disciple and friend of Hooker,) 
 whose letter, most like a bishop's, was not able to re- 
 move his scruples, which he couched in these words : 
 
 See page 123. 
 
 c 2 
 
lii 
 
 — " The case is truly this : if any other bishopric, 
 besides CarUsle, had been offered to me, I possibly 
 might have accepted it : but in that diocese I have 
 so many friends and acquaintance, of whom I have 
 not the best opinion, that I must either connive at 
 many irregularities, or draw upon myself so much 
 hatred, that I should be able to do less good there 
 than any one else." 
 
 It is the breadth of this man's character which 
 amazeth us, the copious wisdom, the various appli- 
 cation, the good and common sense which he brings 
 to all spiritual subjects. Thus have we seen him 
 deny preferments, riches, and personal safety, when 
 they came knocking at his gate ; the only other 
 thing by which a churchman is wont to be tried, 
 came knocking in its turn. This was an academical 
 place of honour and pursuit, to which we have known 
 the best of men make their retreat, from manifold 
 engagements ; and were glad, after having laboured 
 in vain to keep a fair spiritual course in the troubled 
 seas of life, to escape from it to those sheltered bays 
 and inland lakes, whose banks are verdant with the 
 fruits of learning, and cheered with the sweet society 
 of learned and retired men. ]^t the parish minister 
 of Houghton was tempest-proof, and would weather 
 it out in the same seas where he had encountered 
 such commotions. Accordingly, when the provost- 
 ship of Queen's College, Oxford, was pressed upon 
 him, under circumstances of special honour, he de- 
 clined to leave his simple ministry for the seat of his 
 early studies and early honours. 
 
 One other trial of a good Christian, and that 
 doubtless the hardest of all, our worthy had to under- 
 
liu 
 
 go— reverence for his superiors in the church. The 
 meek spirit of a good Christian often degenerates 
 into patience of wrong, which it were better that he 
 should rebut with the indignation of righteousness ; 
 a reverence for those in authority oft-times biinds 
 him to the abuse of power, which, when he has an 
 occasion to reprove, he oft lets it slip out of the 
 facility of a charitable disposition, and lest he should 
 be blasphemed as an enemy of Cesar. To all such 
 Bernard Gilpin gave a lesson, which it well becomes 
 good and devoted ministers of Christ to lay to heart. 
 
 Conclusion. — In Bernard Gilpin's qualities as 
 A MAN, it were a vain and idle work to make selec- 
 tions from his life, which, from the beginning to the 
 end of it, bespeaks him to have been of the finest 
 natural endowments, and of the most flourishing 
 Christian graces. His ministerial character did not 
 denude him of his natural sympathies with all man- 
 kind, but rendered them more expansive, and directed 
 them to higher purposes. He was no anchorite or 
 ascetic, but a generous-hearted entertainer. Cheer- 
 fulness was in his soul, because it was in good health ; 
 and good cheer was upon his table, and gifts in his 
 hand, until he had no more to give. He saw his 
 way through all the paths of life by the lamp of his 
 conscience, which he kept ever well trimmed ; and he 
 followed it with a steady eye and a fearless step, on- 
 wards to the brink of ruin ; but aye as he skirted 
 ruin's brink, the Lord interposed and kept him for 
 new manifestations of his nobleness. And, withal, 
 he was the humblest of men, and found no satisfac- 
 tion in his good works, or approbation of his own 
 
liv 
 
 perfection; but had his refuge in the Lord Jesus 
 Christ, where alone he found his peace. And not 
 his peace only, but his pattern ; for if we know the 
 life of a disciple, who keeps in all things by the 
 model of Christ, it is the life of Bernard Gilpin', 
 who, like his Master, was like a sharp sword against 
 the Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites — who was a 
 place of refuge to the naked and the destitute — who 
 was a shepherd to the flock, and a blessing to the 
 young ; food to the hungry, and drink to the thirsty ; 
 and went about on errands of continual well-doing, 
 and kept constant communion with God, and con- 
 stant humiliation of himself, and walked with God ; 
 and, speaking with a mortal's judgment, may be pro- 
 nounced perfect in his generation, so far as it is given 
 to any man to be perfect. 
 
 E. 1. 
 
 London, December, 1824. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Peeface by Bishop Carleton, - . . . . 51 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 His Early Life, 61 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 Presented to the vicarage of Norton — dissatisfied with his 
 knowledge of religion — resigns his cure — and goes abroad, 
 with the design of conversing with learned men, . 82 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Refuses a benefice offered him by bishop Tunstal — prosecutes 
 his studies at Louvain — after being fully convinced of the 
 errors of Popery, returns to England during the persecu- 
 tion of ]Mary, 94 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Humane disposition of the bishop of Durham — Mr. Gilpin 
 appointed to the rectory of Easington — His behaviour in 
 his parish — He is persecuted by his enemies, . . 106 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin offered the bishopric of Carlisle and the provost- 
 ship of Queen's College, Oxford, both of which he de- 
 clines — endows a school, 127 
 
Ivi 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ' CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Page 
 
 He refuses the applications made to him by the Dissenters, 
 and also by the Papists, to become of their party, . 148 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Sketch of Mr. Gilpin's character as a Clergyman — his devo- 
 tion to the various duties of his office — his attention to 
 the neglected parishes in the north of England, . 166 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 His benevolence and hospitality, .... 185 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Obtains a charter for his school — suffers persecution from his 
 enemies — his death — concluding remarks on his character, 192 
 
 SERMON, 
 
 Preached at Greenwich, before Edward VI. . . 219 
 
PREFACE 
 
 BY 
 
 BISHOP CARLETON. 
 
 It might be of great use to cause a close application 
 to theological studies, and to nourish piety, in the 
 exercise of those talents acquired by study, could 
 a delectus be made out of the lives of such of the 
 clergy, as were no otherwise dignified, and distin- 
 guished among them, than by singular heights of 
 learning, piety, and pastoral care ; such as, besides 
 our Gilpin, were Hooker and Herbert, with some 
 others, who might be found worthy of imitation, 
 but were never exalted above the degree of parochial 
 ministers. For the nearer that the examples pro- 
 posed for imitation, are brought to the level and cir- 
 cumstances of such as we would have influenced 
 thereby, the more such lives will be apt to work upon 
 the passions of the inferior clergy, and upbraid the 
 indolence of those who are slow to imitate them. 
 
 In the life of Bernard Gilpin, we find the several 
 excellent particulars following: suggesting things 
 infinitely worthy of the closest imitation, namely, — 
 
 First, A Nathaniel-like simplicity of manners, 
 probity, and integrity, a fundamental grace and vir- 
 tue, as well as highly ornamental in the minister of 
 religion. 
 
 c3 
 
58 
 
 Secondly, A generous dispensing of his substance, 
 not only in a hospitable entertainment of the poor of 
 his parish, of whom he took care as of his family, 
 but in the encouraging and promoting of learning; 
 a much better way for gentlemen having entered 
 into ecclesiastical orders, and into the service of the 
 church, than the spending their own and church's 
 patrimony, in a secular way of living, and in sports 
 and diversions. 
 
 Thirdly, The expending largely in training up 
 and directing the studies of the candidates for the 
 ministry, who had already a university education — a 
 thing surely never more seasonable, than when so 
 little preparation for the work of the ministry, in 
 theological studies, is given to those who are about 
 to enter into orders. 
 
 Fourthly, What a singular attachment was that 
 to his parish, and how vastly remote from that accu- 
 mulating of ecclesiastical preferments, (with which 
 some seem not capable to be satisfied,) and what a 
 self-denial was that of his, that he could not be in- 
 duced, nor even forced, to accept, together with his 
 then living, a plurality, no, nor even one dignity ? 
 
 Fifthly, How nobly devoid of ambition, according 
 to the primitive patterns, was this great and good 
 man, whom the appointments, nor yet the commands, 
 of the greatest could induce to change his private 
 station in the church, where he found he could do 
 good, even for that of a bishopric, where he had but 
 a small prospect of success in his ministry ! 
 
 Sixthly, His notions of Popery, as truly antichris- 
 tian, and with which therefore there could be no com- 
 munion, re-union, nor coalition, ever to be thought 
 
59 
 
 of, were no other than just, and truly Christian : and 
 surely would be a better preservative against it than 
 any we are hkely to have at this day, when the way 
 seems to be so much smoothed to it, by the more 
 favourable sentiments of late entertained of it. 
 
 Seventhly, His admirable zeal in propagating 
 Christian knowledge amon^ the icrnorant and bar- 
 
 o o o 
 
 barous part of mankind, do particularly point him out 
 as a pattern to be imitated by our missionary clergy, 
 who will all of them find so many heathen blacks in 
 their own parishes or districts, where they are ap- 
 pointed ; and some of them clans of other heathen, 
 in the borders where they hve ; to the conversion of 
 whom also should they now and then make excur- 
 sions, as Mr. Gilpin did to those of Riddes-dale and 
 Tin-dale, how well will they approve themselves 
 thereby both to God and men ! And indeed, chiefly 
 with respect to those who shall be employed in this 
 blessed work, and to inspire them with a like zeal to 
 gain souls to God, it is, that I sought out, and not 
 without much difficulty found at last, this excellent 
 life of ]\Ir. Gilpin, written by a good bishop of our 
 church, and its internal worth is sufficient to recom- 
 mend it. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 His Early Life, 
 
 Bernard Gilpin was born in the year 15 17, about 
 the middle of the reign of Henry the eighth. His 
 forefathers had been seated at Kentmire-hall, in 
 Westmoreland, from the time of king John; in whose 
 reign this estate had been given by a baron of Ken- 
 dal to Richard Gilpin, as a reward for services 
 thought very considerable. Carleton, bishop of 
 Chichester, who wrote the life of Bernard Gilpin, 
 mentions this Richard as a person eminent in his 
 time, both in a civil and military capacity ; and gives 
 us a story, told indeed with ^ fabulous air, of his 
 killing a wild boar which terribly infested those 
 parts. From this gentleman, the estate of Kentmire 
 descended to Edwin Gilpin, the father of Bernard ; 
 who became prematurely possessed of it by the death 
 of an elder brother, killed at the battle of Bosvvorth, 
 in the cause, most probably, of Richard the third, 
 
62 
 
 whose gallant behaviour, and very popular govern- 
 ment, a few years before m Scotland, had established 
 him greatly in the esteem of the northern counties. 
 
 Edwin Gilpin had several children, of whom 
 Bernard was one of the youngest ; an unhappy cir- 
 cumstance in that age, which, by giving little encour- 
 agement to the liberal arts, and less to commerce, 
 restrained the genius and industry of younger bro- 
 thers. No way indeed was commonly open to their 
 fortunes, but the church or the camp. The incon- 
 venience, however, was less to Mr. Gilpin than to 
 others ; for that way was open to which his disposi- 
 tion most inclined him. From his earliest youth 
 he was inclined to a contemplative life; thoughtful, 
 reserved, and serious. Perhaps no one ever had a 
 greater share of constitutional virtue, or through 
 every part of life endeavoured more to improve it. 
 
 The bishop of Chichester has preserved a story of 
 him in his infancy, which will show how early he 
 could discern not only the immorality, but the in- 
 decorum of an action. 
 
 A begging friar came on a Saturday evening to 
 his father's house; where, according to the custom 
 of those times, he was received in a very hospitable 
 manner. The plenty set before him was a tempta- 
 tion too strong for his virtue ; of which, it seems, he 
 had not sufficient evejti to save appearances. The 
 next morning, however, he ordered the bell to toll, 
 and from the pulpit expressed himself with great 
 vehemence against the debauchery of the times, and 
 particularly against drunkenness. Mr. Gilpin, who 
 was then a child upon his mother's knee, seemed for 
 some time exceedingly affected with the friar's dis- 
 
63 
 
 course ; and at length, with the utmost indignation, 
 cried out, " He wondered how that man could preach 
 against drunkenness, when he himself had been drunk 
 only the night before." 
 
 Instances of this kind soon discovered the serious- 
 ness of his disposition, and gave his parents an early 
 presage of his future piety. 
 
 His first years were spent at a public school; 
 where, agreeably to the compliment which history 
 generally pays to such as afterwards become eminent, 
 we are told he soon distinguished himself. 
 
 From school he was removed to Oxford, where it 
 was judged learning was most encouraged : though 
 indeed both the universities were in that age greatly 
 overrun with ignorance and superstition, effects of 
 the slavish opinions then prevailing in religion ; and 
 what study was encouraged was confined to perplexed 
 systems of logic, and the subtilties of school divinity. 
 So that the best education of those times was only 
 calculated for very slender improvements in real 
 learning. 
 
 At the age, however, of sixteen, Mr. Gilpin was 
 entered upon the foundation, at Queen's College in 
 Oxford ; where we are informed his industry was 
 very great, and he easily reaped what knowledge the 
 soil produced. 
 
 Erasmus about this time drew the attention of 
 the learned world. With a noble freedom he shook 
 off the prejudices of his education, boldly attacked 
 the reigning superstitions of Popery, and exposed the 
 lazy and illiterate churchmen of those days. Such 
 a behaviour could not but procure him many ene- 
 mies; and occasioned objections to whatever he could 
 
64 
 
 write. At Oxford particularly, he was far from be- 
 ing in general esteem. Our young student had, 
 however, too much of the true spirit of a scholar to 
 take any thing upon trust, or to be prejudiced against 
 an author from popular exceptions. Without lis- 
 tening therefore to what was said, he took Erasmus 
 into his hands, and quickly discovered in him a trea- 
 sure of real learning, which he had in vain sought 
 after in the writings then most in esteem. 
 
 But as he had now determined to apply himself 
 to divinity, he made the Scriptures his chief study; 
 and set himself with great industry to gain a thorough 
 knowledge of the Greek and Hebrew languages; in 
 the study of which he was much assisted by Mr. 
 Neal, a fellow of New- College, and afterwards pro- 
 fessor of Hebrew in Oxford. 
 
 He had not been long in the university, before 
 he was taken notice of. He was looked upon as a 
 young man of good parts and considerable learning; 
 and they who were not so well qualified to judge in 
 either of these points, admired and loved him for a 
 remarkable sweetness in his disposition, and an un- 
 affected sincerity in his manners. At the usual term 
 he took the degree of master of arts, and about the 
 same time was elected fellow of his college. 
 
 The reformed doctrines had hitherto made no 
 progress in England ; and, as Mr. Gilpin had been 
 educated in the Romish church, he still continued a 
 member of it. But though in appearance he was 
 not dissatisfied with Popery, yet it is not improbable 
 that at this time he had his suspicions of it. The 
 writings of Erasmus had put him upon freer inquiries 
 than were common in those days. He had the dis- 
 
65 
 
 cretion, however, to keep to himself whatever doubts 
 they might have raised in him ; and before he said 
 any thing which might shake the faith of others, he 
 determined to establish his own. 
 
 He had not long been settled in his fellowship, 
 before a very pubHc testimony was given to the repu- 
 tation he had acquired. 
 
 Cardinal Wolsey, a minister who, notwithstand- 
 ing his many vices, entertained sometimes noble de- 
 signs, was now at the head of the affairs of Eng- 
 land. He saw the corrupt state of monkery in the 
 nation, was scandahzed at it, and began to think of 
 some method to check its progress. The monastic 
 revenues he was convinced might easily be apphed 
 to better uses ; particularly in raising the credit of 
 the two universities. He was resolved, therefore, 
 to make a trial ; and with this view obtained bulls 
 for the suppression of several monasteries. Being 
 thus enabled to carry on his design, he laid the 
 foundation of Christ-church College in Oxford ; and 
 about this time finished it. But his care extended 
 farther than a mere endowment : he had his agents 
 in many of the universities of Europe, to procure 
 him men of eminence, whom he might transplant 
 thither ; and copies of the best books then extant : 
 for he designed that his college should be the means 
 of the restoration of learning in England. Mr. 
 Gilpin's character was then so great, that he was 
 one of the first in Oxford to whom the cardinal's 
 agents applied. He accepted their proposal, and 
 removed to Christ-church. 
 
 Here he continued his former studies ; from the 
 nature of which, and the ingenuity and honesty of 
 
66 
 
 his disposition, it is highly probable he would in 
 time have been led by his own reasonings to that 
 discovery of truth he aimed at ; but Providence re- 
 warded a pious endeavour by throwing in his way 
 the means of an earlier attainment of it. 
 
 King Henry the eighth was now dead ; and his 
 young successor began in earnest to support that 
 cause, which his father had only so far encouraged 
 as it contributed to replenish an exhausted exche- 
 quer, and break a yoke which sat uneasy upon him. 
 Under this prince's patronage, Peter Martyr went 
 to Oxford, where he read divinity-lectures in a strain 
 to which the university had been little accustomed. 
 He began with the corporeal presence ; the refuta- 
 tion of which error, as it was one of the earliest of 
 Popery, he thought would much shock the credit of 
 the Romish church. This was looked on as a decla- 
 ration of war. The bigoted were immediately in a 
 flame : " If these novelties prevailed, the peace of the 
 church was at an end — nothing but confusion must 
 ensue — religion was utterly ruined." While this 
 was the popular clamour, the heads of the Popish 
 party began to rouse from an indolence they had 
 long indulged, and to set about a more formidable 
 opposition. The chief of them were Chedsey, Mor- 
 gan, and Tresham ; men not unlearned for the times, 
 but whose bigotry at least kept pace with their learn- 
 ing. 
 
 The history of this religious war is foreign to 
 our purpose. We are no otherwise concerned in it, 
 than as it relates to Mr. Gilpin. His credit in the 
 university was then, it seems, so considerable, that 
 we find the Popish party very solicitous to engage 
 
67 
 
 him to side publicly with them ; and the most press- 
 ing applications were accordingly made. But they 
 found his zeal of a much cooler temper than their 
 own. He was not indeed satisfied with the refor- 
 mers, having wanted hitherto the opportunities of 
 acquainting himself with their arguments : but, on 
 the other hand, he had never been a bigoted Papist ; 
 and had, it seems, lately discovered, through a dis- 
 pute in which he had been engaged with Dr. Hooper, 
 afterwards bishop of Worcester, that several of the 
 Romish doctrines were not so well supported by 
 Scripture as was commonly imagined. While his 
 mind was in so unsettled a condition, he thought 
 himself but ill qualified to espouse either side pub- 
 licly. His inclination rather led him to stand by, 
 an unprejudiced observer ; and to embrace truth, 
 whether he found her among Protestants or Papists. 
 So much importunity, however, was used with him, 
 that at length he yielded, which was matter of tri- 
 umph to his party; and he appeared the next day 
 against Peter Martyr. 
 
 Entering thus into a controversy against his in- 
 clination, he, however, determined to make it as use- 
 ful to himself as he could. By bringing his old 
 opinions to the test, he hoped at least he might 
 discover, whether it was only the stamp of antiquity 
 upon them, or their own intrinsic worth, that gave 
 them that value at which they had been hitherto 
 rated. He resolved therefore to lay aside, as much 
 as possible, the temper of a caviller ; and to place 
 truth before him as the sole object of his pursuit, 
 from which he was determined neither to be drawn 
 aside by prejudice nor novelty. 
 
68 
 
 But he soon found his adversary's arguments too 
 strong for him : they came authorized from the holy 
 writings in so forcible a manner, that he could not 
 but acknowledge them of a nature quite different 
 from the wiredrawn proofs, and strained interpreta- 
 tions of scripture, in which he had hitherto acqui- 
 esced. We need not wonder, therefore, if the dis- 
 putation was soon over. Mr. Gilpin had nothing of 
 that pride of heart, through which men often defend 
 suspected opinions ; but gave up his cause with that 
 grace which always attends sincerity. He owned 
 publicly that he could not maintain it; and deter- 
 mined to enter into no more controversies till he 
 had gained the full information of which he was in 
 pursuit. 
 
 This ingenuous regard for truth was shown in the 
 more advantageous light by the bigotry of his fellow- 
 disputants ; whose inflamed zeal, and fierceness of 
 temper, discovered little of the scholar, and less of 
 the Christian. In his conduct appeared an honest 
 desire of information only; in theirs, the pride of 
 opposition struggling against conviction. 
 
 Peter Martyr took notice of this difference of 
 behaviour, and would frequently say, that, " As for 
 Chedsey, Morgan, and the rest of these hot-headed 
 zealots, he could not in truth be much concerned 
 about them ; but Mr. Gilpin seemed a man of such 
 uprightness of intention, and so much sincerity, both 
 in his words and actions, that it went to his heart to 
 see him still involved in prejudice and error. The 
 rest, he thought, were only a trifling, light sort of 
 men, led into an opposition more by vain-glory, and 
 a desire to distinguish themselves, than from any 
 
69 
 
 better motives; but Mr. Gilpin's ingenuity of be- 
 haviour, and irreproachable life, left room for no 
 such suspicion with regard to him ; and he could 
 not but own, that he considered his espousing any 
 cause as a very great credit to it." He would often 
 likewise tell his friends, " It was the subject of his 
 daily prayers, that God would be pleased at length 
 to touch the heart of this pious Papist with the know- 
 ledge of true religion." — and he prayed not in vain; 
 for Mr. Gilpin, from this time, became every day 
 more reconciled to the reformers. 
 
 Having been thus staggered by his adversary's 
 arguments, the first step he took, after he had im- 
 plored the divine assistance, was to recollect, and 
 carefully commit to paper, the substance of what 
 had passed in this controversy ; and of those points 
 in which he had been hardest pressed, he resolved to 
 enter into a stricter examination. 
 
 But before he could reconcile himself to this 
 work, many distracting scruples arose in his mind. 
 Though he could not but discover something ques- 
 tionable in many of his old opinions ; yet, when he 
 considered they were still deeply rooted in the minds 
 of almost the whole nation, embraced by the greatest 
 part of Europe, and had been through many centu- 
 ries supported by the authority of princes and coun- 
 cils, he thought great deference was due to so awful 
 a majority, and could not, without much perplexity, 
 think of making his own private judgment a test of 
 the public faith. His suspicions, however, forced 
 him at length upon an examination; though with a 
 design, it is probable, to confirm, rather than con- 
 fute his old opinions. But that he soon found to 
 
70 
 
 be an impossible task. The more he considered 
 the tenets of Popery, the less defensible they ap- 
 peared. If he tried them by reason, he found them 
 utterly unable to stand that proof ; and if he endea- 
 voured to reconcile them to Scripture, he could not 
 but observe by what unnatural interpretations it was 
 only to be effected. 
 
 He endeavoured likewise to acquaint himself with 
 the history of Popery, that he might discover in what 
 age its several questioned doctrines first appeared. 
 From this search into antiquity he observed, that 
 none of them obtained in the earlier and purer ages of 
 the Christian church, but were all the inventions of 
 later times, when ignorance and credulity prevailed, 
 and gave sufficient opportunity for designing men to 
 establish any creed that suited them. 
 
 Seven sacraments, he found, had never been heard 
 of before the time of Peter Lombard ; which was 
 above eleven hundred years after Christ. 
 
 The denial of the cup to the laity appeared plainly 
 a doctrine intended, in corrupt times, to give a mys- 
 terious superiority to the clergy. No traces of it 
 could be found till nearly a thousand years after the 
 sacrament w*as first instituted. 
 
 The doctrine of transubstantiation took its rise 
 indeed earlier; but not, however, till the eighth cen- 
 tury: at which time also the notion of the Lord's sup- 
 per being a propitiatory sacrifice was first heard of. 
 
 Very late also appeared the doctrine of an action's 
 being morally good, without any regard to the in- 
 tention of the doer; commonly called the doctrine of 
 the opus operatum. It seemed plainly intended for 
 no other end but to enrich its teachers. 
 
71 
 
 Thus, into whatever part of Popery he examined, 
 he found great abuses: the true simplicity and spirit 
 of Christianity were gone ; totally lost in mere hu- 
 man inventions. But what he first began to object 
 to, and was most disgusted at, in the Popish creed, 
 were indulgences, prayers before images, and disal- 
 lowing the public use of the Scriptures. 
 
 The rites and ceremonies of the Romish church 
 pleased him as little as its doctrines : many of them 
 appeared trifling ; many of them ridiculous ; and not 
 a few plainly impious. That affected ostentation, 
 and theatrical pomp, which accompanied them all, 
 seemed a strange deviation from the simplicity of 
 apostolic times ; and had, he could not but observe, 
 the worst influence upon the people, as it led them 
 from the practice of virtue, to put their trust in out- 
 ward performances. 
 
 They who have been educated in a purer religion, 
 may perhaps wonder that a man of so much sense 
 and learning, and especially of so much honesty and 
 sincerity, needed so long a course of reasoning to 
 discover errors of so gross a kind. But if his con- 
 duct may not be accounted for by prejudice, it was 
 however such as will always be expected from a fair 
 mind in the same circumstances. The matter un- 
 der his consideration was of the last importance ; 
 it required therefore the utmost caution. His good 
 sense led him early to doubt ; yet, considering what 
 an established creed his doubts opposed, his humility 
 made those very doubts suspected. He knew not 
 indeed how to proceed : he was distracted by a thou- 
 sand scruples : the fault might be in himself — or it 
 might be in his religion — Papist and Protestant could 
 
 i 
 
72 
 
 not both be in the right — either might he in the 
 wrong — yet each had something to say that was 
 plausible. He hoped, however, that a merciful God 
 would regard the difficulties with which he had to 
 struggle, and exact from him nothing beyond his 
 power — every thing in his power he was determined 
 to do. Agreeably to this resolution, he went on 
 with the examination of religious matters, omitting 
 nothinjj that could contribute to his due information. 
 
 While he was engaged in this work, an event 
 occurred which g/eatly advanced it, by giving the 
 last shock to his prejudices in favour of Popery. 
 
 Europe had now been so long distracted by reli- 
 gious dissensions, that it was universally thought 
 necessary to summon a general council, which might 
 deliberate on the best expedients for removing them. 
 This prevailing desire was listened to very heedlessly 
 at Rome. A scrutiny into religious matters was an 
 alarming thing to every true papist. The conse- 
 quence was easily foreseen ; and the prudent pope 
 was very unwilling to have the pool stiri^d, lest it 
 should become too evident how much it wanted 
 cleansing. But discontent and clamour running high, 
 and nothing appearing likely to appease the universal 
 murmur but a council, one was at length convened 
 at Trent. The pope had now recourse to an after- 
 game. Since he could not avoid this dreaded coun- 
 cil, he contrived, however, to manage the members 
 of it with such address, that his power, far from 
 being shaken by them, was in fact only the more 
 confirmed. Instead of repairing what was decayed, 
 their only care was to prop the old ruin as it stood. 
 But among all the measures then taken in support 
 
73 
 
 of ecclesiastical tyranny, the completest was a bold 
 decree, that the traditions of the church should be 
 esteemed of equal authority with the Scriptures them- 
 selves. 
 
 A determination of such an extraordinary nature 
 was received with astonishment by all well-wishers 
 to religion. " The opportunity," the reformers 
 every where cried out, " is now lost ! Since tradi- 
 tions are made equal with Scripture, and these tra- 
 ditions are in the hands of the conclave, it cannot be 
 doubted whose sense they will always speak. The 
 Romanists have now a fund of authority for all their 
 extravagancies. Alas ! instead of stopping the 
 breach, they have now so far widened it, as to de- 
 stroy all hope of its ever closing again." 
 
 Mr. Gilpin, among the rest, took great offence 
 at these proceedings.* Hitherto, notwithstanding 
 
 * Some time after the publication of the council of Trent, 
 Mr. Lever, falling into conversation with Mr. Gilpin, among 
 other questions asked him, What he thought of that council ? 
 Mr. Gilpin answered, " He thought nothing could be of more 
 disservice to religion : for many things, which were before left 
 indifferent, were now rendered binding. I remember, said he, 
 bishop Tunstal often told me, that he thought Innocent the third 
 acted very weakly, v»hen he made transubstantiation an article of 
 faith. For before his time the opinions of men were at liberty 
 as to that point. And what the bishop said of transubstantiation, 
 may equally be said of all parts of popery, since the publication 
 of the council of Trent. The times of our forefathers, therefore, 
 however ignorant they may be thought, were certainly much 
 happier than the present times of popery -. for the papists have 
 now altered what little was left of the institutions of the primi- 
 tive church : by placing the rule of faith in traditions, they have 
 done what was never thought of before. Many opinions like- 
 wise, which men were before at liberty to hold, with regard to 
 justification, and the sacraments, are not now tolerated. These 
 are the things which obliged other churches to dissent from the 
 church of Rome ; and hence the council of Trent must answer 
 for all that confusion which hath since ensued." — Bishop Carle- 
 ton s Life of Bernard Gilpin, 
 
 D 8 
 
74 
 
 his objections to popery, there was something in an 
 established church which he knew not how to get 
 over. The word schism greatly perplexed him; nor 
 could he easily persuade himself of the lawfulness 
 of a separation from the church of Rome, corrupt 
 as she was in other respects, while she professed to 
 draw her rule of faith from the Scriptures. But 
 when he found, by the publication of the council of 
 Trent, that she had carried her authority to such 
 a height of arrogance, as to set up her own un- 
 written word against the Scriptures ; a word which, 
 he would often humorously say, " was in no degree 
 comparable to the word of an honest man ;" it was 
 high time, he thought, for all sincere Christians to 
 take the alarm. The designs of the papists were 
 now too plain ; and if they meant well to religion, 
 they meant it in such a manner, that a good con- 
 science could not comply with them. For himself, 
 he was obliged to conclude, from this direct opposi- 
 tion of their own authority to the authority of Scrip- 
 ture, that their sole view was to establish their 
 declining power : nor could he otherwise consider 
 popery than as a perplexed system of priestcraft, 
 superstition, and bigotry ; a religion converted into a 
 trade, and used only as a cloak for the tyranny and 
 avarice of its professors. In a word, he thought it 
 now sufficiently evident, that the church of Rome 
 was plainly antichristian ; * and that, as such, there 
 
 * While he was distracted with tliese things, the rule of faith 
 changed by the council of Trent astonished him. For he ob- 
 served, that not only the ancient divines, but even the modern 
 ones, Lombard, Scotus, and Aquinas, all confessed, that the rule 
 of faith was solely to be drawn from Scripture : whereas he found, 
 according to the council of Trent, that it might as well be drawn 
 
75 
 
 was an absolute necessity laid upon every true be- 
 liever to forsake her communion. 
 
 from human traditions. And when he understood that these 
 traditions were only peevish and perverse interpretations of Scrip- 
 ture, invented by the bishops of Rome, and thrust in among the 
 decretal epistles ; and that even these decretal epistles themselves 
 were mere forgeries, as had been often proved by learned men, and 
 was acknowledged even by the papists, he began to doubt, espe- 
 cially when he observed the great confusion which had arisen in the 
 church, whether the pope might not be that Antichrist foretold 
 by Scripture, and the popish ciiurch plainly antichristian. For 
 what is " exalting a man's self, and opposing himself against all 
 that is called God, so that in the temple of God he sitteth as 
 God, carrying himself as if he were God," if the pope's calling 
 himself the head of the universal church, its lord, its monarch, 
 and setting up iiis own word against the word of God, be not so ? 
 For he whose word is as God's word, is himself as God, and 
 carrieth himself as if he were so. When Anticlirist shall come, 
 (if there be another Antichrist,) is it possible for him to use 
 Christ and the Scriptures more blasphemously than the pope hath 
 done? — Here Mr. Gilpin demurred, in doubt what to think. 
 For who could have thought the pope was Anticlirist? Who 
 durst have said such a thing before Luther ? — Thus therefore he 
 argued with himself: if the pope be Antichrist, I see not only a 
 rational, but a necessary cause for secession: if he be not, I can- 
 not approve such a step. It is not lawful to separate from the 
 church: but to separate from the church of Antichrist is not only 
 commanded, but threatenings are denounced upon those who con- 
 tinue in it. Thus the heavenly voice speak.-, Rev. xviii. " Go 
 out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and 
 receive not of her plagues." — Here therefore he stopped. For, 
 except the pope were manifestly proved to be Antichrist, lie 
 could not allow the lawfulness of a separation : and therefore he 
 endeavoured, by reading, meditation, and prayer, to satisfy him- 
 self in this point. He observed, that the passage in which 
 Antichrist is described, 2 Thess. ii. 7. " He who now keepeth 
 possession, shall keep, until he be entirely rooted out," was in- 
 terpreted by most of the ancient fathers, Tertullian, Jerome, 
 Ambrose, Austin, Chrysostome, Cyril, and others, as meant of the 
 Roman empire; which being then in possession, should contiriue 
 so till Antichrist should come and entirely dispossess it. He 
 observed also, that what is said in the same place, that " Christ 
 shall not come again till there be a departure first," was hkewise 
 fulfilled: it was fulfilled, first, in the departure of the papists from 
 primitive simplicity; and, secondly, in the departure of the re- 
 formed churches Irom the church of Rome. — Mr. Gilpin would 
 D 2 
 
76 
 
 Such were the cautious steps Mr. Gilpin took 
 before he declared himself a Protestant. So diffi- 
 cult a matter it is to get over strong religious preju- 
 dices, and to overcome the unhappy efFects of a 
 wrong education ! 
 
 His more than ordinary candour and sincerity, 
 through the whole of this affair, met with much ap- 
 plause, and gained him great esteem. Many years 
 afterwards, the earls of Bedford and Leicester, hav- 
 ing heard there was something very uncommon in 
 his manner of proceeding on this occasion, wished to 
 be more acquainted with the circumstances of it ; 
 and for that purpose applied to Mr. George Gilpin, 
 
 often say, that the Protestants could give no solid reason for their 
 secession, except that the pope is Antichrist: and he understood 
 the passage above mentioned, Rev. xviii. 4. as a strict command 
 in tiiat case to secede: so that no third conclusion could be 
 drawn ; either the pope was Antichrist, or the church was not to 
 be forsaken. — And now the event, which is the surest interpre- 
 ter of prophesies, hath made all things clear to us. We have 
 seen, many ages ago, that kingdom taken away which ruled over 
 all in the time of the apostles ; and in its room an ecclesiastical 
 kingdom established, such a one as had never been heard of be- 
 fore in the church of Christ. We have seen an annazing departure 
 in the church of Rome from the purity and simplicity of primi- 
 tive times. We have seen, and daily do see, a departure of 
 other chiu-ches from her. These reflections induced Mr. Gilpin 
 to become a member of that church, which he thought was most 
 conformable to the word of God. The church of Rome kept the 
 rule of faith entire, till it was changed by the council of Trent. 
 From that time he thought it a point of duty to forsake her com- 
 munion ; that the true church, thus called out, might follow the 
 word of God. For this separation seemed an appointed state of 
 the church. Thus Abraham was called out of tlr, the children 
 of Israel out of Egypt, and the Jews out of Babylon. All these 
 things appeared to have been brought about by the immediate 
 direction, and wonderful hand of Providence. He saw therefore 
 a necessity for seceding, and that the apostatical church must be 
 
 forsaken Yet he did not pursue his measures impetuously, but 
 
 with calmness and circumspection." — Bisltop Carleloiis Life of 
 Jiernard Gilpin. 
 
77 
 
 Bernard's brother, who was then in London, and on 
 terras of great intimacy with those two noblemen. 
 Accordingly this gentleman, taking the opportunity 
 of a visit to his friends in the north, persuaded his 
 brother to give him in writing an exact account of 
 the progress of his change from the Romish reli- 
 
 Mr. Gilpin's letter on this occasion is still extant. 
 As it will give a truer idea of his ingenuity and 
 caution in this affair than any narrative can, and as 
 it hath besides a noble strain of piety to recommend 
 it, I will here transcribe the greatest part of it. It 
 was written indeed many years after the time now 
 treated of, and touches upon several facts not yet 
 taken notice of; but its reference to the present sub- 
 ject makes this the most proper place for laying it 
 before the reader. 
 
 You require me to write, in a long discourse, 
 the manner of my conversion from superstition to the 
 light of the gospel ; which, I think you know, was 
 not in a few years. As time and health will permit, 
 I will hide nothing from you, confessing my own 
 shame, and yet hoping with the apostle, * I have 
 obtained mercy, because I did it ignorantly.' 
 
 " In king Edward's time I was brought to dis- 
 pute against some assertions of Peter Martyr; al- 
 though I have ever been given to eschew, so far as 
 I might, controversies and disputations. Being but 
 a young student, and finding my groundwork not so 
 sure as I supposed, I went first to the bishop of 
 Durham,* who told me that * Innocent the third 
 
 • Cuthbert Tunstal. 
 
78 
 
 was much overseen, to make transubstantiation an 
 article of faith.* He found great fault with the 
 pope for indulgences, and other things. 
 
 " After, I went to Dr. Redman, in whom I had 
 great trust for the fame of his virtue and learning. 
 He told me, ' The communion-book was very godly, 
 and agreeable to the gospel.' These things made 
 me to muse. 
 
 " Afterwards, one of the fellows of the Queen's 
 College told me, he heard Dr. Chedsay say among 
 his friends, ' The Protestants must yield to us in 
 granting the presence of Christ in the sacrament, 
 and we must yield to them in the opinion of transub- 
 stantiation ; so shall we accord.' 
 
 " Dr. Weston made a long sermon in defence of 
 the communion in both kinds. 
 
 " Mr. Morgan told me that Mr. Ware, a man 
 most famous both for life and learning, had told him 
 before his death, that ' The chief sacrifice of the 
 church of God was the sacrifice of thanksgiving.' 
 This was his answer, when I desired to know what 
 might be said for the sacrifice of the mass. 
 
 " The best learned bishops likewise of this realm 
 at that time withstood the supremacy of the pope, 
 both with words and writing. 
 
 " Mr. Harding coming newly from Italy, in a 
 long and notable sermon did so lively set forth, and 
 paint in their colours, the friars, and unlearned 
 bishops assembled at Trent in council, that he much 
 diminished in me, and many others, the confidence 
 we had in general councils. 
 
 " All these things, and many more, gave me oc- 
 casion to search both the Scriptures and ancient 
 
79 
 
 fathers : whereby I began to see many great abuses, 
 and some enormities, used and maintained in Popery: 
 and to Hke well of sundry reformations on the other 
 side. 
 
 " Afterwards, in three years' space, I saw so 
 much gross idolatry at Paris, Antwerp, and other 
 places, that made me to mislike more and more the 
 popish doctrines ; especially because the learned men 
 disallowed image-worship in their schools, and suf- 
 fered it so grossly in their churches. 
 
 " As I could with small knowledge, I examined 
 the mass : the greatest fault I then found was too 
 
 o 
 
 much reverence and gross worshipping of the gaping 
 people ; because I believed not transubstantiation. 
 Likewise my conscience was grieved at the receiving 
 of the priest alone. Yet at length I said mass a few 
 times as closely as I could. 
 
 " I reasoned with certain that were learned of my 
 acquaintance, why there was no reformation of these 
 gross enormities about images, relics, pilgrimages, 
 buying mass and trentals, w^ith many other things, 
 which in king Edward's time the catholics (so called) 
 did not only grant to be far amiss, but also pro- 
 mised that the church should be reformed, if ever 
 the authority came into their hands again. When 
 I asked when this reformation was to begin, in hope 
 whereof I was the more willing to return from Paris, 
 I was answered, ' We may not grant to the igno- 
 rant people, that any of these things hath been 
 amiss : if we do, they will straight infer other things 
 may be amiss as well as these, and still go further 
 and further.' — This grieved me, and made me seek 
 for quietness in God's word : no where else I could 
 find any stay. 
 
80 
 
 " After this, in two or three sermons at New- 
 castle, I began to utter my conscience more plainly : 
 when thirteen or fourteen articles were drawn up 
 against me, and sent to the bishop. Here my ad- 
 versaries of the clergy, whom I had sore offended 
 by speaking against their pluralities, had that which 
 they looked for. They caused the bishop to call 
 me in their presence, and examine me touching the 
 sacrament. The bishop showed favour so far, I 
 trust, as he durst ; urging me nothing with tran- 
 substantiation, but only with the real presence, 
 which I granted, and so was delivered at that time. 
 For tlie real presence, I was not then resolved ; but 
 took it to be a mystery above my capacity : yet my 
 conscience was somewhat wounded for granting be- 
 fore them in plain words the thing whereof I stood 
 in doubt. 
 
 " After queen Mary's death I began to utter my 
 mind more plainly. Before, (I must need confess 
 my weakness,) ignorance, and fear of enemies, had 
 somewhat restrained me. 
 
 " Thus, in process of time, I grew to be stronger 
 and stronger; yet many grievous temptations and 
 doubts have I had, which many nights have be- 
 reaved me of sleep. 
 
 " My nature hath evermore fled controversy so 
 much as I could. My delight and desire hath been 
 to preach Christ, and our salvation by him, in sim- 
 plicity and truth; and to comfort myself with the 
 sweet promises of the gospel, and in prayer. 
 
 " I have been always scrupulous and troubled, 
 either in subscribing or swearing to any thing, be- 
 sides the Scriptures and articles of our beUef, because 
 
81 
 
 the Scriptures ought ever to have a pre-emmencc 
 above man's writings. — I remember, when I went for 
 orders to the bishop of Oxford, his chaplain minis- 
 tered an oath to allow all such ordinances as were set 
 forth, or should be set forth in time to come : which 
 oath, when we considered better of it, what it was to 
 swear to things to come, we knew not what, it 
 troubled not only me, but nine or ten more with me, 
 men of much better learning than I was. I, for my 
 part, resolved after that to swear to no writing but 
 with exception, as it agreed with the word of God. — 
 What trouble I had when the oath was administered 
 by the bishops for the book of articles, agreed upon 
 in 1562 and 1571, I have opened for quietness and 
 discharge of my conscience in another writing. — And 
 certainly, since I took this order to open my faults in 
 writing,* not pausing who knew them, so it might 
 edify myself or others, I have found great ease and 
 quietness of conscience ; and am daily more edified, 
 comforted, and confirmed, in reading the Scriptures. 
 And this I praise God for, that when I was most 
 troubled, and weakest of all, my faith in God's 
 mercy was so strong, that if I should then have de- 
 parted this life, I had, and have, a sure trust, that 
 none of these doubts would have hindered my salva- 
 tion. I hold fast one sentence of St. Paul, ' I have 
 obtained mercy, in that I did it in ignorance;' and 
 another of Job, ' If the Lord put me to death, yet 
 will I trust in him.' — Yet have I prayed God's mercy 
 
 • In another letter he thus speaks, " I never had doubts in 
 religion in all my life, nor ever dissembled in all my life, or com- 
 mitted any fault, which, so far as I thought it might edify, or do 
 good to others, and so far as my remembrance served, I could 
 not well find in my heart to confess before all the worlds" 
 D 3 
 
8^ 
 
 many times for all these offences, infirmities, and 
 ignorances; and so I will do so still, so long as I 
 have to live in this world.'* 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Presented to the Vicarage of Norton — dissatisfied 
 isoith his knowledge of religion — resigns his cure 
 — and goes abroad^ with the design of conversing 
 with learned men. 
 
 We left Mr. Gilpin at Christ-church college in 
 Oxford, now fully convinced of the errors of Popery. 
 
 An academic life, affording him most leisure for 
 study, was the life to which he was most inclined. 
 He had too just a sense of the duty of a clergyman, 
 not to be acquainted with the qualifications requisite 
 for its discharge; and too mean an opinion of himself 
 to think he was yet master of them. He thought 
 more learning was necessary in that controversial age 
 than he had yet acquired : and his chief argument 
 with his friends, who were continually soliciting him 
 to leave the university, was, that he was not yet 
 enough instructed in religion himself to be a teacher 
 of it to others. It was an arduous task, he said, 
 especially at that time ; and Protestantism could not 
 suffer more, than by the rawness and inexperience of 
 its teachers. 
 
 These thoughts continued him at Oxford till the 
 thirty-fifth year of his age. About that time the 
 vicarage of Norton, in the diocese of Durham, falling 
 
S3 
 
 vacant, his friends, who had interest to obtain it for 
 him, renewed their soHcitations, and at length pre- 
 vailed on him to accept it.* Accordingly a presen- 
 tation passed in his favour, which bears date, among 
 king Edward's grants, November, 1552. 
 
 Before he went to reside, he was appointed to 
 preach before the king, who was then at Greenwich. 
 Strype, in his annals, seems to intimate, that Mr. 
 Gilpin was at that time famous for his preaching in 
 the north, and that it was on this account he was 
 called on to preach at court. But there is little 
 authority for this. He does not seem to have been 
 yet a preacher at all ; at least, of any note. It is 
 rather probable, the only reason of his being sent for 
 on this occasion, was, that he might give a public tes- 
 timony of his being well inclined to the reformation : 
 for the heads of the Protestant party were at this time 
 very scrupulous in the disposal of livings. " It was 
 then ordered," says Heylin, in his church history, 
 " that none should be presented unto any benefice in 
 the donation of the crown, till he had first preached 
 before the king, and thereby passed his judgment and 
 approbation." 
 
 The reigning vice of that age, as its historians in- 
 form us, was avarice, or more properly rapine.f At 
 
 * " While I was thus busied, [ was drawn by certain friends 
 to accept a benefice, being very unwilling thereunto. If I of- 
 fended God in taking such a charge before I was better learned, 
 and better resolved in religion, I cry God mercy ; and I doubt not 
 but I have found mercy in his sight." — Extract of a Letter from 
 Bernard Gilpin to his brother. 
 
 f The following passage from one of bishop Latimer's court- 
 sermons will show how much things were altered in a very few 
 years : " My father," says he, " was a yeoman, and had no land 
 of his own ; only he had a farm of three or four pounds by the 
 
84 
 
 court all things were venal ; employments, honours, 
 favours of every kind. In the room of law and jus- 
 
 year at the utmost: and hereupon he tilled so much as kept half 
 a dozen men. He had a walk for an hundred sheep ; and my 
 mother milked thirty kine. He was able, and did find the king 
 an harness, with himself and his horse. I remember myself to 
 have buckled on my father's harness, when he went to Black- 
 heath-field. He kept his son at school till he went to the uni- 
 versity, and maintained him there. He married his daughters 
 with five pounds, or twenty nobles, a-piece. He kept hospitality 
 with his neighbours, and some alms he gave to the poor. And 
 all this he did out of the said farm. — Whereas, he that hath the 
 said farm now, I am informed, pays sixteen pounds by the year, 
 or more ; and is not able to do any thing for his prince, for him- 
 self, or for his children, or give a cup of drink to the poor." 
 
 The covetousness of the gentry appeared by oppressing the 
 poorer sort by inclosures; thereby taking away the lands, where 
 they had used, and their forefathers, to feed their cattle : which 
 was such an oppression, that it caused a rebellion in the year 
 1549. 
 
 Another way they had of oppressing their inferiors, was, by 
 means of the law. For when they whom they had wronged were 
 forced to sue them, they threatened the judges, or bribed them, 
 that they commonly favoured the rich, or delaying the causes of 
 the poor, made their charges more than they could bear : often- 
 times they went home whh tears, after having waited long at 
 court, their causes unheard. Latimer was never without poor 
 suiters, that came to him to speak to the great men, that their 
 matters might be heard; complaining to him at what great costs 
 and charges they had laid, to their undoing: insomuch, as being 
 at the archbishop of Canterbury's house, where he used often to 
 reside, he had no time so much as to look on his book, as he told 
 the king in a sermon. These oppressions were partly occasioned 
 l)y the king's great officers, who did use to commit the hearing 
 and examination of causes to their servants. 
 
 For the judges, some of them at least, were very corrupt: 
 Latimer would often in his sermons complain of them, and would 
 give them many a jirk. Once he said, " If a judge should ask 
 him the way to hell, he would show him this way : first, let him 
 be a covetous man ; tiien let him take bribes ; and, lastly, per- 
 vert judgment. If there were such a judge in England now, he 
 wished we might have his skin hanged up. It were a goodly 
 sight, the sign of the judge's skin; and should be Lot's wife to 
 all judges that follow after." 
 
 The curates were both ignorant and scandalous for their ill 
 lives. The people in many places withheld their tithes from 
 
85 
 
 tice, gross bribery and wrong were common ; in trade, 
 grievous extortions and frauds. Every where and 
 every way the poor were vexed. But in the country 
 this rapacity was most observed, where the oppres- 
 sion, exercised were so intolerable, that the preceding 
 year had seen great heats and murmurings among the 
 people, and some counties even in arms. 
 
 Of these things the preachers most in earnest 
 spoke with great freedom ; particularly bishop Lati- 
 mer, who was the Cato of that age. Among others, 
 Mr. Gilpin thought it became him to take notice of 
 evils so much complained of: accordingly, he made 
 the avarice of the times his subject upon the present 
 occasion ; resolving, with an honest freedom, to cen- 
 sure corruption, in whatever rank of men he ob- 
 served it. 
 
 He began first with the Clergy. He was sorry, 
 he said, to observe among them such a manifest ne- 
 glect of their function. To get benefices, not to 
 take care of them, was their endeavour : half of them 
 were pluralists or non-residents; and such could 
 never fulfil their charge. He was shocked, he said, 
 to hear them quote human laws against God's word 
 —if such laws did exist, they were the remains of 
 Popery, and the king would do well to repeal them 
 — while men's consciences would permit them to hold 
 as many livings as they could get, and discharge none, 
 it was impossible the gospel could have any success 
 in England. 
 
 them ; and the reason they gave was, because their curates some 
 were ignorant, and some were idle, and took little pains and 
 care in their cures; and many were so intolerably lazy and wick- 
 ed, that the parishioners often brought information against them 
 to the bishops, nay, to the council. — Strypes Memorials of JTing 
 Edward VL 
 
86 
 
 From the Clergy he turned to the Court; and 
 observing the king was absent, he was obUged to 
 introduce that part of his sermon, which he had de- 
 signed for him, by saying, " It grieved him to see 
 those absent, who for example's sake ought particu- 
 larly to have been present. He had heard other 
 preachers likewise remark, that it was common for 
 them to be absent. Business might perhaps be their 
 excuse ; but he could not believe, that serving God 
 would ever hinder business. If he could, he said, 
 he would make them hear in their chambers; but, 
 however, he would speak to their seats, (not doubt- 
 ing but what he said would be carried to them.) 
 
 " You," said he, " great Prince, are appointed by 
 God to be the governor of this land : let me then here 
 call upon you in behalf of your people. It is in your 
 power to redress them ; and if you do not, the ne- 
 glect must be accounted for. Take away dispensa- 
 tions for pluralities and non-residence, oblige every 
 pastor to hold but one benefice, and as far as you can 
 make every one do his duty : your Grace's eye to look 
 through your realm would do more good than a thou- 
 sand preachers. The land is full of idle pastors ; and 
 how can it be otherwise, when the nobility and pa- 
 trons of livings put in just who will allow them to take 
 out most profit ? It would be good if your Grace 
 would send out surveyors to see how benefices are be- 
 stowed. It is no wonder that your people are con- 
 tinually rising up in rebellions, when they have no in- 
 structors to teach them their duty. — A reformation ! 
 there is as much ignorance, superstition, and idolatry 
 as ever, which, as far as I can foresee, will remain ; 
 for benefices are every where so plundered and robbed 
 
87 
 
 by patrons, that in a little time nobody will bring up 
 their children to the church. It is amazing to see 
 how the universities are diminished within these few 
 years. — And I must tell your Grace, that all this is 
 owing to you for taking no more notice of these things. 
 For my part, I will do my duty ; I will tell your Grace 
 what abuses prevail, and pray to God that he will di- 
 rect your heart to amend them." 
 
 He next addressed himself to the Magistrates 
 and Gentry. " They all," he told them, " received 
 their honours, their power, and their authority from 
 God, who expected they would make a proper use 
 of such gifts ; and would certainly call them to an ac- 
 count for the abuse of them. But he saw so much 
 ambitious striving for them at court, that he was afraid 
 they did not all consider them in their true light. He 
 observed, that the spirit of avarice was got among 
 them — that the country cried out against their ex- 
 tortions — and that, when the poor came to seek for 
 justice in London, the great men would not see them 
 — the servants must first be bribed. Oh ! with what 
 glad hearts and clear consciences, said he, might no- 
 blemen go to rest, after having spent the day in hear- 
 ing the complaints of the poor, and redressing their 
 wrongs ! For want of that, they were obliged to 
 seek their right among lawyers, who quickly devoured 
 every thing that was left them — thousands every term 
 were obliged to go back worse than they came. 
 
 " Let me then," said he, " call upon you who are 
 Magistrates, and put you in mind, that if the people 
 are debtors to you for obedience, you are debtors to 
 them for protection. If you deny this, they must 
 suffer; but God will assuredly espouse their cause 
 against you. 
 
88 
 
 " And now, if we search for the root of all these 
 evils ; what is it but avarice ? This it is that mak- 
 eth the bad nobleman, the bad magistrate, the bad 
 pastor, and the bad lawyer." 
 
 Having thus freely addressed his audience, he con- 
 cluded his sermon with a hearty exhortation, " That 
 all would consider these things, and that such as 
 found themselves faulty, would amend their lives." 
 
 Thus this pious man began his ministry : such was 
 the sense he had of that plainness and sincerity which 
 became it : as he thought nothing his interest, but 
 what was also his duty, hope or fear never swayed 
 him. He considered himself in some degree charge- 
 able with those vices, which he knew were prevailing, 
 and failed to rebuke. — A freedom of this nature the 
 times however allowed; for how little soever there 
 might be of the reality of virtue, there was certainly 
 much of the profession of it : public deference at least 
 was paid to it. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin's plainness therefore was very well 
 taken, and recommended him to the notice of many 
 persons of the first rank ; particularly to Sir Francis - 
 Russell, and Sir Robert Dudley, afterwards the earls . 
 of Bedford and Leicester ; who from that time pro- 
 fessed a great regard for him ; and, when in power, 
 were always ready to patronize him. 
 
 These two noblemen were both great patrons of 
 virtue and letters ; but with very different views, as 
 they were indeed very different men. 
 
 Bedford appeared at court with all the advantages 
 of birth. His father, the first earl of that name, 
 was one of the greatest men of his age, eminent for 
 unspotted honesty, and superior talents in war and 
 
89 
 
 peace. His son pursued his steps, and though he 
 wanted his father's great abilities, he was however a 
 very wise and an honest man, and acted afterwards a 
 considerable part in settling the reformation under 
 Elizabeth ; to whose court he was a very great orna- 
 ment. He was a friend to merit from the real love 
 he bore to virtue. 
 
 Leicester, however accomplished in many respects, 
 was one of the greatest villains of his time ; copying 
 the examples of his father and grandfather.* He 
 was thoroughly practised in every species of dishon- 
 esty ; yet such a master of dissimulation, that he could 
 act even the worst part plausibly. He courted good 
 men for the credit of their acquaintance. 
 
 Such were Mr. Gilpin's chief patrons — voluntary 
 patrons, whom no application on his part engaged. 
 He received their offered friendship with humility and 
 gratitude, never intending to put it to the trial. This 
 backwardness proceeded not from any sullen notion 
 of independence, but from an utter aversion to all so- 
 licitation for church preferment. The lord Bedford's 
 interest, indeed, he scrupled not to solicit occasionally 
 for his friends : but he never once asked, that I can 
 find, though much courted to it, any favour of the 
 earl of Leicester. 
 
 * His grandfather was Edmund Dudley, the infamous minister 
 of Henry the seventh's avarice ; who, with Empson his associate, 
 harassed the people for many years with all sorts of oppression. 
 He was executed in the beginning of Henry the eighth. 
 
 His father was created duke of Northumberland by Edw'ard the 
 sixth, and was a signal instance of lawless ambition, and the ruin- 
 ous consequences that often attend it. Having sacrificed the good 
 protector to his jealousy, procured the settlement of the crown 
 in his own family, and contrived, as many authors write, the king's 
 death ; he saw in a moment all his designs crushed, himself and 
 his adherents ruined, even by these very contrivances. He was 
 executed in the first of queen Mary. 
 
90 
 
 Mr. Gilpin is said likewise at this time to have been 
 taken notice of by secretary Cecil, afterwards lord 
 Burleigh, who obtained for him a general license of 
 preaching. In granting these licences great caution 
 was then used ; none but men of approved worth could 
 apply for them with success. Upon looking over king 
 Edward's grants, it does not appear there were more 
 than two or three-and-twenty thus licensed during 
 that king's reign. Among these were the bishops 
 Jewel, Grindal, and Coverdale. 
 
 While Mr. Gilpin was at London, he frequently 
 visited Cuthbert Tunstal, bishop of Durham, who 
 was his uncle, and had always expressed a great re- 
 gard for him. It is probable indeed, his parents in- 
 tended him for a churchman, with a view to his being 
 advanced by this prelate. But the bishop was at this 
 time in no capacity to serve him : he was disgraced, 
 and in the tower. 
 
 During the reign of Henry the eighth, Tunstal had 
 lived in great credit at court ; was esteemed a man of 
 abilities, a good scholar, and an able statesman. His 
 sovereign knew his worth, advanced him to the see of 
 Durham, employed him much at home and abroad ; 
 and at his death left him, during the minority, one of 
 the regents of the kingdom. But in the succeeding 
 reign his interest lessened. He was not altogether 
 satisfied with the changes daily made in rehgion : and 
 though he was enough inclined to give up some of 
 the grosser tenets of Popery, yet in general he favoured 
 it, and was always in great esteem with the Romish 
 party. This occasioned their making him privy to 
 some treasonable designs ; which, in his cautious way, 
 he neither concurred in nor betrayed. The plot mis- 
 
91 
 
 carried : the bishop was indeed suspected, but nothing 
 appeared. Some time afterwards, when the duke of 
 Somerset's papers were seized, an unlucky letter was 
 found, which fully detected him. He was called im- 
 mediately before the council, tried by a special com- 
 mission, found guilty, deprived, and committed. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin, having now stayed as long in Lon- 
 don as his business required, repaired to his parish, 
 and immediately entered upon the duties of it. He 
 failed not, as occasion required, to use the king's 
 license in other parts of the country; but his own 
 parish he considered as the place where his chief care 
 was due. Here he made it his principal endeavour 
 to inculcate moral virtue ; and to dissuade from those 
 vices which he observed were most prevalent. He 
 seldom handled controverted points; being afraid, 
 lest, endeavourmg to instruct, he might only mis- 
 lead. For, however resolved he was against Popery, 
 he yet saw not the Protestant cause in its full strength, 
 and was still scarcely settled in some of his religious 
 opinions. Hence by degrees arose a diffidence of 
 himself, which gave him great uneasiness. He 
 thought he had engaged too soon in his office — that 
 he could not sufficiently discharge it — that he should 
 not rest in giving his hearers only moral instructions 
 — that, overspread as the country was with popish 
 doctrines, he did wrong to pretend to be a teacher of 
 religion, if he were unable to oppose such errors. 
 
 These thoughts made every day a greater impres- 
 sion upon him. At length, quite unhappy, he wrote 
 bishop Tunstal an account of his situation. The 
 bishop, who was the farthest of any man from a bigot, 
 and liked him not the worse for his freedom of in- 
 
92 
 
 quiry, told him, As he was so uneasy, it was his ad- 
 vice, that he should think of nothing till he had fixed 
 his religion; and that, in his opinion, he could not 
 do better than put his parish into the hands of some 
 person in whom he could confide, and spend a year 
 or two in Germany, France, and Holland ; by which 
 means he might have an opportunity of conversing 
 with some of the most eminent professors on both sides 
 of the question. He acquainted him likewise, that 
 his going abroad at this time would also do him a 
 considerable service : for, during his confinement, he 
 had written two or three books, particularly one upon 
 the Lord's Supper, which he had a desire to publish ; 
 and as this could not be done so conveniently at home, 
 he would be glad to have it done under his inspection 
 at Paris. 
 
 This letter gave Mr. Gilpin much satisfaction : it 
 just proposed his own wish. A conference with some 
 of the learned men abroad was what his heart had 
 long been set on. Only he had one objection to the 
 scheme ; he was afraid it might prove too expensive. 
 
 As to that, the bishop wrote, his benefice would do 
 something towards his maintenance ; and he would 
 supply his deficiencies. 
 
 But this did not remove the difficulty. Mr Gil- 
 pin's notions of the pastoral care were so strict, that 
 he thought no excuse could justify non-residence for 
 so considerable a time as he intended to be abroad. 
 He could not therefore think of supporting himself 
 with any part of the income of his living. However, 
 abroad he was determined to go ; and resolved, if he 
 staid the shorter time, to rely only upon his own fru- 
 gal management of the little money he had, and to 
 leave the rest to the bishop's generosity. 
 
93 
 
 Having resigned his living therefore in favour of 
 a person, with whose abiUties and incHnations to dis- 
 charge the duties of it he was well acquainted, he 
 set out for London, to receive his last orders from the 
 bishop, and to embark. 
 
 The account of his resignation reached town before 
 him ; and gave the bishop, anxious for his nephew's 
 thriving in the world, great concern. " Here are 
 your friends," says he, " endeavouring to provide for 
 you; and you are taking every method to frustrate 
 their endeavours. But be warned : by these courses, 
 depend upon it, you will bring yourself presently to 
 a morsel of bread." Mr. Gilpin begged the bishop 
 would attribute what he had done to a scrupulous con- 
 science, which really would not permit him to act 
 otherwise. " Conscience !" replied the bishop ; "why, 
 you might have had a dispensation." " Will any 
 dispensation," answered Mr. Gilpin, " restrain the 
 tempter from endeavouring, in my absence, to corrupt 
 the people committed to my care ?* Alas ! I fear it 
 would be but an ill excuse for the harm done my flock, 
 if I should say, when God shall call me to an account 
 for my stewardship, that I was absent by dispensa- 
 tion." This reply put the bishop a little out of hu- 
 mour ; but his disgust was soon over, and this instance 
 of Mr. Gilpin's sincerity raised him still higher in his 
 
 * Bishop Latimer, speaking of a clergyman of those times who 
 was made comptroller of the mint, expresses himself much in the 
 same maimer. " Is this a meet office," says he, " for a priest who 
 has cure of souls ? I would ask one question : I would fain know 
 who controls the devil at home in his parish, while he controls the 
 mint? If the apostle m.ight not leave his office of preaching to be 
 a deacon, shall one leave it for minting? I cannot tell you: but 
 the saying is, that since priests have been minters, money hath 
 been worse." 
 
94 
 
 uncle's esteem. The bishop would frequently how- 
 ever chide him, as Mr. Gilpin afterwards told his 
 friends, for these qualms of conscience ; and would be 
 often reminding him, that, if he did not look better 
 to his interest, he would certainly die a beggar. 
 
 The bishop, putting into his hands the books he 
 had written, gave him his last instructions, and parted 
 with him in very good humour. So he took the first 
 opportunity of embarking for Holland. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 Refuses a benefice offered him by bishop Tunstal — 
 prosecutes his studies at Louvain — after being 
 fully convinced of the errors of Popeiy^ returns to 
 England during the persecution of Mary. 
 
 Upon his landing, he went immediately to Mech- 
 lin, to visit his brother George, who was at that time 
 pursuing his studies there. 
 
 This visit was probably on a religious account ; 
 for George, though a man of virtue and learning, 
 seems to have been a zealous Papist. What influ- 
 ence his brother Bernard had over him does not ap- 
 pear. We meet with him however soon afterwards, 
 a warm advocate for the reformation ; to forward 
 which, he translated, from the Dutch into English, 
 a very keen satire against Popery, entitled, " The 
 Bee-hive of the Roman Church." Upon Elizabeth's 
 accession, he applied himself to state affairs ; for which 
 indeed he was now preparing himself at Mechlin, 
 
95 
 
 where the civil law was much studied. The earl of 
 Bedford brought him to court, where he was soon 
 taken notice of by the queen ; to \vhom he so well 
 recommended himself by his dexterity in business, 
 that she made great use of him in her negotiations 
 with the states of Holland, and kept him many years 
 in a public character in that country, where he was 
 in great esteem for his abihties and integrity. ,We 
 meet with his name sometimes in the accounts of those 
 transactions. Motley particularly, speaking of some 
 affairs then in agitation, makes honourable mention 
 of him. " The Hans-towns,'* says he, " procured, 
 in an imperial edict, that the English merchants asso- 
 ciated in Embden and other places, should be adjudged 
 monopolists ; which was done by Suderman, a great 
 civilian. There was there at that time, for the queen, 
 as nimble a man as Suderman, and he had the chan- 
 cellor of Embden to second him ; yet they could not 
 stop the edict. But Gilpin played his cards so well, 
 that he prevailed, the imperial ban should not be pub- 
 lished till after the diet ; and that, in the mean time, 
 his imperial majesty should send an ambassador to 
 England, to advertise the queen of the edict." 
 
 Mr. Gilpin having staid a few weeks with his 
 brother at Mechlin, went afterwards to Louvain, 
 where he resolved to settle for some time. He made 
 frequent excursions to Antwerp, Ghent, Brussels, 
 and other places in the Low Countries; where he 
 would spend a few weeks among those of any repu- 
 tation, whether Papists or Protestants : but he made 
 Louvain his place of residence, for which city he 
 always expressed a more than common affection. 
 And indeed it was a most agreeable and commodious 
 
96 
 
 retreat for a scholar ; enjoying all the advantages of 
 situation, and affording the best opportunities for 
 study. 
 
 Louvain is one of the chief towns in Brabant. It 
 had formerly been the centre of a very considerable 
 woollen trade. More than four thousand looms were 
 daily at work in it, each of which employed near 
 forty people. But its trade declining, it grew more 
 beautiful, as it became less populous. Elegant houses 
 were built, and spacious walks laid out within the 
 walls of the town ; the river Dyle, which flowed 
 through the midst of it, affording the inhabitants 
 many opportunities of showing their taste. Upon 
 an eminence at one end stands the castle, a venerable 
 old building, rising out of the midst of a vineyard. 
 Its battlements are much frequented for the sake of 
 the noble prospect they command over a country the 
 most agreeably diversified with every thing that can 
 make an extensive landscape beautiful: here a stately 
 palace, there a lonely monastery, rivers, lawns, 
 woods, till the eye is lost in a boundless plain 
 blending itself with the horizon. The elegance of 
 this situation made Louvain the seat of politeness. 
 Hither the men of taste and leisure from all parts re- 
 paired ; where, instead of the noise and hurry of 
 trade, so common in the towns of Flanders, they 
 enjoyed a calm retreat, and the agreeable interchange 
 of solitude and company. But what endeared Lou- 
 vain most to a scholar, was the noble seminary estab- 
 lished there by John, the fourth duke of Brabant, 
 who, upon the decay of the woollen manufacture, 
 with a view to keep up the credit of one of his chief 
 towns, politically founded a university in it, which 
 
97 
 
 soon became one of the most considerable in Europe. 
 It consists of many colleges, in each of which philo- 
 sophy was taught by two professors, who read two 
 hours each morning. The scholars had the rest of 
 the day to commit to writing what they heard. 
 
 At the time Mr. Gilpin was at Lou vain, it was 
 one of the chief places for students in divinity. Some 
 of the most eminent divines on both sides of the ques- 
 tion resided there; and the most important topics of 
 religion were discussed with great freedom, 
 > Mr. Gilpin's first business here was to get him- 
 self introduced to those of any reputation for learn- 
 ing ; to whom his own address and attainments were 
 no mean recommendation, and supplied the place of 
 a long acquaintance. He was present at all public 
 readings and disputations : he committed every thing 
 material to writing; all his opinions he re-examined; 
 proposed his doubts in private to his friends ; and in 
 every respect made the best use of his time. 
 
 He now began to have juster notions of the doc- 
 trines of the reformation : he saw things in a clearer 
 and a stronger light; and felt a satisfaction in the 
 change he had made, to which he had hitherto been 
 a stranger. 
 
 While he was thus pursuing his studies, he and 
 all the Protestants in those parts were suddenly 
 alarmed with melancholy news from England — king 
 Edward's death — the lady Jane Grey's fall — and 
 queen Mary's accession, whose bigotry was well 
 known, and in whom the signs of a persecuting 
 spirit already appeared. 
 
 This bad news came, however, attended with one 
 agreeable circumstance ; an account of bishop Tun- 
 E 8 
 
98 
 
 stal's release from the Tower, and re-establishment 
 in his bishopric. 
 
 Soon afterwards Mr. Gilpin received a letter from 
 his brother George, entreating him to come imme- 
 diately to Mechlin ; for he had an affair of conse- 
 quence to communicate to him, which absolutely re- 
 quired an interview. When he came thither, he 
 found his brother had received a letter from the 
 bishop, informing him, that he had a benefice of con- 
 siderable value vacant in his diocese, which he wished 
 he could persuade his brother Bernard to accept ; 
 imagining he might by this time have gotten over his 
 former scruples. 
 
 George knew he had a difficult province to man- 
 age ; but determined, however, to try his influence. 
 He begged his brother therefore to consider, " That 
 he could not stay so long abroad for want of money, 
 as he might probably choose — that he had already 
 offended the bishop — and that a second refusal 
 might occasion an entire breach with him — that if it 
 did not, yet the bishop was now an old man — such 
 benefices were not every day to be had — and after 
 the bishop's death, he was not likely to meet with a 
 friend, who would thus press him to accept a living." 
 But nothinjT would do : Bernard continued unmoved, 
 and gave one answer to all his brother's arguments, 
 " That his conscience would not suffer him to com- 
 ply." George answered, " He might have his liv- 
 ing as well taken care of, as if himself were there : 
 besides, (says he), you have a bishop approving and 
 advising the step 1 recommend ; what would you 
 desire more ?" " If a bishop's judgment," said 
 Bernard, " was to be the rule of my actions, I should 
 
99 
 
 comply, but as I am to stand or fall by my own, the 
 case is different." In short, George was obliged to 
 desist, and Bernard returned to Louvain, heartily 
 vexed that he had lo^t so much time, on so trifling 
 an occasion. He thought it, however, his duty to 
 give the bishop his reasons for not accepting his 
 kind offer, which he did in the folio win o; letter. 
 
 " Right honourable, and my singular good mas- 
 ter, ray duty remembered in most humble manner, 
 pleaseth it your honour to be informed, that of late 
 my brother wrote to me, that in any wise I must 
 meet him at Mechlin ; for he must debate with me 
 very urgent affairs, such as could not be despatched 
 by writing. When we met, I perceived it was no- 
 thing else but to see if he could persuade me to take 
 a benefice, and to continue in study at the univer- 
 sity : which if I had known to be the cause of his 
 sending for me, I should not have needed to inter- 
 rupt my study to meet him ; for I have so long de- 
 bated that matter with learned men, especially with 
 the holy prophets, and most ancient and goclly writers 
 since Christ's time, that 1 trust, so long as I have to 
 live, never to burden my conscience with having a 
 benefice, and lying from it. My brother said, that 
 your lordship had written to him, that you would 
 gladly bestow one on me ; and that your lordship 
 thought (and so did other of my friends, of which he 
 was one) that 1 was much too scrupulous in that 
 point. Whereunto I always say, if I be too scru- 
 pulous, (as 1 cannot think that I am), the matter is 
 such, that I had rather my conscience were therein 
 a great deal too strait, than a little too large : for I 
 E 2 
 
100 
 
 am seriously persuaded, that I shall never offend God 
 l)y refusing to have a benefice and lie from it, so long 
 as I judge not evil of others : which I trust 1 shall 
 not, but rather pray God daily, that all who have 
 cures may discharge their office in his sight, as may 
 tend most to his glory, and the profit of his church. 
 He replied against me, that your lordship would give 
 me no benefice, but what you would see discharged 
 in my absence as well, or better than I could dis- 
 charge it myself. Whereunto I answered, that I 
 would be sorry, if I thought not there were many 
 thousands in England more able to discharge a cure 
 than I find myself ; and therefore I desire they may 
 both take the cure and the profit also, that they may 
 be able to feed the body and the soul both, as I think 
 all pastors are bounden. As for me, I can never 
 persuade myself to take the profit, and let another 
 take the pains : for if he should teach and preach as 
 faithfully as ever St. Austin did, yet should I not 
 think myself discharged. And if I should strain my 
 conscience herein, and strive with it to remain here, 
 or in any other university, with such a condition, the 
 unquietness of my conscience would not suffer me to 
 profit in study at all. 
 
 " I am here, at this present, I thank God, very 
 well placed for study among a company of learned 
 men, joining to the friars minors ; having free access 
 at all times to a notable library among the friars, 
 men both well learned and studious. I have entered 
 acquaintance with divers of the best learned in the 
 town ; and for my part was never more desirous to 
 learn in all my life than at this present. Where- 
 fore I am bold, knowing your lordship's singular good 
 
101 
 
 will towards me, to open my mind thus rudely and 
 plainly unto your goodness, most humbly beseeching 
 you to sufFer me to live without charge, that I may 
 study quietly. 
 
 " And whereas I know well your lordship is care- 
 ful how I should live, if God should call your lord- 
 ship, being now aged, I desire you let not that care 
 trouble you : for, if I had no other shift, I could get 
 a, lectureship, I know, shortly, either in this univer- 
 sity, or at least in some abbey hereby; where I 
 should not lose my time : and this kind of life, if 
 God be pleased, I desire before any benefice. And 
 thus I pray Christ always to have your lordship in 
 his blessed keeping. 
 
 " By your lordship's humble scholar 
 " and chaplain, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
 " Louvain, Nov. 22, 1554." 
 
 The bishop was not offended at this letter. The 
 unaffected piety of it disarmed all resentment; and 
 led him rather to admire a behaviour, in which the 
 motives of conscience showed themselves so superior 
 to those of interest. " Which of our modern gap- 
 ing rooks, exclaims the bishop of Chichester, could 
 endeavour with more industry to obtain a benefice, 
 than this man did to avoid one !" 
 
 Mr. Gilpin having got over this troublesome 
 affair (for solicitations of this kind gave him of all 
 things the most trouble) continued some time longer 
 at Louvain, daily improving in religious knowledge. 
 His own opinions he kept to himself, industriously 
 endeavouring to make himself acquainted with the 
 
102 
 
 opinions of others, and the arguments upon which 
 tliey were grounded. 
 
 While he stayed in the Low Countries, he was 
 greatly affected with the melancholy sight of crowds 
 of his dejected countrymen arriving daily in those 
 parts from the bloody scene then acting in England. 
 These unhappy exiles, however, soon recovered their 
 spirits, and, dispersing into various towns, cheerfully 
 applied themselves, each as his profession led, to gain 
 an honest livelihood. The meaner sort exercised 
 their crafts; the learned taught schools, read lectures, 
 and corrected presses; at Basil particularly, where 
 the ingenious Operinus was then carrying printing to 
 great perfection. Their commendable endeavours 
 to make themselves not quite a burden to those who 
 entertained them, were suitably rewarded. The 
 several towns of Germany and Holland, finding their 
 advantage in these strangers, showed them all ima- 
 ginable civility : many private persons likewise con- 
 tributed to their aid ; but, above all others, the gen- 
 erous duke of Wirtemberg distinguished himself 
 in their favour ; whose bounty to the English at 
 Strasburg and Frankfort should never pass unre- 
 inembered, where these things are mentioned. Nor 
 was Mr. Gilpin a little pleased to find, that, however 
 unable he was personally to assist them, his large 
 acquaintance in the country furnished him with the 
 means of being useful to many of them by very ser- 
 viceable recommendations. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin had now been two years in Flanders; 
 and had made himself perfectly master of the con- 
 troversy, as it was there handled. He therefore, 
 left Louvain, and took a journey to Paris. 
 
 I 
 
103 
 
 Passing through a forest in his way thither, he 
 was attacked by highwaymen; from whom, being 
 very well mounted, he escaped to a cottage by the 
 road-side. The rogues pursued him to the house, 
 and declared they would pull it down, or set it on 
 fire, if he did not immediately come out. The family 
 was in great consternation ; in vain did Mr. Gilpin 
 represent that these were only idle threatenings — 
 that on so public a road they durst not meddle with 
 the house — and that they would presently be gone. 
 All availed nothing. To quiet therefore the dis- 
 turbance he had occasioned, he went out, and gave 
 the rogues his money. 
 
 When he got to Paris, the first thing he set 
 about was printing the bishop of Durham's book. 
 This prelate, as hath been o*bserved, was a very 
 moderate man ; no favourer of Protestantism, yet no 
 friend to some of the grosser tenets of the Romish 
 church ; particularly to its extravagant doctrine of 
 the sacrament of the Lord's Supper : and this book, 
 which showed the moderation of its author, gave 
 much offence to all the more zealous Papists ; and 
 drew many severe reproaches on Mr. Gilpin, who 
 was generally supposed to have corrupted the bishop's 
 work. Of what was said his friends ijave him no- 
 tice, particularly Francis Wickliff; who desired, if 
 the charge was unjust, that he would purge himself 
 of it. Mr. Gilpin told him, that was easily done : 
 and opening a d^sk, " See here (says he) a letter 
 from my lord of Durham himself, in which he thanks 
 me for my care and fidelity in this business." 
 
 While Mr. Gilpin staid at Paris, he lodged with 
 Vascosan, an eminent printer, to whom he had been 
 
104 
 
 recommended by his friends in the Netherlands. 
 This learned man showed him great regard, did him 
 many friendly offices, and introduced him to the 
 most considerable men in that city. 
 
 Here Popery became quite his aversion : he saw 
 more of its superstition and craft than he had yet 
 seen ; the former among the people, the latter among 
 the priests, who scrupled not to avow, how little 
 truth was their concern. He would frequently ask, 
 " Whether such and such bad consequences might 
 not arise from such and such doctrines ?" But he 
 was always answered, " That was not to be regarded 
 — the church could not subsist without them — and 
 little inconveniences must be borne with." 
 
 At Paris he found his old acquaintance Mr. Xeal, 
 of New-college: who always favoured Popery, and 
 was now become a bigot to it. Mr. Gilpin often 
 expressed to him the concern he had on this account ; 
 and approved his friendship, by the earnest desire he 
 showed to make him acquainted with his errors : but 
 Neal was not of a temper to be wrought on. 
 
 As an instance of popish sophistry and prejudice, 
 Mr. Gilpin would sometimes relate a conversation 
 about image-worship, which he once had with this 
 Neal at Paris. He was observing to him the great 
 absurdity of the Romanists, in condemning idolatry, 
 and yet countenancing such a use of images as 
 must necessarily draw the people into it. For his 
 part, he said, he knew not how a Christian could 
 allow himself in kneeling to an image ; and asked 
 Neal, whether, in his conscience, he did not think it 
 the idolatry forbidden in the second commandment? 
 Neal was for distinguishing between an idol and an 
 
105 
 
 image ; the images of saints, he said, were not idols ; 
 and therefore the reverence paid to them could not 
 be idolatry. Mr. Gilpin observed, that in the second 
 commandment there was no mention made of an idol : 
 the prohibition was, "Bow not down to the likeness 
 of any created thing." And what is it, said he, that 
 makes an idol? The workman makes the resem- 
 blance of a human creature ; the image thus made is 
 no idol : it is worship that makes it one. Hence 
 the apostle says, " an idol is nothing" — a mere 
 creature of the imagination. The distinction there- 
 fore between Latria and Doulia is to no purpose : 
 it is made void by the express words, " Thou shalt 
 not bow down unto them." The very posture of 
 adoration, he observed, was forbidden ; and that at 
 least the Romanists every where practised. — To all 
 this Neal had only one general answer: " You may 
 say what you please ; but these things are established 
 by the church, and cannot be altered." 
 
 This was the same Neal who was afterwards 
 chaplain to bishop Bonner, and distinguished himself 
 by being the sole voucher of the very improbable and 
 silly story of the nag's-head consecration. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin having spent three years abroad, was 
 now fully satisfied in all his more considerable scru- 
 ples. He wanted no farther conviction of the evil 
 tendency of Popery : he saw the necessity of some 
 reformation ; and began to think every day more 
 favourably of the present one. The doctrine of the 
 corporal presence indeed he had not yet fully consi- 
 dered ; but he looked upon it as a mystery, which it 
 rather became him to acquiesce in, than examine. 
 E 3 
 
106 
 
 The principal design of his going abroad being thus 
 answered, he was desirous of returning home. 
 
 The Marian persecution was still raging. His 
 friends, therefore, with great earnestness dissuaded 
 him from his design. They represented the danger 
 he w^ould be in at this juncture in England — pressed 
 him to wait for happier times — and suggested, that 
 it was Httle less than madness to think of going to a 
 place, from whence all of his sentiments were endea- 
 vouring to withdraw themselves. 
 
 But it is most probable, that his purpose to return 
 at this time was in pursuance of the bishop of Dur- 
 ham's advice ; who, finding the infirmities of age 
 increase upon him, and believing his nephew totally 
 unqualified to advance himself in life, might be de- 
 sirous of providing for him before his death ; and 
 hoped that his power, in that remote part of the 
 kingdom, would be a sufficient protection for him 
 against his enemies. It is, however, certain, that 
 he came into England during the heat of the perse- 
 cution. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Humane disposition of the bishop of Durham. — Mr. 
 Gilpin appointed to the rectory of Easington, — 
 His behaviour in his parish. — He is persecuted 
 by his enemies. 
 
 Upon his arrival in England, he went immediately 
 to the bishop of Durham, who was then in his 
 
107 
 
 diocese. Here this humane prelate kept himself 
 withdrawn during most of that violent reign, to 
 avoid having any hand in measures which he ab- 
 horred. 
 
 When he left London, upon his release from the 
 Tower, he was straitly charged with the entire exrirpa- 
 tion of heresy in his diocese : and was given to under- 
 stand, that severity would be the only allowed test of 
 his zeal. These instructions he received in the spirit 
 they were given; loudly threatening, that heretics 
 should no where find a warmer reception than at 
 Durham : and it was thought indeed the Protes- 
 tants would hardly meet with much favour from 
 him, as they had shown him so little. But nothing 
 was further from his intention than persecution : in- 
 somuch that his was almost the only diocese where 
 the poor Protestants enjoyed any repose. When 
 most of the other bishops sent in large accounts of 
 their services to religion, very lame ones came from 
 Durham : they were filled with high encomiums of 
 the orthodoxy of the diocese, interspersed here and 
 there with the trial of a heretic ; but either the de- 
 positions against him were not sufficiently proved, or 
 there were great liopes of his recantation — no men- 
 tion however was made of any burnings. The fol- 
 lowing story of his lenity we have from Mr. Fox. A 
 person had been accused to him of heresy, whom he 
 had slightly examined, and dismissed. His chan- 
 cellor thinking him too favourable, pressed for a fur- 
 ther examination : the bishop answered, " We have 
 hitherto lived peaceably among our neighbours ; let us 
 continue so, and not bring this man's blood upon us." 
 A beha\dour of this kind was but ill relished by the 
 
108 
 
 zealous council; and the bishop was laid deservedly 
 under the calumny of being not actuated by true 
 Romish principles. 
 
 Such was the state of the diocese of Durham, 
 when Mr. Gilpin came there. The bishop received 
 him with great friendship ; and within a very little 
 time gave him the archdeaconry of Durham ; to 
 which the rectory of Easington was annexed. It is 
 probable, that, if Mr. Gilpin came home by the 
 bishop's advice, this preferment was then vacant, or 
 soon expected to be so. 
 
 Upon removing to his parish, he found it in great 
 disorder. With a firm resolution, therefore, of do- 
 ing what good he could in it, he set himself in ear- 
 nest to reprove vice publicly and privately ; to en- 
 courage virtue; and to explain the nature of true 
 religion with a freedom by no means suited to those 
 dangerous times. 
 
 Very material objections were then made to the 
 clergy of those parts. The reformation, which ad- 
 vanced but slowly in England, had made least pro- 
 gress in the north. The ecclesiastics there wanted 
 not a popish reign to authorize their superstition. 
 But this was their best side. Their manners were 
 scandalous : the pastoral care was totally neglected ; 
 and it is hard to say, whether vice or ignorance was 
 more remarkable in them. 
 
 All over England, indeed, the church was very 
 ill supplied with ministers. " As for the inferior 
 clergy," says Fuller, the best that could be gotten 
 were placed in pastoral charges. Alas ! tolerability 
 was eminency in that age. A rush candle seemed 
 a torch, where no brighter light was ever seen be- 
 
109 
 
 fore. Surely preaching now ran very low, if it be 
 true what I read, that Mr. Tavernour, of Water- 
 Eaton, in Oxfordshire, high-sheriff of the county, 
 came in pure charity, not ostentation, and gave the 
 scholars a sermon in St. Mary's, with his gold chain 
 about his neck, and his sword by his side."* 
 
 We may judge likewise of the state of learning 
 at that time among the clergy, from the accounts 
 still preserved of some archidiaconal visitations. 
 " Latine verba aliquot intelhgit, non sententiam ; 
 Latine utcunque intelligit ; Latine pauca intelligit 
 were the expressions generally made use of to char- 
 acterize them in this particular. 
 
 How much, in the north especially, the pastoral 
 care was neglected, we may judge from an account 
 given us of the clergy of those parts, by a bishop of 
 Durham, in a letter still preserved, to an archbishop 
 of Canterbury. 
 
 It is lamentable," says he, " to see how negli- 
 gently they say any service, and how seldom. Your 
 cures are all, except Rachdale, as far out of order as 
 any of the country. Whalley hath as ill a vicar as 
 the worst. The bishop of Man liveth here at ease, 
 and as merry as pope Joan. The bishop of Chester 
 hath compounded with my lord of York for his visi- 
 tation, and gathereth up the money by his servants : 
 
 * Nor can we imagine, that the high-sheriff himself contri- 
 buted much to advance the art of preaching, if we may judge of 
 his oratory by a specimen of it still preserved. " Arri^^ng," says 
 he, "at the mount of St. Mary in the stony stage where I now 
 stand, I have brought you some fine biscuits, baked in the oven 
 of charity, and carefully conserved for the chickens of the church, 
 the sparrows of the spirit, and the sweet swallows of salva- 
 tion." 
 
 I 
 
110 
 
 but never a word spoken of any visitation or reforma- 
 tion ; and that, he saith, he doth out of friendship, 
 because he will not trouble the country, nor put them 
 to charge in calling them together."* 
 
 This corruption among his brethren gave Mr. 
 Gilpin great concern. " The insatiable covetous- 
 ness," to use his own words, "joined with the pride, 
 carnal liberty, and other vices, which reign at this 
 time in all estates, but especially among us priests, 
 who ought to be the salt of the earth, breaks me 
 many a sleep." He determined, therefore, to do all 
 in his power to effect a reformation ; or, if that were 
 impossible, to protest however against what he could 
 not alter. He considered, that one of his offices 
 obliged him to take the same care of the manners of 
 the clergy, as the other did of those of the laity ; 
 and as he never received an office without a design of 
 doing his duty in it, he resolved to behave as an arch- 
 deacon ought. 
 
 Accordingly, he took every opportunity of reprov- 
 
 * Bishop Latimer relates a story of a bishop of this kind, 
 which is worth transcribing. " I heard of a bishop," says he, 
 "that went on a visitation; and (as it was the custom) when 
 the bishop should be rung into the town, the great bell's clapper 
 was fallen down, so that he could not be rung in. There was a 
 mighty matter made of this, and the chief of tlie parish were very 
 much blamed for it at the visitation ; and the bishop was some- 
 what quick with them, and signified that he was much offended. 
 They excused themselves as well as they could ; but one among 
 them, wiser than the rest, comes up to the bishop : ' Why, my 
 lord,' saith he, ' doth your lordship make so great a matter of 
 the bell that lacketh a clapper? Here is a bell,' saith he, and 
 pointed to the pulpit, ' which hath lacked a clapper these twenty 
 years.' I warrant you this bishop was an unpreaching prelate. 
 He could find fault with the bell that wanted a clapper to ring 
 him into the town ; but he could not find any fault with the par- 
 son that preached not at his benefice." — Bishop Lalvners sittk 
 sermon before the King. 
 
Ill 
 
 ing the enormities he remarked. The more inge- 
 nuous of the inferior clergy he endeavoured to bring 
 by gentler methods to their duty : the obstinate he 
 would rebuke with all authority. And as he feared 
 none in the cause of religion, no man's family or for- 
 tune could exempt him from his notice. At visita- 
 tions particularly, and wherever his audience was 
 chiefly clerical, he would express himself against every 
 thing he observed amiss, with a zeal which might 
 have been thought affected in one of a less approved 
 sincerity. 
 
 It was an opinion of his, that non-residence and 
 pluralities were the principal sources of corruption 
 among churchmen. We need not wonder, there- 
 fore, if we find him inveighing against them with the 
 greatest earnestness. It must be owned indeed, they 
 were at that time shamefully in use. It was no un- 
 common thing for a clergyman in those days to hold 
 three, and sometimes four livings together. Mr. 
 Strype mentions one person who held five. His 
 name was Blage : he was a bachelor in divinity ; and 
 held at one time, St. Dunstan's in the West, Whis- 
 ton and Doncaster in Yorkshire, Rugby in War- 
 wickshire, and Barnet in Middlesex. These enor- 
 mities, for such he esteemed them, went to the heart of 
 the pious archdeacon, and were the constant subjects 
 of his reproof. Sometimes he would show how 
 wrong they were in themselves, as absolutely contrary 
 to the design of endowments ; at other times how in- 
 jurious to the rest of the order : " While three parts 
 out of four of the clergy," in his manner of speaking, 
 " were picking what they could get off a common, 
 the rest were growing wanton with stall-feeding." 
 
112 
 
 But his great argument against them was, the pre- 
 judice they did rehgion. " It was reasonable," he 
 said, " to think a parish would be better taken care 
 of by the priest, who received the whole income, than 
 by the curate, who received only a very small part ; 
 and would, it might easily be imagined, too often 
 proportion his pains to his allowance." Besides, he 
 thought, one man's engrossing what in all reason 
 belonged to two, perhaps three or four, agreed very 
 ill with the simple manners and sequestered life of a 
 minister of Christ; and gave an example which 
 tended more to the discredit of religion, than all the 
 preaching in the world to its advancement. 
 
 With equal freedom, he likewise censured their 
 private vices; frequently drawing the character of a 
 bad clergyman, and dwelling upon such irregularities 
 as he knew gave most offence in the ecclesiastics of 
 those parts. 
 
 The prudent bishop, observing the forwardness of 
 his zeal, failed not to furnish him with cautions in 
 abundance ; often reminding him how prudently he 
 ought to behave, where, with all his prudence, he 
 should scarce avoid giving offence — and his enemies, 
 he said, could never want a handle against him, while 
 Popery reigned with so much severity. 
 
 But such representations of danger had no effect 
 upon him. The common maxims indeed of worldly 
 prudence, he knew, were against him : but the ex- 
 amples he found in Scripture of holy men, who with 
 equal freedom opposed vice, and in times as danger- 
 ous, wrought strongly with him. If his endeavours 
 were at all serviceable to religion, if they only set 
 some bounds to vice, he thought it criminal to check 
 
113 
 
 them through any motives of fear. It was his opi- 
 nion, that when an employment was accepted, it 
 should be accepted in all its parts : he thought no- 
 thing was a greater breach of trust, or more destruc- 
 tive of common good, than to consider public offices 
 only as private emoluments. 
 
 It is, however, a little surprising, that the bishop 
 of Durham, who knew the world so well, should not 
 foresee how much he must necessarily expose his 
 nephew to the popish party, by placing him in such a 
 station. He knew he could not temporize ; and he 
 might have known, that without temporizing, he 
 would soon be most obnoxious to those in power; 
 with whose persecuting principles he was well ac- 
 quainted. Had he provided for him in a way, which 
 had no connexion with the clergy, it is probable he 
 might have avoided those dangers in which we shall 
 immediately find him. For his free reproofs soon 
 roused the ecclesiastics of those parts against him, 
 and put them upon every method in their power to 
 remove so inconvenient an inquirer. It was pre- 
 sently the popular clamour, " That he was an enemy 
 to the church — a scandalizer of the clergy — a preacher 
 of damnable doctrines — and that religion must suffer 
 from the heresies he was daily broaching, if they 
 spared him any longer." " After I entered upon 
 the parsonage of Easington,'' says he, in a letter to 
 his brother, " and began to preach, I soon procured 
 me many mighty and grievous adversaries, for that I 
 preached against pluralities and non-residence. Some 
 said, all that preached that doctrine became heretics 
 soon after. Others found great fault, for that I 
 preached repentance and salvation by Christ; and 
 
114 
 
 (lid not make whole sermons, as they did, about 
 transubstantiation, purgatory, holy-water, images, 
 prayers to saints, and such like." 
 
 Thus, in short, he had raised a flame, which no- 
 thing but his blood could quench. Many articles 
 were drawn up against him, and he was accused in 
 form before the bishop of Durham. 
 
 This prosecution was managed chiefly by one Dun- 
 stal, a priest in those parts, who had always distin- 
 guished himself as the archdeacon's implacable enemy: 
 and as it was imagined the bishop's very great regard 
 for Mr. Gilpin might probably obstruct their designs, 
 this person had been long employed by the party to 
 work underhand, and prejudice the bishop against 
 him. 
 
 Happy was it for him, that the prelate had as 
 much discernment as humanity. He was practised 
 in the world. He knew what men and times would 
 bear ; and easily found a method to protect his friend 
 without endangering himself. 
 
 When the cause came before him, " He was ex- 
 tremely sorry to hear, that a person for whom he had 
 so great a regard should be accused of heresy — 
 that indeed himself had not been without some sus- 
 picions of his leaning a little that way — but he had 
 still been in hopes that there was nothing in his opi- 
 nions of any dangerous consequence to religion. — He 
 should however be fairly examined ; and if he ap- 
 peared to be guilty, he should find a very severe 
 judge in the bishop of Durham." 
 
 By this artful address the bishop got the manage- 
 ment of the affair into his own hands: and taking 
 care to press his accused friend in points only in 
 
115 
 
 wliich he knew him able to bear examination, he 
 brought him ofF innocent: and dismissed the cause, 
 telling the accusers, " He was afraid they had been 
 too forward in theu* zeal for religion — and that 
 heresy was such a crime, as no man ought to be 
 charged with but upon the strongest proof." 
 
 The malice of his enemies could not however 
 rest. His character at least was in their power ; for 
 they had great influence upon the populace, of which 
 they failed not to make the worst use, by infusing 
 into those who were open to hasty impressions, such 
 sentiments as they knew most likely to inflame them. 
 Several of his papers, yet remaining, show what 
 candid interpreters they were of words and actions, 
 which could possibly be wrested to any bad meaning : 
 one letter particularly, in which, with great mildness, 
 he endeavours to free himself from the slanders of 
 some of his enemies, who had reported him to have 
 affirmed, " It was as lawful to have two wives as two 
 livings." He remembered indeed he had once been 
 asked, " Whether of the two was worse?" and that 
 he had carelessly answered, " He thought them both 
 bad :" but to extend this to his affirming, " They 
 were both equally bad," was perverting his meaning, 
 he thought, in a very disingenuous manner. 
 
 The great fatigue Mr. Gilpin thus underwent in 
 doing his duty in the double capacity of an arch- 
 deacon and a rector of a parish, (and a very great 
 fatigue it was in the conscientious manner in which 
 he did it,) he found at length too much for him : 
 his strength was indeed unequal to it ; exhausted 
 by so long an opposition to the strong tide which 
 ran against him. — He acquainted the bishop, there- 
 
116 
 
 fore, " That he must resign either his archdeaconry 
 or his parish — that he would with the greatest readi- 
 ness do his duty in which soever his lordship thought 
 him best qualified for : but he was not able to do it 
 in both." — " Have I not repeatedly told you," said 
 the bishop, that you will die a beggar ? Depend 
 upon it you will, if you suffer your conscience to 
 raise such unreasonable scruples. The archdeaconry 
 and the living cannot be separated : the income of 
 the former is not a support without that of the latter. 
 I found them united, and am determined to leave 
 them so," 
 
 In consequence of the bishop's refusal to let him 
 keep either of them sinale, he most probably re- 
 signed them both ; for I find him about this time 
 without any office in the church. — During his being 
 thus unemployed, he lived with the bishop as one of 
 his chaplains. 
 
 But even in this situation he found the malice of 
 his enemies still pursuing him. The defeat they 
 had received did not prevent their seeking every op- 
 portunity of attacking him ^gain. He avoided them 
 as much as possible; and they, on the other hand, 
 contrived to meet him as frequently as they could ; 
 urging him continually upon some controverted point 
 of religion, in contradiction often to the most obvious 
 rules of decency and good manners. 
 
 The bishop of Chichester gives us tlie particulars 
 of one of these disputes ; which, he says, he had often 
 heard his kinsman, Anthony Carleton speak of, who 
 at that time lived in the bishop of Durham's family. 
 
 Some of the bishop's chaplains getting about him 
 in their accustomed manner, one of them asked him 
 
117 
 
 his opinion of Luther's writings: ^Ir. Gilpin an- 
 swered, " He had never read them : that his method 
 had always been to study the Scriptures, and the 
 fathers' expositions of them : but for the writings of 
 modern divines, he was not so well acquainted with 
 them." One of them, in a sneering manner, com- 
 mended that as a right way of proceeding ; and added, 
 " That if all men could but be persuaded to be of 
 Mr. Gilpin's opinion, to have the same veneration for 
 antiquity that he had, the peace of the church would 
 no longer be disturbed with any of these novel 
 teachers." " But suppose," said Mr. Gilpin, " these 
 novel teachers, as you call them, have the sense of 
 antiquity on their side, what shall we say then ? 
 Shall the ancient doctrine be rejected, because of the 
 novel teacher ?" This not satisfying them, they 
 ] began to urge him farther. " Pray," said one of 
 j them, " what are your thoughts about the real pre- 
 sence ?" Mr. Gilpin answered, " That he really 
 knew nothing of weight to object against it : but he 
 thought it too mysterious a subject to bear a dispute." 
 " But do you believe transubstantiation ?" " I believe 
 every thing contained in the word of God.'* " But 
 do you believe as the church believes ?" " Pray," 
 said Mr. Gilpin, is the catholic faith unchange- 
 able ?" " Undoubtedly it is." " But the church did 
 not alwavs hold transubstantiation an article of faith." 
 " When did it not hold it so ?" " Before the time 
 of Peter Lombard, who first introduced it : and even 
 since his. time it hath undergone an alteration. Pray, 
 tell me, is not the bread in the sacrament converted 
 into both the body and blood of Christ ?" " Un- 
 doubtedly it is." " But," said Mr. Gilpin, smiling, 
 
118 
 
 " Peter Lombard himself did not believe that : for 
 in the eleventh chapter of his fourth book, I very- 
 well remember, he saith expressly, ' There is no 
 transubstantiation but of bread into flesh, and wine 
 into blood.' And now, I beg you will tell me how 
 you reconcile these things with the unchangeableness 
 of the catholic faith ?" The chaplains had nothing 
 to answer ; for the words of Lombard indeed plainly 
 denied, that in the transubstantiated bread there 
 could be any blood. Mr. Gilpin, observing their 
 confusion, went on : " It appears, then, that tran- 
 substantiation was never heard of in the church before 
 the time of Peter Lombard : a man might have 
 been a good catholic without acknowledging that 
 doctrine till then : afterwards, for a long time, the 
 only meaning of it was, a conversion of the bread 
 into flesh, and the wine into blood : and thus it re- 
 mained, till Thomas Aquinas introduced his notion 
 of concomitancy ; at which time this doctrine under- 
 went another change : both flesh and blood were 
 then, it seems, contained really and substantially in 
 the bread alone. Alas ! alas ! I am afraid these 
 are the novel opinions that have got in amongst us : 
 the catholic faith, we are both agreed, is unchange- 
 able." The bishop was sitting before the fire in the 
 same chamber where this conversation happened; 
 and, leaning back in his chair, overheard it. When 
 it was over, he got up, and turning to his chaplains, 
 said to them, with some emotion, " Come, come, 
 leave him, leave him : I find he has more learning 
 than all of you put together." 
 
 From Mr. Gilpin's behaviour upon this occasion, 
 his zeal appears to have been tempered with a good 
 
119 
 
 deal of prudence. Indeed it never rose so high as 
 to become dangerous to him, but when he thought 
 his duty absolutely required it. In general he was 
 verv cautious ; and well guarded against the captious 
 questions of such as were continually lying in wait 
 to entrap him. 
 
 How long ]Mr. Gilpin remained unbeneficed, doth 
 not appear. It could not, however, be very long, 
 because the rectory of Houghton-le-Spring fell va- 
 cant before Easington and the archdeaconry were 
 disposed of ; and the bishop, in a jocular way, made 
 him an oflPer of all the three. But that offer it was 
 not likely he would listen to. He thanked the 
 bishop, however, and accepted Houghton. 
 
 This rectory was indeed of considerable value, 
 but the dutv of it was proportionablv laborious. It 
 was so extensive, that it contained no less than four- 
 teen villages : and havino- been as much necrlected 
 in that dark age, as the cures in the north then ordi- 
 narily were, Popery had produced its full growth of 
 superstition in it. Scarcely any traces indeed of true 
 Christianity were left. Nay, what little religion 
 remained, was even Popery itself corrupted. All its 
 idle ceremonies were here carried higher than you 
 would perhaps any where else find them ; and were 
 more considered as the essentials of reliction. How 
 entirely this barbarous people were excluded from 
 all means of better information, appears from this, 
 that in that part of the kingdom, through the de- 
 signed neglect of bishops and justices of the peace, 
 king Edward's proclamations for a change of worship 
 had not even been heard of at the time of that prince's 
 death. 
 
uo 
 
 Such was the condition of the parish of Houghton 
 when it was committed to Mr. Gilpin's care. A 
 waste so miserably uncultivated, that the greatest 
 industry seemed but sufficient to bring it into any 
 kind of order; and the greatest resolution only to 
 make the attempt. But when the good of mankind 
 was concerned, this true minister of the Gospel had 
 resolution enough to attempt whatever industry could 
 accomplish. He was grieved to see ignorance and 
 vice so lamentably prevail ; but he did not despair. 
 He implored the assistance of God ; and his sincere 
 endeavours met with it. The people crowded about 
 him, and heard him with attention, perceiving him a 
 teacher of a different kind from those to whom they 
 had hitherto been accustomed. 
 
 Upon his taking possession of Houghton, it was 
 some mortification to him, that he could not imme- 
 diately reside. His parsonage-house was gone en- 
 tirely to decay ; and some time was required to make 
 it habitable. Part of it was fitted up as soon as 
 possible for his reception ; but he continued improv- 
 ing and enlarging it, till it became suitable to his 
 hospitable temper, a proper habitation for a man who 
 never intended to keep what he had to himself. 
 
 His house," says the bishop of Chichester, " was 
 like a bishop's palace; superior indeed to most 
 bishops' houses with respect both to the largeness 
 of the building, and the elegance of the situation," 
 
 Soon after this late instance of the bishop's favour 
 to him, another opportunity offered, by which this 
 generous patron hoped still further to improve his 
 fortune. A stall in the cathedral of Durham was 
 vacant, which he urged Mr. Gilpin in the most 
 
121 
 
 friendly manner to accept, telling him, " There lay 
 not the same objection to- this as to the archdeaconry 
 — that it was quite a sinecure — and that he could 
 have no reasonable pretence for refusing it." But 
 Mr. Gilpin, resolving not to accept it, told the 
 bishop, " That by his bounty he had already more 
 wealth, than, he was afraid, he could give a good 
 account of. He begged, therefore, he might not 
 have an additional charge ; but that his Lordship 
 would rather bestow this preferment on one by whom 
 it was more wanted." The bishop knew by long 
 experience it was in vain to press him to what he 
 did not approve ; so there was no more said of the 
 prebend. 
 
 Though he now lived retired, and o-ave no offence 
 to the clergy, their malice still pursued him. They 
 observed, with indignation, the strong contmst be- 
 tween his life and their own. His care and labour 
 were a standino; satire upon their neo-li^ence and 
 sloth : and it was the language of their hearts, " By 
 so living thou reproachest us." In a word, they 
 were determined, if possible, to extinguish a light 
 which showed them to such disadvantage. 
 
 But they had not the easiest part to manage. 
 The country favoured him ; the bishop was his 
 friend ; and no good man his enemy. Besides, 
 the mask of religion must needs be kept on: and 
 they found Mr. Gdpin's zeal not so intemperate as 
 might be wished. However, what malice could do 
 was not wanting : every engine was set to work ; 
 and base emissaries employed in all parts to seek 
 out matter for an accusation against him. Of all 
 this INIr. Gilpin was sensible, and behaved as cau- 
 F 8 
 
122 
 
 tiously as he thought consistent with his duty : in- 
 deed more cautiously than he could afterwards ap- 
 prove : for, in his future life, he would often tax his 
 behaviour at this time with weakness and cowardice.* 
 
 But had his caution been greater, against such 
 vigilant enemies it had probably been still ineffectual. 
 The eyes of numbers were constantly upon him, 
 and scarcely an action of his life escaped them. Of 
 this malicious industry we have the following instance. 
 
 A woman in the pangs of child-bed imploring God's 
 assistance, was rebuked by those around her for not 
 rather praying to the virgin Mary. Alarmed by 
 her danger, and greatly desirous of knowing whether 
 God or the virgin was more likely to assist her, she 
 begged " the great preacher lately come from abroad 
 might be sent for ; she was sure he would come, and 
 could tell her what she should do." Mr. Gilpin 
 told her, " He durst not persuade her to call upon 
 the virgin Mary : but in praying to God, she might 
 be sure she did right — that there were many express 
 commands in Scripture for it — and that God would 
 certainly hear them who prayed earnestly to him." 
 Mr. Gilpin spoke the more freely, as he thought 
 what he said was not likely to be carried abroad. 
 But he was afterwards surprised to find it had not 
 escaped the vigilance of his enemies, who failed not 
 to make the worst use of it. 
 
 By such an unwearied industry, such a number of 
 articles were in a short time got together, as, it was 
 eagerly imagined, could not but crush him. He was, 
 therefore, soon formally accused, and brought once 
 
 • See page 80. 
 
123 
 
 more before the bishop of Durham. How the bishop 
 behaved at this time we are not particularly informed. 
 But no man knew better how to act upon an emer- 
 gency. It is probable he would vary his manage- 
 ment ; but it is certain Mr. Gilpin was acquitted. 
 
 The malice of his enemies succeeded however in 
 part; for the bishop's favour to him from this time 
 visibly declined : though it is questionable, whether 
 he really felt the indifference he expressed; or he 
 thought it advisable thus far to temporize ; hoping to 
 deduct the sum of his own from the ill-will of others. 
 It is rather probable, however, that his indifference 
 was not affected : for the bishop was a very prudent 
 man ; and when he found, that his kinsman's piety 
 (carried, he thought, in many instances, to a strange 
 extreme) began to involve himself in inconveniences 
 and suspicions, which it had been his principal care 
 throughout his life to avoid ; it is not unlikely, that 
 he might judge his friendship had led him too far 
 from his own prudential maxims of behaviour, and 
 that he might resolve to endanger his quiet no longer 
 for the sake of a man whose obstinacy was insuper- 
 able.* This was not less than Mr. Gilpin expected, 
 nor more than he was well provided for. He ac- 
 knowledged his great obligations to the bishop, was 
 sorry to see him disgusted, and would have given up 
 
 * " About Easter I was accused again before the bishop in 
 many articles both from York and Durham : but these could take 
 no farther hold against me, than only to make the bishop to blot 
 me out of his testament ; and to make the vulgar people speak 
 evil of me. For losing the disposal of the bishop's goods, I 
 thought I was well unburthened ; and for the people's favour, 
 to the end I might more edify in preaching, (otherwise I did not 
 covet it,) I trusted time, through God's goodness, would biing it 
 agsiin.*'— Extract of a Letter from Bernard Gilpin to his Brother. 
 F 2 
 
124 
 
 any tiling to have him satisfied, except his conscience. 
 But a good conscience, he was assured, was his best 
 friend, and was resolved not to part with it for any 
 friend upon earth. 
 
 His enemies, in the mean time, were not thus 
 silenced. Though they had been defeated a second 
 time, they were only the more excited by that addi- 
 tional rancour which generally attends the baffled 
 designs of the malicious. They were however now 
 convinced how impossible it was to w^ork up the 
 bishop of Durham's zeal to the height they wished ; 
 and began to suspect he was either less orthodox him- 
 self, or at least too much Mr. Gilpin's friend to have 
 any hand in his condemnation. They thought in- 
 deed, that if it could have been so brought about, it 
 would have given them least trouble, and most satis- 
 faction, to have had him burnt at Durham; but as 
 that could not be well cfFected, they were determined 
 to try whether it could not be done elsewhere. Thirty- 
 two articles were accordingly drawn up against him 
 in the strongest manner, and laid before bishop Bon- 
 ner of London. 
 
 Here they went the right way to work. Bonner 
 was just the reverse of Tunstal ; formed by nature 
 for an inquisitor, and the most proper agent their 
 malice could have employed. The fierce zealot at 
 once took fire, extolled their laudable concern for re- 
 ligion, and promised that the heretic should be at a 
 stake in a fortnight. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin's friends in London trembled for his 
 safety, and instantly despatched a message, that he 
 had not a moment to lose. 
 
 The messenger did not surprise him. He had 
 
125 
 
 long been preparing himself to suffer for the trutii, 
 and he now determined not to dechne it. It was 
 in some sort, he thought, denying his faith, to be 
 backward in giving the best testimony to it. If it 
 was proper he should be delivered, he persuaded 
 himself that God v/ould take his own method to 
 deliver him. He was indeed in a great measure 
 weaned from the world ; daily more convinced of its 
 vanity, and more confirmed in his resolutions of 
 considering it merely as a state preparatory to eter- 
 nity : and as it was the principal business of his life 
 to promote religion, if he could better effect this by 
 his death, it was his wish to die. 
 
 He received the account, therefore, with great 
 composure ; and immediately after called up William 
 Airay, a favourite domestic, who had long served 
 him as his almoner and stewiird : and laying his 
 hand upon his shoulder, " At length," says he, 
 " they have prevailed against me — I am accused to 
 the bishop of London, from whom there will be no 
 escaping — God forgive their malice, and grant me 
 streno-th to undero-o the trial." He then ordered 
 his servant to provide a long garment for him, in 
 vv hich he might go decently to the stake ; and de- 
 sired it might be got ready with all expedition : 
 " For I know not," says he, " how soon I may have 
 occasion for it." 
 
 As soon as this garment was provided, it is said, 
 he used to put it on every day till the bishop's mes- 
 sengers apprehended him. 
 
 His friends, in the meantime, failed not to inter- 
 pose ; earnestly beseeching him, while he had yet an 
 opportunity, to provide for his safety. But he 
 
126 
 
 begged them not to press him longer upon that sub- 
 ject : should he even attempt it, he said, he believed 
 it would hardly be in his power to escape ; for he 
 questioned not but all his motions were very narrowly 
 observed. — Besides, he would ask how they could 
 imagine he would prefer the miserable life of an exile 
 before the joyful death of a martyr ? " Be assured," 
 says he, " I should never have thrown myself volun- 
 tarily into the hands of my enemies ; but I am fully 
 determined to persevere in doing my duty, and shall 
 take no measures to avoid them." 
 
 In a few days the messengers apprehended him, 
 and put an end to these solicitations. 
 
 In his way to London, it is said, he broke his leg, 
 which put a stop for some time to his journey. The 
 persons in whose custody he was, took occasion 
 thence maliciously to retort upon him an observation 
 he would frequently make, " That nothing happens 
 to us but what is intended for our good asking 
 him, Whether he thought his broken leg was so 
 intended ?" He answered meekly, " He made no 
 question but it was." And indeed so it proved in 
 the strictest sense : for before he was able to travel, 
 queen Mary died, and he was set at liberty. 
 
 Whatever truth there may be in this relation, 
 thus much however is certain : the account of the 
 queen's death met him upon the road, and put a 
 stop to any farther prosecution. 
 
1^7 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mr, Gilpin offered the bishopric of Carlisle and 
 the provostship of Queen^s College^ Oxford^ both 
 of which he declines — endo'iCS a school, 
 
 Mr. Gilpin, thus providentially rescued from 
 his enemies, returned to Houghton through crowds 
 of people, expressing the utmost joy, and blessing 
 God for his deliverance. 
 
 Elizabeth's accession freed him now from all re- 
 
 I straints, and allowed him the liberty he had long 
 wished for, of speaking his mind plainly to his pa- 
 rishioners ; though nobody but himself thought the 
 reserve he had hitherto used at all faulty. 
 
 It was now his friend the bishop of Durham's 
 turn to suffer. He and some other bishops, refusing 
 the oath of supremacy, were deprived and committed 
 to the tower. But this severity soon relaxed : to 
 
 I the bishop of Durham especially the government 
 
 I showed as much lenity as was thought consistent 
 with the reformation then carrying on. He was re- 
 commended to the care of the archbishop of Canter- 
 
 I bury, with whom he spent, in great tranquillity, the 
 short remainder of a very long life. 
 
 This prelate had seen as great a variety of fortune 
 as most men : he had lived in difficult and in easy 
 times ; he had known both Protestants and Papists 
 in power ; and yet from all parties, and in all revo- 
 lutions of government, he had found favour. The 
 truth is, he was well versed in the arts of temporiz- 
 
128 
 
 ing ; and possessed a large share of that complying 
 philosophy, which, taking ofFence at nothing, can 
 adapt itself to all things. When Henry the Eighth 
 began to innovate, the bishop of Durham had no 
 scruples. When his son went farther, still the 
 bishop was quiet, and owed indeed his confinement 
 at the close of that reign to his desire of continuing 
 so. Again, when queen Mary reversed what they 
 had done, with this too the bishop was satisfied, and 
 forgot all his former professions. Thus much, how- 
 ever, may justly be said of him, that upon all occa- 
 sions, and where no secular ends were in view, he 
 showed himself a man of great moderation : and 
 whether in his heart he was more Papist or Protes- 
 tant, to arbitrary proceedings, in either persuasion, 
 he was wholly averse. Thus he thought things were 
 carried too far on one side in king Edward's time, 
 and too far on the other in queen Mary's : with both 
 reigns he was therefore dissatisfied, though he was 
 too great a lover of his ease to oppose them. But 
 as his days shortened, his ambition decreased, his 
 conscience grew more tender, and what he had done 
 for king Henry and king Edward, he refused to do 
 again for queen Elizabeth. Though the bishop of 
 Salisbury is of opinion he was not withheld by any 
 scruples, but such as a sense of decency raised, from 
 complying with that princess : he was very old, and 
 thought it looked better to undergo the same fate 
 with his brethren, than to be still changing.* And 
 this is the rather probable, because many historians 
 say, the late reign had given him a great disgust to 
 
 * See Burnet's History of the Reformation. 
 
129 
 
 Popery ; and that he would often own to archbishop 
 Parker, he began to think every day more favourably 
 of the reformers. In private Hfe his manners were 
 very commendable. He had an absolute command 
 over himself; a temper which no accident could dis- 
 compose ; great humanity, and great good nature. 
 In learning, few of his contemporaries were equal to 
 him ; none more ready to patronize it. Of the offices 
 of friendship he was a strict observer ; and was not 
 •only a favourer, but a zealous encourager of good 
 men. In a word, where he was not immediately 
 under the influence of court-maxims, he gave the 
 example of a true Christian bishop. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin, though deprived of the assistance of 
 this great prelate, soon experienced, however, that 
 worth like his could never be left friendless. Ris 
 merit raised him friends wherever he was known; 
 and though his piety was such, that he never pro- 
 posed reputation as the end of his actions, yet per- 
 haps few of his profession stood at this time higher 
 in the p"ublic esteem. " He was respected," says 
 the bishop of Chichester, " not only by the more 
 eminent churchmen, but by those of the first rank 
 in the nation." 
 
 When the popish bishops were deprived, and 
 many sees by that means vacant, Mr. Gilpin's friends 
 at court, particularly the earl of Bedford, thought 
 it a good opportunity to use their interest in his 
 favour. He was recommended accordingly to the 
 queen, as a proper person for one of the void bishop- 
 rics: upon which, as he was a north-country man, she 
 nominated him to that of Carlisle : and the earl took 
 immediate care that a conge d'elire, with her majesty's 
 F 3 
 
130 
 
 recommendation of him, should be sent down to the 
 dean and chapter of that see. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin, who knew nothing of what was go- 
 ing forward in his favour, was greatly surprised at 
 this unexpected honour; yet could not by any means 
 persuade himself to accept it. He sent a messen- 
 ger, therefore, with a letter to the earl, expressing his 
 great obligations to her majesty and his lordship for 
 their favourable sentiments of him — but begged they 
 would excuse his accepting their intended kindness 
 — they had really thought of placing him in a sta- 
 tion which he did not merit — he must, therefore, re- 
 move from himself a burden to which he, who was 
 best acquainted with his own weakness, knew himself 
 unequal — in the meantime he would not fail to do 
 his utmost for the service of religion in an inferior 
 employment. 
 
 The earl, upon the receipt of this letter, went im- 
 mediately to Dr. Sandys, bishop of Worcester, who 
 was then in London. As this prelate was intimately 
 acquainted with Mr. Gilpin, and, as the bishop of 
 Chichester says, nearly related to him, the earl sup- 
 posed he could not be without his influence over 
 him ; and therefore earnestly desired he would en- 
 deavour to persuade his friend to think less meanly of 
 himself. The bishop readily undertook the office, 
 and wrote the following letter to Mr. Gilpin.* 
 
 My much respected kinsman, regarding, not so 
 much your private interest, as the interest of reli- 
 
 * The original is lost, but the bishop of Chichester has pre- 
 served a Latin translation of it, from which this is taken. 
 
131 
 
 gion, I did what I could, that the bishopric of Car- 
 lisle might be secured to you : and the just character 
 I gave of you to the queen, has, I doubt not, had 
 some weight with her majesty in her promoting you 
 to that see ; which, not to mention the honour of it, 
 will enable you to be of the utmost service to the 
 church of Christ. — I am not icrnorant how much 
 rather you choose a private station ; but if you con- 
 sider the condition of fhe church at this time, you 
 cannot, I think, with a good conscience, refuse this 
 burden ; especially as it is in a part of the kingdom, 
 where no man is thought fitter than yourself to be of 
 service to religion. Wherefore, I charge you before 
 God, and as you will answer to him, that laying all 
 excuses aside, you refuse not to assist your country, 
 and do what service you can to the church of God. 
 — In the meantime, I can inform you, that, by the 
 queen's favour, you will have the bishopric just in 
 the condition in which Dr. Oglethorpe left it ; no- 
 thing shall be taken from it, as hath been from some 
 others. — Wherefore, exhorting and beseeching you 
 to be obedient to God's call herein, and not to ne- 
 glect the duty of your function, I commend both 
 you and this whole business to the divine Provi- 
 dence, 
 
 Your kinsman and brother, 
 
 " Edwin Worcester-" 
 
 " London, April 4, 1560.*' 
 
 This letter, notwithstanding the pressing manner 
 in which it is written, was without eflPect. Mr. 
 Gilpin returned his thanks ; but as for the bishopric, 
 he was determined, and he thought for very good 
 
132 
 
 reasons, not to accept it. Nor could all the persua- 
 sions of his friends alter this resolution. Had he, 
 they asked him, any scruple of conscience ahout it ? 
 In one sense he had. " The case," says he, " is 
 truly this : if any other bishopric, besides Carlisle, 
 had been offered to me, I might possibly have ac- 
 cepted it ; but in that diocese I have so many friends 
 and acquaintance, of whom I have not the best opi- 
 nion, that I must either connive at many irregulari- 
 ties, or draw upon myself so much hatred, that I 
 should be less able to do good there than any one 
 else." 
 
 Mr. Gilpin thus persisting in his refusal, the 
 bishopric was at length given to Dr. Best, a man by 
 no means undeserving of it. 
 
 This prelate soon found he had entered upon a 
 very disagreeable and vexatious office. His cathe- 
 dral was filled with an illiterate set of men, who had 
 been formerly monks. For," as Camden tells us, 
 " the greater part of the popish priests thought it 
 would turn to better account to renounce the pope's 
 authority, and swear allegiance to the queen, were it 
 for no other end than the exclusion of Protestants out 
 of their churches, and the relief of such of their own 
 party who had been displaced. This they judged 
 a piece of discretion highly meritorious, and hoped 
 the pope would be so good as dispense with their 
 oath on such an occasion." The diocese of Carlisle 
 was much in this situation ; and indeed the people 
 there were as strongly inclined to the superstitions of 
 popery as the priests. This disposition of the coun- 
 try, whetted by the prelate's rigid opposition, who 
 was not a man the most happily qualified to manage 
 
133 
 
 unruly tempers, began to show itself in very violent 
 effects. The whole diocese was soon in a flame ; 
 and the bishop, after two years' residence, was obliged 
 to repair to London, and make a formal complaint to 
 his superiors. 
 
 This vexation which the popish party was likely 
 to give to any one placed in the see of Carlisle, is 
 imagined, by the author of archbishop GrindaPs life, 
 to be a principal reason why Mr. Gilpin refused it. 
 But this would have been as good a reason for his 
 refusing the rectory of Houghton, or any other em- 
 ployment in the church : for Popery prevailed uni- 
 versally over the country ; and he could be placed no 
 where in the north without experiencing a toilsome 
 opposition to the bigotry and prejudices of it. But 
 his own ease and convenience were never motives of 
 the least weight with him, when any service to man- 
 kind could be balanced against them. 
 
 The accounts given us by bishop Nicholson and 
 Dr. Heylin of Mr. Gilpin's behaviour upon this oc- 
 casion, are still more disingenuous : they both ascribe 
 it chiefly to lucrative motives. The former intimates,* 
 that the good man knew what he was about when he 
 refused to part with the rectory of Houghton for the 
 bishopric of Carlisle : the latterf supposes, that all 
 his scruples would have vanished, could he have had 
 the old temporalities undiminished. Both these 
 writers seem to have been very little acquainted with 
 Mr. Gilpin's character, in which disinterestedness 
 formed so principal a part : it will hereafter appear, 
 that he considered his income in no other light than 
 
 * In his Historical Library. f In liis Church History. 
 
134 
 
 that of a fund to be managed for the common good. 
 The bishop's insinuation, therefore, is contradicted 
 by every action of Mr. Gilpin's Hfe : and as for Dr. 
 HeyUu's, it is most notoriously false; for the bishop- 
 ric was offered to him with the old temporalities un- 
 diminished.* 
 
 There were not wanting some who attributed his 
 refusal of the bishopric to unfavourable sentiments of 
 episcopacy. But neither for this was there any good 
 foundation. He was indeed far from being a bigot 
 to that or any other form of church government, 
 esteeming a good life, which might be led under any 
 of them, the best evidence of a Christian. Yet he 
 seems to have thought most favourably of the epis- 
 copal form ; as will appear afterwards, when notice is 
 taken of the endeavours of the dissenters to draw him 
 to their party. 
 
 The year after his refusal of the bishopric of 
 Carlisle, an offer of another kind was made him. 
 
 The provostship of Queen's College in Oxford 
 becoming vacant soon after Elizabeth's accession: 
 and the fellows, who were strongly attached to Popery, 
 being about to choose a person inclined the same 
 way, the queen, with their visitor the archbishop of 
 York, interposed, and insisted upon their electing 
 Dr. Francis. The fellows were much out of hu- 
 mour at this proceeding ; and the affair made some 
 noise in the university, where the popish party was 
 very strong. At length, however, the queen's re- 
 commendation took effect. But though the fellows 
 had thus chosen the person recommended to them, 
 
 * See the bishop of Worcester's letter. 
 
135 
 
 yet their behaviour was so undutiful towards him, 
 that he was soon weary of his office, and in less 
 than a year began to think of resigning it. Mr. Gil- 
 pin was the person on whom he turned his thoughts 
 for a successor; apprehending that such a change 
 would not be unpleasant to the fellows, and very 
 agreeable to the queen. He made him an offer 
 therefore of resigning in his favour: but not suc- 
 ceeding the first time, he wrote again, begging at 
 least that he would recommend some proper person 
 to him, and assuring him with what readiness he 
 would acquiesce in his choice. His second letter is 
 still preserved. 
 
 " After my hearty commendations : meaning to 
 leave the place which I occupy in the Queen's Col- 
 i lege at Oxford, and being desirous to prefer some 
 I honest, learned, godly, and eligible person to that 
 i office, I thought good yet once again to offer the 
 j provostship thereof unto you : which, if it please you 
 to accept, I shall be glad upon the sight of your let- 
 j ters, written to that end, to move the fellows, whom 
 I know do mean you marvellously well. But, and 
 if you propose not to encumber yourself with so small 
 a portion in unquietness (so may I justly call it) I 
 shall wait your advice upon whom I may confer the 
 same, whom you think meet and eligible thereunto : 
 and I shall be ready to follow your advice upon the 
 receiving of your letters, wherewith I pray you 
 speedily to certify me. 
 
 By yours to command, 
 
 " Thomas Francis." 
 
 Oxford, Bee. 17, 1561." 
 
136 
 
 How Mr. Gilpin answered this letter does not ap- 
 pear ; nor whether he recommended a successor to 
 the dissatisfied provost : this only is certain, that he 
 refused the ofFer himself. 
 
 Thus, having had in his option almost every kind 
 of preferment which an ecclesiastic is capable of hold- 
 ing, he sat down with one living, which gratified the 
 utmost of his desires — for he found it afforded him 
 as many opportunities of doing good, as he was able 
 to make use of. 
 
 Soon after Elizabeth's accession, a general visita- 
 tion was held. An assembly of divines, among 
 whom were Parker, Grindal, and Sandys, having 
 finished a body of injunctions and articles, commis- 
 sions were issued out, empowering proper persons to 
 enforce them : the oath of supremacy was to be ten- 
 dered to the clergy, and a subscription imposed. 
 When the visitors came to Durham, Mr. Gilpin was 
 sent to, and requested to preach before the clergy 
 there, against the pope's supremacy. To this he 
 had no objection ; but he did not like the thoughts 
 of subscribing, having some doubts with regard to 
 one or more of the articles. His curate not having 
 these scruples, he hoped that his subscription might 
 satisfy the visitors. But he was mistaken ; for the 
 next day, when the clergy were assembled to sub- 
 scribe, as an instance of respect, Mr. Gilpin was first 
 called upon. The emergency allowed him no time 
 for reflection. He just considered with himself, that 
 upon the whole these alterations in religion were cer- 
 tainly right — that he doubted only in a few immate- 
 rial points — and that if he should refuse, it might 
 be a means to keep others back. He then took up 
 
137 
 
 the pen, and, with some hesitation, at length sub- 
 scribed. After retirincr, he sent a letter to the visi- 
 tors, acquainting them in what sense he subscribed 
 the articles, which they accepted very favourably. 
 
 The great ignorance which at this time prevailed 
 over the nation, afforded a melancholy prospect to all 
 who had the interest of religion at heart. To it 
 was owing that gross superstition which kept refor- 
 mation every where so long at a stand : a superstition 
 which was like to continue ; for all the channels 
 through which knowledge could flow were choked 
 up. There were few schools in the nation ; and 
 these as ill supplied as they were endowed. The 
 universities were in the hands of bigots, collect- 
 ing their strength to defend absurdities, neglecting 
 all good learning. At Cambridge indeed, some ad- 
 vances in useful literature were made : Sir John 
 Cheke, Roger Ascham,* and a few others, having 
 boldly struck out a new path through that wilderness 
 of false science which involved them : but they were 
 yet lazily followed. 
 
 The very bad consequences which could not but 
 be feared from this extreme ignorance, turned the 
 endeavours of all w-ell-wishers to the progress of true 
 religion upon the most probable methods to remove 
 
 * Sir John Cheke was fellow of St. John's, and afterwards 
 tutor to Edward the Sixth. In queen Mary's time he fled into 
 Germany ; but by a trick was brought home, and recanted to 
 save his life. " A great example," says Lloyd in his State "Wor- 
 thies, " of parts and ingenuity, of frailty and infirmity, of repent- 
 ance and piety." Roger Ascham was fellow of the same college ; 
 and professor of oratory in the university ; afterwards tutor and 
 secretary to queen Elizabeth. He was a man of great learning, 
 honesty, and indiscretion. 
 
138 
 
 it. The queen herself was greatly interested in this 
 cause, and earnestly recommended it to the care of 
 her council. Her court was the seat of learning, as 
 well as the school of politeness : here the scholar was 
 had in equal esteem with the statesman and soldier ; 
 and here all parts of literature found their respective 
 patrons, who began to vie with each other in their 
 endeavours to root out false science, as they had 
 already done false religion. 
 
 No good work ever went forward which Mr. Gil- 
 pin did not promote, as far as he was able. In this 
 he joined to the utmost of his abilities — as was com- 
 monly indeed thought beyond them. His manner 
 of ii\ing was the most affluent and generous : his 
 hospitality made daily a large demand upon him ; and 
 his bounty and charities a much larger. His ac- 
 quaintances, therefore, could not but wonder to find 
 him, amidst such great expenses, entertaining the de- 
 sign of building and endowing a grammar-school : a 
 design, however, which his very exact economy soon 
 enabled him to accomplish. 
 
 The effects of his endowment were very quickly 
 seen. His school was no sooner opened than it be- 
 gan to flourish, and to afford the agreeable prospect 
 of a succeeding generation rising above the ignorance 
 and errors of their forefathers. 
 
 That such might be its effects, no care on his 
 part was wanting. He not only placed able masters 
 in his school, whom he procured from Oxford, but he 
 likewise constantly inspected it himself. And that 
 encouragement might quicken the application of his 
 boys, he always took particular notice of the most 
 forward : he would call them his own scholars, and 
 
139 
 
 would send for them often into his study, and there 
 instruct them himself. 
 
 One method used by him to fill his school was a 
 little singular. Whenever he met a poor boy upon 
 the road, he would make trial of his capacity by a 
 few questions, and if he found it such as pleased him, 
 he would provide for his education. 
 
 Nor did his care end here. From his school he 
 sent several to the universities, where he maintained 
 them wholly at his own expense. To others, who 
 were in circumstances to do something for them- 
 selves, he would give the farther assistance they 
 needed ; by which means he induced many parents 
 to allow their children a liberal education, who other- 
 wise would not have done it. For all ambition of 
 that kind was extinguished. While the church was 
 in possession of its immense wealth, the universities 
 were always full : but when this was taken away, it 
 soon appeared that the muses, unportioned, had in 
 those days very few charms : their habitations were 
 no longer crowded with a train of admirers. In king 
 Edward's reign bishop Latimer calculated, that even 
 in that short space of time since the alienation of the 
 church lands, the two universities were diminished 
 by above ten thousand persons ; a number almost in- 
 credible. 
 
 Nor did Mr. Gilpin think it enough to alFord the 
 means only of an academical education to these young 
 people, but endeavoured with the utmost care to 
 make it as beneficial to them as he could. He still 
 considered himself as their proper guardian, and 
 seemed to think himself bound to the public for 
 their being made useful members of it, as far as ever 
 
140 
 
 it lay ill his power to make them so. With this 
 
 * An extract from one of these letters is worth preserving* 
 It contains a curious account of that remarkable sickness in Ox- 
 ford, which succeeded the black assize, as it was afterwards called. 
 The original is in Latin. 
 
 " The terrible distemper among us, of which you have un- 
 doubtedly l)eard, hath made it indeed a dreadful time to us. 
 Durnig the first six days there died ninety-five; seventy of Avhom 
 were scholars. This is not conjecture, but appears from the 
 mayor's list. The infection does not confine itself to the town, 
 but begins to spread in the country; where, if our accounts are 
 true, it bath carried olf numbers ot peoj)le : amongst them poor 
 Mr. Roberts. Those who are seized with it, are in the utmost 
 torment : their bow'els are burnt up : they call earnestly for 
 drink: they cannot bear the toucli of clothes: they entreat the 
 standers-by to throw cold water upon them: sometimes they are 
 quite mad ; rise upon their keepers ; run naked out of their 
 houses ; and often endeavour to put an end to their lives. — The 
 physicians are confounded, declaring they liave met with nothing 
 similar, either in their reading or practice. Yet many of them 
 give this distemper a name, though they have done nothing to 
 show they are at all acquainted with its nature. Ti)e greater part 
 of them, I am told, have now left the town, either out of fear for 
 themselves, or conscious that they can do no good. This dread- 
 ful distemper is now generally attributed to some jail infection, 
 brought into court at the assizes: for it is remarkable, that the 
 first infected were those only who bad been there — Few women 
 or old men liave died. — God be thanked, the rage of this pesti- 
 lence is now much abated. It is still among us in some degree, 
 but its etfects appear every day weaker." 
 
141 
 
 Nor was this uncommon care unrewarded. Few 
 of his scholars miscarried. " Many of them," says 
 the bishop of Chichester, " became great ornaments 
 to the church ; and very exemplary instances of 
 piety." 
 
 Among those of any note who were educated by 
 him, I find these three particularly mentioned— 
 Henry Ayray, George Carleton, and Hugh Brough- 
 ton. 
 
 Henry Ayray became afterwards provost of Queen's 
 College in Oxford, v/here he was in great esteem for 
 his abilities and exemplary life. 
 
 George Carleton was a man of worth and learn- 
 ing, and very deservedly promoted to the see of 
 Chichester. It might have been added, that he 
 was much caressed and employed by James I. but 
 
 the favours of that undistinc^uishino- monarch re- 
 is o 
 
 fleeted no great honour upon the objects of them. 
 
 Hugh Broughton was indeed famous in his time, 
 and as a man of letters esteemed by many, but in 
 every other light despicable. He was a remarkable 
 instance of the dano^er of learninG without common 
 sense. During the younger part of his life he con- 
 fined himself to a college library, where his trifling 
 genius engaged him chiefly in rabbinical learning, in 
 which indeed he made a notable progress. Thus 
 accomplished, he came abroad, with an opinion of 
 himself equalled only by his sovereign contempt for 
 others. As he wanted that modest diffidence which 
 is the natural guard of a person unacquainted with 
 the world, he soon involved himself in difficulties. 
 London was the scene where he first exposed himself. 
 Here, for some time, he paid a servile court to the 
 
142 
 
 vulgar, in the capacity of a popular preacher : but 
 afterwards giving a freer scope to his vanity, he set 
 up a conventicle ; where assuming the air of an ori- 
 ginal, he treated the opinions of the times, and all 
 who maintained them, with an insufferable insolence 
 and scurriHty. Disappointed of his expected prefer- 
 ment, and thoroughly mortified that his merit had 
 been so long disregarded, he withdrew into Germany. 
 Thither he carried his old temper, attacking Jews in 
 synagogues, and Papists in mass-houses. But he 
 was soon glad to return into England, where having 
 lived out all his credit, and become the jest even of 
 the stage,* he died — a standing monument of the 
 folly of applying learning to the purposes of vanity, 
 rather than the moral ends of life.f 
 
 * See the Alchymist of Ben Jonson ; act 2. sc. 3. and act 4. 
 sc. 5.— The Fox; act 2. sc. 2. 
 
 f The following Elegy upon Mr. Broughton's death, written 
 in the year 1612, I met with accidentally. The reader will not 
 be displeased with it, as it is a very beautiful composition, and 
 serves likewise to illustrate Mr. Broughton's character; for 
 though meant as an encomium, it is rather a satire upon him for 
 employing himself in matters of mere curiosity, in the most tri- 
 fling studies which belonged to his profession. 
 
 A comely dame in sorrow's garments drest, 
 Where crystal-sliding Thames doth gently creep, 
 With her soft palm did beat her ivory breast, 
 And rent her yellow locks; her rosy cheek 
 She in a flood of briny tears did steep : 
 Rachel she seemed, old Israel's beauteous wife, 
 Mourning her sons, whose silver cord of life 
 Was cut by murd'rous Herod's fell and bloody knife. 
 
 Between her lily hands the virgin held 
 Two testaments ; the one defaced with rust, 
 Vanquish'd with time, and overgrown with eld. 
 All stained with careless spots, all soiled with dust; 
 It seemed the same the which Jehovah erst 
 
143 
 
 But to return. While Mr. Gilpin was engaged 
 in settling his school, he was for some time inter- 
 
 With his celestial finger did engrave, 
 And on the top of smoking Sinai gave 
 To him, whom Pharaoh's daughter found in watery cave. 
 
 The other seemed fresh, and fairly clad 
 In velvet cover, filleted with gold; 
 White bullions and crimson ties it had : 
 Its pumiced leaves were seemly to behold : 
 That spotless Lamb, which trait'rous Judas sold, 
 With sacred stain, fresh issuing from his side, 
 Them gilt, when in Jerusalem he died. 
 For to redeem his dearest love, his beauteous bride. 
 
 Theology, for so men called the maid, 
 Upon these volumes cast her melting eyes : 
 " And who shall now," quoth she, "since Broughton's dead. 
 Find out the treasure which within you lies, 
 Shadowed in high and heavenly mysteries ? iHIP 
 Ah ! who shall now," quoth she, " to others tell 
 How earth's great ancestor, old Adam fell. 
 Banished from flowery Eden, where he once did dwell ? 
 
 *' What meant that monstrous man, whom Babel's king 
 Did in a troubled slumber once behold, 
 Like huge Goliath, slain by David's sling. 
 Whose di-eadful head, and curled locks were gold, 
 With breasts and mighty arms of silver mould ; 
 Whose swelling belly and large sides were brass, 
 Whose legs were iron, feet of mingled mass, 
 Of which one part was clay, the other iron was ? 
 
 " What meant the lion, plumed in eagle's wings : 
 What meant the bear, that in his horrid jaw 
 Three ribs of some devoured carcass brings -. 
 What meant the leopard, which Belsliazzar saw. 
 With dreadful mouth and wirh a murdering paw : 
 And what that all-devouring horned beast. 
 With iron teeth, and with his horrid crest? 
 All this and much besides, by Broughton was exprest. 
 
 " 'Twas he that branched Messiah's sacred stem 
 In curious knots, and traced his earthly race 
 From princely Adam to the noble Shem, 
 So down to him that held Coniah's place, 
 And from his son to Mary full of grace, 
 
144 
 
 rupted by a rebellion which broke out in the north. 
 The popish party, Wiiich had given so much distur- 
 
 A heavenly maid, a blessed virgin wife, 
 Who, highly favoured, gave the precious life, 
 The ransom of a world from sin and Satan's strife. 
 
 " 'Twas he that graved the names of Jacob's sons 
 In that mysterious plate on Aaron's breast: 
 Reuben in sardius, which as water runs ; 
 In topaz Simeon, baser than the rest; 
 In emerald Levi, for his doctrine best; 
 Judah in carbuncle, like heaven's bright eye; 
 And Issachar in sapphire's azure die ; 
 In ruby Zabulon, which near the sea doth lie ; 
 
 " Dan in the flowery hyacinth is cut; 
 In agate Naphtaii ; and warlike Gad 
 In bloody amethyst; Ashur is put 
 In chrysolite ; the beryl Joseph had ; 
 Yoimg Benjamin, old Jacob's sweetest lad, 
 The onyx: each within his several stone 
 Our great Bezaleel carved, who now is gone 
 To praise the Lamb, and Him who sits upon the throne. 
 
 Ye sacred Muses, that on Siloah sing, 
 And in celestial dew do dip your quill. 
 The which your Phoebus, mighty Elohim, 
 In silver-streaming channels doth distil 
 From top of Hermon, and of Sion hill : 
 As you your great Creator's praise rehearse, 
 Ah I lend one broken sigh, one broken verse, 
 One doleful-tuned hymn to deck his sable hearse. 
 
 " And you, poor Jews, the issue of old Shem, 
 Who did in honey-flowing Canaan dwell. 
 And swayed the sceptre of Jerusalem, 
 Until some snaky fury, sent from hell, 
 Did you enrage with spite and malice fell 
 To put your Lord to death — ah ! now repent 
 For murdering that Lord — ah! now lament 
 His death, who would have brought you into Japhet's tent. 
 
 " Ye learned clerks, that covet Adam's tongue. 
 Long titne preserved in Heber's holy line, 
 After the emprise of that heaven-scaling throng, 
 Which sought above the dew-steep'd clouds to climb, 
 (Such hateful pride was found in earthly slime,) 
 
145 
 
 bance to Elizabeth's reign, made at this time a fresh 
 efFort. Two factious spirits, the earls of Westmore- 
 land and Northumberland, inflamed by the seditious 
 whispers of a Romish emissary, were drawn from their 
 allegiance. The watchful ministry soon suspected 
 them ; and the queen, with her usual foresight, ap- 
 pointing a short day for their appearance at court, 
 obliged them, yet unprepared, to take arms. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin had observed the fire gathering before 
 the flame burst out ; and knowing what zealots would 
 soon approach him, he thought it prudent to withdraw. 
 Having given proper advice, therefore, to his masters 
 
 Do you lament this wondrous learned man, 
 Who, tuneful as the silver-pinioned swan, 
 Canaan's rich language in perfection sang. 
 
 " He knew the Greek, plenteous in words and sense, 
 The Chaldee wise, the Arabic profound, 
 The Latin pleasing with its eloquence, 
 The braving Spanish with its Jofty sound, 
 The Tuscan grave with many a laurel crown'd, 
 The lisping French that fits a lady vain. 
 The German, like the people, rough and plain, 
 The English full and rich, his native country's strain. 
 
 " Ah ! Scottish Ishmaels, do not offer wrong 
 Unto his quiet urn ; do not defame 
 The silver sound of that harmonious tongue : 
 Peace, dirty mouths, be quieted by shame, 
 Nor vent your gall upon a dead man's name. 
 O wake, ye west-winds; come, ye south, and blow; 
 With your myrrh-breathing mouths sweet odours throw 
 Into the scented air round Broughton's tomb below." 
 
 This said, the virgin vanished away, 
 Meanwhile heaven put its darkest mantle on : 
 The moon obscured withheld her silver ray ; 
 No twinkling star with cheerful lustre shone, 
 But sable night lowered from her ebon throne. 
 — Yet sorrow cease ; though he's no longer ours, 
 Still, still he lives in yon celestial bowers. 
 And reigns triumphant with a choir of heavenly powers. 
 
 G 8 
 
146 
 
 and scholars, he took the opportunity to make a jour- 
 ney to Oxford. 
 
 The rebels in the meantime publish their mani- 
 festo, and appear in arms ; displaying in their ban- 
 ners a chalice, and the five wounds of Christ, and 
 enthusiastically brandishing a cross before them. In 
 this order they march to Bernard castle, which sur- 
 renders to them. They next surprise Durham ; 
 where they burn all the Bibles they can find, and have 
 mass said publicly in the cathedral. The country 
 around felt their rage. Many of them ravaged as 
 far as Houghton. Here they found much booty : 
 the harvest was just over; the barns were full; the 
 grounds well stocked with fatted cattle. Every thing 
 became their prey ; and what was designed to spread 
 a winter's gladness through a country, was in a mo- 
 ment wasted by these ravagers. 
 
 But themselves soon felt the consternation they 
 occasioned. The approach of the earl of Sussex with 
 a numerous army was now confirmed. Every rumour 
 brought him nearer. Their fears proportionally in- 
 crease ; they mutiny, throw down their arms, and dis- 
 perse. The country being generally loyal, many were 
 taken, and imprisoned at Durham and Newcastle, 
 where Sir George Bowes was commissioned to try 
 them. 
 
 Here Mr. Gilpin had an opportunity of showing 
 his humanity. Sir George had received personal 
 ill-treatment from them ; and the clamours of a plun- 
 dered country demanded the utmost legal severity ; 
 and indeed the utmost legal severity was exercised, to 
 the great indignation of all who were not wholly bent 
 on revenge. This induced Mr. Gilpin to interpose. 
 
147 
 
 He represented to the marshal the true state of the 
 country — " That, in general, the people were well 
 affected ; but being extremely ignorant, many of them 
 had been seduced by idle stories, which the rebels had 
 propagated, making them believe they took up arms 
 for the queen's service." Persuaded by what he said, 
 or paying a deference to his character, the marshal 
 grew more mild ; and showed instances of mercy not 
 expected from him. 
 
 About this time Mr. Gilpin lost one of the most 
 intimate friends he ever had. Dr. Pilkington, bishop 
 of Durham ; a man much admired for his learning, 
 but more esteemed for the integrity of his life. He 
 was educated at Cambridge, where he was many years 
 master of St. John's College. Here he was first 
 taken notice of for a freedom of speech which drew 
 upon him queen Mary's resentment. But he had 
 the good fortune to escape the inquisition of those 
 times. In the succeeding reign he recommended 
 himself by an exposition of the book of Haggai, or 
 rather by an ingenious application of it to the refor- 
 mation in religion then designing. He was after- 
 wards introduced to the queen ; and being found a 
 man of true moderation, the reforming temper then 
 looked for, and of abilities not unequal to the charge, 
 he was promoted to the see of Durham. Having 
 taken upon him this trust, he made it the endeavour 
 of his life to fulfil it. He withdrew himself imme- 
 diately from all state avocations and court dependen- 
 cies, in which indeed he had never been much in- 
 volved, and applied himself wholly to the duties of his 
 function ; promoting religion rather by his own ex- 
 ample, than by the use of proper discipline, in which 
 G 2 
 
148 
 
 he was thought too remiss. At Durham he became 
 acquainted with Mr. Gilpin. Their minds, intent 
 on the same pursuits, easily blended. It was a pure 
 friendship, in which interest had no share ; for the 
 one had nothing to ask, the other had nothing to re- 
 ceive. When business did not require their being 
 sepai'ate, they were generally together; as often at 
 Mr. Gilpin's as at the bishop's. At these meetings 
 they consulted about many pious designs. Induced 
 by Mr. Gilpin's example, the bishop founded a school 
 at the place of his nativity in Lancashire ; the statutes 
 of which he brought to his friend to revise and correct. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 He refuses the applications made to him by the Dis- 
 senters^ and also by the Papists^ to become of their 
 Party, 
 
 Mr. Gilpin's blameless life, his reputation in the 
 world, his piety, his learning, and that uncommon 
 regard for truth, which he had always discovered, 
 made it the desire of persons of all religious persua- 
 sions to get him of their party, and have their cause 
 credited by his authority. 
 
 The dissenters made early proposals to him. The 
 reformation had scarce obtained a legal settlement 
 under Elizabeth, when that party appeared. Its 
 origin was this. 
 
 The English Protestants, whom the Marian per- 
 secution had driven from home, flying in great bodies 
 
149 
 
 into Germany and Switzerland, settled at Frankfort, 
 Strasburgh, Arrow, Zuric, and Geneva. Of all 
 these places, Frankfort afforded them the kindest 
 reception. Here, by the favour of the magistracy, 
 they obtained the joint use of a church with the dis- 
 tressed Protestants of France, to whom Hkewise 
 Frankfort at that time afforded protection. These 
 were chiefly Calvinists. Religious prejudices be- 
 tween both parties were however here laid aside. 
 Their circumstances as fellow-exiles in a foreign land, 
 and fellow-sufferers in a common cause, inspired them 
 with mutual tenderness : in one great animosity all 
 others subsided ; and Protestant and Papist became 
 the only distinction. In a word, the English think- 
 ing their own church now dissolved, having no ma- 
 terial objections, and being the lesser body, for the 
 sake of peace and convenience, receded from their 
 liturgy, and conformed to the French. Some au- 
 thors indeed mention this as an imposed condition. 
 Be it however as it will, the coaHtion was no sooner 
 known, than it gave the highest offence to many of 
 the Enghsh settled in other parts. " It was scan- 
 dalous," they exclaimed, " to show so little regard 
 to an establishment which was formed with so much 
 wisdom, was so well calculated for all the ends of re- 
 ligion, and for which their poor brethren in England 
 were at that time laying down their lives." The 
 truth of the case was, the argument had been before 
 moved; and this was only the rekindling of that 
 flame which John a Lasco had formerly raised.* 
 
 * John a Lasco was a native of Poland ; from whence being 
 driven on the account of his religion, he retired into England ; 
 where, by the favour of Edward the Sixth, he was allowed to 
 
150 
 
 An opposition so very unseasonable, produced, as such 
 oppositions generally do, the worst effects. Besides 
 the scandal it every where gave, it engaged the 
 Frankfort English in a formal defence of their pro- 
 ceedings; and, their passions being excited, they 
 began at length to maintain on principle, what they 
 at first espoused only for convenience. Accordingly, 
 when they came home, they revived the dispute with 
 bitterness enough ; and became then as unreasonable 
 in molesting, as they had before been unreasonably 
 molested. Subtle men will never be wanting, who 
 have their sinister ends to serve by party-quarrels. 
 Thus some ambitious spirits among the dissenters, 
 wanting to make themselves considerable, blew up 
 the flame with great vehemence. " It was as good," 
 they exclaimed, " not to begin a reformation, as not 
 to go through with it — the church of England was 
 not half reformed — its doctrines indeed were toler- 
 able, but its ceremonies and government were popish 
 and unchristian — it was in vain to boast of having 
 thrown oW the Romish yoke abroad, while the nation 
 groaned under a lordly hierarchy at home — and for 
 themselves, as they had been sufferers in the cause 
 of religion, they thought it was but right they should 
 be consulted about the settlement of it." This im- 
 prudent language was a melancholy presage to all 
 who had real Christianity at heart. It was answered, 
 " That things were now legally settled — that what- 
 ever could give just offence to the scrupulous had 
 been, it was thought, removed — that if they could 
 
 open a church for the use of those of his own persuasion. But 
 he made only a had use of this indulgence ; interfering very im- 
 pertinently in the ecclesiastical controversies then on foot. 
 
151 
 
 not conform, a quiet non-conformity would be toler- 
 ated — and that the many inconveniences attending 
 even that change, which was absolutely necessary, 
 made it very disagreeable to think of another, which 
 was not so." Lord Burleigh endeavoured to con- 
 vince them how impossible it was in things of this 
 nature to give universal satisfaction, by showing them 
 that even among themselves they could not agree 
 upon the terms of an accommodation. And Sir 
 Francis Walsingham proposed to them from the 
 queen, that the three things in the established church 
 to which they most objected should be abolished. 
 But they answered loftily, in the language of Moses, 
 ^' That not a hoof should be left behind." This 
 irreconcilable temper gave great offence, not only to 
 the churchmen, but to the more serious of their own 
 persuasion. The government from this time slight- 
 ing them, they appealed to the people ; and by the 
 popular artifice of decrying authority, they soon be- 
 came considerable. Such were the beginnings of 
 those dissensions which our prudent forefathers en- 
 tailed on their posterity ! 
 
 The dissenters having thus formed their party 
 among the people, endeavoured to strengthen it by 
 soliciting every where the most creditable persons 
 in favour of it. Very early applications, as was ob- 
 served, were made to Mr. Gilpin. His refusal of 
 the bishopric of Carlisle had given them favourable 
 sentiments of him, and great hopes that in his heart 
 he had no dislike to their cause. But they soon 
 found their mistake. He was wholly dissatisfied 
 with their proceedings. Religious disputes were, in 
 his opinion, of such dreadful consequence, that he 
 
152 
 
 always thought, when true Christianity, under any 
 form of church-government, was once estabUshed in I 
 a country, that form ought not to be altered, unless 
 blameable in some very material points. " The re- 
 formation," he said, " was just : essentials were there 
 concerned. But at present he saw no ground for 
 dissatisfaction. The church of England, he thought, 
 gave no reasonable offence. Some things there might 
 be in it, which had been perhaps as well avoided:* 
 
 * It is probable he here means particularly the use of vestments, 
 which gave a good deal of offence at that time. — Bishop Burnet, 
 speaking of some letters he saw at Zuric between Bullinger and 
 some of the reformed bishops, has the following paragraph, which 
 it will not be improper to quote at length, as it gives us a good 
 idea of those times. 
 
 *' Most of these letters contain only the general news, but some 
 were more important, and relate to the disputes then on foot con- 
 cerning the habits of the clergy, which gave the first beginnings 
 to our unhappy divisions ; and by the letters, of which I read the 
 originals, it appears that the bishops preserved their ancient habits 
 rather in compliance with the queen's inclinations, than out of any 
 liking they had to them; so far were they from liking them, that 
 they plainly expressed their dislike of them. — Jewel, in a letter 
 bearing date the 8th of February, 1566, wishes that the vestments, 
 together with all the other remains of Popery, might be thrown 
 both out of their churches, and out of the minds of the people ; 
 and laments the queen's fixedness to them, so that she would 
 suffer no change to be made. — And in January the same year, 
 Sandys writes to the same purpose. ' Contenditur de vestibus 
 papisticis utendis vel non utendis, dabit Deus his quoque finem.' 
 ' Disputes are now on foot concerning the popish vestments, 
 whether they should be used or not, but God will put an end to 
 these things.' — Horn, bishop of Winchester, went further : for, in 
 a letter dated July 16, 1563, he writes of the act concerning the 
 habits with great regret ; and expresses some hopes that it might 
 be repealed next session of parliament, if the popish party did not 
 hinder it ; and he seems to stand in doubt whether he should con- 
 form himself to it or not, upon which he desires Bullinger's ad- 
 vice. — And in many letters writ on the subject, it is asserted, that 
 both Cranmer and Ridley intended to procure an act for abolish- 
 ing the habits, and that they only defended their lawfulness, but 
 not their fitness, and therefore they blamed private persons that 
 
 refused to obey the laws Grindal, in a letter dated the 27th of 
 
 August, 1566, writes, that all the bishops who had been beyond 
 
153 
 
 but to disturb the peace of a nation for such trifles, 
 he thought was quite unchristian." And indeed 
 what appeared to him chiefly blameable in the dis- 
 senters, was that heat of temper with which they pro- 
 pagated their opinions, and treated those who differed 
 from them. Neither episcopal nor presbyterian gov- 
 ernment, nor caps, nor surpHces, nor any external 
 things, were matters with him half so interesting as 
 peace and charity among Christians ; and this was his 
 constant topic in all his occasional conversations with 
 that party. 
 
 Such, however, was the opinion they entertained 
 of him, that notwithstanding these casual intimations 
 of his dislike to them, they still persisted in their en- 
 deavours to £^ain him to their side. The chief of 
 them failed not to set before him what they had to say 
 
 the sea, had at their return dealt with the queen to let the matter 
 of the habits fall ; but she was so prepossessed, that though they 
 had all endeavoured to divert her from prosecuting that matter, 
 she continued still inflexible. This had made them resolve to 
 submit to the laws, and to wait for a fit opportunity to reverse 
 them. He laments the ill effects of the opposition that some had 
 made to them, which had extremely irritated the queen's spirit, 
 so that she was now much more heated in those matters than 
 formerly; he also thanks BuUinger for the letter he had writ, 
 justifying the lawful use of the habits, which, he says, had done 
 great service. — Cox, bishop of Ely, in one of his letters, laments 
 the aversion that they found in the parliament to all the proposi- 
 tions that were made for the reformation of abuses. — ^Jewel, in a 
 letter dated the 22d of May, 1559, writes, that the queen refused 
 to be called head of the church : and adds, that that title could 
 not justly be given to any mortal, it being due only to Christ ; and 
 that such titles had been so much abused by Antichrist, that they 
 ought not to be any longer continued. — On all these passages I 
 will make no reflections here : for I set them down only to show 
 what was the sense of our chief churchmen at that time concern- 
 ing those matters, which liave since engaged us in such warm and 
 angry disputes ; and this may be no inconsiderable instruction to 
 one that intends to write the history of that time." — Dr. Bur- 
 net's Travels, Let. L 
 
 g3 
 
154 
 
 of most weight against the established disciphne ; and 
 a person of esteemed abilities among them, came on 
 purpose from Cambridge to discourse with him upon 
 the best form of ecclesiastical (government. But this 
 agent did his cause little credit. With no great 
 learning, he had an insupportable vanity ; and seemed 
 to take it for granted, that himself and Calvin were 
 the two greatest men in the world. His discourse 
 had nothing of argument in it ; an indecent invective 
 against episcopacy was the sum of it. He was so full 
 of himself, that Mr. Gilpin thought it to no purpose 
 to reason with him, and therefore avoided whatever 
 could lead them into a dispute. 
 
 Some time after, Mr. Gilpin heard, that his late 
 visitant had reported him to have affirmed, speaking 
 about the primitive times, that " the virtues of the 
 moderns were not equal even to the infirmities of the 
 fathers." He said, indeed, he remembered some 
 such thing coming from him ; but not in the serious 
 manner in which it was represented. His adversary 
 had been decrying the fathers greatly, declaring there 
 were men in this age much their superiors, plainly 
 intimating whom he principally intended. Such ar- 
 rogance, Mr. Gilpin said, he was desirous to mortify ; 
 and meant it of such moderns as him, when he as- 
 serted that their virtues were not equal to the infir- 
 mities of the fathers. 
 
 The success the dissenters had met with in their 
 private applications, encouraged them to try what 
 farther might be had by a public attack on the na- 
 tional church. Their great champion was Dr. Cart- 
 wright, who wrote with much bitterness against it. 
 His book was immediately dispersed over the nation, 
 
155 
 
 received by the party with loud acclamations, and every 
 where considered by them as unanswerable. 
 
 Very soon after it was published, it was zealously 
 put into Mr. Gilpin's hands. The gentleman who 
 sent it, one Dr. Birch, a warm friend to the prin- 
 ciples advanced in it, desired he would read it over 
 carefully, and communicate to him his remarks. But 
 very impatient for them, he sent a messenger before 
 Mr. Gilpin had read the book half through. He 
 returned it however with the following lines, which 
 show his opinion of church-government in general. 
 
 " Multa quidem legi, sed plura legenda reliqui; 
 
 Posthac, cum dabitur copia, cuncta legara. 
 Optant ut careat maculis ecclesia cunctis; 
 
 Praesens vita negat; vita futuia dabit."* 
 
 Though Mr. Gilpin was thus greatly dissatisfied 
 with the disorderly zeal which the more violent of the 
 dissenters expressed, attended, as he observed it was, 
 with such fatal consequences, he confined however his 
 dislike to their errors ; to their persons he bore not 
 the least ill-will. Nay, one of the most intimate 
 friends he ever had was Mr. Lever, a minister of their 
 persuasion, and a sufferer in their cause. 
 
 This gentleman had been head of a college in 
 Cambridge, and afterwards prebendary of Durham, 
 and master of Sherborn hospital. He was a man 
 of good parts, considerable learning, and very exem- 
 
 ♦ Your volume half-perused with cautious pains, 
 For future leisure what is left remains: 
 Zealous you will the church, with ardour vain, 
 Free from each fault, and clear fi-om every stain. 
 Perfection suits not with a state below; 
 That bliss alone a future can bestow.'* T. D. 
 
156 
 
 plary piety ; and had been esteemed, in king Edward*s 
 time, an eminent and bold preacher. During the 
 succeeding confusion, he settled at Arrow in Switzer- 
 land, where he was teacher to a congregation of Eng- 
 lish exiles. Here he became a favourer of Calvin's 
 opinions, and at his return home was considered as 
 one of the principal of the dissenting party. The 
 very great indiscretions, already mentioned, of a few 
 violent men, soon made that whole party obnoxious 
 to the government ; to which nothing perhaps more 
 contributed than the seditious application of that doc- 
 trine to Elizabeth, which had been formerly propa- 
 gated against female government by Knox and Good- 
 man in the reign of her sister. This was touching 
 that jealous queen in a most sensible part ; and in- 
 duced her perhaps too rigorously, though she was 
 really ill-used, to press uniformity. Among others, 
 Mr. Lever suffered; he was convened before the 
 archbishop of York, and deprived of his ecclesiastical 
 preferment. Many of the cooler churchmen thought 
 him hardly dealt with, as he was really a moderate man, 
 and not forward in opposing the received opinions. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin was among those who pitied his treat- 
 ment : nor did he scruple to express his usual .regard 
 for him, though it was not a thing the most agree- 
 able to his superiors. But he had too much honour 
 to sacrifice friendship to popular prejudice; and 
 thought, that they who agreed in essentials, should 
 not be estrancred from each other for their different 
 
 o 
 
 sentiments on points of less importance. 
 
 As Mr. Gilpin was thus solicited on one hand by 
 the dissenters, so was he on the other by the papists. 
 It had long been a mortification to all the well-mean- i 
 
157 
 
 ing of that persuasion, that so good a man had left 
 their communion ; and no methods were left untried 
 to bring him back. But his change had been a work 
 of too much caution to be repented of : so that all 
 their endeavours proved, as it was easy to suppose 
 they would, ineffectual. 
 
 A letter of his, written upon an occasion of this 
 kind, may here not improperly be inserted, to show 
 how well satisfied he was at this time with having 
 left the church of Rome ; and how unlikely it was 
 that he should ever again become a member of it. 
 I wish I could give this letter in its original sim- 
 plicity ; but the manuscript is so mutilated, that it is 
 impossible to transcribe a fair copy from it. The 
 bishop of Chichester, however, has given a Latin 
 translation of it, from which I shall take as much of 
 it as is worth preserving. It was written in answer 
 to a long letter from one Mr. Gelthorpe, a relation 
 of Mr. Gilpin's, who, being a warm Papist himself, 
 was very uneasy that his kinsman and friend should 
 be a Protestant. He failed not, therefore, to suggest 
 to him what he could think of in favour of Popery, 
 and of the danger of apostatizing, concluding his letter 
 thus : — 
 
 " Now, I beseech you, remember what 
 
 God hath called you to ; and beware of passionate 
 doings. I know you have suffered under great slan- 
 ders and evil reports ; yet you may, by God's grace, 
 bridle all affections, and be an upright man. The 
 report of you is great at London, and in all other 
 places ; so that in my opinion you shall in these days, 
 even shortly, either do much good, leaning to the 
 
158 
 
 truth ; or else (which I pray God turn away from us !) 
 you shall do as much evil to the church as ever Arius 
 did." 
 
 The following was Mr. Gilpin's answer to this 
 letter : — 
 
 I received your letter when I had very little 
 time to answer it, as the bearer can inform you. I 
 did not care however to send him back without some 
 return, though in the latter part of your letter you 
 say enough to tempt me to do so. For what encou- 
 ragement have I to write, when you tell me you are 
 predetermined not to be persuaded ? It could not 
 but damp the prophet's zeal, when he cried out, 
 ' Hear the word of the Lord,' to be answered by a 
 stubborn people, ' We will not hear.' But let us 
 leave events to God, who can soften the heart of 
 man, and give sense to the deaf adder, which shut- 
 teth her ears. 
 
 " You look back, you say, upon past ages. But 
 how far ? If you would carry your view as high as 
 Christ and his apostles ; nay, only as high as the 
 primitive times, and examine them without preju- 
 dice ; you could not but see a strange alteration of 
 things, and acknowledge that a thousand errors and 
 absurdities have crept into the church, while men 
 slept. 
 
 It grieves me to hear you talk of your concern 
 at the suppression of abbeys and monasteries : num- 
 bers even of your own communion have confessed, 
 that it was impossible for them to stand any longer, 
 were grown up into such monstrous sanctuaries 
 
159 
 
 for all kinds of vice, that their cry, no doubt, like 
 that of Sodom, ascended into the ears of God. Be- 
 sides, consider what pests they were to all good learn- 
 ing and religion ; how they preyed upon all the 
 rectories in the kingdom ; amassing to themselves, 
 for the support of their vices, that wealth which was 
 meant by pious founders for the maintenance of in- 
 dustrious clergymen. 
 
 " He that cometh to God, you say, must believe. 
 Without doubt : but I would have you consider, 
 that religious faith can have no foundation but the 
 word of God. He whose creed is founded upon 
 bulls, indulgences, and such trumpery, can have no 
 true faith. All these things will vanish, where the 
 word of God hath efficacy. 
 
 " You say, you cannot see any thing in the 
 I Romish church contrary to the gospel ; I should 
 think, if you looked narrowly into it, you might see 
 the gospel entirely rejected; and in its room, legends, 
 traditions, and a thousand other absurdities intro- 
 duced. But this is an extensive subject, and I have 
 little leisure. Some other time probably I may write 
 more largely upon these points. May God, in the 
 meantime, open your eyes to see ' the abominations 
 of the city upon seven hills.' Rev. xvii. Consult St. 
 Jerome upon this passage. 
 
 " You use the phrase, ' If you should now begin 
 to drink of another cup:' whereas you never drank of 
 any cup at all. How can you defend, I would gladly 
 know, this single corruption ; or reconcile it with that 
 express command of Christ, * Drink ye all of this?' I 
 am sure, if you can defend it, it was more than any 
 of your learned doctors at Louvain could do, as I 
 myself can witness. 
 
160 
 
 " As to our being called heretics, and avoided by 
 you, we are extremely indifferent : we appeal from 
 your uncharitable censures to Almighty God; and 
 say with St. Paul, ' We little esteem to be judged 
 of you, it is the Lord who judgeth us.' 
 
 " But you say, it is dangerous to hear us. So 
 said the persecutors of St. Stephen, and stopped their 
 ears. So likewise Amaziah behaved to the prophet 
 Amos. David likewise speaks of such men, compar- 
 ing them ' to the deaf adder, which stoppeth her 
 ears.' And we have instances of the same kind of 
 bigotry in the writings of the evangelists ; where we 
 often read of men, whose minds the god of this world 
 hath blinded. 
 
 *' As for the terrible threatenings of your bishop, 
 we are under no apprehension from them. They are 
 calculated only for the nursery. Erasmus properly 
 calls them bruta fulmina. If the pope and his car- 
 dinals, who curse us with so much bitterness, were 
 like Peter and Paul ; if they discovered that fervent 
 charity, that extensive benevolence, and noble zeal in 
 their Master's cause, which distinguished those apos- 
 tles, then were there some reason to dread their cen- 
 sures : but, alas ! they have changed the humility of 
 Peter into the pride of Lucifer : the labours and po- 
 verty of apostles, into the sloth and luxury of eastern 
 monarchs. 
 
 " I am far from thinking there is no difference 
 between consubstantiality and transubstantiation. 
 The former undoubtedly hath many texts of Scrip- 
 ture for its support ; the latter certainly none : nay, 
 it hath so confounded many of its most zealous asser- 
 tors, Scotus, Occam, Biel, and others, that it is plain 
 
161 
 
 how perplexed they are to get over the many difficul- 
 ties that arise from it. Indeed Scotus thought, as 
 bishop Tunstal would ingenuously confess, that the 
 church had better make use of some less laboured 
 exposition of those words in Scripture. And the 
 good bishop himself likewise, though he would have 
 men speak reverently of the sacrament, as the primi- 
 tive church did, yet always said that transubstantia- 
 tion might well have been let alone. As to what 
 Mr. Chedsay said, ' That the catholics would do 
 well to give way in the article of transubstantiation,' 
 I cannot say I heard him speak the words myself, 
 but I had them from a person who did. 
 
 " I am far from agreeing with you, that the lives 
 of so many vicious popes should be passed over in 
 silence. If the vices of churchmen should thus be 
 concealed, I know not how you will defend Christ 
 for rebuking the Pharisees, who were the holy fathers 
 of those times ; or the prophet Isaiah, who is for 
 having good and evil distinguished, and denounces a 
 curse upon those ' who call him holy that is not 
 holy or St. Bernard likewise, who scruples not to 
 call some wicked priests in his time the ministers of 
 Antichrist. Such examples may excuse us. 
 
 " Five sacraments, you say, are rejected by us. 
 You mistake : we use them still as the Scripture au- 
 thorizes. Nay, even to the name of sacrament we 
 have no objection ; only suffer us to give our own 
 explanation of it. I find washing of feet, and many 
 other things of the same kind, are called sacraments 
 by some old writers ; but the fathers, and some of 
 the best of the schoolmen, are of opinion, that only 
 Baptism and the Lord's Supper can properly be called 
 sacraments. 
 
162 
 
 " I am surprised to hear you establish, on a few 
 easy passages in St. Paul, the several ridiculous cere- 
 monies of the mass. Surely you cannot be igno- 
 rant, that most of them were invented long afterwards 
 by the bishops of Rome. How much you observe 
 St. Paul upon other occasions, is evident from your 
 strange abuse of the institution of bread and wine. 
 There it signifies nothing what the apostle says : tra- 
 dition is the better authority. 
 
 " You tell me you can prove the use of prayers 
 for the dead from Scripture. 1 know you mean the 
 book of Maccabees. But our church follows the 
 opinion of the fathers in saying, that these books 
 are profitable for manners, but not to be used in 
 establishing doctrines. 
 
 " St. Austin, you say, doubts whether there be 
 not a purgatory. And so, because he doubts it, the 
 church of Rome hath established it as an article of 
 faith. Now I think if she had reasoned right from 
 the saint's doubts, she should at least have left it in- 
 different. Faith, you know, St. James says, ought 
 not to waver. The bishop of Rochester, who was 
 a diligent searcher into antiquity, says, that among 
 the ancients there is little or no mention made of 
 purgatory. For myself I am apt to think it was 
 first introduced by that grand popish traffic of indul- 
 gences. 
 
 " As to what you say about the invocation of 
 saints, St. Austin, you know, himself exhorteth his 
 readers not to ground their faith upon his writings, 
 but on the Scriptures. And indeed I think there is 
 nothing in the whole word of God more plainly de- 
 clared to us than this, that God alone must be the 
 
163 
 
 object of our adoration. ' How shall they call on 
 him/ saith St. Paul, ' in whom they have not be- 
 heved?' If we believe in one God only, why should 
 we pray to any more ? The popish distinction be- 
 tween invocation and advocation is poor sophistry. 
 As we are told we must pray only to one God, so 
 we read likewise of only one advocate with the Fa- 
 ther, Jesus Christ the righteous. You say you be- 
 hove in the communion of saints, and infer that no 
 communion with them can subsist unless we pray to 
 them. But our church understands quite another 
 thing by the communion of saints : for the word 
 saint is a common Scripture epithet for a good 
 Christian : nor doth it once signify, in either Testa- 
 ment, as far as I can remember, a departed soul : 
 nay, sometimes the words are very express, as in the 
 sixteenth Psalm, ' To the saints which be on earth.' 
 If any man ever had a communion with the saints in 
 heaven, surely David had it ; but he never speaks of 
 any communion with which he was acquainted, but 
 with the saints on earth. — And thus likewise St. 
 John speaks, ' What we have seen and known, that 
 declare we unto you, that you may have fellowship, 
 or communion with us, and that our communion may 
 be with God, and with his Son Jesus Christ.' 1 
 John i. 3. — All the members of the church of 
 Christ have communion among themselves, which 
 communion consists chiefly in mutual prayers and 
 preaching. Secondly, the church of Christ hath 
 communion with the Father and the Son, or with the 
 Father through the Son. That such communion as 
 this exists, we have good authority ; but none at all 
 for a belief in a communion with departed souls : 
 
164 
 
 these, as I observed before, are never in Scripture 
 called saints ; but generally described by some such 
 periphrasis as, ' the congregation of the first-born in 
 heaven or, ' the spirits of just men made perfect.' 
 In the next world probably, with these likewise we 
 may have communion ; but they who expect it in 
 this, must either bring Scripture for what they say, 
 or come under our Saviour's censure : ' In vain do ye 
 worship me, teaching for doctrines the traditions of 
 men.' Matt. xv. 9. — Indeed, by the custom of late 
 ages, departed souls are called saints ; but I hope I 
 need not inform you that the holy Scripture is a more 
 proper directory than the custom of any age. But 
 it is needless to dispute upon this point, because even 
 the most zealous defenders of it acknowledge it to be 
 a thing indifferent, whether we pray immediately to 
 God, or through the mediation of saints. And if it 
 be a thing indifferent, sure a wise man knows what to 
 do. Who does not expect purer water at the foun- 
 tain-head, than at the little streams that run from it? 
 
 " As for what you say about images and fasting, 
 (the proper use of which latter, God forbid that I 
 should say any thing against,) together with your 
 arguments in favour of relics and exorcisms, I could 
 without any sort of difficulty reply to them ; but at 
 this time you really must excuse me : it is not an 
 apology of course, when I assure you that I am now 
 extremely busy. You will the more easily believe 
 me, when I tell you that I am at present without a 
 curate ; and that I am likewise a good deal out of 
 order, and hardly able to undergo the necessary fa- 
 tigues of my office. 
 
 " As to your not choosing to come to Houghton 
 
165 
 
 on a Sunday, for fear of offending my people, to say 
 the truth, except you will come to church, which I 
 think you might do very well, I should not much de- 
 sire to see you on that day ; for country people are 
 strangely given to copy a bad example, and will un- 
 learn more in a day than they have been learning for 
 a month. You must excuse my freedom : you know 
 my heart ; and how gladly I would have it to say, 
 * Of those whom thou gavest me have I lost none/ 
 But on any other day, or if you will come on Sun- 
 day night, and stay a week with me, I shall be glad 
 to see you. We may then talk over these things 
 with more freedom : and though, as I observed be- 
 fore, the latter part of your letter gives me no great 
 encouragement, yet I will endeavour to have a bet- 
 ter hope of you than you have of yourself. St. 
 Paul, in the early part of his life, was fully per- 
 suaded that he should die a Pharisee, and an enemy 
 to the cross of Christ : but there was a reserve of 
 mercy in store for him, and through God's grace his 
 heart became so changed, that he suffered persecution 
 himself for that name which it had been before his 
 ambition to persecute. 
 
 " May the great God of heaven make you an 
 object of the same mercy, and by the Spirit of know- 
 ledge lead your mind into all truth. 
 
 « I am, &c. 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
166 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Sketch of Mr, Gilpin's character as a clergyman — 
 his devotion to the various duties of his offtce-^ 
 his attention to the neglected Parishes in the 
 north of England, 
 
 The public generally sees us in disguise : the 
 case is, we ordinarily pay a greater deference to the 
 world's opinions than to our own consciences. Hence 
 a man's real merit is very improperly estimated from 
 the more exposed part of his behaviour. 
 
 The passages of Mr. Gilpin's life, already col- 
 lected, are chiefly of a public nature — if we may thus 
 call any action of a life so private. To place his 
 merit, therefore, in its truest light, it will be neces- 
 sary to accompany him in his retirement, and take a 
 view of his ordinary behaviour, from which all re- 
 straint was taken off. Hence we shall have the full- 
 est proof of what he truly was, upon what principles 
 he acted, and that the virtue he practised was not the 
 eflPect of any deference to the world's opinion, but of 
 inward conviction, and a sincere desire to act agree- 
 ably to the will of his Creator. 
 
 When he first took upon him the care of a parish, 
 he laid it down as a maxim, to do all the good in his 
 power there. And indeed his whole conduct was 
 only one straight line drawn to this point. 
 
 He set himself to consider how he might best 
 perform the charge entrusted to him. The pastoral 
 care he saw was much neglected : the greater part of 
 
167 
 
 the clergy, he could not but observe, were scandal- 
 ously negligent of it, accepting livings only with se- 
 cular views ; and even they who seemed desirous of 
 being accounted serious in the discharge of their 
 ministry, too often, he thought, considered it in a 
 light widely different from its true one. Some, he 
 observed, made it consist in asserting the rights of 
 the church, and the dignity of their function; others, 
 in a strenuous opposition to the prevailing sectaries, 
 and a zealous attachment to the established church- 
 government ; a third sort, in examining the specula- 
 tive points, and mystical parts of religion : none of 
 them, in the meantime, considering either in what 
 the true dignity of the ministerial character con- 
 sisted ; or the only end for w^hich church-government 
 was at all established ; or the practical influence 
 which can alone make speculative points worth our 
 attention. All this he observed with concern, re- 
 solving to pursue a different path, and to follow the 
 laudable example of those few, who made the pas- 
 toral care to consist in a strenuous endeavour to 
 amend the lives of those with whom they were con- 
 cerned, and to promote their truest happiness both 
 here and hereafter. 
 
 The strange disorder of that part of the country 
 where his lot fell, hath already been observed. The 
 extreme of ignorance, and of course of superstition, 
 was its characteristic. The great care of Parker, 
 archbishop of Canterbury, his frequent and strict 
 visitations, his severe inquiries into the ministry of 
 the clergy, and manners of the laity, had made a 
 very visible alteration for the better in the southern 
 parts of England; but in the north, reformation went 
 
168 
 
 on but sluggishly. The indolent archbishop of 
 York slept ove^v^is province. In what great dis- 
 order the good bishop Grindal found it, upon his 
 translation to it in the year 1570, appears from his 
 episcopal injunctions, among which are these very 
 extraordinary ones — that no pedlar should be ad- 
 mitted to sell his wares in the church-porch in time 
 of service — that parish-clerks should be able to read 
 — that no lords of misrule, or summer lords and 
 ladies, or any disguised persons, morrice-dancers, or 
 others, should come irreverently into the church, or 
 play any unseemly parts, with scoffs, jests, wanton 
 gestures, or ribald talk, in the time of divine ser- 
 vice. From these things we may conceive the state 
 of the parish of Houghton when Mr. Gilpin came 
 there.* 
 
 Amidst such ignorance, to introduce a knowledge 
 of religion was a laborious work ; as difficult as a 
 first plantation of the gospel. There was the same 
 building to raise, and as much rubbish to clear away ; 
 for no prejudices could be stronger, and more alien to 
 Christianity, than those he had to oppose. 
 
 He set out with making it his endeavour to gain 
 the affection of his parishioners. Many of his papers 
 
 * One would imagine it was in this part of the country where 
 bishop Latimer was travelling, when he gives us the following 
 account: — " I sent word over-night to a town, that I would 
 preach there in the morning, because it was a holy-day. When 
 I came to the church, where I thought I should have found a 
 great company, the door was fast locked. I tarried half an hour. 
 At last one of the parish comes to me, and says, ' Sir, this is a 
 busy day with us; we cannot hear you: it is Robin Hood's day: 
 the parish is gone abroad to gather for Robin Hood ; I pray yoa 
 hinder them not.* So I was fain to give place to Robin Hood." 
 Sermon VI. before the King. 
 
169 
 
 show how material a point he considered this. To 
 succeed in it, however, he used no servile compli- 
 ances : he would have his means good, as well as his 
 end. His behaviour was free without levity, oblifj- 
 ing without meanness, insinuating without art : he 
 condescended to the weak, bore with the passionate, 
 complied with the scrupulous : in a truly apostolic 
 manner, he " became all things to all men." By 
 these means he gained mightily upon his neigh- 
 bours, and convinced them how heartily he was their 
 friend. 
 
 To this humanity and courtesy he added an un- 
 wearied application to the duties of his function. He 
 was not satisfied with the advice he gave in public, 
 but used to instruct in private; and brought his 
 parishioners to come to him with their doubts and 
 difficulties. He had a most engaging manner towards 
 those whom he thought well-disposed : nay, his very 
 reproof was so conducted, that it seldom gave offence ; 
 the becoming gentleness with which it was urged made 
 it always appear the effect of friendship. Thus laying 
 himself out in admonishing the vicious, and encour- 
 aging the well-intentioned, in a few years he made a 
 greater change in his neighbourhood than could well 
 have been imagined — a remarkable instance what re- 
 formation a single man may effect, when he hath it 
 earnestly at heart ! 
 
 But his hopes were not so much in the present 
 generation as in the succeeding. It was an easier 
 task, he found, to prevent vice than to correct it ; to 
 form the young to virtue, than to amend the bad habits 
 of the old. He laid out much of his time, therefore, 
 in an endeavour to improve the minds of the younger 
 H 8 
 
170 
 
 part of his parish. Nor did he only take notice of 
 those within his school, but in general extended his 
 care through the whole place : suflPering none to grow 
 up in an ignorance of their duty ; but pressing it as 
 the wisest part to mix religion with their labour, and 
 amidst the cares of this life to have a constant eye 
 upon the next. 
 
 Nor did he omit whatever else might be of service 
 to his parishioners. He was very assiduous in pre- 
 venting law-suits amoncr them. His hall is said to 
 have been often thronged with people who came to 
 him about their differences. He was not indeed 
 much acquainted with law, but he could decide equit- 
 tably, and that satisfied : nor could his sovereign's 
 commission have given him more weight than his own 
 character gave him. 
 
 He had a just concern for all under affliction ; and 
 was a much readier visitant at the house of mourning 
 than at that of feasting. He had conversed so much 
 in the world, that he knew how to apply himself to 
 the most different tempers ; and his large fund of 
 reading and experience, always furnished something 
 that would properly affect them. Hence he was con- 
 sidered as a good angel by all in distress. When 
 the infirmities of age came upon him, and he grew 
 less able to endure exercise, it was his custom to write 
 letters of consolation to such as were in affliction.* 
 
 * The following letter of this kind the reader may perhaps think 
 worth his perusal : — 
 
 " After my most due commendations, I beseech you, gentle 
 Mrs. Carr, diligently to call to mind how mercifully God hath 
 dealt with you in many respects. He hath given you a gentle- 
 man of worship to be your husband ; one that I know loveth you 
 dearly, as a christian man should love his wife. And by him 
 
171 
 
 He used to interpose likewise in all acts of oppres- 
 sion; and his authority was such, that it generally 
 put a stop to them. 
 
 God hath blessed you with a goodly family of children, which both 
 you and your husband must take to be the favourable and free gift 
 
 of God But, good Mrs. Carr, you must understand, that both 
 
 that gift of God, and all others, and we ourselves, are in his hands : 
 he takes what he will, whom he will, and when he will; and 
 whomsoever he taketh, in youth or in age, we must fully persuade 
 ourselves tliat he ordereth all things for the best. We may not 
 murmur, or think much at any of his doings; but must learn to 
 speak from our hearts the petition of the Lord's prayer, * Thy will 
 be done on earth as it is in heaven.' It is unto this holy obedience 
 that St. Peter calleth all Christians, saying, ' Humble yourselves 
 under the mighty hand of God.' This godly submission did cause 
 the holy patriarch Job, when it pleased God to take from him not 
 Only one, but all his children, seven brethren and sisters, upon one 
 day, never to grieve himself with what God had done, but meekly 
 to say, ' The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed 
 be the name of the Lord.' — And here I would have you, good 
 Mrs. Carr, to consider, how small cause you have to mom-n, or 
 fall into a deep sorrow, in comparison of the holy patriarch. God 
 hath taken from you only one young daughter, and hath left you 
 a goodly family of children, which, I tru>t, with good education, 
 will prove a blessed comfort to you — This example of Job, and 
 other examples in holy Scripture, being written, as the Apostle 
 saith, for our admonition, I must needs declare you to be worthy 
 of great blame, if you continue any space in such great sorrow and 
 heaviness, as I hear you take for your young daughter. St. Peter 
 saith, that Christ Jesus suffered for us most cruel torments, and 
 last of all a most cruel death, ' to leave us an example, that all 
 that believe in him should follow his blessed steps ;' that is, to bear 
 his cross, to be armed with all patience, whensoever we lose any 
 thing that we love in this world. And the same Apostle saith, 
 * Seeing Christ hath suffered for us in bis body, all you that are 
 Christians must be armed with the same thought.' — Furthermore 
 the Scripture saith, that unto us it is given not only to believe in 
 Christ, but also to suffer for his sake. And St. Paul, in the 8th 
 to the Romans, hath a most comfortable sentence to all that will 
 learn to suffer with him ; and a most fearful sentence to all those 
 that refuse to suffer with him, and to bear his cross : ' The Spirit,' 
 1 saith he, ' beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children 
 of God ; and if children, then heirs, heirs of God, and fellow-heirs 
 with Christ;' it foUoweth, ' if so be that we suffer together with 
 him, that we may also be glorified with him.' And St. Paul, in 
 the first chapter of the second to the Corinthians, saith to all the 
 fiaithful, ' As ye are companions of those things which Christ hath 
 H 2 
 
172 
 
 A person against whom the country at that time 
 exclaimed very much, was one Mr. Barns, a near re- 
 lation, if not a brother, of Dr. Barns, bishop of Dur- 
 ham, who raised him through some inferior posts to the 
 chancellorship of his diocese. This man, though at 
 the head of an ecclesiastical court, would have been 
 a scandal to the meanest office. He was indeed the 
 tyrant of the country, considering his power only as 
 the means of gratifying his vicious inclinations: 
 among which, as avarice bore a ruling part, oppres- 
 sion was its natural effect. Between this man and 
 Mr. Gilpin there was a perpetual opposition for many 
 years ; the latter endeavouring always to counteract 
 the former, and to be the redresser of those injuries 
 of which he was the author. Several traces of these 
 
 suffered, so shall ye be companions of his consolations.' — All these 
 things considered, I doubt not, good Mrs. Carr, but that you will 
 arm yourself with patience, and bear Christ's cross, learning to 
 suffer for his sake, and that, were it a greater loss than you have, 
 God be praised, as yet sustained. — Let your faith overcome your 
 sorrow. St. Paul, writing to the Thessalonians concerning the 
 dead, (who, he saith, have but fallen asleep,) forbiddeth them not 
 to mourn, but utterly forbiddeth them to rnourn like Gentiles and 
 infidels who have no hope in Christ. And the wise man (Ecclus. 
 xxii. ) doth exhort us to mourn over the dead, so it be but for a 
 little space r ' Weep,' saith he, ' for the dead, but only for a little 
 time, because they are gone to their rest.' So you see there is an 
 unreasonable mourning of them that want faith ; and there is also 
 a temperate and lawful mourning of them that have a steadfast 
 belief in Christ and his promises, * which,' St. John saith, * over- 
 cometh all the temptations,' that is, the troubles, ' of the world.* 
 I trust verily, good Mrs. Carr, that your mourning being temperate, 
 will show itself to be a faithful, not a faithless mourning; which 
 latter I pray Almighty God to keep from you — But I fear to be 
 tedious. I trust one day I shall be able to come unto you myself. 
 In the mean space, and evermore, I shall pray that the God of all 
 consolation may comfort you in all your troubles. Your loving 
 friend in Christ, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
 " Houghton, May 31, 1583." 
 
173 
 
 contests still remain among Mr. Gilpin's papers ; from 
 which it appears, what a constant check upon his de- 
 signs Mr. Barns found him ; though he was never 
 treated by him with any bitterness, but always in a 
 mild and even affectionate manner. " It will be but 
 a very few years," Mr. Gilpin tells him, (concluding 
 a letter written in favour of three orphans, whom Mr. 
 Bams had defrauded of their patrimony,) " before you 
 and I must give up our great accounts. I pray God 
 give us both the grace to has'e them in a constant 
 readiness. And may you take what I have written 
 in as friendly a manner as it is meant. My daily 
 prayers are made for you to Almighty God, whom I 
 beseech evermore to preserve you." By being thus 
 at all times ready to espouse the cause of the injured, 
 he showed not only humanity but resolution likewise ; 
 without which our concern for the distresses of others 
 will often go but a very little way towards their re- 
 lief. For as compassion is only instinct, consulting 
 in its operations perhaps our own relief chiefly, of 
 course he who is governed by no steadier principle, 
 will desert the benevolent part, when fatigue or dan- 
 ger throw difficulties in his way. But he who can 
 exert resolution in the cause of the oppressed, is a 
 friend indeed : he is influenced by a fixed principle, 
 the effect of rational consideration : this enables him 
 to overcome the suggestions of fear and selfishness, 
 which prompt most men, like the timorous herd, to 
 shun the unfortunate. The humane part Mr. Gil- 
 pin acted, no doubt, often exposed him to inconve- 
 niences ; but he made little account of them, justly 
 reflecting, that upon the whole what was right was 
 best. 
 
174 
 
 Thus he lived in his parish, careful only to dis- 
 charge his duty : no fatigue or difficulty could excuse 
 him to himself for the omission of any part of it : the 
 moral improvement of his people was his principal en- 
 deavour, and the success of this endeavour his prin- 
 cipal happiness. 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, all this painful indus- 
 try, and the large scope it had in so extended a parish, 
 he thought the sphere of his benevolence yet too con- 
 fined. It grieved him extremely to see every where 
 in the parishes around him, so much ignorance and 
 superstition, occasioned by the very great neglect of 
 the pastoral care in the clergy of those parts. How 
 ill supplied the northern churches at this time were, 
 hath already been observed ; and will still appear in 
 a stronger light, if we compare the state of these 
 churches with that of those in the southern parts of 
 the island, which were universally allowed to have 
 been less neglected. Of one diocese, that of Ely, 
 where the clergy do not appear to have been uncom- 
 commonly remiss, we have a curious account still 
 preserved: it contained one hundred and fifty-six 
 parishes; of which forty-seven had no ministers at 
 all, fifty-seven were in the hands of careless non- 
 residents, and only the remaining fifty-two were re- 
 gularly served. 
 
 The very bad consequences arising from this 
 shameful remissness among the clergy, induced Mr. 
 Gilpin to supply, as far as he could, what was want- 
 ing in others. Every year, therefore, he used regu- 
 larly to visit the most neglected parishes in Northum- 
 berland, Yorkshire, Cheshire, Westmoreland, and 
 Cumberland ; and that his own parish, in the mean- 
 
175 
 
 time, might not sufFer, he was at the expense of a 
 constant assistant. In each place he stayed two or 
 three days ; and his method was, to call the people 
 about him, and lay before them, in as plain a way as 
 possible, the danger of leading wicked or even care- 
 less lives — explaining to them the nature of true re- 
 ligion — instructing them in the duties they owed to 
 God, their neighbour, and themselves — and show- 
 ing them how greatly a moral and religious conduct 
 would contribute to their present as well as future 
 happiness. 
 
 When a preacher, though the merest rhapsodist 
 or enthusiast, seems to speak from his heart, from 
 a thorough sense of his duty, what he says will be 
 listened to. The appearance of his being truly in 
 earnest, will dispose men at least to give him a fair 
 hearing. Hence Mr. Gilpin, who had all the warmth 
 of an enthusiast, though under the direction of a very 
 calm judgment, never wanted an audience even in the 
 wildest parts ; where he roused many to a sense of re- 
 ligion, who had contracted the most inveterate habits 
 of inattention to every thing of a serious nature. 
 
 One thing he practised, which showed the best 
 disposed heart. Wherever he came, he used to visit 
 all the jails and places of confinement; few in the 
 kingdom having at that time any appointed minister. 
 And by his labours, and affectionate manner of be- 
 having, he is said to have reformed many very aban- 
 doned persons in those places. He would employ 
 his interest likewise for such criminals whose cases 
 he thought attended with any hard circumstances, and 
 often procured pardons for them. 
 
 There is a tract of country upon the border of 
 
176 
 
 Northumberland, called Reads-dale and Tine-dale; 
 of all barbarous places in the north, at that time the 
 most barbarous. The following very picturesque 
 description of this wild country we have from Mr. 
 Camden ; — 
 
 " At Walwick, North Tine crosses the Roman 
 wall. It rises in the mountains on the borders of 
 England and Scotland ; and first, running eastward, 
 waters Tine-dale, which hath thence its name, and 
 afterwards embracing the river Read, which falling 
 from the steep hill of Readsquire, where the lord- 
 wardens of the eastern marches used to determine the 
 disputes of the borderers, gives its name to a valley, 
 too thinly inhabited, by reason of the frequent rob- 
 beries committed there. Both these dales breed no- 
 table bog-trotters, and have such boggy-topped moun- 
 tains as are not to be crossed by ordinary horsemen. 
 We wonder to see so many heaps of stones in them, 
 which the neighbourhood believe to have been thrown 
 together in memory of some persons there slain. 
 There are also in both of them many ruins of old 
 forts. The Umfranvils held Reads-dale, as Dooms- 
 day-book informs us, in fee and knight's service for 
 guarding the dale from robberies. All over these 
 wastes you see, as it were, the ancient Nomades, a 
 martial people, who from April to August lie in little 
 tents, which they call sheals or shealings, here and 
 there dispersed among their flocks." 
 
 Before the union, this country was generally called 
 the Debateable Land, as subject by turns to England 
 and Scotland, and the common theatre where the two 
 nations were continually acting their bloody scenes. 
 It was inhabited, as Mr. Camben hath just informed 
 
177 
 
 US, by a kind of desperate banditti, rendered fierce and 
 active by constant alarms. They lived by theft ; 
 used to plunder on both sides of the barrier, and what 
 they plundered on one, they exposed to sale on the 
 other ; by that means escaping justice. Such adepts 
 were they in the art of thieving, that they could twist 
 •a cow's horn, or mark a horse, so as its owners could 
 not know it ; and so subtle, that no vigilance could 
 guard against them. For these arts they were long 
 afterwards famous. A person telling king James a 
 surprising story of a cow that had been driven from 
 the north of Scotland into the south of England, and 
 escaping from the herd found her way home — " The 
 most surprising part of the story," the king replied, 
 " you lay least stress on, that she passed unstollen 
 through the Debateable Land." 
 
 In this dreadful country, where no man could even 
 travel that could help it, Mr. Gilpin never failed to 
 spend some part of every year. He generally chose 
 the holidays of Christmas for this journey, because 
 he found the people at that season most disengaged, 
 and most easily assembled. He had set places for 
 preaching, which were as regularly attended as the 
 assize towns of a circuit. If he came where there 
 was a church, he made use of it ; if not, of barns, or 
 any other large building, where great crowds of people 
 were sure to attend him, some for his instructions, 
 and others for his charity. 
 
 This was a very difficult and laborious employment. 
 The country was so poor, that what provision he 
 could get, extreme hunger only could make palatable. 
 The badness of the weather, and the badness of the 
 roads through a mountainous country, and at that 
 H 3 
 
178 
 
 season covered with snow, exposed him Hkewise often 
 to great hardships. Sometimes he was overtaken by 
 the night, the country being in many places desolate 
 for several miles together, and, as the bishop of Chi- 
 chester relates, obliged to lodge out in the cold : at 
 such times he would make his servant ride about with 
 his horses, whilst himself on foot used as much exer- 
 cise as his age and the fatigues of the preceding day 
 would permit. All this he cheerfully underwent; 
 esteeming such sufferings well compensated by the 
 advantages which he hoped might accrue from them 
 to his uninstructed fellow-creatures. 
 
 Our Saxon ancestors had a great aversion to the 
 tedious forms of law. They chose rather to deter- 
 mine their disputes in a more concise manner, plead- 
 ing generally with their swords. " Let every dispute 
 be decided by the sword," was a Saxon law. A piece 
 of ground was described, and covered with mats : here 
 the plaintiff and defendant tried their cause. If either 
 of them was driven from this boundary, he was ob- 
 liged to redeem his life by three marks. He whose 
 blood first stained the ground, lost his suit.* 
 
 This custom still prevailed on the borders, where 
 Saxon barbarism held its latest possession. These 
 wild Northumbrians indeed, went beyond the ferocity 
 of their ancestors. They were not content with a 
 duel : each contending party used to muster what 
 adherents he could, and commence a petty war.f 
 
 ♦ See Spelman, Nicolson, andother inquirers into the antiquities 
 of those times. 
 
 f The people of this country have had one very barbarous cus- 
 tom among them. If any two be displeased, they expect no law, 
 but bang it out bravely, one and his kindred against the other and 
 his. They will subject themselves to no justice, but in an inhu- 
 
179 
 
 So that a private grudge would often occasion much 
 bloodshed. 
 
 It happened that a quarrel of this kind was on 
 foot, when Mr. Gilpin was at Rothbury in those 
 parts. During the two or three first days of his 
 preaching, the contending parties observed some de- 
 corum, and never appeared at church together. At 
 length, however, they met. One party had been 
 early at church, and just as Mr. Gilpin began his 
 sermon, the other entered. They stood not long 
 silent. Inflamed at the sight of each other, they 
 begin to clash their weapons, for they were all armed 
 with javelins and swords, and mutually approach. 
 Awed, however, by the sacredness of the place, the 
 tumult in some degree ceased. Mr. Gilpin pro- 
 ceeded : when again the combatants begin to bran- 
 dish their weapons, and draw towards each other. 
 As a fray seemed near, Mr. Gilpin stepped from the 
 pulpit, went between them, and addressing the leaders, 
 put an end to the quarrel for the present, but could 
 not effect an entire reconciliation. They promised 
 him, however, that till the sermon was over, they 
 would make no more disturbance. He then went 
 again into the pulpit, and spent the rest of the time 
 in endeavouring to make them ashamed of what 
 they had done. His behaviour and discourse affected 
 them so much, that, at his farther entreaty, they pro- 
 mised to forbear all acts of hostility while he con- 
 man and barbarous manner fight and kill one another. They run 
 together in clans, as they term it, or names. This fighting they 
 call their deadly feuds. Of late, since the union of both kingdoms, 
 this heathenish custom is repressed, and good laws made against 
 such barbarous and unchristian misdemeanours." — Survey of Xew» 
 casile, Harleian Miscellany^ Vol. III. 
 
180 
 
 tinued in the country. And so much respected was 
 he among them, that whoever was in fear of his 
 enemy, used to resort where Mr. Gilpin was, esteem- 
 ing his presence the best protection. 
 
 One Sunday morning, coming to a church in those 
 parts before the people were assembled, he observed 
 a glove hanging up, and was informed by the sexton 
 that it was meant as a challenge to any one that 
 should take it down. Mr. Gilpin ordered the sex- 
 ton to reach it him ; but upon his utterly refusing 
 to touch it, he took it down himself, and put it in his 
 breast. When the people were assembled, he went 
 into the pulpit ; and before he concluded his sermon, 
 took occasion to rebuke them severely for these in- 
 human challenges. " I hear," saith he, " that one 
 among you hath hanged up a glove even in this 
 sacred place, threatening to fight any one who taketh 
 it down : see, I have taken it down and pulling 
 out the glove, he held it up to the congregation ; and 
 then showed them how unsuitable such savage prac- 
 tices were to the profession of Christianity; using 
 such persuasives to mutual love as he thought would 
 most affect them. 
 
 The disinterested pains he thus took among these 
 barbarous people, and the good offices he was always 
 ready to do them, drew from them the sincerest ex- 
 pressions of gratitude, a virtue perhaps as frequently 
 the growth of these natural soils as of the best culti- 
 vated. Indeed he was little less than adored, and 
 might have brought the whole country almost to 
 what he pleased. How greatly his name was revered 
 among them, one instance will show. 
 
 By the carelessness of his servant, his horses were 
 
181 
 
 one day stolen. The news was quickly propagated, 
 and every one expressed the highest indignation at 
 the fact. The thief was rejoicing over his prize, 
 when, by the report of the country, he found whose 
 horses he had taken. Terrified at \^^hat he had 
 done, he instantly came trembling back, confessed the 
 fact, returned the horses, and declared he believed 
 the devil would have seized him directly had he car- 
 ried them oflP, knowing them to have been Mr. Gil- 
 pin's. 
 
 Thus I have brought together what particulars 
 still remain of this excellent man's behaviour as a 
 minister of the gospel. They discover so very 
 good a heart, so strong a sense of duty, and so strict 
 a regard to it in every instance, as would have been 
 admired even in primitive times : the corruptions now 
 prevailing, may perhaps make their truth questionable ; 
 but they are all either taken from his life written by 
 the bishop of Chichester, or from papers of undoubted 
 authority. His own testimony to what hath been 
 said, shall be subjoined in the following extract : — 
 
 " I am at present," says he, apologizing to a 
 friend, " much charged with business, or rather over- 
 charged. I am first greatly burdened about seeing 
 the lands made sure to the school; which are not so 
 yet, and are in great danger to be lost, if God should 
 call me afore they are assured. Moreover, I have 
 assigned to preach twelve sermons at other parishes 
 besides my own ; and likewise am earnestly looked for 
 at a number of parishes in Northumberland, more 
 than I can visit. Beside, I am continually encum- 
 bered with many guests and acquaintance, whom I 
 may not well refuse. And often I am called upon by 
 
182 
 
 many of my parishioners, to set them at one when 
 they cannot agree. And every day I am sore charged 
 and troubled with many servants and workfolks, 
 which is no small trouble to me ; for the buildings 
 and reparations in this wide house will never have an 
 end." 
 
 I will conclude this chapter with an instance of 
 that resolution and spirit, which on each proper oc- 
 casion he failed not to exert ; and by which he always 
 maintained that independency and real dignity which 
 became his station. 
 
 He received a message one day from Dr. Barns, 
 bishop of Durham, appointing him to preach a visi- 
 tation-sermon the Sunday following. It happened 
 he was then preparing for his journey into Reads- 
 dale and Tine-dale : he acquainted the bishop there- 
 fore with the necessity of keeping that appointment, 
 begging his lordship would at that time excuse him. 
 His servant informed him that the bishop had re- 
 ceived his message, but returned no answer. Con- 
 cluding him therefore satisfied, he set out on his 
 journey; but to his great surprise, when he came home, 
 found himself suspended ; some persons, through 
 enmity to him, having put the bishop upon this hasty 
 step. A few days after, he received an order to 
 meet the bishop at Chester, a town in the diocese of 
 Durham, where the bishops of that see formerly re- 
 sided. Here many of the clergy were assembled, 
 and Mr. Gilpin was ordered by the bishop to preach 
 that day before them. He made his apology: he 
 had come wholly unprepared — besides he was sus- 
 pended, and thereby excluded from the pulpit. The 
 bishop answered, he took off his suspension. But 
 
183 
 
 Mr. Gilpin still begged to be excused, — he had 
 brought no sermon with him, and hoped none would 
 be required from him. But the bishop would take no 
 excuse ; telling him, that as he had been a preacher 
 so long, he must be able to say enough to the pur- 
 pose without any previous meditation. Mr. Gilpin 
 persisting in his refusal, the bishop at length grew 
 warm, and required him upon his canonical obedience 
 to go immediately into the pulpit. After a little 
 delay, therefore, he went up; and though he ob- 
 served several taking notes of what he said, he pro- 
 ceeded without the least hesitation. 
 
 The ecclesiastical court of Durham was at this 
 time very scandalously governed. Mr. Barns, who 
 has already been mentioned, presided over it; and 
 he made it indeed Httle better than an office for 
 granting indulgences. The bishop was a well- 
 meaning, weak man ; irresolute, and wholly in the 
 hands of others. Every thing was managed by his 
 relation the chancellor ; whose venality, and the irre- 
 gularities occasioned by it, were most notorious. 
 
 The opportunity now afforded him, Mr. Gilpin 
 thought no unfavourable one to open the bishop's 
 eyes, and induce him to exert himself where there 
 was so great reason for it. Private information had 
 often been given him without any success : Mr. Gil- 
 pin was now resolved, therefore, to venture upon a 
 public application to him. iiccordingly, before he 
 concluded his sermon, he turned towards the bishop, 
 to whom he thus addressed himself : — 
 
 " My discourse now, reverend father, must be 
 directed to you. God hath exalted you to be the 
 bishop of this diocese, and requireth an account of 
 
184 
 
 your government thereof. A reformation of all those 
 matters which are amiss in this church, is expected 
 at your hands. And now, lest perhaps, while it is 
 apparent that so many enormities are committed every 
 where, your lordship should make answer, that you 
 had no notice of them given you, and that these 
 things never came to your knowledge,'* (for this it 
 seems was the bishop's common apology to all com- 
 plaints,) " behold I bring these things to your know- 
 ledge this day. Say not, then, that these crimes 
 have been committed by the fault of others without 
 your knowledge ; for whatever either yourself shall 
 do in person, or suffer through your connivance to be 
 done by others, is wholly your own. Therefore, in 
 the presence of God, his angels, and men, I pro- 
 nounce you to be the author of all these evils : yea, 
 and in that strict day of the general account, I will 
 be a witness to testify against you, that all these 
 things have come to your knowledge by my means ; 
 and all these men shall bear witness thereof, who 
 have heard me speak unto you this day." 
 
 This freedom alarmed every one. As Mr. Gil- 
 pin went out of the church, his friends gathered 
 round him, kindly reproaching him, with tears, for 
 what he had done. " The bishop had now got that 
 advantage over him which he had long sought after 
 — and if he had injured him before without pro- 
 vocation, what would he do now, so greatly exas- 
 perated?" Mr. Gilpin walked on, gently keeping 
 them off with his hand, and assuring them, that if his 
 discourse should do the service he intended by it, he 
 was regardless what the consequence might be to 
 himself. 
 
185 
 
 During that day nothing else was talked of. 
 Every one commended what had been said, but was 
 apprehensive for the speaker. Those about the 
 bishop waited in silent expectation, when his resent- 
 ment would break out. 
 
 After dinner, Mr. Gilpin went up to the bishop, 
 to pay his compliments to him before he went home. 
 " Sir," said the bishop, " I propose to wait upon 
 you home myself." This he accordingly did: and 
 as soon as Mr. Gilpin had carried him into a par- 
 lour, the bishop turned suddenly round, and seizing 
 him eagerly by the hand, " Father Gilpin," says 
 he to him, " I acknowledge you are fitter to be the 
 bishop of Durham than I am to be parson of this 
 church of yours. I ask forgiveness for past injuries. 
 Forgive me, father. I know you have enemies, but 
 while I live bishop of Durham, be secure, none of 
 them shall cause you any farther trouble." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 His Benevolence and Hospitality, 
 
 Though Mr. Gilpin was chiefly solicitous about 
 the morals of those committed to his care, he omit- 
 ted not however to promote, as far as he could, their 
 temporal happiness. What wealth he had, was en- 
 tirely laid out in charities and hospitality. 
 
 The value of his living was about four hundred 
 pounds a-year : an income which, however consider- 
 able at that time, was yet in appearance very dispro- 
 
186 
 
 portionate to the generous things he did : indeed he 
 could not have done them, unless his frugality had 
 been equal to his generosity. 
 
 In building a school, and purchasing lands for 
 the maintenance of a master and usher, he expended 
 above five hundred pounds. As there was so great 
 a resort of young people to this school, that in a little 
 time the town was not able to accommodate them, he 
 put himself to the inconvenience of fitting up a part 
 of his own house for that purpose, where he seldom 
 had fewer than twenty or thirty children. Some of 
 these were the sons of persons of distinction, whom 
 he boarded at easy rates ; but the greater part were 
 poor children, who could not so easily get themselves 
 boarded in the town, and whom he not only educated, 
 but clothed and maintained : he was at the expense 
 likewise of boarding in the town many other poor 
 children. He used to bring several every year from 
 the different parts where he preached, particularly 
 Reads-dale and Tine-dale ; which places he was at 
 great pains in civilizing, and contributed not a little 
 towards rooting out that barbarism, which every year 
 prevailed less among them. 
 
 For the maintenance of poor scholars at the uni- 
 versities, he yearly set apart sixty pounds. This 
 sum he always laid out, often more. His common 
 allowance to each scholar was about ten pounds 
 a-year ; which, for a sober youth, was at that time a 
 very sufficient maintenance : so that he never main- 
 tained fewer than six. By his will it appears, that 
 at his death he had nine upon his list; whom he 
 took care to provide for during their stay at the uni- 
 versity. 
 
187 
 
 Every Thursday throughout the year a very large 
 pantity of meat was dressed wholly for the poor ; 
 md every day they had what quantity of broth they 
 w^anted. Twenty-four of the poorest were his con- 
 jjtant pensioners. Four times in the year a dinner 
 was provided for them, when they received from his 
 steward a certain quantity of corn, and a sum of 
 noney : and at Christmas they had always an ox 
 iivided among them. 
 
 Wherever he heard of any in distress, whether 
 o£ his own parish or any other, he was sure to 
 relieve them. In his walks abroad he would fre- 
 pently bring home with him poor people, and send 
 them away clothed as well as fed. 
 
 He took great pains to inform himself of the cir- 
 cumstances of his neighbours, that the modesty of the 
 sufPerer might not prevent his rehef. 
 
 But the money best laid out was, in his opinion, 
 that which encouracred industry. It was one of his 
 ^eatest pleasures to make up the losses of his la- 
 borious neighbours, and prevent their sinking under 
 ':hem. If a poor man had lost a beast, he would 
 I send him another in its room : or if any farmer had 
 i had a bad year, he would make him an abatement in 
 lis tithes. Thus, as far as he was able, he took the 
 misfortunes of his parish upon himself; and, like a 
 true shepherd, exposed himself for his flock. 
 
 But of all kinds of industrious poor, he was most 
 Forward to assist those who had large families : such 
 lever failed to meet with his bounty, when they 
 .wanted to settle their children in the world. 
 
 In the distant parishes where he preached, as well 
 IS in his own neighbourhood, his generosity and 
 
188 
 
 benevolence were continually showing themselves, 
 particularly in the desolate parts of Northumberland. 
 " When he began his journey," says an old manu- 
 script life of him, " he would have ten pounds in his 
 purse ; and at his coming home he would be twenty 
 nobles in debt, which he would always pay within a 
 fortnight after." In the jails he visited, he was not 
 only careful to give the prisoners proper instructions, 
 but used to purchase for them likewise what neces- 
 saries they wanted. 
 
 Even upon the public road, he never let sHp an op- 
 portunity of doing good. Often has he been known 
 to take off his cloak, and give it to a half-naked tra- 
 veller : and when he has had scarce money enough 
 in his pocket to provide himself a dinner, yet would 
 he give away part of that little, or the whole, if he 
 found any who seemed to stand in need of it. Of 
 this benevolent temper, the following instance is pre- 
 served. One day returning home, he saw in a field 
 several people crowding together ; and judging some- 
 thing more than ordinary had happened, he rode up, 
 and found that one of the horses in a team had sud- 
 denly dropped down, which they were endeavouring 
 to raise ; but in vain, for the horse was dead. The 
 owner of it seeming much dejected with his misfor- 
 tune, and declaring how grievous a loss it would be 
 to him, Mr. Gilpin bade him not be disheartened: 
 I'll let you have," says he, " honest man, that 
 horse of mine," and pointed to his servant's. — " Ah ! 
 master," replied the countryman, "my pocket will 
 not reach such a beast as that." — " Come, come," 
 said Mr. Gilpin, " take him, take him, and when I 
 demand my money, then thou shalt pay me." 
 
189 
 
 His hospitable manner of living was the admiration 
 of the whole country. He spent in his family every 
 fortnight, forty bushels of corn, twenty bushels of 
 malt, and a whole ox ; besides a proportional quantity 
 of other kinds of provision. 
 
 Strangers and travellers found a cheerful recep- 
 tion. All were welcome that came ; and even their 
 beasts had so much care taken of them, that it was 
 humorously said, " If a horse was turned loose in 
 any part of the country, it would immediately make 
 its way to the rector of Houghton's." 
 
 Every Sunday, from Michaelmas till Easter, was 
 a sort of public day with him. During this season, 
 he expected to see all his parishioners and their 
 families. For their reception he had three tables 
 well covered : the first was for gentlemen, the second 
 for husbandmen and farmers, and the third for day- 
 labourers. This piece of hospitality he never omitted, 
 even when losses, or a scarcity of provision, made its 
 continuance rather difficult to him. He thought it 
 his duty, and that was a deciding motive. " If you 
 should, as you threaten," says he, in a letter to his 
 old enemy chancellor Barns, " give out a sequestra- 
 tion of my benefice, you shall do me a greater favour 
 than you are aware of. For at this time I am run 
 in no small debt. I want likewise provision of vic- 
 tuals. Where I have had against Michaelmas six or 
 seven fat oxen, and five or six fat cows, I have now 
 neither cow nor ox, but must seek all from the 
 shambles. A sequestration given out, I may with 
 honesty break up house for a space, which will save 
 me twenty or thirty pounds in my purse. But I 
 trust you will think better of this matter." 
 
190 
 
 *' These times," says he, in another letter, " make 
 me so tired of house-keeping, that I would I were dis- 
 charged from it, if it could be with a clear conscience." 
 
 Even when he was absent, no alteration was made 
 in his family expenses : the poor were fed as usual, 
 and his neic^hbours entertained. 
 
 He was always glad of the company of men of 
 worth and letters, who used much to frequent his 
 house. This sociable temper led him into a very 
 large acquaintance ; which, as he could not select his 
 company, became very inconvenient to him when he 
 grew old. 
 
 I shall close this account of his manner of living, 
 with a story which does no little honour to his house- 
 keeping : — 
 
 Some affairs in Scotland obliging queen Eliza- 
 beth to send her treasurer, the lord Burleigh, there, 
 he resolved to take the opportunity of his return to 
 pay a visit to Mr. Gilpin. Hurried as he was, he 
 could not resist the desire of seeing a man whose 
 name was every where so respectfully mentioned. 
 His free discourse from the pulpit to king Edward's 
 court, had early recommended him to this noble per- 
 son; since which time the great distance between 
 them had wholly interrupted their acquaintance. The 
 treasurer's return was so sudden, that he had not time 
 to give any notice of his intended visit. But the 
 economy of so plentiful a house as Mr. Gilpin's was 
 not easily disconcerted. He received his noble guest 
 with so much true politeness, and treated him and his 
 whole retinue in so affluent and generous a manner, 
 that the treasurer would often afterwards say, " He 
 could hardly have expected more at Lambeth." While 
 
191 
 
 lord Burleigh stayed at Houghton, he took great 
 pains by his own, and the observation of his domes- 
 tics, to acquaint himself with the order and regularity 
 with which every thing in that house was managed. 
 It contained a very large family, and was, besides, 
 continually crowded with persons of all kinds — gen- 
 tlemen, scholars, workmen, farmers, and poor people : 
 yet there was never any confusion; every one was 
 immediately carried into proper apartments, and en- 
 tertained, directed, or reheved, as his particular busi- 
 ness required. It could not but please this wise lord, 
 who was so well acquainted with the effects of order 
 and regularity in the highest sphere, to observe them 
 even in this humble one. Here, too, he saw true 
 simplicity of manners, and every social virtue regu- 
 lated by exact prudence. The statesman began to 
 jnbend, and he could not without an envious eye 
 compare the unquiet scenes of vice and vanity in which 
 le was engaged, with the calmness of this amiable 
 etreat. At length with reluctance he took his leave ; 
 md, with all the warmth of affection, embracing his 
 nuch-respected friend, he told him, " He had heard 
 Treat things in his commendation, but he had now 
 ;een what far exceeded all that he had heard." " If," 
 idded he, " Mr. Gilpin, I can ever be of any service 
 0 you at court or elsewhere, use me with all freedom, 
 IS one you may depend on." When he had got to 
 llainton-hill, which rises about a mile from Hough- 
 on, and commands the vale, he turned his horse to 
 ake one more view of the place ; and, having kept 
 lis eye fixed upon it for some time, in his reverie he 
 )roke out into this exclamation : " There is the en- 
 oyment of life indeed ! Who can blame that man 
 
192 
 
 for not accepting of a bishopric? What doth he 
 want to make him greater, or happier, or more use- 
 ful to mankind ?'* 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Obtains a charter for his school — suffers persecu- 
 tio7i from his enemies — his death — co7icluding 
 remarks o?i his character. 
 
 The last business of a public nature in which Mr. 
 Gilpin was engaged, was the settlement of his school. 
 It answered his expectations so well by the good it 
 did in the country, that when he grew old it became 
 his chief concern. His infirmities obliged him now 
 to relax a little from those very great fatigues he had 
 undergone abroad, and to draw his engagements nearer 
 home. His school, situated near his house, afforded 
 him, when most infirm, an employment; and he 
 thought he could hardly die in peace till he had set- 
 tled it to his mind. What he had principally at 
 heart was, to compose for it a set of good statutes, to 
 provide it a better endowment, and to fix all by a 
 charter. 
 
 As to the statutes, he was daily employed in cor- 
 recting, adding to, and altering those he had drawn 
 up; advising with his friends, and doing all in his 
 power to prevent any future abuse of his charity. 
 
 With regard to abetter endowment, it was not in- 
 deed in his own power to do any thing more. His 
 exhibitions, his other charities, and his generous man- 
 
193 
 
 ner of livin cr, made vearly such large demands upon 
 him, which iucreased as he grew old, that it became then 
 impossible for him to lay up anv thing. He would 
 gladlv have contracted his hospitality, which he thought 
 his least useful expense ; but when he considered that 
 he might probably by that means lose much of the 
 esteem of the people, he could not prevail with himself 
 to do it. Thus, unable to do any thing more out of 
 his own purse, he turned his eyes upon his friends. 
 
 There was a gentleman in the neighbourhood. 
 John Heath, Esq. of Kepier, with whom Mr. Gilpin 
 had lived for many years in great intimacy. He was 
 a man of uncommon worth, was master of a plen- 
 tiful fortune, and had an inclination to put it to the 
 best uses. He was besides a man of letters, and an 
 encourager of learning. To this gentleman Mr. Gil- 
 pin applied in favour of his school. Mr. Heath came 
 with great readiness into the scheme proposed to him, 
 and doubled the original endowment. Mr. Gilpin 
 prevailed upon some others likewise to contribute their 
 assistance, by which means the revenues of the school 
 became at lenfjth answerable to his wishes. 
 
 Ha\-inCT thus obtained a sufficient endowment, he 
 began next to think of a charter. For this he applied 
 to his friend the earl of Bedford. 
 
 The two following letters from that earl are here 
 inserted, rather indeed to show his friendship for Mr. 
 Gilpin, than because they are otherwise very mate- 
 rial : — 
 
 " To my very loving friend, Mr. Bernard Gilpin. 
 
 " After mv heartv commendations : I have re- 
 ceived your letter of the 11th of last month; and, 
 I 8 
 
194 
 
 besides the good news of your health, am glad also to 
 hear of your well-doing in those parts, which want 
 such men as you, to call the rude sort to the know- 
 ledge and continuance of their duties towards God 
 and their prince ; whereof there is great lack. — Con- 
 cerning your suit moved at Windsor, the troubles that 
 have since happened have been so many and so great, 
 that no convenient time hath served to prosecute the 
 same ; and the bill given in, I doubt, is lost. So that 
 for more surety, it were good you sent up another 
 copy ; and I will do my best endeavours to bring it 
 to pass. I will likewise do what I can to get some 
 of those county forfeitures to be granted by her ma- 
 jesty for the furtherance of your good purpose. — 
 Here is no news to write to you : as for things in the 
 north, you have them there : and albeit it hath been 
 said that a peace is concluded in France, yet it is not 
 so. — And so wishing your health and well to do, I 
 do hereby thank you for your gentle letter, and so 
 commit you to God. 
 
 " Your assured friend, 
 
 « F. Bedford." 
 
 « London, May 3, 1370." 
 
 " After my very hearty commendations : hoping 
 in God you are in good health, who, as he hath well 
 begun in you, so may he keep and continue you 
 a good member in his church. — I have moved the 
 queen's majesty for your school ; and afterwards the 
 bill was delivered to Mr. Secretary Walsingham, a 
 very good and godly gentleman, who procured the 
 same to be signed, as I think you have before this 
 heard by your brother. Assuredly you did very well 
 
195 
 
 and honestly therein, and have deserved great com- 
 mendations : a thing most necessary in those parts is 
 this of all other, for the well-bringing up of youth, 
 and trainino them in learnincr and croodness. — In 
 any thing that I may stand you in stead, I pray you 
 be bold to use me, whom you may assure yourself to 
 remain ready to do you any good that I can. — So for 
 this time I commend you to God. 
 
 " Your assured friend, 
 
 " F. Bedford." 
 
 " Russel Place, March 26, 1571." 
 
 One of Mr. Gilpin's last good actions was his 
 endeavour to convert a young Jesuit. A friend of 
 his, one Mr. Genison, of Newcastle, had taken into 
 his house a brother's son, who having been some 
 time in Italy, and there inveigled by the Jesuits, had 
 been taken into their order. His time of discipline 
 being over, he was sent into England, whither he 
 brought with him the zeal of a novice. His uncle, a 
 man of good plain sense, soon discovered what had 
 happened ; and being greatly afflicted that his nephew 
 was not only become a Papist, but a Jesuit, said 
 what he could to recover him from his errors. But 
 the young man had got his instructions too perfect to 
 be influenced by his uncle's arguments. The old 
 gentleman, therefore, not knowing what to do with 
 him himself, at length thought of Mr. Gilpin. To 
 him he wrote, told the whole affair, and earnestly en- 
 treated him, if he had any friendship for him, to try 
 what impression he could make upon his nephew. 
 Mr. Gilpin had little hopes of success from what he 
 had heard of the young man's character, and still less 
 1 2 
 
196 
 
 when he saw him. He was naturally very full of 
 himself, and this turn his education had increased. 
 Instead of examining attentively what was said, and 
 giving pertinent answers, he was still running from 
 the point, advancing his own tenets, and defending 
 them by strained interpretations of Scripture, and the 
 grossest misapplication of it. The truth was, he 
 wanted to signalize himself by making some eminent 
 person his convert ; and his vanity led him to expect 
 that he might bring over Mr. Gilpin. This was 
 indeed the chief thing he proposed in coming to 
 Houghton. When he found he failed in this, he 
 did what he could to corrupt the servants, and such 
 of the scholars and country-people as came in his 
 way. He became at length so very disagreeable, 
 that Mr. Gilpin was obliged to desire his uncle to 
 send for him again. His letter upon the occasion 
 discovers so much honesty of heart, and so beautiful 
 a simplicity of manners, that it deserves very well to 
 be inserted : — 
 
 " I trust, Sir, you remember, that when you first 
 spake to me about your brother's son, your promise 
 was, that I should have a license from the bishop for 
 my warrant. But that is not done. Wherefore, 
 you must either get one yourself, or suffer me : for 
 our curate and churchwardens are sworn to present, 
 if any be in the parish which utterly refuse to come 
 to church. I only desired him that he would come 
 into the quire in the sermon-time but half an hour; 
 which he utterly refused, and willed me to speak no 
 more of it. He is indeed fixed in his errors ; and I 
 have perceived by his talk that his coming here was 
 
197 
 
 not to learn, but to teach : for, thinking to find me 
 half a Papist, ho trusted to win me over entirely. 
 But whereas, I trust in God, I have put him clearly 
 from that hope ; yet I stand in great danger, that he 
 shall do much hurt in my house, or in the parish ; 
 for he cometh furnished with all the learning of the 
 hot college of Jesuits. They have found out, I per- 
 ceive, certain expositions of the Old Testament, 
 never heard of before, to prove the invocation of saints 
 from Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He will not grant 
 that any thing hath been wrong in the Church of 
 Rome : the most abominable errors of indulgences, 
 pardons, false miracles, and false reliques, pilgrim- 
 ages, and such like, he can find them all in the Gos- 
 pel ; and will have them all to be good and holy.— 
 For my part, I have determined myself otherwise : 
 age and want of memory compel me to take my lea\'e 
 of this wretched world ; and at this time of life not 
 to study answers to such trumpery, and new inven- 
 tions ; seeing I was never any disputer in all my life. 
 I trust there be learned men enough in the universi- 
 ties, who will sufficiently answer all that ever they 
 can bring that is worth answering. — Wherefore, 
 good Mr. Genison, seeing your cousin is fixed in his 
 errors, as he plainly confesseth, help, to ease me of 
 this burthen, that I may with quietness apply to my 
 vocation. I am sent for to preach in divers places, 
 but I cannot go from home, so long as he is here. 
 People, in these evil days, are given to learn more 
 superstition in a week, than true religion in seven 
 years. — But if, notwithstanding, you are desirous to 
 have him tarry two or three weeks longer, I must 
 needs have license from the bishop : whether you will 
 
198 
 
 get the same, or I must, I refer to your good plea- 
 sure. And so I pray God to preserve you evermore. 
 " Your loving friend to his power, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
 Notwithstanding what is said in this letter, it 
 seems probable that Mr. Gilpin's arguments at length 
 made some impression upon the young man : for he 
 entered afterwards into' a serious dispute in writing 
 with him ; which he would scarce have engaged in, 
 unless the Jesuit had shown greater willingness to 
 discover truth, than what had yet appeared. 
 
 " As sickness, sores, and other troubles," says 
 Mr. Gilpin to him in a letter, " would suffer me, I 
 have answered your objections out of St. Austin : 
 and the chief of them, I trust, are answered to the 
 contentation of such as are willing to stay their con- 
 science upon God and his word, and not upon man's 
 vain inventions, wherein they shall find no rest of 
 conscience, nor quietness of mind. — When leisure 
 will serve to finish the residue, I will send them unto 
 you. In the meantime, I pray God to illuminate 
 your eyes with his heavenly light, and to guide your 
 feet into the way of peace." 
 
 Towards the latter part of his life, Mr. Gilpin 
 went through his duty with great difficulty. His 
 health was much impaired. The extreme fatigue 
 he had during so many years undergone, had now 
 quite broken his constitution. Thus he complains 
 in a letter to a friend : — " To sustain all these tra- 
 vels and troubles I have a very weak body, subject 
 to many diseases ; by the monitions whereof, I am 
 daily warned to remember death. My greatest grief 
 
199 
 
 of all is, that my memory is quite decayed : my sight 
 faileth; my hearing faileth ; with other ailments, 
 more than I can well express." 
 
 While he was thus struggling with an advanced 
 age, and much impaired constitution, there happened 
 a very unfortunate affair, which entirely destroyed 
 his health. As he was crossing the market-place 
 at Durham, an ox ran at him, and pushed him down 
 with such violence, that it was imacrined the bruises 
 he received would have occasioned his death. He 
 lay long confined ; and though he again got abroad, 
 he never recovered even the little strength he had 
 before, and continued lame as long as he lived. But 
 accidents of this kind were no very formidable trials 
 to a mind so well tempered as his. It was a per- 
 suasion he had long entertained, that misfortunes are 
 intended by Providence to remind us of our neglected 
 duty : and thus he always used them, making self- 
 examination the constant attendant upon whatever 
 calamities befell him. To this it was owing that 
 misfortunes never dejected him, but were received by 
 him rather with thankfulness than repining. 
 
 But sickness was not the only distress which the 
 declining years of this excellent man had to struggle 
 with. As age and infirmity began to lessen that 
 weight and influence he once had, the malice and 
 opposition of his enemies of course prevailed more. 
 
 Of what frivolous pretences they availed them- 
 selves, and with what temper he bore their malice, 
 the following letters will show better than any nar- 
 rative : — 
 
 " I am very sorry, Mr. Wren, to hear that you 
 
200 
 
 should fall into such unlawful contention with any 
 one; and that, to maintain an evil cause, you should 
 make an untrue report of me. I am very glad, 
 however, that the two other false reports, if it be as 
 you say, were not raised by you : one, that I should 
 make the marriage of ministers unlawful; the other, 
 that I should make their children bastards. Where- 
 as certainly it is known, that long ago I was accused 
 before bishop Tunstal for speaking in favour of 
 priests' marriage : since which time 1 have never 
 altered my mind ; but in my sermons in this county, 
 Northumberland, Westmoreland, Cumberland, York- 
 shire, and Lancashire, I have, as opportunity served, 
 spoken in defence of priests' marriage. And allow- 
 ing their marriage, I trust no man will believe that 
 I should make their children bastards. 
 
 " You say I am called hypocrite : I know I am 
 so of divers. How they will answer God's law 
 therein, I leave to their own conscience. But verily 
 for my own part, I can thank them ; for when I 
 hear it, I trust in God I gain not a little thereby in 
 studying clearly to subdue that vice ; which I have 
 strived against ever since I studied the Holy Scrip- 
 tures. And I suppose very few or no preachers in 
 England have preached oftener against that vice than 
 I ; and that, as I trust, with a clear conscience. 
 
 " But to make an end at this time, (because this 
 bearer can show you what small time I have, being 
 sore overcharged with manifold studies and busi- 
 nesses,) it is time, good Mr. Wren, both for you and 
 me (age and sundry diseases, messengers of death, 
 giving us warning) more deeply to ripe our own 
 consciences, and more diligently to search our own 
 
201 
 
 faults, and to leave off from curious hearkening and 
 espying of other men's : especially when it breedeth 
 contention, and can in nowise edify. I pray you 
 read St. James, the latter part of the third chapter, 
 and there learn from whence cometh contentious wis- 
 dom. And this I beseech you remember, that it 
 is not long since God did most mercifully visit you 
 with great sickness. At that time I doubt not but 
 you lamented sore your duty forgotten in your life 
 past : and, for the time to come, if God would re- 
 store you to your health, I trust you promised a 
 godly repentance, and reformation of life. Good 
 Mr. Wren, if you have somewhat forgotten that 
 godly mind, pray to God to bring it again ; and being 
 had, keep it. Pray in faith, and St. James saith, 
 God will hear you ; whom I beseech ever more to 
 have you in his blessed keeping. 
 
 " Your loving friend to his power, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
 " After my most hearty and due commendations, 
 having heard that Sir WilUam Mitchell, one of your 
 brother's executors, reported evil of me in sundry 
 places, bruiting abroad that I withhold from him 
 great sums of money; and I know nothing where- 
 fore, but for sixteen books which 1 had of your bro- 
 ther, being to return either the price or the books 
 again ; I heartily beseech you, seeing that you are 
 joined executor likewise, that you will let me know 
 by this bearer, William Ayray, if you can find any 
 thing in any writings or accounts of your brother, 
 that can be lawfully demanded of me, and, God willing, 
 it sliall be paid or I be much elder. If, as I be» 
 I 3 
 
202 
 
 lieve, I be debtor for nothing else, saving the six- 
 teen books, whereof I know no price, I have given 
 this bearer, my servant, such instructions, that he will 
 either satisfy you, or I will make return of the books. 
 — I pray Almighty God to have you ever in his 
 blessed keeping. 
 
 " Your loving friend to his power, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
 But of all his enemies, the most active were Huffh 
 Broughton and chancellor Barns. 
 
 Broughton acted the basest and most ungrateful 
 part. Mr. Gilpin had educated and maintained him 
 both at school and the university, and had always 
 shown him every civility in his power. Yet this 
 man was afterwards vile enough to endeavour to sup- 
 plant the very patron who raised him. He had 
 craftily insinuated himself into the bishop of Dur- 
 ham's favour, and thought he stood fair for the first 
 vacant preferment ; and as Houghton was then the 
 best thing in the bishop's gift, he had fixed his eye 
 upon it. Mr. Gilpin was old and infirm, and in all 
 probability could enjoy it but a very few years ; yet 
 Broughton had not patience to let him spend the 
 remainder of his age in peace. He knew the bishop 
 was easily imposed upon, and found means to pre- 
 judice him against Mr. Gilpin. To this was owing, 
 as appeared afterwards, the affair of the suspen- 
 sion, already mentioned, and some other instances 
 of the bishop's displeasure. But, in the end, poor 
 Broughton had the mortification to see his indirect 
 measures unravelled. The bishop saw his error, 
 was reconciled to Mr. Gilpin, and continued ever 
 
203 
 
 afterwards his steady friend : and Broughton finding 
 himself neglected, left Durham to seek his fortune 
 elsewhere. 
 
 Chancellor Barns was indeed a more generous, 
 as he was an open enemy. Besides, what he did, 
 was in some measure in his own defence : for it 
 must be owned, Mr. Gilpin was very troublesome to 
 him in all his designs, * and generally made the first 
 attack. After the affair at Chester, however, the 
 chancellor laid aside all decency ; and from that time, 
 nothing in his power that was disobliging was omitted. 
 But his mahce had no other effect, than to give Mr. 
 Gilpin an opportunity of proving how well he had 
 learned the Christian lessons of meekness : though 
 at the same time how becomingly he could exert a 
 decent spirit, when it was needful; and show, by 
 tempering charity with displeasure, that he could be 
 angry and yet not sin. To this happy temper the 
 following letters will bear sufficient testimony : — 
 
 " Right worshipful, after my due commendations: 
 these are to certify you, that my curate paying for 
 me at the last visitation forty-six shillings, paid more 
 than he ought to have done, by about a noble. 
 As for the money, I speak not : I pray God that 
 it may do my lord much good. But I should be 
 very sorry, that through my default it should remain 
 an everlasting burthen to my successors. Where- 
 fore I beseech you let it not be made a precedent ; 
 and for my time, if I live till the next visitation, 
 which I look not for, I will not refuse to pay it no 
 
 • See Chapter VII. 
 
204 
 
 more than I do now, so that care be taken my suc- 
 cessors pay no more after me than that which is due, 
 which I take to be fourpence for every pound in 
 the queen's majesty's books. — But you say I must 
 needs pay it, and my successors also, because it is 
 found in a certain rate-book of bishop Pilkington. 
 As for that I am able to say, and I trust I can bring 
 witness, that bishop Pilkington, at his first visitation, 
 clearly forgave me all the sum, in consideration, as 
 I was told, of my travel in Northumberland ; and 
 after that, at his other two visitations, I made no 
 let, but suffered his officers just to take what they 
 would. But my trust is, that your worship will not 
 burthen my successors for this my simplicity or fc^lly, 
 term it what you will. — Seeing, then, that I have 
 so much reason, they do me wrong who say I 
 wrangled at the last visitation : for God is my wit- 
 ness, I love not differences of any kind. — I pray 
 God to have you in his blessed keeping. 
 
 " Yours to his power, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
 " I marvel, Mr. Barns, that you should use me 
 in this manner, I seeking and studying to use you 
 well in all things. — About two or three years ago, at 
 my lord's visitation, when you took of others a groat 
 in the pound, (as you can take no more,) you made 
 me pay above my due; for the which, if I had sought 
 remedy by the statute against extortion, I trust the 
 statute would have stood for me. — After that, the 
 subsidy being gathered, my servant, by oversight, 
 not examining carefully the book, paid a certain sum 
 that was not due, I think it was about twenty shil- 
 
205 
 
 lings ; but sure I could never get it restored to this 
 dav. — Now, you seek unjustly to charge my living 
 for my curate ; which, seeing it hath never been de- 
 manded before, some will think you seek it for your 
 own purse. I pay unto the queen's majesty (God 
 save her grace) as duly, and with as good a will as 
 any subject, twenty-three pounds twelve shillings by 
 the year. But if you still continue resolved to 
 charge me with this six pounds, I promise you, be- 
 fore I pay it, 1 will spend five marks in defence of 
 my right. — But I trust after good advisement you 
 will let this new suit drop. I pray God Almighty 
 to keep you evermore. 
 
 " Your loving friend to his power, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
 This load of calumny, ingratitude, and ill-usage, 
 may justly be supposed to press heavy upon him, 
 already sinking under a weight of years : yet he bore 
 it with great fortitude; strengthening himself with 
 such consolations as a good Christian hath in reserve 
 for all extremities. 
 
 His resignation, however, was not long exercised. 
 About the beginning of February, in the year 1583, 
 he found himself so very weak, that he was sensible 
 his end must be drawing near. He told his friends 
 his apprehensions ; and spoke of his death with that 
 happy composure which always attends the conclusion 
 of a good life. He was soon after confined to his 
 chamber. His senses continued perfect to the last. 
 Of the manner of his taking leave of the world, we 
 have this account : — 
 
 A few days before his death, he ordered himself 
 
206 
 
 to be raised in his bed; and his friends, acquaintances, 
 and dependents to be called in. He first sent for 
 the poor, and beckoning them to his bed-side, he told 
 them, he found he was going out of the world — he 
 hoped they would be his witnesses at the great day 
 that he had endeavoured to do his duty among them 
 — and he prayed God to remember them after he 
 was gone. — He would not have them weep for him : 
 if ever he had told them any thing good, he would 
 have them remember that in his stead. — Above all 
 things, he exhorted them to fear God, and keep his 
 commandments ; telling them, if they would do this, 
 they could never be left comfortless. 
 
 He next ordered his scholars to be called in : to 
 these likewise he made a short speech, reminding 
 them, that this was their time, if they had any de- 
 sire, to qualify themselves for being of use in the 
 world — that learning was well worth their attention, 
 but virtue was much more so. 
 
 He next exhorted his servants; and then sent for 
 several persons, who had not heretofore profited by 
 his advice according to his wishes, and upon whom 
 he imagined his dying words might have a better ef- 
 fect. His speech began to faulter before he finished 
 his exhortations. The remaining hours of his life 
 he spent in prayer, and broken conversation with 
 some select friends, mentioning often the consolations 
 of Christianity — declaring they were the only true 
 ones — that nothing else could bring a man peace at 
 the last. He died upon the 4th of March, 1583, in 
 the 66th year of his age. 
 
 I shall conclude this account of him with a few 
 observations upon his character; and some incidents, 
 
I 207 
 
 which I could not introduce properly in any part of 
 the narration. 
 
 His person was tall and slender, in the ornament 
 of which he was at no pains. He had a particular 
 aversion to the fopperies of dress. In his diet he 
 was very temperate, rather abstemious. 
 
 His parts were very good. His imagination, 
 memory, and judgment, were lively, retentive, and 
 solid. 
 
 His acquirements were as considerable. By an 
 unwearied application, he had amassed a great store 
 of knowledge ; and was ignorant of no part of learn- 
 ing at that time in esteem : in languages, history, 
 and divinity, he particularly excelled. He read 
 poetry with a good taste ; himself, as the bishop of 
 Chichester relates, no mean poet. But he laid out 
 I little time in the pursuit of any study foreign to his 
 profession. 
 
 His temper was naturally warm: and in his youth 
 I meet with instances of his giving way to passion ; 
 but he soon got more command of himself, and at 
 length entirely corrected that infirmity. 
 I His disposition was serious, yet among his parti- 
 cular friends he was commonly cheerful, sometimes 
 facetious. His general behaviour was very affable. 
 His severity had no object but himself: to others 
 he was humble, candid, and indulgent. Never did 
 virtue sit with greater ease on any one, had less of 
 moroseness, or could mix more agreeably with what- 
 ever was innocent in common life. 
 
 He had a most extraordinary skill in the art of 
 managing a fortune. He considered himself barely 
 as a steward for other people ; and took care there- 
 
208 
 
 fore that his own desires never exceeded what calm 
 reason could justify. Extravagance with him was 
 another word for injustice. Amidst all his business 
 he found leisure to look into his affairs ; well know- 
 ing that frugality is the support of charity. 
 
 His intimacies were but few. It was his en- 
 deavour, as he thought the spirit of Christianity 
 required, to dilate, rather than to contract his affec- 
 tions. Yet where he professed a particular friend- 
 ship, he was a religious observer of its offices. Of 
 this the following relation is an instance : — Through 
 his application, the dean and chapter of Durham had 
 bestowed a living upon one of his friends. Soon 
 after, Mr. Gilpin was nominated a referee in a dis- 
 pute between them and the archbishop of York : but 
 for some particular reasons he excused himself. * 
 This irritated the dean and chapter so much, that 
 out of mere pique at him they took away two thirds 
 from the allowance they had assigned to his friend. 
 He did what he could to pacify them; but his utmost 
 endeavours proving fruitless, he insisted upon his 
 friend's accepting from him a yearly satisfaction for 
 his loss.f At another time, a friend desired he 
 
 * The chapter of Durham was in great disorder, and in many 
 instances much complained of. Sandys, archbishop of York, 
 undertook to visit them ; but Whitingham, the dean, withstood 
 him ; having prevailed upon the Lord President of the north to 
 second him. The archbishop complained to the Council : upon 
 which a commission was issued out by the Lord Keeper, em- 
 powering certain persons to examine a case ; among whom Mr. 
 Gilpin was named. His reason for not acting was, most proba- 
 bly, because he thought the dean and chapter in the wrong. 
 
 f To Dr. Wilson. 
 
 " Right worshipful, whereas I hear your worship named of 
 many to the deanery of Durham, these are most liumbly to be- 
 seech you (if it shall please God so to bless that house) that you 
 
209 
 
 would request the bishop of Durham to lend him a 
 sum of money : he made the application ; but not 
 succeeding, he wrote thus to his friend : My lord 
 hath lent to so very many, (which I believe is true,) 
 that you must pardon him for not sending you the 
 money. I pray you trouble him no more ; and I 
 trust by little and little I can make up the sum my- 
 self." 
 
 He was the most candid interpreter of the words 
 and actions of others : where he plainly saw failings, 
 he would make every possible allowance for them. 
 He used to express a particular indignation at slan- 
 der, often saying, it more deserved the gallows than 
 theft. For himself, he was remarkably guarded when 
 he spoke of others ; he considered common fame as 
 
 will help, as I trust God you may, to redress, among sundry 
 enormities, one which hath happened a year ago or more. — The 
 dean and chapter of Durham are parsons of a parish in Northum- 
 berland, called Ellingham. The living was better than thirty 
 pounds a year. Our schoolmaster of Houghton, a scholar of 
 Oxford, made labour for it. At his suit, and mine together, it 
 was granted, as we judged, witli all such commodities as the 
 last incumbent, and otliers before, had had. But soon after, 
 the dean and chapter took away from the vicar as good as twenty 
 pounds a year ; so that the poor man, having wife and children, 
 might have begged, if 1 and other friends had not holpen him : 
 God knoweth it hath been a costly matter to me. But my trust 
 now is, that your worship, knowing the matter, will be willing 
 to help it, and may help it; for the present possessor, Mr. Selb)', 
 hath nothing to show but a promise from Mr. "NVhitingham, 
 whereunto the chapter would never consent. Mr. Ralph Lever 
 can inform you of all the matter. If your worship can help it, 
 surely you cannot do a better deed. Would to God all violent 
 workers of injuries were resisted! — If God should send you into 
 this country, I trust to be better known to your worship. I 
 pray God preserve you evermore. 
 
 " By yours to his power, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
 "Houghton, July 11, 1579." 
 
210 
 
 the falsest medium, and a man's reputation as his 
 most valuable property. 
 
 His sincerity was such as became his other virtues. 
 He had the strictest regard to truth, of which his 
 whole life was only one instance. All little arts and 
 sinister practices, those ingredients of worldly pru- 
 dence, he disdained. His perseverance in so com- 
 mendable a part, in whatever difficulties it might at 
 first involve him, raised his character, in the end, 
 above malice and envy, and gave him that weight and 
 influence in every thing he undertook, which nothing 
 but an approved sincerity can give. 
 
 Whatever his other virtues were, their lustre was 
 greatly increased by his humility. To conquer reli- 
 gious pride is one of the best effects of religion; an 
 effect which his religion in the most amiable manner 
 produced. 
 
 Thus far, however, he hath had many imitators. 
 The principal recommendations of him, and the dis- 
 tinguishing parts of his character, were his conscien- 
 tious discharge of the duties of a clergyman, his ex- 
 tensive benevolence, and his exalted piety. 
 
 As to the discharge of his function, no man could 
 be more strongly influenced by what he thought the 
 duties of it. The motives of convenience, or present 
 interest, had no kind of weight with him. As the 
 income was no part of his concern, he only considered 
 the office ; which he thought such a charge as a man 
 would rather dread than solicit : but when Providence 
 called him to it, (for what was not procured by any en- 
 deavours of his own, he could not but ascribe to Pro- 
 vidence,) he accepted it, though with reluctance. He 
 then showed, that if a sense of the importance of his 
 
211 
 
 office made him distrust his abilities, it made him most 
 diHgent in exerting them. As soon as ever he un- 
 dertook the care of a parish, it immediately engrossed 
 his whole attention. The pleasures of life he totally 
 relinquished, even his favourite pursuits of learning. 
 This was the more commendable in him, as he had 
 always a strong inclination for retirement, and was 
 often violently tempted to shut himself up in some 
 university at home or abroad, and live there seques- 
 tered from the world. But his conscience corrected 
 his inclination ; as he thought the life of a mere re- 
 cluse by no means agreeable to the active principles 
 of Christianity. Nay, the very repose to which his age 
 laid claim, he would not indulge; but as long as he 
 had strength sufficient, persevered in the laborious 
 practice of such methods of instruction, as he ima- 
 gined might most benefit those under his care. — Of 
 popular applause he was quite regardless, so far as 
 mere reputation was concerned : but as the favour of 
 the multitude was one step towards gaining their at- 
 tention, in that light he valued it. He reproved vice, 
 wherever he observed it, with the utmost freedom. 
 As he was contented in his station, and superior to 
 all dependence, he avoided the danger of being tempted 
 to any unbecoming compliance : and whether he re- 
 proved in public or private, his unblameable life, and 
 the seriousness with which he spoke, gave an irre- 
 sistible weight to what he said. He studied the low 
 capacities of the people among whom he lived, and 
 knew how to adapt his arguments to their apprehen- 
 sions. Hence the effects that his preaching had upon 
 them are said to have been often very surprising. In 
 particular it is related, that as he was once recom- 
 
mending honesty in a part of the country notoriously 
 addicted to thieving, a man, struck with the warmth 
 and earnestness with which he spoke, stood up in the 
 midst of a large congregation, and freely confessed 
 his dishonesty, and how heartily he repented of it. 
 
 With regard to his benevolence, never certainly 
 had any man more disinterested views, or made the 
 common good more the study of his life, which was 
 indeed the best comment upon the great Christian 
 principle of universal charity. He called nothing his 
 own ; there was nothing he could not readily part with 
 for the service of others. In his charitable distribu- 
 tions he had no measure but the bounds of his income, 
 of which the least portion was always laid out on him- 
 self. Nor did he give as if he was granting a fa- 
 vour, but as if he was paying a debt : all obsequious 
 service the generosity of his heart disdained. He 
 was the more particularly careful to give away in his 
 lifetime whatever he could save for the poor, as he 
 had often seen and regretted the abuse of posthumous 
 charities. " It is my design, at my departure," says 
 he, writing to a friend, " to leave no more behind me, 
 but to bury me, and pay my debts." What little he 
 did leave,* he left wholly to the poor, deducting a few 
 
 • The following are a few extracts from his will, which perhaps 
 may not be unacceptable to the reader. 
 
 " First, I bequeath and commend my soul unto the hands of 
 Almighty God, my Creator; not trusting in mine own merits, 
 which am of myself a most wretched sinner, but only in the mercy 
 of God, and in the merits of Jesus Christ, my Redeemer and my 
 Saviour. — My body I commit to be buried in the parish church, 
 or church-yard, wheresoever it shall please God to call me to his 
 
 mercy For the disposition of my goods, first, I will that all my 
 
 debts be truly paid with all speed; which I shall gather, and set 
 after this my last will. — My debts once discharged, of what re- 
 maineth I give and bequeath * ♦ « [here follow legacies to thd 
 
213 
 
 slight tokens of remembrance that he bequeathed to 
 his friends. How vain it was for those who were 
 
 poor of nine parislies.] — Likewise I give to the poor of Houghton 
 parish, the great new ark for corn, to provide them groats in win- 
 ter ; and if none will make that provision, let it be sold, and the 
 price dealt among them, — Likewise I give to the Queen's College 
 in Oxford, all such books as shall have written upon the first leaf, 
 Bernardus Gilpin, Reginensi CoIIegio, D. D. and all such books 
 as shall have written upon the first leaf, Johannes Newton, Regi- 
 nensi Collegio, D.D. and likewise all the books that Mr. Hugh 
 Broughton hath of mine, viz. Eusebius, Greek, in two volumes; 
 and Josephufi, Greek, in one volume, and certain other books ; 
 I trust he will withhold none of them. — Also I give to Keipier 
 school in Houghton, all such books as shall have the name of it 
 in the first leaf. — Also I give to my successor, and to his succes- 
 sors after him, first, the great new brewing lead in the brewhouse, 
 with the gile-fat, and mash-fat: likewise, in the kiln, a large new 
 steep-lead, which receives a chauldrori of corn at once : likewise, 
 in the larder-house, one great salting-tub, which will hold four 
 oxen or more; likewise, in the great chamber over the parlour, 
 one long table, and a shorter, standing upon joined frames; hke- 
 wise, in the parlour, one long table upon a joined frame, with the 
 form : likewise, in the hall, three tables [at which he used to en- 
 tertain his parish] standing fast, with their forms to them : like- 
 wise ♦ * * [here follow a great many other pieces of furniture, 
 materials for building, unwrought timber, lime, slate, &c.] In 
 consideration of all these, and of my exceeding great charges in 
 building and rei^aration since my first coming to this parsonage, 
 M'hich 1 think, with a safe conscience, I may well say amounteth 
 to three hundred pounds, if 1 say no moie, I trust my successor 
 will not demand any thing for delapidations ; and if he should. I 
 doubt nothing but that the bishop of Durham will persuade him 
 to be content with reason, and to do all things with charity: and 
 if charity may bear rule, T doubt not but all delapidations will fall. 
 And here I most earnestly desire my successor not only to let all 
 delapidations fall upon these considerations, and also in favour of 
 the poor, upon whom chiefly my goods are bestowed in this tes- 
 tament; but also that he will be a continual defender and main- 
 tainer of Keipier school in Houghton, both in seeing the statutes 
 well kept, and the children brought up in virtue and learning; 
 which if he do, I doubt not but God shall prosper him the better 
 in all thiHgs he taketh in hand. — Moreover I give to the poor of 
 Houghton twenty poimds, and nine of my oxen : the other nine 
 I bequeath to my three executors. — Likewise, I give to the right 
 reverend Richard Lord Bishop of Durham, for a simple token of 
 remembrance, three silver spoons with acorns; the Histoiy of 
 Paulus Jovius; and the Works of Calvin. — Also I give unto John 
 
214 
 
 not in real want to expect any thing from him, he 
 plainly showed by his own behaviour: for when a 
 legacy was left him, he returned it back again to such 
 of the relations of the legatee as stood in more need 
 of it. — Such instances of benevolence gained him the 
 title of the father of the poor ; and made his memory 
 revered long afterwards in the country where he lived.* 
 
 Heath, Esq. for a like remembrance, other two silver spoons with 
 acorns of the same weight ; and also the History of John Sleden, 
 in Latin : to Mrs. Heath I give my English Chronicle of Fabian, 
 — Also I give to Richard Bellasis, Esq. for a like remembrance, 
 other two silver spoons with acorns of the same fashion ; and also 
 ray history called Novus Orbis. — And I most humbly beseech 
 these three men of honour and worship, that for God's cause they 
 will take so much pain as to become supervisors of this my last 
 will and testament, which, being a work of Christian charity, I 
 trust verily they will not refuse. And, above all other things, 1 
 most humbly beseech them to take into their tuition and govern- 
 ance, all the lands and revenues belonging to Keipier school, and 
 all deeds, evidences, gifts, and other writings, which are to show 
 for the same. All the right and title to these lands I give up 
 wholly into their power, for the good maintenance of the said 
 school. And for as much as these lands are not so surely estab- 
 lished as I could wish, I give unto Keipier school twenty pounds, 
 which I desire the bishop of Durham to take into his hands, and 
 to bestow as he shall see fit, upon men learned in the laws. — All 
 the rest of my goods and chattels, I will that they be divided into 
 two equal parts, and the one of them to be given to the poor of 
 Houghton, the other to scholars and students in Oxford, whose 
 names are Ric. Wharton, Ste. Coperthvvait, Geo. Carleton, Ralph 
 Ironside, Ewan Ayray, Will. Cayrns, Hen. Ayray, Fr. Reiseiy, 
 and Tho. CoUison. These I will be relieved as mine executors 
 shall see needful, a year, two, or three, as the sum will arise. — 
 And for my three executors, for as much as I have been beneficial 
 to them in my lifetime, so far as a good conscience would permit 
 me, and sometime further, (but God I trust hath forgiven me,) I 
 will, and I doubt not but they will agree to the same, that they 
 be content with the nine oxen. And if any gains do arise from 
 the sale of my goods, as I think I have prized them under the 
 worth, I win they shall have that amongst them j only I earnestly 
 request and desire them to be good to my poor neighbours of the 
 parish, being desirous to buy such things as they stand most in 
 need of." 
 
 • A monument in the chancel of Houghton church is a re- 
 
215 
 
 But no part of his character was more conspicuous 
 than his piety. It hath been largely shown with 
 what temper, sincerity, and earnestness, he examined 
 the controverted points of religion, and settled his own 
 persuasion. He thought religion his principal con- 
 cern; and of course made the attainment of just no- 
 tions in it his principal study. To what was matter of 
 mere speculation he paid no regard : such opinions 
 as influenced practice he thought only concerned him. 
 He knew no other end of religion but a holy life ; 
 and, therefore, in all his inquiries about it, he con- 
 sidered himself as looking after truths which were to 
 influence his future conduct, and make him a better 
 man. Accordingly, when his religious persuasion 
 was once settled, he made the doctrines he embraced 
 the invariable rule of his life : all his moral virtues 
 became Christian ones ; were formed upon such mo- 
 tives, and respected such ends, as Christianity recom- 
 mended. It was his daily care to conform himself 
 
 markable instance of this. It is erected to the memory of Mr. 
 Davenport, a worthy rector of that parish, whom his encomiast 
 thus celebrates : — 
 
 " If the soul's transmigration were believed, 
 You'd say, good Gilpin's soul he had received. 
 And with as liberal hand did give or more. 
 His daily charity unto the poor; 
 For which with him, we doubt not, he's possess'd 
 Of righteous men's reward, eternal rest." 
 
 As to the word " more," in the third line, we will rather suppose 
 the poet made use of it for want of another rhyme, than through 
 any disrespect to the memory of !Mr. Gilpin. 
 
 Whatever becomes of the notion of the Metempsychosis, one 
 would imagine, however, that Mr. Gilpin's example at least had 
 its influence upon the rectors of Houghton ; for perhaps few 
 parishes in England can boast such a succession of worthy pas- 
 tors as that parish can since Mr. Gilpin's death. 
 
216 
 
 to the will of God ; upon whose providence he abso- 
 lutely depended in all conditions of life; resigned, 
 easy, and cheerful, under whatsoever commonly re- 
 puted misfortunes he might meet with. He had 
 some peculiar, though, it may be, just notions with 
 regard to a particular providence. He thought all 
 misfortunes, which our own indiscretions did not im- 
 mediately draw upon us, were sent directly from God, 
 to bring us to a sense of our misbehaviour, and quicken 
 us in a virtuous course ; accordingly, at such times he 
 used with more than ordinary attention to examine 
 his past conduct, and endeavour to find out in what 
 point of duty he had been defective. 
 
 To the opinions of others, however different from 
 his own, he was most indulgent. He thought mo- 
 deration one of the most genuine effects of true piety. 
 It hath already appeared, from his intercourse with 
 the dissenters, how great an enemy he was to all into- 
 lerant principles; how wrong he thought it on one 
 hand to oppose an established church, and on the 
 other to molest a quiet separatist. 
 
 His life was wholly guided by a conscience the 
 most religiously scrupulous. I cannot forbear in- 
 serting an instance of its extreme sensibility, though 
 it may be thought perhaps rather superstitious. He 
 had behaved in some particular, with regard to his 
 parish, in a manner which gave him great concern. 
 His conscience was so much alarmed at what he had 
 done, that nothing he was able to allege to himself 
 in his excuse was able to make him easy. At length 
 he determined to lay open the whole case before the 
 bishop of Durham, his diocesan, and to surrender up 
 his living, or submit^ to any censure, which the bishop 
 
217 
 
 mio-ht think his fault deserved. Without thus 
 bringing himself to justice, he said, he never could 
 have recovered his peace of mind.* 
 
 Such was the life and character of this excellent 
 man. A conduct so agreeable to the strictest rules 
 of morality and religion, gained him, among his con- 
 temporaries, the title of the Northern Apostle. And 
 indeed the parallel was striking : his quitting the 
 corrupt doctrines, in the uttermost reverence of which 
 he had been educated ; the persecutions he met with 
 for the sake of his integrity ; the danger he often ran 
 of martyrdom ; his contempt of the world ; his un- 
 
 * His letter upon this occasion to the bishop is not extant, 
 nor doth it appear what the fault was : the following letter relates 
 to it. 
 
 *' Grace and peace in Christ Jesus : if any man be vexed in 
 body or mind, you know it is a veiy grievous thing to have no 
 comforter: which hath constrained me to disclose unto you (not 
 doubting but to have both your comfort and help, and to have 
 it kept most secret) that thing, which, besides to you, I never 
 opened to any living creature. In this inclosed letter I have 
 opened my grief and weakness of conscience unto my lord ; be- 
 seeching you, if opportunity will serve, to deliver it. Howbeit, 
 if either he should be pained with sickness, or you would first 
 by writing that I should have your advice, or you see any other 
 cause why to stay the delivery, I refer all to your wisdom. But 
 if you have opportunity to my lord, I hope by you to know 
 speedily some part of his pleasure. I trust, my case weighed, he 
 will rather think me to be pitied than had in hatred. How tender 
 a thing conscience is, I have found by too good experience. I 
 have found, moreover, that as it is easily wounded, so it is with 
 difficulty healed. And for my own part, I speak from my heart, 
 I would rather be often wounded in my body, than once in my 
 mind. "Which things considered, I trust you will bear with my 
 weakness. But you may object, I have continued weak very 
 long ; which fault certainly I find with myself : but for this I ac- 
 cuse my own slowness botli in study and prayer; which, by God's 
 grace, as far as my weak body will serve, hereafter shall be 
 amended: for certainly those two are the chief instruments 
 Avhereby I have sure trust that God of his goodness will make 
 me strong." 
 
 K 8 
 
218 
 
 wearied application to the business of his calling; 
 and the boldness and freedom with which he reproved 
 the guilty, whatever their fortunes or their stations 
 were, might justly characterize him a truly apostolical 
 person. 
 
 Viewed with such a life, how mean and con- 
 temptible do the idle amusements of the great appear ! 
 How trifling that uninterrupted succession of serious 
 folly, which engages so great a part of mankind, 
 crowding into so small a compass each real concern 
 of life ! How much more nobly doth that person 
 act, who, unmoved by all that the world calls great 
 and happy, can separate appearances from realities, 
 attending only to what is just and right; who, not 
 content with the closet-attainment of speculative vir- 
 tue, maintains each worthy resolution that he forms, 
 persevering steadily, like this excellent man, in the 
 conscientious discharge of the duties of that station, 
 whatever that station is, in which Providence hath 
 placed him ! 
 
SERMON. 
 
 K 2 
 
The following Sermon, which was preached in 
 the Court at Greenwich, before king Edward VI. 
 in the year 1552, is the only revised composition of 
 Mr. Gilpin's that survived him. He spent his time 
 more usefully than in literary avocations : yet to what 
 good purpose he might have employed it in his closet, 
 tliis piece may convince us. It was thought in king 
 Edward's time a very pathetic strain of eloquence, 
 well adapted to the irregularities then prevailing in 
 the licentious court of that prince. It hath since 
 been taken notice of by most of the writers who treat 
 of the ecclesiastical affairs of those times, and is men- 
 tioned by them as a remarkable instance of that com- 
 mendable zeal and noble freedom which the illustrious 
 Reformers of our Church then exerted in the cause 
 of virtue and religion. — But I will leave it to be its 
 own recommendation. 
 
SERMON. 
 
 Luke ir. 41 — 50. 
 
 " Now his parents went to Jerusalem every year, at the feast of 
 the Passover. And when he was twelve years old, and they 
 were come up to Jerusalem, after the custom of the feast, and 
 had finished the days thereof, as they returned, the child Jesus 
 remained in Jerusalem ; and Joseph knew not of it, nor his 
 mother. But they, supposing that he had been in the com- 
 pany, went a day's journey; and sought him amongst their 
 kinsfolk and acquaintance. And when they found him not, 
 they turned back to Jerusalem, and sought him. And it came 
 to pass, three days after, that they found him in the temple, 
 sitting in the midst of the doctors; both hearing them and asking 
 them questions. And all that heard him were astonished at 
 his understanding and answers. So when they saw him, they 
 were amazed : and his mother said unto him, Son, why hast 
 thou thus dealt with us ? Behold, thy father and I have sought 
 thee with heavy hearts. Then said he unto them. How is it 
 that ye sought me? Know ye not that I must go about my 
 Father's business ? But they understood not the word that he 
 spake unto them." 
 
 Forasmuch as the whole gospel is more full of 
 matter, and plenteous in , mysteries, than that it can 
 well be discussed within the limits of one Sermon, 
 I have taken, for this time, to treat upon this one 
 sentence spoken by Christ unto his parents, " Know 
 ye not that I must go about my Father's business ?" 
 being content to omit the rest ; taking only so much 
 as shall suffice to declare the occasion whereupon he 
 
222 
 
 spake these words, for the fuller understanding of 
 the same. 
 
 Ye shall therefore understand, that when our 
 Saviour was come to the age of twelve years, giving 
 attendance upon his parents to Jerusalem, at the 
 solemn feast of Easter, whither they yearly did re- 
 pair at that time of sincere devotion, and for the obe- 
 dience of the law; after that Joseph and Mary had 
 devoutly passed the days of the feast, and were re- 
 turned home, it came to pass, (not through blind 
 fortune, but by God's providence, that his glory 
 might appear,) that the blessed son Jesus tarried be- 
 hind at Jerusalem ; and while his parents, either not 
 taking good heed of him, or else going apart in sun- 
 dry companies, either of them trusting he had been 
 with the other, they went one day's journey before 
 they missed him ; but after he was found wanting, 
 they sought him diligently among their kinsfolk and 
 acquaintance, but found him not; which was un- 
 doubtedly unto them a very cross of bitter affliction. 
 So doth God many times exercise his elect and 
 chosen with adversity, for their trial, and to keep 
 them in humility. When they were returned to 
 Jerusalem, and had long sought him with sorrowful 
 hearts, after three days they found him in the temple. 
 
 Here, then, by the way, methinks the Holy 
 Ghost teacheth us his spiritual doctrine : so long as 
 we seek Christ in our own kinsfolk, that is, our own 
 inventions and devices, we find him not ; but to find 
 Christ, we must accompany these godly persons, 
 Joseph and Mary, unto the temple of his holy word ; 
 there Christ is found unto so many as seek him, 
 with such humble spirits and meek hearts as Joseph 
 
223 
 
 and Mary did. They found him in the temple, not 
 idly occupied as many are, not mumbling things he 
 understood not, si7ie mente so?iiim, a confused sound 
 without knowledge ; but they found him occupied in 
 his heavenly Father's business, as all men should be 
 in the temple, either in speaking to God by humble 
 and hearty prayer, or hearing God speaking to them 
 in his most blessed word. So was Christ occupied 
 amongst learned men, and opposing them. Where 
 he teacheth us to be always as glad to learn as to 
 teach. It is a probable conjecture, that he opened 
 to them the Scriptures which spake of Messias, a 
 matter then in controversy. But whatsoever their 
 matter was, the evangelist saith, " he made them all 
 astonished at his understanding and answers." So 
 the glory of his Godhead even then began to shine. 
 Where we may mark the wonderful power of the 
 gospel : even the hard-hearted that will not receive 
 it, the bright beams of the truth shining therein 
 maketh astonished. It causeth also the godly to 
 marvel, as Mary and Joseph ; but their admiration 
 always ended with joy. 
 
 Yet notwithstanding his heavenly majesty made 
 all men to wonder, his mother thought she had some 
 cause to expostulate with him for the great fear he 
 had brought upon them, casting them into a dungeon 
 of sorrows ; and, complaining, said, " Son, why hast 
 thou thus dealt with us ?" She seemed to charge him 
 with the breach of the first precept of the second 
 table, that he had not well entreated his parents. 
 But Christ so shaped this answer, that he taketh 
 away all her complaint : teaching us, how the pre- 
 cepts of the second table may not be understood 
 
224 
 
 in any wise to be a hindrance to the first. " Wist 
 ye not that I must go about my Father's business ?" 
 Where our duty and service to God cometh in place, 
 all human service and obedience, which might be a 
 hindrance thereto, to whomsoever it be, father or 
 mother, king or Cesar, must stand back and give 
 place. Besides this, he teacheth us here a most ne- 
 cessary lesson for all men to know and bear away, 
 which is, that his whole life and death was nothing 
 else but a perfect obedience to the will of his hea- 
 venly Father, and that he was always most busily 
 occupied therein : and teacheth us, that if we look 
 by adoption to be brethren and co-heirs with Christ 
 of his Father's kingdom, we must also with our Mas- 
 ter and Lord yield up ourselves wholly to our hea- 
 venly Father's will, and always be occupied in his 
 business. " I have given you an example, that ye 
 should do even as I have done to you." Which 
 lesson being so necessary of all Christians to be kept, 
 and the breach thereof the cause of all iniquity, I 
 thought it good to pass over other places of ghostly 
 instruction which this gospel might minister, and to 
 tarry upon this one sentence, " Know ye not that I 
 must go about my Father's business ?" Intending 
 to show in order, how all estates of men, the clergy, 
 the nobility, and the commonalty, are under the band 
 of this obligation, oportet, we must, and ought of 
 necessity to be occupied in our heavenly Father's 
 business. — But, first of all, mistrusting wholly mine 
 own strength, I crave aid of you by your devout 
 prayers. 
 
 " Know ye not that I must go about my Father's 
 business ?" 
 
225 
 
 After that our first parents, through disobedience 
 and sin, had blotted and disfigured the lively image 
 of God, whereunto they were created, and might 
 have lived alway in a conformity to the will of God ; 
 man was never able to apply himself to God his Fa- 
 ther's business, nor yet so much as to know what ap- 
 pertained thereto. " The natural man," saith St. 
 Paul, " perceiveth not the things of the Spirit of 
 God," till Christ, the very true image of God the 
 Father, did come down, and took man's nature upon 
 him ; which descent, as he declareth, was to fulfil for 
 us the will of his Father, that " like as by disobe- 
 dience of one man, many were made sinners ; so by 
 the obedience of one, (Christ,) man)'^ might be made 
 righteous, what time as he became obedient unto 
 death, even the death of the cross." Which obe- 
 dience, lest carnal men should challenge to sufiice 
 for them, howsoever their life be a continual rebel- 
 lion against God and his holy will, such as there be 
 a great number, and have been in all ages, St. Paul 
 wipeth them clean away, saying, " Christ hath be- 
 come salvation, not to all, but to all that obey him." 
 Let no man, therefore, flatter and deceive himself. 
 If we will challenge the name of Christ's disciples, if 
 we will worthily possess the glorious name of Chris- 
 tians, we must learn this lesson of our Master, to 
 be occupied in our heavenly Father's business; which 
 is, to fly our own will, which is a wicked and wan- 
 ton will, and wholly to conform ourselves to his will, 
 saying, as we are taught, " Thy will be done ;" 
 which, as St. Augustine saith, the fleshly man, 
 the covetous, adulterous, ravenous, or deceitful man, 
 can never say, but with his lips, because in his heart 
 K 3 
 
226 
 
 he preferreth his own cursed will, setting aside the 
 will of God." 
 
 Now, forsomuch as the greatest part of the world 
 hath at this day forsaken their Father's business, 
 applying their own, and are altogether drowned in 
 &in ; for " the whole head is sick, and the whole 
 heart is heavy ; from the sole of the foot to the 
 head, there is nothing whole therein and, as St. 
 Paul saith, " all seek their own, and not that which 
 is Jesus Christ's ;" and as I am here ascended into 
 the high hill of Sion, the highest hill in all this 
 realm, I must needs, as it is given me in commis- 
 sion, " Cry aloud and spare not ; lift up my voice 
 like a trumpet, and show the people their transgres- 
 sions." I must cry unto all estates, as w^ell of the 
 ecclesiastical ministiy, as of the civil governance, 
 with the vulgar people. 
 
 But forasmuch as example of holy scripture, with 
 .experience of Christ's church in all ages, hath taught 
 us that the fall of priests is the fall of the people ; 
 and contrariwise, the integrity of them is the pre- 
 servation of the whole flock ; and the ministers, as 
 Christ saith, being " the light of his mystical body, 
 if the light be turned into darkness, there must needs 
 follow great darkness in the whole body;" I think 
 it fit to begin with them, who seem to have brought 
 blindness into the whole body, making men to for- 
 get their heavenly Father's business : they which 
 should have kept the candle still burning, these will 
 I chiefly examine in that business, which Christ so 
 earnestly committed to all pastors before his ascen- 
 sion, when he demanded thrice of Peter if he loved 
 him ; and every time upon Peter's confession, en- 
 
227 
 
 joined him straightly to feed his lambs and sheep ; 
 wherein we have the true trial of all ministers who 
 love Christ and apply his business. 
 
 But to consider how it hath been forgotten in the 
 church many years, it might make a Christian's heart 
 to bleed. He that wrote the General Chronicle 
 of Ages, when he coraeth to the time of John VIII. 
 and Martin II. bishops of Rome about six hundred 
 years ago, conferring the golden ages going before, 
 with the iniquity of that time, when through ambi- 
 tion, avarice, and contention, the office of setting 
 forth God's word was brought to an utter contempt, 
 and trodden under foot, in token whereof the Bible 
 was made the bishop's footstool, he falleth to a sud- 
 den exclamation, and complaineth thus with the la- 
 mentable voice of the prophet Jeremiah, " O Lord 
 God, how is the gold become so dim ? How is the 
 goodly colour of it so changed ? O most ungracious 
 time," saith he, " wherein the holy man faileth, or 
 is not. All truths are diminished from the sons of 
 men : there are no godly men left : the faithful are 
 worn out among the children of men." In that time, 
 as it appeared both by this history and others, ambi- 
 tion and greedy avarice had taught ministers to seek 
 and contend for livings, who might climb the high- 
 est by utter contempt of their office, and our heavenly 
 Father's business ; and so to make Christ's flock a 
 ready prey for the devil, " who goeth about like a 
 roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour." 
 
 Then the bishop of Rome, abusing always Peter's 
 keys to fill Judas' satchels, dispensed with all pre- 
 lates that brought any money in obeying Christ's 
 commission given to Peter, " Feed, feed my lambs 
 
228 
 
 and my sheep and stretched it so largely, that 
 instead of feeding Christ's lambs and sheep, he al- 
 lowed them to feed hawks, hounds, and horses, I 
 will not say harlots. Then, instead of fishers of 
 men, he made them to become fishers of benefices 
 and fat livings. He brought preaching into such a 
 contempt, that it was accounted a great absurdity 
 for a cardinal to preach after he had once bestrid his 
 mule. 
 
 But let us see after, how this evil increased. St. 
 Bernard in his time, about two hundred years after,, 
 lamented that when open persecution of tyrants and 
 heretics was ceased in the church, then another per- 
 secution, far worse, and more noisome to Christ's 
 gospel, did succeed ; when the ministers, Christ's 
 own friends by pretence, were turned into persecu- 
 tors. " My lovers and my kinsmen stand aside from 
 my plague : and my kinsmen stand afar off." The 
 iniquity of the church, saith Bernard, began at the 
 elders. " Alas, alas, O Lord God ! they are the 
 foremost in persecuting of thee, which are thought 
 to love the chiefest place or pre-eminence in the 
 church." This complaint, with much more, too long 
 to be rehearsed, against the prelates of Rome, made 
 St. Bernard in his time nothing afraid in the same 
 place to call them antichrists ; and for murdering of 
 silly souls, redeemed with Christ's precious blood, 
 he maketh them more cruel persecutors of Christ 
 than the Jews which shed his blood. 
 
 If the iniquity of Rome, four hundred years ago, 
 was so great, and since hath not a little increased, 
 it was high time that God should open the eyes of 
 some Christian princes to see the great abuses and 
 
229 
 
 enormities of Romish bishops, and to deHver Christ's 
 gospel out of captivity, and to bring down his horns, 
 whose pride, if he might have had success in his 
 tyranny, began to ascend with Lucifer above the 
 stars. 
 
 It is not many years ago, that a champion of 
 theirs, named Pelagius, writing against Marsilius 
 Paduanus in defence of Rome, hath not been ashamed 
 to leave in writing, that the pope (quodammocio, 
 after a sort,) doth participate both natures, the God- 
 head and manhood, with Christ ; and that he may 
 not be judged of the emperor, because he is not a 
 mere man, but as a God upon earth ; and God, saith 
 he, may not be judged of man. What intolerable 
 blasphemy is this ! If I had not read it myself, I 
 could scarcely believe any such blasphemy to pro- 
 ceed from him which professeth Christ. Do you 
 not perceive plainly the hissing and poison of the 
 old serpent, when he tempted our first parents, and 
 promised they should become like gods ? A vile 
 wretched creature, worms' meat, forgetting his estate, 
 must become a God upon earth ! — Such gods shall 
 follow Jupiter, Mars, and Venus, into the pit of 
 damnation. 
 
 But some will say, ' What should we speak so 
 much of the bishop of Rome ? Is he not gone ? 
 His power taken away ? If preachers would let 
 him alone, the people would soon forget him.' Truly, 
 for my part, if I had that gift, strength, and calling, 
 I had rather (though I were sure to smart therefore) 
 speak against his enormities in Rome than to speak 
 of them here : and 1 think no man beareth, at least 
 I am sure no man ought to bear, any raahce or evil 
 
230 
 
 against his person, in speaking against his vice and 
 iniquity: We fight not," saith St. Paul, " against ; 
 flesh and blood ; but we fight against the prince of 
 darkness," &c. When any wicked man, adversary 
 to God and his word, assaileth us, we must take 
 him for no other but as an instrument of the devil, 
 and Satan himself to be our enemy, and none other : 
 and even as when an enemy assaileth us on horse- 
 back, we wish to overthrow the enemy and win the 
 horse, which may be profitable to us ; so if the devil 
 could be cast out of such instruments as he hath in 
 Rome, the men would become profitable members 
 of Christ. But if the devil sit so fast in the saddle, 
 that he cannot be turned out, we cannot amend it. i 
 Yet our duty is, to pray unto God for them ; and 
 to hate none of God's creatures, but rather that 
 which Satan hath depraved, " if peradventure God 
 will turn their hearts." ' 
 
 But notwithstandincr their faults ouffht to be 
 chiefly told them in their presence; yet not there 
 only, but even here amongst us also. Although it 
 come not to their ears, it is not a little expedient 
 oftentimes to cry and thunder against their errors 
 and vices ; chiefly, that so oft as we hear it, we may 
 give God thanks, as we are most bounden, for our 
 deliverance from that captivity of Babylon, as St. 
 Peter himself, by the mind of ancient writers, called 
 it. Examples hereof we have in the Scriptures : ^ 
 the song of the Israelites, after their deliverance out ^ 
 of Egypt ; and afterwards, when they were delivered 
 by Debora from the tyranny of Sisera ; and after 
 the deliverance from Holofernes by Judith. We 
 must be thankful, lest for our unthankfulness God 
 
231 
 
 suffer us to fall into a worse bondage than ever we 
 were in. — But most of all it is profitable, that we 
 may from our hearts renounce with Babylon all the 
 vices of Babylon. For what did profit the deliver- 
 ance out of Egypt, to those that did still carry Egypt 
 in their minds through the desert ? What did it 
 avail the deliverance out of Babylon, to those that 
 did bring Babylon home to Jerusalem ? I fear me. 
 yet in England, a great many, like fleshly Israelites, 
 are weary of the sweet manna of the gospel, and 
 savour of the fleshly Egypt, desiring to live still un- 
 der the bondage of Pharaoh. 
 
 But, most of all, it is expedient now for my pur- 
 pose to speak of that sea, from whence, so far as 
 ever I could learn, those intolerable abuses have 
 overflown, and are come among us ; which as yet 
 are great enemies to Christ's gospel here in England, 
 making his ministers to set aside his business; such 
 abuses as cannot yet be driven away, nor sent home 
 to Rome to their father : I mean dispensations for 
 pluralities, and totquots, with dispensations for non- 
 residents, which avarice and idleness transported 
 hither from Rome. But for that they savour sweet 
 for a time to carnal men, they have so many patrons 
 that they cannot be driven away with other abuses. 
 
 And because they are accounted to stand by law, 
 they are used as cloaks for iniquity. These may 
 well be likened unto those fatling-s which Saul, ac^ainst 
 God's commandment, did keep alive when he van- 
 quished the Amalekites. And truly, till there be 
 ordained some godly laws to banish these, with other 
 abuses, God's wrath is kindled against us to destroy 
 all such as are maintainers of them. So long as it 
 
232 
 
 shall be lawful for men to have so many livings as 
 they can get, and discharge never a one ; and so 
 long as men may have livings to lie where they will 
 in idleness, far from their cure, fatting themselves 
 like the devil's porklings, and letting a thousand souls 
 perish for lack of spiritual food, God's business shall 
 never be well applied, nor his gospel have success in 
 England. 
 
 It is pity that ever it should be needful to wish 
 any laws to be made by man, to bring ministers of 
 ,God's word to do their duty, being so plainly ex- 
 pressed in God's law. If our hearts were not Piar- 
 dened more than Pharaoh's, our judgment more 
 blinded with insensibleness of heavenly things than 
 the Sodomites, we should tremble and quake more 
 at one threatening of God's vengeance against negli- 
 gent pastors, that feed themselves and set aside their 
 heavenly Father's business, whereof the Scripture is 
 full in every place, than we should fear all the powers 
 upon earth, which, as Christ saith, having power 
 only of the body, cannot hurt the soul. — O Lord, 
 how dare men be so bold as to take on them the 
 name of Christ's ministers, and utterly refuse the 
 work of their ministry, by leaving their flock, God's 
 word being so plain against them ! 
 
 I marvel not so much at blind bayards, which 
 never take God's book in hand ; ignorance hath 
 blinded them ; they know not the price of man's soul : 
 but truly I could never enough marvel at learned 
 men, which read the Scriptures, where their hearts 
 and understanding should be, when they read almost 
 in every leaf of Scripture, besides all ancient writers, 
 their own sharp sentence and judgment, which a whole 
 
233 
 
 day were too little to bring them in. O merciful 
 God, where be their eyes to see, their ears to hear ? 
 Do they think there is a God which is not master 
 of his word ? I will let pass how they are called of 
 the Holy Ghost by most odious names — thieves, 
 robbers, h^-pocrites, idols, wolves, dumb dogs, with 
 many such like, worthy their deserts. I will only 
 declare, which methinks might suffice if there were 
 no more, how the Scripture maketh them most cruel 
 murderers, and guilty of blood. In the 34th of 
 Ecclesiasticus it is written, " The bread of the need- 
 ful is the life of the poor ; he that defraudeth them 
 thereof is a man of blood." If this sentence be true 
 in them that defraud the needy of their corporal food, 
 how much more are they which withhold the food of 
 the soul, being the worthier part of man, guilty of 
 blood ? And therefore God, by his prophet Eze- 
 kiel, telleth them, " So many as perish by their 
 negligence, their blood shall be required at their 
 hands, as men guilty of blood." Now let them 
 consider, that if the blood of Abel, one man, cried 
 up unto heaven for vengeance against Cain, what a 
 horrible cry shall the blood of a thousand souls make 
 before the throne of God, asking vengeance against 
 that wicked pastor, which most cruelly hath hun- 
 gered them to death, in withholding from them the 
 food of life ? The gold they lay up yearly brought 
 far off by farmers ; their rings and jewels, their fine 
 apparel, their beds they lie on, their meat and drink, 
 being the spoil of the poor, cry all for vengeance : the 
 stones in the wall, the timber over their heads, cry for 
 vengeance. 
 
 Alas, how far are they from excusing themselves 
 
234 
 
 with St. Paul, saying to the people of Ephesus, " I 
 take you to record this day, I am pure from the blood 
 of all men ; for I have spared no labour, but have 
 showed all the counsel of God unto you !" But alas, 
 these men may rather say, that they have kept coun- 
 sel of God's counsel : and where St. Paul preached 
 publicly, and by houses, these men keep silence, lest 
 they should disquiet the devil in his fort; of whom 
 Christ saith, " When a strong man armed watcheth 
 his house, the things that he possesseth are in peace." 
 They say with the evil servant, " My master is long 
 a-coming, and so beats his fellow-servants," like cruel 
 murderers and tyrants, whose judgment shall be 
 straiter than any Pharaoh, Nero, or Domitian that 
 ever reigned. But, alas, it helpeth nothing to call 
 or cry upon them : " They have hardened their hearts 
 as an adamant stone." Lazarus hath lain so long 
 buried and stinking in worldly lusts and sensualities, 
 the preacher cannot call him out, nor yet remove the 
 grave-stone. — What shall I then do? I must call 
 unto you, most noble prince, and Christ's anointed. 
 
 I am come this day to preach to the king,* and to 
 those which be in authority under him. I am very 
 sorry they should be absent, which ought to give ex- 
 ample, and encourage others to the hearing of God's 
 word : and 1 am the more sorry for that other preachers 
 before me complain much of their absence. But you 
 will say they have weighty affairs in hand. Alas, 
 hath God any greater business than this? If I could 
 cry with the voice of Stentor, I would make them hear 
 in their chambers ; but in their absence I will speak 
 to their scats, as if they were present. 
 
 * The king being absent, these words were added extempore. 
 
235 
 
 I will call unto you, noble prince, as Christ's 
 anointed. Christ's little flock here in England, 
 which he hath committed to your charge, which 
 wander by many thousands, as sheep having no pas- 
 tors ; they, cry all unto you for succour, to send them 
 home their shepherds, to the end that for things cor- 
 poral they may receive spiritual; and to let one pastor 
 have one only competent living, which he may dis- 
 charge. They call upon you to expel and drive 
 away the great drones, which in idleness devour 
 other men's labour ; that, after St. Paul's rule, " he 
 that w^ill not labour, be not suffered to eat. The 
 little ones have asked bread," &c. Christ's little 
 ones have hmwered and called for the food of the 
 gospel a long time, and none there was to give it 
 them. Now they cry unto you : take heed you turn 
 not your ears from them, lest their blood be required 
 at your hands also, and lest God turn his ears from 
 you. Samuel spake unto Saul fearful words : " Be- 
 cause thou hast cast away the word of the Lord, the 
 Lord hath therefore cast away thee from being king." 
 You are made of God a pastor, a pastor of pastors. 
 When David was anointed king of Israel, God said, 
 " Thou shalt feed my people Israel." You must 
 feed, and that is, to see that all pastors do then* duty. 
 The eye of the master hath great strength. Your 
 Grace's eye to look through your realm, and see that 
 watchmen sleep not, shall be worth a great number of 
 preachers. They call unto you to awake, not only 
 negligent pastors, but also to take away other enor- 
 mities, which have followed in heaps upon these evils, 
 pluralities and non-residents. 
 
 If I might have time, I think I should be able to 
 
236 
 
 prove, that the great swarm of evils which reign at 
 this day, have flowed from those fountains, or rather 
 puddles. But I will only speak of the great abuses, 
 which by spoil or robbery do hide the gospel, how 
 they have ensued. 
 
 First of all, the dispensations of non-residents have 
 brought forth farming of benefices to gentlemen lay- 
 men, wherein they have found such sweetness and 
 worldly wealth, that preachers cannot have them — 
 they will be perpetual farmers ; which hath opened a 
 gap for the heathen, as David saith, or else for cloaked 
 Christians, much worse than the heathen, who have 
 entered into Christ's inheritance, spoiled his holy 
 temple, and robbed his gospel. Such seem to make 
 a composition with our great enemy, Satan : the idle 
 pastor saying, ' Give to me riches, take the rest to 
 thy share whom Satan answereth, ' If thou wilt be- 
 tray to me the souls, take riches for thy part.' 
 
 Another gap hath been opened, for that the 
 learned have not done their duties, any more than 
 the unlearned; hereby Christ's vineyard hath been 
 utterly spoiled. Patrons see that none do their 
 duty. They think it as good to put in asses as men. 
 The bishops were never so liberal in making of lewd 
 priests; and they are as liberal in making lewd 
 vicars. I dare say, if such a monster as Dervell 
 Gatherel, the idol of Wales, burned in Smithfield, 
 should have set his hand to a bill to let the patron 
 take the greatest part of the profits, he might have 
 had a benefice. There is never any question how 
 he can occupy himself in God's business. John 
 Gerson, a learned man in his time, witnesseth, that 
 whosoever in that time was admitted to a benefice in 
 
^37 
 
 France, must answer to this question. Sets utnimque 
 Testamentum ? Knowest thou the Old Testament 
 and the New ? And the ignorant were put back. 
 But with these men, it mattereth not if he never 
 opened the Bible, so much the meeter for their pur- 
 pose, as he is not able to speak against their abuses, 
 but will suffer them to sleep in their sin. — And will 
 you see what preposterous judgment they use ? For 
 all worldly offices they search meet and convenient 
 men; only Christian souls, so dearly bought, are 
 committed without respect, to men not worthy to 
 keep sheep. 
 
 Your Grace hath sent forth surveyors, as most 
 needful it was, to see there should be no deceit in 
 payment of pensions, and other offices abroad : would 
 to God you would also send forth surveyors to see 
 how benefices are bestowed and used; how Christ 
 and his gospel are robbed and dishonoured, to the 
 great decay of your realm and commonwealth : you 
 should find a small number of patrons that bestow 
 I rightly their livings, seeking God's glory, and that 
 his work and business may be rightly applied, with- 
 out simony, or seeking their own profit. 
 
 For, first, it is almost general, to reserve the 
 farming to himself or his friend ; and to appoint the 
 rent at his own pleasure. But worse than this, a 
 great number never farm them at all, but keep them 
 as their own lands, and give some three-halfpenny 
 priest a curate's wages, nine or ten pounds. Even 
 as Jeroboam made priests of his own for his hill- 
 altars, to sacrifice to his calves, that the people should 
 not go up to Jerusalem. These Jeroboams will 
 never let the people ascend up to Jerusalem, to find 
 
238 
 
 Christ in the temple of his word. They began first 
 with parsonages, and seemed to have some conscience 
 towards vicarages ; but now their hearts are so har- 
 dened, that all is fish that cometh to the net. Gen- 
 tlemen are parsons and vicars both, nothing can 
 escape them. There are vicarages about London, 
 having a thousand people, so spoiled; by which it 
 may appear what is done further off*. — Your Grace 
 may find also, where gentlemen keep in their hands 
 livings of forty or fifty pounds, and give one that 
 never cometh there five or six pounds. Some change 
 the ground of the benefice with their tenants, to the 
 intent, if it be called for, the tenant shall lose it and 
 not they. Is not this a godly patron? — It shall 
 appear also, I could name the place, where a living 
 of an hundred marks by the year, if I say not pounds, 
 hath been sold for many years, I suppose an hun- 
 dred save one, and so continueth stilL O good St. 
 Ambrose, if thou hadst been bishop there, thou 
 wouldst never have suffered such wolves to devour 
 the flock. It may well be called a devouring ; for 
 this living in a godly learned pastor's hand might 
 have refreshed five hundred in a year with ghostly 
 food, and all the country about with God's word ; 
 which, as I perceive, in twenty miles compass hath 
 scarce one man to preach ; and yet no place in Eng- 
 land more needful, for boys and girls of fourteen or 
 fifteen years old cannot say the Lord's Prayer. 
 Shall such injury to Christ and his gospel be suf- 
 fered in a Christian realm? That one enormity 
 crieth for vengeance till it be redressed. — What shall 
 I speak ? Your noblemen reward their servants with 
 livings appointed for the gospel. Certainly I marvel 
 
239 
 
 that God holdeth his hand, that he destroyeth them 
 not with Nadab and Abihu. Let them not abuse 
 God's patience; for if they do not shortly repent, 
 and bestow their Hvings better, both master and man 
 shall burn in hell-fire. 
 
 I am not able to rehearse, nor yet any man know- 
 eth, all the abuses which the simoniacs, ambitious and 
 idle pastors, have brought unto your realm ; by whose 
 evil example ravenous wolves, painted Christians, 
 hypocrites, have entered and defiled the sanctuary, 
 spoiled Christ and his gospel, to the destruction of 
 his flock. How great enemies they be to Christ, 
 by keeping away his gospel, it shall appear, if ye 
 consider what gross superstition and blindness re- 
 maineth still among the people, only through lack 
 of faithful preachers. I pass over much infidelity, 
 idolatry, sorcery, charming, witchcrafts, conjuring, 
 trusting in figures, with such other trumpery, which 
 lurk in corners, and began of late to come abroad 
 only for lack of preaching. Come to the ministra- 
 tion of the sacraments, set forth now by common 
 authority after the first institution. They think 
 baptism is not effectual, because it wanteth man's 
 tradition. They are not taught how the apostles 
 baptized. A great number think it is a great offence 
 to take the sacrament of Christ's body in their hands, 
 that have no conscience to receive it with blasphemous 
 mouths, with malicious hearts, full of all uncleanness. 
 These come to it by reason of custom, without any 
 spiritual hunger, and know not the end wherefore it 
 was instituted. They come to the church to feed 
 their eyes, and not their souls ; they are not taught 
 that no visible thing is to be worshipped ; and be- 
 
S40 
 
 cause they see not in the church the shining pomp 
 and pleasing variety (as they thought it) of painted 
 cloths, candlesticks, images, altars, lamps, and tapers, 
 they say, ' As good go into a barn nothing esteem- 
 ing Christ which speaketh to them in his holy word, 
 neither his holy sacrament reduced to the first insti- 
 tution. To be short, the people are now, even as 
 the Jews were at Christ^s coming, altogether occu- 
 pied in external holiness and culture, without any 
 feeling of true holiness, or of the true worship of 
 God in spirit and truth, without which all other is 
 mere hypocrisy. Many thousands know not what 
 this meaneth : but seek Christ still among their 
 kindred, in man's inventions, where they can never 
 find him. As the Jews preferred man's traditions 
 before God's commandments, even so is it now. 
 Men think it a greater offence to break a fasting day, 
 or work upon a saint's day, than to abstain from pro- 
 fitable labour, and turn it to Bacchus' feasts, exer- 
 cising more ungodliness that day than all the week, 
 despising or soon weary of God's word. — All this, 
 with much more, cometh through lack of preaching, 
 as experience trieth where godly pastors be. — It 
 cannot much be wondered, if the simple and ignorant 
 people, by some wicked heads and firebrands of hell, 
 be sometimes seduced to rebel against their prince 
 and lawful magistrates, seeing they are never taught 
 to know their obedience and duty to their king and 
 sovereign, so straitly commanded in God's law. 
 
 But there hangeth over us a great evil, if your 
 Grace do not help it in time : the devil gocth about 
 by these cormorants that devour these livings ap- 
 pointed for the gospel, to make a fortress and bul- 
 
241 
 
 wark to keep learned pastors from the flock ; that is, 
 so to decay learning, that there shall be none learned 
 to commit the flock unto. For by reason livings 
 appointed for the ministry', for the most part are 
 either robbed of the best part, or clean taken away ; 
 almost none have any zeal or devotion to put their 
 children to school, but to learn to write, to make 
 them apprentices, or else to have them lawyers. 
 Look upon the two w^ells of this realm, Oxford and 
 Cambridge ; they are almost dried up. The cruel 
 Philistines abroad, enemies to Christ's gospel, have 
 stopped up the springs of faithful Abraham. The 
 decay of students is so great, there are scarce left of 
 every thousand an hundred. If they decay so fast 
 in seven years more, there will be almost none at all; 
 and then may the devil make a triumph. This mat- 
 ter requireth speedy redress. The miseries of your 7- 
 people cry unto you, noble prince, and Christ for his 
 flock crieth to you his anointed, to defend his lambs 
 from these ravenous wolves that rob and spoil his 
 vineyard ; by whose malicious endeavour, if your 
 Grace do not speedily resist, there is entering into 
 England more blind ignorance, superstition, and in- 
 fidehty, than ever was under the Romish bishop. ^ 
 Your realm (which 1 am sorry to speak) shall become 
 more barbarous than Scythia; which, lest God Al- 
 mighty lay to your Grace's charge, for suffering the 
 sword given to you for the maintenance of the gospel 
 to lie rusting in the sheath, bestir now yourself in 
 your heavenly Father's business ; withstanding these 
 cormorants by godly laws, which rob Christ's gospel, 
 and tread it down. " They eat up God's people as 
 it were bread." Your Grace shall have more true t 
 L 8 
 
242 
 
 renown and glory before God, by defending Christ's 
 gospel against them, than by conquering all Africa, 
 You shall do God more service by resisting this 
 tyranny of the devil and his members, than by van- 
 quishing the great Turk. Cut first away the occa- 
 sions of all this mischief, dispensations for pluralities, 
 and totquots for non-residents. Suffer no longer 
 the tithes of the farthest parts of England to be paid 
 at Paul's font. Cause every pastor, as his living 
 will extend, to keep hospitality. — But many think 
 themselves excused for a year or two, because their 
 livings are taken away the first year; which un- 
 doubtedly doth not excuse them for their presence. 
 I had rather beg or borrow of my friends, to help 
 me to meat and clothes, than suffer the devil to have 
 such liberty one year. It is no small number of 
 souls that may perish by one year's absence. Moses 
 was from the people but forty days, and they fell to 
 idolatry. 
 
 Howbeit, forasmuch as the Scripture doth allow 
 the minister a living the first year also, (" He that 
 serveth at the altar, let him live of the altar;" and 
 a^ain, " Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth 
 out the corn,") I do not doubt, but after your Grace, 
 with the advice of your honourable council, have 
 considered how much it may set forth God's glory, 
 how many souls may be delivered from the devil by 
 sending pastors to their livings the first month, and 
 suffering them to have no cloak of absence, you will 
 soon restore the first year's living, which in my con- 
 science was wrongfully taken away at the first, as I 
 suppose, by the bishop of Rome. But I doubt not, 
 if all were well redressed to this, that this also should 
 
243 
 
 soon be amended. Wherefore, here I will desire 
 God to assist your Grace m the advancement of his 
 gospel, which, like unto Josias, you have helped to 
 bring to light where it lay hid. 
 
 But yet it is not heard of all your people. A t 
 thousand pulpits in England are covered with dust. 
 Some have not had four sermons these fifteen or 
 sixteen years, since friars left their limitations ; and 
 few of those were worthy the name of servants. 
 Now, therefore, that your glory may be perfect, all 
 men's expectation is, that whatsoever any flatterers, 
 or enemies to God's word should labour to the con- 
 trary for their own lucre, your Grace will take away 
 all such lets and abuses as hinder the setting forth 
 of God's most holy word, and withstand all such 
 robbers as spoil his sanctuary; labouring to send 
 pastors home to their flocks, to feed Christ's lambs 
 and sheep, that all may be occupied in their heavenly 
 Father's business. And for this your labour, as 
 St. Peter saith, " When the Prince of all pastors 
 shall appear, you shall receive an incorruptible crown 
 of glory." — And thus far concerning the ecclesias- 
 tical ministry. 
 
 But now to come to the civil governance, the no- ^' 
 bility, magistrates, and officers ; all these must at all 
 times remember, " They must be occupied in their 
 heavenly Father's business." They have received 
 all their nobility, power, dominion, authority, and 
 offices of God; which are excellent and heroical gifts : 
 and if they be occupied in God's business, it shall 
 redound to his glory, and the wealth of his people ; 
 but if they fall from his business, and follow their 
 l2 
 
244 
 
 own will, or rather the will of Satan, the prince of 
 darkness, and father of all the children of darkness, 
 then shall these glorious titles be turned to names 
 of confusion. ' For falling unto ungodliness, and 
 framing themselves to the shape and fashion of this 
 world, nobility is turned into vile slavery and bond- 
 age of sin; power and dominion are turned into 
 tyrrany ; authority is become a sword of mischief in 
 a madman's hand ; all majesty and honour is turned 
 into misery, shame, and confusion : and always the 
 higher men are, while they serve sin, the more not- 
 able is their vice, and more pestiferous to infect by 
 evil examples; because all men's eyes are bent to 
 behold their doings. " Every fault of the mind," 
 saith Juvenal, " is so much more evident, as the 
 party is more notable who hath it." For the wor- 
 thier the person is which ofFendeth, the more his 
 offence is noted of others ; seeing that virtue in all 
 whom God hath exalted is the maintainer of their 
 dignity, without which they fall from it. It shall 
 be most needful for them to embrace virtue, and 
 chiefly humility, which is the keeper of all virtues ; 
 which may put them ever in remembrance from 
 whence power is given them, for what end, who is 
 above them, a judge, an examiner of all their doings, 
 who cannot be deceived. But as dignity goeth now- 
 a-days, climb who may climb highest, every man ex- 
 alteth himself, and tarrieth not the calling of God. 
 Humility is taken for no keeper, but for an utter 
 enemy to nobility. As I heard of a wicked climber 
 and exalter of himself, who hearing the sentence of 
 Christ in the gospel, " He that humbleth himself 
 shall be exalted," he most blasphemously against 
 
God's holy word said, " Sure it was not true ; for if 
 I," said he, " had not put forth, nor advanced my- 
 self, but followed this rule, I had never come to this 
 dignity :" for which blasphemy, the vengeance of 
 God smote him with sudden death. 
 
 I fear there are a great number in England, who 
 though in words they deny not this sentence of 
 Christ's, yet inwardly they can scarce digest it ; else 
 certainly they would never seek so ambitiously to 
 advance themselves, to climb by their own might, 
 uncalled ; never seeking the public weal, but rather 
 the destruction thereof, for their private wealth and 
 lucre ; which causeth us to have so many evil magis- 
 trates. For all the while that men gather goods 
 unjustly, by polling, pilling, usury, extortion, and 
 simony, and therewith seek to climb with bribes and 
 buying of offices, it is scarce possible for such to be 
 wholesome magistrates. They enter in at the win- 
 dow, (which is used as well in civil government as in 
 ecclesiastical,) and therefore may Christ's words well 
 be verified, " He that entereth not in at the door 
 into the sheepfold, but climbeth up some other way, 
 the same is a thief and a robber." And Isaiah's 
 complaint against Jerusalem taketh place among us, 
 " Thy princes are wicked, and companions of thieves: 
 they love gifts altogether, and gape for rewards : as 
 for the fatherless, they help not him in his right, 
 neither will they let the widow's cause come before 
 them." They will not know their office to be or- 
 dained of God, for the wealth and defence of all 
 innocents, for the aid of all that be in misery. The 
 time is come that Solomon speaketh of, " When 
 the wicked man beai^ rule, the people shall mourn." 
 
246 
 
 When had ever the people such cause to mourn as 
 now, when the greatest number of all magistrates are 
 occupied in their own business ; seeking rather the 
 misery of the people than to take it away ; rather to 
 oppress them than to defend them. Their hands be 
 ready to receive their money, to rob and spoil them; 
 but their ears are shut from hearing their complaints, 
 they are blind to behold their calamities. 
 
 Look in all countries how lady Avarice hath set 
 on work altogether mighty men, gentlemen, and rich 
 men, to rob and spoil the poor ; to turn them from 
 their livincrs and from their ricrht; for ever the weak- 
 est go to the wall. And being thus tormented, and 
 put from their right at home, they come to London 
 in great numbers, as to a place where justice should 
 be-had, and there they can have none. They are 
 suitors to great men, and cannot come to their speech ; 
 their servants must have bribes, and that no small 
 ones : " all love bribes." But such as be so averse 
 to hear the poor, let them take heed lest God make 
 it as strange to them when they shall call : for as 
 Solomon saith, " Whoso stoppeth his ear at the cry- 
 ing of the poor, he shall cry and not be heard." We 
 find that poor men might come to complain of their 
 wrongs to the king's own person. King Joram, 
 although he was one of the sons of Ahab, (no good 
 king,) yet heard the poor widow's cause, and caused 
 her to have right : such was the use then. — I would 
 to God that all noblemen would diligently note that 
 chapter, and follow the example : it would not then 
 be so hard for the poor to have access to them ; nor 
 coming to their presence, they should not be made so 
 astonished and even speechless with terrible looks. 
 
247 
 
 but should mercifully and lovingly be heard, and suc- 
 coured gladly for Christ's love, considering we are 
 the members of his body ; even as my hand would 
 be glad to help my foot when it is annoyed. — O 
 with what glad hearts and clear consciences might 
 noblemen go to rest, when they had bestowed the 
 whole day in hearing Christ himself complain in his 
 members, and redressing his wrongs ! But alas, for 
 lack of this, poor people are driven to seek their right 
 among the lawyers ; and there, as the prophet Joel 
 saith, look what the caterpillars had left in their rob- 
 bery and oppression at home, all that doth the greedy 
 locusts, the lawyers, devour at London : they laugh 
 with the money which maketh others to weep : and 
 thus are the poor robbed on every side without redress, 
 and that of such as seem to have authority thereto. 
 
 When Christ suffered his passion, there was one 
 Barabbas, St. Matthew called him a notable thief, 
 a gentleman thief, such as rob now-a-days in velvet 
 coats ; the other two were obscure thieves, and no- 
 thing famous. The rustical thieves were hanged, 
 and Barabbas was delivered. Even so now-a-days, 
 the little thieves are hanged that steal of necessity, 
 but the great Barabbases have free liberty to rob and 
 to spoU without all measure, in the midst of the city. 
 The poor pirate said to Alexander, " We rob but a 
 few in a ship, but thou robbest whole countries and 
 kingdoms." — Alas, silly poor members of Christ, 
 how you be shorn, oppressed, pulled, hailed to and 
 fro on every side ! who cannot but lament, if his 
 heart be not of flint ! There be a great number 
 every term, and many continually, which lamentably 
 complain for lack of justice, but all in vain. They 
 
548 
 
 spend that which they had left, and many times 
 more ; whose ill success here causeth thousands to 
 tarry at home beggars, and lose their right — and so 
 it were better, than here to sell their coats : for this 
 we see, be the poor man's cause ever so manifest a 
 truth, the rich shall for money find six or seven coun- 
 sellors that shall stand with subtilties and sophisms 
 to cloak an evil matter, and hide a known truth. — A 
 piteous case in a Christian commonwealth ! Alas, 
 that ever manifest falsehood should be maintained, 
 where the God of truth ought to be honoured ! — 
 But let them alone ; they are occupied in their fa- 
 ther's business, even the prince of darkness : " You 
 are of your father the devil." 
 
 Yet I cannot so leave them : I must needs cry on 
 God's behalf to his patrons of justice, to you most 
 redoubted prince, whom God hath made his minister 
 for their defence, with all those whom God hath 
 placed in authority under you. Look upon their 
 misery, for this is our heavenly Father's business to 
 you, appointed by his holy word. When I come 
 among the people, I call upon them, as my duty is, 
 for service, duty, and obedience unto their prince, to 
 all magistrates, to their lords, and to all that be put 
 in authority over them — I let them hear their own 
 faults : but in this place my duty is, and my con- 
 science upon God's word bindeth me, seeing them so 
 miserably, so wrongfully, so cruelly entreated on 
 every side, in God's behalf to plead their cause ; not 
 by force of man's law, but by God's word, as an in- 
 tercessor. For as they are debtors unto you, and 
 other magistrates, for love, fear, service, and obe- 
 dience under God ; so are you again debtors unto 
 
249 
 
 them for love, protection, for justice and equity, 
 mercy and pity. If you deny them these, they must 
 sufFer, but God shall revenge them. " He stand- 
 eth," saith David, " in the congregation of gods, and 
 as a judge among gods." Take heed all you that 
 be counted as gods, God's ministers on earth ; you 
 have one God judge over you, who, as he saith in 
 the same Psalm, sharply rebuketh ungodly rulers for 
 accepting of persons of the ungodly ; so he telleth 
 Christian magistrates their true duties and business 
 in plain words, " Defend the poor and needy ; see 
 that such as be in necessity have right; deliver the 
 outcast and poor ; save them from the hands of the 
 ungodly." Here have all noblemen and Christian 
 magistrates most lively set forth to them their hea- 
 venly Father's business, wherein he would have them 
 continually occupied : — would to God the whole 
 Psalm were graven in their hearts ! 
 
 Truly for lack that this business is not applied, 
 but the poor despised in all places, it hath given such 
 boldness to covetous cormorants abroad, that now 
 their robberies, extortion, and open oppression, hath 
 no end nor limits, no banks can keep in their violence. 
 As for turning poor men out of their holds, they 
 take it for no offence, but say, their land is their 
 own ; and forget altogether that " the earth is the 
 Lord's, and the fulness thereof." They turn them 
 out of their shrouds as mice. Thousands in Eng- 
 land, through such, beg now from door to door, 
 which have kept honest houses. These cry daily to 
 God for vengeance, both against the great Nimrods, 
 workers thereof, and their maintain ers. There be 
 so many mighty Nimrods in England, mighty hun- 
 l3 
 
250 
 
 ters, that hunt for possessions and lordships, that 
 poor men are daily hunted out of their livings ; there 
 is no covert or den can keep them safe. These 
 Nimrods have such quick-smelling hounds, they can 
 lie at London, and turn men out of their farms and 
 tenements an hundred, some two hundred miles oflp. 
 — O Lord, when wicked Ahab hunted after Naboth's 
 vineyard, he could not, though he were a king, ob- 
 tain that prey, till cursed Jezebel (as women oft-times 
 have shrewd wits) took the matter in hand : so hard 
 a thing it was then to wring a man from his father's 
 inheritance, which now a mean man will take in hand. 
 And now our valiant Nimrods can compass the mat- 
 ter without the help of Jezebels ; yet hath England 
 even now a great number of Jezebels, which, to main- 
 tain their intolerable pride, their golden heads, will 
 not stick to put to their wicked hands. — O Lord, 
 what a number of such oppressors, worse than Ahab, 
 are in England, which " sell the poor for a pair of 
 shoes !" of whom, if God should serve but three or 
 four as he did Ahab, and make the dogs lap the 
 blood of them, I think it would cause a great num- 
 ber to beware of extortion, to beware of oppression ; 
 and yet, escaping temporal punishments, they are 
 certain, by God's word, their blood is reserved for 
 hell-hounds, whieh they nothing fear, A pitiful 
 case, and great blindness, that, hearing God's word, 
 man should more fear temporal punishment than 
 everlasting. 
 
 Yet hath England had of late some terrible exam- 
 pies of God's wrath in sudden and strange deaths, of 
 such as join field to field and house to house : great 
 pity they were not chronicled to the terror of others, 
 
Q51 
 
 which fear neither God nor man ; so hardened in sin, 
 that they seek not to hide it, but rather are such as 
 glory in their mischief. Which maketh me often- 
 times to remember a writer in our time, Musculus, 
 upon St. Matthew's gospel, who wondered much at 
 the subtle and manifold working of Satan ; how he, 
 after the expelling of superstition and hypocrisy, tra- 
 velleth most busily to bring in open impiety : that 
 whereas before, men feared men, though not God ; 
 now a great number fear neither God nor man : the 
 I most wicked are counted most manlike, and innocence 
 is held beastliness. 
 
 Yet may we not say, hypocrisy is expelled : for 
 as many of these Ahabs as signify they favour God's 
 word by reading or hearing it, or with prayer, 
 " Honouring him," as Christ saith, " with their 
 lips, their hearts being far from him," are as detest- 
 able hypocrites as ever were covered in cowl or clois- 
 ter. I cannot liken them better than to the Jews 
 that said to Christ, " Hail, king of the Jews." 
 What their painted friendship is, and how of Christ 
 it is esteemed, St. Austin setteth forth by an apt 
 similitude : " Even as," saith he, " a man should 
 come up to embrace thee, to kiss and honour thee 
 upward, and beneath with a pair of shoes beaten full 
 of nails, tread upon thy bare foot ; the head shall 
 despise the honour done unto it, and for the foot that 
 smarteth, say. Why treadest thou upon me ? So 
 when feigned gospellers honour Christ our head, sit- 
 ting in heaven, and oppress his members on earth, 
 the head shall speak for the feet that smart, and say. 
 Why treadest thou on me?" Paul had a zeal towards 
 God, but he did tread upon Christ's feet on earth, 
 
for whom the head crieth forth of heaven, " Saul, 
 Saul, why persecutest thou me ?" Although Christ 
 sitteth at the right hand of his Father, yet lieth he 
 in earth, he sufFereth all calamities here on earth, he 
 is many times evil entreated here on earth. 
 
 Would to God we could bear away this brief and 
 short lesson, that what we do to his members upon 
 earth, we do to him ; it would bring men from op- 
 pression to show mercy, without which no man can 
 obtain mercy. If they would remember how the 
 rich glutton was damned in hell, not as we read for 
 any violence, but for not showing mercy, they might 
 soon gather how sharp judgment remaineth for them 
 which are not only unmerciful, but also violently 
 add thereunto oppression ; who are so far from mercy, 
 that their hearts will serve them to destroy whole 
 towns ; they would wish all the people destroyed, 
 to have all the fields brought to a sheep-pasture. 
 O cruel mercy ! It is like to the mercy of a bishop 
 of Magunee in Germany, named Hatto, which, as 
 the chronicles mention, five hundred years ago, in 
 time of a great dearth, called all the poor people in all 
 the whole country into a great barn, pretending to 
 make a great dole for them ; but having them sure, 
 he fired the barn, and burned them all up, saying, 
 
 These be the mice which devour up the corn." 
 This was a policy to make bread more cheap, but 
 for this unmerciful mercy, God made him an ex- 
 ample for all unmerciful men to the world's end ; 
 for a multitude of rats came and devoured him in 
 such terrible sort, that where his name was written 
 in windows, walls, or hangings, they never ceased till 
 it were razed out. Some peradventure shrink to 
 
Q53 
 
 hear such cruelty ; but doubtless there is almost daily 
 as great cruelty practised among us by such blood- 
 suckers, as being infected with the great dropsy of 
 avarice, alvvay drinking and ever athirst, by famish- 
 ing poor people, drinking up their blood, and with 
 long continuance therein, torment them more griev- 
 ously than he that burned them all in one hour. 
 
 Now seeing, as I said, this cruelty, robbery, and 
 extortion, groweth daily to such intolerable excess, 
 and overfloweth this realm, because it is not punished 
 nor restrained; it is high time for all those magis- 
 trates that fear God, not only to abstain from this 
 evil themselves, but to resist it also. It is God's 
 business, he hath commanded it, and will straitly re- 
 quire it. Would to God all noblemen would be- 
 ware by the example of Saul. He was commanded 
 to apply to God's business, " Go and smite Amalek, 
 and have no compassion on them," &c. he left his 
 business undone, spared Amalek, and the fairest of 
 the beasts : but for this nefflic^ence he received of 
 Samuel a sorrowful message from God : " Because 
 thou hast cast away the word of the Lord, he hath 
 cast thee oflp also from being king." Even so in 
 every Christian commonwealth, God hath commanded 
 rulers to destroy Amalek, all extortion, oppression, 
 and robbery, to defend the needy and all innocents. 
 If they look not to this business, but suffer Amalek 
 to live, not only to live, but to grow in might ; so 
 truly as GocKliveth, he shall cast them off, they shall 
 not be his magistrates. 
 
 But let it once be known, that not only our most 
 noble king, whose godly example is a lantern to all 
 others, but that also all his nobles about him have 
 
254i 
 
 wholly bent themselves in his business, to withstand 
 all violence, and to oppose all oppression, for defence 
 of God's people ; that the wicked Ahabs might know 
 that God had in England a great number of pastors, 
 patrons, feeders, and cherishers of his people; it 
 should do that which the fear of God cannot do ; 
 that is, stop the great rage of violence, oppression, 
 and extortion : which taken away, would pluck from 
 many their vanity in superfluous and monstrous 
 apparel, sumptuous building, such as seek to bring 
 paradise into earth, being the greatest causes of aU 
 oppression and spoiling of poor people ; which most 
 unchristian vanities, and blind affections, never reigned 
 so much in all estates in England as at this day. 
 It was a notable saying of Charles V. emperor of 
 that name, to the Duke of Venice, when he had 
 seen his princely palace, when the duke looked that 
 he should have praised it exceedingly, Charles gave 
 it none other commendation but this, Hcec sunt qucs 
 Jaciunt invitos mori : " These earthly vanities," said 
 he, " are what make us loath to die." A truer sen- 
 tence could not well be spoken by any man. I could 
 wish we would look on all our buildings, when the 
 beauty thereof so increaseth, that it would grieve us 
 to depart from it, and to remember withal the holy 
 patriarch, and with St. Paul say, " We have not 
 here a continuing city, but we seek one to come." 
 
 But truly methinks now in England, for our vain 
 delight in curious buildings, God hath plagued us, 
 as he did the builders of Babel, not with the confu- 
 sion of tongues, but with the confusion of wits. 
 Our fancies can never be pleased : pluck down and 
 set up ; and when it contenteth us not, down with 
 
255 
 
 it again. Our minds are never contented, nor ever 
 shall be, while we seek felicity where it is not. 
 Would God every one would consider what a hell 
 it should be to all that vainly delight herein, when 
 death shall with great violence pluck them from their 
 earthly heaven. Moreover, extortion taken away 
 shall soon abate the unmeasurable excess in costly fare. 
 It would also abate the intolerable excess in apparel, 
 which causeth us to have robbers in velvet coats, 
 with St. Martin's chains. — But I must, for lack of 
 time, pass over these enormities, which alone give 
 matter enough for whole sermons : I leave them for 
 others which shall follow, more able to paint out 
 such monsters in their colours. 
 
 And here, in conclusion, I desire all noblemen 
 and godly magistrates, deeply to ponder and revolve 
 in their memory what acceptable service they may do, 
 chiefly to God, and secondly to the king's majesty, 
 and his whole realm, in employing their whole study 
 how to resist all such as spoil Christ's people, whom 
 he so tenderly loved that he shed his blood for them. 
 Virtue, joined with nobility, spreadeth her beams 
 over a whole realm. And so your dihgence in God's 
 business shall soon inflame all other to follow your 
 example, that all may occupy themselves in God's 
 business. 
 
 But now that I have hitherto charsjed the eccle- 
 siastical ministers, and also the civil governors, and 
 all rich and mighty men, with negligence in God's 
 business ; methinks I do hear the inferior members 
 rejoice and flatter themselves, as if all were taken 
 from them, and they left clear in God's sight ; but 
 
Q56 
 
 if they consider their estate by God's word, they shall 
 find small cause to advance themselves. For God's 
 word plainly telleth us, both that evil and dumb pas- 
 tors, and wicked rulers and magistrates, are sent of 
 God as a plague and punishment for the sins of the 
 people ; and therefore, both Isaiah and Hosea, after 
 the most terrible threatenings of God's vengeance for 
 sin, bring it in as a most grievous plague of all, that 
 even the priests, which should call them from sin, 
 shall become as evil as the people. Which plague 
 St. Bernard said in his time was come with a ven- 
 geance, because the priests were much worse than the 
 people. And Amos, as a most grievous punishment 
 of all other, threateneth hunger, not of bread, but of 
 hearing God's word. And concerning the civil 
 magistrates, it is plain in Job, that for the sins of the 
 people God raiseth hypocrites to reign over them ; 
 that is to say, such as have the bare names of gover- 
 nors and protectors, and are indeed destroyers, op- 
 pressors of the people, subverters of the law and of 
 all equity. 
 
 And seeing it is so, so many as feel the grief and 
 smart of this plague, ought not to murmur against 
 each other ; but patiently suffer, and be offended with 
 their own sins, which have deserved this scourge, 
 and much more ; and study for amendment, that God 
 may take it away. For if they continue as they do, 
 to murmur against God and their rulers, as the 
 Israelites did, to provoke daily his anger by multi- 
 plying sin in his sight, with envy, malice, deceit, 
 backbiting, swearing, fornication, and with utter con- 
 tempt of his word ; he shall for their punishment so 
 multiply the number of evil governors, unjust judges. 
 
^57 
 
 justices, and officers, that as it was spoken by a jester 
 in the emperor Claudius' time, the images of good 
 magistrates may all be graven in one ring. 
 
 God hath cause greatly to be displeased with all 
 estates. When every man should look upon his 
 own faults to seek amendment, as it is a proverb 
 lately sprung up, " No man amendeth himself, but 
 every man seeketh to amend another," and all the 
 while nothing is amended. Gentlemen say, the 
 commonalty live too well at ease, they grow every 
 day to be gentlemen, and know not themselves ; 
 their horns must be cut shorter, by raising their 
 rents, by fines, and by plucking away their pastures. 
 The mean men, they murmur and grudge, and say, 
 the gentlemen have all, and there were never so 
 many gentlemen and so little gentleness : and by 
 their natural logic you shall hear them reason, how 
 improperly these two conjugata, these yoke-feUows, 
 gentlemen and gentleness, are banished so far asun- 
 der; and they lay all the misery of this common- 
 wealth upon the gentlemen's shoulders. — But alas, 
 good Christians, this is not the way of amendment : 
 " If ye bite and devour one another," as St. Paul 
 saith, " take ye heed lest ye be consumed one of 
 another." 
 
 Histories make mention of a people called Anthro- 
 pophagi, eaters of men, which all men's hearts abhor 
 to hear of; and yet, alas, by St. Paul's rule, Eng- 
 land is full of such man-eaters. Every man envieth 
 another, every man biteth and gnaweth upon another 
 with venomous adders' tongues, far more noisome 
 than any teeth. And whereof coraeth it? Covet- 
 ousness is the root of all; every man scratcheth and 
 
258 
 
 puUeth from another; every man would suck the 
 blood of another ; every man encroacheth upon an- 
 other. Covetousness hath cut away the large wings 
 of charity, and plucketh all to herself ; she is never 
 satisfied ; she hath chested all the old gold in Eng- 
 land, and much of the new ; she hath made that there 
 was never more idolatry in England than at this 
 day : but the idols are hid, they come not abroad. 
 Alas, noble prince, the images of your ancestors 
 graven in gold, and yours also, contrary to your mind, 
 are worshipped as gods ; while the poor lively images 
 of Christ perish in the streets through hunger and 
 cold. This Cometh when covetousness hath banished 
 from amongst us Christian charity ; when, like most 
 unthankful children, we have forgotten Christ's last 
 will, which he so often before his passion did incul- 
 cate, " Love one another." 
 
 And herein we show ourselves worse than any 
 carnal sons ; be they ever so unkind, yet alway they 
 remember the last words of their earthly parents. 
 Nay, rather I may say, we are much worse than the 
 brute beasts ; of whom, when we consider how won- 
 derfully nature hath framed them to concord and 
 unity, to preserve and help one another of their own 
 kind, it may make us utterly to be ashamed. The 
 harts swimming, with much pain bear up their heads 
 in the water; for the remedy whereof, every one 
 layeth his head upon the hinder part of another; 
 when the foremost, having no stay, is sore weary, he 
 Cometh behind, and thus every one in his course 
 taketh pain for the whole herd. — If men, endowed 
 with reason, would learn of those unreasonable crea- 
 tures this lesson, to help one another, as we are com- 
 
259 
 
 manded by St. Paul, saying, " Bear ye one another's 
 burden, and so you shall fulfil the law of Christ," 
 how soon then should charity, the bond of perfection, 
 which seeketh not her own, but rather to profit 
 others, be so spread among all degrees, that our com- 
 monwealth should flourish in all godliness? But, 
 alas ! we see that all goeth contrary. For while all 
 men, as St. Paul saith, " Seek the things that be 
 their own, and not other men's, not things which ap- 
 pertain to Christ," self-love, and love of private ac- 
 cumulation, hath banished charity and love to the 
 commonwealth. 
 
 And if we should seek the cause and ground of all 
 these evils, why God's business is so neglected among 
 all estates and degrees, I think it would appear to be 
 ignorance of his will. For if Mary and Joseph, so 
 godly and devout a couple, understood not for a time 
 Christ's saying, " Wist ye not that I must go about 
 my Father's business ?" as St. Luke saith they un- 
 derstood not that saying, is it any wonder, if we, liv- 
 ing so carnally, and drowned in worldly pleasures, 
 and framed to the shape of this world, be ignorant in 
 our heavenly Father's business, and therefore cannot 
 well apply it ? But shall we think this to be very 
 strange? Many apply not God's business nor his 
 will, which yet would disdain to be counted ignorant 
 therein. But undoubtedly, good Christians, it is an 
 infallible truth, that negligence in performing God's 
 will cometh of ignorance. It is all one to know God 
 and his will; and St. John saith plainly, "He that 
 loveth not, knoweth not God." For if he do know 
 God, he cannot but love him ; and love is always oc- 
 cupied in God's business. 
 
^60 
 
 By this rule St. Augustine proveth, we cannot 
 keep the first precept perfectly, to love God, so well 
 as we ought to do, while we are in this mortal life; 
 for all our love cometh of knowledge, but in this life 
 our knowledge is imperfect. And thus St. Augus- 
 tine's rule, grounded upon St. John's, is true, " That 
 so far as we do know God, so far we love him ; and 
 so they that love him nothing at all, they know him 
 nothing at all, although they seem to have ever so 
 much windy knowledge, puffing up their stomachs 
 with presumption as the Apostle saith, " Know- 
 ledge maketh a man swell:" so thaty if a man hath 
 studied the Scripture all his life long, and learned 
 the whole Bible by heart, and yet have no love, he 
 is ignorant of God's will. The poor man that never 
 opened book, if the love of God be shed abroad in 
 his heart by the Holy Ghost, surpasseth him in the 
 knowledge of God's will. The godly Pembus, of 
 whom we read in ecclesiastical history, when he was 
 first taught the first verse of the 39th Psalm, " I 
 have said, I will take heed to my ways, that I offend 
 not in my tongue," refused a long time to take out a 
 new lesson, judging his first lesson to be unlearned, 
 till he could perfectly practise it by a holy conversa- 
 tion. So ought we always to make our account to 
 have learned God's word, only when we have learned 
 charity and obedience. 
 
 But this knowledge, though it lack in many learn- 
 ed, yet ordinarily it cometh by hearing God's word : 
 
 Faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word 
 of God." Wherefore, as I said, their case is to be 
 lamented, who would gladly hear God's word, and 
 can have no preachers. Then may we say, God hatk 
 
261 
 
 abundantly poured his grace among us, that have his 
 gospel so clearly set forth unto us, and have such 
 opportunity, that there wanteth nothing but ears to 
 hear : we must have ears to let it sink into our hearts. 
 But, O men, thrice unhappy, and children of greater 
 damnation, if we harden our hearts, and receive such 
 abundance of grace in vain ! " The earth," saith 
 St. Paul, ^' which after the rain bringeth forth thorns 
 and briers, is reproved, and is nigh unto cursing, 
 whose end is to be burned." 
 
 Would God all that be in the court, that will not 
 vouchsafe (having so many godly sermons) to come 
 forth out of the hall into the chapel to hear them, 
 would remember what a heavy stroke of God's ven- 
 geance hangeth over all their heads that contemn his 
 word : and over those in all places, which had rather 
 be idle, and many times ungodly occupied in wanton 
 and wicked pastimes, than come to the church : pro- 
 faning the Sabbath-day, appointed for the service of 
 God, and the hearing of his word, bestowing it more 
 wickedly than many of the Gentiles. Yet, if they 
 would come to the sermons, though their hearts were 
 not well-disposed, God's word might win them, as 
 St. Augustine was won by the preaching of St. Am- 
 brose, when he came only to hear his sweet voice 
 and eloquence. O that they knew what dishonour 
 they did to Christ, that esteem him so light, to pre- 
 fer vain, nay, I say, wicked things, to the hearing of 
 his holy word. Are not these they, as St. Paul 
 saith, " which tread under foot the Son of God, 
 count the blood of his testament, wherein they are 
 sanctified, an unholy thing; and do despite to the 
 Spirit of grace ?" O Lord, how canst thou hold thy 
 
262 
 
 hands from punishing this unthankfulness ? Cer- 
 tainly I think all other wickedness, compared to this, 
 is shadowed, and seemeth to be less. 
 
 I would to God we would remember many times 
 the plagues and tokens of God's extreme wrath that 
 came upon the Jews, when first unthankfully they 
 rejected Christ, and after his word ; when they were 
 destroyed by Titus and Vespasian, such a plague as 
 never came upon any other country. And look on 
 their vices : there reigned avarice, ambition, pride, 
 extortion, envy, adultery; but these reigned also in 
 other countries about, where no such vengeance did 
 light: but then did God thus exercise his wrath 
 upon them to the terror of all other, for contempt 
 of his holy word, and for their unthankfulness; which 
 being called so many ways, by his prophets, by him- 
 self, by the apostles, still hardened their hearts : this 
 exceeded all other wickedness in the world. Now 
 if as great unthankfulness be found in many of us 
 towards Christ and his gospel, set forth so plainly 
 unto us, how can we, without speedy repentance, but 
 look for the terrible stroke of vengeance ? " God," 
 saith Valerius Maximus, " hath feet of wool; he 
 cometh slowly to punish, but he hath hands of iron ; 
 when he cometh, he striketh sore." 
 
 Philip, king of Macedonia, hearing of one in his 
 kingdom which refused most unthankfully to receive 
 a stranger (of whom before he had been succoured 
 in shipwreck) in extreme need; for a worthy punish- 
 ment, caused to be printed on his forehead, with a 
 hot iron, these two words, Ingratiis hospes: " An 
 unthankful guest." O Lord, if we consider when 
 we were strangers from God, in the shipwreck of sin, 
 
263 
 
 how mercifully Christ hath delivered us, and borne 
 our sins upon his body ; if, after all this, we most 
 unthankfully refuse to receive him, by refusing his 
 word, may not we think ourselves worthy many hot 
 irons to print our unthankfulness to our shame? 
 And, undoubtedly, so many as continue thus un- 
 thankful, though it be not written in their foreheads 
 to put them to worldly shame, yet shall it be graven 
 in their conscience, to their everlasting confusion and 
 damnation, when " the books of every man's con- 
 science shall be laid open," as Daniel saith. Their 
 judgment shall be more severe than that of Sodom 
 and Gomorrah. — Let us all then, from the highest 
 to the lowest, pray with one accord, that God may 
 -soften and prepare our hearts with meekness, and 
 humility, and thankfulness, to embrace his gospel, 
 and his holy word; which shall instruct us in his 
 holy will, and teach us to know his business, every 
 man in his vocation, — " that," as St. Paul saith, 
 " every man may give attendance to themselves, and 
 to the flock, wherein the Holy Ghost hath made 
 them overseers, to feed the congregation of God 
 which he hath purchased with his blood," — that all 
 ravenous wolves may be turned to good shepherds. 
 So that Christ's ministers may enjoy the portion 
 assigned for the gospel: that all magistrates and 
 governors may give their whole study to the public 
 weal, and not to their private wealth ; that they may 
 be maintainers of justice, and punishers of wrong; 
 and that all inferiors may live in due obedience, 
 meekly contenting themselves every one in their vo- 
 cation, without murmuring or grudging ; that under 
 Christ, and our noble prince, his minister here on 
 
264- 
 
 earth, we all being knit together with Christian 
 charity, the bond of perfection, may so fasten our 
 eyes upon God's word, that it may continually be a 
 lantern to our feet, to guide our journey through the 
 desert and dark wilderness of this world ; that our 
 eyes be never so blinded with shadows of worldly 
 things, as to make us embrace life, deceitful and 
 temporal felicity, for that which is true, steadfast, and 
 everlasting; that this candle which shineth now, as 
 St. Paul saith, " as through a glass darkly," when 
 that which is imperfect shall be taken away, may pre- 
 sent us to that clear light which never is shadowed 
 with any darkness ; that we may behold that blessed 
 sight of the glorious Tr'nity, the Father, the Son, 
 and the Holy Ghost, to whom be all praise, all hon- 
 our, and glory, world without end. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed by W. CoUius & Co. 
 Glasgow. 
 
iiiiiil i 
 
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