DEC 14 191R ) BX 5595 .J42 F67 1837 Forster, Charles, d. 1871. The life of John Jebb, D.D. F.R.S. () If thou art borrowed by a Friend, () V Right welcome shall he be, /\ To read, to study, not to lend, A •'/ But to return to me. O O Not that imparted knowledge doth {) Diminish learning's store ; V A' But Books, I find, if often lent, A V Sometimes return no more. v O <> ^< Read slowly, pause frequently, thin*^ ^ seriously, keep cleanly, return )\ X duly, with the comers X Aj of the leaves not V X turned down. / X ' X ^X:::C<>C<=-C<:=C<:=C<>C=-O<»0k:^ V,- k A 7? THE LIFE OF DEC 14 im JOHN JEBB, D.D. F.R.S. BISHOP OF LIMERICK, ARDFERT AND AGHADOE. A SELECTION FRQM HIS LETTERS. BY THE REV. CHARLES FORSTER, B.D. PERPETUAL CURATE OF ASH NEXT SANDWICH, AND ONE OP THE SIX PREACHERS IN THE CATHEDRAL OF CHRIST, CANTERBURY FORMERLY DOMESTIC CHAPLAIN TO BISHOP JEEB. JAMES LONDON: DUNCAN, 37. PATERNOSTER-ROW. MDCCCXXXVII. < In all reyolutions, as he had espoused principles constant to truth and duty, so he stood firm to his principles, as a wise and honest man ; bearing up with his great abilities against the stream, while reason could be heard, and afterward retiring within himself, and wrapping himself in innocence and patience ; more affected by the public sins and miseries than by his own suffering; always as cheerful as one that had the continual feast of a good conscience, and the happi- ness to learn, in what state soever he was, therewithal to be contented.' Character of Bishop Sanderson, ap. Memorials of Eminent Persons. LOKDOK : Printed by A. Spottiswoode, New- Street-Square. TO HIS GRACE THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. My Lord, It is with sentiments of gratitude and veneration, of which words would be wholly unexpressive, that I avail myself of your Grace's permission, to con- nect the name of Archbishop Howley with the memory of Bishop Jebb. The Life of that eminent and lamented Prelate can be inscribed to no one now living, with equal pro- priety, as to your Grace ; since, to no one now living did he, in his earlier course as a theological writer, owe equal encouragement, or, to his latest days, acknowledge equal obligation. The opinion expressed by your Grace, to whom he was then personally unknown, on his first published volume, gave him, what his humility of mind ren- vi DEDICATION. dered peculiarly needful, confidence in himself. And, when * Sacred Literature ' appeared, you were not only the first to give the sanction of your station and authority to that original work, and to pronounce the discovery, which it establishes, one likely to open a wide field to future commentators on Scripture ; but you found time, amidst the arduous duties of the See of London, to accompany your favourable judg- ment by strictures, as valuable in themselves, as, to my own knowledge, they were gratifying and en- couraging to the author. When it pleased Providence to raise him to the highest office in the Church of Christ, Bishop Jebb continued, on every opportunity, to experience from your Grace the kindest attention, and the most cordial co-operation. And when it seemed good to unerring Wisdom to visit him with that great afflic- tion, which withdrew from the public service of our united Church (if I may use your Grace's words) ' one of its brightest ornaments,' you ministered to the last, every thing that human sympathy could minister, to cheer the hours of sickness, and to animate his latest efforts in the service of your com- mon Master. May I be permitted to add, that your kindness reached even beyond the grave, in that protection DEDICATION. vii and countenance so graciously extended to the Bishop's friend and fellow-labourer in the Gospel, which, by giving him a home in your Grace's own Diocese, and in a situation healthfully blending let- tered leisure with active professional duties, has enabled him to execute, according to his limited ability, the faithful portraiture contained in this volume. And may I further be forgiven for own- ing, before I take leave, that, while engaged upon the Life of my departed Friend, I have been often, and irresistibly reminded of a gracious living Benefactor, . . that I have seen a similarity of spirit, on which I could delight to dwell, did I not feel, with Dr. Jortin, in his classical inscription to a pre- decessor of your Grace, the seemliness of that cus- tom of the ancients, . . never to sacrifice to Heroes before sunset. That the sun of your Grace's influence and ex- ample may long shine upon our Zion, is the earnest desire and prayer of. My Lord, Your Grace's most obliged, and most dutiful humble Servant, Charles Forster. Ash Vicarage, Wingham, Feb. 16. 1836. 2 LIFE OF on the "27111 of September, 177o, in the city of Drog- heda. Tlie family had been settled, towards the end of tlie seventeenth century, at Mansfield; and pre\-iously, for several generations, at Woodborough*, also in Nottinghamshii'e ; where the names of many of its members are still preserved in the parish registers, from the commencement of the reign of EHzabeth ; and where the family anns are said to have occupied a place in the principal \^indow of the parish church, until it was destroyed, probably in the general wreck of painted windows during the great rebeUion. The Jebbs of Mansfield have been distinc^uished, as a literary family + ; several anecdotes of them have been related by ]\Ir. Nichols, in his Literary Anec- dotes ; short lives of some of them are given in the Biographical Dictionary ; and a memoir of Dr. John Jebb, of Peter-house College, Cambridge, whom the Bishop characterizes, as his * very honest and able, but wrong-headed and heretical cousin,' is prefixed to his miscellaneous works. Samuel Jebb, the great grandfather of the Bishop, mamed, in 1689, Elizabeth, daughter of Gil- liver, Esq., of Banefield in Yorkshire, and of Ameha De Witt t, a near relative of John De Witt, Grand ♦ In 1826, the Rev. Dr. Cursham, Vicar of Mans6eld, was so kind as to make personal inquiry at Woodborough, after the Jebb family, once seated there. Upon mentioning his object to the Curate of WcH>dLX)rough, who had serred there for many years, the old man rose from his seat, went to bis book -shelves, and taking down Sacked LrTKBATrar, expressed his delight at having it in his power to fumisli any information respecting his family, to the author of a work, which had been to him a source of the faigfaest instructifm and enjoyment. f • Few families hare produced more pers(ms, connected with tbe litaraiy history of the last century, than the Jesbs.' 2(lcMols, Uterary AmtcAites tf Ae IStk CnUury. \ John De Witt, Ikther of Amelia De Witt, and mide, it is tfaooght, to the Grand Pensionary, came over to England in the reign of Charles I., for the purpose of draining the Fens of Lincolnshire. In recompense for this national BISHOP JEBB. 8 Pensionary of Holland : a stock, from which his de- scendants would seem to have inherited, strength of character, mdependence of mind, love of freedom, and indomitable ardour in all their pursuits. * With strength, however,' the Bishop adds, 'weakness was sufficiently mingled : and prudence, in the ordinary sense of the term, was by no means their charac- teristic; Some of them were tolerably successful in the acquisition, but none proceeded to the accumulation, of the goods of fortune. They were apt to spend, service, he had large parliamentary grants assigned him, out of the recovered lands ; but these estates were lost to his only daughter and her descendants, or rather were never obtained possession of, in consequence of the disorders which prevailed during the civil wars. ' A medal, in silver, of John and Cornelius De Witt, now in possession of the Rev. John Jebb, is the only heir-loom of their descent remaining with the family. The following genealogical table may illustrate Mr. Nichols' remark, respect- ing the family of Jebb : — John De Witt.= -Gilliver, Esq. = Amelia De of Banefield, Yorkshire. Wilt. Samuel Jebb, Esq. of Mansfield. Elizabeth Gilliver m.l689. —Hallifax= Hannah. Mr. James: Gates. R. Hallifax, M. D. Phys. to the King and P. of Wales. S. Hallifax, D. D. Bp. of St. Aiaph. William : Ward, Esq. ; Eliza- beth. : Ann. William Radcliffe= Ann Ward, only child, born 1764, author of the Mysteries of Udolphd. Richard Jebb, eldest son, set- tled in Ire- land. Samuel, M. D., second son, ed. of Aristides, Roger Bacon, &c. Joshua, nat. Feb. 17. 1699, Ob. 1799, JEt.lOO, ancestor to Joshua Jebb, Esq. of Walton Grove, Ches- terfield. John, D. youngeit son. Dean of Cashel. John Jebb, Esq. Alderman of Drogheda. Sir Richard Jebb, Bt. M.D. Phys. in Ordin. to George III. Dr. John Jebb, of Peter.house College, Cambridge. Richard Jebb, JOHN JEBB, D. D. Judge of Bp. of Limerick, K.B. B 2 4 LIFE OF with more rapidity than they acquired ; and many of them were liberal in the transactions, and almost profuse in the charities of life.' By his marriage with EHzabeth Gilliver, Samuel Jebb had six sons, and three daughters. Richard, the eldest son, the Bishop's grandfather, went over to Ireland early in the last century ; and settled in Drogheda as a merchant. He is described as a man of strong sense, and sound principle ; of hasty tem- per, indeed, but good-natured and benevolent in an eminent degree. In the opinion of his nephew, the late Sir Richard Jebb, Bart., he was the best of the family ; and respect for his character, together with his seniority, determined Sir Richard to bequeath his fortune to Richard, the Bishop's elder brother, the grandson of this gentleman. Richard Jebb died in I767, leaving an only son, John, born about 1719, who married, 1. Priscilla Forbes, by whom he had no issue ; and 2. Alicia Forster. He died in 1796 : leaving, by his second wife, three daughters, and two sons. 1. Richard, second Justice of the Court of King's Bench in Ireland ; and 2. John, Bishop of Limerick, the subject of the present memoir. The character of his father, as drawn by Bishop Jebb, will not fail to interest the reader. * My father pursued trade ; ultimately with bad success. He was too honest, too simple-hearted, and too un- suspecting, for the people with whom he had to cope. He was a man of great simplicity and inte- grity of mind and heart ; and, though not prosperous in worldly affairs, he failed not to gain the esteem and affection of those among whom he lived. He filled the first civic offices in Drogheda ; and was there universally beloved and respected. About BISHOP JEBB. 5 two years after my birth, he removed from Drogheda, to Leixlip, in the county of Kildare, till, in the year 1789, he went to reside with my brother, in Dublin, and at Rosstrevor, in the county of Down, where he died. He was the most indulgent and affectionate of parents ; and I have never known an individual, who appeared so entirely to possess, through a long life, the innocence of childhood. A little circumstanc-e lately came to my knowledge, which afforded me deep gratification. One of my sisters, in the year 1815, was passing through Drog- heda; she went to look at the house in which my father had lived ; and seeing a very old man in the street, she inquired,.. * Who lives in that house?' The man informed her. ' Do you recollect who lived there formerly ? ' ' Yes,' quickly and empha- tically answered the old man, ' the best man that Drogheda ever saw lived there, . . Alderman Jebb.' My sister, I must observe, was quite unknown in Drogheda. If it be weakness, I trust it is an excusable weakness, to feel complacency in this tes- timony of a ' smutched artificer,' to the good name of my father ; so long after his death ; and nearly forty years after his benefactions had ceased to that place, where, it seems, his memory is still cherished.' In 1777> the period of his father's commercial misfortunes, John, then an infant of two years of age, was taken from Drogheda, into the family of his aunt, Mrs. Mary M^Cormick. His debt of gra- titude to this parental relative, and to her sister, Mrs. Elizabeth Sotheby, sank deep into his heart; and he thus affectionately commemorates it and them, at the distance of above forty years. ' My aunt M'^Cormick, the widowed sister of my father, a woman of many sorrows, resided at Rosstrevor. She B S 6 LIFE OF taught me to read ; and, I may add, to think ; in- stilUng into me early, to the best of her skill, the principles of Christianity. My religious instruction beg'an very early ; and, so far back as memory can reach, I can recall the good old usage of hearing- read, each morning after breakfast, the psalms and chapters for the day. On Sundays, I was catechized : and I have still the faint impression on my mmd, that Sunday was to me a day of enjoyment. Durmg the five years that I remained under her care, tliis excellent woman watched over me, Nvith the ten- derness of a parent : to her instructions, and to those of her sister, Mrs. Elizabeth Sotheby, also a TN-idow, I was indebted for the first principles of education, and the first rudiments of religion. They were both valuable relations : to me, I may say, invaluable. Mrs. jNFCormick had a natural vein of sprightliness and vivacity ; which, howe^"er, was overcast, at least so far as my memory extends, by a deep tinge of melancholy. She had lost several children by the small-pox ; some of whom took that disorder by infection, others received it by inoculation ; and, in both instances, she was too apt to lay the blame of the fatal catastrophe upon her own mismanagement ; nor, till the day of her death, could she forgive herself, for these imaginary crimes.' ' ]\Iy aunt Sotheby possessed a stronger mind ; indeed, in many respects, the strongest female mind I ever knew. She had married into a most respect- able family in the county of Louth ; but her husband dying without issue, the estate passed to a distant branch, and she was reduced to a very moderate jointure. With this small income, she always main- tained the appearance and habits of a gentlewoman ; always liad money in her pocket \ and was always BLSHOP JEBB. 7 doing kind and generous things. Her purse, her heart, and her mind, were ever open to her friends. Her time was divided between my father's family, and that of the M^'Cormicks ; to both of which she was the most ready and discreet adviser ; nor do I beUeve that, in a single instance, her advice was any other than the soundest, and most long-sighted. Had it been uniformly followed, it is impossible to conjecture the extent of inconvenience that might have been avoided, and of advantage that might have been secured. . . How deeply I am indebted, and in the most important ways, to those two good, and most affectionate instructresses, I shall not know in this world ; but sure I am, that the child of such cares has much to answer for.' At this period of early childhood, the character and dispositions (to judge by his description of his grandfather, in good measure hereditary) were al- ready apparent, wdiich belonged to him in after life : constitutional warmth of temper, counteracted and softened by the workings of an affectionate heart ; a strong sense of justice, and love of truth, united with great gentleness and docility ; . . were the qualities for which, from infancy, he was most remarked in his family. In a letter to the present writer. Judge Jebb, who was nearly ten years the Bishop's senior, thus conveys his recollections of his brother, as a child. ' The impression made on me was, that of a gentle, af- fectionate child, somewhat hasty in temper, but not bold : quiet, and fond of reading ; but, at the same time, lively, and loving play. I think, though he was not backward in learning, he was not remarkably quick, certainly not precocious. We were always very fond of each other. I perfectly remember our B 4" 8 LIFE OF cousins, at Rosstrevor, treating my brother, as I thought, ill-naturedly, for something that annoyed them ; old Jack Henry (mentioned in the Bishop's notice*) taking his part with warmth, and reproach- fully, as my father had been kind to them ; and my taking my brother into the wood, and fondling him there ; that Jack Henry's words sunk into my heart, made me love the old man still better, and gave me the first strong impression of the duty of gratitude, and very probably, also, a notion of being my brother's protector.' How little do we understand the economy of pro- vidential instrumentality. It is an instructive fact, that, to the attachment of this humble dependent, may be traced the whole shape and colour of Bishop Jebb's after life : since from him the ' good and generous brother,' to whom, to use the Bishop's own kvords, quoted afterwards more fully, * he owed his education, his rank in society, and himself,' appears to have first incidentally received the impulse, which taught that brother, ever after, to feel and act towards him as a parent. . . If, as may be inferred from Saint Matthew, xxvi. 13., the transmission of a good re- membrance to after times, forms a legitimate part of the recompense of our right actions here, then, old Jack Henry has not lost his reward. Another point of character, of equally early growth, was the love of method and order ; . . a degree of exactness and regularity, so unusual in a child, as to be observed even by strangers, and to fix upon him, among the friends of the family, the epithet of * me- thodical.' The epithet was most characteristic. So * * I listened, with all the avidity of childhood, to the tales, which an old de- pendent in my aunt's family, by name Jack Henry, used to pour fortli without number, as I sat upon his knee.' . . Br. Jebb, .1/5". Notes, BISHOP JEBB. 9 predominant in his nature was the love of order and method, that, to the close of life, the least departure from concinnity, . . a book out of its place, a letter laid negligently upon the table, or the slightest un- evenness or irregularity in the disposition of a piece of furniture, offended his eye, and caused him un- easiness, and he would turn from his most interesting studies to correct it. In this point, as he used him- self to remark, there was a striking similarity, between him and the celebrated George Whitefield. One passage in Jay's Life of Cornelius Winter (a book of which Mr. Jebb was very fond) describing Mr. White- field's love of neatness, he turned to with congenial interest ; observing, that it contained an accurate description of himself. ' Whether only by himself, or having but a second, his table must have been spread elegantly, though it produced but a loaf and a cheese. He was neat to the extreme in his person, and every thing about him. Not a paper must have been out of place, or put up irregularly. Each part of the furniture must have been likewise in its place, before he retired to rest. He said he did not think he should die easy, if his gloves were out of their place.' * In this connection, I may anticipate an anecdote, related to me by a common friend. Being on a visit with Mr. Jebb at Abington, an aged couple, man and wife, came to the house, and asked alms : learning * It is very remarkable, that the eminent engraver (Mr. T. Lupton), who ex- ecuted a raezzotinto print of Bishop Jebb, after a portait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, but who, at the time, had never seen the original, . . having spoken of the head, as indicative of high mental powers, and as compressing those powers within the most compact compass he had ever known in his professional experience, . . con- cluded by saying, that, from mere observation of the head, without any knowledge of the character, he should pronounce love of order, to be the leading feature of its owner's mind. 10 LIFE OF that they were wayfarers, and struck with their decent poverty, Mr. Jebb gave them a crown. His guest, who had been absent taking a morning ride, met them as they proceeded on their way; and bemg equally struck by tlieir appearance, noticed it on his return ; remarking, as the circumstance which most caught his eye, that, though so poorly clad, the old man had gloves on. * Had he gloves on?' an- swered Mr. Jebb, mth marked interest. No more passed at the time ; but, shortly after, my informant discovered, that a messenger, on horseback, had been immediately dispatched to overtake the poor way- farers, with an additional and much larger bounty. His love of regularity and neatness particularly appeared upon the eve of a journey. He could not leave home in comfort, without first putting his drawers and papers mto the most perfect order : on such occasions, he has more than once observed to me, ' If any thing should happen to me, I wish that all shall be found decent and in order.' His spirit was the same to the end. Just before his last illness, he had prepared, with the aid of a friend, to arrange his papers, letters, &c. ; evidently, though nothing of the kind was intimated, that all might be orderly, whenever his appointed change should come. At the close of the year 1782, when he had com- pleted his seventh year, it was determined that he should join his father's family, at Leixlip. Here, for some time, he felt himself a stranger in his father's house, so deep was the impression, which the care and tenderness of his two aunts had left upon his mfant mind. His mother was not spared him long enough to fill the void. Very shortly after he reached Leixlip, she went to Bourdeaux in a deep decline ; and it was tlie will of Providence that she never BISHOP JEBB. 11 sJioLild return. By him, she could scarcely be recol- lected; but, by his brother, she is described as a very sensible, and clever woman ; a very good judge of character ; devoted to the care of her childi'en ; and delighting herself, under depressed circum- stances, with anticipations of their future success in life. Not improbably, to this bereavement it was owing, that the serious had early charms for him. A cir- cumstance, strongly indicative of this turn of mind, occurred when he was about ten years of age. While playing, one day, in the church-yard of Leixlip, the boy's eye was caught by the motto on a tomb-stone, Memento Mori. He inquired the meaning of the words, and was deeply impressed with it. The next day, his brother, then at tlie university, and about nineteen years of age, came to Leixlip to take leave of the family, previously to his going over to France for a sister, who had accompanied their mother to Bourdeaux, and remained there, with an uncle, some time after her death. Wishing to possess himself of the words, which he had discovered on the tomb- stone the day before, he brought to his brother a childish album, which he had procured for scribbling, and begged of him to write down in it memento mori. The request was made at the moment of his de- parture, and, instead of memento mori, his brother wrote memento mei, * From that hour to the pre- sent,' adds the Bishop, ' he has taken special care, that the impression made, while he translated these touching words, should never be obliterated : to me, and to our sisters, he has been, as to our father he was for several years, loco parentis ; his heart and house ever open to us ; every advantage, with which 12 LIFE OF Providence has been pleased to favour him*, aiffec- tionately shared with us ; and he has been dealt with accordingly: blest with a most valuable wifet, and children of the highest promise, he has just attained ♦ I have never known a stronger sense of a special Providence, than in the case of this distinguished layman. One saying of his to myself, I shall record for the benefit of others : . . ' It is my full conviction, from my own actual ex- perience, that, if a man would only habituate himself to survey the events of his past life, under this aspect, he would see the hand of Providence as distinctly marked, as the towns and countries upon a map.' t This inestimable blessing it pleased God to withdraw, in November 1823. The character of Mrs. Jebb, from the pen of the Bishop, by whom she was loved with a truly fraternal affection, may be, not unappropriately, inserted here. Its strict fidelity will, at once, be recognized, by those who had the privilege of being admitted to her intimacy. < Died, on Saturday, the 8th inst., in Rutland Square, Dublin, Jane Louisa, wife of the Hon. Mr. Justice Jebb, and daughter of the late John Finlay, Esq., of Corkagh, in the county of Dublin. She was exemplary in the discharge of every relative and social duty ; for lier conduct flowed from the best natural qualities, raised and regulated by the influences of true religion : sincere, prudent, and disinterested, she united masculine strength of mind with a truly feminine delicacy and tenderness of heart : simple in her tastes, and sober in her wishes, she was herself a practical testimony, that moderation is the true secret of enjoy- ment : her religion was suited to her character ; earnest, rational, and deep, it was noiselessly cultivated in her closet, and unostentatiously manifested only in its fruits. During a protracted, and hopeless malady, it sustained her, not merely with resignation, but with cheerfulness ; and, as her latter end drew near, she was more and more detached from that world, above the vanities of which she had habitually lived. The writer of these lines had the happiness to witness the calm, placid, unpresumptuous confidence, which, in her last hours, deprived death of its sting; and the wish, which he then fervently breathed, he now dispassionately holds, that he may be enabled like her to live, and like her to die.' At this edifying death-bed, Bishop Jebb, as here intimated, had ministered ; and the strength and comfort, the peace and serenity, which his presence and con- versation, under a divine blessing, proved the means of imparting to his dying relative, and of diffusing through the family, returned, like the Psalmist's prayer, into his own bosom. What I relate, I witnessed : it is not, I feel, my part to dwell upon domestic sorrows ; yet one instructive incident I cannot withhold. About two years before her death, Mrs. Jebb had happened to receive, on the same day, two gifts, . . from her affectionate husband, a costly pair of diamond earrings, and, from the Bishop, a small copy of Thomas a Kempis. During her last illness, as the Bishop sat by her bed-side, she drew from beneath her pillow the little homely manual, and, pointing to the diamonds, said, . . * Oh ! John, how different are my feelings now, from what they were this time two years ; then, I could feel conriplacency in those empty baubles; now, I would not exchange this little volume, for all the diamonds of the east.' BISHOP JEBB. 13 (1818) a Judge's seat on the King's Bench ; the public voice bearing testimony, that the appointment is honourable to the government of the country. Nor can I omit, that he has risen by the force of pure merit ; that he never courted business, or asked for office \ that he kept most delicately aloof, when many might have thought him to blame in not put- ting himself forward. And I am confident he has been right.' * At eleven years of age, in the autumn of I786, he was sent to Celbridge School : not because it was the best, but merely because it was within two miles of Leixlip. The schoolmaster is graphically described * When preparing my materials for the Life of Bishop Jebb, 1 could have little anticipated, that this tribute to the best of brothers, could, with propriety, be communicated to the world. August 27. 1834., and little more than nine months after the Bishop's death, he who was the subject of it, . . too soon, alas! for his country, though not untimely for himself (for he lived in constant pre- paredness for the last great change), . . fell a victim, after an illness of thirty hours, to malignant cholera. To the justness of the high testimony borne, by fraternal affection, at the period (December 1818.) of his elevation to the judicial bench, the public judgment of the united kingdom has long set its seal. And the name and memory of Judge Jebb will, henceforward, live, worthily associated with those of his brother : . . * They were lovely and pleasant in their lives ; And in death they were not divided ! ' Judge Jebb was educated at the endowed school of Drogheda, under Dr. Norris, a name of great and merited local celebrity ; and, afterwards, in the University of Dublin, where, among other eminent contemporaries, he was the class-fellow, and became the intimate friend, of the late Dr. Magee, Archbishop of Dublin. In 1799, he published 'A Reply to a Pamphlet entitled, Arguments for and against a Union.' This pamphlet (his only publication) made a great impression. Mr. Knox (at the time private secretary to Lord Castlereagh) told Mr. John Jebb, many years after, that it had stamped his brother, in his estimate, as a man of first- rate powers. And Lord Glenbervie, who succeeded Lord Castlereagh as Secretary for Ireland, cited Mr. Jebb's pamphlet, and it alone, as comprizing all the argu- ments of real weight against a legislative union of the countries : the whole of which, he said, he felt himself to be replying to, in answering Mr. Jebb. Shortly after the Union, a seat in the Imperial Parliament was offered him, by the Go- vernment which he had opposed ; but, on mature consideration, he declined it ; nor could he, subsequently, be induced to stand, though with a certainty of being returned, for his native city of Drogheda. 14 LIFE OF by his pupil, as ' a thin, tall, formal, and somewhat austere, though not ill-natured, layman, of the Ro- man catholic persuasion, by name Owen Begnall: well-intentioned, but in no degree qualified for the education of youth.' As a classical school, it was miserable : but, as the larger proportion of the boys were not intended for any of the learned professions, English education was better attended to ; and, in this important particular, he had some advantages, which are wanting at many, or most, of our great classical schools. Here he remained, till the Christ- mas vacation of I788. His recollections of Celbridge were far from pleas- ing. The boys were, for the most part, of low and vulgar habits ; their manners and principles, gener- ally, bad. In three years, he had lost sight of them all; nor was he afterwards aware, that any one of them had emerged into respectable life. The discomforts of a situation so utterly uncon- genial, may be but too easily understood. He has thus depicted some of them. ' The elder boys wanted to enter me as a boxer : for this I had no relish, my disposition being rather quiet and pacific. Hence grew much misery : they hunted me through the school-yards ; they ridiculed, they teased, they beat me. I experienced sufferings the same in kind, though inferior in degree, as those which Cowper has so pathetically described, in his history of his Westminster life.' * Unlike the sickly and sensitive * This account of his school-boy sufferings, recalls to my mind the similar, but more prolix narrative (the prolixity of old age) of an eminent prelate of a different country and communion, the learned Bishop of Avranches : * Ciira in- vidiam illorum [condiscipulorum] excitaret amor ille literarum qui in me erat, nihil praetermissum ab illis est, quo me avcrti posse credercnt a studiis : libri mei surrepti, chartae concerptae, vel aqua perfusae, vel sevo illitac, ut scripturara nostram respuerent; cubiculi nostri occlusse fores, ne, dura ipsi ludo darent operam, ego BISHOP JEBB. 15 poet, however, there was a buoyancy, and moral resistance in his nature, which kept him from sink- ing ; and long before he left this unpromising train- ing-school, he contrived, without becoming a boxer, to assert, and maintain his independence. To observe, and discriminate, the characters of his school-fellows, was, at this period, his favourite solitary exercise. His mature estimate of the seminary itself will be judged of by this, that he considered the best cir- cumstance about it to be, that every morning, imme- diately after leaving their beds, the boys all plunged into the stream of the LifFey, which bounded the garden. It should not be omitted, that these morn- ing ablutions, on one occasion, nearly cost him, and two of his companions, their lives ; they having, un- awares, got into deep water ; whence, by timely and unexpected aid, they were narrowly, and most provi- dentially rescued, when at the point of drowning. At Celbridge, jointly with a school-fellow, he wrote, what they called, ' The adventures of Thomas Curtis, and John Jebb.' They supposed themselves great travellers and voyagers, who, at length, were cast on a desert island. It was, of course, a childish imitation of the manner of De Foe. By some illic cum libello delitescerem, quod et saepe factum a me deprehenderant. Ciim autem rure ageremus, per autumnales ferias, tum vero nefas esse putabant libros attingere; totosque dies, vel lusitando, vel venando, vel deambulando, duciju- bebant. Me vero ciim alia traheret voluptas, antequam excitati essent e somno, exoriente sole, domo clam egressus, vel condebam me in silvam, vel raptim certe opacam aliquam sectabar umbram, quae me, placide legentem et studentem, ab oculis eorum protegeret. At illi me, diu per dumos quaesitum, et velut indagine cinctum, extrahebant tandem a latibulis, vel lapillorum madentiumve globorum jactu, vel aqua clam, per siphones, inter arborum ramos immissa. Sed quantum conatus nostros tardabat condiscipulorum livor ac malignitas, tantum eos prove- hebat insitum mihi a natura infinitum illud discendi desiderium.' . . P. D. Huet. Com. de Rebus suis, p. 14, 15. The sufferings of the thoughtful, studious school- boy, it appears, have always been the same. 16 LIFE OF means, the manuscript fell into the master's hands ; and he rewarded their young imaginative effort, by giving a holiday to the whole school. In December I788, it was determined by his brother (whose first act, on succeeding to the pro- perty of Sir Richard Jebb, was to take upon himself the charge of his education,) that he should remove from Celbridge, to the endowed diocesan school of Londonderry. The letter announcing this change, was read by him with unmixed delight. From un- congenial association, and incompetent instruction, he was now about to pass into circumstances directly the reverse ; under the care of the Rev. Thomas Marshall, A. M., then master of Derry School. His view of a change to him so important, bearing, as it did, upon his whole future life, can be done justice to only in the Bishop's own words. * My removal to Derry School, I cannot but con- sider as altogether providential. It has had a special influence on the whole colour of my life ; on my studies, habits, and pursuits : it has been the means of bringing me acquainted with persons, whom I should not otherwise have known ; of introducing me to those, who have since been the chosen friends of my life, . . my patrons, and my companions ; some of whom have never seen, and probably never may see, the city of Londonderry. The choice of the school for me was very remarkable. It was by no means a large school ; the number of boarders not exceeding twelve or fourteen : it had not any name, beyond its own immediate district ; and, even within that district, the majority of the gentry preferred sending their children to larger, and more eminent foundations : it was 112 miles distant from Dublin, and upwards of 70 from any of my friends or con- BlSHOr JEBB. 17 nections. The single reason for sending me there was, that the master had been a college intimate of my cousin Mr. M'' Cormick ; and, to this day, it seems mysterious to me, that this small circumstance should have outweighed the numerous objections, which seemed to lie against this plan ; that, on this account alone, my brother should have sent me to the northern extremity of the kingdom. With Derry, I had no natural connection ; and, at Derry, I became known to an individual, whose early notice of me determined much of the future destiny of my life.' * The whole scene and system of Derry School were new life to him. The master was a man of con- siderable talents ; respectably, though not profoundly learned ; a professed wit, and not always prudent in the exercise of his humorous propensities ; attentive to the instruction of his boys in school, and, out of it, their friend, their companion, and not infrequently their play-fellow ; severe to those only, who were in- * Nearly nine years subsequently to the date of this extract from a MS. note- book, the Bishop thus commemorates his connectidn witli Derry School, and Tvith the admirable and eminently-gifted individual above alluded to. . . ' I cannot help mentioning, that, at this scJiool, I was educated, under the Rev. Thomas Marshall, A.Mc This kind and generous man was the delight of his pupils; and I never shall forget the tragic impression made on us all, when, about the autumn of 1790, it pleased God to remove him. How much I am indebted to his fostering care, I shall never, in this world, be fully able to appreciate. One of my earliest efforts, was a boyish, but sincere tribute to his memory : it was an imitation of the ' Quis desiderio, &c.' of Horace. . . But, to Derr^- School, and to Horace, I have other, and far higher obligations. They were the means of introducing me to the notice of Alexander Knox, Esquire, who was fond of hearing me repeat my lessons from that most felicitous of authors ; he afterwards became my guide, philosopher, and friend. From him, in the course of a long intimacy, I derived principles, which I trust will never die. Obiit, cheu ! Jun. 17. 1831. J. L.' Biograph. mem. of William Phelan, D.D., ap. Phelan's Remains, Vol. T. p. 3?. note. Mr. Knox's impression respecting the providen- tial character of their connection, was equally strong ; see Thirty Years' Corre- spond. Vol. II. p. 375- C 18 LIFE OF corri^iblv idle, or ill-conditioned ; and ever anxious to encourage those, who paid attention to their busi- ness. * He possessed/ says his pupil, ' great sim- plicity, manliness, and generosity of nature ; we all loved him ; and, for my own part, as he favoured me with a special share of his kindness, I felt towards him, as I would towards a near and dear relation. At one time I was guilty of a fault, for which I deserved the severest punishment he coidd inflict* ; and he did inflict it : he did not flog me, he never did : on this occasion, he gravely and sorro^^illlly said, * I will not speak to you for three days.' While under this interdict, I recollect, as if it were but yesterday, his meeting me ; and when he passed me by, with a si- lence that had more in it of melancholy than of stern- ness, I was cut to the heart. Poor jNIarshall knew how to act on human nature : with sucli a master, one could not but make some progress.' In his own judgment, indeed, the radical defects of his first schooling were by no means cured ; but, not- withstanding every disadvantage, he was enabled to hold on with the foremost of his class. One error in his training, when at Deny, he ever after deeply re- gretted: he succeeded first in persuading himself, and then in persuading his master, that he felt an in- superable difficulty in committing tasks to memory : * At Celbridge school he was once punished, for what he considered * a great fault:' it was a hurt accidentally given to one of his schoolfellows, who had used insulting and provoking language to him, w hile they were dressing ; and whom he struck on the hand with his waistcoat, which he was at the moment putting on : one of the metal buttons, happening to light on the boy's hand, caused a great swelling. The injury was accidental ; but, as the blow was given in passion, lie felt, at the time, tliat it deserved the severest censure. And, imme- diately after, he thanked the master, before his schoolfellows, for the severe punishment which he had inflicted ; declaring, w ith perfect sincerity, and from his heart, that * he knew it was for his good.' BISHOP JEBB. 19 the consequence was, that, instead of bemg exercised, he was indulged ; he was often permitted to slur over a lesson, or a repetition, in the greek dialects; and his slowness in getting by heart, which, at that time, by proper exertion and perseverance, might have been effectually overcome, was suffered to grow into a rooted habit. The boys were weekly practised, in translating pas- sages of Virgil, or Horace, into English verse : from these exercises, he derived considerable advantage. The verses, as mostly happens with such school-boy performances, were commonly worse than middling ; but the practice gave him an early taste for compo- sition ; and he attained, by it, some copiousness, and choice of words. Another circumstance, connected with this school, was not without its influence. Derry, at that period, possessed several pei-sons of lively ta- lents, who delighted in * a keen encounter of their wits ; ' among whom was Mr. Marshall. At his table, (where they always dined,) and in their times of re- creation, the boys, in consequence, were accustomed to have much literary talk ; and often to see, or to hear repeated, the sportive squibs of the day : a kind of experience, not, perhaps, in all respects, desirable for boys, but manifestly tending to form and sharpen their intellects. Mr. Marshall himself, it has been already intimated, was a wit ; he was also an epigram- matist, and a satirist. The conversation of his pupils, out of school-hours, naturally, and often, turned on such subjects. They frequently passed their even- ings with him ; and he encouraged them to talk, and to inquire, as men. These opportunities were not lost on John Jebb. They gave him, unawares, a de- cided literary taste. c 2 20 LIFE OF His habits, while at Deny, were in character witli tlie turn of his mind. He dishked school-plays in general : but a quiet walk into the country, with one or two companions, he enjoyed. The play-groiind attached to the school was exceedingly limited ; and the boys, out of school-hours, had the free range of the town and its vicinity ; a liberty which, as he justly observed, ought not to have been granted ; and which, he expressed his fear, in some instances, was attended with moral mischief. One consequence, however, of the want of play-ground was, that, in- stead of joining the boys in their rambles and excur- sions, John, unexposed to the harassing annoyances which he had so severely suffered under at Celbridge, commonly occupied the window-seat, at a corner of the boarders' parlour : seated in that retreat, he was quite in his element ; . . his body bent into a bow, his knees up to his chin, and his eyes devouring such books as he could lay hold of. While thus indisposed, however, to the boyish pastimes of his companions, it appears, from a testi- mony incidentally borne to him by his master, that he was anything but insensible to their wants and feelings, when they needed sympathy. Mr. Marshall observed of him, as a remarkable trait in a school- boy, that, when any boy was sick, Jebb loved to sit with him during play-hours. In the autumn of 1790, this estimable man was attacked by a malignant fever. The boys were removed during his illness ; and John, being distant from home, was kindly invited to the house of a clergyman, whose sons were his school-fellows, the Rev. Averell Daniel. In less than three weeks, Mr. Marshall was no more. His loss was felt by all his BISHOP JEBB. ^1 pupils, but by none more deeply or lastingly than by John Jebb. After his master's death, he remained under his successor, till Christmas 1790 ; when, without being in any degree completed, his school education closed. The following is his own retrospective summary of this part of his course. ' On the whole, my school- education was most defective. Altogether, it lasted but four years ; the first two, at Celbridge, miserably deficient; when I came to Derry, I had much to unlearn, and almost every thing to learn. In latin, or greek grammar, I never was grounded ; owing to the cause already assigned, a supposed defect in the faculty of memory, the necessary rules were never stored up in my mind. Geography, chronology, and prosody, were too generally neglected. Mr. Marshall had plans of improvement in view : his death pre- vented their execution. But, though not a grounded scholar, I carried away from Derry an awakened literary taste ; and, if I do not deceive myself, a thoughtful and introspective mind.' It has been stated, that the number of boarders, at Derry School, never exceeded twelve or fourteen. Yet, witiiin a short space, it sent out some remarkable men, almost all Bishop Jebb's contemporaries : Ro- bert Torrens, now a Judge of the Common Pleas in Ireland : Samuel Kyle, afterwards provost of Trinity College, now Bishop of Cork : Edward Chichester, author of an effective work on the excise laws, and of an argumentative defence of revealed religion, in three volumes, now Rector of Kilmore, in the diocese of Armagh : Hugh George Macklin, an able, though eccentric man, late Advocate-General at Bombay. Mr. Justice Torrens' brother. Sir Henry, was not, it c 3 LIFE OF is believed, a pupil of Mr. Marshall. But, from so small a society, within a space of four years, we have here a remarkable list of distinguished pupils.* The interval between December 1790, when he left school, and July 1791, when he entered college, was considered by Mr. Jebb a marked period in his mental history. Though apparently idle, and cer- tainly desultory, in these six or seven months, he was yet conscious to himself of a rapid intellectual pro- gress. The advance, most probably, was owing to the favourable, and congenial circumstances, in which he now found himself placed. ' I was now under the roof of my good and generous brother ; who, from before my leaving Celbridge, had defrayed all my expences at school ; and who continued to main- tain me as a gentleman in college, till the autumn of 1796, when my poor father died, and when I com- pleted my 21st year. My brother then made over to me 2000/., in lieu of my share of my father's pro- perty, which I am confident was not worth 1200/. To this good brother, I owe my education, my rank in society, and myself. To me and to my sisters he was a parent, when our own was sinking under in- * In the summer of 1825, Bishop Jebb accomplished an excursion, wliich, in his wishes, had been projected many years previous, to revisit the several places where he had lived, in infancy and boyhood. He had often expressed a desire to show these localities, to the companion of his Abington life and studies. In the course of this excursion, his father's house at Drogheda, in which he was born, being one of a range of three or four handsome brick houses, on the bank of the river Boyne ; the house at Leixlip, to which, after AUlerman Jebb's commercial misfortunes, the family removed from Drogheda, and whence he was sent to his first school, . . a good house, adjoining the bridge of Leixlip, and con- siderably below the level of the road ; and the site (now a public market) where once stood the Free-school of Londonderry, the dwelling of his favourite master, Mr. Marshall, and the scene of his only happy school-boy days, . . were succes- sively pointed out with animated interest : an interest, perhaps, heightened (though nothing of the kind was apparent) by the silent consciousness, that the child who had once inhabited these retired dwellings, through the guidance of a gracious Providence had not lived in vain. BISHOP JEBB. 23 finnities, bodily and mental; almost deprived of sight; and, at times, labouring under a partial aberration of his faculties.' In July 1791, Mr. Jebb entered College. He ob- tained the first January premium, the most honour- able of the year. His competitor, Alexander Brad- ford, was an excellent scholar. It is doubtful whether they ever met again in the same division : but Mr. Jebb always spoke of him, as far superior to himself in the College course. vSome people object to the principle of emulation, in schools and colleges. He was strongly of the opposite opinion : his own ex- perience having taught him, that emulation may exist, without bitterness or heart-burning. Indeed, his own case may be taken as an instance in point : at his next examination, his competitor was John William Reid, who afterwards became his most in- timate friend. Mr. Reid w^as the successful candidate. That day, after dinner, Mr. Jebb's father, as was the fashion of the time, gave him as a toast, his tutor Mr. Magee. ' Now, John,' said he, ' give your toast ; and let me see that you match your tutor.* . . ' I will give you, Sir,* was his reply, * Mr. Reid, who beat me to-day.' He said this quite from the heart, and took no credit for having done so ; it being his con- viction, that multitudes have felt, and do feel, just in the same way. Throughout his under-graduate coui'se, he was not greatly solicitous for College honours. He applied less than many of his contemporaries to the prescribed books. He obtained, notwithstanding, his full share of examination premiums, one in each year. At the regular time, also, he obtained a scholarship ; and in the most creditable manner, with a best mark from c 4 24 LIFE OF each examiner.* From the Board, (the governing body of the University of DubUn, composed of the Provost and Senior Fellows,) he received three pre- miums, for composition in EngUsh verse t ; and two medals, also for composition in English verse, from the Historical Society. Meantime, he read much, and miscellaneously ; and, in conjunction with some chosen friends, exercised himself on points of criticism (a branch of study for which he had shown an early turn), and in English prose composition. Latin com- position, whether in prose or verse, being little in re- quest, he very seldom practised : and to greek com- position, he professed himself a total stranger. While an under-graduate of the university, Mr. Jebb was in the habit of taking long walks ; the only kind of exercise to which he was ever partial. He often mentioned to me the strong moral impression made upon his mind, when about seventeen, in one of these pedestrian excursions, . . a solitary walk from Drogheda to Rosstrevor, over the lofty Carlingford mountain, . . when, on gaining the heath-clad summit, * A sketch of Bishop Jebb's life, published, in the first instance, anonymously, bore, in the part, especially, which relates to his College days, so strong internal marks of being derived from contemporary authority, as to induce me to ask a permission, which has been kindly granted, to quote it with the author's name. I have increased pleasure, accordingly, in quoting it as drawn up by W. C. Tay- lor, LL. D. . . * He entered the Dublin University in 1791, and almost imme- diately became distinguished as a sound and elegant scholar. This was the golden age of the University : never was there a period in its history, when science and polite literature were so ardently cultivated, and so closely united. Among his contemporaries, . . Jebb shone not the least conspicuous : he won the honours of the University nobly, and he wore them unenvied ; for his amiable temper, his kind heart, and his utter disregard of self, had endeared him to all. His success at the scholarship examination, seemed to be a personal triumph by every member of the University, but himself.' f On one of these occasions, it was proposed (I think by the late Dr. Browne, afterwards Prime Serjeant) to increase tlic prize, from 20s. to 5/., on account of the uncommon merit of the prize poem. The proposition was overruled, on the singular plea, that it would multiply compositions of equal excellence.] BISHOP JEBB. 23 the beautiful valley and bay of Rosstrevor, opening into Saint George's Channel, burst suddenly upon his view. The impression of the moment has fortunately been preserved, in his own words ; having been em- bodied, nearly twenty years after (1810), in the fol- lowing passage of a sermon upon St. Luke, xix. 5, * In all the nobler works of man, the sublimity and beauty of the general effect are invariably proportional, to the fitness and harmonic distribution of each par- ticular member. Much more in the wonderful works of God : for here alone we can turn, with full com- placency, from the vast to the minute, from over- whelming grandeur, to exquisite contrivance. Our mind is elevated, and our heart is cheered, by the glory of a summer noon ; but what miracles will tlie least ray of that light disclose to the philosophic eye ? We are lost in admiration and delight, after toiling to the summit of a bleak mountain, when ex- tended plains, luxuriant valleys, and the wide ocean, burst at once upon our view ; but, even at such a time, and in such a scene, a religious and well-disciplined imagination would love to trace the finger of Omni- potence, in the simplest flower of the heath, which blooms at our feet.'* A few months later, when Mr. Jebb was in his eighteenth year, an occurrence of a very different kind, amidst the scene here described, awakened re- flections of a still more solemn nature. The event now to be related, was, the common danger and de- liverance of himself and his brother, at the quay of Rosstrevor, when on the point of perishing by drown- ing : an escape on which both, to the close of life, looked back with lively gratitude, as seeing and * Practical Theology, vol. i. pp. 177, 178. 26 LIFE OF acknowledging in it the hand of an interposing Provi- dence. The circumstances were as follows. From his brother's house, situated close to the bay, Mr. John Jebb had gone, at a very early hour in the morning, to bathe at the quay of Rosstrevor ; the sloping em- bankment of which, on the side next the sea, was out of sight from the adjoining road and houses. He had just bathed, and w^as in the act of dressing, when his brother came, for the same purpose, to the quay. Neither knowing how to swim, Mr. Jebb inquired, whether he might venture into the water, and where ? Mr. J. Jebb answered in the affirmative ; and, for- getting that the tide, meanwhile, had been rising fast, told him that he might safely bathe at the part of the quay, whence he had bathed a quarter of an hour before. Mr. Jebb, accordingly, without hesitation, plunged into the water ; but at a point, by this time, wholly beyond his depth. He sank at once under water, rose, clapped his hands, exclaiming, * I am gone ! ' and immediately sank the second time. His brother, at first, thought him in jest ; but seeing him sink again gasping for breath, he instantly leaped in after him, in his dressing-gow^n as he was ; and, as the drowning man rose for the second time, clasped him in his arms. The brothers now went down together, rose, (Mr. Jebb grasping his brother so closely, as to preclude all effort,) sank again ; w^hen, on their rising once more, the elder senseless, the younger nearly exhausted, a maid-servant appeared on the quay, who came, at this unusual hour, to fill a vessel with salt-water : . . with instant presence of mind, she un- tied her apron ; held one corner fast, and flung the other to Mr. John Jebb ; he had just strength left to grasp it, and their deliverer di'ew them to shore. Another moment . . and the brothers must have BISHOP JEBB. perished in each other's arms ! Mr. Jebb's gratitude to Providence was appropriately expressed, by a liberal pension for life to the instrument of their pre- servation. Though famihar with the Bishop's account of this wonderful deliverance, I had never heard any allusion to the subject from his brother ; and was, conse- quently, unaware of the profound impression, which it had made and left in his mind, until the occurrence of a fatal calamity (the death of a nephew, Mr. John M^'Cormick, caused by the bursting of a swivel, when out boating near this very quay,) called forth the expression of what had always lain treasured in grateful remembrance. His letter to the Bishop on this mournful occasion (December, 1829,; vividly described the mingled emotions with whicli, to use, as nearly as I can give them, his own words, . . ' I stood to see the dead body of our nephew landed at that very spot, where, more than five and thirty years before, by the mercy of Providence, you and I were rescued from a watery grave ! ' * * Since writing this passage of the Life, I have been favoured by my friend the Rev. John Jebb, with the following extract from a MS. Journal, found after his father Judge Jebb's death, among his papers. His account of their escape, in his own words, cannot be withheld from the reader. It was written imme- diately after the shock received by the loss of his nephew. * December 14th, 1829. While it pleased Providence, for its own wise pur- poses, thus suddenly to take off this young man, and thus deeply to afflict this poor family, let me adore His goodness, in. sparing the lives of my two sons, (Richard and Thomas, who were in the boat with their cousin) ; let me ever be thankful for this signal instance of his bounty, so plentifully bestowed upon me through my whole life ; and let it produce its proper fruits, . . a never-failing sense of his mercy, an unshaken reliance on his wisdom, a patient resignation to his divine will, and a thorough and lasting amendment of my life, of my actions, and my thoughts. ' There is a most striking parallel between the preservation of my sons, and the escape of my brother and myself, at nearly their age, and nearly on the same spot. I was bathing, and had got out of my depth, not knowing how to swim ; after struggling some time in the water, my brother, who was on shore, leapt in 28 LIFE OF It would be to leave the record of (what may fitly be called) these family providences, imperfect, were 1 to omit mentioning, that, in the year 18^4, I was the means of saving this nephew from drowning, after he had sunk twice, at the same quay of Ross- trevor, on the very spot where his uncles had all but perished : tlie accident was owing to the same cause, his plunging, unguardedly, into deep water. About this period, (1793), there were many plans for Mr. Jebb's destination in life. The linen busi- ness in the north of Ireland was spoken of: mer- cantile business in Drogheda : medicine : the bar : the army. He began to read for a fellowship in Trinity College ; but, after one term, and one long vacation, devoted to arithmetic and analytics, he (as lie afterwards thought, happily) desisted ; partly from disrelish, partly from delicate health ; against the in his clothes, and supported me for some time ; but he did not know how to swim either, and we should both have been drowned, but for a providential and unusual circumstance. The place was the back of the quay, a shelving bank of large stones, screened from view by the quay wall ; so that we had little chance of being seen, or our cries heard. One of our maids providentially had come down to get some sea- water, and seeing persons bathing, as she supposed, turned back ; but thinking she heard a cry, returned, and seeing our struggles, got along the rocks, let herself down to the bank, and was able to get hold of my brother's hand ; and having cried out, at first seeing our danger, persons then came to our assistance, and we were saved. I was nearly exhausted; my sight was gone; and my hearing and understanding nearly gone. I suppose I had fully ex- perienced what it is to be drowned. The mental suffering was the keenest ; a crowd of thoughts, . . the affliction of my family, the loss of life, the separation from all I knew, the nearness of the shore, the impossibility of reaching it, vex- ation at dying in such a way, the taking my brother with me ; all these ideas passed through my mind. But, when I was taken up, thought was nearly over, though 1 was not insensible. It was in the morning, before breakfast ; and, being desirous of concealing it from my father, I went to church, (it was on a Sunday) but was very ill in consequence. The maid servant is still alive, and has a small annuity from me. * Our lives were preserved, I trust for good. . . My brother probably saved my life on this occasion. We hmc ever been of help to each other. May my sons in this also resemble us.' BISHOP JEBB. 29 earnest remonstrances of his tutor, Mr. Magee. This eminent man was his attached friend ; and offered him, on this occasion, the use of all his ma- thematical papers. He continued (as will hereafter more fully appear) his pupil's friend through life ; although, for more than twenty years, without oppor- tunities of keeping friendship alive by intercourse. Among the many fine qualities of Archbishop Magee, the steadiness of his friendships, perhaps, stands foremost. In the decay of body and mind (the price of his arduous labours), which clouded his setting sun, his last act of volition, almost of life, bore affecting testimony to the ruling disposition of the heart: it was to draw a check, with his own hand, for 50/. ; being liis Grace's contribution to the fund raised, by the personal exertions of Bishop Jebb, then as broken in bodily health as his old tutor in mental, for the relief of the destitute widow, and orphan daughters, of the lamented William Phelan. Among the plans of life alluded to, all originating with his brother, the idea of the army as his pro- fession, seemed, at one time, to predominate. His brother proposed his raising a company, in a new regiment then about to be embodied ; and, by so doing, setting out in military life with the rank of captain. The suggestion, however, was merely made, and at once put aside ; the turn of Mr. John Jebb's mind, even at that early period, leading him strongly in another direction. * My own hankering,' he writes, ' was always after the church. My brother said, ' You will live and die a curate.' This, however, did not deter me.' In the first two years of his college life, he pub- lished several poems in the Anthologia Hihernica ; a periodical journal, of considerable merit, printed in 30 LIFE OF Dublin. These were his first literary efforts. During the latter half of his under graduate, and the earlier part of his baccalaureate course, a close society of six members was formed, by him and five contem- poraries ; * w^ho often breakfasted, dined, and supped, at each other's chambers. Literature was the great bond of their union : tliey read together works of criticism, and belles lettres ; composed little essays ; and mingled, in agreeable variety, the pla}^ul with the serious. They were nick-named, by those who did not like their pursuits, and perhaps a little envied their college name and popularity, ' The Literati.' The name, which was originally affixed in dull sar- casm, adhered to them in sober earnest ; and, as names are often influential, it had its use in stimu- lating the possessors to deserve it. In 1796, on Shrove Tuesday, Mr. Jebb com- menced A. B. ; and remained in college a resident graduate, till the summer vacation of 1799, when his scholarship expired, and he was of master's standing. These last three years, he accounted the most useful of his collegiate life. Making every deduction for lost time, and remiss application, during this period, on the whole, his studies were progressive ; his mind gained strength ; he formed many valuable inti- macies; and he began to apply seriously to theo- logical pursuits. In the summer vacation, 1796, for the first time, he visited England, on a pedestrian tour ; accom- })anied by two college friends, whom he characterizes as ' the highly-gifted John William Reid, and the eccentric Hugh George Macklin.' Appearing in the questionable shape of Irish strollers, they, not un- ♦ Messrs. Reid, Sargint, !Macklin, Sandiford, Kinsliella (now Attorney General of New Soutli Wales', and Jebb. BISHOP JEB^. 31 naturally, apprehended tliat the civil authorities might chuse to make inquiry, at a period of general alarm about the state of Ireland, into their real character and objects. They, therefore, armed themselves, not with deadly weapons, but with certificates under the broad seal of the city of Dublin, signed by tlie lord mayor. These municipal vouchers, however, they never had occasion to produce, except for the amuse- ment of their friends. Upon this tour, they carried with them all necessary changes of linen, &c., in two knapsacks ; a violin, in a canvass bag, was slung, by turns, on the shoulders of him who escaped, for the day, a knapsack ; a flute was in the pocket of Mr. Macklin ; Mr. Reid played well on the violin ; and, wlierever they went, among the peasantry, the farmers, and the gentry, * the concord of sweet sounds' proved acceptable. * Never,' observes Mr. Jebb, ' did I ex- perience from all classes, more genuine hospitality ; and, whatever may have been the experience of others, for myself, and for my friends, with whom, on this and on other occasions, I have crossed the Irish Channel, I must say, that we ever found the hearts, the houses, and (had it been necessary) the purses, also, of Englishmen open to us. With them, per- formance always outgoes profession : wliat a man finds them noiv, unless it be his own fault, he will infallibly find them ten years hence : win them once, and you have them always.' Among other curiosities, the travellers visited the celebrated Dr. Darwin, whose ' Botanic Garden' had many attractions for Mr. Jebb's youthful flmcy ; and retained its place, until his ripening judgment was revolted, by the vicious splendour of the versification. By this singular man, they were hospitably received; and found his conversation interesting, unless when 32 LIFE OF tinctured by his infidelity. From his society, they brought away much exemplary warning, some useful information, and one good repartee. Dr. Darwin, it is well known, was a great stammerer : a tactless guest broadly noticed the defect, remarking, ' It is a pity, Dr. Darwin, that you stutter so much.' * No, Sir,' rejoined the doctor, (doing ample justice to his impediment as he spoke) ' I consider it an advan- tage : it teaches me to thinks before I speak, ^ The concluding anecdote of this tour, a practical comment on his eulogy of the hospitality of England, deserves to be recorded in Bishop Jebb's own words. . . ' One little anecdote I cannot suppress. We crossed over from Portsmouth to Cowes, in the Isle of Wight. In the evening, we went to Newport in a stage coach, with another and unknown gentleman for our com- panion. There we passed a few hours together ; and the next morning, after breakfasting at the same table, proceeded to Yarmouth ; we on foot, and our new acquaintance on horseback. There, after an early dinner, we were to part, and we parted with mutual regret ; but not till our companion earnestly re- quested that we would favour him with our company, at his house in Berkshire, for a fortnight; where he would try to make the country as agreeable to us as he could. I expressed the regret of our trio, that we could not avail ourselves of his gi'eat kindness ; being limited in point of time. Our friend (for such he proved himself) blushed, Iiesitated, and at length with difficulty fidtered out, . . ' Gentlemen, I beg pardon . » I am about to take a gi'eat liberty . . but, perliaps, there may be some other limitation.' And then, drawing forth a large and well-tilled pocket- book, . . ' May I intreat,' said he, ' that you will in- dulge me, by accepting any sum for which you may BISHOP JEBB. 33 have occasion : you can pay it at your leisure, on your return to Ireland.' . . I, being the purse-bearer, was able to escape his kind solicitations, only by giving ocular demonstration, that we had sufficient resources : and we parted, never, in this world, to meet again. His name was Alexander Viner, a dealer in hops, resident near Hungerford, Berks.' Within a few days after Mr. Jebb's return to Dub- lin, he was afflicted by the death of his good old father ; who was removed to a better world, in the 76th year of his age. ' I never,' writes his son, * knew a more innocent human being : he was * an Israelite indeed, in whom was no guile.' His devotion was fervent. It was, indeed, his great support, under many and great afflictions. He may be said to have ' prayed without ceasing.' For many years I slept in his bed-chamber : and often, when he thought himself unnoticed by all, but by ' Him who seeth in se- cret,' I have witnessed his devout ejaculations. He was particularly fond of repeating some of the Psalms. In using the Liturgy, he never could join in the prayer of our Litany against ' sudden death : ' he was in the habit of substituting the word ' unprovided : ' and he often told me it was his wish, if it might be God's will, that he should be removed suddenly. His wish was graciously answered. One evening, in November, 1796, he was in a most happy, placid, and even cheerful frame of mind ; he ate a moderate supper with relish ; and, at bed- time, took leave of his daughters with marked affection. Before morning, he was no more ; an apoplectic seizure came on ; and, shortly after his daughters came to his bed-side, he expired without seeming consciousness, without a struggle, a pang, or a groan. To me, he was ever a fond parent. I have often bitterly regretted, that I D 34 LIFE OF did not always bear his intirmities as I ought. May this, and the other sins of my youth, be forgiven ! I cannot help placmg before me, at this moment, the atonement made by Johnson, for an act of unduti- fulness, to the memory of liis dead father.' * At Christmas, 179t>, took place the abortive mvasion at Bantry Bay. Immediately after this alarming de- monstration, the students of Trinity Coll^^ were embodied into a corps ; of which, till the suppression of the Rebellion of 179S, Mr. Jebb was an active and mfluential member. His mihtary duties, however, did not relax his mental energy. In Trinity Term, 1797> obtained the first prize for a composition in di^initv, the sub- ject, the Divine Attributes ; and tlie second prize for reading the Liturgy, on the foundation of Dr. Downes. In 1/98, he was bereft, successive!}', of his two most valued and intimate fi*iends, Reid and Sargint. To these interestinij vouns^ men, who had been among its chief ornaments, the Historical Society wished to pay a tribute of affectionate remembrance ; and Mr. Jebb, accordingly, was in\'ited to address the^ Society ftom the chair, in a speech upon the characters and deaths of tiieir departed friends. His speech was printed by desire of the Society, and passed through two editions. I borrow with pleasure, from Dr. Taylor's com- munication already cited, the following account of the occasion and effect. ' These were the days of the Historical Society, of which society Mr. Jebb was a distinguished member ; and the cliarms of his eloquence are still among the pleasant remmiscences •MS. tiotef.. March, 182S. BISHOP JEBB. 35 of his contemporaries. One only of his addresses has been preserved ; it was delivered from the chair of the Society, on the occasion of the death of two young men, Reid and Sargint, youths of high pro- mise, cut off at the moment that the hopes and anti- cipations of their friends seemed about to be realized. Similarity of dispositions and pursuits had united them to Jebb, in the strictest bonds of affection ; and he who had to pronounce their funeral eulogy, was the person who felt their loss most bitterly. No stranger can read this simple and pathetic address, without being affected ; but those alone who heard it, can picture the effect that its delivery produced.' Upon contemporary and kindred minds, its effect, as read, was scarcely less powerful ; as will appear from the following letter, addressed to Mr. Jebb on perusal of the printed speech, which had fallen acci- dentally into the hands, and is now introduced by the permission, of the distinguished writer, . . Charles Bushe, then a young lawyer, now Lord Chief Justice of Ireland. * BagotSt. Feb. 20. 1799. ' Sir, ' I TRUST you may not consider me as presuming too much upon our former slight acquaintance, in thus acknowledging the obligation, which the perusal of your late speech in the Historical Society has im- posed upon me. I am not vain enough to suppose that the approbation of so inconsiderable a man, if intended as a complimentary tribute, could be of any value to you. You have earned a general fame, which may protect you from the impertinencies of indivi- dual praise, or criticism ; and this private communi- cation is made, merely from a conviction, which your D 2 36 LIFE OF work has inspired, that you will hear with satisfaction that your memorial of your estimable friends has been read with interest and sympathy. * Such early worth, and mature intellect, such vir- tuous friendship, and congenial fates, are as rare as the talent which has preserved the remembrance of them. I write to you in the moment that I have ceased to contemplate the affecting picture which you have exhibited ; and when my feelings are too recent and warm, to suffer me to suppose that they are peculiar to myself. I cannot doubt that you have excited a general sentiment, of hope from the rising generation, and of regret for departed excellence ; while the ability you have displayed affords the best consolation for that calamity, by which ' Truth has lost two unwearied advocates, and literature two devoted friends.' ' Believe me, with much respect, yours, ' Charles Bushe.* The eminent person, to whose indulgence the reader is indebted for the insertion of this testimony, will, I trust, with equal kindness, pardon a further trespass ; since his Lordship's tribute to the early fame of Bishop Jebb would seem incomplete, without the addition of the seal to that tribute, which he has affixed after the lapse of nearly forty years. * Dublin, Dec. 6. 1834. * Dear Sir, * I COULD not refuse you the permission you seek, without being insensible to the honor I shall derive, from its being known that Bishop Jebb felt kindly towards me, and that forty years ago I appreciated, in his youth, the worth and talent, which distin- BISHOP JEBB. 37 guished him in after life, and justify the general regret which his death occasioned.' * It so happened, that, at an earlier hour of the same day, on which Mr. Jebb received the letter just given, an overture had been made to him, by his early friend Mr. Knox, which opened professional prospects of the fairest and happiest kind. Yet these prospects, he ingenuously acknowledges, came, at the moment, less home to his mind and heart, than the unsought and unexpected eulogy of a man of genius. As the overture, at this time renewed by Mr. Knox, determined Mr. Jebb's course for life, some notice seems desirable how it originated. In the Spring of 1797, this friend of his schoolboy days, who, though they seldom met, had never lost sight of him, asked him to breakfast. After some general conversation, he said, ' Mr. Jebb, may I ask, what profession you mean to pursue ? It is not an imper- tinent curiosity that leads me to make the inquiry.' Mr. Jebb answered, ' The Church.' Mr. Knox in- quired, whether he had any interest ; and was told, in reply, that he had none. * Why, then,' proceeded his friend, ' do you think of the church ? ' his reply was, because he preferred it to any other profession. Mr. Knox, upon this, observed, that he had some in- timacies among the bishops, and thought he could recommend him to one : asking, in conclusion, whe- ther Mr. Jebb would have any objection to his men- tioning his name. The offer was most thankfully accepted : when Mr. Knox expressed a wish to see him now and then ; accompanied by the assurance, * The sensation in Dublin, caused by this event, as I learned at the time in a letter from a friend of the family, exceeded any thing similar in the recollection of my informant. Long as the Bishop had been withdrawn, by the visitation of Providence, from Ireland, and from the public eye, his death was now mourned as a public calamity. D 3 38 LIFE OF that he would not forget the conversation which had just passed. Shortly after, Mr. Knox left Dublin for several months : the Rebellion intervened : he became Secre- tary to Lord Castlereagh, then Chief Secretary of Ireland : and Mr. Jebb, not liking to intrude, did not avail himself of his general invitation. So matters stood, when, in February, 1799, the week only before his ordination, he met Mr. Knox in the street. He asked, why he had not called to see him ? and was frankly told the reason : namely, be- cause his friend knew that he was occupied with more important things, and did not like to in- trude. He now inquired, whether Mr. Jebb recol- lected their conversation in 1797. Being answered that he did perfectly, he resumed by asking, whether he held the same mind still, upon the subject of that conversation ; and being informed that he did, said, that he would immediately speak to a bishop, an intimate friend of his : though he would not mention the bishop's name, desiring, first, to know, how his overture would be received. The next day, he sent for Mr. Jebb, and acquainted him that his friend, who was one of the most excellent of men, would gladly receive him into his diocese. ' He then,' writes my friend, ' named Brodrick, Bishop of Kil- more ; and pronounced an eulogy worthy of himself, and of that best of prelates.' At this period, Mr. Jebb formed and cultivated a close intimacy with two individuals, then residents, like himself, in Trinity College, in whose society he found, then as afterwards, while differing upon some points, much happiness and improvement: these friends were. Dr. Stopford, one of the Fellows, and Mr. Dunn, at that time preparing to leave the bar for BISHOP JEBB. 39 the church, and who had returned to College for the purpose of studymg divinity. The former of these chosen associates, who passed before him to his rest, he lived himself to commemorate : of the survivor, delicacy forbids me to state his high estimate ; and I shall venture only to breathe a wish, which will be responded to by very many, that he may long be spared to his generation, a living example of what manner of men they were, who are gone to their reward. On the 24th of February, 1799, Mr. Jebb was ordained deacon, by Dr. Young, Bishop of Clonfert (a name well known to science), who had been always kind to him ; and whose reply to the application made to him on this occasion was, that he would ordain him with pleasure, and without any title, for he knew he would prove an ornament to the church; adding an expression of regret, that the poverty of his patronage did not authorize him to invite Mr. Jebb into his own diocese. Dr. Hall, afterwards Provost, and for one week Bishop of Dromore, was the examiner. Some one having mentioned, in the presence of Dr. Graves, that Mr. Jebb was nervously apprehensive about the examination, that good and learned man observed, that the author of the speech on the death of Reid and Sargint, could have no just cause for apprehen- sion : adding that, were he Jebb's examiner, he would present him for holy orders, without further inquiry, upon the strength of that speech. His own feelings, on this solemn occasion, he thus describes: * On the day of my ordination, I had, I trust, a solemn sense of what I was doing. The ordi- nation sermon of Mr. (afterwards Dean) Graves, affected me even to tears. Would that I had ever D 4 40 LIFE OF after imdeviatingly felt, as I felt during that hour ! Too many were ordained that day : an amiable facility was a foible of the great-minded, and simple- hearted, Bishop Young.' The day after his ordination, he was sent for by Dr. Elrington, then one of the senior Fellows of Trinity College, and subsequently his predecessor in the see of Limerick, late Bishop of Ferns. ' Well, Jebb,' said this kindly-hearted man, * you have now taken orders : do you wish to have something to do in your profession ? ' being answered in the affirm- ative, he proceeded to state, that the Bishop of Ferns (Dr. Cleaver) had desired him to recommend one or two young men, for curacies in his diocese ; and that, if Mr. Jebb chose to accept it, there was a most eligible cure, in the county of Wexford, at his ser- vice. He added more : giving him to understand, that he should be specially under the eye of the Bishop. Mr. Jebb expressed his gratitude, awkwardly as he feared, but good Dr. Elrington, he knew, dis- regarded little trifles of manner ; and then explained his engagement, of but a few days' standing, 'with the Bishop of Kilmore. In December, 1820, when Bishop Elrington went down as Bishop of Limerick, Mr. Jebb reminded him of his kind offer, nearly twenty- two years before. He, as generous minds will do, had wholly forgotten it ; but recalled the transaction, and assured him * that recommendation would nOt have ended in smoke,' that Bishop Cleaver would have provided for him amply : adding, * things, how- ever, are better as tliey are.' ' Truly,' is Bishop Jebb's comment on the ob- servation, ' they were, unspeakably better : in many respects infinitely superior to every thing of this world, my connection with Alexander Knox, and BISHOP JEBF. 41 Charles Brodrick, was a blessing to me. Hence, grew views, principles, habits, connections, all, I humbly trust, tending towards eternity : while there were links in the chain, which conducted even my worldly prospects higher, than my imagination, or my wishes, ever pointed. Had I commenced under Bishop Cleaver, the whole colour of my life would have been changed : what I might have been, I know not : . . but I would not exchange the results and the remembrance of my connection with archbishop Brod- rick, now a saint in heaven, for the wealth of worlds, enhanced by a reputation growing, if it were possible, from age to age until the end of time.' At a period, earlier than that which we have now reached, he escaped a snare, as he afterwards viewed it, which might have changed the entire character of his pursuits. His friend and tutor Mr. Magee urged him strongly, to enlarge his prize treatise on the Attributes into a volume, and prepare it for publi- cation. Had he complied, as, in deference to his friend's judgment, he, at first, had serious thoughts of doing, it was his belief that he would, in all proba- bility, have become a dry metaphysical controver- sialist, and a premature author ; wearing out his sap and stamina, by the production of unripe, precocious fruit * ; and, too probably, sacrificing to the vanity of * In his Biographical Memoir of WiHiam Phelan, D. D., prefixed to his Remains, the Bishop, like a faithful pilot, indicates the rock, from making ship- wreck upon which, he had been himself providentially preserved. . . ' To the world, he was chiefly known as a polemical writer ; indeed it is probable that many of his contemporaries have heard of him in that capacity alone. And, it must be confessed that, hitherto, from unhappy circumstances, there has been, in Ireland, but little opportunity, and, if possible, less encouragement, for theological learn- ing : while, under a proper system, and with wise selection, eminent examples of it might have been multiplied, to the unspeakable advantage of both church and country. But, in fact, though some ephemeral stimulus to exertion may have occasionally been applied, it is a melancholy truth, that the flippant pam- phlet, and slight brochure, (of merit very different, indeed, from the slightest 42 LIFE OF authorship, and the worse vanity of ambition, mstead of pursuing quiet studies, and unostentatious duties, in simpUcity of heart. Shortly after his ordination, he had yet another, and more remarkable hair-breadth escape of being turned aside from the course, in which the hand of Providence hereafter led him. In May or June, 1799, his friend Dr. Stopford acquainted him, that, imder the will of the late Primate Robinson (Lord Rokeby), who had bequeathed 10,000/. in further- ance of the plan. Government was about to found a new College (whether to be an university, or under the mother university, he did not know) at Armagh ; that the choice of tlie first three Fellows on the foundation, was entrusted to the then Lord Primate (Newcome) ; that the primate had delegated the selection to his brother-in-law Dr. Stock, Bishop of Killala ; that the Bishop had requested him. Dr. Stopford, to nominate one Fellow ; and that he, from the opinion which he had of Mr. Jebb's character, was desirous, if it should meet his approbation, to recommend him. Mr. Jebb stated his engagement with the Bishop of Kilmore ; and asked leave to con- fer with Mr, Knox on the subject. This leave ob- tained, he immediately stated the offer to Mr. Knox, and left the matter entirely to liis decision. Mr. Knox told him not to hesitate ; assuring him, at the same time, that his appointment at Armagh, should imply no bar to his prospects in Kilmore. For about three weeks, accordingly, he enjoyed the prospect of being honourably distinguished, as one of the earhest efforts of Mr. Phelan,) have been generally thought a far more marketable com- modity, tlian any solid work of genius, piety, and learning.' Phelan s RemainSy Vol. I p. 36. London, 1832. BISHOP JEBB, 43 instruments in a work, which was to diffuse literature and science through the north of Ireland : and per- haps, ultimately, to attach the leading members of its presbyterian population, to the doctrine and dis- cipline of the church of England. But these aspir- ing hopes were soon checked. For certain reasons, which it is unnecessary to particularize, the plan was dropt. * I still,' to give Bishop Jebb's own reflection on the transaction, ' regard the failure as a public loss : though doubtless, if human weakness could penetrate the depths of providential wisdom, we should clearly perceive, that this, like other public events, was permitted, or over-ruled, for greater good. But, as to the private bearing of this disap- pointment on my own character, and course of life, almost from the year after, I rejoiced in it. And the more I have since reflected, the more deeply grateful have I been, that I escaped the toils of tuition, . . too probably accompanied by the narrowness, the dryness, the dogmatism, and the self-sufliciency, of a provincial college life.' At the end of July, 1799, he was invited to accept the curacy of Swanlinbar, in the counties of Cavan and Fermanagh, and diocese of Kilmore. The offer was conveyed in a letter from his friend Mr. Knox*; and within a week he was at his post. The ground- work of his first sermon, was that noble one of Til- lotson, . . * And in keeping of them there is great reward.' He left college, the scene of many busy, many happy hours, wdth a deep and tender sorrow. He wept bitterly. Nor, from that hour, was he able to migrate from one place of settlement to another, without similar emotions. * See Thirty Years' Correspondence between Bishop Jebb and A. Knox, Esq. Letter 1. 44 LIFE OF To Mr. Jel^b, Swanlinbar was, in every respect, a new scene : a position, the advantages of which he thus experimentally points out. * I was there,' he observes, * a total stranger : which I felt, and still feel, to have been a great advantage. I was there known only as a clergyman ; and passed, with the congregation, as if I had been a practised parish mi- nister and theologian. Young men are apt to wish that they should procure curacies, in the neighbour- hood of their friends and connections. This, in the great majority of cases, is a fatal obstacle to clerical exertion. They are idled by friends ; they are para- lyzed by false shame; or, if they are disposed to exert themselves, the boy, and the youth, is more present to the memory of their flocks, than the clergyman. ' A prophet has no honour in his own country.' Bishops (and I speak from long observation and ex- perience) ought systematically, and with rare excep- tions, to discourage an hereditary local clergy. The tone of a country will seldom, if ever, be raised, by those who have passed their youth in it.' Swanlinbar, when he commenced his ministry there, was a place of fashionable resort ; its sulphureous waters having had great medical repute. The single resident gentleman, Mr. Gresson, with his family, was particularly kind and hospitable to him. Among the visitors, too, he formed several agreeable ac- quaintances ; and one invaluable friendship, which remained with him through life. Mr. and Mrs. Peten La Touche, of Bellevue, the friends here al- luded to, frequented, at this period, the waters of Swanlinbar : congeniality of dispositions soon led, from acquaintance, to intimacy : and in this friend- ship, and the society of Bellevue, Mr. Jebb, hence- BISHOP JEBB. 45 forward, found one of his chief sources of social happiness and enjoyment. The parish of Swanlinbar was extensive ; the pro- testants were numerous ; and the duties were arduous. A specimen of the latter, is contained in a letter to a friend, dated January 18. 1800. * I began yes- terday to write to you, when I was summoned, at no very seasonable hour, to visit a sick parishioner, through snow, and bog, and mountain. So disagree- able a walk I never before experienced. Some of the places through which I passed, were nearly impassable ; and, to increase my annoyance, I was obliged to return, partly on foot, partly on horseback, through this bleak and marshy tract, in darkness and intense frost. However, I enjoyed the satisfaction of thinking I was discharging my duty.' The con- stant recurrence of similarly laborious duties, during a service of nearly four years in his first curacy, could hardly fail to affect a naturally susceptible frame. And the first seeds of that ill-health, which eventually broke down Mr Jebb's constitution, may, but too probably, be traced, to hardships daily en- countered, and colds repeatedly caught, while curate of Swanlinbar. * While the foregoing extract gives an idea of the discomforts, the following describes some of the com- pensatory advantages, of his situation. * The doors of my good Bishop were open to me ; and I saw enough to inspire me with love and veneration for * Dr. Johnson's view of the hardships inseparable from a conscientious dis_ charge of the pastoral care, sliould be in the mind of every young clergyman. * Sir, the life of a parson, of a conscientious clergyman, is not easy. I have always considered a clergyman, as the father of a larger family than he is able to maintain. I would rather have chancery suits upon my hands, than the cure of souls. No, sir, I do not envy a clergyman's life, as an easy life ; nor do I envy the clergyman, who makes it an easy life.' Life, Vol. III. pp. 305, 306. 46 UFE OF his goodness : but I cannot say that, at this period, an intimacy had commenced. One intimacy I did form, . . an invaluable one, . . with the Rev. Henry Woodward, brother-in-law to Bishop Brodrick, and son to Dr. Richard Woodward, late Bishop of Ooyne. From four other deigy of the diocese, I derived profit and advantage. 1. The Rev. Mr. Brooke, curate, and finally rector of Ballyconnell ; cousin of the author of ^ The Fool of Quality,' and possessing much of the ardent and romantic temperament of his relative : but too convivial, and possessing little human prudence. 2. The Rev. George Forster ; an admirable parish minister, and sincerely pious man. 3. The Hon. and Rev. William Cole, son of Lord Enniskillen, and rector of Florence Court; assiduous in every duty as a clergyman, and one of the most amiable of men. He died young. Dean c£ Waterfiird. 4. Dr. Hales of Killesandra, whom all the world knows : now, alas ! (1823) bereaved of an intellect, which he had over- worked, conscientiously, learnedly, and oddly. He, at aQ limes, affi>rded me the hos- pitality of his board ; and, what was of fiu- greater consequence, the fireedom of his study; where he has often kindly turned from his learned toil, to give advice and instruction to a young; and very imper- fecdy informed curate. * But, at this time of my life, I derived more ad- vantage, perhaps, firom epistolary, than firom living intercourse. I maintained, fi^r a long while, a cor- respondence with my fiiend Dr. Stopfi)rd ; and r^ret that I did not preserve his letters. I corresponded, also, with Mr. Knox ; whose letters were a treasure of christian wisdom. I have preserved neariy the whole of them ; and to them I have been unspeak- ably indebted ; though I hold myself awftilly ac- BISHOP JEBB. 47 countable to my good God, that the debt has not been greater.' Among Mr. Jebb's parishioners, there were many Wesleyan methodists. And, although he never con- cealed from them his differences of opinion, they to- lerated, and even loved him. Through the sound advice of Mr. Knox, who had been the personal friend of John Wesley, and by reading many of their founder's works, he learned to conciliate the worthy of this class : and he found many such. * All this while, however,' is his own retrospective stricture, on this period of his clerical course, * and I would it were restricted to this time, I was far from the true character of the minister of Christ. My religion, I verily believe, was sincere, so far as it went. But it was defective in depth, and in extent. And, even according to my own inadequate \dews, though sincere, I was not consistent. I had not the least conscientious scruple against playing cards, fre- quenting balls, and joining in scenes both of morning and evening dissipation.' In December, 1799, on the Sunday before Christ- mas, he received priest's orders, from the hands of the Bishop of Kilmore, together with his friend Mr. Woodward, and two others. The candidates had, on the preceding day, imdergone a strict and in- structive examination, from Dr. Hales, in the Bishop's study and presence. In 1801, on Shrove tuesday, he graduated as A. M., and, on the following Sunday, at the request of his old tutor, preached a sermon on St. Matthew, xiii. 52., from the college pulpit : being his first appearance before a learned audience. It was about this period, that the Bishop of Kil- more was translated to Cashel. Mr. Jebb's ties with 48 LIFE OF the diocese were now snapt : for, in a conversation which the Bishop kindly held with him, before his own removal, it was settled, that, on the first favour- able opportunity, he also, should remove to the diocese of Cashel. In 1802, it was suggested by Dr. Magee, who lost no opportunity of bringing his friend and pupil forward, that he ought to preach the annual sermon, before the Lord Lieutenant, and the members of the Dublin Association. The proposal was submitted by him to Mr. Knox, and to the Archbishop of Cashel ; and approved by both. And, through Mr. Knox's influence, he was unanimously invited to oc- cupy a post, rendered every year more honourable, by the ability and learning displayed from it ; and which, the preceding year, had been filled, with great distinction, by his friend, the Rev. James Dunn. The sermon was published, as usual, by command : while in the course of publication, the author had constant intercourse with Mr. Knox ; the intellectual and religious benefits of which, he felt to be ines- timable ; and, more, perhaps, was done to form his habits and principles, in these few months, than in many preceding years. In the summer of 1803, he passed two or three months at Cahirmone, in the county of Cork, with the Archbishop of Cashel ; ' and here,' he remarks, * I may say, was laid the foundation of my intimacy with that admirable man.' Shortly before Christmas, he visited his brother- in-law, Mr. M^'Cormick, at Lough Brickland, in the county of Down. During this visit, he accompanied him on an excursion to see Bishop Percy, at Dro- more. He thus describes his reception and his host : ' This learned and accomplished prelate always BISHOP JEBB. 49 received me with kindness. His conversation, even in these his declining years, was full of life and ani- mation ; and he was used to pour forth a tide of anecdote, respecting the great Johnsonian and Burkish circle, with which he had lived so much. His habits in private life, though his temper was warm, were particularly amiable. He took delight in cultivating his domain : the improvements were somewhat in the Shenstonian style; labyrinths, urns, deceptions, an artificial lake, an artificial island : but it would have been inhuman, and was impossible, to accom- pany the kind old man in his walks, and see him point out his favourite objects, without interest and complacency. He had tame wild-ducks on his lake, which he daily fed, from his pocket, with corn : they knew him, and flocked about him.' Immediately after Christmas, he received a sum- mons to join the Archbisliop at Cashel, who had now a curacy ready for him ; that of Magorban, a parish of his own, in the neighbourhood of Cashel ; where there never before had been a curate, and where he was to officiate in a private house, Beechmount, the seat of the late John Godfrey, Esq. But, before we enter on his Cashel life, it will be proper to introduce his own preliminary observations, as they stand in one of his note-books. * On the most deliberate review, I cannot help seriously thinking, that, in the year of interval be- tween my residences, at Swanlinbar and at Cashel, there was a strictly providential appointment. From what I have already said, a change in my views and habits was essential to my progress, as a christian, and as a minister. But, had this change taken place while I remained in the diocese of Kilmore, it could scarcely fail to be remarked by my associates ; it E 50 LIFE OF must, in all likelihood, have drawn down upon me the name of methodist, or enthusiast; and such a name, must have impeded me, in my particular walk of usefulness : nor is it improbable, that it might, ultimately, have thrown me into the hands, in pure self-defence, of persons sectarian in their views ; and so have made me what I was called. On the other hand, had this change taken place after my removal to Cashel, it must have been attended with all the above disadvantages ; and with this, in addition, that, by my not showing, at Cashel, qualis ah incepto, I might have failed of whatever beneficial influence attaches to steadiness of character ; and might, in many respects, have embarrassed, rather than assisted, the good Archbishop. How advantageous, then, the year of interval. In this period, I gradually, naturally, and by the joint influence of conversation, reading, and solitary thought, threw off many of my old views and habits. Inch by inch I fought my ground : but, in a few months, I gave up dancing, card-playing, and the theatre ; not, I humbly con- ceive, on narrow sectarian grounds, but on solid, rational, and even philosophical principles. As I said, I fought my way ; I yielded only to ratiocinative and moral conviction ; and whatever inconsistencies, incongruities, and aberrations there were in other respects, (may God, of his great mercy, forgive them!) in these palpable, and, as I am deeply satis- fied, most important matters, there was not, from January 1804, any wavering. There may have been progress afterwards (that it has been small, and, in many particulars, scarcely, if at all, perceptible, I am deeply humbled to reflect), but there was no marked visible change : the testimony of my private convers- ation, my public teaching, and my observable habits. BISHOP JEBB. 51 has been uniformly consistent; and I hope I have, however imperfectly, yet sincerely and honestly sought, in these things, the glory of my heavenly Master.' Mr. Jebb's new sphere, was materially different from his old one. The smallness of his parish, and the consequent lightness of his parochial duties, gave him ample time for study. His own collection of books was increasing apace ; and, at Cashel, he had the command of the noble public library, be- queathed to the diocese by Archbishop Bolton, and preserved from ruin by the care, and at the expense, of Archbishop Brodrick. His habits of study were peculiar. Desultory in appearance, his reading was systematized by his turn for arrangement : his mind, almost instinctively, forming loci communes, to which he could refer his scattered information. While by no means insensible to its defects, he thus remarks upon the advantages of this method. * I have often thought, that they, who appear most systematic, are commonly the least so. He, for example, who makes it a point to study books right forward, and to bottom, and treasure up the principles of eacli individual author, is in danger of giving himself up, by turns, to his master volumes ; and of throwing, without arrangement, into the common receptacle of his brain, a jargon of con- tradictory systems. He, on the other hand, who reads here a little, and there a little, must find or make some system for himself : this is indispensable, in self-defence, if the man is willing and able to think at all : and thus, amidst seeming dispersion, there is habitual concentration ; amidst apparent confusion, there is essential regularity and order.' ' Were this train of thought,' he continues, * pur- E 2 62 LIFE OF sued through all its details and ramifications, we might possibly discern why it is, that so many voluminous readers, are miserable thinkers : why so many, who have known almost every thing knowable, have been disqualified from giving a rational view of their attain- ments.' During Mr. Jebb's residence at Cashel, while his intercourse with Mr. Knox was kept up by periodical visits to Dublin, his correspondence with him became more frequent, and more instructive, than it had pre- viously been. His situation, at the same time, was attended by this additional advantage, that while, from books, and from this incomparable friend, he was himself continually imbibing principles of moral and religious truth, . . from intercourse with many respectable clergymen, some his juniors in years, and all his inferiors in knowledge, he had constant oppor- tunity of orally communicating, what he was daily acquiring or excogitating. In thus trying to teach others, he was certainly teaching himself. These un- premeditated prelections served to rivet in his mind, both information and principles ; and greatly en- hanced the interest of his correspondence with Mr. Knox. He told his friend, in return for his rich original communications, what he collected from books ; what he thought in his chambers ; and what he observed in living intercourse. Much of what was thus acquired and made his own, he felt, indeed, to be imperfect, if not erroneous : but the feeling was accompanied by a consciousness, that his un- fledged wings were growing ; and that he was gaining strength for steadier, and more continued flights. In July 1805, he was appointed rector of Kilti- nane ; a non-cure then of 250/. annual value. It left him still resident at Cashel ; and, in place of pa- rochial duty, the Archbishop called him to the office BISHOP JEBB. 53 of cathedral preacher. This he felt to be an appro- priate, and agreeable sphere. He had abundant leisure for study ; while the diversity of employment afforded, by occasional visits to the charter school, and the county infirmary ; by catechizing at the ca- thedral ; and by devising, and helping to execute plans, for the relief of the numerous poor of the town and neighbourhood, was healthful to mind and body. * It was,' he observes, * a remark often forced upon me, that I found my private studies most suc- cessful, while I was most actively engaged in plans of public utility. This lesson, I hope, if it so please God, to carry with me into the bishopric of Li- merick.' While at college, he had been much exercised in drawing up addresses, and in the debates of the His- torical Society : hence he had early acquired habits of business, and skill in public discussion. The ad- vantages, in after life, of this early tniining, were felt by others, and acknowledged by himself. At Cashel, an opportunity of employing his practical readiness to good purpose, was specially afforded on one parti- cular occasion, the election of a resident apothecary for the county infirmary. Two candidates had offered themselves : the one supported by the Archbishop, the clergy, and the principal inhabitants ; the other by a party, chiefly composed of non-residents, or of new subscribers, at the head of which was the late Ilev. Patrick Hare, formerly vicar-general of the dio- cese. The contest proved a narrow one, and the right side was actually out- voted ; when Mr. J ebb unexpectedly objected, to the surprise of all present, that the candidate on the opposite side could not be elected, he being legally disqualified. * Show me the act of parliament. Sir,' exclaimed Mr. Hare, (who E 3 54f LIFE OF perfectly well knew that Mr. Jebb was right) : * don't tell me of legal disqualifications : your assertion is of no value, where higher evidence may be had : pro- duce me (he repeated with Johnsonian vehemence) THE ACT OF PARLIAMENT.' ' Givc me,' was the an- swer, • half an hour, and I will engage to produce it.' Mr. Hare and the meeting agreed that this was but fair ; and the half hour's adjournment was granted accordingly. Mr. Jebb hastened to the palace ; searched the statutes ; found the required Act ; and, within twenty minutes, re-entered the board-room of the infirmary, with the volume and Act open in his hand. He placed it before Mr. Hare, as chairman ; who, glancing his eye upon the Act, instantly pro- ceeded, . . . ' Gentlemen, there is an end of the business : Mr. Jebb is right : here is the Act of Par- liament ; and let me see the man who will dare to oppose it ! I give my vote for the candidate whom I came to oppose.' The proper person, accordingly, was elected, without a dissenting voice ; and, from that day, Mr. Hare conceived a respect for Mr. Jebb, which he retained to his death. Speaking, to a bro- ther clergyman, of the county infirmary contest, he observed, ' I thought. Sir, that Mr. Jebb was a man who knew nothing but his bible ; but I find I was mistaken ; I find that he is a man of business, and knows more than us all.' Shortly after the occurrence just related, this sin- gular man took an opportunity of paying to Mr. Jebb, in his own way, the most elegantly turned compli- ment he ever received : matter and manner, it would have been worthy of Dr. Johnson, in his best and happiest vein. In 1806, Mr. Jebb had preached the Visitation sermon (being his first appearance before the assembled clergy) j on whicli occasion he was BISHOP JEBB. 55 publicly thanked by the Archbishop for his dis- course, and unanimously called upon to print it. After church-service, various clerical friends congra- tulated him, on the impression which he had made : when Mr. Hare came forward, his brow bent, and his person drawn up to his commanding height, and, in his roughest voice, accosted the preacher thus : . . * Sir, I give you no credit for that sermon : you stole it. Sir, you stole it.' Recovered from his first sur- prise, Mr. Jebb inquired, * May I ask from whence ? ' When, Mr. Hare's countenance relaxing into a smile, with a gentle voice, and a profound bow, he replied, . . * From your own life and conversation.' During the whole of Mr. Jebb's stay at Cashel (1804- . . 1810.), * the house, the intimacy, and the family of the Archbishop, afforded him much enjoy- ment.' His friend, Mr. G. Forster, too, and Mr. Woodward, were brought, from the county of Cavan, into the diocese of Cashel. * With the latter,' he writes, * I had delightful intercourse ; tliough the originality of his powerful mind*, mingled with no slight dash of paradox, often tasked me beyond my powers. I had much happiness in the acquaintance and friendship of Mr. James Forster ; and it was at Cashel, in the year 1809, tliat I first became, properly speaking, acquainted with his brother Charles, who has been since my domestic companion, and mine own famiUar friend, for ten years (1813 . . 1823.). Mr. Knox, too, paid some visits at the palace ; and these were peculiarly happy times.' In the autumn of 1805, the Archbishop employed him, for the first time, to examine for holy orders. * By its reception of a volume of Essays and Sermons, by Mr. Woodward, published in 1836, and, by Feb. 3. of the same year, in a second edition, the public judgment appears to ratify the Bishop's estimate of his friend's mental powers. E 4 56 LIFE OF The examination occupied three mornings. He was, at the time, far from well ; and on the Saturday, at dinner hour, found himself without a page composed of the ordination sermon, which he was to preach. Immediately after dinner, he sat down to his desk ; but found himself literally unable to write. He went forthwith to bed; and directed that he might be called at twelve. On rising, he found himself re- freshed in body, and restored in mind. He wrote on till eight o'clock in the morning, when he had com- pleted his task, in time to obtain some needful rest before appearing in the pulpit. The discourse, thus begun and finished in the same night, was afterwards published by request of the Bishop of Kildare, before whom it was preached a second time, at an ordination held in St. Werburgh's church, Dublin, for some fellows of the university. It stands the eleventh ser- mon, in his ' Sermons on Subjects chiefly Practical.' About Christmas 1807, some conversations with Mr. Knox, at the palace of Cashel, first directed his attention, particularly, to the parallelisms of the New Testament. Mr. Knox pointed out this conformation, in three or four short passages, not more than about four lines each. Mr. Jebb was hence led to con- sider the phenomenon. In looking at one of the gospels, in the Prayer Book, it seemed to him pure parallelism througliout. This gospel was from the sermon on the mount. Hence he asked himself, . . ' What if the whole sermon on the mount were couched in parallelisms?' He sat down to try. And, with- out any elaboration on his part, the whole of this divine production naturally distributed itself into pa- rallelisms. Immediately he made three copies of his distribution : one, to be presented to the Archbishop of Cashel : another, to be submitted to Mr. Knox : BISHOP JEBB. 57 the third he retained. In this paper were contained the prima stamina of Sacred Literature. His in- vestigations were resumed afterwards, at distant in- tervals, and by three or four successive bounds or springs. The work was ultimately ready for the press, in the spring of 1820. The discovery of the cognate^ or gradational parallelism, being the proper description of that called synonymous by Bishop Lowth, was made by Mr. Knox. In this point, he gave the clue : his friend unrolled it. The arguments employed to establish it, were all Mr. Jebb's. In February 1808, he addressed, to a young cler- gyman of the diocese of Cashel, a letter on the sub- ject of fashionable amusements : a subject upon which his sentiments had for some years been fully formed. Upon this point, he thought in common, and now acted in conjunction, with his friend Mr. Knox ; put- ting forward, upon the present occasion, tlieir joint views, of the general tendency of such pursuits to un- spiritualize the mind, and of their peculiar un suitable- ness to the character and office of the christian pastor. This letter was privately printed at the time, and has been since published in Practical Theology. In the spring of 1809, his health was bad, and his spirits much depressed. One night in particidar, under a strong nervous lowness, his mind seemed to him to have become a blank as to knowledge, his heart as to feeling. He knew not that he had ever suffered more acute mental pain. Under this impres- sion, and to try whether he had any mental or moral vitality remaining, he sat down, and wrote the follow- ing copy of verses, which literally gave vent to the feelings of the moment. His cure was thus elFected : the clouds dispersed; the storm ceased; and he went to bed in thankfulness and peace. 58 LIFE OF 0 Thou, whose all-enlivening ray Can turn my darkness into day, Disperse, great God, my mental gloom. And, with Thyself, my soul illume. Though gathering sorrows swell my breast, Speak but the word, and peace and rest Shall set my troubled spirit free In sweet communion. Lord, with thee. What though, in this heart-searching hour, Thou dimm'st my intellectual power, . . The gracious discipline I own, And wisdom seek at thy blest throne : A wisdom not of earthly mould. Not such as learned volumes hold. Not selfish, arrogant, and vain. That chills the heart, and fires the brain : But, Father of eternal light. In fixt and changeless glory bright, 1 seek the wisdom from above. Pure, peaceful, gentle, fervent love. Let love divine my bosom sway. And then my darkness shall be day ; No doubts, no fears, shall heave my breast, For God himself will be my rest I An old habit, long laid saide, (that of versifying) was thus incidentally awakened. He soon afterwards amused himself, feeling dissatisfied with Cowper's version, by translating the ' Epitaphium Damonis' of Milton into English verse. This wholly undesigned revival of a long disused, and almost forgotten faculty, he regarded as a liappy circumstance ; since it led, immediately after, to his paying a tribute of gratitude and affection, where he most wished, upon occasion of the marriage, then on the point of taking place, in the family of his friend and patron Archbishop Brodrick. The week pre- vious, Mr. Jebb, one morning between eight and twelve o'clock, threw off a copy of verses, for inser- BISHOP JEBB. 59 tion in a blank leaf of a volume of Cowper, to be pre- sented to Lady Bernard, on her wedding-day. VERSES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OT COWFER's POEMS, PRESENTED, ON HER MARRIAGE, TO MARY, VISCOUNTESS BERNARD. Lady, were Cowper's spirit here, That sainted spirit sure would breathe, A fervent wish, a vow sincere, And twine them with thy bridal wreath. He would not of thy goodness tell, For purest virtue courts the shade ; He would not on thy features dwell, For beauty's short-lived flower must fade. No, lady ; cease thy modest fears. More pleased his artless muse would feel. To consecrate the filial tears, Which from thy trembling eyelids steal : To cherish, on this joyful day, The glistening tribute of thy heart, For years, of mild paternal sway. For cares that made thee, what thou art ! Then would he pray, that wide-robed truth, And purest peace, and joy serene, (Blest guardians of thy vernal youth) Might shield thee through life's various scene. But Cowper lives in realms of light Where kindred seraphs ceaseless sing ; Far other hands this wreath unite, Far other hands this offering bring ! 60 LIFE OF Yet, lady, wilt thou kindly deign ('Tis all th' unpractised muse can give,) Accept this rudely-warbled strain, And let it, bound with Cowper's, live ? These volumes too, I fondly ween, May, for their author's sake, be prized, When thine own hearth shall match the scene, By Weston's bard immortalized. For sure, thou lov'st domestic joys, And hours of intimate delight^ And days retired from vulgar noise. And converse bland that cheats the night. Such joys be thine, be his ! and still. In heart united, as in hands. Blessing and blest, may each fulfil. The glorious task your place demands. Lights of the world, may each dispense New lustre through your ample sphere. And very late be summoned hence, To shine through heav'n's eternal year. In the summer of this year, Mr. Jebb's health con- tinuing bad, and his spirits requiring change of scene, his friend Mr. Knox kindly proposed to accompany him to England. He thus speaks of this excursion. * Mr. Knox, Miss Fergusson, and I, attended by his trusty Michael, took our departure together. This visit opened a new scene to me ; and laid the found- ation of a connection with * English worthies,' which has been one of the chief felicities of my life ; and which has had no little share, under Providence, in fixing my professional walk, and the * bounds of my habitation.* At Shrewsbury, we were hospitably re- ceived, by the amiable and venerable Mr. Stedman ; BISHOP JEBB. 61 at London, by Mr. Pearson, Mr. Henry Thornton, Mr. Butterworth, Mr. Venn, Mr. Cunningham, Mr. Macaulay ; at Clapham, we met Mr. Wilberforce ; at Bristol, we were inmates with the excellent Stocks ; at Barley- Wood, with the incomparable Hannah More ; and again, on our return home, with Mr. Stedman. The majority of these were of the body termed evangelical ; but, however I may differ from them on some points, I may safely say they are among the excellent of the earth ; . . and now I say, as I could wish to do on my death-bed, ' Sit mea anima cum istis ! ' Early in the spring of 1810, he undertook to preach a charity sermon for the Magdalen Asylum, in Dublin. Upon the composition of this discourse, he bestowed peculiar care ; and found himself repaid by an increased ease, freedom, and rapidity of composi- tion, which eventually proved of great advantage ; especially in the composition of Sacred Literature. At the beginning of June, he was appointed Rec- tor of Abington, in the county of Limerick : a change which, by placing him in altogether different circum- stances, was the commencement of a new period in his life. This change, botli in its effects upon him at the time, and in its eventual bearings upon his future course, he has himself concisely reviewed. The passage (the concluding sentence of his MS. notes,) is characteristic : I give it, therefore, in his own words. * I left Cashel in deep sorrow. And for weeks and months, Abington, without a single congenial asso- ciate, and without any field of parochial exertion, was to me a dreary wilderness. But the good hand of Providence was, I doubt not, in this whole trans- action. This hermitage, so remote, so retired, and 62 LIFE OF apparently so ill-adapted to my habits, became the scene of my best, and happiest exertions : nor do I think a settlement in any other spot of the empire, could, in so many ways, have elicited, whatever powers it has pleased God to give me. Often, indeed, during the twelve years and a half tliat I passed there, my heart and spirit have sunk within me ; but I was enabled, from time to time, to recruit and rally. Often, have almost all my friends regi'etted, that I was buried in the desert ; but they little knew, nor was I properly conscious myself, that there was manna in the desert, and li\dng waters from the rock. I can now look back with gi'atitude to my long sojouniing there ; and, were it not that I have had such ex- perience of a graciously protecting power, above me, and around me, I should now tremble at what may await me, in the new and arduous sphere, on which I am about to enter : . . may it be ordered (if it be for my everlasting good) tliat the see of Limerick sliall be to me but half so productive of use, and of enjoy- ment, as the quiet rectory of Abington ! * SECTION 11. The materials of the preceding pages, in which this memoir has been brought down to the period of Mr. Jebb's settlement at Abington, in the county of Li- merick, in the summer of the year 1810, liave, as already intimated, been partly ckawn from a private autobiography, and partly obtained in the course of many friendly and familiar conversations. The office of biographer now devolves exclusively on one, who, BISHOP JEBB. 63 before this period, had been admitted to the privilege of his acquaintance, and who, three years after, en- tered upon the duties of the pastoral care, as curate of Abington, under the roof and guidance of the friend, . . whose duties, whose studies, and whose confidence he shared, from that day forward, to the close of life ; a period of nearly one-and-twenty years. The existence of a domestic friendship thus close and lasting, may seem to claim, at the hands of the pre- sent writer, some notice of its origin. It was early in May of the year 1808, that I first met, and was introduced to Mr. J ebb, by his friend the late Mr. Alexander Knox, (with whose intimacy my family had been honoured so early as the year 1804) at Mr. Knox's house, in Dawson Street, Dub- lin. A few days after, I heard him preach, in the chapel of Trinity College ; and the impression made by that sermon, and by the manner of its delivery, is as fresh in my mind at this moment, as when I heard it twenty-six years ago : the subject was Rom. xiv. 17. * For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink : but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.' It stands fourth in his * Sermons on Subjects chiefly Practical.' My next opportunity occurred in the summer of the following year, the end of June, 1809 ; when Mr. Jebb and my brother (who had enjoyed his notice and friendship, from the time of his entrance into the church, in June I8O7) travelled together to Dublin, both in bad health. This was on the eve of the joint excursion, which Mr. Jebb and Mr. Knox were about to make to England: Mr. Knox, as already men- tioned, having most kindly volunteered to accompany his friend, with a view to converting a journey for health, into one also of social enjoyment j thus bene- 64 LIFE OF fitting the body, by interesting the mind. It will, hereafter, appear, that the object was most happily accomplished. Mr. Knox's friendly aim was com- pletely answered, by the immediate effects of the excursion ; which, to his companion, proved fruitful in results, happily extending through the entire course of his after-life. While thus adverting to the first occasion, on which I met the friend of my future days, I would add, that the earliest opportunity of real intercourse was af- forded at Cash el, in October 1809, immediately after Mr. Jebb's return from his English tour. On my way to Dublin, at the close of the summer vacation, J had to sleep in Cashel, in order to join the Cork mail-coach, which passed through] Cashel at a very early hour in the morning. On our arrival, my bro- ther took me to visit Mr* Jebb. He was then far from well. He received us, however, with his wonted kindness ; and, on finding incidentally that I was to pass the day at the inn of Cashel, he asked me to dine with him ; expressing his hope that I would excuse the frugal table of an invalid. The invitation was gratefully accepted: and, during this day, I obtained the first just idea of the powers of his mind; the extent of his rich and varied acquire- ments ; the solidity of his judgment ; the acuteness and elegance of his critical faculty; the poetical spirit and elevation of his thoughts ; and the racy, though unstudied eloquence of his familiar convers- ation. Accustomed as I had been, for years, to the conversational powers of Mr. Knox (powers of genius of the very highest order), I was not the less struck and impressed, by the kindred, yet very different colloquial style of his friend and pupil. Mr. Jebb, just then, was employed upon the most elaborate of BISHOP JEBB. 65 his highly-finished compositions, the exordium of his pubhshed sermon, preached for the Dubhn Magdalen Asylum. But he turned, at once, from his desk, to engage in conversation with a college youth. The greek tragedians, at this time, were the favourite recreation of his leisure hours ; he had risen fresh from the study of Euripides ; and entered, with great animation, upon the peculiar character of the remains of this poet ; upon the resemblances discernible in them to the hebrew Scriptures ; and upon the supe- riority of Euripides over Sophocles, as a great moral poet. From this comparative review of the greek tragedians, facilitated by the copious and eclectic extracts in his note-books, the conversation turned to our great English classics : Spenser, Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, Pope, were successively character- ized, criticized, and compared ; his thoughts pouring themselves out, without the slightest effort, in a flow of language, as correct, vigorous, and musical, as can be found in his most finished compositions. I had heard Mr. Jebb, as a preacher ; and felt, as I had never felt before, the power of pulpit eloquence : I had heard much of him from Mr. Knox, and more from my brother, and other common friends: but, to speak the simple truth, the high idea which, upon these grounds, I had naturally been led to form, was altogether surpassed by the reality, as brought before me in this one day's conversation. Our talk was prolonged far into the morning hours ; and, years afterward, he expressed the pleasure he felt, on this occasion, at my readiness to give up a night's rest, rather than cut short an intellectual entertain- ment. I had found him, before, a very friendly acquaintance ; but, from this day, I may say, we became friends. On my return to Dublin, I recol- F 66 LIFE OF lect replying to a college friend, who spoke of Mr. Knox as a christian Socrates, ' If Mr. Knox be So- crates, Mr. Jebb is Plato.' The estimate of Mr. Jebb's colloquial powers, here faithfully preserved, as formed from a first im- pression, must not be understood as descriptive of the exercise of those powers, in ordinary convers- ation. In mixed society, he was usually silent and reserved, unless when specially drawn out by others, or when called forth in vindication of what appeared to him important truth. But, in the society of his juniors, and of clerical friends (of whom there were not a few, w^ho looked up to him for information or instruction), he conversed with the true flow and spirit of colloquial eloquence. Of those chosen friends, several have preceded, or followed him, to a better country ; but some still remain, in whose hearts his spoken lessons are affectionately registered; and who will, at once, recognize the substantial just- ness of the above description of an evening, in his study, at Cashel.* * Since the above passage was written, I have had my own early impressions of the character of Mr. Jebb's conversational powers most unexpectedly con- firmed and illustrated, by a letter from my friend the Rev. Walter Farquhar Hook, conveying his first impressions of the Bishop's conversation, at an interval of twenty years, in terms, at once, so perfectly corresponding with my description, and so happily expressed, that I have sought and obtained permission to make use of this wholly independent testimony. ' Coventry, January 18. 1836. * It seems, indeed, but yesterday, though many years have intervened, that I first became personally acquainted with the Bishop of Limerick. I was staying at Leamington with my friend Mr. Wood. I had long been an ardent admirer of his Lordship's character : and I had particularly profited by the admirable Ap- pendix to his Sermons : and I afforded some amusement to my friend, by my little artifices to get a good view of the Bishop, without appearing to be intrusive, as he got in and out of his carriage. On the Sunday, I preached a charity sermon at the Chapel, . . and I think that I have seldom experienced greater satisfaction, and in my satisfaction Mr. Wood cordially sympathized, than I did, when, in the evening of that day, I received a note from you, saying that, from what the Bishop had heard me say in the pulpit, his Lordship thought our opinions and BISHOP JEBB. 67 But to return. The following year (June 4. 1810), Mr. Jebb, we have seen, was presented to the rectory of Abington, by his friend and patron, Archbishop Brodrick ; and, after an interval of a few weeks, employed in the necessary preparations, August 4. he finally left Cashel, to reside at Abington glebe. Shortly after, I received a letter from him (the commencement of our correspondence), in which he honoured me with his confidence, by desiring my aid to procure him an eligible curate. The gentle- man in contemplation was not at liberty to avail himself of the option ; and Mr. Jebb's choice fell on the Rev. Henry Hartstonge Rose, by whom the curacy of Abington was worthily filled for the next three years. In 1810, and 1811, Mr. Jebb was constantly re- sident at Abington glebe; and, during this space, I saw him only once or twice, when we met casually in Dublin. It was in the summer of the next year, that the friendship with which he already honoured me, first became cemented by social intercourse ; for which, previously, there had been no opportunities. In July, 1812, I accompanied my brother and sister- in-law (the daughter of his old parishioner, John sentiments would so entirely accord, that he desired to form my acquaintance, and requested me to dine with him the following day. I went. And you cannot have forgotten that evening : for I think I never saw the Bishop in a more bril- liant mood. He poured forth, in his own sweet, quiet, peculiar style, the stores of his reading and experience, in a manner quite surprizing ; and when, on my return home, my friend eagerly inquired into the circumstances of the interview, I could only say, that Bishop Jebb talked as well as he wrote, and that was the highest possible praise. . . From that hour, till the hour of his death, I found him a friend ever ready to give me his advice, and to afford me assistance. To the hours, indeed, and they were not a few, that I passed in his company, I look back as among the happiest and holiest of my life. They are gone, . . but I may truly say of them, they ' have left a relish and a fragrance on the mind, and the remembrance of them is sweet.' ' F 2 68 LIFE OF Godfl'ey, Esq., of Beechmount, in the county of Tipperary,) on a visit to Abington glebe ; and, after their departure, remained with our friend, by special invitation, for several weeks. Common, or kindred, intellectual pursuits, and, as he was pleased to think, somewhat congenial minds, made this ^dsit, under Providence, the turning-point of our future lives. Early in the following November, I was examined by Mr. Jebb, for deacon's orders, at Cashel ; and immediately after the ordination, he passed a week with his attached friend my brother, at Fethard, in the county of Tipperary. AVe were both in Dublin, where I had just been admitted to priest's orders, during the months of April and May, 1813. And a vacancy in the diocese of Cashel occurring at this time, which he thought advantageous for his friend and curate Mr. Rose, Mi\ Jebb proposed to my mother* that I should become his curate, and reside * September 1. 1827, this beloved and honoured mother, made the blessed exchange of time for immortality. The measure of her christian goodness can be fully known, only ' in that day, when God maketh up his jewels.' But her character has been drawn, with the simplicity of truth, by a friend who knew her long and well, . . the late Alexander Knox, Esq. ; and it will be forgiven to a grateful son, if he pays a last earthly tribute to her memory, by embalming it in the words of that great christian philosopher. * Sept. 10. 1827. * My dear Cliarles, ' It was in my mind to write a line to you, to thank you for your continued kindnesses, when I heard of the great affliction, with which it has pleased the all-wise Providence to visit your family. My own sincere regard for the worthy and cordial friend whom I feel myself to have lost, would sufficiently tell me how deeply your heart must be wounded. But I well know that no son was ever more attached to a mother than yourself; and how unspeakably she knit your affection to her from your early years, I myself was in part a witness; indeed so much so, as to attach to her my own cordial feelings; which were ever kept up and increased by her unremitting kindness to myself. But, along with this, I was, in every instance, impressed with her love of goodness; her benevolence to all her fellow-creatures ; her anxious zeal to relieve, or aid, every deserving, indeed every necessitous object, which came within her knowledge ; and, above all, her uniform solicitude that the religious habits of her own lieart should be substantially genuine, and undelusive. If I myself, therefore, do not BISHOP JEBB. 69 with him ; a proposal which generously threw open the three-fold advantage, of his society, his books, and his guidance in the use of them. The option, as it well might be, was cordially accepted by both my honoured parents: and on the 8th of June, 1813, I accompanied my friend and rector to Abington. The time of our arrival is fixed in my memory by a trait so characteristic of my friend, that I am un- willing to withhold it from the reader. Immediately on our passing, from the post-chaise, to the library, Mr. Jebb said, ' I wish to show you my Swanlinbar collection ; the stock of books on which I set out as a curate.' To work, accordingly, we went, without a moment's pause: he hunting out, and handing down the volumes ; and his companion disposing them upon the floor. The task took some time, and no light labour ; for there were between four and five hundred volumes of all sizes, to arrange. Towards feel a sensible loss, in her removal to a better world, it is because my long ab- sence has prevented that intercourse, which, from her peculiar cordiality and ingenuousness of nature, was ever interesting to me ; and the want of which would have seemed unnatural, while it was practicable to have it. . . I state these feelings, as my unfeigned testimony to my deceased friend. You, I am assured, amid your acutest pains of heart, will have before you, all the considerations, which call forth dutiful acquiescence in the Divine order. But from my heart I pity poor Mr. Forster ; though even there, it is a great consolation that James, and Mrs. James, had time to be with him, before the last shock. ' Though I am still in fear of my eye, and do not dare to read a single sen- tence, 1 could not omit to say something to you, upon so painful an occasion ; and I will only add, that one obvious design of Providence, in removing our beloved connexions to the unseen world, . . I may say, of that order of things, of which such removal makes so signal a part, . . is more and more to increase our promptitude in exercising our thoughts and affections, there, whither we ourselves must so shortly follow, and where alone we are fully to realize the ends of our existence. ' I rejoice in my dear Friend's progress. May God bless him, and comfort you, and your poor good father, * Believe me ever yours, < Alex. Knox. 70 LIFE OF the close of our toil, obsening iiie look fatigued and faint, he reproached himself for thoughtlessness, in ha\dng unconsciously overtasked my strength, aiid having forgotten to call for some refreshment after our journey ; observing, ' I ought to have remem- bered that others are not so strong as I am.' To this slight incident, which happened to mark the commencement of our new relation, Mr. Jebb some- times referred, in after-years; and the remembrance of it made liim always unwilling to let me aid, in taking down, or putting up, his numerous folios. I owe the reader some apology for this digression ; which he should have been spared altogether, had not the particulars now related, properly belonged to the life of Bishop Jebb ; and had it not seemed the duty of a biographer, who passed so many years of his life, in one home with the friend, the memory of whose virtues he is about to record, thus to mark the origin, and earlier incidents, of such a friendship. At the period upon which I have now glanced by anticipation, Mr. Jebb had been exactly three years rector of Abington. From his own rapidly sketched, yet full and circumstantial autobiograpliy, his life has been already carried down to the date of his tirst settlement there. It remains only, therefore, to give some short account of those intervening tliree years : of the rest of his life, I was myself an ej^e-witness and partaker. This account shall be taken, partly from his letters to his family, and partly from my ow^i recollections. The earlier period of his residence at Abington, as he has himself mentioned, was most uncomfortable in itself, and seemed very unpromising for his ftiture usefulness. His house was lonely, his health broken, his spirits weak ; and his mind, consequently, little BISHOP JEBB, 71 equal to continuous exertion. A letter to his friend and brother-in law, the late Rev. Joseph M'Cormick, gives a painfully graphical description of ' his manner of being,' at the commencement of this life of total sohtude. < Abington Glebe, Sept. 19. 1810. ' My dear Joe, ' I HAD hoped, very long before this date, to give you some account of my settlement and proceedings. The simple truth is, that I had nothing pleasant to communicate ; . . that I have been suffering, for the most part, under more than common depression ; and have been, at once, unable, and unwilling to tease, perhaps to distress, my friends, by grievances, which, however imaginary, have, to me, had all the effect of reality. As I hope and trust that the worst is now over, I cannot bring myself to defer any longer writing, though I have not any thing posi- tively pleasant to say. It is now more than six weeks since I came to this place ; and though I had both known and relished retirement, . . I was, before this change of circumstances and situation, a stranger to solitude ; which, whatever fine things poets and theorists may say about it, is, assuredly, neither pleasant, nor profitable : it is not good for man to he alone, being, to my clear conviction, independently of the volume where it stands, the dictate of the highest wisdom. * Better prospects are, I will hope, beginning to open ; after being quite alone, for several weeks, I have been for three or four days in company with some of my neighbours ; and this variety has not been without its use, as it has made me hug myself, on getting back to the better company that line my F 4 72 LIFE OF walls. But I am promised a visit from my friend Henry Woodward, next week ; which, even in pro- spect, cheers me, beyond any thing I have expe- rienced in my solitary sejour. My best love attends you and yours. * Farewell, my dear Joe, and believe me ' your truly affectionate, ^ J. J.' In the November of this year, Mr. Jebb was cheered by a momentary hope of an exchange being effected, througli the kindness of the Archbishop, which would have brought Mr. M^'Cormick into the diocese of Cashel, and himself, consequently, within easy reach of the society of this justly-valued friend, and of his sister and their family. The prospect, however, quickly passed away ; leaving him to con- tend against bad health, and consequent mental de- pression, in the solitude which he has described in the letter just quoted. The struggle was conscien- tiously maintained, and rewarded with progressive success ; as will appear from an extract of a letter to the same friend, dated in March of the following year (1811) : an extract further interesting, as mark- ing that early discernment of the character of the people around him, which, by the blessing of Pro- vidence, eventually made Abington the scene, for his country, of much public usefulness, for himself, of most unsought and unexpected general esti- mation. . . * In answer to your kind inquiries, I am glad to say, that Abington is brightening upon me ; and that, when my heavy burthen of debt for the house shall have been discharged, I trust I may look for much comfort, even in the midst of retirement. We are, as yet, quite unmolested by disturbance. BISHOP JEBB» 73 The people are to me civil and accommodating. And, though not well emerged from savagism, I cannot help admiring them, as fine specimens of human nature, with great capabilities, both mental and moral. Would that they were elicited by a bland, a judicious, and a patriotic policy !' Still, however, though sensibly improved in spirits by the improving aspect of his situation, he found himself unable, amidst the unsettling circumstances of an unfinished house * , and newly-formed establish- ment, to resume his favourite studies. In October of the same year, he thus expresses, upon this sub- ject (to him of all others the most interesting), his regret at his present inability, mingled with a gleam of hope for the future ; for it was his happy nature, always to see sunshine through clouds. . . * For myself, I cannot say much. During the last fourteen months, I have been learning the art and mystery of house- keeping ; but, truly, my mind has been deplorably inactive. I was not, I flatter myself, made to in- dulge, in what Mr. Gibbon is pleased to call ' the fat slumbers of the church ; ' yet my residence at Abington has, hitherto, been little superior to a long sleep. I still, however, live in hopes of resuming my old mental habits ; and perhaps, after lying so long fallow, the soil may, in due time, produce a better harvest than before.' While thus accusing himself of mental inactivity, and living only on the hope of a future intellectual harvest, his well-stored scrap-books, now open before me, correct the honest severity of his self-accus- * In bis domestic arrangements at Abington, it should not pass unnoticed, the honour of God was not forgotten. A small room, neatly, but simply fitted up as a chapel, was set apart for family prayer. For, in domestic, no less than in public worship, he had always deeply felt the importance of providing every possible guard, against an indevout familiarity with things sacred. 74 LIFE OF ations ; and prove that he was effectually, though unconsciously, preparmg himself to realize the hope expressed in his familiar correspondence. Looking into these most interesting volumes, I iind the same traces, at this period, as at earlier dates, of his va- rious reading, in copious selections, and spirited translations, from the greek philosophers and fathers, together with large extracts from our own moralists and poets, generally accompanied by valuable original criticisms and reflections. The follo^\4ng translations from Saint Chrysostom, the employment of a single week, August 19 . . 24. 1812, may be instanced as a specimen. * Peroration of Saint Chrysostom's sixth ORATION on the INCOMPREHENSIBLE.' 1 Saint Chrysostom's first sermon on Prayer.' * Saint Chrysostom's second homily on Prayer.' * Peroration of Saint Chrysostom's sixteenth SERMON ON THE EpiSTLE TO THE HeBREWS.' * Saint Chrysostom's first homily on the Gospel of Saint John ' (unfinished). Two passages, in one of his note-books, occurring between July, 1811, and June, 1812, are so happily descriptive of his own spii'it, and of his course through life, that I feel it my duty to give tliein a place in the present memoir. The first is a free translation, by Mr. Jebb, from Saint Gregory the Great : the other, a meditation of his own. Human applause is the great test of humility. Whenever we are praised by our fellow-mortals, a certain secret pulsation will tell us, whether we are proud, or humble. We may, indeed, and should, feel a complacency, in any favourable testimony of ourselves, which tends to the good of our fellow- BISHOP JEBB; 75 creatures, or the glory of our God. But, whoever is blessed with the grace of humility, when applauded, will retire into the depths of his heart, and bring the testimony to a severe examination. The proud man exults, even at praises which he does not deserve : for it is his anxiety, rather how he shall appear in the eyes of men, than what may be his actual state in the appre- hension of Almighty God. The humble spirit makes all praise, the matter of deep interior scrutiny ; . . correcting what is amiss ; and recollecting, that all human decisions are to be brought, at the last day, before the great tribunal, and there submitted to a correction and revision, which will, doubtless, in many instances, fill the assembled universe with asto- nishment and awe." * Such (proceeds the translator) are the very just sentiments of Gregory the Great, in his exposition of Job, Lib. xxii. cap. v. p. 566. Some of his own words are inimitably expressive. Cum humanse linguae attestatione laudamur, occulta pulsatione re- quirimur, quid de nobis ipsis sentiamus." ' If we are delighted with unmerited praise, we are in danger of a severe, and aggravated condemnation ; if with praise, in some degree, merited, we are in danger, by that very complacency, of losing our eternal reward. ' The habitual remembrance of eternal judgment, is a sovereign remedy against vanity and pride. J. J.' * The most efficacious manner in which we can act usefully in the immense circle of the world, and for the good of humanity, is to fill our place in the circumscribed circle of domestic virtues, . . to form around us an atmosphere of love and benevolence. We must do the good that lies within our power : it 76 LIFE OF afterwards belongs to Providence, and not to us, to make that good contribute to the general utility. ' Show me one general, and good result, that is an effect of the foresight, and the will of man ; cite any thing great and admirable to me, . . and I will show you, perhaps several centuries before, the embryon of that result. Men who were good, and simple, and virtuous, have, without knowing it, forwarded its maturity, by labouring in the narrow sphere of their domestic life. * The magnificent schemes of projectors, eager to do good on a great scale, commonly terminate in dis- appointment. Why? Because the contrivance is human ; and because man can neither foresee events, nor command instruments, for any period of time, however short; much less, during the continued lapse of ages. * The simple, unpretending, unnoticed actions of those, wlio merely seek to perform their daily duties, as they ask their daily bread, often issue in conse- quences, which have the most extended, and the most lasting influences, on the civilization and happiness of mankind. Why ? Because man has no share in the contrivance. Because it is, exclusively, the plan and purpose of Almighty God ; whose wisdom fore- sees all events, and whose power commands all need- ful instruments : Who reacheth from one end to another mightily : And who sweetly ordereth all things.' The well-known 'consequences' of Mr. Jebb's twelve years' residence at Abington, . . the portion of his ' good, simple, and virtuous life,' upon which we are about to enter, . . afford the best exemplifi- cation of the justness of his own reflection. BISHOP JEBB. 77 In September, 1811, Mr. Jebb enjoyed the happi- ness of receiving, for the first time, under his own roof, his brother, Mrs. Jebb, and their two elder chil- dren. During this visit, he accompanied them in an excursion to Killarney and Cork ; conducting them, afterwards, on their way to Dublin, as far as Cashel. In December of this year, he was invited to preach the charity sermon, for the Protestant Female Orphan School, at Limerick : it was preached in the cathedral of Saint Mary, from the text, * They that be wise, shall shine as the brightness of the firma- ment : And they that turn many to righteousness, as the stars for ever and ever.' In May, 1812, his brother-in-law, Mr. M'Cormick, paid a visit to Abington. On his return northward, Mr. Jebb had settled to go with him a day's journey, to the house of a friend, in the county of Tipperary ; but, on the way, met with an overturn, which caused a bad dislocation of the left shoulder. They were travelling, in Mr. M'^Cormick's gig, over the steep hill of Silver-mines, upon the road from Abington to Nenagh ; and coming to a fissure in the road, made by a mountain-torrent, the left wheel sank into it, the carriage overset, and Mr. Jebb was precipitated down a steep gully, at least ten feet below the level of the road, . . his companion falling upon him. Provi- dentially, Mr. M Cormick rose unhurt, and was able to procure assistance from the neighbouring peasantry. But, on Mr. Jebb's being extricated from his perilous situation, it appeared that he had suffered some serious injury from the fall. He was removed to the cottage of a blacksmith (the only aid afforded by a wild mountain district), who ascertained the shoulder to be out of joint, and undertook to put it in. His suffer- 78 LIFE OF ings, during these rude and unsuccessful attempts (they were long and repeated), were most severe ; but they were endured with his characteristic firmness and patience. The operator, at length, pronounced the shoulder again in its place ; and the patient was conveyed to the house of a neighbouring clergyman, the late Rev. Thomas Goms; • where he was most hospitably received, and whence surgical assistance was sent for to Xenagh. On the arrival of the sur- geon, the joint, upon examination, proved to be still dislocated ; a fresh operation was necessary ; and, owing to the height of the inflammation occasioned by the preWous treatment, this required, for its com- pletion, the united efforts of two persons, relieved suc- cessively, and continued for more than an hour. By the fever which followed, Mr. Jebb was confined to his room for nearly three weeks ; during which he experienced, from Mr. Going and his family, the greatest tenderness and kmdness. . . It is most pain- ful to reflect, that this amiable clergyman was even- tually numbered among the victims of a system of savage and uncontrolled proscription, the existence of which in Ireland, in the nineteenth century, must remain an indelible stain upon the annals of Great Britain. The effects of ^Ir. Jebb's severe accident are inci- dentally noticed, after his return to Abington, in letters to his friends. . . ' From the elbow do^^-n, I have power of raismg my hand and arm. I can shave with my left hand, by sHghtly inclining the head. I can, with less inclination of the head, tie my cravat. And I can easily use my fork. Slight pams, occasionally, I do feel. And I cannot yet at all, or at least very imperfectly, raise the arm from the elbow towards the shoulder.' . . * My arm is gaining ground. I BISHOP JEBB. 79 cannot, indeed, yet raise it : but there is no reason to apprehend that I shall not recover its use altogether. Meantime, I am free from sensible uneasiness ; and can use my left hand as well as ever, for all purposes that do not imply the necessity of raising high the upper joint.' Those who remember, and have profited by the use, which Bishop Jebb, afterwards, made of that left hand, when it alone remained to him, may be dis- posed to acknowledge, with the present writer, the special goodness of Providence, in thus limiting the effects of the injury above described. Had the shock been a little greater, or the treatment but a little more severe, . . the attack of paralysis, in 1827, which deprived him of his right hand, might have found him maimed, and left him helpless. But, while the left hand was, at this time, thus mercifully preserved, the shoulder continued to cause pain, at intervals, for several years ; nor was the injured joint ever perfectly restored to its natural action. About the middle of June, he was sufficiently re- covered to visit Cashel ; where I then met him ; and, immediately after, joined him at Abington, with my brother and sister. It was during this visit, that he resumed his inquiry into the style and structure of the New Testament, and the application, to that sacred volume, of the principles of composition, shown by Bishop Lowth to be characteristic of the Hebrew Scriptures ; . . an inquiry which had been suspended since he left Cashel, and the pregnant re- sults of which have been given to the world, in ' Sa- cred Literature.' The sketch now drawn up in a few days, was addressed to his old friend and tutor. Dr. Magee, afterwards Archbishop of Dublin ; whose opinion, in the highest degree favourable, operated as 80 LIFE OP a salutary encouragement to the prosecution of his work. I specify the date of this literary spring the more particularly, because the circumstances which, ap- parently, gave rise to it, are not unconnected vdth the history of ]\Ir. Jebb's mind ; which, although, once put in motion, it was active, vigorous, and animated, in the very highest degree, . . generally required some slight impulse, from without, to set it gomg. In one of his letters he remarks, . . * I am like a clock ; I cannot go, unless I am wound up.' I must correct the illustration : he resembled rather the pendulum of a wound-up clock ; the slightest touch would set him going. To a mind thus constituted, familiar correspond- ence, friendly society, and congenial conversation, were ob\'iously essentials : and if, to use his own atfect- ing expression, ' his spirit, oftentimes, died within him,' when alone, . . all who knew him intimately, on the other hand, must well remember the life and energy with which he spoke and wrote, when a train of thought had once been kindled, in any of those ways. In October, 181^?, Mr. Jebb's solitude was en- livened, by the arrival of friends from England, whose society none could more fully or justly appreciate than himself ; and by a visit from his venerable early friend Dr. Hales, accompanied by his family. And in January, 1813, he, at length, enjoyed the long- desu'ed prinlege of receiving, in a house of his own, Mr. Alexander Knox, whom the Archbishop kindly brouirht to Abino'ton from Cashel. Mr. Knox re- mained with his fiiend for about a fortnight. This was his first and only visit ; the increasing delicacy of his health disinclining him more and more for dis- BISHOP jebb; 81 tant excursions : their correspondence shows with what affectionate anticipation Mr. Jebb had looked forward to it ; and he cherished the remembrance of it with a fond regret, as that of happiness which, in this life, was never to return. In the following February, he transmitted, through Mr. Knox, to his friend Dr. ]\Iagee, a further and enlarged outline of his projected work on the New Testament. In March, he was engaged in preparing a second charity sermon for the IMagdalen Asylum, Dublin ; which he preached in April ; and \vhich has been published in ' Practical Theology.' Early in June I returned with him to Abington. In entering on this period of Mr. Jebb's Hfe, I shall, perhaps, best discharge the duty of biography, by simply recalling, and recording my impressions of his mind and character, at the commencement of a daily intercourse, which terminated only with my friend's removal to a better world. Before he left home, for Dublin, this year, he had been much engaged in collecting and arranging ma- terials, for his treatise on the style of the New Test- ament. After my return, I found his mind naturally full of this original subject; yet open, at the same time, to every subject of interest, in theology, moral philosophy, poHte literature, and criticism ; and always ready, by advice, by suggestions, by well- timed encouragement, or by friendly censure, to pro- mote and direct the noviciate studies of others, and to give his friends the full and willing benefit of his own previous labours, and long experience. Among works to be early, and thoroughly, eviscerated (as he expressed himself), by a young student in divinity, I recollect my friend's particularly recommending to me, Cudworth's Intellectual System, and Lord S2 LIFE OF Bacon's Novum Organum ; as studies calculated, at once, to exercise and discipline the judgment, and to fill and enlarge the mind. The advantages of his consummate skill in the principles of composition, were imparted as freely, as those arising from his ex- tensive knowledge of books. But, while he delighted to commend every successful effort, the correctness of his taste, and the justness of his critical faculty, rendered him difficult to please. His natural, and acquired, severity of judgment, it need hardly be added, greatly heightened the effect of his approval ; which was always bestowed with that generous cor- diality, which marked that it came from the heart. He has himself noticed, and lamented, the consti- tutional defectiveness of his memory. To my appre- hension, he possessed an excellent memory, only of a particular kind. If he could not easily recall the facts, he could faithfully recollect and indicate the sources, of knowledge. When information was de- sired upon any subject, with which he was in the least conversant, he could, at once, tell the work, the volume, and oftentimes the page, where it might be found. Frequently, too, when consulted upon sub- jects the most remote from his own walk of study, he has surprized his most intimate friends (such was the excursiveness of his research), by pointing out the quarters where they were best treated of. A memory of this order may be less fitted for the dis- play of conversation, but it is the true memory for the study, and the desk. The writer learned to appreciate it, from the first days of his residence at Abington ; and derived continual benefit from it, through the many happy years of his intimacy with Bishop Jebb. Besides the excursiveness of his reading, one cause BISHOP JEBB. 83 of the extent and variety of Mr. Jebb's acquaintance with the sources of general information, lay in what, notwithstanding Mr. Locke's rejection of the word and thing, I must venture to call his innate love of books ; a taste, which led him, like Mr. Gibbon, to examine every new purchase, with care, before he deposited the volumes upon his shelves. His friend Mr. Knox once told him, that he re- minded him of Pope. I remember being forcibly struck, the first week of my sojourn at Abington, with a resemblance to Johnson ; a resemblance often, and independently, remarked by other friends. He one day took me to visit some of our parishioners, in order to introduce me as the new curate ; not liking, as a very young man, to put myself forward, I did not speak ; Mr. Jebb observed it, and told me, as we walked home, that I ought to overcome my tendency to silence in company : I replied, that I had been in- tentionally silent : ' Then, Sir,' was his rejoinder, * if you were intentionally silent, you were elaborately wrong.' In familiar conversation, his sayings fre- quently came out with similar force and brevity ; and they always recalled to my thoughts our great En- glish moralist ; whom he resembled, also, in a poetical vein, in which the critical faculty predominated, and in his early love of long and hard words. In the course of this year, Mr. Jebb's attention was particularly called to the subject of parochial schools in Ireland, especially as connected with the parochial clergy ; in consequence of plans of national education, then in contemplation. In December, 1813, by desire of the Archbishop of Cashel, he drew up, in the form of a letter addressed to his Grace, a paper upon this subject ; comprizing, a full G 2 84 LIFE OF exposure of the injustice, and impolicy, of throwing, by legislative enactments, the burthen of national education, upon the clergy of the established church ; a short review of the ways in which the established clergy had, hitherto, freely co-operated, . . were willing and ready cordially to co-operate, . . and, wdth wise encouragement on the part of the legislature, would be enabled still more effectually to co-operate, to- wards the promotion of this great object; and, in conclusion, a brief statement of his own views, as to the best means of advancinc^ o-eneral education throughout Ireland, under the peculiar circumstances, social, moral, and religious, of the Irish population. This document was submitted, by the Archbishop, to the Irish government of the day ; was well re- ceived ; and never acted on. In March 1814, the long-desired exchange, in favour of Mr. Jebb's brother-in-law, seemed to be effected, by Mr. M"'Cormick's appointment, through the kindness of the Archbishop, to the rectory of Mealiffe, in the diocese of Cashel. Mr. Jebb enter- tained, with the characteristic warmth of his hopeful and affectionate nature, the prospect of family happi- ness and enjoyment, which now, apparently, opened upon him ; and, for several months, his mind was occupied by the cares and anxieties, necessarily at- tending the migration of a large family, from their quiet settlement in the north of Ireland, to a wild and distant parish in the south. The removal, how- ever, was not to be effected : it was the good pleasure of an all- wise Providence, that the friend and relative whom he so justly loved, should be seized by a hope- less malady ; before the end of the year, his fraternal cares and anxieties assumed a more painful character ; nor were they remitted, until his Imrried return from BISHOP jebb; 85 England, in June 1815, to witness the close of Mr. M'^Cormick's sufferings and valuable life. Mr. Jebb's letter to Mr. Knox, in this moment of affliction, while it thus beautifully describes the spirit of him whom he had lost, unconsciously pourtrays his own. ' Rosstrevor, July 13. 1815. ' My dear Friend, ' This morning, at ten o'clock, my dear friend and relative was released from all human pain and suffer- ing. He expired, without a struggle or a groan, and I have the gratification to think, that his trying and excruciating illness, was made the providential in- strument of preparing him for a happier state. He had, honestly, conscientiously, and I do believe with his whole heart, employed the talents and opportuni- ties entrusted to him : and it would seem that, as a reward, he was purified by suffering. He was brought to the innocence, the harmlessness, and purity of a child ; and has repeatedly recalled to my mind, and to that of others who attended his sick bed, our Saviour's declaration, that we must become as little children, to enter the kingdom of heaven. It is a great comfort to me that I reached this in time. My sister is wonderfully supported. ' Ever most entirely yours, * John Jebb.' It was amidst these domestic cares and sorrows, that Mr. Jebb employed himself in preparing, and publishing, his first volume of sermons. In a letter to Mr. M'Cormick, dated October 7. 1814, he thus alludes to his contemplated publication : . . ' My lite- rary pursuits were suspended during the late visits ; G 3 86 LIFE OF but I hope to resume them ere long. Six sermons are prepared. Six more wdll make a small volume : and, should I publish, at the out-set I wiU hazard no more. How far it may be prudent to come at all, before a full, fastidious, and sermon-jaded pubHc, is a question, however, which I must seriously ask ; and which one or two of my literary friends, will, I know, be candid enough without reserve to answer.' The friends consulted upon this occasion were, Mr. Knox, and Dr. Magee. Their imprimatur was more than justified, by the reception of Mr. Jebb's * Ser- mons on Subjects chiefly practical a volume which, within a few months, passed through two editions ; and which has continued to rise in public estimation, through a period of twenty years. The early testimony borne to the merits of this volume by the public voice, a testimony seconded, with very unusual unanimity, by the periodical criticism of the day, was preceded, or followed, by approbation, to w^hich Mr. Jebb justly attached a still higher value : the approval of minds entitled to pronounce vdth authority, and whose favourable judgment w^ould have been, alone, a decisive test of the intrinsic value of his labours; and the reception experienced, both by his volume of Sermons, and by the Appendix attached to it» among men of the highest promise, both at the universities, and in the church. Upon the best and purest grounds, this consent of witnesses was deeply gratifying to one, whose single aim, in this first publication, as in all his subsequent undertakings, had been, to promote, so far as might be permitted, the good of mankind, and the glory of God. Yet, while duly sensible of these encouraging results, it was his happiness to enjoy a testimonv of another kind, which came more home BISHOP JEBB. 87 to his heart: this testimony was, the comfort and support derived from the study of his sermons, in many and wholly independent instances, by persons in deep affliction, by others under heavy trials, and by some *at the hour of death.' But these fruits belong to a later period. The Appendix to this volume, relating to the peculiar character of the Church of England, as dis- tinguished, both from other branches of the Reform- ation, and from the modern Church of Rome, caused, as it is the property of trutli to cause, an equally strong sensation, in opposite extremes ; among Roman catholics,, .and among low-church protestants. Its foundational principle, the golden rule of Vincentius Lirinensis, which adopts catholic consent as our guide in scriptural interpretation, was assailed, at the time, courteously, acutely, and unsuccessfully, by a corre- spondent under the signature of Albius, in the Chris- tian Observer. The claim of the Church of England to the adoption of this principle, and consequently to the middle place assigned to it in Mr. Jebb's Appendix, has been zealously contested, on the other, hand, by Roman catholics; and is, at the moment in which I write, the subject of a controversy, publicly at issue, between an accomplished French ecclesiastic, and some distinguished divines of Oxford. With the details of the discussion I am, at present, unac- quainted; but the softened spirit in which even the Roman catholic controversy may be conducted (a spirit which it was Mr. Jebb's constant aim to possess and promote, and to the increase of which his writings, it appears, have not a little contributed,) is too happily exemplified, in a letter from the learned Abbe in question, to a friend at Oxford, for the ex- tract to be withheld from the readers of Bishop G 4 88 LIFE OF Jebb's life : . . ' J'ai attaqiie M. Jebb, quoique j'ai re- gret; car je Taime beaucoup.' . .When will contro- versial writers learn, that the spirit of charity, while it sheds a grace even upon error, is the best, and only safe ally, of truth? While thus assailed, however, on the one hand, by the gymnobiblical protestant, and, on the other hand, by the priest-governed Romanist, the principles to which Mr. Jebb's Appendix first recalled public at- tention, as the true principles of the English reform- ation, have continued silently, steadily, and diffusively to gain ground. And the Appendix itself is now generally recognized, as an authoritative depositary of those catholic principles. Of the merits of Mr. Jebb's sermons, as composi- tions, it is needless to speak: they are before the public ; they are in the hands, probably, of all who may read these pages ; and ample justice has been rendered, by his contemporaries, to the beauty of their spirit, the depth and richness of the thoughts, and the force, purity, and persuasiveness of the style. But his manner and delivery as a preacher, it seems the part of his biographer to notice. His manner in the pulpit (it was his natural manner) was grave, impressive, and affectionate : while he read the collect, and the Lord's Prayer, you already felt that the preacher was in earnest: his deUvery, easy and un- studied, and ratlier slow, but full of life and energy, confirmed and increased, with each succeeding sen- tence, your first impression. His voice, though not strong, was deep and flexible ; and its modulations so justly varied, and the enunciation, especially of the consonants, so clear, as greatly to augment its power. He thought not about action: what he used came with the impulse of the moment j and was evidently BISHOP JEBB. 89 called forth by the importance of the subject, and the interest that his heart took in it. He never com- mitted to memory; yet a rule which he always ob- served, both in preaching and reading, imparted to his discourses all the life and animation of extempore address : this rule was, to carry the eye forward, while delivering each sentence, to those which followed, so as to know, beforehand, what was about to be spoken. . . Imperfect as this description is, there are, I believe, many still living, to whom it will recall him as he was, . . as he stood, and looked, and spake, while he enforced, with an affectionate authority, always tem- pered by meekness, the lively oracles of God. Might I attempt to convey the whole effect, it should be in the words of the great Hooker : * His virtue, his ^gesture, his countenance, his zeal, the motion of his body, and the inflection of his voice, who first utter eth them as his own, is that which giveth the very essence of instruments available to eternal life.' A preacher with powers of delivery like these, could not fail to be an accomplished reader. Mr. Jebb's reading, on ordinary occasions, was of such varied excellence, as always to command attention, and often to call forth the strongest admiration. One excellence, particularly observable in his reading, was, that his command of voice, and powers of in- flection, seemed to rise in proportion to the difficulty of the writer's style. When in England with Mr. Knox, in 1809, he was requested, by a friend, to read aloud a treatise of Robert Boyle's (perhaps, the most unreadable, in this sense, of great English writers) : he readily complied ; and, as he pro- ceeded, managed so judiciously the interminable periods, and disentangled so skilfully the long paren- theses, as equally to surprize and delight the hearers. 90 LIFE OF The friends who had made the request, remarked, that Mr. Jebb's reading reminded them of that of Mr. Pitt (with whom they had been intimate) ; and that they had not heard such reading since Mr. Pitt's death. But it was in the reading-desk, and in the perform- ance of the solemn services of his venerable mother the Church of England, that his powers appeared to the truest advantage. His manner of delivery here, while more subdued, was not less impressive, than in the pulpit. It was manifest to all, that his whole heart was in his service. While offering up his own petitions, and those of the congregation, before the throne of Grace, in the words of our unrivalled liturgy, he never, for a moment, forgot that he prayed : a consciousness, above all other means, influential, to draw the hearers to pray also. When reading the lessons and the psalms, he so entered into the spirit of the sacred penmen, as to give reality to what he read ; always reminding you more of the scriptural scene, subject, or characters, than of the reader. . . This sketch, a plain and faithful record of the im- pression made upon one, who long enjoyed the high privilege of hearing him officiate, is drawn with the more freedom, because numbers are still living, both in Ireland and in England, who formed part of his congregations ; and not a few, I believe, who can recall, and who will own, the likeness. The autumn of 1814, was a season, to Mr. Jebb, of much cheerful family enjoyment. In August, his brother-in-law, Rowley Heyland, Esq., Mrs. Hey- land *, and their family, accompanied by Mr. Jebb's * While writing these pages, my pen has been suspended by tidings of the removal of this exemplary person, the last of her generation, beyond all earthly BISHOP JEBB. 91 eldest sister, Miss Jebb, came to Abington. Arid this family party was succeeded, in September, by the arrival of his brother, Mrs. Jebb, and their two elder children. It was on this occasion that I first had the happiness thoughts and cares. The following sketch of her character, and account of* her peaceful and edifying death, in a letter from her nephew, who will pardon me for inserting it, would be interesting and instructive under any circumstances : it is appropriate here, as relating to a beloved sister of Bishop Jebb. ' Dublin, May 4. 1835. ' The event, for which my last letter prepared you, has taken place. At half past six, yesterday evening, it pleased God to take my aunt to himself. We had been in expectation of it, for more than a day before, such was her weakness. Early on Saturday morning, I was sent for ; and joined with her, my uncle, and her children, in prayer, and religious conversation, which she sustained, with great strength of voice, and with her usual cheerful, and collected temper. After this, she fell into a slumber, from which she wakened but at intervals, till the same hour on sunday morning, when I again saw her. She was then incapable of conversation herself, but desired we might converse around her. After this, until within half an hour of her death, her slumbers were renewed, to all ap- pearance tranquil, and refreshing: . . whenever she did waken, she showed a perfect consciousness ; which never deserted her, until within a few minutes of her departure. At the last, she showed a perfect consciousness of the prayers and psalms, which I continued to read till life was gone, by lifting up both her hands, and moving her lips, at the conclusion of each : the power of articulation having left her. Her death was so very peaceful, that it was some minutes, before we could ascertain, whether she had breathed her last. When all was over, I followed my uncle's example, when my mother died, by repeating, in her chil- dren's presence, the prayer in the burial service, which returns thanks for such a release. < I know how interested you must feel in all this ; both as having known her virtues, and as recognizing, in her, a worthy sister of those, who have, at such short intervals, gone before her. I have not known, it were impossible, I believe, to know, a more faultless character. That remarkable gentleness of disposition, was not the evidence of mere passive virtues : . . for, in every relation of life, she was always fulfilling her appointed duties, to the utmost of her power. I can well remember, how she not merely bore the afflictions of her life, but exerted herself under them. None who knew her, but have experienced her active kindness and generosity; a family quality, in which she was in no respect inferior to her brothers. And in guileless simplicity, and humility, she also re- sembled them. With all of them, there were the evidences of a heavenly care, prospered through the whole course, of useful, pious, innocent, and happy lives. ' Believe me, my dear friend, * Ever affectionately yours, * John Jebb.' 92 LIFE OF of becoming acquainted with that brother, my late honoured friend Judge Jebb. The pubhc merits and services of this truly eminent man, are very ge- nerally knowai, and have placed his name, with ho- nour, among the worthies of Ireland ; where his memory is gratefully cherished, and will be had in lasting remembrance, by the good, of every party and persuasion. But none can have known such a man, as he ought to be known, who have not seen him, amidst the duties, and charities, of private and do- mestic life. In the ground-work of their characters, . . integrity, candour, generosity, highmindedness, . . never were brethren more in unity, than Judge Jebb and the Bishop : in manner, on the other hand, they were of perfectly opposite styles. Both were charac- teristically modest, and constitutionally shy : but, probably owing to the influences of their differennt professions, Bishop Jebb's native modesty and shy- ness occasioned a degree of reserve, in society, which his brother's daily contact with life enabled liim to overcome. Both were naturally playful ; with a vein both of wit and humour : but the Bishop's manner, though cheerful, was grave, and seldom relaxed, ex- cept among intimate friends ; while his brother's was easy, lively, and universally prepossessing. Thus gifted in manner, as in mind and heart, and possessing the additional advantage of a light and graceflil person. Judge Jebb was, when in society, what he seemed formed to be, the deJicicp humani generis. His out\vard air and manner, were but the fair re- flection of the inner man. His brother, with a pen dipt in the heart, has faithfully depicted his exemplary conduct, in all the relations of life. I can only add, that what he had been to him, as a brother, he became to me, as a friend ; and never was there BISHOP JEBB. 98 truer, or surer friendship than his. This faint tribute to departed excellence will be forgiven to one, who owes to the constant friendship of these kindred spirits, a debt of grateful remembrance, which it is his heart's belief will survive, in other, and better worlds. In a letter to Mr. M'Cormick, Mr. Jebb thus speaks of the visit just alluded to. * The visit of Richard, Louisa, and their youngsters, was, to me and my companion Mr. Forster, at least, most de- lightful. I trust, to the visitors, too, it was not disagreeable. Richard is gaining ground in every good quality he always possessed ; with the addition of good qualities, not, perhaps, before, fully elicited. I believe there are not in the world many such men.' In the commencement of 1815, Mr. Jebb was busily employed in revising, composing, and pre- paring notes and illustrations for the sermons of his first published volume. Upon the notes, he wrought con amove ; as it had long been his favourite practice, to cull select passages from his general reading, and treasure them in scrap-books, for his own use ; fre- quently enriching his selections, by original reflections and criticisms. It now occurred to him, that to il- lustrate printed sermons, somewhat in the same way, might afford an interesting and instructive variety. The experiment was eminently successful : the notes of his volume attracting early, and marked, attention. It was his nature to be often deeply affected, by inci- dents, and touches of feeling, so slight, as to pass unheeded by the generality of readers : this suscep- tibility was peculiarly awakened, by tlie incidental touches of nature, so frequently to be met with in the Old and New Testaments. A favourite scriptural incident of this kind, which he introduced in a note 94 LIFE OF to his sermon on the character of Abraham, may be indicated as an example: see 'Sermons on subjects chiefly practical,' p. 133. The maternal tenderness of Hannah, and the filial piety of Samuel, so touch- ingly preserved in the prophet's mention of the ' little coat,* are here brought out in a manner, which, as appeared at the time, completely succeeded in im- parting to others Mr. Jebb's own feeling. In April, he went to Dublin ; and, early in May, proceeded to London, to superintend, on the spot, the publication of his volume ; which, on the in- troduction of Dr. Magee, had been readily undertaken by Messrs. Cadell and Davies. Immediately on his arrival in town, he was invited by the worthy son-in- law of his friend Mr. Stock of Bristol, the late J. H. Butterworth, jun. Esq., of Fleet Street, to become his guest, during the progress of his book through the press ; and the invitation was given in that genuine spirit of English hospitality, to which he has often alluded, and which, to him, was always irresist- ible. In this convenient neighbourhood, and con- genial society, he passed several happy weeks ; di- viding his time between the printers, the book- shops, and occasional engagements with his other friends, including an excursion of a week to Huntingdonshire, and Cambridge. His book, meanwhile, came out ; and, on his return to town, he found himself already in the position of a successful author. His name was now in fashion ; his London engagements thick- ened ; and he enjoyed, in prospect, the deUghtful hope of re-visiting Mrs. Hannah More, and his friends in the neighbourhood of Bristol, . . when a letter from Ireland announced the alarmingly in- creasing illness, already adverted to, of his beloved friend and kinsman, Mr. M^'Cormick. BISHOP JEBB. 95 How he acted, on receiving this afflicting intel- hgence, may best be told in his own words. The following extract is taken from a letter which I re- ceived from him, dated Rosstrevor, July 21. 1815. . * Yesterday sennight, at an early hour, my poor brother-in-law was released from his pains. He ex- pired without a struggle or a groan ; and I do humbly trust, that his end was Peace. His family have since been graciously supported : they have the human consolation of many most attached, and sympathizing friends, . . for I hardly ever knew a man so deeply beloved, as he that is gone ; and the love extends to his family. But, whether we look to him, or to themselves, . . I do believe that they have, and enjoy, greater than human consolations. For myself. . I have lost (for a while) one of my earliest, most at- tached, and most serviceable friends. The poor fellow loved me truly : he rejoiced to have seen me in his last hours, and that I was on the spot to assist in comforting my dear sister. How great reason have I to be thankful for the thought put into my mind, that I would leave London, and hasten here ! I have been greatly . . greatly rewarded, for so doing. And what would now be my feelings, had I stifled the movement, . . and remained where I was ! Perhaps I never could have endured the self-reproach of again visiting those English friends, whom I may hereafter, if it please Providence, rejoin without a blush.' From this scene of family affliction, having well fulfflled all the duties of a brother and a friend, he returned to Abington in August, at a time when the county of Tipperary was in a state of open insurrec- tion, and the adjoining county of Limerick on the eve of being placed, also, under the restrictions of 96 LIFE OF the Insurrection Act. He found his parish of Abing- ton, however, (before his incumbency, a very trouble- some district of Limerick) in a state of the most perfect quiet. And now it was, that Mr. Jebb first had prac- tical experience, of the place which he held in the affections of his Roman catholic parishioners, and of the effects, upon the minds of the Irish peasantry, of a life spent in the quiet discharge of duty, and the judicious exercise of unostentatious kindness. The tranquillity of the parish, and the good spirit of his parishioners, aie mentioned incidentally, in a letter to Mrs. M'' Cormick, written shortly after his return ; a letter further interesting, as expressive of his fraternal affection, guided, equally, by christian wisdom, and practical good sense. ' Abington Glebe, Aug. 20. 1815. ' My dearest Bess, ' Your most kind, and excellent letter reached me, just at the time I could most have wished, within about an hour of my return to my quiet home. ' The tone and temper of your letter are just what I expected, and, let me add, all that Ixould desire. It is my hope and trust that you will be enabled to proceed as you have begun ; and then you will find, more and more, every thing co-operating for your good. Mercies and blessings, I humbly venture to predict, are in store for you, which exceed all that are past. Cherish, only, a devotional spirit ; and pray that you may be enabled to cherish it wisely ; and a cheerful, happy spirit, will assuredly not be wanting. You cannot fail, either, to be sensible, that, under the weighty responsibility of such a family, the good and pleasant dispositions of your dear childi'en, afford ground to work upon, which, if rightly culti- BISHOP JEBB. 97 vated, will produce good fruit in abundance. That you may be prospered and protected in all your ways, is my fervent prayer. ' I cannot but greatly approve of your continuance at Rosstrevor, for the winter ; so weighty a business as your final settlement, should not be hastily carried on. Yet I think it probable, that the plan Richard first thought of, may, on the fullest consideration, prove the most eligible ; that, I mean, of Portarling- ton. The objections,. either to Dublin, or its imme- diate neighbourhood, are many and important ; the advantages, on the other hand, are, perhaps, rather equivocal. The drawback on Portarlington . . I mean that of breaking new ground . . I am far from overlooking ; and I can enter with sympathy into your feelings upon it : still, it is, I verily believe, far worse in prospect, than it would prove upon actual trial. We are wonderfully formed for adjustment to the varying circumstances of this life ; we are taught to regard, and to pass through life, as a pilgrimage ; but to enjoin our doing so, would be tyrannous op- pression, if we were not gifted with powers for the achievement. Those powers we have. From want of use, we may not know we have them ; from want of submission to the Divine will, we may destroy them ; but, unless we are grossly unjust to ourselves, we may call them forth on every occasion of necessity, or rather, the very necessity itself, will bring them into action. This, in my own narrow experience, I have found to be fact ; and those who are far wiser and better than I am, have borne the strongest, and the most repeated testimony, that such exercise of the self -accommodating faculty, invariably adds to the conscious happiness of life. As you justly observe, however, we shall have ample time for consideration ; H 98 LIFE OF and I know that you will be well borne through what- ever, on full consideration, you are led to adopt, as your future scheme of life. * You will be glad to know, that I found this neigh- bourhood in perfect tranquillity and peace. No manner of disturbance has occurred here since I left home ; and I am in hopes matters may so remain. We can leave the doors unguarded, and move freely, at all hours ; and I am told, from good authority, that, individually, I am very popular among the in- habitants ; more so than would have been imagined, till my long absence called forth their feelings. ' I trust, my dearest Bess, that, here and else- where, we shall often meet. Should Portarlington be your destination, its comparative neighbourhood to me would be very delightful : in all cases, how- ever, we must draw closely together. Adieu ! May God Almighty bless and preserve you and yours ! * Ever your most affectionate brother, * John Jebb/ While thus, at the same time, giving himself to the claims of family affection, and preparing to resume, amidst surrounding alarm, the peaceful tenor of his Abington life, he was not unmindful of his beloved studies. Early in October, he tells Mr. Knox, ' I have taken to two things, in which I find comfort already ; and hope, progressively, to find more and more : the daily reading of a portion of the Greek Testament (meimet in usum) ; and, also, the reading of Saint Chrysostom on Saint Matthew.' These daily lections in Saint Chrysostom, while they much increased his relish for the writings of that great ancient, suggested a congenial literary em- ployment for the ensuing winter months. He had already translated, we have seen, at an earlier period. BISHOP J-EBB. 99 some specimens from Saint Chrysostom : he now seriously thought of attempting a translation of one of his larger treatises ; and made choice of that most generally known and esteemed, his celebrated treatise on the Priesthood. The hours devoted to this under- taking, were borrowed from sleep : he rose every morning about four o'clock (his usual time of rising in winter, especially when he had any work in hand) ; lighted his own fire (a practice, perhaps, adopted from the example of Mr. Knox) ; and prosecuted his translation until breakfast-hour. In a few weeks, the version was nearly completed ; but, though written, and in many parts rewritten, with his accustomed care, he could not succeed in satisfying his own de- mands, . . which were certainly very high : for he required, in translations, not only great fidelity, and critical correctness, but, also, the spirit, grace, and freedom of original composition.* This, in his ver- sion of the De Sacerdotio, he seemed, to his own ear, not to have sufficiently attained ; he, accordingly, laid aside the work ; and never after could be pre- vailed on to resume, or even to re-peruse it. The MS., of which others, probably, would form a very different estimate, is preserved among his unfinished papers. His own avocations, howev^, when most interest- ing to himself, never interfered with his willingness, and readiness, to contribute his best thoughts and counsels, whenever sought, for the direction of others. We have just seen him engaged upon his translation * His feeling upon this subject, recalls to mind Di yden's standard of trans- lation : . . * Nor ought a genius less than his that writ Attempt translation ; for transplanted wit, All the defects of air and soil doth share, And colder brains, like colder climates are.' H 2 ICO LIFE OF from Saint Chiysostoni : about this time, he received an appUcation from his niece, Miss M'Cormick, at the request of a friend, for a selection of such books, as he would recommend for tlie use of a mother, in the moral and reUgious training of her children. As inquiries of this nature are not infrequently made ; it may be interesting to many readers, and instructive, possibly, to not a few, to learn how they were, on this occasion, answered by Mr. Jebb. ' Abington Glebe, Feb. 15. ISIG. * My dear Alicia, * I NOT only do not tliink you presumptuous in writing to me, but I thank you most cordially for the pleasure your letter gave me, and take the best means in my power of showing what I feel, by making an immediate, though, I fear, imperfect answer. On another sheet of paper, I shall write a list of books, which you can enclose to your friend ]\Irs. R * * ; confining myself, as I presume she would wish, to those of a religious description, or at least bearing on religion. I fear, when she receives and acts upon it, her opinion of your ' uncle's taste and judgment' may not rise ; at the same time, if I be fortunate enough to point out but one author, that can agreeably and usefully add to the store of such a mind, and the comfort of such a heart, it will be of little conse- quence, whether the recommender does, or does not sink, to his proper level. You are not, however, to imagine I am indifferent to the good opinion of those, who, like Mrs. R * *, unite piety with taste. When this can be honestly attained, it is assuredly to be prized as a blessing, which it would be affectation, or something worse, to slight, . . as it would be vanity, or worse than vanity, inordinately to pursue. I BISHOP JEBB. 101 should be glad you would mention to Mrs. R * *, that the list is meagre, because I do not like to name books, however useful or valuable, to any consider- able portion of which I may have strong objections ; and that, even in so brief a list, there are few books, to which I would give unqualified approbation. In reading, it has been my own plan, to select * here a little, and there a little,' and then to systematize as I could for myself ; a circumstance which, in some re- spects, disqualifies me for the office of being a good literary caterer for others. * Farewell, my dear Alicia, ' Ever your truly affectionate uncle, * John Jebb.' ' P. S. Having written my list, which I have en- deavoured to make a sort of catalogue raisonne, I send it precisely as my thoughts first occurred, there- fore much order cannot be expected in it. ' Scougal's Life of God in the Soul of Man. ' The title of this little manual may appear some- what puritanical; but it is free from the slightest puritanical tincture ; and is, throughout, no less soundly rational, than it is deeply pious. It contains, in small compass, a great weight of practical divinity ; the style is pure, and almost elegant, and is remark- able, considering the age and country of the writer. He was a Scotch episcopal clergyman, and died about the close of the seventeenth century. Bishop Burnet wrote a recommendatory preface. * WoRTHiNGTON ou Sclf-resignatiou. ' This little book is rarely to be met with. Less finished and systematic than the former, it is more profound in spirituality. Worthington has sounded the depths of christian philosophy 5 and, with his H 3 102 LIFE OF Christianity, he incorporated the best and noblest lessons of Plato and his followers, without, however, wandering into the enchanted ground, or among the air-built castles of mysticism. * Howe's (the Hon. Charles) Meditations. ' This exquisite little book consists of the private thoughts of the virtuous author, thrown down for his own personal edification, and without the least thought they would ever be made public; after his death, however, partly at the instance of Night-thoughts Young, they were printed ; and in truth they are an invaluable treasure. More sober sense, or heart- elevating piety, has rarely been condensed, by any human being, into so small a compass. Mr. Howe had been much in the world; in the reigns of Charles and James II. he had been employed on foreign em- bassies ; but retired, while fortune courted his stay, to his paternal estate, and to the cultivation of his own heart. * Lucas on Happiness. ' This book has been lately republished, and is well known. The first volume, in some parts, will ap- pear dry : the second is admirable throughout, leading on the reader through the most rational course, and by well-marked gradations, to the just end of his being : Some there are, that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on the golden key That opes the Palace of Eternity. * To this book may be added Practical Christianity, by the same author. ' Two Sermons by the learned Cudworth. * These contain the essence of practical religion, and, besides, are most learned, eloquent, and philo- BISHOP JEBB. 103 sopliical. They are annexed to the quarto edition of the author's stupendous ' Intellectual System,' and have been lately republished in separate pamphlets, one at Rivington's, London, the other at Edwards', Cork. * Jeremy Taylor's Sermons. * These are too well known to need a diameter ; w^e do not hold a taper to the sun. The 3d vol. of the octavo edition is the best worthy of repeated perusal ; and, of that volume, the sermon before the university of Dublin is transcendently excellent. Allowance will of course be made, for the soarings of an exuberant imagination, and for quotations of greek and latin after the manner of his day ; the sense of which, however, is commonly given in English. 'The Holy Dying, of the same author, is well worthy of being studied. * The Holy Living, I do not mention, because though, in many parts, truly and deeply edifying, there is an occasional coarseness of manner, which was tolerated in the ruder days of our ancestors, but which has been exploded by the better taste and judgment of to-day. ' Taylor's Life of Christ, has also been republished, and would be a proper companion for the above articles. I see a new life of Bishop Taylor advertized, which, it is presumed, would be worth purchasing. ' Ogdex's Sermons. * I mention these especially for the sake of two admirable little discourses, on the 10th commandment. Other sermons too in the volume, are very instruc- tive. The manner is peculiar ; condensed, pungent, eloquent, witty, and pathetic. In the whole compass of modern pulpit eloquence, I know not a passage of H 4 104 LIFE OF such genuine, unaffected pathos as the description of a good and bad son, and the picture of the misery of an unhappy parent, at the close of the 11th ser- mon, on the oth commandment. ' Bishop Butler's Analogy and Sermons. ' The profoundest works of modem times ; which must not be read, except by those, who are able and willing to labour, to digest, and to retain ; but which wdll amply repay those, who study them as they should be studied : displaying the wisdom, consist- ency, and equity of the divine plans ; and laying open the natm'e of them, at once w4th the minuteness of a mental anatomist, and with the comprehensive- ness of an almost angelical intelligence. *Dr. Townson's Works. * Of these, the greater parts are subjects of Biblical criticism ; a criticism however, uniting, in a singular degree, the character of ingenuity and sobriety, of elegance and learning, of minute research, and yet of mental freedom and enlargement. His discourses on the four Gospels, throw an original hght on their design and execution. His hamiony and paraphrase of the history of the Resurrection, kc, do away many difficulties ; and do so, without ever (as is too fre- quently the case) creating difficulties, as it were for the purpose of ushering in an imperfect, unsatisfac- tory solution. But his sermons are, especially, the part of these two \'olumes, to which attention should be directed. They are but four in number, and are models in their kind ; elegant, simple, unaffected, apparently inelaborate ; but they will, on close study, be found the result of deep thought, well revised, and patiently corrected. The sermon on the manner of our Lord's teaching, is among the most finished in our language ; that on the Rechabites, in the easiest BISHOP JEBB. 105 and most unpretending manner, presents to us the cheerfulness of christian self-denial. His Life, by Archdeacon Churton, is a beautiful sketch ; the biography of the character is particularly well drawn. ' Lowth's Lectures on Hebrew Poetry ; trans- lated by Gregory. ' Whoever has not read this book, has yet to learn, the chief sources of beauty in the Scriptures of the Old Testament. An able friend of mine once said, that, in this work, there is a minor inspiration ; and I cannot think he was far astray. From the minute and peculiar structure of the hebrew poetical sen- tences, to the sublimest flights of poetical invention, a flood of light is poured on excellences, which had for ages escaped the notice of critics, but which Lowth renders familiar to every reader, who has the least pretensions to judgment and sensibility. ' Isaac Walton's Lives : Edited by Dr. Zouch. 8vo. ' The honest simplicity, native candour, untutored eloquence, and genuine love of goodness of Isaac Walton, have stood the test of near a century and a half, and gradually rise in the public estimation. His lives of five most distinguished members of our church, not only do ample justice to individual piety and learning ; but throw a mild and cheerful light upon the manners of an interesting age, as well as upon the venerable features of our mother church. Dr. Johnson had thoughts of re-editing this volume. It cannot, however, be regretted, that the task was undertaken by Dr. Zouch, who was more intimately acquainted with theology, and theological writers ; and whose ample notes unite rich instruction, and very agreeable entertainment. 106 LIFE OF ' Burket's Lives. Republished, 1815, by Wat- son, Capel Street, Dublin. * I am particular in mentioning this editkm, be- cause it has a preface, which is a most just and beau- tiful defence of our church, from certain puritanical objections ; and which, in many important paiticolais^ may serve as a guard against sevoal piei^ent ecrcMs of the reHgious world. The lives tfaemsdwes are the master-pieces of Burnet. When he wrote rf genuine goodness, he seems to have written with an angd's quilL Had he never written more than die sennoQ for Robert Boyle, the character a£ Queen May, and the brief sketch of Archbishop Leigfaton, he would have desen ed the admiration of posterity. * Archbishop Leighton's woiks. ' These writings are oSbm tinged with tlie cal¥inbni the day. But, aAer making ei^eij needfid abate- ment, we must confess, that Leigfatoa was a human . seraph ; uniting the solar waimUi with the solar light, and, throughout, exhibiting the purest, most immingled goodness. His commentaiy cm St. Peter is a treasure he took leave of them, and of the University of his fathers, at the venerable gate of St. John's. On Saturday, July I7, the Bishop finally left town. The remainder of July, and the whole of August, were occupied in the fulfilment of his different engagements, in distant and opposite quarters of England. To himself, whose turn of mind may be best represented in his own lines, . . ' For sure thou lov'st domestic joys, And hours of intimate delight, And days retired from vulgar noise, And converse bland that cheats the night.' . . this was a period full of present happiness, and fruitful in interesting recollections : and, while he thus inti- mately conversed with that ' best English society,' which he had recently and justly characterized as BISHOP JEBB. 205 • the first society in the world/ . . the friends among whom he Hved were, at least, equally alive, to the high interest and instructiveness of his familiar con- versation. Constitutionally shy and reserved, it was only in the hours of domestic intimacy, with con- genial minds, that Bishop Jebb could be fully known : but here he pre-eminently shone : wit, anecdote, and sometimes lively repartee, were naturally and at- tractively blended with his graver discourse. But though, with the poet, he could pass, in happiest in- terchange, ' from grave to gay,' he never (such was the benevolence of his nature) was known to turn ' from lively to severe.' The social intercourse, how- ever, which is most profitable in itself, and most pleasurable in the recollection, is, perhaps, that, which it is least possible to embody into shape. Avoiding, therefore, particulars, with a single exception, I shall mark only, by a few notices of dates and places, a slight outline of the Bishop's course homeward, in bringing to its close this very remarkable year of his life. On the evening of Saturday, July I7, he reached Middleton-Cheney Rectory, in Northamptonshire, the residence of the friend of Dr. Townson, the late truly venerable Archdeacon Churton. This first visit fixed a friendship with that excellent man, and with his hopeful family, which, I may say, had been already commenced, when they first met in London. The head of this good and happy family (since gone to his reward) is known by his works : the chosen friend of Townson, and worthy to have been his friend, his memory will ever live associated with that honoured name and memory. Of his sons, one may be recorded here, for that * one is not,' the late Rev. William Ralph Churton, M. A., sometime Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford, afterwards domestic chaplain 206 LIFE OF to his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury, when Bishop of London. To fine talents, assiduously cul- tiyated, this u^i^ ersally beloyed and lamented young man united a natiye eloizance of manners, and a child-like innocence, \yhich made him the dehght of all who kne^y liini. Snatchod ^September 4. ISv^S.) from the Church on earth, at the early age of twenty- seyen, his * Remains,* a modest but yaluable priyate memorial of the loye of his suryiving brotliers, still liye to tell what he would haye been. JN'tr fungar iiiani Munere : . . * The brethren,' who mourn his early doom, * sorrow not as others which haye no hope and. to the eye of faith, the * fata aspera ' of the poet, be- comes transfonned into the christian's everlastinsr cro^-ii ! July Ip, the Bishop lett MidiUeton-Cheney for Guilsborough, also in Northamptonshire, the hospi- table A^icarage of the late Rey. Thomas Sikes, a lo- cality mournfully memorable in English history, as the head-quarters of the republican army, on the eve of the battle of Xaseby Field. From thence, July '■2'-2, he proceeded towards Bristol ; and descending the Wye from Ross, arrived once more, on the evening of the ^24th, at Henbury, and under the roof of his old ti*iend Thomas Stock, Esq., where he remained till August 4. From Henbury he moved to Wells in Somersetshire, pausmg, on the road, for a day at Barley Wood, with Mrs. Hannah More. August 5, he reached Wells, and was received at the Palace by Bishop Law, vsixh the hereihtary kindness which had long subsisted beween their families. August 9, he retraced his road by Ross and Hereford (where en BISHOP JEBB. 207 passant he visited the venerable Bishop Hunting- ford), on his way homeward by Lancashire, and Scotland. And, on August the 14th, arrived at Knowsley Park ; whence, with the fresh impressions of as great personal kindness, and as true family en- joyment, as could be compressed within so many days, on Monday the 23d, he set out for the Cum- berland lakes, and Keswick. Here, a day at Mr. Southey's, in his society, and that of Bishop Hobart of New York (whom he had previously met in town . . and whose acquaintance laid the foundation of his growing interest in the American episcopal Church) far outweighed, in Bishop Jebb's estimation, all the beauties of the lakes, which yet no one more tho- roughly appreciated and enjoyed. From Keswick, entering Scotland by Carlisle, he visited Edinburgh for the first time ; saw, and preached in the fine episcopal church of the venerable Bishop Sandford ; visiting, on the way, the Royal ruins of .Linlithgow ; passed through Glasgow, where, at tlie sight of the still reverend, though mutilated and subdivided, ca- thedral, he deeply partook, only in a milder spirit, Dr. Johnson's emotion, when looking at like speci- mens of the reformation of John Knox ; and thence embarking at Greenock for Belfast, rested for a few days with his beloved sister, and the M^Cormick family, at Rosstrevor ; from whence, before the close of September, he returned to the duties of his dio- cese, by the time named for hokUng his annual visit- ations. At Christmas he was joined by his brother, accompanied by his family; and the year 1824, which had proved, from its commencement, one of the most useful and memorable, closed, one of the happiest years of a happy life. While in London, the Bishop had intimation given 208 LIFE OF him of a strong wish entertained by ministers, that his views and opinions respecting Ireland should be brought more fully before Parliament and the country; and that it was in contemplation, accordingly, to examine him as a witness, before the Committees of both Houses, then recently appointed to inquire into the state of Ireland. In the spring of 1825, the in- timation was renewed, provided always that attend- ance on the Committees did not materially interfere with the Bishop's convenience. But, while he held himself in readiness to proceed to London, if sum- moned, his sense of higher duties made him most desirous, if practicable, to remain this year at his post. The apprehended summons did not, however, arrive : and the only examination to which he was eventually subjected, did not take place until the following year, when he was examined, in the Com- mittee-room of the House of Commons, before the Emigration Committee ; and his evidence, which gave high satisfaction, afterwards published in its unequal and miscellaneous, but still very valuable and important Report. In April he had the gratification, to him no ordi- nary gratification, of receiving a letter, whicli I must venture to give, throwing myself upon the indulgence of the Right Reverend and venerated writer to excuse its insertion : this letter possesses a double interest, as the first communication received by Bishop Jebb from the American Episcopal Church, and as coming from the venerable President of that Church, the head of the House of Bishops : « Philadelphia, April 18. 1825. ' My Lord, In the beginning of the late winter, I received from New York three volumes, which your Lordship had BISHOP JEBB. ^209 done me the honour to present to me, as appears from an inscription on the blank leaf of each volume. However unequal in value the return for your kindness, I have taken the liberty to address to yom' Lordship two productions of my pen : one of them, being ' Memoirs of the Episcopal Church' in this country ; and the other, a Discussion of the Cal- vinistic and Arminian controversy, in two volumes. From letters of my friend Bishop Hobart it appears, that he intended to be in London, in the course of this month. As he will certainly make some stay there, before his return to his native country, I shall direct them to his care, to be left for him with Messrs. Charles Rivington and Co. Booksellers, London : submitting to him the proper mode of conveying them to your Lordship. Although to your Lordship it can be of no im- portance, I take the liberty to say, that I perused the valuable volumes sent to me, with great interest ; and, in respect to the treatise on Sacred Literature in particular, that it opened to me a new field, on the ground of Holy Scripture. I had been long ac- quainted with the parallelism of the poetry of the Old Testament, as displayed by Bishop Lowth ; and had been sensible of the advantage of comprehending an entire sense, in one poetic line : but the extension to the New Testament of this property of the Old, did not occur to me, until instructed in it by the volume referred to. As a citizen of the United States, I avail myself of the opportunity of thanking your Lordship, for the very valuable information contained in your late speech in the House of Lords, on the subject of the Church and the Clergy in Ireland. Our country p 210 LIFE OF abounds with representations of a very different de- scription ; and we have very little to oppose to them, carrying so much authority from the character of the speaker, and from the place in which so open an appeal is made to facts. That your Lordship may long continue a blessing to the venerable Church, which the Church in these States claims as her mother, is the wish and prayer of Your Lordship's very humble servant, Wm, White, Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church, in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.' The early part of the summer of this year was devoted to his ordinary Visitations, and to a progress through the united dioceses, for the consecration of several new churches. These duties accomplished, he returned home about the end of May. In addition to the society of part of his own family, the unexpected arrival of his friend Sir Thomas Acland, and promised visits from other valued English friends, had the best effect on the Bishop's spirits ; for he had always found both his studies, and his duties, prosper best, when he could bring around him in his own house, a few congenial friends. This gleam of sunshine, however, was presently clouded ; and soon heavily overcast. Immediately on his return, he was taken seriously ill ; and the successive shocks which he sustained during his illness, brought it to an alarming height : his sister at Rosstrevor was seized with apoplexy ; and the account that her death might be hourly expected, reaching her brother on his own sick-bed, brought on a constitutional deter- BISHOP JEBB. 211 mination of blood to the head so violently, as to cause the most serious alarm for his safety : by prompt and copious bleeding, the immediate danger was averted ; and he was cheered by most unexpected accounts of his sister's revival, when the melancholy tidings ar- rived of the death of the very friend, whom he hourly expected ; and who was taken to a better world, on the eve of a journey to Ireland, which had been kindly planned with the express view of joining the Bishop at Limerick. How his affectionate heart was wounded by this blow, it is equally impossible for me to forget or express : but he bowed, with his wonted spirit of resignation, to the will of his heavenly Father. The following entry in his scrap-book, from the pen of a common friend, will speak his feelings better than any words of mine. From the Courier of Tuesday, June 12. 1825. The late Lord Lileord. It may truly be said of this excellent and lamented nobleman, that he possessed, in a high degree, all the qualities which are best calculated to ensure re- spect, and conciliate esteem. Firm in his religious, moral, and public principles, he manifested in his de- portment a conscious, but unassuming integrity. His understanding was clear, acute, and highly cultivated ; as a public speaker, his talents were considerable, but the exercise of them was so controlled by his na- tural modesty, that they were not to be called forth, except under the impulse of a strong and urgent sense of public duty. The qualities of his heart are too well and painfully attested, by the deep sorrow of his most amiable family, of his numerous friends, his tenants and domestics, by all of whom he was ar- p 2 LIFE OF dently beloved and revered. To him the beautiful language of Shakspeare may most justly be applied : . . * His life was gentle, and the elements So mixed in him, that nature might stand up, And say to all the world, . . ' This was a man I ' Limerick, July 15. 1S2J. But although this invaluable friend was thus sud- denly withdrawn, the effects of his friendship survived him : the Bishop had the pleasure of receiving this year at Limerick, Mr. (now Lord) Stanley, the friend of Lord Lilford ; and who was then preparing to build and reside upon Lord Derby's estates, in the neighbourhood of Tipperary. Originating in com- mon zeal to promote the best interests of Ireland, the mutual respect and regard already subsisting between ]\Ir. Stanley and Bishop Jebb, sulfered no abatement from the opportunity now afforded of nearer intercourse. With regard to the true interest both of Ireland and the empire, may I be pennitted here to observe, that fixed political principles, and firmness in adhering to them, constituted the Bishop's standard, in judging of public men. Alwa}'s alive to the calls of family affection, his sister's still critical state determined him to visit her in the north of Ireland ; and he availed himself of this opportunity, to carry into effect a wish, which he had cherished for many years, . . namely, to re- visit the affectionately-remembered scenes, of his school-boy days, at Londonderry, and of his early ministerial labours, at Swanlinbar. It enabled him, also, to view, for the first time, the Giant's Cause- way, and the romantic coast of Antrim ; to \'i.sit, after a separation of several years, his valued and at- tached friend, the Rev. Richard Herbert Xash, D. D., BISHOP JEBB. 213 near Newtown-Stewart, and his early college intimate, the Rev. Edward Chichester, in the neighbourhood of Armagh ; and largely to experience the courteous and cordial hospitality of the nobility and gentry of the northern counties. Upon one incident only, a most in- teresting and affecting one, of this tour, his biographer would here pause : for it bears a testimony to the ministry of Bishop Jebb, such as rarely falls to the lot of the true Christian pastor. As the Bishop returned, one day, to his carriage, after viewing by permission, as a passing stranger, the fine seat of a person of high rank, he was met and accosted, outside the gates, by the proprietress, who, with many apologies for so unusual a course, told him that, having learnt it was the Bishop of Limerick who had just visited her castle, she was unable to deny herself the satisfaction of personally acknowledging the debt of gratitude, which she had long owed to Bishop Jebb, for the great profit and comfort derived from his volume of Sermons ; which, for the last ten years, had been her daily study ; and from which she had received strength and consolation, under the heaviest earthly trials and afflictions. It is needless to say that the Bishop was deeply touched by this address, or that he felt great regret that his previous engagements rendered it impossible for him to profit by the invita- tion, with which it was accompanied, to return to the house as a welcome and honoured guest. They never met more, in this world : but the mutual kind feelings, thus incidentally awakened, were kept alive by occasional letters, in acknowledgment of present- ation copies of the Bishop's other publications. One of these, the last, may not unappropriately close this pleasing passage of his life. p 3 214 LIFE OF * Dublin, Nov. 31. 1836. *My dear Lord, I WAS most particularly gratified, two days ago, by receiving an unexpected and most valuable gift from your Lordship, of two volumes of your late Sermons, that I had never before seen. Just at this moment it was peculiarly grateful to my feelings, having been for some time in a very weak and low state of health. I have already begun the perusal of them, and from the little I have as yet read, felt the same gratification I have ever experi-- enced, upon the reading of your former works. Whether I shall ever live to finish them, seems at present to be uncertain : but whether living or dying, I trust you will conceive me most truly thankful for these and all favours bestowed upon me, and believe me, my dear Lord, Your most grateful and obedient servant, H. M.' The Lord Bishop of Limerick, Both are now gone to that better country, where earthly obstacles no longer interrupt the communion of the perfected spirits of the just : where the faith- ful pastor, and the children which God hath given him, shall know even as also they are known ; and shall meet together, in everlasting fellowship, to par- take their divinely apportioned recompense of reward ; when ' they that are wise, shall shine as the bright- ness of the firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness, as the stars for ever and ever ! ' At Derry, the Bishop had the pleasure of passing an evening, with the sisters of his old and favourite master, the Rev. Thomas Marshall : at Swanlinbar, after an absence of three and twenty years, he met, with a pastor's feelings, some whom he had catechized, BISHOP JEBB. and others whom he had baptized ; but the village itself, in his day a fashionable resort, had been long deserted as a watering-place, and was already fallen into decay. Retracing his steps to Rosstrevor, he returned to Limerick, early in July, by the midland counties ; stopping on the way at Edgeworthstown, (a well known name,) where he was hospitably wel- comed by the present accomplished owner, Thomas Edgeworth, Esq., and much interested (while doubt- ful of the eventual benefits) by the singular, and ap- parently successful experiment of that gentleman, for blending, without confounding together, by their education in a common school, the different classes of society. Domesticated for the rest of the year with his books and papers, neither the cares of his diocese, which he watchfully superintended, nor the society of his friends, which none more cordially valued, could turn away the Bishop's thoughts from studies, always connected with the highest interests of the church, and of religion. By the kindness of Arch- deacon Churton, the whole of Dr. Townson's MS. sermons had been entrusted to his custody, with a view to the selection of a portion, at least, for publi- cation. These valuable MSS. he now critically ex- amined, in order to make the selection, which he gave subsequently to the world. In January 1826, in consequence of a discussion relative to the Homilies, raised by the theological in- quisitions of the Commissioners of Education, the Bishop was led to examine . . I. The kind and degree of authority given, by the church of England, to the Books of Homilies : and II. The eligibility of distributing those books, at the present day, among children, as catechetical pre- p 4 216 LIFE OF miums ; especially in a country circumstanced as Ireland is. These two questions he treated, in a letter, ad- dressed to his friend the Rev. C. R. Elrington, D.D., then Fellow of Trinity College, now (1835) Regius Professor of Divinity in the University of Dublin. This letter, since republished, in which he undertakes to prove, 1. that the Books of Homilies are wholly without authority, and unbinding, as articles of faith ; and 2. that they are altogether unfitted, not only for the use of children, but for indiscriminative perusal or distribution, at the present day, . . has been justly pronounced one of the closest and most perfect spe- cimens of conclusive reasoning upon a theological subject, that has appeared in modern times. In England especially, this masterly production gave the highest satisfaction : it was spoken of by good judges, as the most complete and perfect argument, within the compass, that they had ever read : and the desire was strongly entertained and expressed, that the Bishop would do as much for the question then in agitation, upon the subject of the Apocr}^ha, as he had done to settle and set at rest that of the Homilies ; that he would establish the proper authority of the one as completely, as he had overturned the assumed authority of the other. It was observed, that there had been much angry discussion upon the question about the Apocrypha, without any conclusive argu- ment ; and that a statement of the question, such as the author of the Letter on the Homilies could give, backed by the authority of his name, was just what the pubhc wanted, in order to set the points at issue at rest. On this occasion, mention was made of a very interesting fact, . .the recent discovery, in the State Paper Office, of a formal remonstrance, on the BISHOP JEBB. 217 side of the puritan party of our Reformers, against the retention of the Apocrypha in our authorized version. This document was then in the hands of the late Archbishop of Canterbury. Its importance is obvious, as it proves the Apocrypha to have been retained by the Fathers of the Church of England, not only advisedly, but against an opposition. Had time and health allowed. Bishop Jebb would willingly have employed his pen in this good cause. I have taken notice of an intimation, received by the Bishop early in 1825, that it was in contempla- tion to examine him before the committees of inquiry into the state of Ireland. The intention, however, was not carried into effect : but the friends of Ire- land, and especially of the Church in Ireland, as, if rightly administered, one of the best instruments for the civil improvement of that country, were naturally desirous of Bishop Jebb's presence, in the ensuing year, pending parliamentary discussions vitally af- fecting the best interests of that church, of which he had stood forth the able and triumphant apologist, in 1824. Under these circumstances, an offer coming most unexpectedly from his metropolitan, while the Bishop was in Dublin as a member of the Board of First- Fruits, in March 1826, to dispense, in the event of his going to England, with his attendance at the triennial visitation, determined at once, his move- ments. On Tuesday, March 21, accordingly, he sailed from Howth for Holyhead; shaping his course by Derbyshire, that he might visit his friend and relative Joshua Jebb, Esq., at Walton Grove, near Chester- field. Arriving at Lichfield on Good Friday, he felt peculiar interest in keeping a day so solemnly ob- served by Dr. Johnson, in his favourite morahst's own S18 LIFE OF city and cathedral. After service, he was politely accosted by one of the dignitaries in residence, who offered his services to conduct him over the cathedral : the offer was thankfully accepted ; and, on entering into conversation, the Bishop learned, with deep in- terest, that this gentleman had not only known Dr. Johnson, but was in possession, also, of his watch, his bible, his ink-stand, and several other Johnsonian relics. Conducted to his house to view these curi- osities, we gathered, on the way, some interesting gleanings. There are still many who will peruse with satisfaction any genuine fragments of Johnson's conversation. The first meeting with his great townsman, our conductor confessed, he looked forward to with nervous apprehension. . . I was then a youth, fresh from the university, and I had heard so much of Dr. Johnson's awful manner, that I felt quite afraid of meeting him. But his first address at once relieved me. . . ' Sir, I knew your father, he was a classman of mine at Dr. Hunter's ; I knew your grandfather, and I knew your great-grandfather ; and (reaching out his hand as he spoke) I am glad to know you.' From that moment I was at my ease with him, and we con- versed with the greatest freedom. He was a man of the truest simplicity of character, and tender-hearted as a child.' Asking the Bishop, whether he had taken notice of the prebendary who accompanied him to the altar, he proceeded, . . ' That person could do what he pleased with Johnson ; and would make him talk, when nobody else durst address him. He used to say . . ' Do you wish to hear Dr. Johnson to- night ? You shall, then, presently. He is a clock ; I will wind him up, and make him go.' He would go up at once to the oracle, and begin, . . * Come, BISHOP JEBB. S19 Sir, let us have your opinion on such, or such, a subject, &c.,' when Johnson would immediately open out, to the instruction and delight of the company." Most of the relics possessed by our informant, had been obtained from Francis Barber, Johnson's black servant; who reduced himself to great misery, and parted with them in his distress. The watch, its pre- sent possessor has had remounted in a gold case ; but the dial-plate, work, cap, &c., remain as Johnson left them. On the original dial-plate were engraved the words Bo-^BTai ; but Dr. Johnson, thinking the motto might appear ostentatious, disused the dial- plate, replacing it with a plain one. The watch itself was made by Mudge, London. . . The Bible is a pocket one, bound in red leather, with a clasp : the London edition of 1650, printed for the Stationers' Company ; and (what one could not have expected to find with Dr. Johnson), consequently a republican copy. It bears marks of close and constant study, being folded down, according to his custom, at numerous passages. The present owner rehgiously preserves the folds as Johnson left them. I hope it was with no unprofitable emotion that I held in my hand this little volume, the well-worn manual of our great English moralist. . . A volume of South's Ser- mons, used by Dr. Johnson for his dictionary, was also much worn, and the margin repeatedly marked in pencilling, or the passages for citation underlined. From the cathedral, the Bishop proceeded to visit the house in which Dr. Johnson was born ; saw the shop (then a brazier's) in which his father carried on business as a bookseller ; and a small back-parlour, in which the son is said to have studied. The room in which he was born stands immediately over the shop : this the owner was prevented from showing, LIFE OF owing to the illness of one of the family. . . In taking- leave of the birth-place and last memorials of the illustrious author of * the Rambler,' a name which he had loved and venerated from his earliest years, the Bishop felt, in all its unchanging reality, what Cicero has so naturally and nobly expressed : ' Me quidem ipsae illae nostrge Athenae non tam operibus magni- ficis exquisitisque antiquorum artibus delectant, quam recordatione summorum virorum, ubi quisque ha- bitare, ubi sedere, ubi disputare sit solitus : studio- s^que eorum etiam sepulcra contemplor.' At Mansfield, which he visited, for the first time, on his way to town from Chesterfield, he saw the house of his great-grandfather, the father of the learned Dr. Samuel Jebb. The Bishop's health had been indifferent, when he left Dublin : it became more seriously affected, in the course of his journey : at Dunchurch, in War- wickshire, he felt so much out of order, as to be com- pelled to lie by at the inn, where he kept his room for several days ; at Oxford, to the mutual disap- pointment of himself and his friends in the University, lie was again confined by a feverish attack, for nearly a week, . . the entire period of his stay. During his illness, there were many gratifying incidental proofs given, that Oxford did not yield to Cambridge, in estimation of Bishop Jebb's services, or in respect for his \drtues : one, a slight but remarkable circum- stance, I shall mention here. At the high table of a college, where the Bishop had always been a wel- come guest, one of the Fellows, a gentleman who had never seen him, unaware of my being his friend, expressed the strongest regret that the Bishop of Limerick should be indisposed when he came to Ox- ford : adding, * I Md hoped to see him in his walks BISHOP JEBB. 221 about the University. I have such a respect for Dr. Jebb, that I would gladly go three miles to catch a sight of him.' This little anecdote, slight in itself, is of no slight biographical interest, as a specimen of the spirit in which the Bishop was regarded and received, not at Oxford or Cambridge only, but throughout England. In London especially, where the most eminent are so commonly lost in the crowd, it was observed that so great and general was the respect entertained for Bishop Jel3b, that he was often pointed out, and followed in the streets by those, who, like the gentleman just alluded to, * wished to catch a sight of him.' A similar incident to that just related, occurred immediately upon his reaching town this year : an eminent barrister, drop- ping in upon a friend who was engaged in conversation with the Bishop, remained in the room for a few minutes ; and, on going away, apologized to his friend for the interruption, observing, * that he had stayed long enough to get a good look at the Bishop of Limerick.' These circumstances are preserved, as simple records of facts, less, perhaps, of present, than of future value. In the lives of eminent men, con- temporary biographers too frequently forget, that, while its solidity must be weighed in other scales, it is by marks like these posterity can best measure the extent of their reputation. April 7' the Bishop arrived in town ; and, from apartments at Warren's Hotel, kindly vacated for him by his friend, Sir Thomas Acland, removed, on the 10th, to lodgings at No. 80. Pall Mall. On thursday, the 27th, he was examined before the Emi- gration Committee. Preparatory to the examination, he had made notes, for his own use, upon the points on which he felt himself most competent to give evi- 222 LIFE OF dence. By special desire of the chairman, Mr. (now Sir Robert) Wilniot Horton, this paper was read to the Committee, pre\dously to the examination. Both parts of the Bishop's e\'idence were lieard with marked interest, and with manifest satisfaction, by the mem- bers present. The sense of the Committee was after- wards communicated to a friend of the Bishop, by one of its leading members : speaking on the subject of emigration from Ireland, he observed, ' That was a very interesting evidence the Bishop of Limerick gave us on Thursday. "What a picture it presents of the state of things in Ireland ! It has made a strong impression ; and has determined us in favour of the expediency of encouraging emigration, on a great scale, from Ireland. You mmt drain off her surplus population.' But, like most measures for the good of Ireland, unconnected with private, or ^^dth party views and objects, the natural and safe project of relief by emi- gration, with the exception of a solitary and most successful experiment previously made, fell, untried, to the ground : and the sober and practical views of Bishop Jebb, however, at the time, admired and ap- proved, were left to instruct a simpler, or a \\'iser generation. On his return to town this year, the Bishop found, that his Saturday breakfasts in Curzon Street had not been forgotten by his friends : they were now, by special request, resumed in Pall ^lall, and still more largely and constantly attended ; especially by young men ; who seemed particularly to relish the Bishop's society, and in whose society, on the other hand. Bishop Jebb always took much interest, both as a valuable means of usefulness, and as the best way, while life advanced, of preserving his own mind fresh BISHOP JEBB. 223 and youthful. This point of his character has been happily sketched, by one who knew him well : ' In private life, he was among the most amiable and be- loved of men, with a singular faculty of attaching all of every age to him.' The fidelity of the portrait could not be more happily illustrated, than by the brilliant overflows at his breakfast-table in Pall Mall ; where statesmen and lawyers, churchmen and men of letters, mingled, in familiar and friendly intercourse, with young men of rank, and with students of promise from the Universities. As a rare (perhaps gentlemen of that learned profession would say a unique) instance of the interest taken, it may be mentioned, that, on one of these occasions, a practising barrister actually declined a brief, rather than fail in being present : * You may judge,' he remarked to a friend, on enter- ing the room, ' of my wish to be at this breakfast, when I tell you that it costs me five guineas : to keep my engagement, I have been obliged to send away a five guinea brief, which would not wait.' The Bishop's own graphical description of these temperate symposia ought not to be omitted : it occurs in his correspondence, at the time, with his friend Mr. Alexander Knox. ' When, whom, and what I have seen, and what my present manner of being is, would, within the limit of any one letter, be difficult to say, and in this hasty billet must be altogether out of the question. It is enough to say, that I have found England * qualem ah incepto,^ . . kind, hospitable, and affectionate, . . that old friends are unchanged, and new friendships formed, to be, I trust, equally solid and lasting ; that very many agreeable acquaint- ances have poured in, bringing along with them, often very considerable powers of mind, and always much amiability of manner. Each week we have commonly LIFE OF two large breakfasts ; one at Sir Thomas Acland's, on tliursday, one at my lodgings, on Saturday ; the guests from twelve to twenty, . . most of them dis- tinguished persons, and all blending admirably to- gether. The conversation, of course, more brilliant, or more amusing, than profound ; but still conveying information, and intellectual play, to the mind, and certainly great amusement. On the whole, I have been idle in one sense, while ever employed in an- other; but kindly feeling has been elicited and cherished, which is no trifling gain ; and I would hope that higher purposes, too, have been served. Much of our breakfast intercourse has been with very young men. Lords * * * * *^ &c., &c. ; and certainly, in this class of life, the rising generation gives wonder- ful promise, not only of great amiabihty, but, so far as I can judge, morakmindedness, bottomed, at the least, on a sincere respect for religion ; but, in many cases, I would say with Cowper . . * more,' much more, * than mere respect.' Their very willingness to frequent my breakfast-table (all things considered) is, in itself, no bad symptom : mere young men of fashion would be apter to run away from it.' Amidst these pleasant home engagements, and the boundless hospitalities of London life, which now multiplied upon him far beyond his power to meet. Bishop Jebb was ever himself, . . calm, thoughtful, and recollected, as when limited to the society of his beloved books, in the almost eremetical retirement of Abington. Always mindful of the uncertainty of life, his heart, just at this time, was deeply affected, by two monitory instances of that uncertainty, in the sudden removal, within a single week, of two justly valued friends, the late John Pearson, Esq., of the Royal College of Surgeons, and the late Rev. James BISHOP JEBB. Bean, assistant Preacher at Welbeck Chapel, and one of the sub-librarians of the British Museum. The effect produced on his mind by this double shock, is thus expressed in a letter to Mr. Knox. ' In the midst of enjoyments, there have been drawbacks of a serious kind. Our first London friend . . good Mr. Pearson, who, you doubtless recollect, was our in- troducer to the Thorntons, Grants, &c., is no more I I drove to call on him, in hopes to have a little con- versation ; on reaching the door, I was alarmed at seeing a muffled knocker : the servant but too soon confirmed my fears, his countenance showing, that he was the faithful domestic of a good master. He said that Mr. Babington (Mr. Pearson's son-in-law) would see me : from Mr. B. I learned that the case was hopeless, though an illness of but four days ; and that very night he breathed his last, . . calmly and peacefully, as became such a man as he was. I went from the door with feelings that I cannot describe, thinking how many sources of friendship and enj oyment were opened to me in that house : you cannot forget, that, before we had returned from the walk, in the course of which we left our introductory letter, and our cards, at Golden Square, Mr. Pearson had returned our call, and left an invitation to meet at dinner Dr. Buchanan from India. . . A few days after, we learned, suddenly, the death of excellent old Mr. Bean. On Sunday he preached (though previously very unw^ell) with more than usual energy of voice, and great im- pressiveness. Monday he was at the rehearsal of the ancient music, this being his favourite recreation. A few days before he had told me, with a calm delight on his face, and with tears in his eyes, that Handel's music particularly elevated his mind to heavenly things. On thursday, he fell asleep so serenely, that 226 LIFE OF he scarcely seemed to have passed from this life to a better. From Mr. Bean's family I have heard, since his death, what indeed was manifest while he lived, that he had a warm affection both for Mr. F. and myself. It is consolatory and delightful to us, that we saw and conversed with him near the close ; and that the interviews, cheered the good man in sickness.' When Vicar of Olney, (to which he was inducted in December, 17870 Mr. Bean had been the intimate friend of Cowper ; whom he was in the habit of visit- ing every ten days, upon a footing of the most friendly and familiar intercourse. * I went,' he said to us, mth his placid liveliness of manner, * to cull sweets from the various flowers, so richly springing in his conversation ; and when a stock was thus col- lected, I returned to my bee-hive, and scraped off the honey from my thighs into my own store.' A touching anecdote, illustrative of the poet's malady, was com- municated, in one of our calls, by this excellent friend : as nothing connected with the mind of Cow- per, even in its madness, is uninteresting, the circum- stance shall be preserved here. For a long time he would see no one, not even Mr. Bean, who used to be his spiritual comforter and adviser. His morbid imagination became a prey to the belief, that he was about to be publicly executed as a malefactor, in the market-place of Olney. Lady Hesketh, induced by the hope that his presence might effect a salutary diversion, obliged Mr. Bean, one day, to go, unbid- den, into the poet's room, who now received no one. On his entrance, Mr. Cowper looked earnestly at him, and asked, . . * Is all ready ? ' . . * Really, Sir,' said Mr. Bean, ' I don't understand you : what do you mean by the question?' . . ' I mean, is all ready in the market-place for my execution?' Mr. Bean used BISHOP JEBB. every endeavour to dissipate his notion, but without effect : he assured him there were no preparations in the market-place for his, or any one else's execution ; that he had himself just been there ; and that nothing was to be seen there but the usual commodities, or to be heard, but the cackling of hens, gobbhng of turkies, grunting of pigs, &c. Mr. Cowper listened attentively to these assurances, and was silent ; look- ing at his visitor, at the same time, with an air of in- credulous politeness, which showed that he regarded the conversation wholly as a well-meant attempt to deceive. To return to the venerable relater : a few days only before his removal to a better world, Mr. Bean had engaged the present writer to take his place, for a charity sermon, on the Sunday following, in the pulpit of Welbeck Chapel. A rumour of his sudden death having reached the Bishop (then in the coun- try) late on Saturday evening, with his characteristic thoughtfulness for the feelings of others, he wrote, and dispatched express, the following note : * My dear Friend, * I HAVE just heard a report, which may be altoge- ther unfounded ; . . but which also we might have been prepared, at any moment, to hear, . . that our dear old friend Mr. Bean is removed to a higher and better state of being. . . If it be not true, you can very soon ascertain the fact : . . if otherwise, I think it right to guard against your receiving a sudden shock in the vestry-room. However it be, it is tne will of God. Living or dying, he is happy ; may we be prepared to meet him ! . . It is a grateful re- flection, that we have had intercourse of such a kind with him, so lately 5 . . and to you particularly, that Q 2 L13FE OF of sick and indigent room-keepers.' The Bishop read this letter with deep emotion ; and, with that characteristic promptitude and energy, which never failed or forsook him in cases of similar emergency, he decided, on the instant, to act upon the sug- gestion. Without the loss of a moment, he waited upon the mayor ; planned a general meeting of the inhabitants, to be held at the Chamber of Com- merce on the ensuing day ; when he proposed, and carried by unanimous consent, the establishment of a charity, which has, from that day forth, approved itself the best, and most effective of the many charities, supported by the exemplary zeal and hu- manity of the resident proprietors and citizens of Limerick. Bishop Jebb's hand once put to the plough in this labour of love, he went forward in it with his^ whole heart; preparing the necessary rules and regu- lations for the infant society, presiding at the weekly meetings, and promoting the interests of the insti- tution by every means within his power. His con- duct, in this matter, was eminently characteristic ; for, while, by no means given to the invention, or application, of novel plans or schemes for doing good, . . when, under conscientious conviction, he saw it right to act, never was that counsel of the Preacher more fully realized than in his example, * Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.' Amidst his mdetatigable cares and exertions to secure the success of this merciful undertaking, the Bishop's attention, as diocesan, was demanded and drawn to a movement of a wholly different kind, . . the reported conveision, namely, from the errors of the Church of Rome, and conformity to the reformed worship of the Church of England, of no incon- BISHOP JEBB. 233 siderable portion of the inhabitants of a parish in the diocese of Limerick. Upon the subject of conversions, at a near period, and upon an extended scale, from among the Roman cathoUc body in Ireland, the sentiments which Bishop Jebb had always entertained, must, to zealous pro- testants, have appeared peculiar : on the one hand, he had no expectations whatever, from schemes of professed proselyte-making, neither was he able to indulge sanguine hopes as to any near prospect of a general reformation, among his Roman catholic fellow- countrymen ; on the other hand, he held it to be the bounden duty of the clergy of the established church, wherever voluntarily consulted by them, to open the eyes of individual Roman catholics to the errors of their communion, and mildly, but powerfully, to at- tract them from those errors, by the uncontroversial exhibition of a purer faith. Upon this principle, he had himself most successfully acted, in more instances than one. Such being his long-formed, and well-weighed sen- timents, upon the question of a national reformation in Ireland, he was necessarily unable to partake the sanguine hopes and anticipations awakened by pro- ceedings, at this period, publicly carried on, especially in the north of Ireland, for the conversion of her Roman catholic population. The case of the parish of Askeaton, however, in his own diocese, under the pastoral care of the Rev. Richard Murray, which now came before him, while it fell properly under his cognizance^ seemed, at the same time, to come, in its essential features, within the rules which, as a private clergyman, he had always prescribed to himself for his own guidance : Mr. Murray had not set out as a maker of proselytes j the work of reformation had 238 LIFE OF five o'clock, as we sat together at dinner, the Bishop suddenly said, * I feel a numbness in my hand . . it is going up the arm .. . it has gone do^\'n my side : send for Mr. Thwaites.' In a moment after, he was speechless. The shock of that awfid moment returns on me, as I describe it. It was, indeed, * a sharp an'ow,' . . but it was * tlie arrow of the Lord,' \Wnged with mercy, and tempered by love ! The goodness of a guardian Providence over and around my suffer- ing Friend, was, even in the instant, manifest ; not a moment had been lost in ministering such help, as the servants and I could minister ; and, wdthin five minutes from the occurrence of the paralysis, the Bishop's family surgeon, one of the most eminent of his profession, was in tlie room, and at his side : the messenger met him descending the steps of his own hall-door, on his way to \'isit the County Hos- pital, at a considerable distance in the opposite dii'ec- tion ; aniving when he did, nothing could be more timely ; a single moment later, and ]\Ir. Thwaites would have been gone, and the ine\'itable delay of^ at least, half an hour, if it did not, as seemed too likely, occasion death, would, in all human proba- bility, have rendered recovery hopeless. The sense of his timely arrival is present with me, as though it had been an event of yesterday : while memory is spared, I never can forget the mingled feelings of thankfulness and trust which it awakened : may minds, unhappily for their own peace, unwilling to discern, in such coincidences, the agency of a Pro\d- dence, be taught, by like experience of the divine mercy, to unlearn their unbelief! By the skill and decision of Mr, Thwaites, the most energetic treatment was now instantly adopted, where only the most energetic treatment could have BISHOP JEBB. 239 proved successful. Under his directions, the Bishop was borne up stairs, apparently in a state of insensi- bility ; from which he was almost immediately re- lieved by the free use of the lancet. The pressure thus taken off, he was removed to bed. Immediately on being laid down, he gave an affecting proof, at once of the perfect collectedness and calmness of his own thoughts, and of tender consideration, even in a moment like this, for the sorrowing friends who now stood around him. Having partially recovered his speech, his first use of it was faintly to articulate the word ' paper.* On its being brought, he feebly attempted to mark with the left hand, in what could not be called characters, something which he wished to express, and placed the paper in my hand. Those who have hearts to feel may judge of my distress, when I found myself unable to decypher it : my bro- ther was more fortunate, . . they were words of com- fort, and he read them aloud. . . ' Don't fear, J. L/ The moment he had done so, the Bishop's eye bright- ened, and he recovered strength to utter * Yes, don't be afraid.* It was the good pleasure of Providence that he should now, once more, be surrounded by the same friends, who, in 1817, had ministered to him, during his great illness at Abington. The constitutional predisposition, which, for so many years, had op- pressed his health, clouded his fine mind, and cramped his native energies, had, at length, fully declared itself ; the malady was a definite one ; and every thing that, under the Divine blessing, human skill and care could do, was done to meet it. A second eminent physician was called in, by Mr. Thwaites, on the evening of the seizure ; the temporal artery was opened the same night, to prevent re-action 5 S40 LIFE OF and a full statement of the case and treatment, was forwarded the next day to Sir Henry Halford. The arrival of the Bishop's brother, for whom a faithful friend had gone express on the third day, afforded him inexpressible comfort : at the sight of this best and earliest friend, his firmness yielded for a single moment, and his eyes became suffused with tears : he quickly recovered himself, and calmly observed, ' Richard, you see my present state, half the man gone.' . . * No,' affectionately replied the Judge, ' not so, . . for the face has escaped, and your mind is strong and clear as ever.' Judge Jebb was accom- panied by an eminent Dublin surgeon ; but the zeal and science of Dr. Carroll and Mr. Thwaites had anticipated every resource of medicine. And his family and friends enjoyed the cheering conscious- ness, throughout this heavy trial, that the skill of his physicians was surpassed only by the devotedness of their zeal. But, in critical cases, the highest medical skill may prove unavailing, unless seconded by intelligence, tenderness, and unremitting vigilance, on the part of the attendants : and here another providential pro- vision remains to be thankfully acknowledged. Of the old and faithful domestics who had followed him from Abington, the two principal had died, since the Bishop's removal to Limerick. His wish to place a ■thorouglily respectable person at the head of his esta- bhshment, had induced him to wait for upwards of a year, in the hope of procuring one from London. After repeated disappointments, he had nearly given * James M-Mahon, Esq., now Registrar of Limerick ; who, though, at the time, under much anxiety of mind on account of illness in his own family, did not hesitate a moment to give this proof of a friendship, ready to be shown in the hour of trial. BISHOP JEBB. Up this hope, when, the Christmas only before his seizure, a person every way most eligible unex- pectedly offered for the situation, and was im- mediately engaged. This individual, Mr. James Alexander Sell, approved himself, now, of inestimable value : for so it happened, that, for several years, he had been in attendance upon a gentleman suffering under paralysis ; and to his skill, care, and experience, next only in importance to those of the physicians themselves, may, under Providence, be ascribed, not only Bishop Jebb's present recovery, but the pro- longation, also, of his valuable life. In paying this slight tribute to modest worth, I feel myself express- ing, however inadequately, the sentiments and wishes of my departed Friend. The general sympathy manifested by all classes and communions at Limerick, and, as the lamented tidings of the Bishop's illness spread, in Dublin and in Eng- land, instinctively showed how society at large could be affected, by the danger of such a man. For some days after the attack, it was found necessary to relieve the public anxiety through the medium of the news- papers, as it was quite impossible to answer otherwise the numerous letters and inquiries. A single incident may serve to illustrate the interest universally felt : a respectable inhabitant of Limerick happening, at this time, to pass through Sheffield (a place where Bishop Jebb was known only by his public character), he was stopped in the streets, by earnest and anxious inquiries, from total strangers, about the Bishop's state, and the prospect and progress of his recovery. The affectionate interest taken by his own clergy*, * Among the gentry, the Bishop ever gratefully recollected the kindness of John Browne, Esq. who reserved for his use the entire produce of his valuable hothouses, sending daily supplies of fruit, which could not otherwise have been procured. R 242 LIFE OF from his valued friend Dean Preston, to the youngest curates of tlie united dioceses, was beautifully emu- lated by the Roman catholic bishop and priesthood. The personal inquiries of the titular bishop. Dr. Ryan, were unremitting; and they were rendered doubly acceptable by the assurance, with tears in his eyes, that they were accompanied by his constant and fervent prayers. By the Rev. Mr. Enright, the Roman catholic clergyman with whom the Bishop had taken one of his last walks, and who had effec- tually co-operated with him in the establishment of * The Sick and Indigent Roomkeepers' Charity,' prayers to Almighty God were publicly offered up in his Chapel, in which the congregation were affection- ately in\ited to join, for the restoration of, * the good Bishop of Limerick.' These touching proofs of the degree in which he was loved, by their happy effect upon his heart and spirits, contributed, not a little, to promote his con- valescence. For, while there never breathed a heart more susceptible of kindness and good-will towards his fellow-men, than that of Bishop Jebb, it was also one peculiarly impressible, by marks of their good- will and kindness : among his earliest inquiries, when able and allowed to speak a little, had been, whether his English brethren had asked after him ; and when told that they had both written, and were offering up prayers for his recovery, the look of happiness that lighted up his eye was such, as it would be equally impossible to describe or forget. But to pass, from human sympathy, to higher con- siderations : . . the bed of pain and sickness is one great triumph of Christianity : and it would ill be- come the recorders of the lives of eminently good men, while they relate the sufferings of the outer, to withhold altogether from their readers, the thoughts BISHOP JEBB. 248 and movements of the inner man. At most other times, the matured christian, and the man 'whose wisdom is in this world/ where possessed of equal intellectual powers, may be brought into comparison with each other upon lower grounds, and measured by received human standards. But let their conver- sation be compared upon a sick-bed ; and, if the comparison be fairly made, the triumph of Christianity will be uniform and complete : the humblest follower of Christ will here rise as high above the philosopher, falsely, so called, as the heaven is higher than the earth ; and so it should be, * for,' says the apostle, ' our conversation is in heaven.' Thus it was with Bishop Jebb, in his great afflic- tion : while his conversation, in this respect, was peculiarly instructive, that it happily exemplified the perfect compatibiHty, between the exercise of all his characteristic judgment, forethought, and circum- spection in temporal affairs, and the contemplation of things eternal. Nothing which had a just claim upon it, seemed now to escape his attention. The duties of this life, from the least to the greatest, and the concerns of the next, had each its proper place in his well-balanced mind. An account of his friend's state of mind, given to Mr. Knox, during the height of the illness, will pro- bably possess a higher interest with the reader, than any description which I could give at this distance of time : the letter is further interesting, as it con- tains the particulars of an occurrence already alluded to ; . .a delightful exemplification how perfectly the spirit of christian charity may, and therefore should invariably, be preserved, amidst the differences con- fessedly subsisting between the churches of England and of Rome. R 2 244 LIFE OF * Your dear Friend's mind so overflows with thouo^ht^ that one of the chief difficulties is to restrain it from over exertion. The Bishop is now aware of tliis, and aids us by imposmg restraints upon himself. You know his characteristic love of order and punctuality*: never w^as it more strongly manifested than during his present illness. At different times, he reser\^ed his strength, until he felt it equal to the task of gi\'ing directions on the subjects, on which it was really of the most importance that his own instruc- tions should be given ; . . such as mstructions to me to open and answer all letters, &c. ; to my brother, to transact all the lighter business of the diocese ; and to both, to commmiicate to the clergy his eaniest desire, that they would refrain from taking any extra- steps during his indisposition, so that, in the event of his restoration to health, his plans might be resumed without impedimentt * It was strikingly exemplified, within a day or two after the attack of pa- ralys's, when he showed great anxiety to obtain a sight of the letters arrived by the last posts. The medical gentlemen, at first, strongly objected to their being shown him, but yielded afterwards to his wish, as the safer course. A large parcel of letters being, accordingly, placed in his hand, the Bishop merely looked at the directions, until be came to one which evidently contained an account : sending away the rest unopened, he handed this to me to read. It was a Dublin bookseller's account, for which the Bishop had himself written to ask, the day before his seizure, and which therefore, lest the delay should occasion the slightest disappointment or inconvenience, he would not allow to remain a needless day undischarged. For his love of punctuality was always connected with that thoughtfulness for others, which belonged to him in health, and which forsook him not even in this extremity. May I be permitted to add, in this connection, that Phil. ii. 4. was his rule in all the transactions of life. f Extracts from diary of the Bishop's illness. — Wednesday morning, May 2. About three o'clock, during my brother's turn of watch, the Bishop spoke in a distinct voice, the following words, which he desired my brother to take down. . . ' The little that I have learnt, has taught me to live to do good.' My brother showed him his transcript, when be added, ' Yes, that is what I said.' [This, it afterwards appeared, w as a saying of his beloved College friend, Reid, which had now returned to his remembrance : the friend whom he thus treasured in his heart, bad been dead nearly thirty years.] His next words were, . . * Don't let the charities be relaxed on account of my illness.' Presently after I came in, and BISHOP JEBB. 245 His inward frame is such as you would rejoice to witness, . . composed, cheerful, and serene, full of happy thoughts, and heavenly meditations*: never found him asleep ; on his awaking, I told him that his old friend Mr. Whitty had been with us. He asked with animation, . . * Did he come on purpose to see me?' and smiled with pleasure when told that he did. The Bishop then said earnestly, . . * Tell your brother the Doctor, to do all the light business : let all the light business go on.' Shortly after he called me again to him, and inquired, * Is the Visitation going on?' I told him not. He continued, . . ' Is it to go on?' I replied it would be adjourned, when the proper time came, and the reason assigned for its adjournment ; when he expressed his satisfaction. I now reminded him that sleep was of great consequence to him, and that the physicians wished him to remain as composed as possible, and to encourage sleep. * Yes,' he replied, * but these things must be looked to beforehand.^ * Tell your brother to write to the clergy generally, and procure their subscriptions ; and not to let any thing go back during my illness ; only for them not to act, or to take steps for themselves, till I am well." * May 2. Wednesday. 6 p.m. The Bishop desired to see me. On my coming to the bedside, he took my hand, and said with a firm voice, * Now be calm.' I pomised to be so. . . ' What do you realbj think of my present situation ? ' . . ' What the physicians have thought of it for the last three days, . . that you are regularly advancing towards recovery.' . . < I think so too,' was his reply. He proceeded. . » ' In my situation, my mind has been naturally turned to the things that are,'' . . * You mean, to invisible and heavenly objects?' . . ' Just so. My mind now begins to clear.' I told him it had been clear throughout. . . ' Well,' he resumed, ' but after such an attack, the ideas must have been confused and uncertain : they now grow clear, and my mind is able to designate objects. In this situation, it returns to past remembrances . . reminiscences . . you understand me?* I assented. . . ' Looking back to past remembrances, from my present position, I have now the same thoughts I then had, respecting the mansions.* . . * Heavenly mansions?' . . < Yes, mansions, oiKiag . . oiKiai;.\ . he repeated with serene energy. < You mean,' I asked, * respecting the communion of the blessed with each other, in those everlasting habitations?' The Bishop answered ' Yes.' . . He then added, . . ' My ideas now are clear, but, in a day or two, all will be clearer.' I thought, for the moment, that this was said with anticipation of the near approach, to himself, of the heavenly world ; and composed myself to ob- serve, that, while, under his guidance, I had long learnt to feel that this prospect could not be too constantly, or too nearly contemplated by the christian, it was still our part, also, to recollect, that we were in the hands of God; that Divine providence might have in store for him further usefulness to the Church ; and that, from his present progress, there was, under God, every ground to anticipate his restoration to both. He calmly replied, ' That is just what I think ; but I wished, at this time, to put you in possession of my unchanged view of the 0IKIA2 . . the mansions of heaven.' Such were the happy thoughts, upon this high subject, which filled his mind, while fluctuating between life and death. They now arose naturally there, for, in R 3 246 LIFE OF from the pulpit, where he so eminently shone, did he preach the blessed influences of Christianity so effectually, as he now preaches them from his sick bed ; physicians, friends, domestics, . . all who are privileged to approach him, see and own with delight, the peace that, in his example, piety and goodness bring with them to the bed of sickness. Would you had seen the Bishop yesterday morning, as we sur- rounded his bed to congratulate ourselves upon his great amendment, and the angelic smile with which, looking gratefully towards the physicians, he took each of us by the hand, exclaiming every time, 'Yes, under God, under God ! ' * For the satisfaction of this city, where the public anxiety has been intense, a medical report was sent yesterday, for insertion in the Limerick Chronicle : all classes and persuasions are deeply interested in your Friend's recovery ; none more unfeignedly so than the Roman catholic population ; on Sunday last, prayers were publicly offered up for him in the prin- cipal chapel, when the previous address of the officiat- ing priest, melted the whole congregation, composed chiefly of the lower classes, into tears. . . * I have,' he said, ' fifteen thousand poor in my parish, . . let them all time of his health, they had been present with him. A few months only, before his seizure, a valued English friend happened, in familiar conversation, to ask his sentiments upon the subsistence of a communion between the visible and invisible worlds : his answer was, . . * I am quite sure of this, that, if I precede you to the other world, I shall be with you then, as much as I am with you now.' It is scarcely necessary, to add, that his thoughts and sentiments, upon these matters, remained unaltered, excepting by their continual growth and increase, to the moment of his last great earthly change. Whatever may be their own impressions, there are, it is believed, but few serious minds, to whom the settled judgment of eminent christians upon themes like these, can be wholly matter of indifference ; while there are not a few, who will learn, with more than common interest, what was tlie assured persuasion entertained respecting them, by the subject of the present memoir, in life and in death. BISHOP JEBB. and all of us pray, falling now upon our knees, for the good Bishop of Limerick, . . none before have done as he has done for the poor, . . never will they have such another benefactor ! ' The life of such a man was one continual preparation, for meeting the divine will concerning him. But it should not pass unrecorded, that, when it pleased God thus suddenly to visit his faithful servant, he was found, within as without, in that preparedness, which our blessed Lord himself (St. Luke xii. 35, 36.) has specially recommended and enjoined. For several days previous to the shock, he had been engaged in the study (with him an early and favourite study) of Bishop Hall's Contemplations. And, on the evening of the attack, the book lay open upon his study-table, ready to be resumed, had he returned in health. Ac- cordingly, when first able to collect his thoughts, they flowed naturally in their wonted channels. His mind once relieved, by the instructions he had been enabled to give, from the pressure of private and episcopal cares, he now gave himself wholly, at his waking hours, to hearing passages of Scripture read, suited to his present state, and to meditating, or mak- ing short reflections, upon them. One night, finding himself disturbed from sleep by uneasy dreams, as is usual in sleep procured by anodynes, he desired to have some suitable religious subject read to him. My brother proposed a Psalm, and was about to begin the beautiful and appropriate 103d, when the Bishop said, ' Read the Psalm that has, ivho saveth thy life from destruction' He listened with the deepest in- terest and emotion ; called for Bishop Home's Com- mentary, which gave him much satisfaction ; and im- mediately subsided into a calm slumber, which lasted through the night. In the morning he told the phy- R 4 248 LIFE OF sicians of his anodyne, which they cordially agreed was far more effectual than any they could have pre- scribed. At another time, expatiating, in their pre- sence, upon the matchless beauties of Scripture, he called for the 104th Psalm, and, pronouncing it the sublimest ode that ever had come from the mind or pen, even of inspired man, desired that it might be read aloud. The effect, none, who had the happiness to be present, can easily forget : his animated eye seemed to read a comment on each verse, and to impart his own feeling of the divine original : none caught the spirit of the moment more fully, than his two medical friends ; while one of them. Dr. Carroll, a Roman catholic, could not refrain from expressing the min- gled pleasure and edification, with which he minis- tered at the bedside of a Bishop of the Church of England. But from nothing did he derive more support or comfort, than from a lesson, at this time, specially recommended for his use, by his friend Mr. Knox : the second chapter of the Book of Ecclesiasticus. Its soothing and cheering influence upon his mind and spirits, was attended with the happiest consequences to his health ; effects which, some years after, he thus describes, in a letter to an early friend. . . * Let me recommend to your attention, the first Lesson for Lady Day (the Annunciation) the 25th of March. It is full of divine comfort : they call it apocryphal, but, surely, if ever there was a lesson of inspired wisdom, it is there. This chapter was my best anodyne, near six years ago, when I lay in Limerick, on the bed of sickness and pain. May it, in all time of difficulty, be as effectual for you, my old friend ! ' The name of Alexander Knox naturally leads me to mention, how deeply he was afflicted in the afflic- BISHOP JEBB. 249 tion of his friend. With his whole heart he sympa- thized in the Bishop's sufferings. But while he felt those sufferings as a man, he reflected on them in the spirit of a true Christian philosopher. The thoughts of such a mind, at such a crisis, will be valuable to every reader ; while his testimony to the child-like and unspoilt simplicity of his friend's character (the witness, it will be observed, of a conscientiously jealous judge in such matters) make the letters which con- vey it properly part of the Bishop's Life. . . With ex- tracts from these letters, I shall, therefore, close the account of a dispensation of Providence, which, by wholly, and finally breaking down his active powers, changed the sphere, and the duties, of Bishop Jebb's remaining years. * Bellevue, Delgany, May 16. 1827. ' Thanks to Divine Providence, things are now as promising, as, in such a case, they can be ; and I cannot but hope that our dear friend, and all who have been concerned for him, will be compensated by real improvement in his general health, and, may I not add, by the increased usefulness, to which this temporary, but surely, for a little while, awful dis- cipline, may eventually be conducive? ' May be,' do I say ? nay, rather mmt he, . . for painful and astounding as it was, it has been so borne as, I trust, to evince an accompanying influence to support the heart and mind, from the same hand, which was afllicting the body. * Let me freely say to you, my dear Charles, that my greatest fear about the Bishop was, that his cir- cumstances, altogether, might be too fascinating, for his spiritual growth. If St. Paul's supernatural vision of paradise, and the third heaven, required a counter- LIFE OF poise, ' lest he should be exalted above measure,' how daugerous might it be for us to be left, for any length of time, in peculiarly gTatitying circumstances, without the occurrence of proportioned con-ectives ? . . And, of all correctives, I am inclined to think, from experience, that what comes from the ver^- hand of God himself, is, if we be not wanting to ourselves, the most tolerable, as well as the most protitable. It involves no mixed feehngs, and it calls forth into the simplest and deepest exercise all those dispositions and tendencies, of which, tlirough the grace of God, we are already possessed. AVhat is said, on this sub- ject, in many of the Psalms, and in the twelfth chapter of the epistle to the Hebrews, are, to all my feelings, among the most mteresting, and self-e\'idently divine passages of Holy Scripture ; in the latter instance, particularly, enough is said, to make the want of such visitations a matter of terror, and their actual occur- rence to one of • honest and good heart,' a subject of sober satisfaction, as well as of humble acquiescence. * My interest in my friend's truest happiness, uniting with all I have knowm and felt in my own particulai' case, has led me, without intending it, into these reflections.' • Mar 17. ' I felt yesterday, when it was too late, that, when I spoke of the utility of a comiterpoise to circum- stances, m their own nature, perhaps over fascinating, I ou2:ht to have distino-uished this idea more clearlv from that of a mental corrective, where there is actuid inflation. I need hardly assure you that of this latter thought, there was not the least shade in my mind. On the contrary, I must say, I never saw, nor could conceive an instance, in which, in spite of altered BISHOP JEBB. 251 circumstances, simplicity of manner was more sig- nally retained, or where there was a more complete absence of every self-gratulatory intimation. There was, in truth, little danger of this, in a sensible and religious mind. But still it is a high test of sound- ness, both in principle and intellect, not, unconsci- ously, to show something, which might be observed at least by a jealous eye. But our friend has always seemed to me to have as little to fear from such a scrutiny, as any man that ever passed, from compara- tively private life, to conspicuousness and eminence. You have no need to be told all this ; but I do wish you should feel, that all this was most fully before me, when I was making the remarks of yesterday. * The ground of those remarks was, that very pros- perous circumstances may require a corrective, even where there is nothing positively to be corrected, arising from those circumstances, in the mind of the person ; because, without such a corrective, improvement and growth in interior virtue and happiness, however sin- cerely desired and sought, might not, in the very nature of things, be attainable. In short, my posi- tion is, that, clogged as we are by animality, and ever liable as we are to sensitive impressions, we are unable, notwithstanding our sincerest wishes and en- deavours, to seek our supreme rest in God with the same intensity, as when felt necessity leaves us no other support or refuge, but what we must find in Him. As these are times of trial, which may most comfortably evince the 'house to be built upon a rock,' so also, are they seasons, in which that may be done for us, which, without their (as it were) media- nical pressure, we could never accomplish for our- selves. This providential process may be clear, even at the moment, to the mind on which it is exercised ; 252 LIFE OF and the consolation thus afforded, is, that 'light,' which ariseth to the godly man, 'in the midst of darkness.' But the highest happiness is, that though the visitation be transient, the improvement remains, . . so that, afterwards, the season of affliction is looked back upon, not with painful, but rather with joyous recollection. ' Thy loving correction,' says the psalmist, ' has made me great.' * In fact, the deep experience of religious support in the hour of trial, has moral consequences, which nothing else can equally produce ; and it is a species of teacliing, not to partake of which is a positive dis- advantage. What you tell me of my friend's ano- dyne * exemplifies the very point, on which I mean to observe ; and I need not assure you, that, though it naturally followed all you have been stating to me, your account of this particular fact gives me heart-felt satisfaction. For what can I desire more for my beloved and valued friend, than that he should have such a resource, and such proof its efficacy ? This is, in its essence, what we ask for in that noble collect, . . ' Give unto thy servants that peace, which the world cannot give.' ' * May 24. * I hoped that, even in my first letter [of May 16.], you would exactly see my meaning. Yet it seemed to me, that I had not sufficiently conveyed the entire impression on my mind ; and therefore, had it been only to satisfy my own feelings, I could not but proceed to communicate the sequel of my thoughts. To find that they so perfectly agreed with your own gives me sincere satisfaction. * The fact is, that, in the great work of redinte- * See page 248; BISHOP JEBB. 25S grating the inner man, we can do little for ourselves. We may be faithful to what we have received, and we may intreat for more of divine grace and oper- ation. But, on this latter depends our actual pro- gress ; and in what manner the benefit is to be conferred, and real advancement effected, no human mind can previously conjecture. It is our wisdom, therefore, not less than our duty, * to be careful for nothing; but, in every thing, to make our request known unto God,' and, as much as possible, to leave ourselves in his hands. Johnson's lines on this sub- ject, in the conclusion of his Vanity of Human Wishes, are very fine* . . as, indeed, the whole poem is a most noble modification of a magnificent ori- ginal.' Did the Christian world owe nothing further to * * Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find ? Must dull Suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate ? Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? Inquirer, cease ; petitions yet remain, Which Heav'n may hear, nor deem religion vain. Still raise for good the supplicating voice, But leave to Heav'n the measure and the choice. Safe in His pow'r, whose eyes discern afar The secret ambush of a specious pray'r ; Implore his aid, in his decisions rest. Secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best. Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires, And strong devotion to the skies aspires, Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, Obedient passions, and a will resign'd ; For love, which scarce collective man can fill • For patience, sov'reign o'er transmuted ill ; For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat ; These goods for man the laws of Heav'n ordain, These goods He grants, who grants the pow'r to gain : With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, And makes the happiness she does not find.* 254 LIFE OF Bishop Jebb's present illness, than as the occasion which gave birth to the profound and experimental analysis of the Divine dealings, comprized in the foregoing extracts, it might without hesitation be affirmed, that, ' for instruction in righteousness,' his illness was not sent in vain : of this, at least, I am satisfied, that such will be the conclusion of all, who, from experience of similar trials, have learnt their need of similar grounds, and aids, of confidence and consolation. When sufficiently recovered to bear removal to his library, the Bishop gave immediate proof that his relish for his favourite studies, and the pleasure which he had always taken in the instruments of those studies, had suffered no abatement. Among the additions to his well-stored book-shelves, which had reached Limerick shortly previous to his illness, was a fine and complete set of the Antiquities of Graevius and Gronovius : on being carried into the room, the Bishop requested to be taken in front of these folios, ' that he might get a good look at them.' Even in this slight, but characteristic incident, may be seen the happy disengagedness and elasticity of a mind at peace within, and therefore alive to every innocent enjoyment ; and which, now and at all times, enabled its possessor to rise superior to all merely bodily suffering and privation. In the same spirit, from the moment he was able to leave his sick-room, the Bishop enjoyed, with all his wonted interest, the pleasures of reading, of music, and of friendly conversation. Tlie society of his beloved brother, and of other members of his family, now contributed greatly to his comfort and convalescence. And he had much gratification in a visit from Mr. (now Sir Robert) Wilmot Horton, who most kindly BISHOP .TEBB. 255 reserved a day or two, when returning to his official duties in London, for the express purpose of seeing and conversing with him. When sufficiently recruited in strength to bear the fatigue of a journey, his medical advisers prescribed a change of chmate, and the use of the Leamington waters. On the 21st of August, accordingly, we set out for England, by way of Cork, accompanied by Mr. Thwaites, who kindly made arrangements to attend his patient across the Channel. At Charle- ville, where he was hospitably lodged by the worthy rector, the Rev. W. Dunn, the first night, the Bishop observed, in reply to the inquiries of his kind host, . . * It is a satisfaction to reflect, that, during an illness of four months, I have not had a sad moment,^ That cheerfulness of heart, which ' doeth good as a medi- cine,' in truth never forsook him. In the last year of his life, observing, one evening, on his disposition always to see the bright side, even of gloomy pro- spects in public affairs, he beautifully added, * It is the same with me in private life. It is this which has enabled me to bear my long illness with cheerful- ness, where others might have sunk under it.' On landing at Bristol, he had fresh experience of what, to his affectionate nature, next only to his trust in God, was the great sweetener of life, . . the attach- ment of his friends. Beside the vessel stood his valued friend the Rev. C. A. Ogilvie, in readiness to greet him, and to conduct him to his own home, where, with affectionate anticipation, every thing was prepared for his reception. His critical state, how- ever, and the limited time of his physician, rendered it impracticable to profit by this act of true friendship. At his hotel, he was awaited by his dear friend Mr. Stock, so often mentioned in these pages, and through- 256 LIFE OF out his correspondence. While, to perfect the enjoy- ment of the moment, he now learned, from Mr. Ogilvie, the sympathy shown in his sufferings, by one whom he eminently revered, the venerable President of Magdalen College, Dr. Routh, and the deep in- terest and emotion manifested by that illustrious orna- ment of Oxford and of the Church of England, on first receiving the tidings of his safety and convales- cence. These coincidences, altogether, were about as cheering, as it was possible for him, in his present state, to experience ; and as it was the habit of his life studiously to consider the ways, and to observe, even in little things, the apparent indications of Pro- vidence, he received this gratifying commencement (and most justly, if we may judge by the event) as a pledge, at once, and foretaste, of future providential kindness. A friendly visit from Sir Henry Halford, then for- tunately at his seat in Leicestershire, followed, almost immediately, the Bishop's arrival at Leamington. The good effects of the treatment now adopted, gradually became visible ; and he was soon able to enjoy the twofold benefit of his eminent friend's skill and conversation, under his own roof, at Wistow Hall. After the fullest consideration of his case. Sir Henry decided on Leamington as his station during the remainder of the autumn, when he advised his removal to London, as a situation combining, with the best medical resources, the command, in per- fection, of those mechanical means and restoratives, which, in cases of paralysis, are always essential, and often effectual, for the recovery of the muscular action. After about two months' stay at Leamington, ac- cordingly, . . a time rendered more tolerable by the BISHOP JEBB. 257 society of a friend, the Rev. R. C. Hurly, Surrogate of Ardfert diocese, who had joined his revered dio- cesan at Cork, . . the Bishop removed to town, where he passed the winter months at No. 24.*, and the spring at No. 5., York Terrace, in the Regent's Park. No sooner had it pleased God that he should be deprived of the use of the right hand, than he applied himself, with his usual promptitude and decision, to cultivate the use of his left hand in every way, but above all in practice witli the pen. The process was slow and difficult, as each letter had to be formed se- parately : but difficuUy soon gave way, before a re- solution like his ; each day he wrote with increasing facility ; and, in a few months, his left-hand auto- graphs, while they strikingly resembled in character, rivalled, as specimens of calligraphy, his beautiful right-hand penmanship. His way of accounting for what was naturally matter of surprize to all his friends, was much the same with the answer of the late Major Rennell, when questioned, in a similar case, by an intimate friend. From the united effects of severe sabre wounds, and of the gout. Major RennelFs right hand was sadly crippled and contracted : yet, with it, he wrote his geographical works, and well. In reply to his friend's query, how he contrived to do so, his memorable answer was, . . * I write with the * Although living nmv quite out of the world, his breakfast-table still became, once more, an instructive resort of some of the friends, who had frequented it in 1824, and 182G. On one of these occasions, an intimate friend strongly- urged upon him the necessity of conforming to the opinions of his own times. The Bishop's reply deserves to be written in letters of gold. . . * In abiding by the opinions which I have always held, my appeal is made, from the present times to the wisdom of past ages, and of ages still to come.'. . I cannot forget the impression made, for the time at least, by this rejoinder, both upon his friendl monitor, and upon the company then present. S LIFE OF mind : I determine onforming a certain character, and form it.' No sooner had lie possessed himself of this newly- acquired power, than Bishop Jebb sought to turn it to solid and useful account. His first literary em- ployment was, a new edition of ' Sacred Literature.' On his reaching town in November, he learned from his publisher that the work was out of print ; and immediately proceeded to correct and revise it for a second edition, which came out early in the following year. Meanwhile, though weak in body, lie was mindful of, and w^atchful over, as in his best days, the highest interests of the Church in Ireland. In April, 1828, he had several interviews with the late Archbishop of Canterbury, upon points, to his judg- ment, vitally affecting those interests ; and, although setting out with a conscientious difference of opinion, he had the satisfaction to find his Grace, at the close, cordially and entirely of his mind. The candour witli which that eminent person stated, and the mag- nanimity with which, upon conviction, he retracted, his own views, impressed the Bishop most strongly, at the time, as essential qualities for good government. The questions at issue, respected the means most likely to advance, upon church principles, the cause of the reformed faith in Ireland, It is needless to say that, while unable conscien- tiously to make common cause with indiscriminative protestantism. Bishop Jebb yielded to none in sober zeal for the advancement of Church-of-England Re- formation. But it may be well to show, in this immediate connection, that his was a zeal always tempered by charity, and which never for a moment chilled the spirit of kindness and good-will. A little anecdote in point may be mentioned here. About BISHOP JEBB. Qo9 this time, he was applied to by a respectable Roman catholic clergyman, to contribute to the erection of a chapel in Limerick. This, as Bishop of the diocese, he felt it his duty to decline ; but he availed himself, in so doing, of the opportunity to soften his consci- entious refusal, by enclosing to the worthy applicant a donation of five guineas, for the poor of his flock. The happy time for doing a kindness, by him, in truth, was never lost. Another slight incident, which occurred during his residence in York Terrace this year (1828-9), happily exemplifies his ever-present sense of the goodness of Providence towards him. Happening to receive, one morning, a circular letter from the Humane Society, he acknowledged it the same day, by an enclosure of 20/. : observing to me, as he named the sum to be enclosed, . . ' It is more than, under ordinary circumstances, I should feel authorized to contribute. But / am peculiarly called upon. I have myself been rescued from a sudden death ; and it is but right that I should contribute more than others to the relief of fellow-sufferers.' The desire which he had long entertained to see the public in possession, of a portion, at least, of the valuable ]MS. sermons of Dr. Townson, now returned with increased strength ; as he had both time him- self to make a suitable selection, and w^as on the spot to superintend the volume through the press. Ac- cordingly, he proposed the matter, once more, to his venerated friend Archdeacon Churton ; and, on re- ceiving his cordial assent to the undertaking, con- sulted his publisher, who, however, declined the risk of reviving a nearly forgotten name, however eminent in its day. Strong in his judgment as to the intrinsic merits of these writings, and impressed vrith 260 LIFE OF a deep conviction of their importance, in times like the present, as specimens of the unadulterated spirit and teaching of the Church of England, the Bishop immediately resolved on printing a private impression, at his own expense. The task of selecting and pre- paring the materials for this edition, occupied him, most congenially, through the remaining months of his residence in York Terrace. And, early in June, he enjoyed the comfort, to him, one of the highest life could afford, of supplying with a fresh provision of soUd moral and spiritual food, many minds capable of tasting, and pre-disposed for benefiting by it. The testimonies borne by the highest authorities, to the service thus rendered, were of the most gratifying kind. The experiment itself, too, was eminently successful. As the Bishop had anticipated, the work soon became its own recommendation. In the fol- lowing year, Mr. Duncan undertook its publication. And Dr. Tow^nson's Practical Discourses, having already passed through three editions, has taken its permanent place, amidst the praises of the learned, and the approval of the good, with its fellows, the kindred productions of elder ornaments of the Church of England. With the return of summer, it was the advice of his friend and physician that he should return to Leamington, and resume the use of the waters, with the addition of the warm baths, as the means most likely to promote the recovery of the limbs. During his former visit, he had to use a bath chair ; he was now able to walk every morning, with assistance, from his house to the wells, a distance of more than half a mile, and back to breakfast. Here, under the skilful care of Mr. Pritchard, he continued daily to gain ground : and as, in cases like his, much always BISHOP JEBB. 261 depends upon the influences of atmosphere, Sir Henry Halford, after a time, prescribed a change to Malvern, for the benefit of a purer air. From some weeks, passed at Malvern, and at Wistow Hall, the Bishop experienced much advantage to his health, and more to his spirits. At Malvern, he enjoyed the society of Mr. and Mrs. Heyland ; and upon his re- tm'n to Leamington, had the pleasure of receiving his brother and his eldest son, (now the Rev. John Jebb) from Ireland, his valued relative, Joshua Jebb, Esq. of Derbyshire, and his friend Mr. Hornby from Lancashire. At this time, also, he had the happi- ness to form the acquaintance of the Rev. W. F. Hook of Coventry, as afterwards that of his estima- ble mother, and most amiable family: an introduction which contributed not a little to soothe many anxious months of renewed bodily affliction, and increased debility. And here I am reminded of a saying of one of the Bishop's college acquaintances, of the justness of which, his life, indeed, aflfbrded one continual exemplification : . . ' Jebb, wherever you are, you will never want friends.' Meanwhile, his health, although materially im- proved, continued in a very critical and precarious state : the circulation was still unsettled : and it was only by the constant use of cupping, that he could avert the return of the original attack. Under these trying circumstances, he still felt it his duty to con- sult with his medical advisers, upon the safety of his returning to Ireland, and to the duties of his diocese, in his present state. He had all along looked forward, with conscientious anxiety, to the accomplishment of this great object ; and, while at Wistow this year, he submitted the question for the judgment of the highest medical authority. The result of the con- s 3 LIFE OF sultation was a decisive opinion, that both his safety, and his prospects of recovery, turned upon his per- severing, at least for another year, in the use of the means, which had so far prospered, especially of the air and waters of Leamington or Malvern, together with a total abstinence from the personal cares and anxieties of episcopal duty. To all who saw him, indeed, it was only too evident, that the case ad- mitted of no other medical decision. With that implicitness, accordingly, which, when under medical guidance, was his rule of life, he made up his mind to return to York Terrace, and to try, under the eye of Sir Henry Halford, the effects of electricity upon the paralyzed limbs. Before we return with him lo London, it may be profitable, for the example of others, to record in this place, how religiously, during years of bodily malady and suffering. Bishop Jebb watched over, and hus- banded his time. Summer and winter, his hour of rising was six o'clock, and, except when he received friends, he breakfasted at eight : an economy of time, which enabled him to dedicate, to the best studies, the prime hours of each day. At Leamington, he was always the first at the well ; and, before others thought of going, he was at home, and at his desk. He resumed his pen, or his books, immediately after breakfast, and, again, on returning from his daily drive. In the evenings, he was found always pre- pared, as his health permitted, to read or to converse. His conversation, as he sat in his invalid chair, with a moveable desk in front, always furnished with books or papers, was at once so cheerful and so edifying, as to read a perpetual lesson of christian acquiescence in the will of God. He seldom spoke continuously : generally in short reflections, giving BISHOP JEB13. 268 utterance to what was passing in his own mind, and so natural and easy, as to instruct without seeming to do so. A few examples of his manner and spirit, may illustrate this imperfect description. One even- ing, as he sat in his chair, finding himself unable to reach something he wanted, with his left hand, he gently raised it, and said, . . This one hand does very little for one : but it is a great comfort and blessing to have one liand* . . At another time, alluding to the chair in which he sat, here marked, . . ' What should I do to read, but for this chair? It is one great comfort of having a little money, that, since I have had this attack, I am able to have so many comforts : I have my chair, I have my carriage, and so many other blessings, for which I am very thankful to God.' . . One day, at a time when he was suffering severely from an access of fever, accompanied by faintness to a distressing degree, being told that a little boy was below, who greatly desired to see him, . . though scarcely able to speak from illness, the Bishop would have the child brought to him, and was quite over- come when giving him his blessing. On my saying how much the boy had wished to see his Lordship, . . recovering himself, he observed, with his own expres- sive manner and look, . . ' My dear, you come to see me at an unfavourable time, . . an invalid, in his cliair : you see what I am . . Mr. Forster can show you (pointing to his print) what I was' The touching voice in which the words were spoken, sunk irresistibly into the heart. . . One Sunday evening, the Bishop expressed his opinion, that ' Hooker is the most perfect prose-writer in the English language : the most pure, the most free from needless words and expletives, the best coUocator of words, . . the most truly classical' . . Another evening, he dwelt beau- s 4 264 LIFE OF tifully on a passage of Baxter (one of his chosen favourites), which had occurred in his morning read- ing, and which, he now observed, had long and often struck him. It is where he treats of the best time for medifatio?}.* He said that it reminded him of Cowper's picture, beginning, . . ' When Isaac-like, the solitarj^ saint/ &c. * Turning, while I vrritc, to his own copy of Baxter's works, I 6nd the passage alluded to, marked by himself in pencil. For the benefit of those who are like-minded, I shall transcribe it here. . . ' Seldom conversing witli him, will breed a strangeness betwixt thy soul and God. Frequent society breeds fami- liarity, and familiarity increaseth love and delight, and maketh us bold and con- fident in our addresses. This, is the main end of this duty, that thou mayest have acquaintance and fellowship with God therein ; therefore, if thou come but seldom to it, thou wilt keep thyself a stranger still, and so miss the end of the work. O ! when a man feels his need of God, and must seek his help in a time of necessity, when nothing else would do him any good, you would little think what an encouragement it is, to go to a God that we know, and are acquainted with. O ! saith the heavenly christian, I know, both whither I go, and to whom ; 1 have gone this way many a time before now ; it is the same God that I daily conversed witli ; it is the same way, that was my daily walk ; God knows me well enough, and I have some knowledge of him. On the other side, what a horror and discouragement to the soul will it be, when it is forced to fly God in streights : to think, alas I I know not whither to go; I never went the way before ; I have no acquaintance at the court of heaven ; my soul knows not that God that I must speak to, and I fear He will not know my soul ! But espe- cially when we come to die, and must immediately appear before this God, and expect to enter into his eternal rest, . . then the difference will plainly appear: then, what a joy will it be to think, I am going to the place that I daily conversed in ; to the place from whence I tasted so frequent delights ; to that God, whom I have met in meditation so oft ! My heart hath been at heaven before now, and tasted the sweetness that hath oft revived it ; and (as Jonathan by his honey) if my eyes were so enlightened, and my mind refreshed, when I tasted but a little of that sweetness, what will it be, when I shall feed on it freely ? On the other side, what a terror must it be to tliink, I must die, and go 1 know not whitlier ; from a place where I am acquainted, to a place where I have no familiarity or knowledge ! O Sirs ! it is an unexpressible horror to a dying man, to have strange thoughts of God and heaven. I am persuaded tliere is no cause so com- mon, that makes death, ereii to godly men, unwelcome and uncomfortable. There- fore I persuade them to frequency in this duty, . . that seldomness breed not estrangedness from God.' . . Then follows the part above referred to. . . • Concern- ing the time of this duty . . every man is the meetest judge for himself. Only give me leave to tender you my observation, which time I have always found "fittest for myself; and that is the evening, from sun-setting to the twilight; and BISHOP JEBB. 265 On a subsequent occasion, 1 happened to read to him a paragraph from a newspaper, stating that the cre- ditors of Sir Walter Scott, had just presented him with his plate, library, &c., in testimony of their high respect for his honourable conduct by them. The Bishop hstened with silent interest ; and then ex- pressed his feelings thus : . . ' I don't know whether you have experienced the same kind of sensation ; but, whenever I hear any trait, of that kind which you have read to me, I feel my heart swell, as if I could not keep it down ; I can describe it only as a swelling of the heart which affects my breathing.' Such was the usual manner and spirit of his re- marks, whenever he paused from his books, or laid down his pen. But his books and pen were his fa- vourite, and never-failing resources ; while he both read and wrote with a constant aim, no less to the good of others, than to his own improvement : hence his desire to have always some suitable literary object in view ; especially works of a practical and expe- rimental character, by Church-of-England divines, to which he might be instrumental in recalling the public attention, and which he might enrich with notes. Nothing of this kind occurred to his mind in 1828, after the preparation of Tovvnson's Discourses ; but, for the remainder of the year, he diligently em- sonietimes in the night, when it is warm and clear. Whether it be any thing from the temperature of my body, I know not ; but I conjecture that the same time would be seasonable to most tempers, for several natural reasons, which I will not now stand to mention. Neither would I have mentioned my own expe- rience in this, but that I was encouraged hereunto, by finding it suit with the experience of a better and wiser man than myself, and that is Isaac : for it is said in Gen. xxiv. 68. 21iat he went to meditate in the field, at the eventide. And his experience, I dare more boldly recommend to you than my o\\x\.\ . Baxter's Practical Works, vol. iii. pp. 276, 277. ed. fol. ^66 LIFE OF ployed his critical skill and judgment, to aid the progress of the work upon which I was then en- gaged. To the period of the Bishop's iUnesaat which we have now arrived, his life had passed in uninterrupted tranquilhty, apart from all public cares and concerns. But the shock of the sudden, and most unexpected change in political sentiment, which took place in the spring of 1829, penetrated even into retirement like his. The kindly feelings which he had ever cherished towards his Roman catholic fellow-subjects, need not now be repeated ; but, conscientiously per- suaded, that the British constitution was a constitution of religion, he felt that the time was come to make his political testament, and to give proof, not to be misconstrued, that his kindness, was a kindness with- out compromise. His turn for sitting in Parliament was to come round this year, but not before the close of the session. Unable, therefore, to state his sentiments, or record his protest, in the House of Lords, he declared himself by letter in a high quarter ; and united with his clergy in a dutiful pe- tition to the throne. Early in the memorable February of 1829, he thus avows his principles, and his anticipations. . . ' In the present state of things, it seems to me a matter of duty to declare, that my political opinions are wholly unchanged. Towards my Roman catholic fellow- subjects, I have ever felt and acted with kindness and good will : but, my conviction is imalterable, that the worst consequences, civil and political, to England, and to Ireland, must arise, from admitting, under any modifications, the Roman catholic body, or any part of it, to political power. * It is my sober, settled persuasion, that, however BISHOP JEBB. 267 it may suspend for a time, concession will remove none of the existing evils, but will greatly aggravate them all : that it may, possibly, purchase the chance of a temporary calm, but with a certainty of growing and permanent troubles, involving consequences beyond human calculation or control ; the melan- choly commencement of which, may, not improbably, be witnessed by the present generation. * As an Irish Bishop, not privileged, during the present session, to state my sentiments in Parliament, I trust you will excuse my thus discharging my conscience. * That our state is most awful, I cannot, if I would, conceal from myself. The Papists of Ireland, indeed, know their strength : but their chief strength lies, and they know tliat too, in the weakness of our go- vernment. After a long period of misrule, with an appalling military force in the country, no substantive measure has been taken, within the last six months of total anarchy, against the agitators, and against treason worse than open rebellion. On the contrary, the friends of the constitution have been discoun- tenanced almost as enemies ; its enemies encouraged, altogether as friends ; and, humanly speaking, under such a system, nothing can save us. * But my ultimate reliance is placed, where it cannot be shaken, . . in Divine Providence. I trust that all will yet be right. But, in the mean time, in defence of all that is dear to British Protestants, I am cheer- fully prepared, if necessary, to lay down life itself The petition, drawn up with his own hand, while it breathed the very spirit of christian charity, con^ veyed an uncompromising declaration of unchanged, and unclmngeable attachment, to that protestant con- stitution in church and state, which had originally ^268 X.IFE OF placed the Royal House of Brunswick upon the throne of these reahiis. * The steadfast adherence to the principles of that constitution so nobly manifested by the University of Oxford, called forth his heartfelt sympathy, and caused him the liveliest satisfaction ; while his private, as well as his public, feelings were gratified by a result, which raised one of his nearest and dearest friends to the most honourable eminence, which per- sonal merit can reach, or public life afford, the re- presentation of that illustrious seat of learning and religion, t The Bishop's general health, in the spring of 1829, was in a very delicate state ; his weakened frame had * * To the King's most Excellent Majesty. ' The dutiful petition of his Majesty's devoted subjects, the Bishop and Clergy of the diocese of Limerick, ' Most humbly showeth, ' That your Majesty's petitioners cannot, without extreme apprehension, con- template the possibility of any inroad whatsoever being made, on our present constitution. * That, while your Majesty's petitioners have always endeavoured, they trust not unsuccessfully, to cultivate and cherish the utmost brotherly kindness and affection towards all classes of their separated brethren, they feel that every thing, which as Protestants and as subjects, they hold most dear, would be not merely endangered, but destroyed, by the admission of Roman catholics, under any ino- dification, to political power. ' Your Majesty's petitioners, therefore, most humbly, yet hopefully implore, that your Majesty will take such measures, as to your wisdom may seem best calculated, to preserve unaltered, the matchless Constitution of 1688; which, under Providence, has, for many generations, flourished under the mild and auspicious rule of your Majesty's Royal House ; which has raised these realms to an unexampled pitch of prosperity and glory ; and which, by the blessing of the King of kings, will, we trust, protect our descendants to the latest gener- ations, in dutiful, undivided allegiance to a race of protestant sovereigns, of the illustrious family of Brunswick. * And your Majesty's dutiful petitioners will ever pray.' f I never can forget the Bishop's emotion, on learning the declaration of the venerable President of Magdalen College, Dr. Routh, then much indisposed, that, rather than fail in being at his post, as the proposer of Sir Robert Inglis, * he would be carried to the House of Convocation.' BISHOP JEBB. 269 been much tried, by the severity of the preceding winter ; and, though he did not sensibly lose, in- flammatory symptoms, united with debility, withheld him from gaining, ground. This doubtful and anxious state was soon followed, and too fully explained, by a recurrence of the original malady. On the morning of thursday. May 14., he was seized with a second attack of paralysis, only in a mitigated form, its effects falling, almost entirely, on the previously affected limbs. Prior to this relapse, he had re- gained power sufficient to take walking exercise, and had also partially recovered the use of his right hand : but, after the second shock, his hand became wholly powerless ; and, although still able, from time to time, to walk a little, it was the will of God that he should become more and more dependent upon the faithful attendants, who carried him, from his well-worn study chair, to his carriage, or his room, for the remainder of his days. This renewal of affliction in the body served, in his case, only to exemplify anew, the truth of a saying as just as it is beautiful, . . * The christian spirit is like the myrtle-leaf, the more you press it, the more fragrant it smells.' Some specimens of that spirit I would record here ; for the reader, I cannot doubt, will agree with me, in accounting the thoughts and words of such men, at such moments, among the most precious jewels in the treasury of biography. That thoughtfulness for others, which has been already noticed, and which was always present with him even in his greatest trials, was now shown, while under the first shock of this fresh seizure. I had been ill, and forbidden to rise early that morning: this the Bishop recollected, and his first care was, to give strict orders that I should not be awakened, or 270 LIFE OF apprized of his state. It was recommended that he should endeavour to sit up in the afternoon ; he rose accordingly ; and, on coming into the room which he usually occupied, his first words to me were, and his countenance brightened as he uttered them, . . ' Well, Townsoii is done at any rate.' The next day he again expressed his heart-felt thankfulness, that he had been spared to finish this good service, . . observing, with grateful emotion, ' If this had hap- pened, while Townson was but half done! My mind,' he then calmly added, ' is quite made up. I am prepared for the will of God, in life, or in death.' On Sunday night. May I7., he experienced an alarm- ing attack of spasm. The next evening he said to me, ' Last night was a very trying one : but I feel a perfect calm ; I never felt more happy. So it is, that what has been disagreeable in my long confinement, has lefl: no impression : the whole seems to have been a time of literary retreat and occupation.' The spasmodic affection returned wdth increased violence, in July, extending along the left side, and threatening the heart : but neither pain, nor danger, shook, for a single moment, the serenity of his mind : speaking of an attack of spasms on the night of the 27th, his observation was, ' I thought I w^as going to die, and I felt quite composed.' Providentially he was, at this time, under the roof of Sir Henry Halford, by whose affectionate care and skill his life and useful- ness were prolonged. To his own mind, the heaviest draw-back, connected with this recurrence of his malady, was the distance to which it inevitably threw his hitherto fair prospect, of returning to his diocese in sufficient liealth and strength to resume the personal discharge of his BISHOP JEBB. episcopal duties. In this view, he thought and spoke of his broken state with deep emotion : yet without anxious care, for he felt, to use his own words, ' that God had taken him into his own hands,' and that his first duty, as a christian, was, entire acquiescence in the Divine will concerning him. In his present situation, it was the judgment of his great medical friend, as indeed it was plain to all who saw him, that all hope of future recovery, and the preserv- ation of Hfe itself, depended upon an entire absti- nence from business, and the avoidance of all excite- ment. He returned, accordingly, in July, to Lea- mington ; and there remained until April in the following year. Though weaker than, since his first arrival in England, he had yet been in body, his mind continued strong and active as ever. Au- gust 4. he writes to Mr. Knox, ' Sunday, I had the comfort of receiving the Sacrament at Warwick chiu'ch. I am an early riser ; this morning I was somewhat later than usual, yet still was dressed, and at my desk, at half past seven o'clock.' The in- creased uncertainty of life, served only to make him more desirous, in the cause, and after the example of his heavenly Master, ' to work while it is called to- day.' The publication of Dr. Townson's Sermons, now much desired, afforded him, during the autumn, an employment suited to tlie measure of his strength. As this improved, he advanced to a more laborious undertaking, the preparation for the press of his own unpublished manuscripts ; including six discourses on the Liturgy of the Church of England, originally composed at Cashel ; . . discourses, of which it may safely be pronounced, that they set those venerable, and truly scriptural services, in a light, and to an advantage, in which they had not been placed before ; 272 LIFE OF and treat them in a manner equally calculated, to recommend them to the understanding, and to im- press them upon the heart. The work itself, his last original publication in theology, which came out in 1830, under the title of ' Practical Theology,' in two volumes 8vo., is too well known to the public, by whom it was received with its accustomed favour, to need any more detailed account of it in this place. It may suffice to observe, that, besides the discourses on the Liturgy, it contains some of Bisliop Jebb's most finished single sermons. Among these, I would venture to indicate discourses i. vii. xi. of vol. i. en- titled The Parable of the Sower, The Church divineh/ governed, and Transmissive Beligion ; and discourses xiv. xvi., . . the former, on Saint John, v. 39., Search the Scriptures : or ye search the Scriptures ; the latter, on Rom. viii. 3, 4., showing the practical bear- ing of that context, and of the entire epistle. In vol. ii., his discourse, from Revelation, xiv. 13., on the death of the righteous, will claim an interest in the mind of every reader, who desires to see the other world brought near to man in this life, or man, rather, brought near to the other world. Each sheet and revise of this publication, was corrected with his own left hand ; and, during the three months employed in bringing it through the press, he did not flag for a single day. Always desirous of some useful and edifying occu- pation, he gladly employed himself, in the interval between these publications, at the desire of a highly valued friend, the then Christian Advocate at Cam- bridge, in conducting through the press, one of the most important of those works in divinity, which have rendered the name of the Rev. H. J. Rose familiar to all true sons of the Church of England. I cannot BISHOP JEBB. introduce the mention of Mr. Rose, without grate- fully numbenng among the compensatory circum- stances of Bishop Jebb's long illness, the opportunity which it afforded him of forming the personal friend- ship of one, previously well known to him by his writings, but adequately to be known only in the happy hours of social intimacy, and by the constancy and kindness with which, amidst multiplied duties and engagements, he invariably reserved a portion of his time, to contribute to the happiness, while he profited by the example, of an ' emerited ' servant of the altar, by the visitation of God withdrawn from the world. I reflect with pleasure, that the memory of this truly christian friendship stands lastingly pre- served, in the beautiful dedication prefixed to the work above alluded to, Mr. Rose's ' Christianity always progressive.' * During his residence in York Terrace, in the winters of 1827 and 1828, the Bishop's retirement had been cheered by the occasional society of those friends, who had known and appreciated him in his days of health, t In the state of weakness, however, to which he was now reduced, pure air, and perfect quiet, became daily more essential to his comfort and * I cannot deny myself the pleasure, or the reader the profit, of introducing here some thoughts, from the private journal of a late able and enlightened layman, suggested by the perusal of that work. . . ' Read Mr. Rose's book : it is a beau- tiful work ; the argument convincing, the style eloquent, in some places superior to any thing modern, particularly the conclusion of chapters i. and iv. It is delightful to see the great talents of so many churchmen of this day, thus bene- ficially employed ; in various ways illustrating their country, instructing, and improving mankind : and it is particulai ly gratifying, that the Bishop should bold so distinguished a place among these worthies, and be, as I think he is, and, if life and strength be granted him, will be more and more, a principal means of their working together for the common good.'. . Mr. Justice Jebb ; Journal; Januari/, 1830. f I would here particularly mention the Rev. W. Vaux, Chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury. T LIFE OF safety. Accordingly, in March, 1830, he removed from Leamington, to East Hill, near Wandsworth, Surrey ; an airy and delightful situation ; perfectly retired, yet within an easy distance of town, and of Sir Henry Halford. Here, it pleased that gracious Providence, which had shielded him from his youth up until now, that he should find, in the respectable old ^dlla, known by the name of Wandsworth Manor, every comfort that his infirm state admitted or re- quired : . . it was his last earthly home. Nor, since it pleased Providence to order, that his remaining service in his Master's vineyard should be rendered with the mind alone, could England have yielded a more congenial resting-place, (though still with occa- sional removals to Leamington,) for the short, but well-filled remnant of his days. The commencement, indeed, of his residence at East Hill, was marked by a heavy and protracted return of sickness and languor. His friend, Sii' H. Halford, was now engaged at Windsor, in close attendance upon his late Majesty ; nor, for weeks together, could he revisit London for a day. Mean- while, by frequent loss of blood, to guard against apprehended returns of paralysis, the Bishop had sunk almost to the lowest stage of exhaustion. With Sir Henry's return, however, and the decided change of treatment w^iich he instantly prescribed, the alarming symptoms disappeared, and his strength gradually returned. His first expenditure of reviving power, was dedi- cated to the preparation of a manual of devotion, selected from the works of three bright lights, two of the Church of England, the first, of the episcopal Church of Scotland, Scougal, Charles How, and Cudworth : a selection from purely protestant writers, BISHOP JEBB. 915 designed to provide food for pious minds, analogous to the provision so long enjoyed by Roman catholic piety, in Thomas a Kempis, but free from the as- cetical alloy which disfigures that otherwise precious volume : this publication the Bishop gave to the world in October, under the appropriate title of Tlie Protestant Kempis. In the acceptance experienced by this experimental manual, he found the best, and only desired recompense of his labour. To many readers, all, to most, some of the treatises there col- lected, were previously unknown ; and the charm of novelty thus heightened that of intrinsic value. From the many valuable testimonies, to the service rendered by this publication, I shall select one only, . . an af- fecting testimony, because, while breathing the very spirit which had animated the editor in Iiis under- taking, it came from a venerable clergyman, whose situation resembled his own : . . ' If the Bishop will accept the blessing of an old man, now in his eighty- fourth year, for having, by his publication, smoothed his way to the grave, . . that blessing I would offer.' In August, the Bishop returned, after a visit at Wistow Hall, to Leamington, to try once more the efficacy of the baths and waters. But before I pro- ceed to notice his occupations there, some character- istic traits may not be unacceptable to the reader. . . In preparing for a journey, it was his invariable rule, that the last hour should be the quietest ; that all should be ready in time, so as to gain that hour for reading and recollection : by this practice, he secured that there should be no pretermissions, that nothing should be left behind. At a time, with most people, too commonly, one of hurry and confusion, he was usually to be seen, whether at home or at his inn, seated calmly, with his books before him ; and T 1 LIFE OF equally ready to read, or to converse, to the moment of departure. In the lowest weakness of liis frame, this good habit never abandoned him ; and, at the time of which I now write, he had the pleasure to receive friends at his eight o'clock breakfast, whom he delighted by his placid and instructive convers- ation, until the appointed moment for his setting out had arrived. Throughout his long, and oftentimes distressing malady, he always kept the same religious guard upon his time : his watch stood constantly before him, up- on his desk ; and, as each change in the duties of the day approached, his eye might be observed fixed in- tuitively upon his watch. In the morning, at family prayer-time, this was peculiarly observable ; at this more sacred time, he was certain to make a remark, if a guest or a servant were one minute late. For, with him, it was among the first rules of ' holy living,* to begin the day well. Whenever obliged to censure, or to say any thing in the least degree severe, to any one whomsoever, his next care was to soothe the feelings of the person, though really in fault. An instance of this tender- ness of nature, communicated to me by a friend, will illustrate what must have been often observed by those who enjoyed his intimacy. A footman having incurred a reprimand, on his leaving the room, the Bishop, after a moment's pause, said to my informant, * I fear I may have hurt * * * # * feelings ; pray ring the bell, I will tell him to bring some coals.' On the man's re-appearance, the Bishop praised him for his skill in fire-making. . . ' You make a fire particu- larly well, it is a pleasure to see you make one.' The poor fellow, whose fault had been a little slovenliness, went away soothed and gratified. The incident, BISHOP JEBB. 277 though trivial, is full of character ; it is equally full of moral instruction. We see human nature, here, tenderly consulted, and treated with true christian charity. It would be a blessing to society, were this thoughtful tenderness of feeling more prevalent among truly good men. His watchfulness over his words can be adequately expressed, only by observing, that his conversation was always regulated, strictly and literally, by our Lord's precept, St. Matth. v. 37. During our do- mestic intimacy of more than twenty years, I never heard an expression from his lips, which would not bear the test of this evangelic rule. Conversational expletives, accordingly, he deeply disliked, as tending, at least, to its violation ; and, as he never employed them himself, so he never let a fit opportunity escape of checking the use of them by others. In the last year of his life, a friend happening once to make use of the expression * upon my w^ord,' the Bishop said, with an earnest and solemn look, . . * Why do you use those words ? never accustom yourself to such ex- pressions. Remember our Lord's rule : . . " Let your communication be, yea, yea ; nay, nay : for whatso* ever is more than these, cometh of the Evil one." ' Sunday, May 12. 1833. This morning, I pointed out to the Bishop a melancholy passage, in the first volume of Dr. Currie's Memoirs, respecting Edward Gibbon ; in which the historian is described as ex- pressing to Mrs. Holroyd, a few days before death, the little or no hope he had of a future life, and his contentment with annihilation ! My friend's reply was, . . ' No one can say what may have taken place in his mind, even in the last day or two. I was once drowned, (alluding to his all but fatal accident at Rosstrevor, more than five and thirty years before,) . . T 3 278 LIFE OF and I know, by experience, how much thought may be crowded mto a single moment.' On my inquiring, whether he distinctly recollected the sensations he experienced while under water, he replied, . . * There was a great stunning, but I well recollect, that a vast train of thought came, on the moment, mto my mind/ Faith in a superintending Providence was, with him, not, as with too many, a mere speculative belief, but the governing principle of his daily life. As Almighty wisdom and power are equally discernible, in the formation of the minutest plant or flower, as in the creation of a world, so he believed, and lived conformably with the belief, that the superintendence of Providence was no less really and effectually ex- ercised, in ordering the course and concerns of indi- vidual life, than in directing the movements of armies, the fate of empires, or the advancement of civiliz- ation. But to qualify individuals for reaping the full benefits of this divine superintendence, he believed it to be, in conformity with the uniform teaching of holy Scripture, an indispensable pre-requisite, that they should *put their trust in God,' and never con- sciously take themselves out of his hands. To secure this great object, one rule of life, which he always observed himself, and constantly recommended to others, was this, . . to watch the indications of circum- stances as they arose, and never, unless where the voice of duty clearly called, to press any undertaking against opposing circumstances ; lest, by so doing, we should cross the course, or take ourselves out of the current, of God's providential dealings. This maxim he daily illustrated by his own practice ; and his invariable experience was, that, sooner or later, he found liimself richly overpaid by the resulting benefits. BISHOP JEBB, S79 This spirit of child-like affiance, whenever he was led to look back to preceding years of suffering, dictated, to the close of life, all his reflections. Thus, in February, 183^, he observed to me, in the manner of one thinking aloud, . . * When I think of past, and passing events, I feel not only resigned, but full of gratitude to Providence, for withdrawing me, by ill- ness, from active life, during the last five years. It has saved me so much thankless anxiety, where it would have been impossible to do any good ; and I have had great positive enjoyment in my retirement.' Again, in July, 1833, a few months only before his departure, as we sat together after dinner, at East Hill, the thoughts uppermost in his mind were thus beautifully expressed, in the manner of soliloquy: . . ' Well, the more I think of it, the more I am full of wonder and thankfulness at the goodness of Provi- dence to me. My illness, instead of a trial, has been made a source of continual delight and enjoyment. I am placed by it in this delightful situation. While I have the comfort to feel, that it is not my own doing ; that all as been done for me. God has taken me into his own hands ; and I have only to acquiesce in the Divine will.' A few evenings after, having rung the bell to go to rest, he said, in a tone that went irresistibly to the heart, . It 's a pleasant thing, Mr. Forster, to be brought to the state of a little child', to be put to bed ; to see it coming on t I thank God for it ! ' The heavenly expression of his countenance, as he thus gave vent to ' the abundance of the heart,' was a living comment upon our Lord's words, ' Who^ soever shall not receive the kingdom of God as d little child, shall in no wise enter therein.' At an earlier period of his illness, alluding, in conversation with a friend, to his helpless state, and his consequent T 4 LIFE OF dependence upon others, he added, in the same re- signed spirit, . . ' My illness has been no trial to me. I never loved bodily exercise ; and, while my ser- vants are good enough to think it not a trouble to carry me up and down stairs, I have every cause to be happy and thankful.' Speaking one evening of imaginary trials, he happened to say, . . ' I have had my share of trials,' . . but, instantly correcting him- self, added, with earnest emphasis, * God forgive me for saying so ! I have been most graciously dealt with. My trials have been few and slight indeed. I meant only to say, that I had had some ; sufficient to give me experience of what trial is.' To a spirit like this, no bodily suffering, indeed, could prove a trial. To apply words, which he has himself somewhere used to describe the advanced christian's frame, ' God's ways had become his ways, and God's pleasure his pleasure, and suffering itself a source of the purest and most unmixed enjoyment.' He seldom spoke of his own religious state, and still more seldom of the secret converse of his soul with God : upon these subjects, he thought a sacred de- licacy could not be too carefully observed. What passed within, therefore, could generally be gathered, even by his nearest friends, only from indirect intima- tions. One such intimation may be found in his * Pro- testant Kempis ' : it is given in a passage from the Life of George Herbert, prefixed by the Bishop, as a motto, to How's Meditations. I never can forget the emo- tion experienced, when, on first opening the book, my eye fell unexpectedly upon this quotation, which, though he never once mentioned or alluded to it, I well knew delineated, to the life, his own state of body and of mind : * Sir, I pray, give my brother Farrer an account of the decaying condition of my body. BISHOP JEBB. ^81 and tell him, I beg him to continue his daily prayers for me : and let him know, that I have considered, that God only is what he would be ; and that I am, by his grace, become now so like him, as to be pleased with what pleaseth him : and tell him, that I do not repine, but am pleased with my want of health : and tell him, my heart is fixed on that place where true joy is only to be found : and that I long to be there, and do wait for my appointed change with hope and patience.' * In June, 1830, he was deeply aifected by the death of his friend, the Rev. William Phelan, D.D., and by the destitute condition of the widow, and orphan daughters, of that truly able and excellent man. Nor did he allow his feelings, on this melan- choly occasion, to expend themselves in idle sym- pathy, but applied himself at once, with heart and hand, to meet the exigency of the case. On the same day on which the tidings reached him, he wrote to influential quarters in Dublin, to suggest a subscription for the family, honourably founded on the publication of his departed friend's Remains. Upon his removal to Leamington, this work of mercy became his chief daily occupation : in one day, he wrote no fewer than thirteen letters, with his left hand, in behalf of the proposed subscription ; an ex- ertion which will be better understood, in his state of * In one of the Bishop's Scrap-books, of the year 1811-12, I find an extract, too beautifully in accordance with the above quotation, and too happily illustra- tive of the habits of thought, in which he uniformly lived, to be withheld from tiie reader. * Dying prayer of John Kettlewell, App. to his Life, No. xxii. Works, Vol. i. xxix.' " I wait, O God ! for that everlasting rest, which I want at present, but shall not want long. I am ready, when thou, my God, callest me ; yet can stay with patience, till thou pleasest; for thy time is the best time, and thy pleasure the best pleasure," LIFE OF health, when I mention, that it took^him an hour to write one ordinary letter. He had the happiness to find his exertions crowned with complete success, . . the subscription eventually raised, amounting to a sum little short of two thousand pounds. A visit from his brother, and two of his nephews, in September, contributed much to his happiness, at this time. Though no longer able to walk, he con- tinued his practice of being first at the wells ; to which he was taken in a bath chair, between six and seven o'clock in the morning, accompanied by his friends, to whom he seemed to communicate his own cheerful spirit. Immediately after their departure from Leamington, he entered vigorously upon the task of editing Dr. Phelan's works, in fulfilment of his engagement to the subscribers. This interesting employment occupied, during the ensuing winter, whatever time was left disposable amidst repeated returns of illness and languor, which more than once raised just apprehensions of a failure in the constitu- tion * : after a struggle, hoAvever, it again rallied : and, on his return to Wandsworth, in April, 1831, he prosecuted, and even enlarged his editorial labours, by publishing, under the title of * Pastoral Instructions,' a selection from his own former publications, designed especially as a token of affectionate remembrance for the clergy of his diocese.t * At this trying period, October, 1830, it pleased God that I should be be- reaved of my surviving parent, . . the best of fathers; who, * in a good old age,' and in the maturity of every christinn grace, was now gently summoned hence. In this, as in my former great trial, in September, 1827, (when my mother died, like him, * the death of the righteous,') the Bishop seemed to forget his own state and sufferings, in his sympathy with his friend. He wlio, under his manifold afflictions of body, seemed to stand most in need of comfort, now showed himself the truest, and most effectual of comforters. f He thus expresses himself, in a pas-^age prefixed to this volume : . . * With- drawn, at least for a season, bv the visitation of Divine Providence, from the im- BISHOP JEBB. 283 It was while thus engaged, in the only way now left open to him, in his Master's service, that it pleased divine Providence to prepare him, by one of the heaviest bereavements which his affectionate heart could sustain, for his own appointed change. This new affliction was, the death of Alexander Knox. On friday morning, June I7., his great and good friend was taken to his reward : his life had been a bright pattern of christian excellence ; his convers- ation, one perennial flow of evangelic wisdom and goodness ; and he was blest accordingly at the last, for his end was peace. The letter announcing Mr. Knox's death, by the considerate kindness of a com- mon friend *, had been addressed to me, in order that the Bishop, in his broken state, might be spared too direct a shock. It found me labouring under severe illness. As the only way of breaking gently to him our great loss, I sent to request a visit from the Bishop. He was carried, accordingly, to my room. After a few words of general conversation, he in- quired from whom I had heard, and thus gave the desired opportunity. I had often seen him under affliction, but never before saw him similarly affected. It was his nature to be stunned, rather than melted, by grief ; but, under this blow, his heart found irre- pressible vent in tears : at other times he has wept. mediate performance of episcopal duties, the author has long desired to give some proof, that, though absent in person, he was, in spirit and affection, still present with his flock. To this desire, the following selection owes its origin. His first intention was merely to print a private edition for the use of his own diocese, but, in compliance with the suggestion of his publisher, the impression has been some- what extended. . . J. L. ' East Hill, Wandsworth, April 18. 1831.' * The Rev. Charles Dickinson, now rector of St. Anne's, Dublin, . . the friend of Charles Wolfe ; who will, I trust, forgive this public acknowledgment of his kindness. 284 LIFE OF but not, as now, day after dav. Yet amidst his sor- row, the characteristic kindness, which always led him to think for others, did not fail him. His first words, on learning the tidings, were an expression of regret, tliat he had not himself broken the seal, and spared me the trial of a sudden shock, in my then weak state. Leaving the room for a short time, he returned with a volume, containmg the handwriting of Mr. Knox. He had gone, it appeared, to write my name in it, as a memorial of the friendship of the three ; and as he gave it, he burst into tears. A circumstance, which occurred shortly after, may be given here, as one instance, among many, of his way of doing benevolent actions. A case of great distress had been brought before me, that of a person with whom my family had been well acquainted in early life, and which required for its relief the imme- diate advance of oO/., which it was proposed to raise by subscription. The Bishop, seemg that I was shocked by the intelligence which I had received, desired to know what it was. The moment he had read the letter, he took a sheet of paper, wrote at the top a di'aft on his Dublin banker, for the amount in full, and, handing me the paper, said, ' You can \mte your answer to the poor widow's application under- neath.' Although, through life, so great a lover and pur- chaser of books, he never, it is worthy of remark, bought in the spirit of a collector. His purchases were made for use. And, in making them, accord- ingly, he was equally on his guard against the indul- » gence of curiosity or ostentation. If, in any instance, he seemed to relax his rule, the exception, it would be found, was made in kindness to a deser\'mg book- seller or artist, or out of benev^olence to some less BISHOP JEBB. 285 favoured votary of learning. On one occasion, for example, hearing a friend express his regret, that a copy of a voluminous system of divinity (being one of fourteen only, printed by the author himself, a venerable clergyman of Devonshire then recently deceased, . . the labour of many years, . . and of which his friend had the disposal, for the benefit of the family) had been declined by book collectors of the highest rank and wealth, on account of the price asked, which was 50/., the Bishop immediately said, that the question was one, not of bibliomaniacism, but of charity, and that he would take the book. On another occasion, being much struck and interested by Mr. Allan Cunningham's account of Blake, in his ' Lives of the British Painters,' he expressed his feeling by remitting 20/. to a friend, with a commis- sion to purchase drawings, by that eminent artist and excellent man, to this amount, for the relief of his destitute and deserving widow. Upon the question of combined literary efforts, for the support and advancement of religion, he was less sanguine than many of his friends. The conversation turning one day, about this time, upon the failure of a theological journal ; and a friend having spoken of the failure, as, at least, harmless : . . ' No,' replied the Bishop, * it was not harmless. There never yet was an unsuccessful effort made, that did not do harm ; and in many ways, though often unperceived.' The winter of 1831, he passed at Leamington. And, although suffering so much from illness, as to be unable, for many weeks together, to venture into the air, he composed, during this time of severe bodily trial, the last, and perhaps the most interesting of his smaller works, . . a Biographical Memoir of the Rev. William Phelan, D. D. The materials had been 286 LIFE OF furnished by Dr. Ph elan's widow, and three of his most intimate friends. Their rich and various con- tributions, falling into a hand hke his, have been blended together in a memoir, which will bear com- parison with any biographical sketch in the English language ; and which, though in a different style, may be pronounced worthy to stand beside his own favourite model. Archdeacon Churton's* Life of the venerable Town son. Biography had always been Bishop Jebb's favourite study ; and he thought instruction conveyed through this channel, the kind of instruction most likely to do good. Accordingly, he had no sooner completed the publication of Dr. Phelan's Life and Remains, than he turned his thoughts to the re-publication, with prefatory treatises and notes, of a biographical work, the fit companion of AValton's Lives, and Dr. Wordsworth's Ecclesiastical Biography, . . Bishop Bur- net's Lives of Sir Matthew Hale, and of John, Earl of Rochester, together with Characters selected from his History of his own Times, his Funeral Sermon on the Hon. Robert Boyle, and the Conclusion of his Address to Posterity. To this design, which he had contemplated for some years, he seriously addressed himself, upon his * The name of Archdeacon Churton, is gratefully associated in my mind, with that of a venerated nobleman, the Viscount Sidmouth ; between whom and the Biographer of Townson, a friendship, uninterrupted by * the cares of state,' had subsisted from their Oxford days ; and from whom, ' fond to forget the states- man in the friend,' the Bishop, both in London and during his residence in the neighbourhood of Richmond Park, experienced the most constant, and the kindest attentions. I trust I shall be forgiven for the liberty taken, in making this acknowledgment I could not suppress it, without injustice to the feelings of my friend ; who deeply partook the national respect for a nobleman, whose every act, in public and private life, has been a comment on his character, as drawn by Mr. Southey, in his history of the Peninsular war, . . ' a man who never, in a single instance, allowed either personal or party feeling to prevail over his natural integrity.' BISHOP JEBB. 287 return to Wandsworth, in the spring of 1832. The following is his published account of the under- taking : . . * This impression of Burnet's Lives, has been formed on the basis of an edition, published in Ireland, in the year 1803, and since frequently re- printed there, under the direction of the Association for Discountenancing Vice, &;c. To the first and second Dublin editions, and to all subsequent ones, two prefaces were given, by the late Alexander Knox, Esq. : and, several years ago, the present writer, asked, and obtained permission, from Mr. Knox, to republish in London, the Lives, &c., accom- panied by those prefaces. Circumstances inevitably postponed the fulfilment of this purpose ; but they only postponed it. And the editor has, now, the melancholy gratification, of presenting that, as a tri- bute to the memory of his friend, in which, he once fondly hoped, that friend might have afibrded counsel by his judgment, and, perhaps, encouragement by his approbation.' To Mr. Knox's two prefaces, he prefixed an intro- duction, containing the since w^ell-known letter, by that friend, on Christian preaching ; and illustrated the volume by his own notes and reflections : ' the latter,' observes his reviewer in the British Critic, * affording channels, through which issue forth the overflowings of a capacious mind, richly stored with the most choice and varied reading ; ITaO^a /xsv aXX« The work was published in 1833, in 8vo., and with so favourable a reception, that, before the close of the year, it was judged advisable by his publisher to reprint it in 12mo. Burnet's Lives had scarcely appeared, when he 288 LIFE OF received a testimony as gratifying, as it was unex- pected, to his previous labours. ' New York, U. S. A., Feb. 27. 1833. ' My Lord, * At the request of the standing Committee of the Protestant Episcopal Press, I forward a copy of your Lordship's late compilation, * The Protestant Kempis,' with the humble request of the Committee that your Lordship would be pleased to accept of the same, as a slight testimonial of the estimation, in which your Lordship's character and eminent services to the Church of Christ, of which you are a pillar and an ornament, are held, in the transatlantic branch of that Church ; and, in particular, of gratitude for the highly acceptable and useful addition to the devo- tional treasures of the English language, which they rejoice to have been instrumental in circulating in a ' New World.' * In behalf of the Committee, * W. R. Whittingham, * Editor. ' Bishop Jebb will excuse the overflowings of a grateful heart, if one who, for years, has loved and admired him in his writings, cannot close an official communication, without appending some expression of the ardent admiration which he entertains ; and giving his feeble testimony to the sense which is here, as every where, where sound learning and true devotion are known and valued, most deeply felt, and freely expressed, concerning the author of * Prac- tical Sermons,' ' Sacred Literature,' and * Practical Theology.' * W. R. Whittingham.' BISHOP JEBB. 289 The spirit in which the Bishop received this truly catholic testimony, happily is preserved in a blank leaf of his copy of the American edition of * Piety without Asceticism.' * A copy of this American impression was sent to me, with a very courteous address, by the promoters and directors of the Protestant Episcopal Press, New York. The address, forwarded by post, duly came to hand ; the volume, entrusted to some other mode of conveyance, never reached me. Fortu- nately, however, I had procured it through my book- seller ; and I wish it to be preserved, as a memorial of the communion, and mutual good offices, which ought to subsist, between kindred branches of the Church of Christ. ' John Limerick. 'July 11. 1833.' In July, he received a second communication from Mr. Whittingham, announcing an American edition of his * Burnet's Lives,' as already in the press. Besides this impression of the book itself, the Bishop's Introduction, containing Mr. Knox's letter on what Christian preacliing ought to be, was printed this year, at the Protestant Episcopal Press, for general circulation among the clergy. The publications thus highly appreciated abroad, were not less usefully influential at home. Many private testimonies to the quiet good thus diffused, reached the editor from time to time, and encou- raged him to similar labours. I shall confine myself to mentioning one such testimony, communicated to myself: a gentleman who had recently become known to the Bishop, asked me one day to let him look into a copy of the Protestant Kempis. He opened the ^90 LIFE OF volume at p. 269., and pointing to a note at the foot of the page, he observed, ' that he knew a fimily, which had been led to study the works of Bishop Taylor (whom previously they had known only by name), by that single note of Bishop Jebb.' His quotation made so deep an impression, that the family in question procured Taylor's works, on the strength of it ; and had since become intimately conversant with his writings. The anecdote is a proof of the service which may be rendered, in a line or two, where taste and judgment are directed to the pro- motion of good. This one quotation was, probably, more effective, than the most laboured panegyric. In August he undertook a journey to Lancashire, to \isit his friend the Rev. J. J. Hornby, at Winwick. The effort proved more than his strength was now equal to, and he was much indisposed during his stay. On his return, he spent a few days, at ]\Iilton Bryan, with the Dowager Lady Inglis, widow of the late Sir Hugh Inglis, Bart. ; whose simplicity of cha- racter, and warmth of heart, justly endeared her to her family and friends, and to him were peculiarly congenial, springing as they did from the highest influences of Christianity. Upon the publication of Burnet's Lives, he re- ceived a seal to his editorial labours, beyond all other earthly testimony grateful to his feelings, as a bishop of the church, in two affectionate Addresses, from the dean and clergy of Limerick, and from the clergy of Ardfert, the former in ]\Iarch, the latter in April, 1833. These Addresses, with the Bishop's answers, throw a grateful light upon the closing scene of life. BISHOP JEBB. * To the Right Rev, the Lord Bishop of Limerick, ' Limerick, March 25. 1833. * In acknowledging the receipt of a publication of * Burnet's Lives/ enriched with so much new and valuable matter, edited by your Lordship, chiefly for the use of the clergy of your diocese, and munifi- cently distributed among them, we would express our sincere and heartfelt thanks, for this second proof of your affectionate remembrance ; and would also beg to assure your Lordship, that we duly appreciate the singleness of purpose, which induces you to oc- cupy the season, during which you have been with- drawn, by the visitation of divine Providence, from the immediate performance of your episcopal duties, . . in preparing instruction and advice for the clergy, and, through them, in providing a constant supply of spiritual food for the people entrusted to their care. ' Earnestly praying, that it may please the Great Shepherd to renew your strength, and to continue, for a long period, to this portion of his flock, the blessing of your superintendence, * We beg to remain, ' Your Lordship's most faithful servants ' in Christ Jesus, Arthur Preston (Dean Wm. W. Maunsell. of Limerick). John Fitzgerald. John Croker. James Ellard. J. DuDDELL. Edward Croker. Edward Herbert. Thomas Croker. Samuel Jones. Robert Croker. William Lewis. John Cousins. Thos. Westropp, jun. Godfrey Massey. Henry H. Rose. Joseph Gabbett. Thos. G. Willis. P. Smith. Chas. Warburton. Jos. Gabbett. u 2 ^9^ LIFE OF Joseph Jones. Samuel B. Leonard. James Bennett. E. Herbert. Dawson Massy. Richard Moore. Richard Maunsell. Thomas Maunsell.' Thomas Gibbings. William Maunsell. James Ellard, jun. Henry Gubbins. Thomas Willis. The Bishop's Answer. « East Hill, Wandsworth, June 6. 1833. * My dear Dean, * At first, a trifling, but rather incapacitating ill- ness, and afterwards, a press of business, that could not well wait, caused an apparently scandalous ne- glect of mine, in not replying sooner to your kind letter, enclosing an affecting Address from the clergy of the diocese of Limerick. This, I am sure, your kindness will excuse, and I would ask of you the additional favour, to express my deep sense of obli- gation to them, not only for their language, and truly christian wishes, on this occasion, but for the feelings which they have repeatedly evinced towards me, during the space of more than ten years. That I am providentially withheld from the performance of active duty among them, would be a source of permanent regret, were I not satisfied that the visit- ation proceeds from One who careth for us ; and, while I have ability, I shall never cease to employ my pen (the only means now left me), in promoting, to the best of my power, their everlasting interests. Meantime, it is a great consolation to my inmost spirit, that, in times of almost unprecedented diffi- culty, their conduct, wherever it is known, proves that they are faithful servants of a Divine Master. BISHOP JEBB. 293 * Believe me, my dear Dean, with sincerest re- spect and esteem, * Your friend, and brother in Christ, ' John Limerick. ' The Very Rev. the Dean of Limerick.* * To the Lord Bishop of Limerick, * Tralee, April 10. 1833. ' My Lord, * We, the undersigned clergy of your diocese of Ardfert and Aghadoe, request your Lordship to ac- cept our assurances of regret, at the precarious state of health, which deprives us of the benefit and plea- sure of your residence amongst us. * While expressing our sincere wishes for your Lordship's complete restoration to health, and per- sonal superintendence of your diocese, we beg to ac- knowledge, with much gratitude, the theological works, which your Lordship has honoured your clergy by offering for their acceptance. We prize them, not only for their intrinsic value, but also as proofs, that, though absent in person, you are in spirit and affection still present with us ; and that distance does not diminish your anxiety that our souls may prosper, in all things pertaining to the christian character and ministry. * With every sentiment of respect, ' We beg to subscribe ourselves, ' Your Lordship's obliged and obedient servants, R. Conway Hurly. Henry Denny. Anthony Denny. George Hickson. A. B. Rowan. James Alton. A. Mackintosh. R. L. Tyner. John G. Day. George G. Gubbins. John Kerin. Thoj^as Goodman. u 3 294 LIFE OF John Goodman. William Curtis. Richard F. Swindle. Edward Day. Edward M. Denny. William Godfrey. Charles P. Thomas. Bastable Herbert. Samuel Matthews. James P. Chute. Barry Denny. Francis A. Chute. John R. Fitzgerald. John Murphy. Edwin Thomas. Arthur Herbert. Richard Plummer. Edward Nashe.' The Bishop's Answer. « East Hill, Wandsworth, June 5. 1833. ' My dear Sir, ' At the time of receiving your kind letter, enclosing an affectionate Address from the clergy of the diocese of Ardfert, I was prevented, by temporary indisposi- tion, from answering, as I much wished ; and, since, some indispensable avocations have deprived me of the necessary leisure. * I do not pay my friends so ill a compliment as formally to answer, what never was formally meant, . . their Address manifestly came from the heart ; and I pray that its good and christian wishes, may return an hundred fold into their own bosoms. As oppor- tunity offers, I know you will have pleasure in con- veying to them individually, my sense of w^hat they have in common so feelingly expressed. ' Believe me, my dear Mr. Hurly, ' Your obliged and affectionate brother in Christ, * John Limerick. * Rev. R. Conway Hurly, Tralee.' The shock which the Bishop experienced, on the announcement, in the House of Commons, by Vis- count Althorp, of the ministerial measure for the BISHOP JEBB. 295 improvement of the Protestant church m Ireland, by the extinction of nearly one half of her ancient Bishoprics, was most severe. The first movement of his mind, however, on recovering himself under this blow, instead of indulging in fruitless repinings, or im- patient complaints, was to pronounce a solemn bene- diction upon the church of England. ' Well,' he exclaimed, ' whether we stand, or fall, and whether she be, or be not, ready to befriend us, I now say, and would repeat it with my latest breath, (lifting upwards, as he spoke, his only available hand,) may God bless the church of England ! She has been the brightest and most glorious light, that has arisen in the christian world, since the apostolic times. By the principles which she has maintained, and by the many burning and shining lights to whom she has given birth, she has done more for the advancement of Christianity, than any church or communion under heaven, since the days of the apostles : and what I said before, I now say again, and would desire to repeat it with my dying breath, . . whether the church in Ireland is to stand or fall, may God bless and prosper the church of England ! ' In October, 1832, he enjoyed a visit from his bro- ther, accompanied by his eldest son. At this time, though weak and low in health, he voluntarily under- took to sit for a full length portrait, as a memorial of his friendship for me. The likeness, that prefixed to the life, was taken by George Richmond, Esq. ; but, during the sittings, the Bishop's indisposition in- creased so much, that he was obliged to suspend them, and leave the picture unfinished. He never after, in the short remainder of life, was equal or fit to resume them. Happily, however, the likeness was already secured. u 4 296 LIFE OF An attack of jaundice, the precursor, it after- wards proved, of his release, was now coming on ; as the winter advanced, the disorder increased to an alarming degree ; and at Christmas it had reached its height : the remaining strength of his constitution, however, directed by medical skill*, proved once more equal to the conflict. His ever-active spirit anticipating his returning strength, early in 1833, he projected a more ex- tended and original publication : a biographical work, to be entitled ' Select Worthies of the Anglican Church/ The design, if completed, he thought would extend to six 12mo. volumes ; and was meant to include the lives of forty-two eminent men, as well lay as ecclesiastic, belonging to these countries. He began with the Life of Sir Henry Savile ; and having completed it so far as his scanty materials allowed, he printed a few specimens ; one of which he sub- mitted to His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury, and a second he presented to his friend the Rev. C. A. Ogilvie, with a view to obtaining a judgment upon his project, on which he could rely; and, in the event of a favourable judgment, to procuring access to any original materials possibly existing, in the archiepiscopal library at Lambeth, and in that of Merton College, Oxford. The encouragement which his plan received from the highest quarter, animated him to increased exertion ; and he even contem- plated, broken in health as he now was, a visit to the library of Eton College. But he soon felt that his spirit had outlived his strength ; and that the failing * During the period if his residence at East Hill, he was fortunate in the medical care, and watchful attention, of Thomas Chapman, Esq. of Wands- worth ; whose skilful treatment at this crisis, under Providence, contributed to prolong my friend's life. BISHOP JEBB. body was unequal to the task, in which the saHent mind would have delighted. One day, accordingly, in the autumn of 1833, looking placidly over his last original fragment, he told me that he felt the undertaking to be beyond his strength \ and that it was the part of wisdom to lay it down. I never shall forget his look, as he relinquished his last effort for the church of Christ, at the will of his heavenly Father : it was a look so calm, so pure, so full of thankful resignation, as to bespeak a heart which had forgotten the pains of earth, in the anticipated joys of heaven. Of those unfading joys, he is now for ever a partaker : but my thoughts never return to that look and mo- ment, without their recalling the requiem of Bishop Doane, upon the departure of a kindred spirit to his : . . ' The wise old man is gone I His honoured head lies low, And his thoughts of power are done, And his voice's manly flow ; And the pen that for truth, like a sword was drawn, Is still and soulless now. * The brave old man is gone ! With his armour on he fell ; Nor a groan, nor a sigh was drawn, When his spirit fled, to tell : For mortal suflerings, keen and long, Had no power his heart to quell. * The good old man is gone ! He has gone to his saintly rest, Where no sorrow can be known, And no trouble can molest : For his crown of life is won. And the dead in the Lord are blest I * 298 LIFE OF Next only to his own progress in the christian life, the subject which, during the last year of his pil- grimage, manifestly most occupied Bishop Jebb's thoughts and heart, was, the progress of reformed Episcopal Christianity in the New World. Upon this point, he has himself expressed his sentiments, in his edition of Burnet's Lives : and I know I am doing what he would have had me do, in letting those sentiments stand on record in this place, as those nearest to him at the last. . . Mr. Knox, in his second preface to Burnet, had stated, that the happy com- bination, in the public worship of God, of the reason- able with the attractive, so far as it yet exists, exists in the English church alone. Upon this statement, the Bishop, in a note, observes as follows : . . ' The late excellent editor, had he, at the time, been equally aware of their soundness and importance, as in his latter days, he certainly was, would, undoubt- edly, have made honourable mention, of the Scotch and American episcopal churches. Let it, however, be recollected, that nearly thirty years have now elapsed, since the original publication of this preface ; and that, within the last ten years especially, primitive Christianity has been advancing with unwonted vigour, at the other side of the Atlantic. * Certainly, a church which daily recals the still verdant memory of such names as Dehon and Ho- bart, and which yet rejoices in the patriarchal energy of White, and the manly vigour of the Onderdonks, has no reason to be despondent of a future. The latest publication which has reached us from ' tlie American strand,' affords, perhaps, a brighter prospect of sound, uncompromising church principles, than any with which we have been lately gratified. I am sure, that I sliall not only be excused, but thanked, BISHOP JEBB. 299 for producing from it, the following extract : . . * Of Philippi,' (a church and city, of which the text na- turally induced the mention,) ' I know not whether a vestige now remains. Macedonia, the province, then, of Rome, has passed from hand to hand, and been, by turns, the battle-ground of tyrants, and the skulking-place of slaves, till the bare name alone is left. And even the Roman empire, then shadowing over, in her high and palmy state, the subject world, has shed long her branching honours, and bowled down her towering trunk, and perished from the root. While here, to-day, in a new world, of which no poet then had dreamed, after the lapse of seventeen ages, and at the distance of five thousand miles, . . the gospel, which Paul preached, is pro- claimed ; the sacraments, which Paul transmitted, are administered ; and a council of the church, with their Epaphroditus at their head, is assembled, in the name of God, and in his service, in precisely the same orders, laymen, deacons, presbyters, which Paul addressed at Philippi. * * Let there a man rise up now, that can give, on human principles, a satisfactory solution of this strange exemption from human change and dissolu- tion ! Let there a christian man come forward, and, in the sight of God, declare his clear conviction, that this thing could be so, but by the special and immediate interposition of the Providence of God, . . the same divine assurance that has kept tlie Gospel from extinction, or corruption, also preserving the ministry, and the sacraments of the church of Christ, in their original character and form ! The Gospel is but a book : . . and yet, while the writings of the most distinguished authors, contemporary with its composition, have perished wholly, or remain in few 300 LIFE OF and scattered fragments, . . its sacred contents are still held by us, entire and unimpaired. The sacra- ments of baptism, and the Lord's supper, are, out- wardly, but ceremonies : . . and yet, while all the gorgeous rites, and glittering apparatus, of the false religions, with the pomp, and pageantry, and splen- dour, of kingdoms and empires that controlled the world, have vanished like the clouds at sunset, these simple offices, . . the sprinkling of the inflnifs brow, with the pm-e water of the baptismal font ; the meek, unostentatious banquet of the bread and wine, which the Lord once broke, and blessed, and commanded to be received, . . still hold their place, in every land where Jesus is proclaimed ; are still received by countless millions as pledges of their salvation, and emblems of the love that bought it. The distinction of the ministry into three orders, with the exclusive power of self-perpetuation in tlie highest, if it be not ordained of God, is but the arrangement of human skill, or the device of human ambition ; . . and yet, while all the governments on earth have changed in form, once and again, within the Christian era ; while revolution has succeeded revolution, and emperors, consuls, kings, dictators, . . come like shadows, have so departed, . . the arrangement which we claim as apos- tolical, the arrangements which we find in the Philip- pian church, is still, under all forms of civil government, preserved ; has never, in the tract of ages, suffered in- terruption ; against all adverse circumstances, . . pride, prejudice, poverty, indilference, treachery, . . is still maintained, by more than nineteen twentieths of all that bear the Christian name ; and by none who do maintain it, into whatever other corruption they may liave fallen, (I mention it as an incontestible flict, and full of matter for deep contemplation,) have the great BISHOP JEBB. 301 doctrines of the gospel, the proper divinity of Jesus Christ, and the atonement for all sin by his blood, ever been denied.' ' * In the autumn of 1833, the Bishop had the happi- ness of receiving a letter from Bishop Doane, an- nouncing the American re-publication of his Burnet's Lives ; expressing his strong sense of the profit, which, for many years, he had derived from his writings ; and warmly responding to his spirit of catholic fellowship, towards the American episcopal church. This communication was accompanied and followed by gifts of Bishop Doane's occasional public- ations, and of reprints from the Protestant Episcopal Press of New York ; tokens of brotherly affection which he so prized, that he placed, and kept them by his side, on one of the small tables, which held the few chosen books, for his daily use or reference ; and the last of which (as though intended for his burial, entitled, * The dead who die no more,') reached East Hill only the day after, . . to apply his own words, at the close of his Memoir of William Phelan, . . ' he was gone, we may unpresumptuously hope, through the merits and mediation of a Divine Re- deemer, to that state, where the aspirings of a puri- fied spirit shall be no longer weighed down, by the pressure of a mortal body.' Before we reach the close, however, some things still remain. During his residence in the neighbourhood of London, he had gradually formed a large addition to his library; and finding that his editorial under- * < The Gospel, in the Church : . . a Sermon, delivered at the Annual Con- vention of the Protestant Episcopal Church, Massachusetts ; Wednesday, June 20. 1832, by George Washington Doane, Rector of Trinity Church, Boston' (now Bishop of New Jersey), . . BurneCs Lives, Bishop Jebb's edition, 8vo. pp. lix. . . Ixi. ; 12mo. pp. liv. . . Ivi. 302 LIFE OF takings required a much wider range of reading, than this supplementary stock of books afforded, he, in the summer of this year, had brought over the bulk of his collection from Ireland ; the united collections forming a library of about nine thousand volumes, chiefly theological, and all chosen for use and service, in which the folios bore a very unusual proportion to the other sizes. To put this apparatus into perfect order, a skilful binder and repairer of books was brought to the house ; and the opportunities thus presented, at once of reviewing his old and chosen companions, and of superintending this process, af- forded him cheering recreation. So that, feeble as he had become in body, he yet (such was the good- ness of Providence to him to the end) more truly enjoyed the last six months of life, than any period since his great affliction. The brightness of his countenance, and the serenity of his happy spirit, might almost have led those who most loved him, into forgetfulness of the decay of the outward taber- nacle. Yet, at the time of which we speak, his strength was nearly at the lowest ebb : he could not attempt to move, nor could he even stand, unsup- ported. At this period, it pleased God to grant him two special intimations, which, after the example of the great apostle of the Gentiles, he did not fail to apply, and to improve, * That the time of his departure was at hand.' These gentle warnings were, the deaths of two of his most revered friends, Mr. Wilberforce, and Mrs. Hannah More : the former, on monday, July 27., the latter, on Saturday, September 7. 1833. His estimate of Hannah More, and the strength of their friendship, need not be dwelt on here : they are preserved, both in his correspondence with Mr. Knox, BISHOP JEBB, 303 and in his letters to other friends ; while the regard which that ornament of her sex and of cln'istianity entertained for him, is recorded in her Life. Mr. Wilberforce he regarded, if possible, with still deeper veneration. Nor have I ever known him to experience higher enjoyment, than when, in the win- ter of 1829, he passed some days at High-wood Hill, Middlesex, under the roof, and in the free converse, of that illustrious friend and benefactor of his kind.* But, while always aware of his feelings towards him, it was not until death had separated between them, that I fully understood the nature and amount of the Bishop's obligation : then it was, that, for the first and only time, he mentioned to me, that to Mr. Wilberforce, and the perusal of his View of Chris- tianity, he owed his first personal impressions of ex- * Their names have been very happily united, in the dedication prefixed to * Two Discourses, occasioned by the Death of W. Wilberforce, Esq., and preached in Camden chapel, St. Pancras, in August, 1833. By the Rev. A. C. L. D'Arblay, M. A., Fellow of Christ College, Cambridge.' * To the ' Right Reverend John Jebb, D. D. * Bishop of Limerick, Ardfert and Aghadoe. < My Lord, * To one of the purest and best of departed spirits, I have here paid the last tribute of respect. To one of the purest and best of those that yet remain, I beg to dedicate these pages. May I hope that you will graciously accept this very imperfect token of reverence for your public character, and gratitude for your private friendship ? * That your Lordship may long continue to adorn the church of Christ by your example, and * Sacred Literature ' by your talents, is the fervent prayer of, < My Lord, * Your Lordship's most devoted servant, * A. D'Arblay.' It was in Camden Chapel, in 1828, that the Bishop first formed the ac- quaintance of Mr. D'Arblay. Soon after, he enjoyed the privilege of becoming known to his mother, Madame D'Arblay, the last surviving friend of Johnson. This frendship may justly be numbered among the blessings, with which the goodness of Providence cheered the last few years of his earthly pilgrimage. LIFE OF perimental religion. The copy of tliat work which, amidst its countless triumphs, produced this happy result, is in my possession. It was my privilege to follow the moital remains of William Wilberforce to Westminster Abbey : that day the Bishop was on his bed, much, though not alarmingly, indisposed : on my return from the Abbey, I went to his room, in the dress wdiich I had worn at the funeral. He looked thoughtfully, and then calmly said, . . ' Lay that scarf and hatband carefully by ; they will serve you for another occasion : ' I but too well understood him, and he was religiously obeyed. Notwithstanding, however, this, and other occa- sional appearances of presentiment, his cheerfulness of spirit, and activity of mind, continued unabated; and, in conformity with his rule of life, ' always to look on the bright side of things,' he more usually spoke, as if he thought better of himself. * In August, his brother, always ready to forego, what few equally enjoyed, . . his family and home, at the call of friendship and fraternal alfection, . . once more came over from Ireland, accompanied by his eldest son : my brother, also, . . one of his oldest and fastest friends, who had not seen him from the day of his departure from Limerick; where, during more than six years, he had conducted, as A^icar General and Commissary, the affairs of the united dioceses, and maintained, in conjunction with the Bishop's * • I cannot omit to mention, that I never knew any man, who was less dis- posed to querulousness than Johnson. Whether the subject was his own situ- ation, or the state of human nature in general, though he saw the evils, his mind was turned to resolution, and never to whining or complaint.'. . BosnH'irs Li/i'f a. p. 342. Having had occasion so often to point out characterisuc resemblances between Dr. Johnson and Bp. Jebb, I may be allowed to notice here, as not a little remarkable, that they were born in the same month, September; died in the same month, December J and at the same hour of the evening, seven o'clock. BISHOP JEBB. 305 nephew, the Rev. John Jebb, the strictness of the examinations for holy orders, . . now had the great happiness of visiting him at Wandsworth. During my unavoidable absence in September, when he ex- perienced a severe relapse of jaundice, I had the comfort to know, that he was in the care of those friends, who had often affectionately ministered to him in sickness ; and that my brother, who had at- tended him through his most trying sufferings, both at Abington and in Limerick, was of the number. Returned to East Hill, September 21., I found him, through the skilful treatment of Mr. Chapman, so far recovered, as to have left his room ; though showing too evidently, by his appearance, the trial through which his constitution had just passed. But, while thus low in health and strength, his counte- nance and conversation equally expressed his inward thankfulness and satisfaction, amidst the friends by whom he was now surrounded, under circumstances, the prospect of which had made this year, winch was to prove his last, prove to him also, as he himself described it, * the crowning blessing of a happy life.' Archdeacon Forster's society, at this time, had been doubly satisfactory to him ; as it enabled him to confer with his official, more fully than by letter, upon the affairs of his diocese. The result of his inquiries was in itself a restorative ; the report of the state of both dioceses, and of the spirit which ani- mated his clergy, being such, as to prove, that, though absent in body, his governing and directing mind still effectually presided over them.* * The sentiments of the clergy of the united dioceses, upon the conduct of his delegated trust, were, in January, 1S?A, affectionately conveyed to Dr. Forster, in addresses equally honourable to the givers and the receiver. Did delicacy permit, my nearness to tlie individual thus honoured, must prevent me from further reference to these documents. The same reason, however, does not apply X 306 LIFE OF It struck me at the time, that, at parting from his brother now, the Bishop showed an emotion, different to Dn Forster's answers ; and as these bear a testimony to his episcopal rule, which belongs to the Life of Bishop Jebb, they are accordingly inserted here. * To the Very Reverend the Dean, and the Reverend the Clergy, of the Diocese of Limerick. * My dear Reverend Brethren, * The unexpected testimony you have so kindly given, of your approval of the manner in which I fulfilled the trust confided to me, by the Right Reverend Prelate, who lately presided over this diocese (a testimony of which I feel myself but too undeserving), leaves me wholly at a loss for language to express, as I deeply feel, my grateful sense of the honour conferred. * I cannot, in words, thank you as I could wish ; but this much I can say, that T thank you in my heart; and that my fervent prayers shall never cease to be offered, at the throne of grace, for the clergy of the diocese of Limerick. ' One blessed consolation you have given me ; . . you have led me to indulge the delightful thought, that, during my delegated superintendence, I have not not brought discredit upon the choice of my late honoured and beloved diocesan. . . May the blessing of his and our great Lord and Master, be your consolation here, and your portion for ever ! * I have the honour to be, * My dear Reverend Brethren, * Your most grateful and truly devoted servant, * James W. Forster.' * To the Very Reverend the Dean, and the Reverend the Clergy, of the Dioceses of Ardfert and Aghadoe. * My dear Reverend Brethren, * I feel, in the sincerity of my heart, that I deserve but too poorly the testimony of approval, which you have borne to my superintendence of the united dioceses, during the illness of our late lamented Bishop ; at the same time, I treasure up this proof of your regard, in a depth of feeling to which no language can give due utterance. * The Address with which you have honoured me, has afforded, in every way, a source, to me, of inexpressible delight. In my person, you have honoured the memory of our departed Father in the Lord. By his constant direction I ever acted ; his was, on every occasion, the superintending mind ; and in his spirit I endeavoured, to the best of my ability, to discharge the functions which he con- fided to my care. * My heart's desire for the clergy of Ardfert and Aghadoe is, and shall ever be, that they may so promote the interests of our blessed Master's kingdom upon earth, as to be ' priests of God and of Christ,' in his kingdom in heaven. In which fervent wish, I have the honour to be, * My dear Reverend Brethren, * Your truly grateful and attached * Servant in Christ, * James W. Forster.' BISHOP JEBB. 307 from what I had perceived at any former separation : he was evidently very low ; and, what was rather unusual with him, expressed to me, just after the Judge's departure, a feeling of regret, that they had not been alone for the last few minutes. They never met again in this world.* Shortly after, he had the unexpected happiness of receiving a friend from Ireland, whom he had not seen for many years : Mrs. Beatty, a near connection of Bishop Young, by whom he had been ordained deacon. From her family he had experienced, throughout his college life, the greatest and most constant kindness ; and, though the opportunities of intercourse afterwards were necessarily less frequent, their friendship continued unabated to the las't. To this friendship, the reader stands indebted for one of the earliest, and most interesting portions of the second volume ; Mrs. Beatty having been one of his first and most regular correspondents. Greatly as she enjoyed the sight of her old friend, she was deeply affected by the state in which she found him : from me, indeed, she kindly concealed her impression ; but, to another friend, she expressed the conviction, that she should never see him more. During her visit of two days, the Bishop kept up with difficulty, and was unequal to continuous con- * I have already noticed the fulness of Judge Jehb's faith in a special Provi- dence. Let me not, in a day when this truth is assailed by those who ought to be its defenders, lose my last opportunity of impressing it upon others, by the authority of an example like his. The following is an extract from his private journal : . . * Oct. 3, 1833. . . My horse fell with me to-day, but providentially 1 escaped quite unhurt; I say providentially, for I firmly believe in a particular Provi- dence, and I am most thankful for the many, many gracious interpositions of Almighty Goodness. May they produce good effects upon my conduct; above all, a cheerful acquiescence in all the dispensations of Divine Wisdom.' X 2 308 LIFE OF versation. Still their meeting was cheering and gratifying to him in a high degree. While tlius low in body, his mind was still itself ; and ever seeking food, for the good of others and for its own. AVe were in the habit, after family prayers, of reading the psalms for the day: he immediately expressed his wish that we should read them to him; and providing himself with the Ixx version, and several commentators, he made these morning read- ings an exercise, at once, of criticism, and of devo- tion. I never knew him happier in himself, or in his observations on Scripture, tlian in these half hours between family prayers and breakflist. The Feast of St. Michael and All Angels (a church festival which Bishob Jebb enjoyed in the spirit of a true catholic) falling this year, upon Sunday, he was desirous to employ the day in reading suited to it : accordingly, before we left him to go to church, he requested to have brought him two books, viz. * Jacohi Ode, CommeJitarius de AngeJis,^ and ' A Discourse of Angels, their Nature and Office, or Ministri/J* And thus, in the spirit of Hooker, employed the day, m * meditating the number and nature of angels, and their blessed obedience and order, without which, peace could not be in heaven.' . . His sentiments upon the ministration of angelic intelligences on earth, are preserved in a critique on the Ixx reading of Deuteronomy, xxxii. 13., addressed to his friend Dr. Stopford, in October, 1818. . . * I am well aware that the doctrine of guardian angels, is now com- monly scoffed at, as a rabbinical figment ; and that Bishop Horsley has united the weight of his uncom- mon genius and learning, with the levity of his un- bridled fancy, to sweep this doctrine from the face of the church, and dissolve it into thin air. But, neither BISHOP JEBB. 309 the extravagancies of the rabbins, tlie sneers of the German school, nor the paradoxes of our ablest mo- dern prelate, can induce me to give up, what I deem scriptural truth.' Instead of giving up, he fed con- tinually more and more upon this most comfortable scriptural truth, and upon its kindred verity the com- munion of saints ; and, during the last six or seven years of his life, the collects for St. Michael and All Angels, and for All Saints' day, were constantly used by me, at his bedside, with other selections from the Liturgy, as his favourite nightly prayers. About this time, he had some correspondence with two eminent men, Mr. Basil Montagu, and Mr. Sharon Turner, which deeply interested him, and contributed, not a little, to brighten his setting sun. But his daily occupation was, a new edition of his Burnet's Lives, enriched with further annotations, and with five hitherto unpublished letters, containing the Dowager Countess of Rochester's account of the last days of her son ; an account fully confirming the whole of Bishop Burnet's statements, respecting his conversion. One of his additional notes, the last he ever penned, will speak his spirit of preparation, better than any words of mine. It is on the following passage in Burnet's character of Archbishop Leighton : . . * When I took notice to him, upon my first seeing him, how well he looked, he told me he was very near his end, for all that ; and his work and journey both were now almost done ;' a passage which the Bishop thus illustrates : . . * A similar conviction Bishop Hall seems to have perpetually lived under; and it is edifying to mark his anxiety, to the very last, to im- press it vividly on others : . . * * It hath pleased the providence of my God,' says x 3 310 LIFE OF he, in one of his latest sermons, ' so to contrive it, that this day, this very morning, four-score years ago, I was born into this world. ' A great time since,' . . ye are ready to say : and so, indeed, it seems to you, that look at it forward ; but to me, that look at it past, it seems so short, that it is gone like a tale that is told, or a dream by night, and looks like yester- day. ' * It can be no offence for me to say, that many of you, who hear me this day, are not like to see so many suns walk over your heads, as I have done. Yea, what speak I of this? There is not one of us that can assure himself of his continuance here one day. AVe are all tenants at will ; and for aught we know, may be turned out of these clay cottages at an hour's warnhig. Oh, then, what should we do, but, as wise farmers, who know the time of their lease is expiring and cannot be renewed, carefully and seasonably provide ourselves of a surer and more during tenure.' . . Bishop Hall. Works, v. 58^2.' Could there be, what there cannot, any doubt of the personal bearing and application with which these words were quoted by him, from one of his most favourite examples of life, there can be none respect- ing his intention, in making the following quotation ; which plainly anticipates, and was, as will too soon be seen, literally fulfilled, in his own latter end : . . ' Bishop Burnet, speaking of Tillotson's last ill- ness, says, ' His distemper [a dead palsy] did so oppress him, that, though it appeared, by signs, and other indications, that his understanding remained long clear, yet he was not able to express himself, so as to edify others. He seemed still serene and calm : and, in broken words, he said. He thanked God, lie BISHOP JEBB. 311 was quiet within ; and had nothing then to do, but to wait for the will of heaven,^ . . Own Times, ii. ^35. * Joy through my swimming eyes shall break, And mean the thanks I cannot speak.' * Doddridge.' In October, for about three weeks, he improved apparently in health, and really in spirits. And, while his amended looks re-assured his friends, his placid cheerfulness, flowing out once more ' in that sweet, quiet, peculiar style' of conversation, which Mr. Hook so well describes, alike instructed and delighted them ; and we remarked, that instead, as formerly, of be- coming languid from the exertion of speaking, he grew more animated. It was a light before death. His spirits having rallied, though not his strength, the desire to do good, ' by the only means now left him,' his pen, strongly returned : he had found him- self, indeed, unequal to undertake a continuous bio- graphical work ; but his power of illustrating and annotating usefully, was undiminished. He now re- solved to comply with the suggestion of his learned reviewer in the British Critic, (who proved to be a valued friend, the Rev. Edward Smedley,) seconded by the urgent request of Bishop Doane, . . by editing Bishop Berkeley's ' Minute Philosopher.' His last use, but one, of his pen, was in a note to his publisher, Mr. Duncan, written on the morning of November requesting to be provided with an interleaved copy of the first edition of that philosophical treatise. And he took pleasure, in having his morning reading, and this piece of business dispatched, before the family were assembled to eight o'clock prayers. * Bishop Jebb's edit, of Bishop Burnet's Lives, 8vo. p. 315. ; 12mo. p. 307. 1833. X 4 312 LIFE OF One of the last evenings he was able to sit up, he said, * It is nearly eight o'clock, and I will now go to bed.' Seeing me look disappointed, as it was desired by his medical attendants that he should keep up as much as possible, he added, ' I have had a pain about mv heart the whole day, and I feel quite worn out with it.' This was the lirst intimation we had received of his suffering. From that day may be dated the commencement of his last decline. For a few days more there was a struggle : but, on thursday, the fourteenth of Novem- ber, the jaundice, which had re-appeared some weeks previous, rose to tlie height ; being his third attack within the year. On the morning of that da}^ he had been sitting, as usual, in his study chair, one of his faithful attendants, William Hughes, being in the room, to hand him books. He desired particularly to have one brought him, which, at tirst, could not be found : the Bishop sent him back to the place where it ought to be, desiring him to look more closely among the folio biographical dictionaries : he did so, and discovered it ; on handing it to his master, the Bishop expressed himself much pleased : the book was, ' Memorials, and Characters, together with the Lives of divers eminent and worthy Persons.' The incident is here mentioned, because (as his attendant had the good taste, as well as good feeling, to apprize me after his departure*,) it was the last book into * Let me frratefully acknowledge this, among the many proofs of fidelity and attachment given, both to his honoured master and to me, by William Huglies, that to him I am indebted for possessing this volume, and recording the late^ employment of my friend, to whom, beyond most of his contemporaries, will apply words cited by himself, . . what Archbishop Tillotson his said of Dr. Benjamin Whichcote, . . that ' he was so wise, as to l»e vURmg to kmrm to the int.- ' . . Vrtpac-xxv ft£i n hJarxojLtEvof. See BiAop JeWs Burmet, 8to. p. 315. ; ISmo. p. SOI. BISHOP JEBB. 313 which he looked, and which he tried to read : the effort was too much for him ; he felt it to be so ; gave back the volume, and asked to be conveyed to bed on his little chair on wheels, observing, * I cannot sit up any longer.' As they proceeded to his room, he said, ' William, this fit will last for a fortnight, at least.' Upon Sir Henry Halford's receiving intelligence of this relapse, he resumed his attendance with the anxiety of friendship ; almost his first object now was, that the Bishop, notwithstanding his weakness and the weight of the attack, should endeavour to sit up every day, though but for an hour. Always im- plicit, where his physician directed, he twice made the prescribed exertion, but manifestly with painful effort. The third time, I think it was, the attempt proved too much for him. The last time but one that he thus sat up, for an hour, in his chair in the library, on his faithful attendant, Mr. Sell, coming for him, to take him back to his bed-chamber, he said, ' It will be a month before I am better.' The last time that he entered the library, and occupied that chair, he sat with us for about an hour. He was very lan- guid, and fell frequently asleep. Finding his strength unequal to meet Sir H. Halford's wish, he desired to have his little wheel-chair brought for him : on its being brought in while waiting for Mr. Sell's return to convey him to his room, . . he leaned gently for- ward in his study-chair, as in the attempt to rise from it, or preparing to do so, . . when, sinking a little back, he looked towards me, and said, . . * I do not think I shall get over this.' With these words, rishig, or rather permitting himself to be raised by us, he left his favourite room, never to re-enter that chair, whence, for more than five years, he had edified the 3U LIFE OF church of Christ. On my coming to his bedside, the Bishop observed, in his own calm, thoughtful manner, ' I do not think I shall rise again from this bed.' These were the only allusions to his approaching departure, which he made to me ; and they were evi- dently made the better to prepare us, in the gentlest way, for what he felt to be drawing near. Two more intimations he gave afterw^ards, not to me, but to the attached attendant before mentioned*, whom a good Providence had brought to Limerick, to minister to him in his greatest need ; and whose indefatigable watch- fulness, skill, and care, seconding those of his physi- cians, had, under Providence, preserved him, through nearly seven years of bodily weakness and decay. Meanwhile, his bed of sickness was surrounded by every comfort and relief that human means could supply. And Mrs. Sell, w^ho had been for some time her husband's assistant in the charge of the Bishop's establishment, now proved equally valuable, having been long accustomed to the care of the sick, and approving herself peculiarly qualified to aid in nursing. The oppressive weight of the jaundice having ren- dered him unequal to give the desirable attention, I was now, for the first time, obliged to discontinue reading prayers at his bedside ; a duty which it had been my privilege to perform nightly, from the time ♦ There was yet another, his last, an expressive intimation that his hours were now numbered, too like himself to be omitted here. It was given on the night before his departure. As his attendant prepared to settle him in the bed, the Bishop asked, * Need I move to the other side ? or how can you manage that I may reach the bell ?' Mr. Sell replied, ' My Lord, there will be no occasion for the bell, as I shall sleep in your room to-night?' When the Bishop calmly ob- served, * It may, perhaps, be as well : you may sleep in my room for otie night more.' BISHOP JEBB. 315 of his great illness at Limerick, in April, 1827. He sent me word of his inability to attend as he could wish ; but I begged, notwithstanding, to be told when he was settled for the night, that I might, at least, wish him good night as usual. On the night of November 15., accordingly, he kindly sent me no- tice, when he was ready to compose himself to sleep. I went to see him ; and, after we had conversed for a few moments, the Bishop took my hand in his, clasped it closely, and with calm emphasis repeated, . . * I will lay me down in peace and take my rest, for it is thou. Lord, only that makest me to dwell in safety !' Adding, with an expression of countenance full of the thanksgivings of the heart, and laying a stress upon the word marked in italics, . . ' Goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life.' . . ' These,' he proceeded, ' are the only prayers I am now equal to ; but much may be contained in a few words : this has been my way.' Four days later, November 19., when taking some refreshment which was new to him, having found it impossible, for some days previously, to take any thing, his spirit of thankfulness, the habit of his whole life, again manifested itself in words ; . . * I have every comfort and luxury to support me, in sickness, and old age. When I set out in life, I could not have expected this. 2000/. would have gone but little way in providing them. But Providence has been very good to me, in thus providing me with all things required for my time of sickness and old age.' From the commencement of his last illness to its termination, a period of seven weeks, it was observable at the time, and evident after the event, that two 316 LIFE OF things lay particularly near his heart : the first, that his friends might be gently and gradually prepared for his removal hence ; the second, that he might himself prepare to meet his God. I have mentioned the intimations to myself, early in his illness, that his departure was at hand ; towards its close, as I afterwards found, he gav^e two warnings more to his attendant. His words, on the first occa- sion, were, ' I think nature is near its termination : ' on the second, ' I feel nature is giving way.' His other object was indicated by the desire, throughout this illness, (a wish shown for the first time in our fellowship of nearly one and twenty years,) to be left much, or rather mostly, alone, . . the need- ful attendance of his domestics excepted. His sub- ordinate objects in this seclusion, I well know, were, to comply with the wish of his physician * ; to keep his spirit calm ; and to spare, to the utmost of his power, the feelings of his friends. His chief object, I equally well know, was, that, undisturbed even by the best affections of this world, he might hold secret communion with his God. From the first, he had seemed not to invite our visits. But, within his last few days, whenever I ventured to his room, he gently motioned me away with his liand. The impression made upon me was, that, unless in case of necessity, he felt it his wisdom to cease from converse, even with the friends next his heart. Reflection, and intimate knowledge of his mind, gave me this im- pression. What I afterwards learned confirmed it. At the very time that, with characteristic firmness, he exercised this self denial, he was speaking often to * Sir Henry Halford had laid great stress, from the beginning of this attack, on the necessity of perfect quii-t, and tlic avoidance of any needless expenditure of his stren^jth. BISHOP JEBB. 317 his confidential attendant, with the most affectionate interest, unmingled (such was his trust in Providence) with any painful solicitude, about the friends whom he loved. While thus desiring, with the psalmist, to ' com- mune with his own heart, and in his chamber, and be still,' he lost not, for a moment, his interest in the completion of his dying labours for the church. Un- able himself to write, or to raise his head even from his pillow, he dictated to me the few lines which were left unfinished in his latest publication ; adopt- ing or rejecting, with his wonted judgment, the sug- gestions which I submitted to him. A little circumstance which now occurred, claims to be preserved as one of the latest traits of his kind- ness of heart. A gentleman from Limerick, a candi- date for ordination for the colonies, called about this time, to procure the Bishop's signature, as diocesan, to his papers, . . a form indispensable to procuring ordination. The Bishop was now so ill, that I could not think of bringing business of any kind before him, and I told the applicant so. Presently after, being in his room, I was led to mention what had passed, when he said, * I am sorry he went away j I would have signed the papers.' I immediately fol- lowed and recalled the party ; and bringing the Bishop pen and ink, he caused himself to be raised from the bed, and subscribed his signature : this act, was the last use which he made of his pen. On Saturday, November 30., he was visited by his friend Sir Robert Inglis, the only friend besides those in the house, whom he saw in his last illness. The l^mo. edition of Burnet being now completed, he presented Sir Robert with a copy, with his own hand, and gave another to Sir Henry Halford. He 318 LIFE OF then instructed me to send copies, from him, to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Bishop of Lon- don. And, at his special desire, on the following Wednesday, December 4., I carried a copy to a friend, like himself * sore wounded of the archers,' the Rev. Edward Smedley, of Dulwich. These were his latest tokens of respect and interest. And I could read in his eye, that to have had it in his power to pay them, caused him inward satisfaction. Though I could no longer officiate at his bedside, owing to the extreme drowsiness which oppressed him, I never lost the opportunities, which, at my re- quest, he kindly gave me, to learn the state of his pulse, and to have a last look at him every night. On the night of Saturday, Nov. 30., the day of Sir Robert Inglis's call, on my going to his bedside, he pressed my hand with more than ordinary warmth ; and, with a look of animation which we had seldom seen during this oppressive illness, he said, as on a former night, . . ' I will lay me down in peace, and take my rest, for it is thou. Lord, only that makest me to dwell in safety.' . . * That,' he continued, * is mi/ prayer now. I never used long prayers ; but now, that is all I can say, and it says every thing. And now, good night ! God bless you, and God bless *****, and God bless Sir Robert, and all our friends!' This was the last blessing which he gave us, and it was given in a tone of deep affection, with the solemnity of one who had now taken leave of earth. On Sunday, being unwilling to leave him while his state was thus anxious, I did not go to cliurch ; and employed myself in reading in his first volume of Sermons. Finding myself the benefit of this employ- ment, it occurred to me to try whether he could still, as in former days, be revived, by allusion to BISHOP JEBB. 319 religious subjects, which had particularly engaged his own thoughts. Going, accordingly, to his room, with the volume in my hand, I, as it were incident- ally, introduced the mention of how I had been en- gaged, and the comfort and edification which I had found in reading one of my old friends. He was, at the time, at the lowest ebb of strength and spirits, but, as I spoke, his eye lighted up, his counte- nance became animated, and he said, . . * Perhaps I may yet be able to write more sermons * like those ; and I can write notes ; they have been well received; and it may please God to employ me still a little longer.' The momentary change (it was but for a moment) reminded me of the conversation in 1819, at Abington, which issued in the production of * Sa- cred Literature.' His state was now, indeed, most precarious. For nearly six weeks, he had been suffering from jaundice of the severest type : his appointed time, which, through seven years of bodily affliction, he had waited for in hope and patience, was come. It found him ' watching.' On the morning of Saturday, December 7.) at four o'clock, I went gently into the room, having been disturbed by the great storm on that night, which had alarmed me in sleep with the idea that he had been seized with a fit of shivering, a symptom for which Sir Henry had prepared me, and against which he had warned the attendants to be especially upon their guard. . . He lay asleep, with a book open in his hand, and raised to the eye, as if he had * In August, at the request of his friend Dr. Dealtry of Clapham, he had re-composed a discourse, entitled * Prayer without Ceasing,' which was published in the * Original Family Sermons,' edited by the Committee of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge. 320 LIFE OF been awake, and reading : but it wavered in his hand from sleep. As I stood at the bed-foot, he awoke, and seeing me, asked calmly, what made me come to him. I told him my apprehension, from which he immediately reUeved me : observing, * I am going on well.' In the morning, however, there was a change for the worse. In the early part of the night, before my visit, he had been very restless, and great sickness, •attended by a slight degree of wandering, came on. The sickness now retmned ; and we sent off imme- diately for Sir Henry Halford, who arrived about 12 o'clock. He was very anxious about our friend's state ; and expressed, again, those apprehensions as to his weakened constitution, and the formidable character of the disease, which the event of the fol- lowing monday realized. Still, however, he did not give up hope.* On monday, when Sir Henry was leaving the Bishop's room he said to him, * It is desirable that your Lordship should be kept perfectly quiet. You will take nothing from your strength but what I take from you. And try to compose yourself to sleep.' As he went out, the Bishop's last words (character- istic of his whole mind and life) were, . . * But you will let me have my book?' His friend warmly as- sented ; and his book remained with him to the last. His restlessness returned, and continued to increase * Still less did the Bishop: only Ais hope had already changed its object. In the words of his favourite verse from Hcsiod, it mi^ht now be said of him, . . Momv S"* auToQi EX7r<; £V appnuTois-i hfxoicri or, in those of a higher authority, ineffably nearer to his thoughts and heart, . . E^sS'sp^ETO yap t»k rovg ^efA-eXiovg B^ovcrav ttoXiv, hg t£;^vj? xai ^K/utiovpyog 6 ©eog. . , (Heb. xi. 10.) BISHOP JEBB. through the day, until towards six o'clock, when nature began rapidly to sink. In submission to Sir Henry's latest instructions, that he should be kept perfectly quiet, I had not entered his room that day. A little before six o'clock, his nephew, Mr. Richard Jebb of Lincoln's Inn (whose constant attention had been deeply grateful to him), I, and a third friend, had returned to the library, full of anxiety indeed, but still not without hope. Thinking that we could not be more suitably employed, than in seeking support and comfort from the instructions of our suffering friend, I read aloud his second sermon on the Sabbath, and had just reached the words, . . * We shall see him face to face,' when Mr. Sell summoned me out of the room, and, on my reaching the lobby, told me that he was sinking fast. I flew to his bedside, and became instantly conscious that the end of * him whom we loved ' was near. . . Returning instantly to the drawing-room, Mr. Jebb hurried to town for Sir Henry Halford. This took place at just ten minutes after six. When I first reached his bedside, and saw how it was, I instinctively repeated, as 1 knelt beside my dying friend, his own favourite verse from the twenty-third Psalm, * Goodness and mercy have fol- lowed me all the days of my life,' adding, what his humility would never allow himself to add, * and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever!' The Bishop, as I spoke these words, his eyes bent up- wards, raised his remaining hand three times to hea- ven, in the attitude of fervent prayer, but did not speak : . . the power of speech was gone. We placed ourselves beside him, and on taking his hand, he returned the pressure, and then put his hand more than once to his breast. Y 322 LIFE OF During this time, I used, at intervals, the prayers of his venerable mother the Church of England for the dying, . . prayers of which he often said, in the words and spirit of good George Herbert, . . that * he knew none like them/ And as, though unable to speak, or even to make signs, he showed con- sciousness almost to his last breath, so I believe he heard and joined in our prayers very nearly to the happy moment, when *his spirit returned to God who gave it.' The calm and deep devotion which belonged to his character in health, and which cheered and blessed his long illness, was now most expres- sively written in his countenance. The eyes, like the hand, being raised to heaven, until tliey became dimmed by the approach of his release from all pain and sorrow. To himself, indeed, peculiarly applies, what is recorded of Bishop jSIorton, in the volume which was his last study on the eve of his illness. ' Even after his speech failed him, he signified, by his hand, his assent to what was spoken to him, or prayed for him ; and I doubt not but his devotion, as well as his understanding, continued as long as his breath, though neither his tongue, nor his hand, could at last express it' It was as I stood at his feet, having just finished the prayers from the ' Visitation of the Sick,' that he gave a slight cough. I exclaimed, * Lift up his head, he has something in the throat which he may yet throw off, and we shall have him still.' The fi'iend who supported his head instantly raised it. But that gentle cough terminated his sufferings, and his happy spirit entered into the joy of his Lord! The moment his head was laid back on the pillow, those who supported him saw, that the pains of death were for ever passed away. I asked, * Has he got BISHOP JEBB. 323 rid of it?' and was answered, * He is so happy now. Mr. Knox and he are with each other.' . . ' Thank God !' was the only reply. And, for many moments, those present were lost in silent thankfulness, for the peaceful passage which had been granted to our Father in Christ. He expired at twenty minutes after seven, on the evening of monday, the nmth of December, 1833, in the fifty-ninth year of his age. From the moment I first went to him till all was over, his breathing was more gentle, than it had often been when he has fallen asleep in his chair, and there was no movement which indicated suffering of any kind. It was, indeed, like falling asleep. We w^ere led afterwards to remark, that, for the last seven years, he had been withdrawn from active life ; for the last seven w^eeks, he had seen no one but our- selves ; and, for the last seven days, he had been with himself alone, yet not alone, for another now walked with him, even * The Son of God ! ' Throughout his long and heavy affliction in the body, his spirit never fell, his faith never faultered, his cheerful resignation to the Divine will never for- sook him, his confiding trust in God his Saviour never, for one moment, failed. In meeikness, gentle- ness, and childlike purity of heart and life, he walked, with daily increasing strength and steadfastness, in his divine Master's steps ; and may, with greatest truth, be numbered amongst those servants of their Lord, which ' follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth.' In his highest prosperity, he never was exalted ; and in his heaviest affliction, he never was cast down. And he was blessed accordingly, in life and in death : in a life, pure, virtuous, and holy, and a death, calm, peaceful, and happy : * He was crowned with the Y 2 LIFE OF silver crown of age in his grey hairs, and now is crowned with the golden crown of immortaUty.' * I would conclude in the words of Archbishop Tillotson, in his character of another bright hght of the church of England, Dr. Benjamin Whichcote : . . * Since God hath thought good to deprive us of him, let his virtues live in our memory, and his example in our lives ; let us endeavour to be what he was, and we shall one day be what he now is, of blessed memory on earth, and happy for ever in heaven ! ' On monday, December 16., at seven o'clock in the morning, his mortal remains were laid in St. Paul's Churchyard, Clapham, beside those of friends whom he had honoured and loved, and concerning whom he had often said, * Sit mea anima cum istis ! ' Conformably with his own feelings, the funeral was strictly private ; being attended only by members of his family, and a few chosen friends, who particularly desired to be present. Had the day been made known, many attached friends, whose names will be read among the subscribers to his monument, would have equally desired to pay this last tribute. His brother (who arrived from Ireland the thursday after his death), with three of his sons, the Rev. T. H. Home, Mr. Haviland Burke, Mr. Cochrane, Mr. Chapman, myself, and the members of his household, were mourners. The pall was borne by Sir R. H. Inglis, Bart., the Rev. C. A. Ogilvie, Mr. Dudley M. Perceval, and Messrs. Henry, Watson, and • WTiitefoofs Character of Bishop Hall, ap. Memorials of Eminent Persons, p. 65. BISHOP JEBB. 325 Charles Thornton. The funeral service was read by the Rev. William Dealtry, D.D., with a depth of feeling becoming the solemn occasion ; feeling, after- wards more fully expressed by this valued friend, in a sermon preached in Clapham church on tlie fol- lowing new-year's eve ; in which the preacher closed his review of the list of mortality in the expiring year, with tributes becoming him to pay and them to receive, to the memories of Mr. Wilberforce, Mrs. Hannah More, and Bishop Jebb. Y 3 LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OP BISHOP JEBB. Y 4 * If you shall curiously inquire what this good man left in his legacy at his death, I must needs answer, that giving all in his lifetime, as he owed nothing but love, so he left nothing when he died. The poor was his heir, and he was the administrator of his own goods, or to use his own expression in one of his last dedications, that he had little else to leave his executors but his papers only. ' Character of Dr. Thomas Jackson, by Edward Vaughan. ' II mourut dans les plus grands sentimens de piet^, et, comrae il avait v^cu, sans argent, et sans dettes.' Vie de MassUlon, 329 I, John Jebb, D.D., by Divine permission, Lord Bishop of Limerick, Ardfert, and Aghadoe, though infirm in body, being, thank God, perfectly sound and collected in mind, and feeling that I may be called hence at any moment, do think it my duty to make my last Will and Testament ; and without any reservation, I accordingly declare this to be my said last Will and Testament. In the first place, and according to the good old, but, I fear, at present, much neglected custom of my fathers, I commend the whole of myself. Body, Soul, and Spirit, to the merciful keeping of my good Creator ; with an humble reliance, notwithstanding my manifold sins and infirmities, upon the only me- diation of our Divine Redeemer, and the everlasting fellowship of the Holy Spirit. I give and bequeath all my printed books and manuscripts, with the reservation hereinafter stated, to my dear nephew and chaplain, the Rev. John Jebb. A.B., trusting that he will preserve this deposit as the commencement of a family library ; that, by Divine assistance, he will maintain the literary cha- racter of the Jebbs ; and, what is of far greater im- portance, that he will prove himself a good man, and a faithful minister of God's word. 330 LIFE OF I give and bequeath also to the said John Jebb, my two silver medals of the Historical Society ; also my gold watch and chain, with the seal on which my episcopal and family arms are engraven ; as also the seal and ring, on each of which there is a mitre en- graven, with the Jebb crest on the seal, and my cipher on the ring. I give and bequeath to my dear friend and chap- lain, the Rev. Charles Forster, B.D., his own kind gift, the gold knee buckles once worn by his late R.H. the Duke of York ; also the large seal of Kerry Diamond, without any engraving, which is usually appended to my watch ; also the silver gilt com- munion cup, patten, and knife, which I received from his late excellent mother ; also my pebble sleeve buttons, brooch, and pebble ring; all which I re- ceived from him and his family : also the small ivory paper folder, with a mitre and my cipher engraven thereon, which I am commonly in the habit of using; together with my tortoise-shell and silver pen-holder ; and also any two hundred volumes which he may chuse from among my books, and which I request he will so chuse ; also 100/. sterling, to be paid him as soon as possible after my decease. All the residue of my property whatsoever, I give, devise, and bequeath, to the Honourable Richard Jebb, second Justice of his Majesty's Court of King's Bench, in Ireland, or, in case of his death, to his son the Rev. John Jebb ; particularly requesting, that the said Richard Jebb, or his surviving son, as it may be, shall, after paying my just debts, and giving memorials to be specified in this will to certain per- sons hereinafter mentioned, apply the entire property BISHOP JEBB. 331 remaining, in such manner as to him or them shall appear most desirable, for the benefit of my dear nieces, the children of the late Rev. Joseph M^'Cor- mick and Elizabeth his wife, my lamented sister. It is my request, that my residuary legatee may and shall, at discretion, give memorials of my regard and affection to my dear sister Deborah Jebb, to eacli and every of the children of the said Honourable Richard Jebb, to my dear sister Maria Heyland, her husband Rowley Heyland, Esq., to each and every of their children, and to the surviving male children of the late Joseph M'^Cormick, and Elizabeth his wife. It is further my request, that, over and above their just wages, my residuary legatee may give to each servant who shall be in my employment at the time of my death, a suitable memorial ; but particularly, if he shall then be living and in my employment, to my faithful and valued domestic, Mr. James Sell, all my clothes, body-linen, gowns, cassocks, and robes, together with a gratuity in money of fifty pounds sterling. I also earnestly desire, that my dear brother. Judge Jebb, to whom, under Providence, I am indebted for every thing I possess, will be pleased to appropriate to himself, and to preserve in memory of me, what- ever slight memorial he may think most suitable. He well knows I am poor in this world's goods 5 but had I the wealth of worlds, it would be utterly insufficient, by any distribution of it, to indicate my love towards him. 332 LIFE OF I appoint the Honourable Richard Jebb, the Rev. John Jebb, A.B., and the Rev. Charles Forster, B.D., executors of this my will. Dated this sixth day of February, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and twenty- nine. (Signed) John Limerick, Ardfert and Aghadoe. Signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said Right Reverend John Jebb, D.D. Lord Bishop of Limerick, Ardfert, and Aghadoe, as and for his last will and testament, in our pre- sence, who by his desire, and in his presence have attested the same, (Signed) H. S. Thornton, of Birchin Lane, London, banker. John Laboucherb, of Birchin Lane, London, banker. Richard Crannis, servant to the Lord Bishop of Limerick. BISHOP JEBB. 333 By the kindness of Sir H. Halford, I have been fa- voured with the following statement of Bishop Jebb*s case, explaining the originating cause of his long sufferings, and eventually of his death. * Curzon Street, March 11. 1836. * My dear Sir, ' I BECAME acquainted with the Bishop of Limerick, whose memory I cherish with sincere respect and affection, in the year 1824. He was then suffering a severe attack of bile ; but there was no evidence, at that time, of its having concreted into a gall stone. Some years afterwards, however, he complained cf pain in the seat of the gall duct, and had every symptom of the jaundice ; and of this complaint, after having sustained repeated attacks, in the course of the last five years of his life, at lengtli he died. On examination, after death, two round gall stones were found in the gall bladder, and a third, of a sharp angular shape, in the passage, which had in its course, ruptured the duct. ' In the year 1827 the Bishop suffered a paralytic stroke, and lost the use of his right side, which he never recovered. The effusion of fluid into the brain, the common cause of a paralytic stroke, did not, how- ever, affect his faculties. They continued in their full vigour, until the last few hours of his life ; and he had so learnt to govern himself at an early age, that this disease, peculiarly prone to affect the tem- per and spirits of those who have not learned to S34 LIFE OF controiil themselves, was never accompanied, in the good Bishop's instance, with an irritabihty of mind, with dejection, or with the sUghtest impatience under suffering. ' In your memoirs of this excellent Bishop, I am sure you will have attempted to do justice to his piety, to his generous principles, and to his extensive and profound knowledge. His example is a rich inheritance to all who knew him. Happy are they who tread correctly in the steps of this righteous man. ' I am always, my dear Sir, yours, * with gi'eat regard, * Henry Halford.' BISHOP JEBB. 335 Shortly after the funeral, a mural monument and medallion, executed by E. H. Baily, Esq., was erected in the church of Clapham, with the follo^\^[ng in- scription from the pen of his brother : . . The Remains of JOHN JEBB, The learned, the wise, the good Bishop of Limerick, Are deposited in the tomb of the Thorntons, By permission of a family To which he was united By a bond of no common friendship. He died the 9th Dec. MDCCCXXXIII. In the 59th year of his age. The last memorial of his brother's love. Not, however, the last : happily that brother sur- vived long enough to trace his character with a fi- delity and beauty, which shows what might have been expected, had the duty devolved on him to be the writer of his Life. The following sketch, in a letter to his second son, Mr. Richard Jebb, written in Fe- bruary, 18^54, while it gratifies me by an independent agreement in plan, leaves me only too conscious of the inferiority of the hands into which the duty and responsibility have fallen : . . ' The Bishop's Life admits of three great divisions, his childhood and youth ; the period from entering the church till he becomes a bishop ; and the period from thence till his death. The first I think should occupy but a few pages ; . . the second and third LIFE OF abound in circumstances most honourable to his cha- racter, intellectual and moral ; his studies, his inter- course with his Bishop, his parish, peaceful and happy in a surrounding region of vice and turbulence ; his beautiful works, conceived and matured in the deep seclusion of a mountainous region, not unlike the habitation of that sweet poet Spenser, to whom in his mild spirit, unvexed by the storms amidst which he lived, he bore no small resemblance ; his un- swerving integrity in the administration of his dio- cese ; his firmness, never for a moment degenerating into austerity ; his unostentatious charities ; his po- litical purity and firmness, equally removed from factious interference, and from selfish acquiescence ; his cheerful endurance of bodily suflTering; his unre- mitting employment of his mind, in works such as befitted his vocation, and were commensurate with his remaining strength ; . . these are the topics, which, if the task belonged to me,' [and who that reads such a passage as this, can fail to wish for more from such a pen ?] ' I should endeavour to handle.' A few weeks before his own death. Judge Jebb thus further expresses himself, in a letter addressed to myself, after perusing the Bishop's published Cor- respondence with Mr. Knox. * Rosstrevor, July S. 1834. * The uniting my name with my brother's in these volumes, which will long survive any other remem- brance of me, is an obligation which I deeply feel. The very depth of this feeling may account to you for my delay as to the dedication ; and, when the books arrived, I was desirous of first reading a little, in order to give you an early impression in all its BISHOP JEBB. freshness. I was insensibly led on from letter to letter, and from day to day, and was then obliged to pause a little, before I could write rationally or cohe- rently. My judgment must be too strongly biassed to be considered any criterion of the merits of the Correspondence, but it infinitely exceeds my expect- ation, and even my hope, in importance as well as interest. The character stands out in the earliest letters, and continues unchanged in the most im- portant features. You may remember my saying, that docility was one of his earliest characteristics. Is it not so in the early letters ? and does it not con- tinue, so far as is consistent with the advance of such a mind? Humility, candour, with an independence of judgment, built on the inflexible love of truth, . . these seem to me to be the predominant features. With all his veneration for Mr. Knox, and just de- ference for his experience and learning, even in their earliest intercourse, an agreement in opinion is always preceded by thoughtful consideration. While dissent is never hazarded but on strong grounds, it is always intimated with diffidence, but never relinquished but on conviction. ' But to look at this intercourse in another point of view . . what was personal to each . . the improve- ment of their own hearts ; can we read a letter, without a conviction of the benefit derived, by each, from this intercourse of thought? Can we estimate the effects of two such minds, so vigorous, so full, so deeply imbued with a piety, warm, vivid, rational? Must we not consider that it mainly contributed to the perfecting their characters, not only to their en- joyment, as we know it did, here below, but to their preparation, for what we may humbly trust, they are now enjoying above ?' z 538 LIFE OF The loss of such a man, could not fail to be widely and deeply felt. The tributes to his memory, from * the wise, the learned, and the good,' in the pos- session of the present writer, would, if made known, themselves be a monument. Two of these tributes, it is my privilege to insert with their names, by per- mission of the distinguished writers. The first, from the pen of the Rev. Hugh James Rose, appeared originally in the British Magazine for January, 1834. * The death of the Bishop of Limerick cannot be passed over in silence ; yet nothing can be said which will do justice to him, or to the feelings of those who knew and loved him. The lofty, uncompromising, unswerving integrity, which never trifled with prin- ciple in the veriest trifle ; the noble disregard of every rule but the rule of right; the generous disdain of every thing like meanness, in the guise of prudence ; the free expenditure of money (looked on only as a means of doing good) on every thing which became a man, a gentleman, and a christian bishop ; the holiness of the life, the affectionate kindness of the heart, its warm, earnest, true piety, its thorough de- votion to the cause of Christ's church, . . who can tell these things, as they ought to be told ? These, however, were things which belonged to his whole life. . . Graces of another character adorned that part of it, which might seem, to a common observer, to be clouded and melancholy. Happy, indeed, may they account themselves, who had the privilege of BISHOP JEBB, 339 seeing how such a Christian can suffer. For six or seven years, under a paralytic affection so severe, as to deprive him nearly of the use of one side, no one approached him, who did not find him, not uncom- plaining and patient merely, but cheerful, industrious, active for himself and others, never without a pen or a book in his hand, and so speaking, that you might fancy that the confinement and the employments to which his affliction condemned him, were the natural and happy choice of his own free will. Who besides him, under such affliction, would have taught himself, not only to write in the most exquisite and beautiful manner with the left hand, but to publish several volumes of his own, expressly for the service of the Gospel, and, never slow at the call of friendship or distress, to correct the manuscripts of friends, and to write the memoir, and publish the works, of a de- ceased friend, for the benefit of his family ? It was a picture so peculiar, so beautiful, so impressive, that none who had the happiness of conversing with him for the last three or four years, will ever lose their remembrance of it, or their admiration and wonder at the man. For him, none can mourn. The righteous is taken from present evil, and from evil to come. His whole life had been a preparation for eternity. Happy is he that the struggle is over, and the warfare accomplished ; the body released from suffering, and the patient, holy, heavenly spirit, in that haven where it would be.' The second testimony comes from one, who, had his lot (to our irreparable loss) been cast in those earlier times, would liave adorned the best ages of those illustrious fathers of the church, whose relics he has embalmed, . . the venerable Dr. Martin Joseph Routh. z ^ 340 LIFE OF ' Magdalen College, Oxford, Dec. 183S. ' Dear and Reverend Sir, * I perused with mingled feelings of regret and ve- neration, the account you give of the last moments of the excellent Bishop of Limerick. God granted him many consolations in those moments ; and he is gone to a place, where, in the language of Bishop Bull, there is nothing but joy, and still more joy ex- pected. That I had a place in his esteem, gives me, although conscious of my unworthiness, the sincerest pleasure, and will be a source of gratification to me during the short remainder of my life. You have sustained the heavy and heart-breaking loss of your best friend, but God will make it up to you. . . But the church's loss in this pious, learned, amiable, and conscientious prelate, will be long and severely felt, especially in these times of difficulty and danger. * That God may preserve you and yours is and will be the prayer of, ' Dear Sir, ' Your obliged and faithful servant, ' M. J. ROUTH.' The memorial erected in Clapham church by fra- ternal affection, was soon followed by the general call for a monument, in his own Cathedral at Limerick, expressive of tlie public feeling. This appeal origin- ated with a private clergyman of Ardfert, the Rev. Robert Conway Hurly, and found an answer in the hearts of the Bishop and clergy of the united dioceses. The idea was no sooner suggested, than it was carried into effect. And the resolutions entered into at Limerick, for the erection of a monumental statue in BISHOP JEBB. 341 memory of Bishop Jebb, were responded to in Eng- land, and by members of the episcopal church in America, with a promptitude and cordiality, which showed, that what was necessary for the object, would be most freely and wilUngly supplied. To procure subscriptions, it only required that the intention should be made known ; upwards of twelve hundred pounds were rapidly contributed ; and had much more been required, much more might, with equal facility, have been had. Several of the larger contri- butors, indeed, offered to double or treble their sub- scriptions ; and the amount was limited only by the modest estimate of the artist, unanimously chosen to execute the statue, E. H. Baily, Esq. R. A., who had previously executed, most successfully, the tablet and medallion for Clapham church.* * The Remains of JOHN JEBB, The learned, the wise, the good Bishop of Limerick, Are deposited in the tomb of the Thorntons, By permission of a family To which he was united By a bond of no common friendship. He died the 9th Dec. MDCCCXXXIII. In the 59th year of his age. The last memorial of his brother's love. LIFE OF At a Meeting held at the Palace, Limerick, on the 5th day of July, 1834, for the purpose of considering the best means of perpetuating the memory of the late Bishop Jebb, The Hon. and Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Limerick having been called to the chaii', the fol- lowing resolutions were agreed to : — Resolved, That it is the wish of many persons, resident within the United Diocese of Limerick, Ardfert and Aghadoe, to mark, by some pubHc and lasting memorial, their respect for the late lamented Bishop Jebb, who, by his learning, piety, and \di'tues, conferred lasting benefits not merely on this portion of the realm, but on the Universal Church of Christ. Resolved, That a committee be now appointed, with liberty to add to their number, whose duty it shall be to promote the erection of a monumental statue of the late Bishop, in the Cathedral of Lime- rick, by inviting the co-operation of all the friends of religion and literature throughout the United Kingdom. Resolved, That the follomng committee be ap- pointed, five to be a quorum : — The Hon. and Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Limerick. The very Rev. the Dean of Limerick. Sir Aubrey De Vere, Bart. Colonel Henry O'Donnell, C.B. The Venerable the Archdeacon of Aghadoe. Alderman Denis F. G. Mahony. James F. Carroll, M.D. John S. Thwaites, Esq. The Rev. R. Conway Hurly, Surrogate of Ardfert. The Rev. Thomas G. Willis, LL.D. BISHOP JEBB. 343 The Rev. Arthur B. Rowan. Captain Garrett H. Fitz-Gerald. Rev. Godfrey Massy. James M'Mahon, Esq. Rev. Henry H. Rose, Richard Franklin, Esq. Resolved, That the Rev. Charles Forster, B.D., late Domestic Chaplain to Bishop Jebb, be requested to take such steps in England as may to him seem proper, to promote the object of this meeting. Resolved, That James M*Mahon, Esq., be re- quested to act as Secretary and Treasurer, to solicit subscriptions, and to circulate these resolutions. Edmond Limerick, Chairman. The Lord Bishop of Limerick having left the chair, and Colonel Henry O'Donnell being called thereto — Resolved, That the thanks of this meeting be, and are hereby given, to the Lord Bishop of Lime- rick, for his dignified conduct in the chair, and for having declared his intention to afford the aid of his example and influence. H. O'Donnell, Chairman. IRISH SUBSCRIBERS. The Hon. and Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Limerick. The very Rev. Arthur Pres- The Ven. Archdeacon Fors- ton, Dean. ter, LL.D. The very Rev. G. Holmes, Rev. Michael De Courcy, D.D. DeaQ of Ardfert. Rev. T. G. Willis, LL.D. z 4 LIFE OF Rev. T. Quinn. Rev. John Jebb. Rev. R. Conway Hurly. Rev. H. H. Rose. Rev. A. J. Preston, jun. Rev. A. Mlntosh. Rev. Barry Denny. Rev. E. M. Denny. Rev. A. Denny. Rev, H. Denny. Rev. J. G. Day. Rev. R. Plummer. Rev. J. P. Chute. Rev. F. A. Chute. Rev. G. Massy. Rev. E. Geratty. Rev. R. L. Tyner. Rev. G. Hickson. Rev. E. Nashe. Rev. J. Murphy. Rev. J. Morgan. Rev. H. Bevan. Rev. R. Dickson. Rev. T. E. HefFerman, Rev. R. Hickson. Rev. A. B. Rowan. Rev. R. Knox. Rev. E. F. Conyers. Rev. R. Fitzgerald. Rev. B. Herbert. Rev. E. Herbert. Rev. F. Langford. Rev. A. Herbert. Rev. E. Thomas. Rev. T. WilHs. Rev. R. Moore. Rev. T. F. G. Plummer. Rev. A. Gore. Rev. D. Massy. Rev. G. Studdert. Rev. R. Hewson. Rev. T. Westropp. Rev. F. C. Sandes. Rev. J. Kerin. Rev. S. Matthews. Rev. G. G. Gubbins. Rev. W. Godfrey. Rev. F. Morrison. Rev. J. C. Creed. Rev. C. P. Thomas. Rev. J. Gabbett. Rev. Thos. Goodman. Rev. John Goodman. Rev. R. Swindall. Rev. J. Griffiths. Rev. J. O'Donohue. The Ven. J. Torrens, Archdea- con of Dublin. Rev. C. R. Elrington, D.D., Reg. Prof. T.C.D. Rev. R. H. Nash, D.D., for- merly S.F. T.C.D. Rev. Dr. Wall, S.F. T.C.D. Rev. G. Madder, LL.D. Rev. Joseph M^Cormick. Rev. H. L. Baker. Rev. J. Davis. Rev. Thos. Jebb. The Right Hon. Lord Chief Justice Bushe. The Right Hon. F. Blackburn. The Hon. Mr. Justice Torrens. The (late) Hon. Mr. Justice Jebb. Sir Aubrey De Vere, Bart. Sir John Godfrey, Bart. A. Hamilton, Esq. LL.D., Vicar Gen. of Ardfert. Col. H. O'Donnell, C.B. Alderman D. F. G. Mahony. John Brown, Esq. J. F. Carrol, M.D. J. S. Thwaites, Esq. James M'Mahon, Esq. BISHOP JEBB. 345 Capt. G. H. Fitzgerald. R. Franklin, Esq. W. Smyth, Esq. J. Pain, Esq. R. Blennerli asset, Esq. J. Hurly, Esq. G. Purden, Esq. H. Maun sell, Esq. J. J. Hickson, Esq. D. O'Grady, Esq. G. B. Hickson, Esq. M. Barrington, Esq. D. Barrington, Esq. The Proprietors of the Limerick Chronicle. The (late) Dr. Joseph Clarke, M.D. M. B. Rutherfoord, Esq. W. P. Ruxton, Esq. R. Carmichael, Esq. R. Heyland, Esq. Miss Jebb. Rt. Jebb, Esq. W. Bourne, Esq. ENGLISH SUBSCRIBERS. His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury, The Rt. Hon. and Rt. Rev. the Lord Bishop of London. The (late) Rt. Rev. the Lord Bishop of Durham. The Rt. Rev. the Lord Bishop of Winchester. The Rt. Rev. the Lord Bishop of Lincoln. The Marchioness of Westminster. The Countess of Morton. Epl of Jermyn. Viscount Sidmouth. Viscount Sandon. Lord Lilford. Lord Arden. Lord Bexley. Lord Stanley. The Rt. Hon. T. Spring Rice, Chancellor of the Exchequer. Hon. Mr. Justice Sir J. A. Park. Sir H. Halford, Bart. G.C.H. The Very Rev. T. Rennell,D.D., Dean of Winchester. The Very Rev. J. Wood, D.D., Mast. St. John's, Cambridge. Rev. M. J. Routh, D.D., Pres. Magdalen College, Oxford. Rev. Chr. Wordsworth, D.D., Mast. Trinity College, Cam- bridge. Rev. W. Webb, D.D., Mast. Clare Hall, Cambridge. The Ven. Archdeacon Thorpe. The Ven. Archdeacon Bay ley. Rev. C. A. Ogilvie. Rev. H. J. Rose. Rev. W. Vaux. Rev. H. H. Norris. Rev. A. J. Carrighan. Rev. J. J. Hornby. Rev. W. F. Hook. Rev. T. H. Home. Rev. Vaughan Thomas. Rev. W. Coghlan. Rev. J. Gay fere. Rev. W. Gray. 346 LIFE OF BISHOP JEBB. Rev. W. Evans, Tut. Trinity College, Cambridge. Rev. W. Palmer. Rev. R. J. Wilberforce. Rev. J. Miller. Rev. Dr. Donne. Rev. — Donne. Rev. C. Forster. Mrs. Beatty. Mrs. P. Latouche. Miss Hornby. Mrs. Hook. Miss Farquhar. T. H. Burke, Esq. Mrs. T. H. Burke. Miss Wilson. Thos. Wilson, Esq. Mrs. W. Miles. Josh. Jebb, Esq. T. Stock, Esq. Mrs. Butterworth. J. H. Butterworth, Esq. R. A. Dundas, Esq. Joshua Watson, Esq. J. Duncan^ Esq. J. S. Harford, Esq. A. G. H. Battersby, Esq. H. Hawkins, Esq. A. Spottiswoode, Esq. J. Cochran, Esq. H. S. Thornton, Esq. Mortlock and Sons. J. Pritchard, Esq. R. G. Jebb, Esq. Richard Jebb, Esq. AMERICAN SUBSCRIBERS. The (late) Right Rev. W. White, D.D., Bishop of Pennsylvania, Pres. House of Bishops. The Rt. Rev. G. W. Doane, D.D., Bishop of New Jersey, Burlington. Rev. Thos. W. Coit, D.D., Pres. Transylvania University, Lex- ington, Kentucky. Rev. C. Burroughs, D.D., Rec- tor of St. John's Church, Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Rev. W. Owswell, Rector of Christ Church, Boston, Mas- sachusetts. Rev. S. R. Johnson, Lafayette, Indiana. Mrs. Bradford, Burlington, New Jersey. Mrs. Stott, Philadelphia. Stephen Warren, Esq., Troy, New York. Mrs. Mary Warren, Troy, New York. LETTERS. 349 LETTER L To Mrs. Beatty. Swanlingbar, April 16. 1800. My dear Friend, I HOPE I shall prove myself not unjustifiable, in suf- fering your * Lecture ' of the 27th of March to re- main so long unanswered. In the first place, I have, since my return, composed four sermons, and dis- charged many parochial duties, visiting my flock pre- vious to Easter, &c. And, in the next place, these occupations unfitted me for a correspondent. I had not time to collect any thing amusing ; and though, like the spider, I might have spun sometliing out of myself, I am inclined to think the texture would have proved too flimsy to bear exportation to the Dublin market. Even now, I have not had time to breathe from the not unpleasant duties of a country curate ; but I think it better to incur the imputation of writ- ing stupidly, than to deserve the charge of behaving with neglect. I resolve, therefore, to wTite you a long epistle, without knowing whether I have mate- rials for a single page. You justly observe, that I am naturally grave ; and I think it highly probable that my seriousness of manner is too great ; but I really very seldom feel my spirits low, and generally speaking am cheerful. As to my being infected with that * rigid, profound gravity of manners, which is not pleasing,' I hope I never shall. 1 well know that I am, constitutionally and habitually, disposed to be serious in mixed com- pany 5 that I have a general tendency to be grave. 350 LETTERS. Now this general tendency I feel I can never fight off ; you might as well desire the unwieldy elephant to assume the airy swiftness of the antelope, or the moping owl to mimic the sprightly carols of the lark, as to tell me to be lively in general company. But, amongst friends, I feel a flow of spirits. Think me not precise when I say, that I think it not improper in a clergyman, however young, to be rather serious than otherwise, in the general ; it is, at present, highly disgraceful to my profession, that some of its members assume a levity of manner, by no means consistent with their sacred office. This levity I abominate ; and rather than give into it, I would be ' sombre,' or eccentric. For being either, I see no reason. With gravity, I think cheerfulness is perfectly consistent ; and propriety is very different from preciseness ; but, on the whole, I would rather be remarkable, in company, for seriousness, than for those talents which could ' set the table in a roar.' It may be less agreeable, but, in a clergyman, I deem it more proper. Let me repeat, however, that, with friends, I would enjoy myself, and sometimes throw off the restraint of being completely rational. ' Dulce est desipere in loco,' is my favourite motto ; which I would translate, * It is pleasant to play the fool, on a fit occasion, and in a proper place.' And now, my kind friend, let me thank you sincerely for your kind advice ; which proves you can discharge the truest office of friendship, — point out what you think wrong, with candour. And let me assure you, that, liowever grave I may generally be, I hope never to be without a smile for pleasantry, and a relish for wit; and that I long to have an opportunity, again and often, of proving to you in person, that I can be as cheerful as the gayest votary of pleasure. LETTERS. 351 When I can next visit Dublin, I cannot even guess. In my absence, there is no one to catechize the children ; and, as schemes of education which I have in view, get up, I shall be more and more tied to this place. For a curate to ramble is very difficult. A beneficed clergyman, indeed, I think may steal three months a year, provided he can procure a good curate for the time, who will engage to attend to the business properly. Otherwise, it is my opinion, he should reside the whole year. Give my kindest regard to Lady B., your sister, and Mrs. King, when you write, And believe me your sincere friend, John Jebb. LETTER IL To Mrs, Beatty. 15th Dec. 1800. My dear Friend, I AM about to commence this letter, on a very melan- choly and distressing subject, such as I hope may not again cloud our correspondence. Our excellent and valuable friend* is no more! He has hardly left be- hind him his equal, in talents, goodness, and simpli- city. He was a real ornament to his dignified sta- tion: and, wliat is more to his praise, a worthy disciple of Christ ; by the purity of his life, and the benignity of liis manners, imitating the character of * Dr. Young, Bishop of Clonfert. 352 LETTERS. a primitive believer. His attachment to science was great, so was his attachment to rehgion ; his pursuits were not confined to those branches of learning, which, perhaps, have gained him most celebrity. He spent much time in the sublimities and truths of Scripture ; and has, I hope, left behind him a treatise on the psalms, which will be of mucli use to the rising generation of divines. What were his conduct, and his feelings, and his manners, in private and domestic life, you well know. I have seen something, and heard much more of them. I could willingly indulge myself in saying more of what is deeply impressed on my mind, re- specting this truly good man ; but to you, who, from your near connection with him, so intimately knew, and so feelingly regret him, I need say no more. It was the pleasure of Almighty God to afflict him grievously indeed. To this pleasure, I believe, he submitted with Christian fortitude and patience ; but there are some sufferino;s almost too extreme for hu- man nature. Such were his ; the complaint so dread- ful, the remedies so violent, his constitution com- pletely broken. I really think, under such accumulated evils, a removal was to be wished for. He has left a life of pain, and entered into a life of glory. Those that remain are most to be pitied. The Church has lost a distinguished prelate ; rehgion, a firm supporter ; society, an invaluable ornament ; many worthy peo- ple, a sincere friend ; his family, an exemplary hus- band, father, and protector. I truly feel for the latter; but his departure is not without circumstances of con- solation. Had it pleased God to continue him some time longer, his existence would have been dreadful to himself, and most afflicting to them. As it is, he LETTERS. 353 is in a place, where pain and anguish are turned into joy and rapture. Those that are left behind, then, after the first emotions of sorrow have so far subsided as to admit of serious reflection, will find their irre- parable loss considerably alleviated, by considering the state of happiness which he enjoys, amongst 'the spirits of just men made perfect.' Remember me, in the kindest manner, to Lady Bell, and your sisters. And believe me your sincere, and affectionate friend, John Jebb. LETTER in. To Mrs, Beatty. Swanlingbar, April 15. 1801. My dear Friend, Much as I was obliged and gratified by your last very kind letter, I could not avoid finding fault with it in one respect. You do not know, for I am sure you did not intend it, that you have commenced a flatterer. We are prone enough to think better of ourselves than we deserve ; but when, to self-deception, the uninten- tional deceptions of our friends are added, it requires a good degree of firmness, to bring us to a right sense of our real character ; to unmask our real errors, and divest us of our imaginary good qualities. Take down the Spectator, and read the 399th Number : — you will there find, that a tendency to flattery is the A A 3o4 LETTERS. natural failing of friendship. And now that I have said enough to put you on your guard, let me request of you to adopt as much of the enemy as you can, in your letters. Addison says, that * a wise man should give a just attention, both to the friend who exagger- ates his virtues, and to the enemy who inflames his crimes.' It must be a very wise man who can always do this : for my own part, I feel I am too apt to en- tertain the partial representations of friendship with complacency, and to turn away from the unpalatable lessons afforded by the censure of enemies ; but were a friend to rebuke or correct me, I know I should be truly thankful for his kindness, and would endeavour to improve by it. I cannot say that any one circumstance has occur- red, since I last wrote to you, which could interest, or amuse you. I hold the noiseless tenor of my way here, with much sameness, but not \^dthout much pleasure. The want of my friends about me, is, in- deed, a great drawback ; but we cannot order these things according to our wishes ; and I am sure it is no less the dictate of right reason, and sound philoso- phy, than it is of religion, ' In whatsoever state we are, therewith to be content.' Yesterday was a very bad day. I devoted the whole of it, from morning till bed-time, to reading ; and I have not lately enjoyed a pleasanter morning, noon, and night. I was employed with the most elo- gant piece of criticism I ever read, Lowth's Lectures on the Sacred Poetry of the Hebrews. It is in Latin; but there is a very good translation of it, which I am sure would interest you highly. It puts the Old Testament in a novel, and very charming, point of view. No one, who has not read Lowth, can have an idea, how mfinitely the poetry of the sacred LETTERS. 355 writers exceeds the poetry of all the heathens, and all the moderns, combined. Be good enough to remember me most kindly to your family, And believe me, your sincere friend, John Jebb. LETTER IV. To Mrs. M'Cormick. April 25. 1801. Your letter gave me great, and sincere pleasure. What a blessing it is, that my dear aunt is still spared to her friends : her worth we are, I trust and believe, all deeply impressed with. Your observation, on the salutary, and self-improv- ing influence of sickness, or adversity, on the human heart, is strictly just. The chastenings of Heaven, if properly employed, will prove inestimable blessings ; and though, in health and prosperity, we may not, and perhaps should not, have the same kind of seri- ousness, which is brought on by God's visitations, it would be well if we were, at all times, to act under the influence of the feelings, which calamity inspired, and put in practice the resolutions, formed in the sea- son of adversity. For the warnings of Heaven, what- ever be their nature, we are answerable : they, too, are talents ; and, unless we improve them, we shall be counted unprofitable servants. Do not imagine I am an advocate for a perpetual gloominess, . . no, I only wish that we should attain the cheerfulness of re- ligion, and that we should endeavour to preserve such AA 2 356 LETTERS. minds, in every scene, whether of business or enjoy- ment, as we might reflect upon with satisfaction, if misfortune should change the scene. You speak of my rehgion, and my state of mind. I should be happy indeed, if it were any thing like what it ought to be. I have made so great an ad- vance, as to know many of my failings : among the rest, I must place a w^ant of constancy, and steady feehng. However, I pray God may mend me ; and I often seriously reflect on the awful circumstance, that it is very possible for a minister to perform his duties, and exert himself so as to save others, and yet himself become a cast-away. Saint Paul made use of constant exertion and prayer, that this might not be his case. How strongly then should this danger operate upon clergymen in general, of which Saint Paul himself was apprehensive. You, my dear Sister, I trust will be religious, and therefore happy. Consider this one thing, . . conti- nual efforts at improvement are necessary. There is no such thing as being stationary in religion : who- ever does not grow better, will infallibly grow worse. I have entered on a plan of giving evening service on Sundays, for the summer months, and reading a lecture on the Scriptures ; expounding a chapter of the New Testament, each Sunday evening, and add- ing such practical remarks, as may bring home the passages explained to the ' business and bosoms' of my hearers. This lecture I could put upon no sub- stitute ; indeed my plan is peculiar : and it would look exceedingly fickle in me to slacken in my ex- ertion, as I have been at some pains to procure a full attendance. However I hope, when autumn and the long evenings have set in, so as to put an end to this year's course, that I shall have it in my power to go LETTERS. over, for a little time to the Glebe. I trust I need not tell you, that to do so, will give me most sincere pleasure. I find my spirits revive, with the revival of the weather. I don't find it necessary, just now, to go from home for amusement : the occupations of the day are pleasant to me : parochial duties give me ex- ercise, and I spend my evenings at Mr. Gresson's. You may be assured your letters always give me the greatest pleasure ; the last was peculiarly accept- able. Write soon, and as long a letter as you can. My most affectionate remembrances to my aunt. And believe me ever, your sincerely affectionate brother, John Jebb. LETTER V. To Mrs, Heyland, Swanlingbar, Nov. 11. 1801. You should be, as I have no doubt you are, highly thankful to Almighty God for having placed you in a most happy situation. An especial mode of show- ing your thankfulness will be, the adoption of a strict cautiousness, in the midst of your prosperity, never to lose sight of the giv er of all good. How far you are in the habit of this cautiousness, you may judge, by observing the constancy, or inconstancy, the cold- ness, or fervour, with which you pray to God, read the Scriptures, and endeavour to improve yourself by other pious books. If, from the business or pleasures of life, you are induced to let a single day pass, with- A A 3 358 LETTERS. out some attention to those duties, it is a bad symp- tom ; this I can state from my own experience. Let me recommend to your attentive and repeated pe- rusal, Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Rehgion in the Soul. It is, as an excellent author styles it, ' A body of practical divinity and christian experience ; ' and, in my opinion, gives a clearer view of what a christian should endeavour to be, than any book I know. The general tenor of Scripture, is, that we should be continually aiming at higher improvements in virtue and religion. This principle is at the bottom of Doddridge's book. It should, however, be con- sidered, in reading it, that asufficient variety is not given, of the methods which divine wisdom takes, to bring sinful men to the love and practice of religion ; and that, perhaps, the rules and directions for pro- moting the christian life, require more time to be spent in the exercises of devotion, than can be spared by the generality of people : the former of these re- marks, you will find better put in Doddridge's pre- face, which I have not by me. The latter, if I recoL lect right, is in some measure given, in that chapter, which points out a pious distribution of the day. If, at first view, the book does not please you, suspend your opinion till you have carefully read it through. I have been induced to write thus freely to you on a serious subject, from a sense of your excellent natural disposition, and a feeling of the benefit I myself have received, from similar hints in the letters of friends. However humble my suggestions may be, I trust, with the assistance of God's grace, they may be of some advantage to you. If you get and approve of Doddridge, on your having finished it, I shall recom- mend some other books to your perusal. LETTERS. 359 LETTER VL To Mrs, Beatty, Cashel, March 3. 1S04. My DEAR Friend, I FEEL a Strong impulse to return an immediate reply, to your kind and pleasant letter : and I hope I shall not alarm you by ' keeping up so quick a fire,' of such small shot. I know, by experience, that your ammunition cannot readily be expended. Candidly confess that you talked thus, for the sake of keeping up the military metaphor . . for, to descend to un- figurative language, what is letter-writing, but con- versing on paper ? and when the topics of conversation are nearly infinite, can any just apprehension be en- tertained that they will be exhausted ? Your other reason, for w^hat you partially call ' ahstinence,* I can admit, has some weight : * To ensure the continuance of any pleasare, it must be enjoyed with moderation.' Applying it to the case in question, I can well con- ceive, that too quick a return of epistolary corre- spondence might interfere with duties ; or that the habit of writing, continually, in wiiatever mood, and under whatever external circumstances, might en- gender a kind of vapidness, not unusual in letters, which could not well co-exist with rational pleasure. But, as a general position, perhaps, on consideration, you would be disposed to quaUfv your assertion. We read indeed (Prov. xxv. l6.) ^ Hast thou found honey ? eat so much as is sufficient for thee, lest thou be filled therewith.' But this clearly applies A A 4 360 LETTERS. only to the delights of sense, and recommends a sober, moderate use of them. Agam, m the same Chapter (v. 27.) * It is not good to eat too much honey : ' but this appHed to the immoderate appetite for human applause, as we learn from the succeeding words of Solomon, * So, for men to search their own glory, is not glory.' But, there are some pleasures, in the pursuit and enjoyment of which, moderation w^ould be lukewarmness, would be indifference, would be criminal : I mean, the pleasures of religion. For these, we should strive to have a constant relish ; and these should be the heighteners of all our other joys. And, in my mind, Solomon confirms this idea (Prov. xxiv. 13, 14.) — * My son, eat thou honey, because it is good ; and the honeycomb, which is sweet to thy taste. So shall the knowledge of wisdom be unto thy soul : when thou hast found it, then there shall be a reward, and thy expectation shall not be cut off.' Here, no restraint, no limitation, no exhort- ation to moderation occurs. And why ? because we cannot drink too constantly or too deeply, of the water of life, the pleasures of religion are represented as perennial. In truth, the difference between worldly, secondary pleasures, and what are primary and real, is clearly pointed out by our Saviour (St. John, iv. 13, 14.) * Whosoever drinketh of this water, shall thirst again ; but whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him, shall never thirst ; but the water that I shall give him, shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.' When I review what I have just written, I find that I have imperceptibly glided into a kind of sermon ; . . but this I know you will excuse : some people would call it enthusiasm, . . others rank fanaticism, . . but I believe it to be * truth and soberness.' I LETTERS. 361 certainly,^ however, do wish for such a sense of God predominant m the soul, as may both * soothe and sweeten human Ufe.' This I am sure (from havmg been a Httle conversant in the lives of great and pious men) may be produced ; and this, far from in- terfering with the common businesses, or civilities of life, will render men, at once, more diligent in their caUings, and more courteous in their social intercourse. I feel, I trust, a due sorrow and humility, that I have little, if any portion of this divine principle ; but I thank God, that to attain it is my wish and prayer. I do not, indeed, my good friend, suspect you of flattery, . . and I should be guilty of extreme affect- ation, were I to assert an indifference to the approba- tion of those whom I esteem ; but we are too apt to flatter ourselves, . . and, therefore, commendation is a commodity of which we do not require a large supply. I know I am not fastidious ; the sense of my own weakness, however, though sometimes painful, will, I trust, on the wliole prove salutary. Thus much for self, . . a dangerous subject, with which it is but pru- dence to have done, and probably it would have been propriety long ago. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ You have, I think, well appreciated the styles of Addison and Johnson. It must, however, be observed, to the credit of our great British moralist, that his weight of words is always accompanied by a propor- tionate density of sterling sense. There is more compact meaning in one of his periods, than in twenty of any of his flimsy imitators. Johnson's sentences are wedges of gold ; . . theirs are large and cumbrous wooden blocks, fantastically carved and gilt. The exterior of Johnson is easily imitated ; 362 LETTERS. that of Addison is inimitable. A familiar comparison may perhaps illustrate this. . . An ordinary painter will give you a just representation of the stiff court dress, but it requires the hand of a master to trace the careless, yet graceful simplicity of the Grecian robe. I shall transcribe, not from books, but from my brain, two little passages, one in prose, the other in verse, from Johnson, which I think free from affectation, and full of dignified piety. The verse is a translation from Hector Boethius, and is prefixed as a motto to one of his Ramblers. *0 ! Thou, whose power o'er moviT^g worlds presides, Whose voice created, and whose wisdom guides, On darkling man in pure effulgence shine, And cheer the clouded mind with light divine : 'T is thine alone to calm the pious breast With silent confidence, and holy rest ; From Thee, Great God, we spring, to Thee we tend. Path, motive, guide, original, and end I ' The prose is in his tour to the Hebrides. ' We were now treading,' says he, ' that illustrious Island, which was once the luminary of the Caledonian regions ; whence savage clans, and roving barbarians, derived the benefits of knowledge, and the blessings of religion. To abstract the mind from local emotion, would be impossible if it were endeavoured, and would be foolish if it were possible. Whatever withdraws us from the power of the senses, whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future, predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me, and from my friends, be such frigid philosophy, as may lead us indifferent or unmoved over any ground, that has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue ! That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain LETTERS. 368 of Marathon, and whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of lona.' Here is every thing that elevation of soul, and powers of composition, could do. When Sir Joseph Banks read this passage for the first time, he clapped his hands in extasy. I think I have given you a tolerable, perhaps in- deed a very trying and mtolerable proof, that men can sometimes write long letters. I will candidly own, that I am not always in so scribbling a vein. I have written along as fast as my pen could carry me ; and doubtless there are many crudenesses, in what I have thus hurried off, without turning it in my mind. We speak, however, with even less of premeditation, inas- much as the tongue is swifter than the pen. And yet I feel, that, both in speaking, and in writing, we should have a constant guard over ourselves ; yes, even when we speak to our dearest friends : not from any suspicion of them, but from a jealousy of our- selves \ for is it not our duty to guard our thoughts ? How much more, then, is caution necessary, when we embody those thoughts, when we give them, as it were, 'a local habitation and a name?' Would that we could always say, they were better than an * airy nothing ! ' Yours always most truly and affectionately, J. J. LETTER VII. To Mrs. Beatty, Cashel, July 16. 1804. My dear Friend, I HAVE been, for the last month, more than usually a truant j having, within that space, visited Lismore, 364 LETTERS. Cork, Mitchelstown, and Maryborough, besides some minor excursions. The consequence of my rambling you will naturally guess : J am much in arrear, both in my studies and my other duties ; among the most agreeable, and most pressing of which latter, is the acknowledgement of your last truly gratifying letter. You put our correspondence in a light, which cer- tainly never before occurred to me j as I could not have imagined my hasty letters, calculated to pro- duce any lasting moral effect. But the truth is, that, in the hands of God, our most trifling actions may be causes of good, in ways altogether beyond human probability, or calculation. And, in the present, or similar instances, I now see, that the partiality of friendship, and the interest we naturally feel in what is addressed to ourselves, may give a force and effi- cacy to comparative weakness, which we have never experienced in productions of a far superior nature. Your account of * * * * *'s mental struggle is highly interesting and instructive. It is a faithful picture of some of those internal workings, which, I believe, almost universally, and by a sort of moral necessity, precede the growth, and even accom- pany the progress, of religion in the heart. These, we may believe, will be more or less painful and afflictive, according to the degree of moral criminality, and also sensibility, in the person by whom they are experienced. The pangs which the prodigal felt, ' before he came to himself,' were probably most poignant and severe : and when those who have never, like him, incurred any considerable degree of positive criminality, feel affected with similar in- tenseness, their mental sufferings flow, chiefly, from a keener susceptibility ; and are usually repaid with a very high degree of peace, and enjoyment in be- LETTERS. 365 lieving, when the pangs are over, and the Christian character is completely formed. Have you not found it one fruit of religious thoughtfulness, that you more and more disrelish the insipid, cloying, unsatisfactory hurry, and confusion, and vacancy, which the world calls pleasure ? I so- berly think, that, when Christianity of the best kind is properly imbibed, it will, more or less, produce this effect ; and that, precisely in the degree to which it prevails in the heart. When it is but beginning to operate, there will still be a hankering after the world. As it advances, the world will become distasteful ; still, however, without any thing arising to fill the void it leaves behind ; and, therefore, in this stage, there will be much uneasy feeling. In the next stage the delights of religion, and the renewed relish for simple enjoyments, shed a heavenly calm around, which will be ever increasing, in endless progression. This whole process, if my theory be not fanciful, is a preparation for eternity and heaven. Relishes are, by this means, created, for heavenly enjoyments, which are thus habitually anticipated; and those tempers are thus formed, which will continue with us for ever ; . . purified indeed, in heaven, from all alloy, and infinitely heightened in degree, though not essen- tially different in kind. I am disposed to think, that the religion of most books which we read, and most people with whom we converse, is radically defective. It looks to hea- ven and hell, as places, rather than as conditions, or states, of moral happiness and misery. It entertains a bewildered, irrational conception, that the kinds of pleasure and pain, to be there experienced, are utterly beyond our conception. Whereas I conceive, that goodness, or holiness, must form a principal part of 366 LETTERS. heavenly enjoyment ; and that wickedness, or sin, must form a principal part of infernal torment ; that the heaven of the good man is, in some measure, commenced in his life ; and, in like manner, the hell of the wicked, is also here commenced. This I throw out very briefly, for your consideration. I might employ pages in expanding the hint, but your own reflections will do so, much better than my pen. And to say the truth, though I sat down with the full in- tention of writing over my sheet, I just now feel un- equal to continuing the subject, without the danger of weakening what I have already said, such as it is, by something more vapid. I forbear commenting on your plans, till you de- velope them more fully. You will believe that I feel deeply interested in them. May God direct you for the best ! Perhaps I may be the first to take up the pen ; as I cannot, in common justice, consider these hurried lines, a return for your last kind letter. At the same time, if nothing occurs to prevent your writing speedily, the sooner you do so, the more you will gratify Your obliged and affectionate friend, John Jebb. LETTER VIII. To Miss Jehh. Cashel, July 27. 1804. Yesterday's post brought me the melancholy account of poor Miss Jebb's death, and also of that of my friend Mr. Gresson of Swanlingbar. The latter of these events, I was in a good measure prepared to expect ; but the removal of so fine a young woman, so sudden, so contrary to all probable expectation, is LETTERS. 367 truly awful. It is one of the very many serious inti- mations we are continually receiving, that, in the midst of life, we are in death. How soon the most healthful and disengaged of us all, may be summoned to the unseen country, we cannot form the remotest guess. Living, then, in such a world, and on such a tenure, what preparation should we make for our re- moval, and for our subsequent appearance at the great tribunal ! When I think of this momentous change, when I consider the continual, and perhaps very near approach of that period, when our mortal frames shall put on immortality, . . an immortality of happiness or misery ! . . how trifling, how absolutely insignificant, appear all the eager competitions, fatiguing pursuits, and splendid attainments, w^hich occupy the children of the world ! They are less than nothing, and lighter than vanity, when weighed in the balance of Eternity ; and yet, when we look around us, we find that they give rise to most of the pleasures and pains of life, . . unsatisfactory pleasures, and imaginary pains. In truth, we must feel, that we are formed for something infinitely more noble and exalted ; our very uneasi- nesses must prove it, if we are not resolved to shun all reasoning on the subject. Else, how does it happen, that, in the midst of our highest common enjoyments, we feel a restless solicitude for something, that re- mains behind, for something, that we cannot attain ? Whence is this solicitude, w4iat is this something? The only rational answer that can be returned, is, that this solicitude, is an intimation of fitness and capacity, for things above this earth ; and this something, is, in fact, a vivid impression of true religion, a temper, able to fill the void of life, and fearless when it looks towards futurity. I have been, I trust not unnatu- rally, led into this train of thought, and my pen has 368 LETTERS. followed my conceptions. It is not the melancholy effusion of a mind under the influence of gloom, for I have been passing the whole, or nearly the whole of this day, in a very pleasing and cheerful literary tete- a-tete, with an intelligent Physician, who dropt in upon my solitude. I have, within this week, been truly astonished, in reading the epistles of Seneca, to find what views of religion were entertained by this heathen. They are such as might put many of our christian divines to the blush. I feel a disposition to translate a passage, now before me, for your perusal. * The priest need not be employed to procure us admission to the ears of an image, as if we should be thus the more readily heard. God is near you, he is with you, he is within you. Yes, my friend, a holy spirit is seated within us, the careful observer of our good and our evil actions ; a spirit which influences us more or less, precisely according to the encourage- ment it receives from us. Nobody is a good man without God. Is it possible for any one to rise su- perior to fortune, without his assistance ? He gives magnificent and upright counsels. He dwells in every truly good man. . . If you behold a man, un- awed by dangers, unmolested by passions, happy in adversity, placed in the midst of storms, viewing mankind from a superior elevation, will you not re- gard him with veneration ? Will you not say, this is something greater, and more excellent, than one would believe could be contained in this small body ? A Divine power, has descended there. A Heavenly influence, informs and animates this excellent, mo- derated temper, which passes by all earthly things, as beneath its notice, which smiles at the common oc- jects of human hope and fear. A disposition so truly LETTERS. 369 great, could not subsist, without the support of the Deity. Therefore, it is chiefly resident in those re- gions, from whence it has descended. As the rays of the sun touch, indeed, the earth, but abide in that luminary from whence they emanate, . . thus, the great and holy soul, which was given for this very purpose, that we might have a more intimate know- ledge of divine things, is conversant, indeed, amongst us, but adheres to its original. Its dependence, its views, its objects are there. It is interested in our concerns, like some superior being.' This little quotation, is but one instance, out of numbers which might be adduced to shew, that Seneca had truly divine views of religion. It proves, within a short space, that he believed in the reality, and efficacy of spiritual influences ; the power and consolations of piety ; and the important truth, which the Apostle Paul so often enforces, that our convers- ation should be in heaven. And now, my dear sister, let me tell you, that I have been long suffering under self-reproach, for neglect of my nearest and best friends ; and, on the eve of a journey, have determined to pay off some little of my shameful arrears, beginning with you. Letter-writing may be made both gratifying and useful. I know, I have wilfully forfeited much of this pleasure and advantage ; and I regret that I have done so : regret for the past, however, must be unavailing in itself, and, in fact, cannot be genuine, unless it be followed by future amendment. I will not make any rash promises, but I wish to be tried by this test ; therefore, I hope that you will stretch forth the hand of reconciliation and encouragement, and that very soon. I purpose, please God, setting B B 370 LETTERS. out on monday, to visit my friend Woodward, in the county of Cavan, for a few days ; not making Dublin my way, as it would be a very great round, and I should not like to pay it a flying \isit, I hope, so far as it may be lawful to form such distant schemes, to spend a fortnight in to\^Ti next \\inter. My situ- ation in this country is such as I should be grateful for. I have sufficient society, books, comfortable lodgings, a good serv ant, a kind patron, and a reason- able prospect of arri\ing, one day, at a more per- manent situation in my profession. A circumstance, which, if it ever takes place, will increase my duties and my responsibility, with my means. God grant I may be equal to tlie trial. I hope to hear from you very soon. Yours most affectionately, John Jebb. LETTER IX. To Mrs. Beatfy. Casht], August £?4. 1804. My dear Friend, I SHOULD have written to you sooner, had I not been confined by an ilhiess, more dispiriting than dan- gerous, whicli drove away all relish for the pen, and indeed, ahiiost tlie capacity- of thinking. Thank God, I find myself better this day, tlian I have been a considerable time. I hardly know a nicer, or more difficult subject of practical morality, than the proper estimation of LETTERS. what the world calls pleasure.* It is a point, on which much of our views and habits must inevitably depend. Yet it is too generally predetermined, and the result is what might be naturally expected, . . disappointment, disgust, and ennui, amidst a rapid succession of false enjoyments, pursued even to cloying repetition. It is thus with the gay world. But even the rational and prudent decide the matter (in my poor judgment) improperly. They do not inquire, how far must we, but how far may we go ? They allege the necessity of conforming to innocent usages : but they commonly carry this conformity so far, as to justify the suspicion, that they are actuated more by their own inclination, than by any other motive ; besides, they seldom set about inquiring, what is innocent? And they seem to forget, that things in themselves indifferent, may become other- wise, by excess, or abuse. There is yet anotlier class of persons, whose sober conviction is against idle, frivolous amusements, but who occasionally engage in them, either to avoid the imputation of singularity, or from a sense of duty. When the first of these motives is the occasion of such compliance, I do not hesitate to say that it should be watched with the utmost jealousy, and if possible, overcome. We should never be afraid of a righteous singularity ; we should seek our praise, not of men, but of God. We should seriously consider, how far this compro- mizing principle may carry us ; and reflect, ere it be too late, that the friendship of the world is enmity with God. But, where a sense of duty keeps us more in the world than we could wish, I must own • For Mr. Jebb's views on this subject, at a later period, see < A Letter to a Young Clergyman on Fashionable Amusements,' Pract. Theol. vol. ii. p. 267, &c. B B 2 872 LETTERS. the mode of proceeding does not appear to me so clearly pointed out. It is not for me to decide, how far such compliance is justifiable, or to mark out the precise time when criminality begins. Sure I am, that when the disrelish for such modes of social enjoyment exists, it should not be discouraged. But as this is a matter of individual feeling, I should be sorry to assert any thing positively, on the point of total abstinence from those amusements, which are commonly, though perhaps not justly, termed inno- cent. Pray read over with care, the Bishop of Lon- don's (Porteus) l^th Sermon, on ' Lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God and Hannah More's 17th and 18th chapters of 'Strictures on female Education.* In which I think you will lind more just reasoning, and good sense, on this subject, than is contained in many volumes of modem morality. You will not imagine, my good friend, that I am an advocate, either for monastic seclusion, or mystical contem- plation. We were made social beings, ^^ith a natural relish for pleasure. Religion would not lead us, either to the desert, or the cloister. It would teach us to perform our parts in the active walks of life, and would infinitely enhance every feeling of real pleasure ; but then it would also teach us to walk in this world with God, and lead us to such sources of enjoyment, as are pure and unadulterate ; such as are suitable to thinking, and immortal beings ; such, in a word, as may be pursued in another world, only in a more perfect manner, and without the clogs and hindrances of those bodies, in which our souls are now imprisoned. Of this nature, are the pleasures of intellect, of benevolence, of friendship, of social intercourse, and, above all, of religion. These afford a rich and inexhaustible variety; and, unless we be LETTERS, providentially visited by some disqualifying fit of sickness, or some extraordinary mental dejection, these are ever ready to present some innocent and useful mode of passing that time, which is not neces- sarily devoted to our more immediate occupations, in that state of worldly employment, to which it hath pleased God to call us. It is the character of proper recreations, that they recruit the mind and body, for a renewed application to the more serious business of life. Now, I am sure you will agree with me, that what the world calls recreation, is not of this nature. It is a drud- gery of the most wearying and jading kind ; it deadens the faculties, it discomposes the mind, and it injures the body. I can hardly recollect having been ever in a crowded assembly, without expe- riencing its prejudicial effects ; without finding my- self, more or less, unfitted, for pursuing my duties, that night, in prayer, and the next day, either in business, or devotion. This may not ordinarily hap- pen to other persons ; but, where it is the case, I am sure that pleasures of this kind, cannot be innocently, I will not say enjoyed, but participated. I find a long arrear of letters to answer : this has been the first employment of to-day. I must now attend a little to my other friends, and therefore prematurely sign myself, my dear friend's Sincerely obliged and affectionate, John Jebb. P. S. As to the locality of heaven and hell, there can be no objection to retaining the idea of it. I only adverted to the mistake of those, who looked merely, or principally, to some indescribable change of place, without reflecting, that the dispo- B B 3 374 LETTERS, sitions preparatory to, and in some measure consti- tutive of, future happiness or misery, must be formed here. LETTER X. To Mrs, Heyland. Cashel, February 28. 1805. About an hour ago I sat down, made a pen, pre- pared my paper, swept my hearth, trimmed my fire, and settled myself, with all due comfort, to write you a letter, when I was interrupted by the entrance of a good-natured visitor, who sat with me, or rather walked with me, about my room, ever since ; told me various anecdotes, which I shall probably never re- collect; and which, in truth, are little worth recol- lecting ; asked me to dine with him to-day, when I shall probably hear, at least, as many more anecdotes . . and, at last, kindly left me to my ow^n inventions, when I had been almost afraid that I should be too late for this day's post ; a delay which I could the less brook, because to-morrow happens not to be a post day, and because I am conscious of being already much too great a defaulter. Have you laboured through the above extra- ordinary sentence? Never, I believe, did I write so long a one, and never, certainly, do I wish to compose such another. Such as it is, it must now go forward, for time is precious ; and, instead of weighing sentences, and rounding periods, I think it best to let you know% in the first words that have occurred, how w'ell I am. Thank God, an oppres- sive rheumatic headache, brought on by the damp LETTERS. 375 weather, has ahnost deserted me ; and though this day be nearly as unpromising as any we have yet had, I feel comparatively to tread on air. I feel, indeed, ill qualified to pursue a train of mathematical reason- ing, or to encounter the perplexing intricacies of poor W.'s wild theology, but I think I could read, with pleasure and interest, a book of Milton, or 50 pages of divinity suited to my taste, and rise from my employment, with a mind not jaded but refreshed, . . this is a tolerable proof that I feel at my ease. I have been led, of late, to feel the goodness of Providence, in placing me in comfortable lodgings, where I have every necessary of Hfe provided without anxiety or trouble. My friend Forster*, has been employed in furnishing his rector's Glebe House, which he is about to inhabit ; and his labours in pro- viding beds, chairs, kettles, looking-glasses, tables, &c. &c., together with cows, ploughs, cars, &c. &c., have fully awakened me to the truest relish, for a furnished lodging, and a solitary mutton chop. I feel a hopeful belief, that my little income will sup- port me with ease, and that, after devoting a proper sum to charity, I shall even have something to spare for books ; and right gladly would I devote that superfluity to books, wliich my situation may allow me. I shall not envy the rich Rector, who ploughs his rich acres, if I am permitted to cultivate my mind ; for, however poor the soil, and however scanty the produce, if I can bring forth any fruit to perfec- tion, it is a happy reflection, that the harvest for which I wish to prepare, is an eternal one, and its fruits such as never will decay. Your kindness has put me in possession of two authors, whose best wis- dom, and whose only real happiness, were derived * The late Rev. George Forster. B B 4 376 LETTERS. from religion, . . Milton, and Bacon. They both, it is true, had their failings, and their calamities ; but they erred, and they suffered, only inasmuch as they departed from the strict line of christian duty ; and their sufferings providentially became the means of bringing them to a happier state than they previously enjoyed, . . because, to a condition of calmness and retirement, to softened tempers, and to religious me- ditation. My books are not yet arrived from town, and I am looking out for them in daily expectation. The package contains not only your present, but several other valuable works ; few of them, indeed, are what can be styled light summer reading ; but they are, in general, such as will, at once, interest and instruct : whether I myself shall ever reap as much improve- ment from them, and the rest of my little collection, as a disposition naturally sanguine leads me to hope for, I cannot presume to form an opinion ; the issues of this, as of all other sublunary schemes, are in the disposal of infinite goodness and wisdom ; and, what- ever may be the good pleasure of the great Disposer, I trust he will graciously prepare and dispose me to meet w4th thankfulness. If I profit myself by read- ing, or by thinking, I own I have an earnest wish, that others may profit with me, and through me. I hope the wish is not selfish, and still more that it is not dictated by foolish vanity. If I thought it were, much rather would I continue all my life in obscurity, con- tent to study and meditate for myself, and for a few children, and grown people with the capacities of children. This w^ould, in truth, be, at present, if not my sole, my chief occupation, did not something within, backed by the, perhaps, too partial suggestion of my friends, lead me to prepare for a wider sphere ; LETTERS. perhaps I may never be summoned to move in such a sphere ; if so, I trust, I shall be enabled to rest satisfied. Yours ever, my dear Maria, most affectionately, John Jebb. LETTER XI. To Mrs, Beatty, Casliel, April 11. 1805. My dear Friend, Have you used me as I am conscious I do not de- serve at your hands, . , that is, have you written me a letter, since I left Dublin ? If so, it has perished in one of the very frequent mail robberies that have occurred. At all events, it was my part to begin writing, and I have often determined to do so ; but some excuse for procrastination continually pre- sented itself It is thus that too many are apt to trifle away their time at large, and to put off the evil day of attention to the most important concerns, which can occupy immortal beings ; infinitely im- portant, indeed, when we consider how short a time is allotted us for the formation of those dispositions, relishes, and habits, which must attend us through all eternity. I trust that we, my friend, may be enabled, in this momentous business, to work while it is called to-day. The day is far spent, the night is at hand, . . that night in which no man can work. We should therefore be solicitous not to lose that portion of sunshine, which still remains. I have been led imperceptibly into this serious 378 LETTERS, train of thought. The season at which I write, doubtless, has its influence ; I have just finished a Good-Friday exhortation, for my rustic congregation, and perhaps could not immediately descend to com- mon topics. Yet how common-place is what I have said ! It is what we all know. And yet it is what we too seldom exhibit our conviction of, by the manner in which we employ our hours. The world seems to have adopted for its favourite maxim, in reUgion and in morals, the comfortable aphorism, that * to enjoy is to obey.' And it must be owned, that the conduct of the world proves its readiness to obey, so far as such a disposition may be inferred from the eager pursuit of enjoyment. But the world may be easily confuted, on its own principle. For when is it that we feel real enjoyment ? Not, certainly, in that infectious atmosphere, which gayety, falsely so called, has created around itself. Not in the pos- session of wealth, not in the attainment of know- ledge, not even in the more quiet intercourses of life. Still something is wanting, on which the heart may securely repose. Some better portion, which cannot be taken away ; which may be commensurate to the vast capacities of an immortal soul. This something, is, true religion, the love of God and the love of man ; this, and nothing short of this, is per- manent enjoyment. And when the maxim is thus explained, nothing can be truer, than that, * to enjoy is to obey.' God is love. He wills the happiness of his creatures ; and not merely to seek, but to derive that happiness, from the fountain of eternal good, is consummate obedience. Are we then, to delay, in reaching forth after our supreme good ? Are we to consume on trifles, that time, wliich was given to make us wise, and holy, and happy ? Shall we be out- LETTERS. 379 stripped in activity and exertion by every worldling ? Who is there, of the vast crowd that place their happi- ness in earthly things, that will admit the possibility of making too much haste to be rich, to be powerful, to be popular, to be famous ? And shall not we imitate their ardour, when the cause is infinitely superior, the object of our pursuit, eternal, and the means to be pursued, in themselves, truly delightful ? Our re- missness can be accounted for on no other principle, than the Scriptural one, * That the children of this world, are, in their generation, wiser than the chil- dren of light.' I hope, my dear Friend, that, since I saw you, you have been both well and happy ; and that you have, by this time, fully decided upon some place of re- sidence. Few things are more disagreeable than a state of suspense ; and, perhaps, few things more pro- ductive of moral difficulties, to those, who have, by God's grace, escaped grosser temptations to evil. I long to hear from you, though sensible I do not merit a letter at your hands. Do not forget my best regards to all with you, and in Bagot Street, And believe me, my dear Friend, very affectionately yours, John Jebb. LETTER XII. To the Rev. J, M'Cormick. Cashel, April 27. 1805. I NEED not say how sincerely I wish, that, by my presence, or in any other mode, I could contribute, even in a slight degree, to increase your cheerfulness 380 LETTERS. at the Glebe. It is, indeed, most probable, that my conceptions cannot well reach the painful and melan- choly emotions, which must continually arise from the condition of my poor aunt. I hope I feel as I ought to do for her, and especially for you and our dear sister. But, on such real calamity as this, I know that to offer any palliation of it would be cruel, and I trust that to suggest any topics of consolation would be needless. The only source of true comfort, is bountifully placed within our reach ; and, undoubt- edly, the very afflictions, which a good Providence sees fit to send, will, if it be not our own faults, ultimately produce the happiest effects. They are salutary warnings, that we are to derive our best en- joyments from within, from the culture of our own hearts, and from an habitual intercourse with Him, who is subject to no decay, who never will leave us, and never will desert us, unless we first desert him. It has been t well observed by the profound Pascal, * that the same thing which proves man's misery and corruption, also proves his greatness, and his dignity : for the reason why he grows sick and weary of every object, and engages in such a multitude of pursuits, is, because he still retains the idea of his lost happiness ; which, not finding it within himself, he seeks through the whole circle of external things, but always seeks without success, because, indeed, we cannot find it in ourselves, nor in the creatures, but in God alone.' It is, in truth, the peculiar and distinguishing ex- cellence of Christianity, in its higher influences, that it, at once, restores the image of our Maker, and causes him to dwell in our hearts. While the cold formalist, places his religion, in a superstitious atten- tion to outward ceremonies, and the angry dogmatist. LETTERS. 381 his, in fierce contention for abstract metaphysical doctrines, the pious and humble follower of Jesus, knows and feels, that his religion is love, and peace, and joy : for he, at least, begins happily to experi- ence the divine reality of our Saviour's promise, * If a man love me, he will keep my words ; and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.' It was surely a sense of this divine presence, and a portion of God's own Spirit, which dictated this wonderful apostrophe of the Poet. Thou art the source and centre of all minds, Their only point of rest ; Eternal word ! From thee is all that soothes the life of man, His high endeavour, and his glad success, His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. But oh, thou bounteous giver of all good. Thou art of all thy gifts, thyself the crown ! Give what thou canst, without thee, we are poor, And with thee, rich, take what thou wilt away. This moment I hear, from Richard, that my poor aunt has rallied, and got the better of her attack ; whether this implies recovery, I do not know. God direct all for the best. My best love to my aunt, and your little ones. Believe me your truly affectionate John Jebb. LETTER XIII. To Miss Jebb, Sunday, 30th June, 1805. My very culpable neglect, has been just brought home to my mind, in such a point of view, that I 382 LETTERS. am sure you cannot feel it near so strongly as I do myself ; and I know not how I can more fitly employ this evening, than in endeavouring to make some atonement. What I write, however, must be suited to the day, as nothing but absolute necessity war- rants common letter-writing on Sunday. Yours (I am ashamed to say of April 30.) is now in my hand. It gave me great pleasure, when first received ; and I can truly add, that, on a careful reperusal, it still gratifies me highly. It shows both right feeling and candour; and it describes, with accuracy and justice, a case by no means uncommon, that in which religious principle does not fully pre- dominate over the world. What pleases me most, is your evident wish, that it should so predominate. If the wish be truly earnest, . . if you do not suffer it to be stifled by other things, . . exertion will follow almost as a matter of course. And, when there is decided exertion in a right cause, what may not be hoped in the way of happy result? It must be admitted, indeed, that many do exert themselves unsuccessfully, . . that many seek to enter into the kingdom of Heaven, without obtaining admission. But the truth is, they exert themselves, depending on their own strength ; they seek to enter in, by their own merit, not considering that we can do nothing of ourselves, to help ourselves, but our suf- ficiency is of God ; and, that, if any man will enter into life, Christ is the way ; that is, his life must be our perpetual example, and his spirit must be our principal dependence. You complain that you * have not resolution to practise what you know to be right,' that ' insignificant occupations engross you but too much, and you find it difficult to disengage your mind sufficiently from surrounding objects, to fix it LETTERS. 383 on higher, and more important pursuits.' The fact is, this has been, at one time or other, the case of most of the sons of Adam : for, we cannot, of our- selves, practise what is right ; we cannot, by our natural powers, make what is invisible, paramount over what is visible. But, if we fervently, affec- tionately, unreservedly, and uncompromizingly, ask strength of God, he will enable us, by his own omni- potent interference, not only to do his will, but to do it with delight ; . . not only to live above this world, but to turn every scene of it to durable advantage. There is a fatal error, which, I am well convinced, prevents multitudes from enjoying the full and feli- citating influences of Christianity ; namely, that they deem it a dry catalogue of duties ; or, at best, a collection of truths, awful indeed, and sublime, but, by no means attractive or engaging. Now the fact is, our holy religion prescribes no duties, but what are indissolubly interwoven with happiness ; and insists on no truths, which, if rightly understood, are not the sublimest exemplifications of God's goodness, mercy, and love. It is the main object of the Gospel, to free us from every thing unholy, impure, mean, sordid, selfish, envious, discontented ; and to give us enlightened understandings, purified affections, powers almost indefatigable, and peace almost unin- terrupted. This happy state, it is true, comparatively few fully attain ; still, however, multitudes, I am well convinced, have attained, and do attain it : some, doubtless, in higher degrees than others : some, with what may be termed moral eclipses, this world, occa- sionally, obscuring the next, by its vain shadow ; some, with slighter obscurations, a momentary cloud of wrong feelings, or wrong passions, sometimes, though but rarely, intervening j and a distinguished 384 LETTERS. few, enjoying a cloudless meridian state, realizing that beautiful picture of the poet, which he thought, perhaps, was merely the happy creation of his own fancy : . . Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned ; Desires composed, affections ever even. Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to heaven. But how are we to seek for those influences, which will bring us to this happy state ? I answer, not by austerity, not by sourness, not by fanaticism, not by gloom ; but by the devout, affectionate, cheerful study of God's word. Devout, because we must pray that our hearts may be opened, to understand it ; affectionate, because we must accustom our souls to love it ; and cheerful, because we must invigorate our active powers, to fulfil it. When we thus come to the Scriptures, we may hope to find them, in truth, the words of eternal life ; we shall find them, from beginning to end, an exhibition of God, at once in the most aA\^ul, and engaging light. Not only, as infinitely holy, just, wise, and powerful, but as the Creator, preserver, benefactor, Redeemer, and Sanc- tifier, of his rational creatures ; we shall find the most gracious adaptations to the wants and weak- nesses of our fallen state : a Mediator, to relieve our consciousness of sin ; spiritual influences, to assist our infirmities ; threatenin gs, to alarm our careless- ness ; promises, to attract our self-love. We shall find the amplest provision for every feeling of that primitive innocence, which it is the object of religion to restore. The perfections of the eternal Godhead, are, as it were, familiarized to our view, in the his- torical, prophetical, and devotional Scriptures j but. LETTERS. 385 more especially, in the character of the blessed Jesus. The substantial happiness of the righteous, is, not only declared in words, but illustrated by facts, in the lives of the holy Apostles, but particularly in that of Saint Paul ; the things that are above, are not only revealed in the sublime visions of ' that dis- ciple whom Jesus loved,' but are actually, in a good measure, anticipated, in that righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost, which may be expe- rienced even in this life ; and which, we are assured by an inspired writer, constitute the Kingdom of God. Subjects of this ennobling, and felicitating nature, abound in Scripture, not only in the richest variety, but at once, with the sublimest pathos, the most touching simplicity, and the most exquisite adaptation to the best feelings of human nature, in its best state. When these, and similar truths, then, become truly delightful to the soul, when they are habitually recurred to, as the happiest subjects of our contemplation, as the calmest breathing-places of our wearied spirits, in a word, as ' tired nature's sweet restorers,' in a sense, infinitely beyond what the poet thought of ; when this is, at least in a good degree, realized, then, and not till then, shall we find our- selves superior to the world ; then, and not till then, will the trifling vexations, and still more trifling pleasures, of this visionary life, dwindle to their proper insignificance, and that, for this simple reason ; then, and not till then, eternal and spiritual things, will enlarge, occupy, and gladden the whole soul, in all its faculties, and all its boundless capacities, either of feeling or reflection. Believe me, this is no enthusiastic rant ; it is no less the calm sentiment of my understanding, than the warm feeling of my heart. And I should be c c 386 LETTERS. sorry, indeed, to put forward these views, if I had the slightest suspicion that they could interfere, with the rational duties, and kindly feeHngs of common life. But the truth is, that, while, religion thus oc- cupies the mind, it leaves it free as air, for every useful occupation, and for all the tenderest charities of life : the truly religious person, of all others, best calculates the object of his mortal existence. He knows that this world, is a scene of active preparation for a better ; he feels that he is blest, with an under- standing, which wisdom requires him to exercise ; with affections, which God and nature impel him to cultivate ; and with active powers, which, both in- stinct, and conscience, urge him to employ. He is, therefore, diligent in the discharge of each appro- priate duty, both as matter of pleasure to himself, and of religious obedience to his God : and, in this course of happy activity, his religion is of daily and hourly assistance ; because it not only gives a general spring and elasticity to his mind, but, also, affords much time, by expelling evil thoughts, and removes many anxieties and perturbations, by creating a de- cided, affectionate reliance on God's pro\'idence. The religion, then, you see, which I speak of, is neither the austerity of the cloister, nor the enthusiasm of the desert ; it is conversant in the walks of common life ; cheering and invigorating us in common duties, no less than it elevates us in the appropriate exer- cises of devotion. Thus, it enables us thoroughly to fulfil that seemingly impracticable injunction of the Apostle, ' Pray without ceasing for what else does this mean, than simply, ' Possess yourself of a mind habitually devout ; which is always ready to ac- knowledge the presence of God, and which is always in a tone fit for actual prayer, or thanksgi\'ing?' It LETTERS. 387 is not necessary to the perfection of a musical in- strument, that we should be for ever playing upon it, . . but, merely, that it should be always in tune, always ready to yield the harmonious * concord of sweet sounds/ Thus, also, it is the perfection of religion, that our souls should be in unison with the harmonies of nature, so as, at all seasons, to join the universal chorus of thanksgiving, adoration, and praise, which is continually proceeding from the whole visible creation. This state is, unquestionably, of rare and difficult attainment: but, that it is attainable, the lives of very many excellent persons abundantly testify. And this happy possibility, should surely induce us to press for- ward towards it. The very first step, after prayer, and scriptural study, is an effort to draw our enjoyments from the simple stock of nature ; or, at least, from such works of art, as most purely copy nature, such as drawing, gardening, poetry, (with nice selection as to the kind,) but, most especially, from religion itself, which is, in truth, ' the soul of all the rest.' When piety even begins to predominate, it is wonderful how foolish, how irksome, how insupportable, those high- wrought excitements, and agitated scenes appear, in which the world is seeking, but unsuccessfully seek- ing, for enjoyment ; literally walking in a vain shadow, and disquieting itself in vain. In truth, this is pre- cisely what we might expect, for it exactly coincides with those feelings of nature and experience, to which Saint Paul so exquisitely adapts, or, rather, from which he so happily derives, his best reasonings, * When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child ; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.' Monday morn. Are you with Maria ? If so, show c c 2 388 LETTERS. her this letter ; and let me beg her to consider it as, in some measure, addressed to her. I know her good nature will admit the excuse of very much real, and pressing business, which has, for some time, much employed my mind, as, at least, some palliation for my long silence. Get by all means, and carefully read, ' Hints for a young Princess.' It is by far the best book, which has, for a considerable time, issued from the press. The Bishop of Exeter (Preceptor to the Princess Charlotte, for whose use it has been written) declares, * that he has derived more information from it, on the important subject next his thoughts, than from all his other reading.' And he is both a learned, and a good man. The Queen, too, is delighted with the work. To the honour of your sex, it is written by Hannah More. Give my best love to all with you, whether at the Farm or at the Glebe. I direct to Dublin, as the surest way. Though I do not deserve a letter, pray do write very soon. Your truly affectionate brother, John Jebb. LETTER XIV. To Mrs, M'Cormick, Cashel, July 23. 1805. The late awful, but gracious dispensation of Provi- dence*, must naturally fill us with tender regret. It * The death of his aunt, Mrs. M Cormick. LETTERS. 389 calls up numberless affecting recollections of past kindness, towards us all ; of that conscientious and affectionate anxiety for our truest welfare ; that dis- criminating good sense, which so wisely pointed out our duty ; that generous spirit, which sacrificed every thing selfish, for us, and our poor father ; that fervent piety, which doubtless poured forth frequent prayers for our happiness ; . . these are but a few of the traits, which, as it were, rush into our minds, accompanied with the melancholy conviction, that they are now no more ! But you, my dear sister, need not be told, for I trust you happily experience, that there are, not only consolatory, but delightful circumstances, in our excellent parent's removal (for imrent I may surely call her). Her integrity, her benevolence, her ha- bitual devotion, were such, as to evince that they flowed from a heart on which Christianity had its pro- per influence. Even in those dispensations, which, perhaps, at the time, appeared mysterious, and hard to be reconciled wdth our ideas of Almighty wdsdom and goodness, w^e may trace the mercies of a loving Father. I have little doubt that the severe sufferings of our dear aunt were providentially instrumental, in fitting her for a higher state of happiness in heaven ; and that, as gold tried in the fire comes out purified, she has escaped from pain and affliction, divested of various natural, or acquired infirmities, w^hich might have disqualified her for so high a place, in ourFather's many mansions, as I trust she now is advanced to. Our blessed Lord himself, was made perfect through sufferings. Is it not, then, perfectly natural, that his faithful followers should be improved by a similar process ? Viewing the matter, therefore, in this light, I consider her late melancholy condition, as a kind of discipline, corrective of those little infirmities and c c 3 390 LETTERS. weaknesses, from which few, even of tlie truly good, are wholly exempt ; and her tranquil exit, as an earn- est of that happiness, wliich I trust she is now en- joying. To you, and to your worthy partner, it must be a matter of thankful recollection, that you have been enabled, through the space of eleven years, to com- fort the declining years, and alle\iate the various sufferings of so dear a relation. This must ever be a source of pure enjoyment ; and you will most feel its kindly balm, when you shall most need it, . . when you yourselves, (in, I trust, a good old age,) shall be summoned from this probationary scene. Do you not, also, even now experience the moral efficacy of those severe trials, and voluntary deprivations, to which you so cheerfully submitted ? Have they not been, subserviently to God's providence and grace, the means of correcting many little defects in your own temper ; of improving many right dispositions ; of increasing your reliance on the only powerful pro- tector ; of giving you a relish for those enjoyments, which are of the most satisfactory, because of the calmest kind ? Sure I am, that you do thus feel ; therefore, what might appear, to the superficial ob- server, useless suffermg to our deceased relation, and a cruel bmthen to you, has been, in fact, the gracious means of increasing her present high enjoyments, and of preparing you, both to enjoy life with truer relish, and to meet death, without distraction, and without fear. Richard has mformed you of the Archbishop's kind disposition in my favour. Providence has indeed been very good to me ; the preferment is a comfort- able sinecure ; I suppose to the amount of 250/, per annum. My residence still to be in Cashel ; where I LETTERS. 391 am to act as preacher in the Cathedral, without salary. The congregation is large, and respectable ; and, I have cause to know, prepared to listen favour- ably to me ; so that I have really hopes of being enabled to do them good. A sermon I preached lately, has had, under God's favour, some practical effect ; having called persons to seriousness, who never were serious before. Things being so, I cer- tainly prefer my present situation, very much, to a country living of double the value ; and could remain as I am, very thankfully, for many years, or even for my whole life ; though my excellent patron tells me to consider this, but as an earnest of what he means to do for me. I have many more letters to write, and must conclude. With my best love to all at the Glebe, Your truly affectionate brother, John Jebb. LETTER XV. To the Rev). J. M' Cormick. Cashel, January 2. 1806. I KNOW that we have been very bad correspondents ; and I feel conscious that the fault has been chiefly mine. Some allowance, however, will I trust be made, for my having been thrown into a situation altogether new to me, and implying more mental exertion than I was ever before called upon to make. Especially as, within the last half year, I have suf- fered more than usual under an incapacitating nerv- c c 4? 892 LETTERS. ousness, which has often obhged me, for days together, to give up all thought of thinkmg. I learned from Richard, that you passed a very happy montli together. It was to me a source of real regret, that I could not accept of Rowley Hey- land's invitation, and add myself to the family party: but the duties which I have undertaken, were impe- rative on me to stay at my post ; as, in addition to the ordinary Cathedral preaching, and the General Thanksgiving, I had to prepare young persons for a confirmation, and to examine a candidate for orders. Some good, I trust, has been done. ]\Iv power of sermon-writing is, on the whole, impro\ing, and my discourses are as acceptable, as, all matters considered, I could reasonably expect. Some of the young catechumens are s^ettincr a serious turn, and were e\i- dently affected at the confirmation ; and the examin- ation for orders went off" so, as to give an impression, that hands will not probably be laid, in this diocese, ' on skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn.' I was enabled, besides, to turn my examination into a sort of theological prelection ; throwing out hints, which I hope ^^ill excite the candidate to study; and endea^•ouring to afibrd some clue to guide him through, what doctors of every sect have exerted considerable ingenuity to make, an inextricable la- byrintli. The clerical cuxle in Cash el has been growing in size ; and, I trust, increasing in professional feeluig. We often meet each other in a cheerful, and I hope impro\-ing way. But, for my own indixidual part, nothing gives me soberer satisfaction, than to find a growing inclination to draw, for my chief comforts (under God), upon myself. The faculty of thinking, reasoning, feeling, and being happy, when alone, I LETTERS. 393 deem of inestimable value ; and I own with gratitude, and I hope with humility, my thankfulness, that this faculty is beginning to dawn in myself. And to its further progress I hopefully look forward, as that, which, by giving me self-command, self-possession, and self-enjoyment, may make me more useful, and more acceptable, in society. You can hardly con- ceive the real pleasure I derive, from having, de- cidedly and uncompromisingly, given up all common amusements ; not, I trust, with the gloom of an ascetic, or the morbid melancholy of an anchorite ; but with somewhat of the feelings of ' a man,' when he puts away ' childish things.' Within the last year, there have been growing upon me tastes for happiness of a more quiet and satisfactory kind, which would make balls, and cards, and all the et cetera, by which the world is trying to escape from itself, an insupportable penance ; even though I were not convinced, as I really am, that they are inconsistent with the quiet, sober, peaceful temperament, to which the religion of the Scriptures is intended to bring us. I have been led, unawares, into a history of my feelings, for which I ought perhaps to apologize ; but I know you will excuse tliat, which may possibly let you more fully into my present condition, than whole volumes of matter-of-fact detail. I will own to you, that, when I first began to give up the amusements of the world, rather from an apprehension that they were wrong, than from a conviction that they were inconsistent with true happiness, I felt ' a craving void,' an un- easiness arising from relinquishing much that had formerly gratified me, without getting any tiling better in its room. It is but within the last six- months, that I have found the place tolerably filled, which gay follies had before unsatisfactorily occupied ; LETTERS. and, even now, at times, I have to complain of un- pleasant feelings : but I am well convinced, that these are the results, either of bodily weakness, or of some- thing morally wrong within myself ; and, as I grow better, I hope to grow liappier. This, however, I can safely say, that I am now a far happier being, than I can recollect I ever was before ; and that, under God's good guidance, I attribute any increase of enjoyment, to my growing relish for what may be had, without leaving my own sohtary fireside. Est hie, est Uluhris : still, as I hinted, I am no an- chorite : when occasion requires it, I can take my part, more cheerfully than ever, in society, provided it be quiet and rational. And, thank God, the number of excellent, and rational people, whose minds are well cultivated, and, what is better, whose hearts have within them the living fountain of the only true happiness, is, I am convinced, hourly in- creasing. These times, I soberly believe, are better than the former, inasmuch as true religion is, unas- sumingly, unausterely, and unaffectedly, the decided choice, of, I trust, very many people in high, as in low life. It is incorporated, more than it ever yet was, into habits of tlioiight and feeling, into the little details of domestic life, and even into the very pleasures which are pursued. It is not now marred by stiffness, formality, sourness, or cant. If people, a century ago, were very demurely good ; and went very orderly, and very gloomily to church, every Sunday, and every friday ; it was, because they were, in a good measure, obliged to be, or to do so, by established usage, and immemorial prescription. But now, whoever is good, deserves the credit of being good by choice ; and the goodness of to-day, appears to me to have much genuineness and heart in it ; to LETTERS. consist more in the spirit, than the letter ; to look more for the calm delight of self-approbation, than for the applause of multitudes ; to go infinitely deeper than the mere routine of outward duties, and not to rest satisfied with less than the happy consciousness, that a moral transformation has taken place within. This is not a mere picture of the fancy, or vision of the imagination. I have seen it more than realized, in various instances, within the course of the last year ; especially in the case of my friend Knox. My plans are somewhat formed, for visiting town early in February. Might I hope to meet you there, if only for a short time? One week of my time must, I think, be allowed to Bellevue. And this naturally leads me to mention, that I have formed an engagement to preach for the Female Orphan School, in May. Mrs. La Touche wished it, and my friend Knox was imperative. So I had nothing for it but to consent. It is an arduous undertaking to plead for that charity, which has commonly had Kirwan for its advocate. However, I am determined not to be anxious ; but, relying on that aid, without which the wisest must be foolish, to leave events to Him, who can produce good, through the instrumentality of agents positively weak. My subject will be, I believe, the religious education of youth. This whole epistle is, I fear, a farrago of egotism : friendly letters, however, must all, possibly, be more or less egotistic. I know I wish your answer to be very much so ; and it is partly with this very view, that I have expatiated so much on the selfish little monosyllable. Pray, then, if you can do so consistently with truth, show me that you have not been fatigued and disgusted by writing me a full account of yourself, and my dear sister, and of your 396 LETTERS. young family. It is now so long since I have heard from you or her, that a fierce appetite has been created, which I call upon you to allay. And believe me, however circumstances may have conspired to keep me silent, there is, perhaps, no human being more deeply desirous of hearing of your welfare, or more truly interested in whatever may contribute to your happiness, here and hereafter. And it would be very ill were it otherwise ; for, independent of the close ties both of relationship and friendship, from my school-boy days, I am indebted to you, for kindnesses which I hope I never shall forget : nor let it be for- gotten, that to the providential results of your friend- ship with poor Tom Marshall, I am indebted for all my wordly prospects ; and, what is of infinitely more importance, for all my hopes of professional usefulness, and every pleasant view of religion, to which I have been led. Believe me, with most affectionate regards to my sister and your little ones. Always yours most truly, John Jebb. LETTER XVI. To the Rev, J. M' Cormick. Cashel, January 5. 1806. Though I dispatched a packet to you yesterday, which you probably think unconscionably large, yet I cannot omit an immediate reply to your very acceptable letter, received this morning. Had it > entered into my mind to impute, either unkindness, LETTERS. 397 or indifFerence, to you, the uneasy feeling would be completely effaced, by what you have so affection- ately written. But I can assure you there was no such feeling in existence. One the contrary, I was accusing myself, though I trust I stand acquitted in your mind. I know too well, from long experience, what it is to suffer under mental depression : and therefore can feel for my fellow-sufferers ; and can also make allowance for their silence, as nervous ill- ness almost uniformly unfits me for writing to my friends. Still, however, I can bear some testimony, and hope to bear more, that resistance and activity, next to the knowledge and feeling of true religion, are the best means of overcoming low spirits. To hear that you are so well, and so happy, from yourself, as well as from others, is to me a source of real pleasure. I am particularly obliged by your minute account of the dear little ones, in whose pro- gress I hope I feel a becoming interest. On the prin- ciples, and present state of methodism, I have had many serious thoughts ; and have received some in- formation, not easily to be come at. It is my con- viction that methodism, in its purity, though doubt- less containing some erroneous views, and marred by the infelicities of an uncouth phraseology, has a body of sound truth, much akin to the views of our estab- lished church. A¥hat I particularly object to, is, the mode of talk, respecting sudden conversion, and jus- tification ; and also some of the unqualified assertions, respecting a doctrine radically sound and excellent, . . christian perfection. Still, however, with all its alloy, I conceive there is much pure gold in method- ism. I soberly believe that it has been the provi- dential means of reviving and diffusing, far beyond its own sphere, that inward, spiritual religion, which 398 LETTERS. is diffused through our liturgy, but which had been, before John Wesley's rise, almost entirely banished from our pulpits, by the cold, rationaUzuig, spiritless system of morals, which came in fashion about the restoration, and reached its acme about the middle of the last century. The higher tone of morals, and the more exalted feeling of Christianity, as a spiritual system, which is now, I think, rapidly gaining ground, amongst the philosophically pious divines of our establishment, I cannot but attribute to the indirect operation of methodism, which certainly kindled its torch at the altar of the church of England. The writings of Jeremy Taylor, once Bishop of Do\vn, first gave John Wesley any serious impres- sions ; and when he defended his system against, what appears to me, injudicious attacks, it was by weapons borrowed from the armoury of our liturgy, articles, and homilies. I do not deny, that there are errors in his system : I could not be a methodist, because, amidst much deep piety, and much sound wisdom, methodism contains some things, which appear to me, neither consistent with reason, nor with Scripture: but this I will confess, that, in the writings of John Wesley, I find more that completely harmonizes with my own views, than I do in the writings of his most violent opponents ; and this leads me to say, that, while some of the persons, on whom my worthy friend Dr. Hales animadverts, certainly do, occa- sionally, strain the Scriptures by unlearned and un- skilful disruptions from the context, the Doctor, on the other hand, frequently employs his critical acu- men, in the service of distorting passages from their plain obvious meaning, both as evidenced by the con- text, and supported by parallel places. This espe- cially happens, when he sets himself to controvert LETTERS. 399 the doctrine ot christian perfection ; which, though, as I hinted ah'eady, the methodists often talk of in a phraseology circumstantially wrong, yet still I do think they are substantially right ; and I think I could evince, that, in the main, they have our admir- able liturgy, and the writings of some of our most philosophical divines, with them on this point. Dr. Hales, however, is both a conscientious, and a pious man ; and I am well convinced is sincerely desirous to do good ; but I think it is a very delicate matter to oppose methodism in this country. It has, to my certain knowledge (observe I speak not of Calvinism, but of the Wesleyan methodism,) been productive of much advantage, among the lower classes ; not only increasing their piety, but, in very many instances, opening their understandings, and civilizing their manners ; and may it not be a question, whether some alloy, or enthusiasm, has not been providentially suf- fered to intermingle with it, for the special purpose of impressing the imagination, and warming the affections of those, whose reasoning powers have not yet had an opportunity of full and fair exercise ; and whose grossness of conception required something, as it were, palpable, and tangible, to work upon ? Cer- tain it is, that this system has been permitted to spread widely, and to operate powerfully, and, in most instances, advantageously; and when I consider, that * he that is not against us, is for us,' I own I feel not disposed to intermeddle with methodists, in the way of opposition. There is a peculiar delicacy in the case, from the state of the party in England : there, they have altogether separated from the estab- hshment, and are avowed and zealous dissenters. In this country, they are warmly attached to our church ; receive the sacrament very regularly at our hands ; 400 LETTERS. and, whatever may be the sentiments of some teachers among them, I know that the great body of their people love a good clergyman in their heart, and hear him with satisfaction and delight. Now, while their dispositions are such, should it not be our po- licy, rather to be friendly, than hostile, to them ? not, certainly, to temporize, but, first, to feel that they are friends, and, then, to treat them as such ? May there not be much danger, that an opposite line of conduct will drive them to follow the example of their English brethren ? Your plan of sending the Scriptures among them, is altogether unexceptionable ; and, under God's blessing, would do essential service ; and, so far as I can judge, they will gladly purchase Bibles. Some methodists, in the Monaghan militia, purchased from me I dare say 180, in this town, in the space of three months ; and such was their relish for our establishment, that the poor fellows, hearing of my appointment as cathedral preacher, on the eve of their departure, told me they left this place, happy in the reflection, that it would have the benefit of a serious clergyman to fill its pulpit. I much like your hint, as to reading the word of God in the quiet circle of their own family. It has a great deal, both of depth, and force in it. In England, I know, from good authority, that the methodists multiply social acts of religion, and an unquiet spirit of bustUng ac- tivity, so much, as greatly to injure the calm, and less equivocal exercises of private devotion. Their sectarianism is increasing ; and, pretty nearly in the same proportion, their personal piety is declin- ing. I saw, some months back, a letter from a very intelligent, and thorouglily unbigoted, English me- thodist, a man of letters and information, stating, that, in Manchester, and other great towns, it ap- LETTERS. 401 peared, that the persons who were most zealous in prayer-meetings, and most active in Sunday schools, when cut off, by sickness, from participating in those external stimulants, lamentably declined in their devotional spirit, and were almost incapable of addressing God, in private prayer. I state this from recollection, but I believe with tolerable accuracy ; and this is, in itself, a volume of evidence, for the expediency of leading, so far as we can lead, our methodist brethren, to look more to those secret acts of religion, which keep up an intercourse between the soul and its Maker, than to those public move- ments, where the simplicity of worship may be marred, by the intermixture of wrong motives, . . pride at excelling in, what is called the gift of prayer, desire of human estimation or applause, and, above all, the spirit of a sect and party, which has proved so fatal in England. Now, I speak it with the certainty arising from somewhat of actual experience, that by preaching spiritually, and living exemplarily, a clergy- man of our establishment may acquire an astonishing influence over the Wesleyan methodists ; and, in my own case, I am able to state, that I have been enabled so to preach, on different occasions, as, in the same sermon, at once to give satisfaction to zealous anti-methodists, and to decided followers of John Wesley. You will naturally ask, * How is this to be done ? ' I reply, by a faithful, rational, affec- tionate exhibition of the religion of the scriptures, unclogged by the technical phraseology of any sect or party ; or, what comes to the same thing, by imitating the sound rationality, and the sublime spirituality, of our unrivalled liturgy, . . a service which I soberly think, not only unequalled, but un- approached, in the whole christian world j and which, D D 402 LETTERS. considering, both the theology, and the language, of the day when it was compiled, could not have been framed sine 7iumine, without some divine superin- tendence. I have referred to the instance of my own preaching, merely because I had no other matter- of-fact testimony to produce ; but it is with a deep consciousness of my own weakness. However, if / have found it so, what would it be with those, w^ho imbibe similar sentiments more deeply, feel them more practically, and can express them more attract- ively ? There rests not a doubt on my mmd, that, if preaching had been done full justice to, enthusiasm would be rationalized, on tlie one hand, and cold formality would be vitalized on the other : so that the genuine, unaffected, unsophisticated religion of the heart, would be happily diffused throughout the land. To my friend * * * * I look forward most hope- fully, as one who will do prodigious service to the cause which is nearest his heart. He has got views, which appear to me wonderfully what they should be ; and with his flowing eloquence, his happy power of illustration, his mild, engaging, insinuating man- ner, I do trust, that he will one day be an instrument of very extended good. I hope you will not conceive from this, and from my last letter, that I am at all fanatical. If I enter- tain a single theological sentiment, unsanctioned by some of our soundest, and most philosophical divines, I do so unconsciously. By education, by convic- tion, and by choice, I am, wliat I conceive to be, a thorough-paced Church-of-England man. The cant of sect, I cordially dislike ; the uncouth phraseology, I had almost said, the pious jargon, which some good people delight in, is very revolting to my taste ; and LETTERS. 403 were I called upon to select my favorite authors, I should, almost without exception, cull them from the shining lights of our own Establishment. Still, how- ever, I am so much attached to the eclectic philo- sophy, that I will not be deterred by a name, or prevented by mere injudiciousness of manner, from gleaning truth, wherever I can find it. Uavra^^rj ttjv aT^rfisiav, I would wish to make my motto ; and I shall never be ashamed to let Doddridge and Wesley appear, in my little library, on the same shelf with Tillotson and Burnet. And, in truth, I hail it as a happy omen, for the permanence of our Irish Estab- lishment, that a mild, tolerant, catholic spirit is very prevalent amongst our hierarchy. Several of our bishops, I know, are disposed to treat the methodists kindly ; and wish that the clergy should rather en- deavour to retain them with us, by courtesy, than force them to separate, by polemical acrimony. And I have some reason for concluding, that, wherever this christian kindness is discreetly maintained, the Irish methodists are not more decidedly attached to their own meetings and leaders, than to the worship and ministry of the Church. The amiable spirit, which seems to influence our Irish churchmen, is to me a very consolatory subject of reflection ; because I hail it as a kind of providential pledge, that our hierarchy will not be speedily overturned. And this is a real comfort, at the present crisis ; for, in addition to the aspiring views of the Roman catholics, which perhaps are not so formidable since the decision of last session, there will be a most violent attack made in parliament, in the course of next spring. The Grenvilles, the Fitz- Williams, and a phalanx of Irish supporters, aided by many in England who would oppose popery, are about to bring forward an inquiry D D ^ 404 LETTERS. into abuses existing in our own Church. Some even, who call themselves zealous supporters of our Estab- lishment, have been speaking ill of it, at the other side of the water ; and, in cases where they have been, both superficially, and erroneously informed. Still, I do not fear for the final result ; and I do think, that, if inquiry be fairly set on foot, when tried in tlie balance of our sister Establishment, we shall, not be found wanting. That there are errors and abuses, I am well aware ; but I feel convinced that they are neither so general, nor of such magnitude, as our enemies represent ; and I live in hope that many of these, w ill yet be quietly corrected. Continental matters, by the last packet, appear to be at a very low ebb. Bonaparte's commission to chastise Europe, is not so near being withdrawn, as we lately imagined ; but, I own, I am not dispirited. All events are in the hands of One, who will doubt- less dispose them for the ultimate advantage of the world ; and I trust, especially, of these countries, w hich have been so signally protected ; and which, •with all their faults, I humbly hope contain, still, much real virtue : surely there are many more than ten righteous to be found amongst us. I hope earnestly that we may meet sometime in the course of next month, or even at the beginning of March. It would perhaps be too much to expect that you could take a run up to town ; but if there be no other way, I must only strive to see you at the Glebe, if it be but for three days. I know that there will be in towTi such professional employment for me, as it would be wrong not to attend to ; but, however pleasant all these plans may be, in prospect, I am to remember, tliat they are, at best, uncertain. A brother-clergyman, a curate of this diocese, was in LETTERS. 405 company on Saturday 21st, and died on Christmas Day of an inflammation on . the lungs. He had en- joyed uninterrupted health, and been a man of strict, habitual temperance : his death has made an awful impression. I beg my most affectionate regard to my sisters and to Richard, and if there be any other of your little ones, fit objects of the kindly compliments of the season, I hope you will present them for me. Yours ever most truly, John Jebb. January 6. LETTER XVII. To Mrs. Hei/land. Cashel, Jan. 11. 1806. On reviewing what I have written, it appears to me that little has been said about my actual pursuits, occupations, engagements, &c. ; but the old proverb comes in to my aid, ' No news is good news,' A say- ing, with all its homely quaintness, which has more force and depth in it, than we are commonly aware of. For that calm, unagitated, unruffled flow of time, which leaves little to be told, is the happiest, as well as the safest, period of our lives. It is like the gentle lapse of rivers, which, without being noticed, or talked of, is permitted quietly to fertilize the soil, and beautify the prospect, while the fame of the rapid and destructive torrent is noised abroad. In such a state, we are led from what is without, to that which is within ; from the bustle of the world, to a quiet communion with our own hearts ; from what D D 3 40G LETTERS. depends, on the will, perhaps on the capricious and unaccountable whimsies, of others, to that, for which, under God's good guidance, we may draw upon our- selves. I cannot flatter myself that I am yet brought to this happy temperament. But I trust I am in progress ; and my earnest desire is to look unpre- sumptuously forward, to a self-possession, and self- enjoyment, which may enable me to move with less danger, and more usefulness, through this world. A heathen moralist says, ' It is an inestimable privilege to be one's own.' And I soberly think, that in pro- portion to the degree in which we have gained this mastery . . to the faculty we have of deriving comfort from ourselves . . to our independence on high- wrought excitements, and manufactured substitutes to the simple stock of nature . . precisely in propor- tion to our advancements in these qualifications, will be our peace with ourselves, and those around us ; our patient acquiescence in the will of the all- wise and gracious Disposer ; and our fitness to do good in that world, into which we have been brought, that we may be active and useful beings. This may look like a piece of to-morrow's sermon, but I do assure you that it is spick-and-span new ; that it never was in a sermon ; and that, for aught I can tell, it never will be in a sermon : that is to say, however trite and common-place it may be, and however it may come under the heavy description of what is called prosing . . it has been fairly transmitted from my pen to this paper, without contracting any new dulness from the atmosphere of a pulpit. Good night. J. J. Sunday night. LETTERS. 407 LETTER XVIII. **## #*#** Cashel, Jan. 20. 1 806. This day, too, is ' dark, gloomy, and dispiriting,' but I am determined not to let it put me out of spirits. I cannot, however, prevent it from having more of an incapacitating influence on my faculties, than could be wished : all that can be done, in these cases, is, to fight against the enemy ; and to ' set doggedly to work,' determined that, if we cannot do things as we wish, we will do them as well as we can. After the long epistle I wrote, which I suppose you have seen, there is little left to say of myself ; and, in looking to your letter, I can see little, which may not be answered when we meet. Tliere is, how- ever, one point, on which I cannot postpone talking to you a little ; I mean the scepticism of that young lady. I shall certainly not shrink from the effort of doing any good in my power : but I tell you before- hand, that my expectations of doing any good, are the most remote imaginable from sanguine. If her doubts merely went to the divine origin of Christian- ity, I should not be so hopeless ; but, from a recol- lection of some things that lightly fell from her, about two years ago, or perhaps more, I am appre- hensive that she is shaken, as to some of the funda- mental principles of natural religion ; that she doubts truths, which were not questioned by Socrates, Plato, and Cicero ; in a word, that she is deeply imbued with the new-fangled whimsies of atheistical philoso- D D 4 408 LETTERS. phism. She has, as you say, many good quahties ; but I do much fear, that her singularities will stand in the way of her recovery. There is about her a study of inflexibility, which is a principal ingredient in the generic character of the new school ; a love of paradox ; a disposition rather to dwell on minute difficulties, than to acquiesce in the necessary igno- rance, which must cling to all human creatures, in this dim twiliglit of our earthly being : a disposition directly the opposite of that lovely humility, that lowly submission, wliich is the chief ornament of the truly feminine character ; and which is, in truth, the very ground-work of all genuine Christianity. * Learn of me,' said our blessed Lord, * for I am meek and lowly of heart.' And, again, ' Blessed are the poor in spirit,' &c. My own faith, rests on this foundation, that I have, from a variety of sources, the most incontrovertible evidence, that the Scriptures of the New Testament, were written, at the time they were said to be writ- ten, by the persons to whom they are commonly as- cribed; that the facts in them must be true, from that very testimony of their bitterest enemies ; that their facts are, many of them, miraculous, many of them completive of very ancient prophecies, and, consequently, that the system is divine. To this, might be added a variety of other most weighty proofs ; but this simple outline contains that, on which I should not hesitate to build my belief. But, then, objections may be made to many difficulties in the Scripture scheme. True. But to what system of philosophy, to what matter of fact, may not objec- tions be made ? Let my mind be once thoroughly convinced of the fact, that Christ is a divine person, and, what is better, let me once feel the felicitating, LETTERS. 409 as well as strengthening, and purifying influences, of Christ's religion in my heart, and I will defy all the cavillers in the world, to shake my faith. We are very ignorant beings ; we cannot account for the production of a blade of grass, and shall we presume to fathom the secrets of Omniscience ? We are very weak beings ; we cannot make a single hair white or black, and shall we presume to controul the decrees of Omnipotence ? Yet the absurd philosophy of the new school, would teach us to believe nothing, which we do not thoroughly comprehend, and to quarrel with every thing, which we do not approve. A degree of presumption, which it makes me melan- choly to think of. * * * * *j I Jo fear, is deeply in- fected with this presumption ; and, if she be, I own I almost despair of iSeing able to convince her ; for, unhappily, the prejudices of the atheistical school, leave no common ground for the christian and the philosopher to stand upon ; so that they may reason and dispute for ever : still, however, God is both good and powerful ; it is often his pleasure to bring about greater changes, in the human understanding and heart ; and when he chooses to bring them about, he may do so, by the weakest instruments : therefore, I do not wholly despair, but will endeavour to do my best, and leave events to the all-wise Disposer. From all that has been passing in that family, I would draw one awful, and useful lesson ; . . that, when we cease to be religious, or when we decline in religion, we may expect to meet with misfor- tunes. Happy if these misfortunes, lead us back to the only living fountain of consolation ! When * # # # # Jiye(j unostentatiously in * * * *, I recol- lect well the manner in which he passed Sunday 410 LETTERS. evening. He read a sermon, and prayers, to his family ; and though, perhaps, never what one would call deeply serious, he was conscientiously devout on such occasions. ^Mien he removed to * * * *, tlie good old custom of prayers and sermon was given up, per- haps as citizenlike and migenteel ; and music, trifling talk, &c. &c., substituted in its room. I recollect well the impression made on me, at the time, by this change. Xow mark, in that family, what has hap- pened. 1 do not say that these things are judgments ; this would be arrogating to myself, what is the pre- rogative of Omnipotence, alone ; and, I will add, it would be departing from that cliristian charity, which I would willingly feel towards aU, and especiallj towards those whose kindness I gratefully remember, and whose many amiable qualities I cordially regard- But, further still, it would be transgressing against the spirit of St, Luke, xiii. 1 — 5. I say then only, that these circumstances are remarkable, and awfully instructive ; and that they should lead us all to an increased diligence in cultivating the favour, and, if I may so speak, the friendship, of tliat all-gracious Father, who will never fail to draw nigh imto us, if we lirst draw nigh unto him. He has beautifully characterized himself, as ' a fountain of li^ing waters and what, indeed, can water, that \italizing principle of nature, do for the body, which he does not, in an infinitely gracious way, for the soul ? Retreshment, purification, strength ; these he is abundantly able, and most affectionately willing, to bestow upon us ; whatever be our calamities, whatever our disappoint- ments, if we turn to him, he ^\ill make the ^dldemess a pool of water, and the dry land, springs of water. Isai. xli. 17, IS. This letter, I know not how, has turned into a sort LETTERS. 411 of sermon ; but I do believe, however crudely ex- pressed, it has some true and weighty matter. I think it my duty to put you on your guard in one point. I know nothing from which I would shrink with more fearful apprehension, than close intimacy with an infidel ; for if it did not, as I hope it would not, shake my belief, I feel that it would deaden my comfortable, affectionate, heart- warming views of re- ligion. Farewell, and believe me. Most affectionately yours, J. Jebb. P. S. 1 make it an earnest request, that you will keep from any thing like controversy with Deep and abstruse speculations may do us hurt, and cannot do us good. It is, indeed, right, that we should be able to give an answer for the faith that is in us ; but such an answer lies within a very narrow compass. If she is gone very deep, and nothing can be done to draw her back, I would sub- mit the propriety of avoiding too close intimacy and connection. LETTER XIX. To the Rev. J. M' Cormick. Cashel; April 12. 1806. I THANK you most cordially for the happy intelligence you communicate in your letter. Your wish that I should act as sponsor to my little namesake, entirely coincides with my own, and affords me much gratifi- cation. Surely, to answer for a child of yours, can be neither burthensome, nor hazardous ; and it must 412 LETTERS. be pleasant, that any link should be added to the strong ties, which I trust will ever subsist between us. On the subject of indiscriminately standing sponsor, I might perhaps have my scruples ; but, in the present instance, be assured there is not * the shadow of a shade ' of hesitation ; for, where we are convinced that parents will do their duty, there is no hazard in becoming an additional security. Matters were so ordered, that I met a degree of acceptance in Dublin, which I had by no means ex- pected. But I know full well, that popularity is held by a very uncertain tenure ; and that if it w-ere ever so secure of continuance, it is valuable only so far as it can be rendered subservient to the good of our fellow- creatures. Therefore, I feel that I have no right to reckon upon a life-interest, in the small stock I have been given to trade upon ; and that, so long as it may please God to continue any portion of it, I must hold myself strictly accountable for its expen- diture : so that, if I rejoice, I must rejoice, not only with moderation, but with trembling. The ordination sermon, I hope, has been sent to you. The orphan sermon presses on my mind ; the day is fixed, but nothing is yet written ; and all that I can say, in the present stage of the business, is, mens ogitat molem, I think now more highly of Dean Kir wan than I ever did. During the last two years of his life, his \iews of religion became more clear, deep, and strong; and the effect w^as, that his preaching assumed a tone, far surpassing any thing I ever heard him deliver. His last five sermons, I understand, are master-pieces. I can answer for two of them, which I read with as- tonishment and delight ; his own MSS. having been shown to me. One of them was the last he ever LETTERS. 413 preached, and that for the orphans. You may guess, then, how I feel. Competition with this great man, is altogether out of the question. I feel as a pigmy compared to a giant ; but then, may not the charity grievously suffer ? and may not that cause which is till more important, and which I wish to give all my strength to, be materially injured, through my want of powers ? These things, however, are in the hands of a wise and good God ; and to him I submit myself. My best love, and good wishes, to my sister. Believe me always. Most cordially and affectionately yours, John Jebb. LETTER XX. To Mrs. Beatty, 5G. Dawson Street, Dublin, Sept. 18. 1806. My dear Friend, I DID not learn the melancholy event, till this day, at your mother's door ; and you can more readily con- ceive, than I can express my feelings. I cannot go to bed without writing a few lines. I am anxious to hear how you are, and especially how poor Lady B. bears up. May it please God to cheer her under this heavy affliction, for he only can effectually do it ! I have been recalling the kindness, the good-nature, the affectionate dispositions, and steady good con- duct, of her who is no more ; to you, these must already have afforded the best consolation ; for may we not trust they are pledges of her having been re- 414 LETTERS. ceived into some one of those ' many mansions/ the least elevated of which, is far superior to any thing in this dim speck ? You, my good friend, have been already tried in the school of affliction ; so has your poor mother ; and I wish, from my heart, that your afflictions may be not only alleviated, but turned into matter of future joy, by the hand that lias been pleased to deal them. He does not willino^lv afflict us : and we may rest assured, that, if we are brought to love him as we ought, we shall be divinely enabled to ex- tract sweetness even from sorrow. * Thou hast made us for thyself,' said a great and good man, * and our heart never resteth, till it findeth rest in thee.' What, then, is every pro\idential deprivation, but a special call to draw nearer * to him, who is able to do exceed- ing abundantly above all that we ask or think ? ' And does not a rich, an inestimable, an inexhaustible re- ward, follow this clea\ing to our God ? Is it not, in- deed, rather its own exceeding great reward ? What is there that we can want, for time or for eternity, which we may not find in Him, who is goodness, wis- dom, power, love, . . all, in an infinite degree, . . and all ready, not only to be exerted in our favour, but to be imparted to us, and cherished in us, by that all-gi'acious Being, of whose fulness we are all invited to receive ? I feel, my dear friend, that it may be better to spare you for the present ; but I am most desirous to hear from you, if it be but three lines. My ignorance of late events in your family is owdng to my having led, for a considerable time, a rambling life ; being recommended to leave Cashel and study, for the sake of health. I thank God, the purpose has been com- pletely answered ; and I propose returning home in about a week. I am at present with my friend Mr. LETTERS. 415 Knox. I beg my kindest regards to all your family, and am, with truth, Your affectionate friend, John Jebb. LETTER XXI. To Miss Jehh. Cashel, Oct. 4. 1806. I KNOW it will give you pleasure to hear that my journey turned out more pleasant and productive, than I had any reason to expect. At Maryboro', I was agreeably surprised by meeting my friend * * * * *^ who was escorting a lady to pay a visit to his cara sposa. With them I passed the evening ; and break- fasted, on thursday morning, at Durrow. The lady was once an acquaintance of yours. Miss and I think she has so managed matters, as to have become more youthful in appearance during the lapse of years, which has been going forward, since I met her at Rosstrevor. I had it in my power to accom- modate an invalidish lady with a seat in my carriage, for the last two stages of the journey, there being a great run on the road. She repayed me by her con- versation, which abounded in good sense, good na- ture, and good feeling. Every thing here has re- mained in statu quo. Some few friends I have seen, who were glad to see me. This I am glad to feel, that I look forward with some complacency to a quiet winter, after all my rambling ; and that I am hopeful of being able to read, write, and think, with ease and comfort. 416 LETTERS. On recalling to my mind the last conversations that I had with you, I am somewhat apprehensive, that neither my sermons, nor my talk, have been suf- ficiently explicit, to remove ambiguity, and prevent misapprehension of my meaning. You conceive that I raise the standard of christian practice alarmingly high ; and I grant, that it would be even so, if I pressed things as matter of duty, rather than of choice. But the truth is, that I regard religion, as a divine apparatus for restoring our affections to their right tone, and occupying them, about their supreme and everlasting object. The language of Scripture, the writings of the wisest men, and the experience of all ages, wonderfully concur in establishing the fact, that man, in his natural state, is like an instrument out of tune. Can it, then, be matter of surprize, if, while his 'ventages' are thus ' ungoverned,' he should, like poor Guildenstern, be quite unable to ' command any utterance of harmony ? ' But I would go to far higher authority than Shakspeare ; the invaluable liturgy of our own church. Look at the collect for the 4th Sunday after Easter, and there you will see a most lively picture, both of our natural helplessness and misery, and of that blessed peace and self-pos- session, which are attainable through the influences of divine grace. Man is described as under the power of * unruly wills and affections : ' somewhat like a vessel at sea, in a great storm, at the mercy of every blast, and every moment threatened with instant destruction. In this perilous condition, He alone, who can say to the winds and waves, * Peace, . . be still,' is able to allay the perturbations of a fluctuating and troubled mind. He alone, can order the unruly wills and affections of sinful men ; but, when He speaks the word, a great calm succeeds, in virtue of LETTERS. 417 a power and will, which he graciously communicates, of loving that which he commands, and desiring that which he promises. This passage, I conceive, exhi- bits a deep acquaintance with the philosophy of the human mind. If we are once brought to love that which is right, there can be no difficulty in the per- formance of it. What affectionate child, what at- tached friend, what devoted lover, ever finds a difficulty in thhiking of, in conversing with, in grati- fying, the beloved object ? Thus, too, it would be in religion, if we were to imbibe it in its unmixed purity ; then, whatever changes, whatever difficulties, w^hatever obstacles, might be presented by this trou- blesome world, they would no more turn the heart from its object, than the magnet could be turned from the north, by shaking the box which encloses it. Some vibrations there may be ; but allow a moment for the soul to settle, and it, like the needle, will turn to the object, by which it is supremely attracted,^ . . for it is there ' surely fixed, where alone true joys are to be found.' But how, you will be ready to ask, is this love to be attained ? for an answer, I refer you to the first paragraph of the Epistle of St. James. * Every good gift, and every perfect gift, is from above.' If any man, then, lack, not only wisdom, but love, or, what is the sure result of love, power, let him ask it of God: this is the injunction of St. James, this is the repeated advice of our Saviour, and in this path we can never be disappointed ; for, has he not said, ' If ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more will my heavenly Father give his holy Spirit to them that ask him ? ' The sum of all, then, is, that if we endeavour to climb to heaven, by a ladder of our own making, by any en- E E 418 LETTERS. deavours merely of our own strength, we shall miser- ably fail of our purpose ; but if, with an earnest desire for aid from on high, we pray for those things, which, by nature, we cannot have ; if we do thus, with sincerity, and continuity of effort, at the same time avoiding all distracting and contrarious habits and pursuits, then we may be certain that a golden chain will be let down from heaven, to draw us up ; we shall feel a change within altogether beyond human power to effect ; and we shall be sweetly con- strained to say, ' This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes ! ' This I have written as rapidly as my pen could move ; if, therefore, I was not sure that you are a good-natured critic, I should not send it. I fear it is strangely incoherent. However, I know you will accept the will for the deed. My best love to all with you. Pray write soon, and believe me, Your truly affectionate brother, John Jebb. LETTER XXIL To the Rev, J. M*" CormicJc, Cashel, Nov. 6. 1806. Though I wrote, two posts since, a very hasty letter to my sister, I don't conceive that it discharges me from the obhgation of troubling you with a few lines. You know pretty well how 1 have been occupied, and how unfitted for writing at an earlier period. My late illnesses, I think, will be, on the whole, advantageous to mc in a variety of respects. One LETTERS. 419 benefit which I deeply, and I hope gratefully feel, is, a certain joyousness, when in possession of myself, which I suppose never falls to the lot of those, who enjoy uninterrupted health. Pray has it ever struck you, that robust health has a tendency to * embody and embrute' the soul ; deadening its active powers, and overlaying its finer feelings ? If this be the case, surely we invalids have no reason, in the long run, to envy our stronger and stouter brethren. In this world, however, we have bodies, as weU as souls ; and it is certain that, if the mind be over- exerted, it will injure the body ; and, then, both together will be unfit for use. Therefore, I see clearly the necessity of due exercise and relaxation ; and indeed the experience of the last few months confirms this (if confirmation were needful), for I am evidently in a much better state, both of mental and corporeal soundness, in consequence of the ex- cursions and variety I have had. But the return home is pleasant, though the home be so lonely as mine is. The intermission of my usual pursuits, makes me return to them with more zest; and I have seldom entered more warmly, than within these few days last past, into the spirit of literary luxury ; so that what Heinsius said of himself, in the Ley den library, I sometimes feel disposed to apply to my own case. * Plerumque in qua (bibliotheca) pedem posui, foribus pessulum obdo ; ambitionem, autem, amorem, libidinem, &c. excludo, quorum parens est ignavia, imperitia nutrix, . . et in ipso aeternitatis gre- mio, inter tot illustres animas, sedem mihi sumo cum ingenti quidem animo, et subinde magnatum me misereat, qui felicitatem banc ignorant.' You are, not, however, to imagine, that I am so devoted to this learned leisure, as to neglect needful E E 2 420 LETTERS. exercise, or to shun more active employments. I take frequent opportunities of riding or walking ; and am, just now, a good deal interested, in esta- blishing a better system in our County Infirmary. Yesterday we had a tolerably full meeting, in which the Archbishop took a very decided part ; and I hope that all things will, at length, go on as they ought to do. I shall be happy to hear from you, whenever you have leisure. Yours most affectionately, John Jebb. LETTER XXIII. To Miss Jehh, Cashel, Nov. 20. 1806. I HAVE been, from time to time, postponing my pur- pose of writing to you, in expectation of being able to write connectedly ; with some accumulation of ideas, some useful practical hints, gleaned from writers who have studied the human heart, and some regularity of plan, which might go towards producing a distinctness of effect. But, alas! I feel that, if I were to wait till enabled to do all this, we should both probably reach a good old age, or be removed from this world, before our correspondence could be renewed. Therefore, I think it best to come down from my great aspirings, and content myself with a common letter ; for which I have made no prepar- ation, and of which, I positively cannot foretell what the next sentence shall be. LETTERS. 421 You complain of being alarmed at wanderings in prayer ; and doubtless, there are wanderings, which should lead us to inquire very narrowly, and probe very deeply, into the interior of our hearts. I mean, such wanderings, as proceed from habitual dissipation of mind, from strong heart-attachment to the present world, and from disordered, irregular affections and desires. These are the c(3mmon results and accom- paniments of a careless life ; and it is certain, that, from such wanderings, they will be completely free, who look to God, as they ought to do, amidst the common occupations, and necessary intercourse of life ; for, if we limit the range of our thoughts throughout the day, we shall be wonderfully masters of ourselves in the hours of devotion. But there are wanderings of another nature, from which I verily believe the most deeply pious will not be exempt, till they are separated from the body. These may be commonly traced to some malady in our frame, or to some irregularity in our animal spirits ; and, even in cases when the cause is not discernible, proceed rather from physical weakness, than from any thing morally wrong. I cannot un- dertake to say, that what you complain of, is wholly of this latter description ; most probably it partakes, also, of the former ; for, in the stage of religion which you, at present, seem to occupy, all undue anxiety about, and attachment to the trifles of the world, is not surmounted. Still, however, it is a most promising symptom, that you speak with regret of being often ' cold and languid,' and of * the world obtruding on your thoughts, at the very moment you are praying to have your affections weaned from it.' Your regret bears testimony, that the wanderings are involuntary ; and, if it be softened down into E E 3 422 LETTERS. unremitting and earnest concern about the important subject, then I do feel hopeful that you will have less reason to complain than lieretofore ; and my hopes are considerably strengthened by your most pleasant intelligence, about your growing attachment to Sunday. By all means, cherish this ; and make to yourself as many opportunities, as, consistently with propriety, and without incurring the charge of particularity, you can, of being alone, and properly occupied, on that day. But to return, you should by all means look forward to, and press on towards, a freedom from all such wanderings, as imply actual wrongness ; at the same time, not needlessly distressing yourself about such as, perhaps, are no more morally culpable, than having a head-ache, or tooth-ache. It is not at the very period of actual wandering, that you are to humble yourself on account of it ; this would rather tend to increase, than alleviate, the evil : it should then be your object to aim, rather, at what may, at once, compose, elevate, and enliven the affections : always remembering, that over-anxiety may even rivet those evil thoughts, which we wish to get rid of. It is not, then, the part of pious wisdom, to employ direct, and formal efforts, to banish what is vain, trifling, or impertinent. We should rather turn with promptness and alacrity to some cheerful, animating, affecting thought, connected with God and heaven ; with the happiness of religion, or with those kindly affections towards our fellow-creatures, which assi- milate with, and often aid, the spirit of true devotion ; and we should make it an invariable rule, never to let the incursion of foolish ideas, divert us from continuing any pious exercise, in which we have engaged. But the main stand is, after all, to be made in the LETTERS. 423 daily course of our lives ; for may it not be said, that, in their prayers, as in their dreams, people are often apt to act over again the occurrences of the past day, or to anticipate those of the day to come ? Let us, then, be careful to obtain a due watchfulness over ourselves ; a thorough self-command ; an ha- bitual conviction that we are in the presence of God; and, then, we shall, in good time, have little to mingle with our prayers, that could give us well- founded uneasiness. In order to this, it is desirable, that our regular devotions should be more directed to the obtaining right inward principles and feelings, than to any outward regularity of actions ; for, when the principles and feelmgs are as they ought to be, right conduct will follow, as matter of course. And, further, we should seize every opportunity of lifting up our minds to God, secretly, in the midst of our common pursuits, occupations, and conversation. This practice, if it once grew into a habit, would go a very great way, indeed, towards keeping us from engaging in any pursuit or amusement, inconsistent with the devotional spirit. And I am deeply con- vinced, that it would so calm our minds, and free us from distractions and perplexities, as to keep us in the best possible frame, for whatever proper business, and truly innocent pursuits, we may happen to be en- gaged in. And now, my dear sister, I have one piece of advice to add : it respects temper. Watch over this, \vith the utmost caution and vigilance ; for, until this be, in a very great degree, mastered, there can be no real, solid happiness ; and, when this is substantially right, from right principles, and through the only adequate means, . . God's gracious influences, then it may be fearlessly asserted, that no external circumstances can make us unhappy. I know what E E 4 424 LETTERS. it was to have violent temper in a high degree. You have less to struggle with ; but still there is some- thing. That warmth, however, is, to my knowledge, accompanied with generous, disinterested, affectionate feeling ; and, if you can, as I hopefully believe will be the case, get it subdued through God's assistance, you will be the better candidate for religion of the right kind, by having that naturally irritable temper- ament ; for it is remarkable, that the most perfect christian characters we read of, and St. Paul's among the number, had violent natural passions to contend with. And what was the consequence ? The energy remained, while all its violence was destroyed. They were still liable to feel a chastened mdignation ; but, then they were masters of themselves throughout ; and the indignation was never personal, but always on the side of truth, and virtue, and religion. I have written this altogether most rapidly, and I fear most unconnectedly : if there be any thing of truth or value in it, adopt that, reject every thing else ; and especially excuse the well-meant, though, possibly, ill- worded hints, towards the close. If any thing in me appears to you as it ought not to be, I shall esteem your communication of it as real kind- ness : for I know that, in many things, I offend ; and to be set right is my earnest wish. Farewell, my dear sister 5 write soon, to yours most affectionately, John Jebb. LETTERS. 425 LETTER XXIV. To Mrs. Beatty. ' Cashel, Dec. 16. 1806. My dear Friend, # # # # # * # You need not be apprehensive that I am excessive in my studies. The truth is, I have read enough to show me that there remains unexplored a field so vast, that the talents of a Newton, added to the age of a Methuselah, would be insufficient to approach near its limits. Therefore, with my very moderate powers, and uncertain health, I should be very un- reasonable, if I looked to any thing more than en- closing, and endeavouring to cultivate, a very small patch of this literary common. But I have to complain of you, for giving loose to the suggestions of a too partial friendship. I well know that your expressions are far from outrunning your feelings ; but, my dear friend, I know myself, and am deeply conscious of numerous and humbhng deficiencies, which prove to me that I have yet very much, both mentally and morally, to correct. The mode of commendation which you indulge in would be enough to overset me, if I had not, I trust, risen somewhat above the low vice of vanity. As it is, it pains me in another way, by bringing up to my view, how much I have yet to learn, and how far I fall short of what might reasonably be expected, consider- ing the advantages I have had. 426 LETTERS. LETTER XXV. To Miss Jehh, Casliel, December 28. 1806. I HAVE now before me two pages of a letter, written very closely, and bearing date the 7th of this month, and part of another, dated the 20th, neither of which I was able to finish ; and, though uncertain whether I can bring this to a conclusion, I am determined, if possible, not to let this year close, without paying you the compliments of the season, and thanking you, as I do most cordially, for your last very accept- able letter. It gi'atifies me much, that my hasty observations have been useful ; and more, that you take them in such good part : and most of all, that I trust you will, ere long, be in progress towards a greater degree of inward comfort, and self- enjoyment, than you have, perhaps, ever yet experienced. It is particularly pleasant, that you make so candid and unreserved a disclosure of your sentiments and feelings. A wise physician rejoices in a patient, who fairly states the symptoms of his case ; because he is thus enabled to prescribe on sure principles, and to meet the actual exigencies of the malady. And, though deeply con- scious that I am little skilled in moral medicine, and that a testy patient might fairly meet me with, ' Phy- sician, heal thyself,' I, too, (as you call on me to prescribe,) am glad that you honestly state particu- lars, which afford me ground to proceed upon. You state a long-confirmed habit of giving vent, LETTERS. 427 in words, to the feelings of the moment* ; and ex- press a determination to endeavour to curb the un- ruly member. You could form few resolutions better calculated to promote your quiet enjoyment of your- self, and every thing around you. Do not be dis- heartened by the apprehension, that this wise restraint will sit awkwardly upon you, or appear forced, and insincere. Believe me, there is something truly respectable, in a conscientious effort to command, and deny ourselves ; this being the repeated injunction of our divine Master, than whom there never existed a more thorough judge of decorum, we need never fear that an adherence to it, will make us appear in any other, than a praiseworthy and amiable point of view. But, in these cases, where the principle is right, and the attempt sincere, the effort will not be perceived near so frequently, as the happy effect ; and even though effort should appear, does it not always raise a person in our esteem, to see a rising emotion suppressed, . . a severe word softened, . . a momentary cloud on the countenance, exchanged for smiles of good-nature and good-will ? A victory over what is wrong, always proves the existence of right internal principles ; and (next to the person who has effectually conquered all undue warmth of tem- per, so that even its first risings are invisible) that person is to be respected and admired, who is able to quell the tendency to tumult, before it breaks out into actual rebellion, or insurrection. But it is not, certainly, any accumulation of mere * During the latter years of her life, Miss Jebb suffered under a complaint peculiarly irritating in its nature; and, though she would sometimes give way to the feeling of the moment, she would immediately, and most affection- ately, ask pardon of those around her, for any thing painful she might have said. . . Ed. 428 LETTERS. efforts, as the occasion arises, that will be sufficient to produce this happy effect. Unless there be pro- vision made within, outward exertion may, perhaps, only serve to aggravate the evil ; unless we lay the ground-work of a contented mind, we cannot promise to ourselves a permanent and solid super- structure of placid and serene deportment : without this, many amiable and estimable qualities will be insufficient to accompHsh what we desire ; warmth of affection, generosity of spirit, sincere intention to make others happy, (qualities which I know you possess in an eminent degree,) will all be found in- competent to the conquest and regulation of our passions, unless we are, at least, in progress towards that happy discovery of St. Paul, ' I have learned, in wh'itever state I am, therewith to be content.' Be assured, that passions and affections are never given us, without being intended to be called into play ; they are intended to constitute materials of moral discipline and trial ; and, if they served no other purpose, this noble one would recompense us, for any uneasiness they may cost us ; the task of dis- ciplining, regulating, and directing them, however painful in the act, will, if conscientiously persevered in, bring peace at the last. And observe, that I do not, by any means, recommend their extirpation ; they were given us for great purposes ; and, if we employ them properly, they will contribute largely to our happiness, not only here, but hereafter. The stronger, and the warmer they are, the higher is the enjoyment of which they mark our capacity. Whoever has warm passions and affections, is providentially called to exercise a more than common degree of love to God and goodness. And, whatever be our external circumstances, opportunities will never be wanting LETTERS. 429 of bringing this love into action. Let me earnestly recommend, that you should exercise your affections and passions upon those infinitely interesting objects, which can never be taken from you. It is thus, that past, and present pain may be most effectually sur- mounted ; and, through the divine assistance, be, in due time, so recollected, as only, like shades in a picture, to contribute to your enjoyment. It is thus, that you may be enabled to revert to former disagree- able sensations, only as the wearied traveller, brought into a land of peace and plenty, looks back upon the desert which he has traversed. Do not imagine that I am speaking the language of cold, common-place speculation : I know well what I say ; I, too, have my conflicts ; within these four weeks especially, and never, perhaps, more strongly than this day, have I been grievously harass- ed, by temptations to repine, and be discontented at my lot. All, therefore, that I liave said to you, I wish to apply to myself ; it is these very consider- ations, which are my medicine ; and I trust, through God's help, that they may be effectual to my relief. Dr. Woodward was here for three days. He left this to-day, after having given my congregation a very good and useful sermon yesterday. The Arch- bishop and his family leave this, for town, on thurs- day. Tell Louisa, that I shall have great pleasure in endeavouring to procure her some sacred music. There are some uncommonly beautiful psalm tunes, composed by Delamaine of Cork (long since dead), which, to my unscientific ear, are some of the most affecting melodies I ever heard. I should be glad to know whether these would be acceptable : I am pretty certain Louisa never heard them : and I should also be obliged to her to specify what kind of sacred 430 LETTERS. music she wishes for ; whether Anthems, Chaunts, or Te Deums. I am now obHged to close this long letter. Yours, my dear sister, most affectionately, John Jebb. LETTER XXVI. To Mrs. 1807. ' My dear Friend, Many thanks for your friendly hint. And now, as to what is of much more importance, I should much rather be silent, than say any thing that could op- press, or perplex you. Continue to do your rational duty, trusting in God ; pursue your design of a tem- porary residence in * * * Wait quietly for events : pray to God for light and guidance ; and he will finally disentangle you ; for, be it remembered, that we cannot disentangle ourselves. These are my sober sentiments. * Be careful for nothing,' &c. &c. Retire now, as far as your reason, and sense of duty will permit. Pray to God to hasten the time, when you may retire still more effectually, and be raised in some good measure, ' To regions mild, of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, Which men call earth.' And use every opportunity that you can fairly em- brace of giving a relish for enjoyments of the more quiet kind. This, you know far better than LETTERS. 431 I can do, for you know it practically, cannot, and should not, be attempted, in the way of direct pre- cept. In London you will have abundance of indnect modes. You can, for instance, show her much, both of nature, and art ; so much, as to fill and occupy her leisure hours, without calling in the aid of balls, plays, &c. &c. ; and you can also train her to indifference for the latter, by altogether abstaining from them yourself, yet, at the same time, continuing cheerful and happy. ###*##* Yours most faithfully, J. Jebb. LETTER XXVIL To the Rev, J, M' Cormick, Cashel, Oct. 29. 1807. I KNOW appearances are sadly against me, yet you will readily believe that you have often been actually in my thoughts, and always habitually in my heart. The truth is, I have made many efforts to write to you ; evidence of which I could bring, by enclosing several unfinished letters. I hope this may not share the fate of its predecessors ; and indeed, however heavy it may be, will it not be best to dispatch it ? For surely it is better that one should plead guilty of dulness, than be suspected of unkindness. My mind has had very few working days, for these two or three months past. How far the ^vinter may be favourable, I cannot conjecture ; but I am now so inured to steriUty, that, what would be mental 482 LETTERS. starvation to many, affords me a comfortable meal. I succeeded in a sermon, about a week ago, and have been living on it ever since ; not, however, without hopes tliat it is the first-fruits of a little harvest of consolation. I do not voluntarily give myself up to in- activity m the line of my duty, being truly anxious to improve every hour of sunshine ; but * shadows, clouds, and darkness,' too often, ' rest upon ' my poor brain. I am, however, sensible, that all this has, even already, had its advantage, in deepening my views ; m giving them more solidity and compactness ; and, I hope, in teaching me somewhat more of the human heart, by, at once, affording me motives, and leisure to in- spect my own. You may have learned from the papers, that many parts of this country are in a desperate state of in- subordination. Still, however, I do feel a strong con- fidence, that the ultimate result will be beneficial. It may be good that we should undergo a period of trial ; but I trust, that, at least, a small portion will come, as pure gold out of the fire. Religion is nearly con- fined to these countries, just at present. In France, and wherever France bears sway, that is, alas ! throughout all continental Europe, there is a prospect of little else than infidelity, if not of atheism. The priesthood almost extinct, from the miserable stipends allowed them ; and even the few that remain, in France at least, not exempt fi'om the military conscription ; the price of a substitute, I have it from good autho- rity, amounting to the almost incredible sum of 500/. or 600/. Amidst this gloomy prospect, I would will- ingly, but with deep humiUty, conjecture, that these islands will be providentially made use of, for an in- valuable purpose ; and that even the present dreadful disorder, may be a necessary preparation, for tlie LETTERS. 4-33 greatest blessings, that have ever yet been vouchsafed to the Avorld. Who can say, whether a temporary declension of all religion, be not indispensable, to- wards the decomposition of popery ; and to the in- troduction of a purer, and better system, than has yet prevailed, even in protestant Europe ? I cannot but indulge the hope, .. if it be a vision, it is however a consolatory one, . . that Church-of-England piety is, in due time, to leaven the mass of civilized society. And, in this view, I look forward, with somewhat of resignation, even to a period of suffering, and compa- rative persecution ; as a process, which may make the religion of our establishment purer, and more intense, and, of course, better fitted to communicate a happy influence, when events may be ripe for its more ex- tended operation. I know not whether I make my- self clear ; my ideas are thrown out very hastily, and I fear undigestedly, on paper ; but I write to one who can either develope my meaning, or make a kindly allowance for my no-meaning. By the way, it is pleasant that piety and zeal of a very deep and active nature have been, of late, gain- ing rapid ground in this diocese. I trust we may yet be of some little service. To be sure our Archbishop is a host in himself. He appears to me daily growing in wisdom, in disinterestedness, in spirituality, and in humility. His perfect knowledge of the world, strong- good sense, and unimpeachable integrity, joined with that personal dignity, which is, at once, so simple, and so commanding, give him a wonderful weight in the world ; and I question not that the purity and piety of his mind bring down a special blessing, from a higher quarter, on all his efforts. I cannot, indeed, find words to express the delight I feel, at having such a man for my patron, and my friend ; or my F F 434 LETTERS. gratitude, that our church is blest with such a guard- ian, in these a^vful times. Your truly affectionate, John Jebb. LETTER XXVIII. To Mrs. Heyland. Cashel, February 8. 1808. My dearest Maria, The very great suffering which you have undergone, both from illness and anxiety, I was quite unacquainted with, till a few days since, except so far as***** was concerned ; and your letter most happily confirmed my hopes that all would be well. The discipline, in- deed, has been severe ; but I have no doubt it was also most merciful ; for, though there are very few, indeed, in the cu'cle of my acquaintance, of whose rightness I have a more thorougli conviction, than of yours, yet, I am persuaded, that, even the very best, are by no means exempt from the need of providen- tial discipline. Happy are they, who acknowledge the hand from whence it comes ; and who derive from it the intended benefit. That this is, in a very great measure, your case, I have, I trust, a well- grounded confidence ; what I say, therefore, is rather intended in the way of encouragement, than either of admonition, or even of suggestion. But one thing I will venture strongly, both to suggest, and to urge ; it is, that you should keep up your spirits. I well know, from long personal experience, the depressing LETTERS. 435 effect of malady ; and, with this in my view, I do not hesitate to say, it is a duty to fight against it. You should have heard from me sooner, but that, for just one fortnight, the house has held me a close prisoner. I am looking up, and soon hope to be out. The fit, I think, will ultimately be an advantage. It has been attended with more than usual nervous irri- tability ; I was completely overset one day, by the very quiet conversation of a single friend, which obliged me, for a time, to exclude all visitors. It would be a cold word to say, that I am greatly, both gratified, and obliged, by the kind and affec- tionate wish expressed by you and Rowley, to see me under your roof. I truly feel more than I can ex- press ; but there are special reasons w^hy I must not make my usual annual trip to DubUn, this year. It would be idle and disingenuous to say, that this does not imply sacrifice and self-denial ; but, if all the cir- cumstances were before you, I think you w^ould agree, it is right for me to stay where I am. This morning, I have had a very kind invitation from Richard, which for the same reason must be declined. And I must add, that, though both under your roof and his, I have ever experienced the most cordial and affectionate attention, I should think it an absolute duty, on very many accounts, were I to go to town for any length of time, to establish myself in a lodg- ing ; which I would be very ready to allow my friends to reduce almost to the denomination of a dry lodging. For it would be far from my intention, by this little arrangement, to relinquish the society of those who are deservedly dear to me. I feel deeply for poor but I have a cheer- ful, though not a sanguine hope, that, before very long, he will be compensated, and more than com.- F F 2 486 LETTERS. pensated, in a more desirable way. His honourable, conscientious, upright conduct, and his laudable at- tention to his most promising young family, place him, I soberly think, under the wing of divine Pro- vidence. Believe me, with hearty wishes that, from you and yours, no good tiling may be withheld, Your truly affectionate brother, John Jebb. LETTER XXIX. To the Rev. J, M Cormick, BellevAe, March 8. 1808. . If you could anatomize my brain, or untwist my nerves, or analyze my animal spirits, you would doubtless discover more powerful reasons than I am able to plead, for my long silence. Though very far, indeed, from a materialist, I cannot but feel, that mind is wonderfully at the mercy of matter; and though hopeful of an emergement, even in this life, from the prison of such bodily fetters, as have been this long time my providential discipline, I must own, at present, my utter inability of doing, in literary matters, that which I would. A person w^ho has not suffered similarly, cannot even faintly conceive, how I shrink, and have shrunk for the last two months, from the effort of writing even a letter of friendship, or of civility. This is my fourth or fifth commence- ment of one to you ; and, at this moment, I know- not whether it must not share the fate of its prede- cessors. You will, however, easily believe, that how- LETTERS. ever my power of execution has failed me, I have had the desire to write. The truth is, that a frequent in- terchange of thought and feehng with you, would afford me very deep gratification ; and is by no means among the least of the advantages I anticipate, from a more healthful state of body, and more lucid habit of mind. It would be a wretched thing, if we had no better consolation, and no higher prospects in reversion, than politicians can discern. But I do verily believe, that, amidst all the dismal scenes which are transacting, the world, under a providential and gracious guid-- ance, is holding on a steady course, towards political, and moral, and religious purification. No less than this appears to be asserted by the sure word of pro- phecy ; and the remote, but certain movements to- wards this improvement, may be discerned, by the calm, and wise observer of what is passing in the w^orld. The very politicians, whom I pity much more than I blame, are acting their parts in the great drama; and will doubtless be made subservient to purposes, of which they little dream. All this, per- haps, may appear fanciful. But I think I could make out my case, if I had a couple of hours' talk with you. Meantime, it is pleasant, that what I am led to hope, on grounds of christian philosophy, a late most ingenious French philosopher has conjectured, on far other data ; and clothed in language as beau- tiful and energetic, as can well be conceived. ' Ah ! what would be the lot of the generations to follow, what the despair of him who reflects upon them, if, in the chaos of human affairs, the laws of an inex- haustible creation did not present themselves ; if, in the darkest storms, by which every thing appears ready to be swallowed up, the lightning of Provi- F F 3 438 LETTERS. dence did not afford, through the gloom, the glimpses of a better futurity ! True it is, that, when the tem- pests are let loose, and hurricanes, raised by the pas- sions of men, rage on tlie ocean of time, the vessel cannot hold her coiyse direct to the destined harbour. The spectator is sometimes deceived, and thinks the motion retrograde, when it is not.' But no : after those deplorable commotions, in which so many indi- viduals are sacrificed, it is not uncommon to see a better order of things arise ; to behold the race itself advance more freely towards the great end, which is pointed out by its intellectual nature ; and obtam a new expansion of its improvement, by every new ex- plosion of its powers.' — Tillers on the Reformation. I have left myself but a few lines to say, that I am highly gi'atihed by your kind wish to see me at tlie Glebe. I hope to arrange matters so as to enjoy, at last, the pleasure of seeing you tliere. I beg my best love to your whole iireside. Most affectionately yours, John Jebb. LETTER XXX. Cashel, Oct. 26. 1808. I THANK you for your interesting letter, and lose no time in sitting down to answer it. The Lord's prayer had, in some degree, engaged my attention ; though not so closely, as your hints have now led me to con- sider it. After some thought, I must honestly con- fess that I cannot subscribe to your ideas. LETTERS. 439 When our Lord delivered this prayer, I conceive that he intended it for a model of perfect christian devotion (that is, in the whole spirit of it, for the pe- titions are evidently calculated for the militant, not for the millennial state of the church). Now, if this be so, it surely cannot be maintained, that any part of the prayer is exclusively, or even primarily, adapted to the weaker order of christians. That some of the petitions are capable of being grossly ap- prehended, and interpreted in their own way, by the justification men, I 'readily admit; but this is no more than may be asserted of numberless passages in the New Testament, and especially of what are called the doctrinal parts of St. Paul's Epistles. And, in truth, I deem it a signal instance, both of divine wisdom and goodness, that the Scriptures should have been so composed, as to favour, such inadequate ap- plications, and, consequently, such gross misinter- pretations ; for I firmly believe, and am sure you will agree with me, that tlie essence of Christianity could hardly have been preserved in the world, had not the kernel been thus enclosed in a hard shell, and further guarded by husky integuments. (You will perceive, that I have borrowed a favourite illustration of Knox's.) The thing that I protest against is, the supposi- tion, that our Lord himself, permitted a prayer, any of whose petitions are of the lower order. When matter of fact is adverted to, when the character of christians is described, as ' the salt of the earth,' and ' the light of the world,' the ' righteous ' and the * good :' there, we may fairly suppose, distinction is intended, of more, and less, excellent ; for things are described as they are. But, when a model of devo- tion is provided, by an infinitely perfect and wise F F 4 440 LETTERS. Being, there, I conceive, nothing could obtain ad- mission, but what is most excellent ; for things are expressed as they ought to be. But how then, you will ask, are petitions of the most excellent nature, adapted to weak and imperfect christians ? My answer is, that, in order to arrive at the excellence, it is necessary to dive far below the surface ; whilst a superficial meaning presents itself at the first glance, which abundantly serves the purpose of ordinary minds. Thus, I do believe, the justification man forms to himself an inadequate, though doubtless, on the whole, a salutary notion, of all the petitions in the Lord's prayer ; whilst the enlightened aspirant after sanctification and perfection, goes to the depth of the subject; and both perceives, and relishes, in every part, the deepest spirituality, and the most en- larged christian philosophy. Having said thus much, I readily concede, that the petitions, which you have marked out, as belonging to, and especially charac- terizing the righteous, as contradistinguished from the good, appear to be the most susceptible of a nar- row and forensic construction. The verisimihtude of your metrical arrangement, so far as the eye is concerned, and as regularity of distribution is in question, depends upon this circum- stance, that the prayer is, on your hypothesis, made to consist of three long lines, with two short couplets interposed, at tlie intervals between them. But there is every reason to believe, that your last line, the doxology, constitutes no proper part, either of the original prayer, or of St. Matthew's Gospel. In the first place, it is omitted by St, Luke ; an omission, in the highest degree improbable, on the supposition that our Lord really delivered this clause, along with the preceding. Of the five most ancient MSS. of LETTERS. 441 St. Matthew, two are defective in that part, which contains the Lord's prayer. In the other three, viz. the Codex Vaticani, the Codex Bezae, and Barret's newly-discovered MS., the doxology is wanting ; as it is, also, in six other MSS. of considerable authority and importance. It is wanting in the Arabic, Persic, Coptic, and Latin versions. It is found in none of the fathers of the first three centuries, though Ter- tullian, Cyprian, and Origen, have written professed expositions of the Lord's prayer. And it is omitted by all the Latin fathers. The most probable account seems to be, that it originated with the liturgies used in the Byzantine, or Constantinopolitan church, in which doxologies were common ; that, thence, it found its way into the lectionaries, or collections of portions of Scripture, appointed to be read in the public service; and that thence, it was finally intro- duced into the text of the Byzantine edition of the New Testament itself. Wetstein has remarked, and I think not unfairly, that the conclusion is tautological, and therefore cannot, with propriety, be attributed to our Lord ; it being inconceivable, that, in so very short a composition, he would have repeated the very same ideas, that occur in the introduction. To this, may I be permitted to add, that I do not see, in the doxology, any thing like a susceptibility of a similar metrical arrangement, to that which obtains in the prayer itself. And, now, it is full time that I should subjoin, what appears to me the natural order of the prayer ; subject, however, to your revision, animad- version, and, if it appears deserved, your castigation. 442 LETTERS. I. ITATEP Yjiji,u)v 6 £v Toig oupuvoic, 'AyjacrSijTo; to ovo^ol aov, TsvYi^riTCti TO -SrsAij/xa crov, sv oupotvcti, xon stti Tr\c yri^, II. Tov apTov YifjLCtiv Tov sTnovcriov, 1 -^ Aog TjfLlV (TT^fJLSpOV' J Ka< a^s$ r)a3j ^j^-a? £ Trovripov' A/xrjv. J Here, you will observe, that tliere is an evident parallelism, between the first and fifth lines ; whether we regard the identity of the subject-matter, sv roig ou^oLvoig . . cog sv ouoavco, or the equality of length, there being, in each line, precisely ten syllables. The three intermediate lines, form a very beautiful paral- lel triplet ; and I think you will hardly fail to admit, that, according to the common construction of lan- guage, and, especially, of Hebrew poetry, each line of the triplet equally refers to the cog sv oup^cLvm, So that this first, and grandest part of the prayer, has, for its great object, the millennial state of the church ; when God's name shall be as purely hallowed, his kingdom as thoroughly established, and his will as perfectly performed, on earth, as in heaven. The couplet which relates to remission, is, perhaps, in its true and adequate import, no less deely spiritual, than any other part of the prayer. I know it is commonly considered as merely forensic ; but the question is, whether real scriptural remission of sin, be of this forensic nature. I humbly conceive it is not. And, happily, our church seems to entertain the same opi- nion, when, in the baptismal service, she implores, for infants, * the remission of their sins, by spiritual regeneration.' I have yet one more observation, LETTERS. 443 which, perhaps, is too trifling to be hazarded ; and yet there may be, possibly, something in it. In the ar- rangement that I have offered above, the parallel lines uniformly terminate with the same letter ; a technical nicety, which our Lord might have seen it wise to descend to, both for the aid of memory, and to secure the integrity of the prayer, from subsequent mutilation, or addition. Many poems of the Old Testament are acrostics, the lines beginning with the letters of the alphabet in regular succession. Why, then, might not a contrivance less palpable, but some- what similar, be resorted to, in the New Testament ? That I may not be understood, I shall add what, per- haps, is needless : the first and fifth lines end with the letter S ; the second, third, and fourth with T ; the sixth to the eleventh with X. * # * * # * * Believe me, Most cordially yours, John Jebb. LETTER XXXI. To the Rev, Dr. Nash. Cashel, October 31. 1808. My dear Nash, When I look back to the date of your very kind and interesting letter, I feel truly ashamed ; but I know your good-nature too well, not to rest satisfied that you will impute my silence to its real cause, the in- firmities of a person, whose state of health has pecu- liarly disqualified him for any thing like regular cor- respondence. Indeed, in the present case, I was 444 LETTERS. prevented by a further difficulty ; you suggested some topics of inquiry, on the subject of the Trinity. Cir- cumstances imperiously directed my studies another way ; and I was unwilling to write, till I could, in some measure at least, comply with your kind wish to have my sentiments, on perliaps the most vitalh' im- portant truth of our religion. I am aware that I have been myself the sufferer ; for, had I written, you gave me reason to hope that I should be gratitied with the continuance of your correspondence. I still look forward to prove myself not wholly unworthy of it ; though it might, at present, look like absolute im- pudence, to express, what I feel, a real desire to hear from you. Mj correspondents are not many ; and I can say, with truth, that you woidd be a most ac- ceptable addition to the number. From the cause abo\ e mentioned, I do not feel equal to give any thing more than a very slight, and cursory remark, on the ante-Xicene faith. But I am ready to acquit Justin ]\Iartyr of any Arian tendency. Many passages are, in my opinion, decidedly ortho- dox ; and if, occasionally, he use language that may appear dubious, we are to consider, that the subject was not, in his day, matter of controversy ; and that, of course, preciseness of phraseology is not fairly to be expected. ' Till Arianism had made it a matter of great sharpness, aud subtlety of wit, to be a sound belie\'ing Christian, men were not curious what syl- lables, or particles of speech, they used.* So says the judicious Hooker. And here, by the way, is possibly the final cause of Arianism ; as it is, surely, whatever Hooker might think, a great advantage to the christian church, that the doctrine of our Lord's full divinity, has been clearly defined, by creeds, and councils, and the voice of the whole catholic church. LETTERS. 445 You will find that the great body of fathers, both ante and post Nicene, are strong for a subordination, in the nature of Christ ; and, indeed, I conceive that, without admitting this, we cannot explain, consist- ently, many passages of the New Testament, and some sayings of our Lord himself. The great point is, at the same time, to maintain a strict unity of essence. I conceive the Athanasian creed itself, is by no means adverse to this mode of thinking ; and, indeed, what stronger argument can be adduced, in its favour, than that, in the Nicene creed, the second person is stiled Ssog 0=ou, . . whilst the Father is manifestly Auro^Bog, The subordination, I can ima- gine to arise out of the relations of paternity and fili- ality ; whatever, in the divine person, they may strictly mean. On this subject, you will not fail to meet much interesting matter in Bishop Bull's De- fen sio Fidei Nicenae, as well as in his Judicium Eccle- siae Catholicae ; also in Nelson's Life of Bishop Bull, sect. Lvni., &;c. I feel, deeply, with you, the blighting tendency of the Arian system ; and I wish I could see it put, practically, in its just point of view. This, however, I rather wish than hope ; at least in our day. The world must be somewhat acquainted with the interior movements of our moral and spiritual nature, before it can either apprehend, or relish, arguments, on this highest branch of the controversy ; . . a branch, in- deed, which has not yet been navigated or explored. The good people of the present day require some- thing more palpable. You and I can observe the phenomenon, that Arianism has a lowering effect on Christian practice ; and, possibly, we can, to our own satisfaction, account for the cause of this effect. But I much question, whether many people could be 446 LETTERS. brought even to perceive the phenomenon itself ; for must it not be spiritually discerned? How much less, then, can they be supposed capable of appre- hending a chain of reasoning, on the rationale of the matter ? All this, however, is very crude ; it is written cur rente calamo, without time for deliber- ation ; and merely to shew, that, however negligent I may have, I may say, must have appeared, there is no real indisposition to cultivate your valuable cor- respondence. I have no right to hope for a speedy answer ; but, indeed, I do sincerely feel a wish to hear from you ; and I hope I may be enabled to act up to my hearty desire of being, at least, a punctual correspondent. Believe me, my dear Nash, Yours very faithfully and sincerely, John Jebb. LETTER XXXII. To the Rev. Dr. Nash. Cashel, Nov. 17. 1808. My dear Nash, I THANK you most cordially for the kind interest, which, on my account, you are disposed to take in young and I trust he may not prove unde- serving of it, on his own account. I do not know him personally, but am anxious, for his father's sake, and for the sake of his profession. Both motives will weigh with you ; for the father is a worthy man, and you love the church. It is, in truth, to this your professional zeal, and not to any representation of LETTERS. 447 mine, that you are indebted {qualcunque dehitiim), for the Archdeacon's good opinion. He had heard, from some young men who had profited by your in- structions, of your extra-official lectures to divinity students, in your own chambers ; and hence, as well as from the general reputation, &c. &c. (I spare your modesty the recital), arose his anxiety that his son should be under your direction. This naturally leads me to say, that, though you may be frequently, and perhaps disagreeably, inter- rupted in your favourite studies and pursuits, you are providentially placed in a sphere of great useful- ness. You may be the instrument of impressing many young clergymen, both with the arduous re- sponsibility which they are about to incur, and with the deep internal character of Christianity itself. Whatever less pleasing labours may be unavoidably annexed to your situation, I view^ as a sort of tax which you must pay, for the privilege of acting as divinity lecturer, . . not to speak of the noble field w^hich you have at the Asylum. I w^ell know the reply which might occur to some, but which never could occur to you. ' All this is mighty fine talk, from an idle gentleman, who enjoys his visions of platonic quietism, at Cashel ; and, at all times, may follow the literary vagaries of his ow^n imagination.' But the truth is, that much as you are interrupted by college business, I am still more interrupted by incapacitathig malady. Moderately speaking, three fourths of my waking hours, have, for the last year, been absolutely unprofitable to all appearance. I say, to all appearance, for I wash not to speak despond- ingly ; and I humbly trust, that many days and weeks of total inability for thought, or study, have been providentially ordered, and will ultimately pro- 448 LETTERS. duce in me some good effect. We must only wait quietly for better days ; and, should they arri^•e, we shall then feel double cause to rejoice and be glad in them. I most entirely approve of your thought, ' that none of the Evangelists intended to pay much atten- tion to chronological order.' I, too, had been amazed by the perplexities, and revolted by the inelegant dislocations, of harmonists. I took refuge from tliem all, in this very persuasion ; but I cannot say that I ever investigated the subject, at all in proportion to its interest and importance. I wish much for your promised communication on the point ; and to entitle me, in some measure, to this favour, shall offer you a few remarks. There is ' A Vindication of St. Matthew^'s Gospel, against William Winston,' annexed to the last volume of * Jones on the Canon,' which contains mucli to your purpose, especially in the fourth chapter. Jones strongly maintains, * that all the Evangelists disregarded the order of time.' And this he shows to have been the practice, also, of the Old Testament writers, and of the best profane historians. He adds four causes, why the Evangelists thus neglect chrono- logical accuracy. 1. They relate facts together, wliich happened at different times, because tliey happened in the same place. 2. They relate facts together, which happened at different times, because they relate to the same person, whose history they wish at once to dispatch. 3. They used a different order from each other, (by the appointment of di\-ine wisdom) that there might be no appearance of collusion, &c> LETTERS. 449 Spanheim's words are forcible : . • * Voluit vero Spiritus Sanctus, diverse ordine, raulta ab Evan- ' gelistis narrari, . . ne vel ex compacto, vel collatis capitibus, scripsisse, vel sua a se invicem descripsisse viderentur, &c.' 4. Order not observed, for the exercise of in- genuity, sagacity, piety, faith, &c. in after ages. These causes, undoubtedly, are not of equal value ; but, I think, you will find much to interest you in this whole chapter. I can well conceive, that another, a deeper, and a far more interesting set of causes, might be assigned. Then, Jones's are of the most palpable nature ; but you well know, that what is most palpable, is not always most important. Let me, then, suggest the following- queries : 1. Is not chronological order, sometimes postponed, to the juxta-position, and mutual elucidation, of moral truths related to each other ? 2. Is not chronological order, frequently postponed, to the consideration of giving prominence to striking features of individual character ? 3. May it not, in general terms, be asserted, that, by neglecting strict chronological order, the Evangelists have happily avoided the methodical dryness of a diary ; and been enabled to delight us, with the easy, natural flow of continuous narration ? 4. May it not be said, that, if any one of the Evan- gelists had strictly adhered to the order of time, his narration would have very strikingly differed from the rest, in style and manner ? 5. May it not be said, that, (all the facts, and in- structions remaining what they are) if strict chronological order had been adhered to, there G G 450 LETTERS. must have been, at least, a very considerable want of that nice congruity of parts, . . that happy, and almost imperceptible transition, from subject to subject (like colours in the rainbow) which, in the present distribution, fail not to attract every reader of taste? In fact, if the present order of any one Evangelist be nearly that of exact chronology, must we not be re- duced to the extreme supposition, that a needless miracle was resorted to, . . namely, an ordering the sequence of events, so as to give a conse- cutive chronological history, all the grace and fitness of easy, elegant, skilfully composed nar- rative ? I am aware that the best of these queries, but re- echo hints contained in your letter ; and the rest are but very hasty thoughts. I hazard them, however, to draw you out ; if they have this effect, I shall be satisfied ; and, at all events, they may serve to shew, that I am not altogether uninterested by the subject you have started. As to your lectures, I have not been able sufficiently to turn your general hints in my mind, to offer any thing like a decided opinion. I conceive, however, that the outline of last Lent course, should not be palpably deviated from in the ensuing. It is worth considering, perhaps, whether there might not be somewhat of condensation, and, if possible, of converge ment towards some special object. This suggestion I throw out with much diffi- dence, because I have, in truth, nothing specific to propose ; it merely occurs to me, that the interest of the whole business might be heightened, by thus giving it unity, and a progressive tendency to some one great end. Not that I would have tiiis end formally announced j it should rather be kept in your own LETTERS. 451 mind ; and it should gradually disclose itself, or rather, if I may so speak, permit itself to be discovered by your audience. The subject of the baptisms, may, doubtless, be made very interesting. I should think it would suffer by being protracted into two discourses. So far as the three baptisms afford light to each other, either in the way of coincidence, or contrast, it is surely desirable, that they should be considered in the same lecture ; and besides, this subject does not occupy a sufficient space of the gospel narrative, to be dwelt upon at any very considerable length, in a course of lectures like yours. But I fear I may be talking at random, about a matter which I have not, by any means, sufficiently w^eighed. I can only say, that, when you have fixed upon your plan, I hope to derive both pleasure and profit, from discussing it with you. I am glad you are engaging in the study of hebrew, and, especially, without points. I hope to follow you. Pray what is the grammar you have taken up ? And could you procure one of them for me ? Having so much amused myself in thinking of the nature and structure of hebrew poetry, I feel bound to study the language, at least in a slight degree ; those teas- ing little points always revolted me. My pursuits have, of late, been much impeded, by a sprain in my back. This, in the first instance, and for several days, was productive of intense pain ; and has since been succeeded by weakness, relaxation, and unfitness for any serious study. I hope soon to look up, and to be occupied. This day 1 have plea- santly beguiled some time in talking to you ; and, if I am not alarmingly punctual, pray give me provo- cation, and subject matter, soon to talk to you again ; G G S 452 LETTERS. for I am one of those beings, who cannot strike, unless they are wound up. BeHeve me, dear Nash, Yours most cordially, John Jebb. LETTER XXXIIL To Mrs, Hei/laiid. Cashel, Not. 28. 1808. If you wish for a very high literary treat, send to Martin Keene's, for the life and remauis of Henry Ku'ke White, . . and to Watson's for the fragments and life of Miss Smith. These were absolutely two prodigies, both of talents, learning, and piety. They both effected more, in a few years, than it falls to the lot of millions to do, in a long life : and, when they had manifested an unquestioned ripeness for heaven, they were taken away from the e\il to come. Such dis- pensations have, doubtless, something in them seem- ingly mysterious ; but to me, I own, they ai'e full of mercy and wisdom. I am now reading the life of White. It is a beautiful thing ; and I know not when I was more interested. As to Miss Smith, she was an honour to your sex, and to human nature. LETTERS. 453 LETTER XXXVI. To the Rev, Jos, Cormick, Cashel, Dec. 24. 1808. A LONG letter to you, lies, at this moment, sealed and ready for the post, upon my table ; but your very pleasant and welcome letter, just received, leads me to suppress what I have written, in hopes, that, though I may not be able to substitute any thing better in its room, I may, at least, give some kind of reply to your queries. How can you think of apologising to 7ne, for laziness in correspondence ? I was not within reach of a looking-glass ; but I know that what you say, on that score, should have brought the blood into my face. You judged rightly that I wished to hear about your whole fire-side ; and your cheerful family pic- ture has delighted me. What would I not give to be one amongst you to-morrow, and for many to- morrows after ! In the morning, I would take your reading-desk, or pulpit; and, in the evening, we would enjoy our cheerful conversation, and we would amuse ourselves with the youngsters, and we would do due honour to your good lady's Christmas pies, in spite of your neighbours the presbyterians, who are bound to abominate all manner of superstitious meats and drinks. But these are speculations, or rather visions, too pleasing, to be safely indulged by a solitary recluse. I must, therefore, have done with them. Your estimate of our several occupations, I must beg leave to protest against. I soberly think, that you are most usefully filling, a valuable de- 4o4 LETTERS. partment in the community, whilst I am often dis- posed to question, to what department do I belong ? Among the truly learned, my shallowness of know- ledge would soon be discovered. I am turning out a most infi-equent composer of sermons ; I have no parochial labours ; and he must be a very candid, or a very friendly judge, who would not feel an in- clination to ask me, ' I say, my good sir, what are you doing?' Still, however, I do not despond. In my own small way, I am striving to treasure up, * quag mox depromere possim and, in the interim, I feel that I am of some use to my brother-clergymen, who are willing, now and then, to take hints from me ; and to carry into effect in the world, those things, which are but the private speculations of my * scrinium secretum.' (You doubtless recollect poor Tom MarslialPs * secret pen-case.') Providence has thrown us into different spheres ; and yours, as the father of a family, and as an active parish minister, is truly an important one. Tliat very attention to worldly matters, which you speak of, is no less your duty, than it, perhaps, may be mine to hunt through the worm-eaten folios of the Cashel library ; whilst it is also our common duty to look to it, that neither our farms, nor our books, be suffered to occupy our hearts, which assuredly were made for something better than either the one, or the other. All that you say of my sister is deeply gratifying, and I trust matters will continue at least as favour- able. It is pleasant, too, that you have so good an account to give of my dear little young friends. As to Richard, I would not feel discouraged by his re- trograde movements, in the very necessary art of reading ; for I know, that, in all grammar schools, that is not^nade a primary matter. He will be more LETTERS. 455 benefited in this department, by what he can learn at home, in vacations. I believe that a taste for English literature, and a religious disposition, are, most com- monly, acquired under a parent's eye. And this I consider one great advantage to be derived from vacations. You will be glad to hear, that ecclesiastical matters, throughout this province, are every day wearing a more favourable aspect ; and, if the monstrous price of foreign timber, did not imply an absolute prohi- bition, there can be no doubt that multitudes of new churches, and glebe houses, would spring up, under the encouragement of the late act. Even as it is, the applications to the Board of First- Fruits are very nu- merous. I look far more to the gradual results of a wise liberality, than to any compulsory acts of Par- liament, for an efficiently resident clergy. Provide comfortable accommodation, at a small expence to the incumbent, and you will soon have the clergy at their posts. Here and there, there may, and will be, instances of neglect ; but the general consequence will, I conceive, be most efficient residence. It is the genius of our establishment, rather to be won by kindness, than driven by terror. What an awful scene of events lies just now before us. It baffles all ordinary modes of political calcu- lation ; and yet, unknowing as I am in the science of politics, I cannot help forming my own private con- jectures, that the final causes of all we are witnessing, are principally two. 1. The destruction of the whole worn-out system of continental Europe, preparatory to the future establishment of a new, and better order. 2. The civilization of the New World, by the erection of supreme governments, in territories which have been hitherto colonial. This latter, I am dis- G G 4 456 LETTERS. posed to conjecture, will ultimately take place, and that, too, at no distant period ; even though the Brazils, and Spanish South America, should, for a time, fall within the gripe of Bonaparte. Migration, I would willingly hope, may be the providential means of civilizing the other hemisphere. Is there spirit enough in Spain to attempt this ? I must, how- ever, cease with conjectures, which I am ill qualified to make. Farewell, then, and believe me, with every wish for the best happiness of you and yours. Your truly affectionate John Jebb. LETTER XXXV. To the Rev, Dr. Nash. Cashel, January 7. 1809. My dear Nash, This is the sixth day, since I began an answer to your most acceptable letter, on paper that might very well pass for the manufacture of Brobdignag, in a hand which would not shock the delicate optics of a Lih- putian lady ; but, after having filled a page and a half, I feel myself obliged to contract my plan, and confine myself within more modest limits. It is easier to feel, than to express, what is due, for your most friendly remonstrances ; but, believe me, your friendship has greatly over-rated the danger. It is true, that, for a long time, I liave neither been strong, nor robust ; and that, frequently, I have been sub- ject to depressing malady. But, then, I soberly think, and in this opinion I am by no means singular. LETTERS. that my health has, on the whole, been better during the last year, than in that which went before it. Meanwhile, I am by no means, either indifferent about my health, or negligent of it. I am very rarely for a whole day together, within doors ; and am ready, whenever it is needful, to take gentle exercise. But mind enters much into my complaints ; and I know from experience, that the ordinary routine of daily rides or drives, would have a worse effect on my spirits, than could be compensated by the advantages of stated bodily exertion. The gig, I shall certainly have in view, but not immediately ; meanwhile, I will not neglect exercise and relaxation ; rather, in- deed, I should say, recreation ; for to relax, implies previous tejision, and, whatever you, my kind friend, may think, I am decidedly hostile to every thing in- tense. You need not, then, be alarmed on the score of * intense study ; ' and ' laborious inquiries ; ' the truth is, if you knew me, as well as I know myself, you would think me a very idle fellow. It is with shame and regret, that I review the unprofitable tenor of my last year. I have written almost nothing ; and my studies have been only the amusements of, I fear, an ill-arranged leisure. It is my excuse, and therefore becomes my consolation, that the vibrating state of my health wholly unfitted me for continuous exertion. But there has been more than enough of the obtrusive little pronoun ; yet, I must be per- mitted to add, that, should it please God to give me better health, whilst I trust I would endeavour to employ it to some good purpose, I would also feel it a duty not to endanger it, by any intemperance of study. Your difficulty about St. Luke, xi. 37, &c. for some time a little perplexed me. But, since, I have been 458 LETTERS. quite reconciled to his narrative. It struck me, that if, under such circumstances, our Lord really did use such expressions, a departure so unique from his ex- quisite observance of decorum, must have had some very peculiar cause. And such a cause, I think, does appear, on close examination. Observe the strong expressions, in verses 53. and 54., hsmog svs^eiu . . aTToa-To^ari^eiv irspi TrXaiovmu . . sys^osuouTsg cvjtou . . ^r;psyr}(rco(riv aurou. Surely, these words imply much more, than a sudden ebullition of resentment ; there is, evidently, a rooted malignity of heart ; and, I conceive, there are, also, marks of de- liberate, and preconcerted treachery. They do not wait to hear him out ; they begin T^syourog olutou , . while he is yet speaking. Now, does not all this point to the supposition, that the Pharisee invited him, for the very purpose of intrapping, of accusing, of delivering him up to death ? The invitation, we are told, was given . . eu rto \cLkr^(rai . . (v. 37.) whilst Jesus was speaking. Now just consider the discourse he was delivering (v. 29 . . 36.) and ask yourself, was it very well calculated to conciliate a zealous Jew, and to excite him to hospitality ? or rather, was it not eminently fitted to stimulate a thorough-paced Pharisee, to revenge, a designing villain, to malignant treachery ? If then things be so, then, all that fol- lows, is strictly decorous and consistent. Our Lord detected the vile intention, which lurked under the mask of smooth civility ; he was aware, that, where no hospitality was designed, no breach of what was due to hospitality, could be committed. May we not add, that, when the sacred rites of hospitality were abused so flagrantly, it well became our Lord to shew the hypocrite that he stood unveiled, in all his native deformity ? Was it not, also, most dignified, to take LETTERS. 459 110 notice of the design against himself, and yet to intimate, (as, I conceive, he does, v. 47 . . 51.) that, to him, the dark design was no secret ? On this supposition, what daggers does he speak, by that single particle NTN ? (v. 89.) Is it now that you make clean, &c. ? Now, when your heart is full of treachery ; now, when you are deliberately violating the sanctuary of your own table ; now, when you are meditating murder ! well might he say . . to Is sa-wSsv uixwu ysixsi aoTTOLyYjg koli Trovrjoiotg, This may, possibly, appear fanciful. To me, at present, it is, however, satisfactory ; and, it seems to be strengthened by a critical observation of Raphelius, who neither felt the difficulty, nor had any notion of treachery in the host. ' TO NTN,' says he, ' admirationem, vel po- tius indignation em quandam, declarat hoc loco/ But, if the particle be emphatic, with what emphasis of just indignation is it employed, on the above hypo- thesis, and liow is its use to be accounted for, on any other? St. Mark, vii. 1, &c. is, I conceive, the record of another conversation, rising out of a similar occur- rence, but having no topic in common with this nar- rative of St. Luke. And it is observable, that, even the harmonists, treat the parallel passages in St. Matthew, St. Mark, and St. Luke, as records of similar, but distinct transactions. I greatly like what you tell me of the new lecture. You will have some difficulties to encounter, from the meagreness, and flatness, of Nichols and Wheatley, and from the prolixity of Comber. But you can en- liven the subject by your own observations ; and the very novelty of the pursuit, will hardly fail to carry the young men through the first year, with interest and alacrity ; the first year, I say, because I am sure every succeeding one will be fraught with most 460 LETTERS. pleasant information. You see I quite enter into your feeling, that the praelections should be post- poned for a year. You will, by that time, have col- lected abundant materials, and will be master of your subject. The truth is, that, as I hope to see a very useful publication grow out of this undertaking, I am more anxious for thorough digestion, than for speed. I promise myself much pleasure and information from your discoveries, as you proceed ; and, I need not say how much gratification it will afford me, if I can ever throw out a hint for you to improve upon, or point to a path, which you may think it worth while to explore. The subject peculiarly interests me ; who soberly believe, that, from our liturgy, may be deduced the noblest body of divinity, that man has ever yet extracted from the Sacred Volume. For your first praelection, you will meet valuable hints in Archbishop King's little work, which I already mentioned. You are doubtless well acquainted with Seeker's sensible, but not profound, discourses on the subject. Pray turn to * Baxter's Life and Times,' part ii. p. 307., and you will there read a curious ad- mission of the inconveniences which must arise, from leaving the prayers at the mercy of officiating minis- ters. And, if you wish for a specimen of about the most plausible things that can be said against Forms, you will do well to consult ' Orton's Letters to Dis- senting Ministers,' Lond. 1806. Vol. I. p. 16, &c. This little work is peculiarly worth having, as it shews the interior of English dissenterism, during a period of 30 very important years (1752 . . 1782) ; very im- portant, because, in that interval, heterodoxy was gaining rapid ground, in the dissenting body. As to extemporaneous prayer, has the following objection occurred to you ? The use of extemporaneous prayer LETTilRS. 4()1 implies, that candidates for the ministry must be pre- viously trained to it ; but must not this course of training, greatly endanger the simplicity of their ad- dresses to Almighty God ? Must not many inevit- ably be led to speak and pray, beyond their feelings ? Is it not to be feared, that some must, in the nature of things, be drilled into hypocrisy of the worst kind ? This, I have good reason to know, has been feelingly lamented, by wise, and pious dissenters. On looking to your letter of December 3d, I find that I have yet another arrear to pay off. You then propose the subjects of 6 Lent lectures. 1. Baptism. 2. The Temptation. 3. Doctrines. 4. Morality. 5, Manner of teaching . . parables. 6. Miracles. I have no doubt that, on these topics, you would pro- duce very interesting lectures ; and yet the pros- pectus does not quite satisfy me. In the first two lectures, you would (as last Lent) strictly follow the order of the evangelists ; and, in the last four, you would become selective. Is this consistent with unity of design ? But there is a deeper objection. Is it right to consider doctrines, apart from morality? or morality, apart from its only source and origin ? May it not, also, be worth examining, whether the greater part of what are called doctrines, do not re- solve themselves into facts. I mean, something very different from what are dwelt upon by Messrs. Wake- field, Fellows, and all the rationalizing school. I merely wish to secure, that nothing purely dogmatic, shall be put forward as the vital part of Christianity ; but that Christ himself, both God and man, may be uniformly kept in view, as the living, and ever-com- municative source of whatever can tranquillize and purify, can elevate, and, at the same time, keep humble, the heart of man. I fear that needless words becloud 462 LETTERS. my meaning : you will, however, decypher me with ease, and interpret me with candour. And I am surely about to put your candour to the test, by throwing out a very rude and hasty sketch, . . not for your adoption, . . but, in order that, provoking you to something better, * vice fungar cotis.' 1. Bap- tism, viewed as the initiatory rite of Christianity. 2. The Lord's Supper, viewed as the perfective rite of Christianity. 3. The Sermon on the Mount, viewed as an initiatory system of spiritual instruction. 4. St. John, xiv. xv. xvi., viewed as a perfective system of spiritual instruction ; referring, also, to our Lord's final prayer in chap. xvii. 5. Our Lord's character, viewed as a perfect exemplification of holy tempers, and heavenly habits, flowing from right internal principles. 6. The use we are to make of all that our Lord did in the flesh ; that is, in other words, . . how are we to live upon Christ by faith ; and, especially, how, under every trial and tempta- tion, we are from him to derive strength, support, and comfort ; and finally to become more than con- querors, through the influential efficacy of his divine example. It might be urged against this little scheme, that it gives no place to the great peculiarities of the Gospel ; but, in truth, I feel as if they ought to be so blended with every lecture, as to give it life and spirit, and to shed a certain beautiful ^purpu- reum lumen' over the whole. And, to speak my whole wishes, it would give me deep gratification, if your entire course, were an expansion of this single passage, ' God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath sinned in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God, in the face of Jesus Christ.' I am deeply sensible that my suggestions are very LETTERS. imperfect. I rely, however, on your receiving with good-natured allowance, the crude thoughts of a recluse. He that lives alone, must, perhaps neces- sarily, talk crudely. I am glad that you have ***** to plead for your charity, because he will not fail to plead most successfully. He is, beyond all question, the most beautiful preacher of modern times ; grace- ful, elegant, persuasive ; if not always producing conviction by solid argument, seldom failing to hurry his hearers along, with that ' flumen verborum,' that * volubilitas,' that 'orationis celeritas,' &c. so well described by Cicero. I view his great popularity with full complacency ; for it will, I trust, be ser- viceable to the best of causes ; not so much, how- ever, as if his fine talents were aided by juster views, than I fear he is likely to adopt. But, even as it is, in the pulpit is a credit to Christianity. His very look is a sermon. I have often applied to him, in my own mind, what Numenius says of the philosopher Arcesilaus, Toig axouoixriv r^osxsa-sv, oixoo Tfi ax^oacsi suTrpofrcoTTOv ovra ^soj/xsvo/^* r^v ovv axou- aTTo^s^sG'QoLi OLUTou Toug T^oyo'jg lovTotg gcttq xaT^ov Tr^oa"- coTTOu re xai G-rofxarog, oux ausu rr^g sv roig o[jt,[xajA0V, £<