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REFLECTIONS
ON
DEATH.
BY W. DOD D, L.L. D.
PREBENDARY of BREcon.
% ſ?cio @bition.
kt is appointed unto men once to die; but after this, the Judgment.
w - - Heb. ix. 27.
from the QL5igmick pregg,
EY C, WHITTINGHAM,
sold BY R. JENNINGs, POULTRY; T. TEGG, CHEAPSIDE,
LONDON; , AND J. SUTHERLAND, EDINBURGH. '
1818.
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32 S
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2
TO THE
RIGHT HON. THE .
EARL OF BUTE,
FIRST LORD OF HIS MAJESTY'S TREASURY, KNIGHT OF
THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, &c.
MY LORD,
WHATEveR may be the execution of the little
performance which I have the honour to pre-
sent to your lordship, it will derive some merit,
I am persuaded, in your lordship's sight, from
the good Ineaning where with it was written,
from its suitableness of my profession, and
from the importance of its subject. Perhaps
too, its author's undissembled respect for your
lordship may give it some additional value;
for true respect, we are assured, can give
value to the smallest offerings from the hands
of the poorest. -
But, indeed, I did not know to whom I
could, with greater propriety, inscribe a work
of this nature, than to a nobleman whose re-
iv. D E1) I CATION.
gular life, and punctual discharge of all the
social duties, must render Reflections on Death
not unpleasing; whose regard to works of
literature hath always been eminent and con-
sistent; and who, though continually em-
ployed in affairs of the highest moment, hath
testified that regard by the most favourable
attention to nicn of science and learning.
From hence, my lord, we are encouraged
to promise the fairest days to good letters and
good manners:—They cannot but flourish
under your discerning eye, and the fostering
patronage of our beloved MonARCH; in whose
unsullied virtues, while his people felicitate
themselves, no grateful man can be insensi-
ble of the honour which redounds to the illus-
trious person who had so considerable a share
in forming the royal mind to virtue; and in-
spiring it with those great, just, and patriot
sentiments, which have obtained to our sove-
reign, from his subjects, that most honourable
of all appellations—the Good.
Happy in your PRINCE's favour, my lord,
and happy in the consciousness of your own
integrity, you will go on to deserve and to ob-
tain the esteem and affection of all men of
science, of virtue, and religion. So will your
D EDICATION. y
mame be placed high in that temple of true
glory, where the whispers of malevolence,
and the clamours of faction, shall never be
heard: where envy, the unfailing shadow of
merit, shall never be permitted to enter; and
where—when that melancholy hour is come,
which no might nor greatness in mortality can
delay—that hour in which you, my lord, shall
be lost to your friends, to your country, to
your king, your monument shall proclaim the
glorious truth, that “You were a principal
instrument in putting an end to a war, un-
commonly wide and extensive ; and of restor-
ing peace to an exhausted and depopulated
World.”
I am, my lord, with the most respectful
acknowledgments for this indulgence,
Your Lordship's
most obliged and devoted
humble servant,
WILLIAM DOD D,
West Ham, Jan. 1, 1763. *
ADVERTISEMENT.
These Reflections were first written with a
design to be published in a small volume
proper to be given away by well-disposed
persons at funerals, or on any other solemn
occasion. But the editors of the CHRISTIAN's
Magazine, supposing they might be of some
service to that useful and well-esteemed
work, requested the author first to print them
there, and afterward to pursue his original
design. Accordingly, they were printed in
separate chapters. And he hath reason to be
satisfied with the reception they met with.
His best prayers accompany them in their
present form, that they may be found useful
to mankind.
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
CHAPTER I.
- To die—to sleep—
No more: and by a sleep to say, we end
The heart-ache, and a thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to:—’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d—to die—to sleep—
To sleep!--perchance to dream; ay, there’s the rub;
Tor in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despis'd lowe, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes—
But that the dread of something after death
(That undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns) puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear the ills we have, .
Than fly to others that we know not of. Shakspeare.
A few evenings ago I was called to perform the
last sad office to the sacred remains of a departed
friend and neighbour. -
3 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
It is too commonly found, that a familiarity with
-death, and a frequent recurrence of funerals, graves,
and church-yards, serve too harden, rather than hu-
manize the mind; and to deaden rather than arouse
those becoming reflections, which such objects
seem excellently calculated to produce. . . Hence
the physician enters, without the least emotion,
the gloomy chambers of expiring life; the under-
taker handles, without concern, the clay-cold limbs;
and the sexton whistles unappalled, while his spade
casts forth from the earth the mingled bones and
dust of his fellow-creatures*. And, alas! how often
have I felt, with indignant reluctance, my wander-
ing heart engaged in other speculations when called
to minister at the grave, and to consign to the
tomb the ashes of my fellow-creatures
Yet nothing teaches like death ; and though
perhaps the business of life would grow torpid, and
the strings of activity be loosed, were men conti-
nually hanging over the meditation; yet assuredly,
no man should fail to keep the great object in
view, and seasonably to reflect, that the important
moment is coming, when he too must mingle with
his kindred clay, when he too must appear before
God’s awful judgment-seat, when he too must be
adjudged by a fixed, an irrevocable, and eternal
decree. -
As I entered the church-yard,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap :
where—Each in his narrow cell forever laid ;
so many of my friends, my neighbours, my fellow-
creatures, lie mouldering in dust;-—struck with
* See Shakspeare's Grave diggers in IIamlet.
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH . * 9
the slow and solemn sound of the deep-toned bell,
and particularly impressed with the afflicting cir-
cumstances of his death, whose obsequies I was
waiting to perform, I found the involuntary tear
rush from mine eyes, and the unbidden sigh heave
in my labouring bosom.
And, “Oh Death mighty conqueror!” I could
not forbear saying, in the silence of unaffected me-
ditation—“O Death ! how terrible, how wonderful
thou art | Here Istand, full of life, health smiling on
my cheek, and sparkling in my eyes; my active feet
ready to bear me briskly along, and my hands
prompt to execute their appointed offices : scenes
of pleasing felicity are before me; the comforts of
domestic serenity dwell seemingly secure around
me; and my busy soul is planning future improve-
ments of happiness and peace ; but the moment is
coming, perhaps is near, when life's feeble pulse
shall play no longer, these eyes no more sparkle,
nor this cheek glow with health; when, pale as the
shroud which invests me, and those close with the
lids to unclose and awaken no more, the feet shall
decline their function, and the useless hands fall
heavily down by my side. Farewell, then, all
the engaging endearing scenes before me! fare-
well the comforts of domestic peace my best
loved friends shall weep tenderly over me; and my
thinking, restless, busy soul, at length find repose,
and be anxious no more.
“It is fixed and all the powers of earth can nei-
ther arrest nor divert the sure unerring dart | But,
with consummate wisdom, the great Lord of the
world hath wrapped up the important moment in
impenetrable darkness from human view, that
10' . . REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
from the cradle we might have the solemn object
before us, and act as men ; because as men we
must die.' . -- -
“Let me then not labour to divert the improving
speculation, but advance still nearer, and see if I
can learn what it is to die
“To die!—Oh! you, my friends, amid whose
graves I am now wandering—you, who ere long
since like me, trod this region of mortality, and
drank the golden day—with, you the bitterness of
death is past; you have tasted what that is which
so much perplexes the human thought, of which
we all know so little, and yet of which we all must
know so much Oh, could you inform me what it
is to die Could you tell me what it is to breathe
the last sad gasp; what are the sensations of the
last convulsion, of the last pangs of dissolving ma-
ture Oh, could you tell me how the soul issues
from the lifeless dwelling which it has so long in-
habited ; what unknown worlds are discovered to
its view; how it is affected with the alarming
prospect , how it is affected with the remembrance
and regard of things left here below ! Oh, could
you tell ine—but, alas ! how vain the wish !—
* clouds and darkness rest upon it, and nothing
but experience must be allowed to satisfy these
anxious researches of Inortals.” -
Yet let us not forbear these researches; or at
least not relinquish the interesting meditation.
For what can be of equal importance to man des-
timed inevitably to tread the path of death ; what
of equal importance to examine, as whither that
path leads, and how it may be trod successfully *
What of equal importance for a pilgrim of a day
HEFLECTIONS ON DEATEI. 11
to contemplate, as that great event which must
open to him a state unalterable and without end?
All men must tread that gloomy path—“ It is
appointed for all men once to die.” Adam’s curse is
upon all his posterity. Dust they are, and to
dust they must return.—But whither leads that
gloomy path P-Alas! in the heathem world, with
a bewildered mind, they sought the resolution of
that question.—Death was dreadful indeed in such
circumstances; for if we want the glad hope of
immortality to cheer 6ur departing souls, what
affliction can even be conceived more afflicting
than death and dissolution, separation from all we
hold dear on earth, and perfect annihilation of all
future expectances ! - -
Life and immortality are brought to light by the
Gospel; and the question is answered clearly from
that book, whence alone we can gain information
on this point—“Once to die, and after that be
judged. We must all stand before the judgment-
seat of Christ " Oh, my soul, how awful a reflec-
tion | Can any thing more be wanting to inspire
thee with the most serious purposes, and most de-
vout resolves, than the certainty of death, the as-
surance of judgment, the knowledge of immor-
tality? . -
And after death be judged 1–Tell me no more
of the pangs of death, and the torment of corpo-
real sufferance.—What, what is this, and all the
evils of life's contracted span, to the things which
follow after This it is which makes death truly
formidable, which should awaken every solemn re-
flection, and stimulate every rational endeavour.
- To be judged ſ—to be sentenced, by an irre-
12 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
versible decree, to an allotment eternal and un-
changeable; an allotment of consummate felicity, .
or consummate distress.
O Immortality how much doth the thought of
thee debase in their value every earthly enjoy-
ment, every earthly pursuit and possession, and
show man to himself in a point of view which am-
ply discovers his true business on earth, which am-
ply discovers the true dignity of his nature, and
forcibly reproves his wretched attachment to
sublunary things .
And methinks, as if a voice were speaking from
yonder grave, I hear a solemn whisper to my soul:
“Every grave proclaims thy own mortality
Child of the dust, be humble, and grow wise ! A
few days since, like thee, I flourished in the fair
field of the earthly world ! a few days since I was
cut down like a flower, and my body lies wither-
ing in this comfortless bed. Regardless of God,
and inattentive to duty, I passed gaily along, and
thought no storm would ever overcloud my head—
In a moment the unexpected tempest arose—I
sunk, and was lost. Gothy way, and forget not
thyself: remember, that to-day thou hast life in
thy power, to-morrow, perhaps, thou mayst lie
a breathless corpse. Estimate from thence the
value, poor and small, of all things beneath the
Sun ; and forget not that death and eternity are,
by an indissoluble band, united. “If thou darest
to die, and unprepared meet thy God, who can
enough deplore thy misery, most wretched of
beings I everlasting anguish, remorse and punish-
ment, assuredly await thee. But if, bearing futu-
rity in mind, thou art so blessed as to live in con-
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 13
formity to the law of thy nature, and the Gospel
of thy God—the Saviour of mankind hath opened
the golden doors of perennial bliss for thee, and
eternal delight, from the full river of God's inex-
hausted love, remains to reward thy faithful ser-
vices. -
“Immortall be wise, remember judgment, and
learn to die.”
Lost in the deep reflection, I was awakened
from it by the intelligence of the approach of my
departed friend's funeral.
CHAP. II.
J}oast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a
day may bring forth. Prov. xxvii. 1.
Deſer not until death to be justified. Eccles. xviii. 22.
O Death ! how bitter is the remembrance of thee to a man that
liveth at rest in his possession, unto the man that has nothing
to vex him, and that hath prosperity in all things; yea, unto
him that is yet able to receive meat. Eccles. xli. 1.
THE horses, modding their sable plumes, advanced
with solemn pace; whilst the slow moving wheels
of the melancholy hearse seemed to keep time
with the deep-toned bell, expressive of the silent
sorrow (now and then interrupted with a groan of
distress) which reigned in the mournful coaches
that followed. *
They stop ;–and ah! my friend, what all this
14 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
labour and all this difficulty to drag thy body in its
last narrow dwelling, from the confinement of the
Jearse, and to bear it along the church-yard to its
last narrow cell in the church' Ah where is thy
former activity—thy wonted sprightliness and
vigour ! Thou who trod over the threshold with
such lively strength, and brushed away the dew
of the morning with stout and nimble vivacity,
have thy feet too forgotten to do their office?—And
must thy fellow-mortals toil beneath the load of
thy clayey corpse, to bear thee from the sight and
sense of the survivors 2 -- -
Oh Death ! thou sovereign cure of human pride!
to what a state, impartial in thine attack, dost thou
reduce, as well the noblest and the fairest, the
greatest and the best, as the meanest and most
worthless of mankind I Though our friends be dear.
to us as a right eye, lovely as the bloom of the
morning, powerful as the sceptred monarch of the
East, thou not only degradest them from the ele-
vated height, but renderest obnoxious to the view,
and inaccessible to the tender embrace of the last
lingering, faithful, unshaken adherent | Let corrup-
tion cease to be vain; let rottenness and dust no
longer swell in brief and borrowed arrogance
But see the afflicting sight! Five tender children,
each in an almost infant state, are led by weeping
friends, in mournful procession, after the body of
their departed father.
In a coach behind, waiting to complete the me-
lancholy view, is an infant, three days old, brought
into the world by its half-distracted mother before
its appointed time ! Big Sorrow, and insupport-
able, hath hastened the throes and dire anguish of
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 15
birth; and behold ! the little orphan, insensible
of its misery, is offered to the regenerating font,
while its father is consigned to the bowels of the
earth ! -
Crowds of spectators from every part are atten-
tive to the moving scene; on every face sits sym-
pathetic sorrow, in every eye swells the generous
tear of compassion and concern.
But a few days are past since a trembling mes-
senger, with breathless speed, urged my instant
attendance at the sick bed of Negotio, on whose
life, it was to be feared, the remorseless fever had
made fatal inroad. I hastened without delay, and
I found—but who can describe the afflicting mi-
sery P Confusion, anguish, and distress; weeping,
lamentation, and woe; dismay, and unutterable
agony, took up their residence in the dwelling of
NEGoTio ! Surprised in the midst of youth, and
in the ardour of earthly pursuits, by the awful and
irresistible summons of death, the husband, the
jather, the man, lay racked with such thoughts as
his condition might well be supposed to awaken.
Unable to bear the shock, his wife, who long
sleepless had watched by his couch, was thrown on
the ground in an adjacent chamber, and her little
infants were weeping around her, the more to be
pitied, as unconscious of their misery, and wonder-
ing, with artless plaints, why their beloved mother
was thus sad and in tears Near relations were
tender in their best offices, while every heart was
anticipating the wretched widow's distress.
When I sat down by his bed, and gently undrew
the curtain, he looked—and shall I ever forget the
16 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
earnest, anxious, speaking look? A tear dropped
from his eye, he caught my hand, he strove to
speak, but his full heart forbad; and the organs
of speech, deeply affected by his malady, were
unfaithful to the trust of words which he gave
them. We sat silent for some time, and with diffi-
culty at length I perceived that he said, or wished
to say, “ I fear it is too late.—Pray for me; for
Christ's sake, pray.”
I endeavoured, as well as the affliction of my
mind would permit me, to suggest every ground of
hope, every motive of consolation: he squeezed
my hand, and sighed. “Little is to be done (he
strove to say, amid all the distractions of a sick
bed like mine: Oh, consider my wife, consider
my poor little babes t” We said all which could be
said; had scarcely finished the usual prayers, and
were preparing to mention the sacrament, when
the visit was interrupted by the necessary attend-
ance of the physician, whose departure the lawyer
awaited to settle his temporal affairs. Two more
blisters were ordered to six he already had upon
him; a drowsy sleepiness, dire prognostic of death,
seized him, which, hourly increasing, at length ter-
minated in strong convulsions; and the busy, ac-
tive, sprightly NEGoTIo, died in his thirty-third
year. -
Died / utterly unprepared and unprovided to
leave this world, far less provided and prepared to
enter into the next; his worldly concerns totally
unsettled, his eternal concerns scarce ever thought
of - -
How much to be deplored is the fate of NEGo-
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 17
Tio ! and yet, alas ! how much is it to be feared
that many thousands are hourly splitting on the
same rock with him : i
He lived only for this world. Full of hope,
and buoyant with life, death was not in all his
thoughts; and a future state, when suggested to
him, was considered as unworthy his present
concern, because it was judged so distant. He
thought not of the present span of existence, as of
a short state of trial, an hour of weary pilgrimage;
nor considered himself as an immortal being,
speedily to give an account to the dread Judge of
mankind; but, deluded by the specious pretence
of making necessary provision for his family, a
duty he well knew incumbent upon him, a duty
he saw universally approved and applauded, he
had no other view than to amass wealth, and pro-
vide a large fortune for his children, the comforts
of which he promised himself to partake, and had
formed many chimerical schemes of chariots and
country retirements, of brilliant gaiety and envied
splendour.
Amid these designs and pursuits, it might with
too much truth be said of N EGotſo, that God
was not in all his thoughts. Indeed he regularly
attended his church in the morning of the Sab-
bath, and as regularly gave the afternoon to
indulgence and dissipation. But while at the
church, how listless was he to the prayers, now
and then yawning out an unmeaning Amen! for his
heart was there where his treasure was placed.
The sermons had seldom much weight with him :
he sometimes observed they were good; and when
they touched on the subjects most pertaining to
E.
18. REFLECTIONS ON IX EAT. H.,
himself, he failed not to remark, that the preacher
was rather too severe. Thus he went on ; and in the
eagerness of temporal pursuit, and the over earnest
desire to grow rich, had too far engaged his for-
tune, and not being successful according to his
hopes, the reflection on which harassed his mind;
while his industrious desires to obtain his ends and
bless his family, as much harassed his body, and
brought on that fever, the sad issue of which we
have seen. .A. -
Many and excellent were the qualities of NE-
GoTIo! his mind was tender and humane, tender
affection dwelt on his heart toward the partner
of his bed; and few parents knew a more sen-
sible concern for the fruit of their loins. No
man would have been more ready or more active
in the kind offices of friendship, if the multi-
plicity of his own avocations had not rendered
him incapable of being serviceable to others.
He had no objection to the great truths of re-
velation; and once in a sickness, from whence
he was wonderfully raised, determined strictly to
comply with them ; but the world recovered its
dominion as health again mantled in his cheek,
and he returned to the pursuit which engaged his
heart with vigour redoubled, and activity aug-
mented, in proportion to the time and the oppor-
tunities he had lost. How often, in the freedom
of friendship, have I remonstrated, but remon-
Strated in vain, till he saw me with shyness, and
heard me with reluctance. Striving to justify
himself, he usually concluded, when every argu-
ment failed, that he was yet young, and not likely
Soon to die; and would in retircment perform
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 19
all those duties, and prepare for that futurity,
which he could not but acknowledge it was wise
to foresee, and necessary to prepare for.
Alas! my friend, how aré thy vain hopes frus-
trated Cut off in the full blossom of all thy ex-
pectations, in the flower of life; thy carthly de-
signs all abortive; thy beloved wife and dear
children left to struggle with loneliness, sorrow
and difficulties; and thy soul, thy immortal soul,
gone to meet its God and its Saviour; the God'
who created, the Saviour who died to redeem it—
the God whom it never desired to serve or to love;
the Saviour whose mercies it never implored,
except perhaps at the last sad moment ; and
whose wonderful loving-kindness had no charms
to engage it to obedience and duty.
And is the fate of NEGoTio peculiar P Is he the
only dreamer among the many thousands who walk
the walks of mortality ? Would to Heaven he
were ! Or, would to Heaven his hapless example
might be hung out as a beacon to warn others, and
prove effectual to awaken the children of this
world from their sleep of death, thundering in
their ears this solemn admonition:
“ What art "thou doing, child of etermity
what art thou seeking with such restless assiduity?
Look up, and behold the heavens, where dwells
the Judge of the world ! formed by his hand, thou
art placed awhile, short-lived probationer, on his
earth, and when he shall give the tremendous sum-
mons, thou must drop thy earthly body, and ap-
pear, oh, immortal soul, before his judgment-seat
Eternity then awaits thee; etermity, as thou hast .
done good or evil; eternity, blessed or miserable !
2() REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
Wilt thou, then, in the folly of thy heart, neglect
thy God, set up thy standard on earth, and think
to fix thy dwelling here; when, perhaps, the breath
of death may puff down all the fantastic castles
raised by thy airy hopes? Wilt thou forfeit etermal
joys for the transitory things of earth? Wilt thou
not be a man? Act wisely, choose soberly, keep
immortality in view, and live every day as one who
knows that the next day, perchance, he may be
obliged to lay aside his pilgrim's weeds; leave the
inn of this uncertain life, and enter on a state
which can never be changed, and which shall never
have end.” -
Whatsoever effect these Reflections may have
on others, may they, O my God at least be im-
printed on my own heart; never ſisay I so live
here as to forget that I am to live hereafter.
CHAP. III.
I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, Write, from
henceforth blessed are the dead who die in the Lord
I’ven so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours, and
their works do follow them. Rev. xiv. 13.
Such was Negorio; whose sad funeral obsequies
performed, and whose little infant baptised, I was
soon left alone to my solitary walk in the church.
yard; and being not much disposed to leave the
solemn scene, I determined to continue awhile
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. %. 1
longer, and indulge the pleasing sobriety of me-
lancholy meditation.
How various, how innumerable are the shafts of
Death / They fly unerring from his quiver around
us; and on so thin a thread hangs human life, to
so many accidents and disasters is human life sub-
ject, that one would rather marvel that we con-
tinue to live, than that we should forget one mo-
ment that we are to die | Nothing can be more
beautiful, mervous, and expressive, than the follow-
ing fine prayer used in our Burial Service :
“Man that is born of a woman hath but a short
time to live, and is full of misery ! He cometh up
and is cut down like a flower; he fleeth as it were
a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.
“In the midst of life we are in death; of whom
may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord
who for our sins art justly displeased ?
“Yet, O Lord God most holy O Lord most
mighty J O holy and most merciful Saviour ! de-
liver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death.
“Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts;
shut not thy merciful ears to our prayers; but
spare us, Lord most holy O God most mighty
O holy and merciful Saviour ! thou most worthy
Judge eternal i suffer us not at our last hour, for
any pains of death, to fall from thee.”
Were we influenced at once by the doctrine and
piety of this incomparable prayer, there is no doubt
but we should make a better estimate of Life and
of Death, than is usually done; should set a less
value on the one, and meet the other with more
courage and constancy. -
For what is man, and what is his life P “Man
22 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
that is born of a woman hath but a short time to
live”—short, indeed, suppose it to extend to the
utmost length of human existence, even to four-
score years. But, alas! too commonly extent of
life is but extent of sorrow ; the time, though
short, is yet full of misery. The matural and ac-
quired evils, the evils unavoidable, and the evils
brought on ourselves by our own folly, vice, and
imprudence, are many, are great. Our best hap-
piness is short, precarious, and uncertain ; “he
cometh up and is cut down like a flower;” to-
day we flourish in all the external accommoda-
tions of life; to-morrow the taste can no more
relish its delicacies, nor the ear be delighted with
the melody of the viol; no more the tongue can
chaunt with pleasing harmony, the eyes open no
more on sublunary scenes, the useless lids for ever
closed by the trembling hand of our weeping friends.
As the shadow that departeth, that fleeth away,
and its place is known no more, so we vanisli from
the earth, and our memory is soon buried in total
oblivion. To us little regard is paid any longer;
still our associates, with their usual gaiety and ar-
dour, pursue their several designs; still as before,
the business of life goes briskly on ; the sun shines
as brightly, the earth blooms as gaily, the forests
echo as sweetly with the music of the winged cho-
risters, and all things wear their accustomed form;
while, our neglected clay is mouldering in time dust,
and trodden over by many a thoughtless—perhaps,
many a friendly foot. -
Many a friendly foot 1–yes, even now while I
wander in the silence of the night, amid these
lonely receptacles of the dead, how many graves
h& EFI, ECTIONS ON DEATHI. 23
are around me, which contain the precious relics
of neighbours and fellow-creatures, by myself con-
signed to their last earthly home 2—wretched,
wretched home! had man no hope in his Death;
were mot the soul secure of immortality, were not
the body lodged in the grave, as a faithful deposit,
hereafter to be raised to life and glory, by the
Almighty Redeemer’s irresistible trump 2 &
That reflection sooths all the sorrow, and ex-
tracts all the poison from the dart of death. What
is that I read on yonder tomb, on which the pass-
ing moon reflects her full light, as she moves ma-
jestic in brightness through the skies, and makes.
her silver way through the dark and mantling
clouds 2—“O death ! where is thy sting & O grave!
where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin,
and the strength of sin is the law; but thanks be
to God, who giveth us the victory, through our
Lord Jesus Christ.” These were the words which
last hung on the lips, and, at his desire, are en-
graven on the tomb of OSIANDER, who died full
of faith; a man whose death might well inspire
the wish—“Let me die the death of the righteous,
and let my latter.end be like his.” -
O NEGoTio ! how unlike to thee was Osl AN-
DER I how unlike in life, how unlike in death !—
though the same temporal concerns, the same
worldly occupations, were common to either.
Happy in parents who well knew the influence
and importance of religious principles, OslANDER
was early initiated, and perfectly instructed in the
school of Piety. Abundantly did he verify the
truth of the wise man's observation; for conduct.
ed, when young, into the happy path of truth, he
24 REFLECTIONS ON IDEATHI.
never departed from it. His youth was amiably
distinguished by the most conscientious and tender
regard to his parents ; presage of his future feli-
city; and his whole demeanour was tempered
with the most winning modesty and engaging re-
spect. -
Rare felicity in Osi ANDER ; he obtained a part-
ner, formed with every qualification suitable to
lis own: it might well be said of them, so similar
were their tempers, their desires, their pursuits, so
much
Like objects pleas'd them, and like objects pain’d,
*that
'Twas but one soul that in two bodies reign'd.
No wonder then OSLANDER was a pattern, as of
filial, so of conjugal affection. Peace and serenity
ever welcomed him to his house, and true satisfac-
tion departed not from his happy dwelling. Hence
he found no cause to search abroad for the felicity
which multitudes cannot find at home ; nor dream-
ed of the tavern and the club, the place of merri-
ment and diversion, to drown the cares he never
knew, to give the bliss continually enjoyed.
Happy in so choice a companion, he was diligent
to discharge, in the exactest degree, the paternal
duty toward those dear pledges of his love where-
with their faithful embraces were blest. And
hence, from their earliest youth, he took care to
inspire them with every sentiment of true religion,
and to bring them up in the faith and fear of that Al-
mighty Father, a regard to whom, deeply rooted
in the minds of children, is the most undoubted se-
curity of their regard to earthly parents.
REFLECTIONS on DEATH. 25
As the connections of Osi ANDER necessarily
rendered his family large, he was conscientiously
exact in the discharge of his duty to his domestics
and servants. “Every man,” he was wont to say,
“should esteem himself as a priest in his own fa-
mily; and be therefore careful to instruct his de-
pendents, as those of whom he must one day give
a solemn account.” And, “one reason,” he would
often say, “why men are generally so negligent of
this important duty, is the sad example they set
themselves—an example which renders all precept
ineffectual.” Hence he was diligent to maintain
that prime pillar of domestic authority. He spoke
by his life as well as his words; and never proposed
a duty to his family which they did not ‘see him
practise himself. Family prayer was never omitted
in his house. The Sabbath was never spent in
trifling, visiting, and folly, much less in drunken-
ness and debauchery. Attended by as many of
the family as was convenient, he himself led the
way to his church, both morning and afternoon;
and the evening of that blessed day was ever spent
in catechising and instructing the younger, in read-
ing some useful discourse to the more advanced part
of his household.—Never abstaining from the hal-
lowed table of the Lord, he was always earnest in
pressing that important duty; and few who lived
with him were long strangers to that heavenly
banquet. . . .
Thus exemplary at home, he was no less es-
teemed abroad; his punctuality, honesty, and
worth, were universally commended ; and though
some of freer principles would sometimes be apt
to speer at his preciseness (as they termed it), yet
26 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
mo man maintained a more universal credit, pur-
sued his temporal business with more becoming
alacrity, or, by the blessing of God, flourished
more in all desirable success.
It pleased the sovereign Disposer of all things to
give him a long foresight of his approaching disso-
lution, by means of a lingering and consumptive
illness. -
Shall I ever forget with what delight I heard
him declare his high hopes, when, coming in by
accident, I found him with his beloved wife by his
side. Pale and emaciated, he sat in the chair of
sickness, his hand tenderly clasping her’s, and his
eyes fixed upon her; while she, with soft affection,
strove to conceal her heartfelt distress, and the
tear, unpermitted to come forth, stood trembling in
her eye. “I was endeavouring, dear sir,” said he,
“to reconcile my life's loved companion to the
stroke which shortly must separate us—separate for
a while—separate, blessed be the Lord of life, only
to meet that we may never more part. But, alas !
so frail is human nature, so weak is human faith,
so attached are we to this poor crazy prison, that
we cannot, we cannot be triumphant—we sink and
grovel upon earth even to the last.”
“Affection like yours,” said I, “so long tried,
, and so tender, cannot be supposed to part without
pangs; nor should we think ourselves the worse
Christians, because we feel the most sensibly as
7mem.” . - -
“Oh, no,” said he, “I have never thought the
finest feelings of humanity inconsistent with the
most elevated degree of Christian virtue; but,
methinks, when a pair have lived as (thanks be to
/ REFLECTIONS ON DEATHI. 27
God) my dearest wife and myself have constantly
endeavoured to do, with a perpetual prospect to a
future scene, and an earnest, though very imper-
fect labour, to walk worthy our high calling and
hope, it should be matter of the noblest joy, when
the consummation of all our labours is at hand,
when we are about to drop the veil of flesh, and
to enter on the fruition of everlasting peace; surely
this should dry up all our tears, and cause us to
rejoice on behalf of the friend who is about—not
to die, but to live ; not to lose life, but to enjoy
it. For myself, I have no more doubt of immor-
tality, nor (let me speak it with due humility) of
my own felicity with God, through Jesus Christ,
than I have of my present existence. All mature,
and the universal voice of the wise in every age,
proclaims the great doctrine ; but the Christian
religion hath displayed it in such full light, so dis-,
pelled every cloud, so removed every scruple, that
it would be the greatest indignity to the blessed
Author of it, either to doubt...a future and eternal
existence, or to doubt an eternal and happy one
through the faith that is in him. Infidelity appears
to me of all sins the most monstrous, after those
various declarations which God hath made to Sup-
port and confirm our faith.” . .
We were charmed at the divine warmth with
which he uttered these words: his wife burst into
a flood of tears; tears of mingled joy and sadness:
who could refrain? We sat silent :—he at length
Went On...: -
“Yet let me not be thought presumptuous: I
know the utter abhorrence of God to the least
spark of self-dependence; I know the absolute
28 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
contrariety of pride to the true interest of a fallen
creature: I am nothing, I have nothing, I can
do nothing; to the glory of his grace, be all I
have ever done, be all I ever hope | But there
is such an exhaustless fund of unexampled mercy
and love in the great Saviour of mankind, so
wonderful are his doings, so passing all compre-
hension his tender regards for the children of men,
that I dare not dispute his rich offers, that I dare
not hesitate in the embracing his full promises.
“Oh, sir, I can say with the utmost sincerity,
that the reflection on his mercies is my sole
and unspeakable comfort; and in his love I al-
ready taste something of the bliss I expect. In-
fluenced by that love, and by a sincere (though,
alas ! most weak) faith in him, I have laboured
diligently to act in conformity to his will; and,
though conscious of a thousand and ten thousand
infirmities, though in my best services utterly un-
profitable, though in all less than the least of his
mercies, yet I have an unshaken confidence in his
all-sufficient merits; and fully relying upon them, I
commit my soul to him, with all the satisfaction
and serenity of calm and well-grounded hope.
He is a rock that cam never fail us; the cross of
Christ promises the sinner every thing which re-
pentance can presume to ask.”
Much more passed between us, some things far
too tender to be committed to paper; and it will
not be any wonder to the serious reader to be told,
that a sickness of some weeks was borne by a man
of such faith, with all the cheerful resignation and
consummate patience which are peculiar to the
true christian. Nothing would be more instruc-
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH, 29
tive, perhaps, than many of the discourses which
he held with his friends during the scene of trial.
A few hours before he died, he took a solemn leave
of his wife and children, to whom he had delivered
at large his dying advice ; and, perfectly sensible
of his approaching dissolution, some minutes be-
fore he expired, he was heard to say, “O death !
where is thy sting 2 O grave! where is thy victory
The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is
the law ; but thanks be to God who giveth us the
victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ.” And
having said this, he fell asleep with a composure
perfectly lovely, with a peace infinitely desirable.
- CHAP, IV.
*
Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall
mot fall to the ground without your Father. But the very
hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not, therefore,
ye are of more value than many sparrows. - -
- - % - lſatthew x. 29, &c.
Leave thy fatherless children; I will preserve them alive, and
let thy widows trust in me. , Jeremiah xlix. 11.
Few passions are more strongly implanted in the
human mind than the love of our offspring; to be
devoid of which, degrades the human far beneath
the irrational creature, through every species of
which the wonderful influence of parental instinct
is discernible. The wisdom of the great Creator
30 REFLECTIONS ON DEA'ſ EI.
is immediately obvious in this gracious provision
for the helpless young; and it is certain, that this
powerful affection in the human species may be
rendered productive of the most excellent effects.
Too commonly, indeed, it is grossly abused, and
the honourable claim of parental regard is made
the pretence for an unworthy and mean attach-
ment to the pursuits of the world, and the love of
this life. Many men cheat themselves under this
species of delusion; and while they conceive that
the spring of their actions, and the cause of their
singular attention to earthly desires, is the laud-
able purpose of providing for their families, they
are the meanwhile but following the bent of their
own inclinations, and treading in a track which
they would continue to tread, were they not in-
fluenced at all by the motive which they fancy
engages them in it. Frequent experience hath
manifested this; but it was never seen more evi-
dently, perhaps, than in the case of Av ARo, who
lived only for his children, as he constantly avowed,
and on that account denied himself every reason-
able gratification; when, as if it were to falsify
those pretences, as well as to awaken him, if pos-
sible, to a more rational conduct, the Sovereign of
Heaven deprived him of his children in a short
compass of time; and, lo he remains the same
grovelling earth-worm, though he hath nome to
share that inheritance which he purchases at the
price of his soul! -
If any truth be fully revealed in the sacred ora-
cles, if any hath the sanction of the soundest” rea-
son, it is the belief of a wise, good, and superin-
tending Providence, of an universal: Father, who
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH . . 31
tenderly watches over, and graciously cares for
the concerns of those beings, whom himself hath
created, and placed in their several stations upon
earth; a truth of an aspect the most benign, and
of an influence the most important to all the affairs
of men; to forget and disregard which, leads to all
the folly of self-seeking, all the madness of self-de-
pendence, all the bitter anxiety of self-corroding
care; to remember, and live under the constant
persuasion of which, induces all the sweetness of
a serene conscience, all the fortitude of a resigned
soul, all the comfort of an unshaken hope. . . .
And to this, were we to judge by the rules of
right reason or religion, that parental affection
which is so universal and amiable, must naturally
bend every parent, whom, if no other considera-
tion were sufficient to persuade to the practice of
religion, and to a dependence upon the Deity, the
reflection of its infinite moment to their offspring,
and of the unspeakable value of the divine favour,
should powerfully incline thereto : for there is no
patrimony like the divine protection, and no friend-
ship so stable as the friendship of Heaven. The
former never can be exhausted, never be alienated;
the latter will never fail or forsake us; no change
of circumstances will change its fidelity; nay, much
unlike the friendship of the world, in the black
day of adversity, it will smile with most sweetness
and affection upon us. Our earthly schemes in
behalf of our children may prove unsuccessful, and
be blasted by the finger of disappointment; our
labours may end in vexation, and all our attempts
be insufficient to secure the fortune we wish; or do
we secure it, the patrimony we have gained at the
*
*
$2 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
expence of so much care and anxiety (nay, perhaps,
at the high price even of felicity etermal) may be
embezzled by the faithless guardian, devoured by
the-litigious lawyer, or foolishly squandered away
by the spendthrift heir, whom our industry has ca-
pacitated to sink into the foul sewers of idleness,
vice, and sloth, and deprived at once of the com-
forts of this life, and the hopes of a better, by sup-
plying him with the means to be iniquitous ; when,
perhaps, without them, he had been led to careful
industry, to sobriety, and all the blessed fruits
of a rational demeanour. -
Let it not be concluded from hence, that we
would condemn that proper care for the subsist-
ence of a family, which all mations have judged
necessary and becoming; we mean only to decry
that absurd but too common practice, of living
merely to lay up wealth for those who shall sur-
vive us, without taking care to secure the favour
of Providence, without looking at all to the great
Superintendant of human affairs, who laughs with
just contempt at the spider-webs which men of
this character so industriously weave. Without
God in their lives, without hope in their deaths,
they are unable calmly to lay their dying heads on
their pillows, or to commend, with humble, but
confident faith, their weeping widows and orphans
to the heavenly Husband, and the everlasting Fa-
ther.
Of these poor NEGotio never thought, and
therefore could derive no comfort to himself, could
administer no comfort to his wife and his children,
from the solid expectation of the fatherly care of
Omnipotence. This rendered his death doubly
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 33.
dreadful, as the contrary view soothed every sor-
row, and cheered every gloom before the face of
the departing OSIANDER. He beheld his wife and
his children with an eye of gladness, as the peculiar
care of the Father of the Fatherless, and the Hus-
band of the Widow ; and to that care he consigned
them, with a cheerful hope and peaceful acquies-
cence, NEGoTIo saw his family with the eye of
distraction, as the prey of poverty, and the sport
of an injurious world. Unaccustomed to estimate
worth by any other standard than that of earthly
acquisitions, he considered them as unavoidably
miserable ; and leaving them unprovided with
what the world calls good, he left them, as it
seemed to him, destitute, and doomed to all the
contempt of penury, and all the painful pity of
distress. Such was the issue of his anxious soli-
citude for temporal things. Oh! happy had it
been for thee, NEGoTio, happy for thy family,
if some portion of thy anxiety had been allotted
to eternal concerns ! Then hadst thou died in
the pleasing reflection, that, not void of atten-
tion to thy great business on earth, thou wast
going thyself to the kingdom of a Father, who
watcheth with peculiar attention over the orphan
and the widow, especially when consigned by the
faithful parent to his secure protection; and who
is equally able to save by many as by few ; to bless
where there is little, as well as where there is
much; to bless with the most substantial blessings.
competency, content, and a good conscience; which
bestow those consolations, solid, secure, immove-
able, that are denied frequently, or sought for in
t C
34 REFLECTIONS () N DEATII.
vain, by the distinguished favourites of exorbitant
wealth, or redundant power.
Conscious hereof, OsrANDER, during his last
sickness, was never deficient in pouring this heal-
ing balm into the bleeding heart of his life's loved
companion and softer friend. . . -
“ Widowhood”,” he was often wont to say to her,
“ is doubtless a state of the deepest distress. Left
to weather out all the storms and tempests of a
calamitous world, a poor dejected woman then
most wants the tender support of the husband,
whose loss those very wants more feelingly teach
her. Not only every source of useful satisfaction is -
dried up, not only every allowable and life-cheering
comfort is cut off, but the flood gates are open to a
tide of new troubles, unknown, unthought-of be-
fore, which the memory of past felicities mourn-
fully enhances; the retrospect of happiness once
enjoyed, but now lost, adding double weight to the
woe which springs up unwelcome in the place of
that happiness. Even where the affection hath
not been of the most tender sort, the loss of a
husband is a calamity severely felt; but where it
hath been just and sincere, where long-tried fide-
lity hath much approved each to the other, there,
my love, as the parting becomes, more afflictive,
so the loss is more sensibly felt. Widowhood is
then an irom furnace indeed.—But to catch the allu-
sion, as the Son of God was seen in the furnace
* See the fine speech of St. Chrysostom's mother, in his
Piece on the Priesthood, or in the Christian's Magazine, vol.
i. p. 54. -
REFLECTIONs on DEATH. 35
*
with the three faithful Israelites, preserving them
unhurt from the rage of the flames, so will he be
present, with peculiar protection, and shield, with
his fatherly providence, the widow and her orphans.
—‘Leave thy fatherless children,” saith this kind
God, ‘I will preserve them alive, and let thy wi-
dows trust in me.” -
“This passage, I will freely confess to you, hath
at all times given the greatest comfort to my mind,
and at the same time encouraged me to a cheerful
discharge of duty, and to perfect dependence
on God, conscious, that if I could by any means
secure the fatherly care of Omnipotence for you
and my dear children, I need not be anxious for
aught beside : I have endeavoured to keep this
point in view ; and can now commend you to
that care, with the most joyful and heartfelt de-
light; for the Lord will never leave you nor for-
sake you : He is emphatically styled ‘the Father of
the fatherless, and the Husband of the widow;’
-a reflection which surely must make every tender
parent, every affectionate husband religious, and
careful to obtain God's blessing, if really they
love their children, if really they have a regard
for their wives:—for that God hath shown, all
through his blessed word, how mear and dear to
him are the interests of the widow and the orphan;
he hath given peculiar laws, with much tenderness,
respecting them; he hath urged, as the greatest
offence, the neglect and injury of them; he hath
made it one of the characteristic parts of true and
undefiled religion, to visit the fatherless and widows
in their affliction ; and as an emblem of his ever
full and flowing mercy toward them, he sent his
36 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
prophet to one of them, in the day of distress,
and enriched her with a continual supply, while
want and famine were reigning around; giving at .
once a proof and a significant token of his fatherly
providence, and increasing mercies to the widow
'who trusteth in him.
“ For, my dear love, permit me to say, though
I have scarce any need to say it to you, that these
rich promises to widows are not given indiscrimi-
mately, and under no conditions; it may be very
possible to languish in all the wretchedness of a
widowed state, and yet to enjoy none of the dis-
tinguishing care of Heaven. St. Paul speaks of
those who are widows indeed; which plainly im-
plies that some in a state of widowhood may be far
from the Divine notice. A widow indeed, accord-
ing to him, is “one who trusteth in God, and con-
tinueth in supplications and prayer might and day;’
one who is truly sensible of the afflictive hand of
IProvidence upon her ; who endeavours to receive
with meekness, and to improve in resignation by
the chastising stroke; who fixes her soul's de-
pendence upon the high and gracious providence
of her God, and labours, with all the sincerity of
faith, and fervour of prayer, to cast herself and all
her concerns upon him, as knowing he careth
for her. *- -
“And as thus trusting in God, and continuing
in prayer, the widow should be particularly grave,
serious, and sober, in all her behaviour, dress, and
deportment; she should not forget that God hath
been pleased to cut off, if I may so say, the orna-
ment of her head, and the pride of her life ; and
therefore requires a decent solemnity in all her
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 37
carriage. If the loss happens to a woman in
earlier life, she hath need of more particular watch-
fulness against all the attacks of carnal enemies;
and should be cautious not to give the least room
for that reproach, either of wantomness or calummy,
which some are apt to impute to widowhood in
general. x- - - -
“And should she, my dear, be left in your case,
with a family around her, Oh I how much anxiety
attends that necessary, that important charge; that
most tender duty which she owes to them.—I can-
not, indeed, I cannot speak of this heavy burden;
my heart is too full ; and I have perfect satisfac-
tion in your motherly love to my dear children.—
But do not sink under the burden, for God is with
you: he will bless your endeavours; he will sup-
port you in every difficulty. ‘Leave thy father-
less children to me, I will preserve them alive,’
Saith he; alive, that is, in grace, alive to the only
valuable, the divine life : alive to himself! Oh!
sweet and comfortable promise, let it always be
your support, and rest perfectly confident, that
while you exert your best, though feeble efforts,
for your children, the Father of the fatherless
will more than second you; trust in hin, ; continue
in prayer to him for them and for yourself; and
you have a husband infinitely preferable to this
poor perishing mortal, who is about to leave
you—they, my beloved pretty orphans, have a fa-
ther. Oh! thou gracious Father, preserve, protect,
defend, both her and them—and when my weeping
eyes shall be closed in death, when my suppli-
cating tongue shall be silent in dust, when my
solicitous heart shall cease to throb for them Oh!
38 REFLECTIONs on DEATH.
be thou their never-failing, their immortal husband,
father, friend 1–their God and portion in this,
life and in that to come—Oh I may we meet, meet
to part no more—meet to praise and adore thy
exceeding lovingkindness, through endless ages,
in glory.” -
Thus spoke OSIANDER ; and happy that hus-
band who thus, like him, can pour the balm of
divine consolation into the heart of his afflicted
and lamenting partner. -
CHAP. V.
tº-sºm-ºmº sºmº,
Still frowns grim Death ; Guilt points the tyrant’s spear,
And whence all human guilt?—From Death forgot Young.
WERE it possible to avoid the stroke, or to escape
the victorious arm of Death, they would have
something to plead for their conduct, who shun,
with all their power, the solemn reflection; who
make it the whole business of their lives to dissi-
pate the important thought of that for which they
were created, and to which they are inevitably
doomed. But as no human power can arrest,
even for one moment, the fatal dart, as every in-
dividual must pass this black and lamentable flood,
Surely wisdom dictates a serious and frequent at-
tention to so interesting a concern, and reason
advises the most diligent great survey of this
JR EFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 39
dreadful evil ; and we may learn to encounter it.
with courage, or, at least, to submit to it without
reluctance. Death, viewed with a hasty and trem-
bling eye, appears in formidable terror, as the
cruel blaster of all human hopes and joys; but
Death, viewed with an eye of faith, and con-
templated with the coolness of rational delibe-
ration, loses much of its terror, and is approached
with no small degree of complacence and peace.
You tremble at the fear of Death ; come, draw
mear, and let us see what that is which thus alarms
your quickest apprehensions; seen in the most fear-
ful garb, Death is only the ransomer of frail mor-
tals from the prison of a sinful, painful, and cor-
rupted frame; their deliverer from a transitory
and vexatious world ; their introducer to an
eternal, and—oh ! that we could always add—a
blessed state 1 but there, there, alas ! is the dread.
It is this which clothes Death in his terrors, and
gives all its sharpness to his sting. Could we be
assured, had we a rational and well-grounded pre-
sumption, that the departing Soul should enter on
a state of felicity, and be received into the bosom
of its Saviour and its God, we should then univer-
sally lay down the load of mortality, not only with-
out regret, but with triumph.
Whence then comes it to pass—(let us no longer
lay the blame on Death, for it is fairly exculpated)
—whence comes it to pass, that we dare to live.
without treasuring up “ this rational and well-
grounded presumption,” which the Christian reli-
gion so copiously supplies, and which we are all
called upon to treasure up by every motive of in-
terest, of common sense, and of duty 2
40 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
If we neglect this, let us not pretend to quarrel
with our fate, and to repine at the fearfulness of
death; we ourselves give all his fearfulness to him,
and from ourselves alone proceeds the cause of
our bitterest disquietude; for God hath plainly de-
clared to us the irreversible condition of our nature.
Our death is no less certain than our existence.
He hath graciously provided a sovereign and in-
fallible antidote against the fear of death, in the
victorious resurrection of his Son. He hath in-
formed us, that our bodies must return to dust;
that all our possessions must be left behind; and
that a state everlasting and unalterable awaits us—
a state of bliss with him, or of misery with con-
demned spirits. - . . .
If then, my soul, deaf to his informations, and
regardless of his mercies, thou shalt forget the con-
dition of thy nature, pride thyself in the beauties
of thy present body, boast thyself in the posses-
sions of thy present state, neglect to secure an in-
terest in thy Saviour, by faith unfeigned, and obe-
dience unreserved—thine, and thine eternally, will
be the just condemnation ; nor canst thou wonder
that the stroke of death, in this view, is horrible to
thy apprehension ; for it will separate thee from
all thou holdest dear, and it will convey thee to a
region dolorous and unwelcome, where thou hast
mo treasure, and camst not have either hope or
love. But remember, in this case, Death deserves
no blame: for it is not Death which is terrible in
itself; it is man, foolish man, who renders it so,
by his inexcusable neglect. -
It is from hence arises the fear of death; from
estimating too highly the things of this life, and
REFLECTIONS ON DEATEI. - 41
from forgetting the immutable condition annexed to
every mortal blessing. Hence sprung all the mis-
takes, and all the miseries of the young, the lovely
MISELLA, and all the piercing pangs which tore
her wretched parent's heart.
MISELLA was blest, by the great Giver of all good
gifts, with a frame peculiarly elegant and pleasing;
softness and sweetness dwelt in her countenance;
the down of the swam was rivalled by her skin ; her
shape was faultless, her limbs were finished with
the most beautiful symmetry; and her voice was mu-
sical as the harmony of the lute. She was taught
from her cradle to value this fine person ; and her
fond and overweening parents fed the soothing va-
nity with every food which their dotage could sup-
ply. Her education was perfectly polite, adapted
to set off the graces of her frame, little calculated
to expand or improve the more valuable beauties
of the mind ; her taste for dress was remarkably
elegant, her manner of dancing particularly gen-
teel; she excelled much at cards, and few were
happier in devising schemes and engaging parties
of pleasure. As her voice was charming in itself,
so was it improved by art, and aided by the soft'
touches of the guitar, which she handled with
inimitable grace, preferring it to all other instru-
ments, as the attitude in playing upon it is most
advantageous for the discovery of a fair lady's
gentility.
She very early gave her parents a convincing
proof of the mistake they had made in her educa-
tion, and of their unhappiness in neglecting to in-
culcate the principles of religious duty and con-
Scientious virtue; for in her seventeenth year, she
42 REFLECTIONS ON I) EATH.
*
married a young officer, of inferior rank, and no
fortune, with the entire disapprobation of her
parents; nay, and in direct contradiction to their
commands. The gaiety of his dress, and the
charms of his person, captivated her heart; and,
unaccustomed to reason. and think, she broke
through every obligation to gratify her romantic
passion. -
The blind and excessive fondness of her parents,
soon induced them to pass over this breach of duty,
and to welcome their darling daughter and her
husband to their affectionate arms. Accustomed
from her cradle to a life of dissipation and plea-
sure, now that she was free from all parental re-
straint, she indulged the mad propensity with still
greater ardour. From one public place to ano-
ther, during the summer, she led her passive hus-
band ; during the winter, they lived in all the
fatiguing gaiety of town diversions.
A child was the issue of their marriage; but as
the daughter had been before, so now the mother
was swallowed up in the woman of pleasure. She
sent the little infant to her parents, regardless
of its welfare, if she could pursue her beloved
gratifications.—The case was the same with a
second produce of their conjugal endearments.
She looked upon child-bearing as a severe tax paid
by the fair sex, and as an obstacle in their way to
the possession of those delights, which alone have
worth and relish in the esteem of a woman of
fashion.
. My reader will not be amazed, if a life of this
kind produced no small difficulties in their circum-
! stances. Her parents, though not very affluent,
REFI, ECTIONS ON DEATH. 43
readily contributed all they could ; and, ah I too
fond–fed scantily, and dressed meanly, that their
daughter might be clad in scarlet, and feast in de-
licacy. It happened very opportunely that her
husband, in the third year of their marriage, was
called abroad to attend his regiment. Pleasure
was her passion; she felt therefore little regret
at parting with him. Nor did she live, during his
absence, like the widowed wife and separated friend.
She followed her diversions with redoubled assi-
duity; was the life of the ball, the delight of the
men, the queen of joy. -
But her constitution, tender and delicate, wa
unequal to the toil; her nocturnal reveries extin-
guished the rose in her cheek; her laborious life of
pleasure induced a consumption. Besides this,
with declining health, her character became equi-
vocal, though it is agreed by all she was never
criminal, in the sense that word is commonly used ;
but the want of appearances is often as fatal to re-
putation, as even the want of virtue itself. To
exhilirate her spirits, she had frequent recourse to
improper means; to renovate her beauty, she had
constant recourse to destructive art.
Her parents, who seldom saw her—saw her only
for a few passing moments, which she could some-
times, though very rarely, steal from her engage-
ments, to dedicate to the children of her bowels,
and to the parents, whose only joy, she knew, was in
her company. Her parents, hearing of her declin-
ing state, wrote, entreated earnestly, and with tears
entreated her, to come to them, and to use all proper
means for the recovery of her health. She deigned
them no reply; but using what appeared to her
44 REFLECTIONs on DEATII.
the necessary method, yet prosecuting at the same
time her usual course of pleasure—a dead body
almost in the bright scenes of revelry and joy—
she at length was seized with an acute disorder,
which in two days carried her off; in a strange
place, at a distance from her friends, and without
a relation to close her eyes!
A messenger was instantly dispatched to her.
parents: the parent only can guess at their
anguish. The afflicted father flew down to the
place of her death with all possible speed; and
when he entered the house, where lay the dead
body of his child, his only child; the child of his
soul—“Oh give me my daughter,” he cried out,
“let me but see her dear face, though she is dead:
lead me, lead me to my child; show a poor old
man the sad remains of all his hopes and wishes.”
Dumb grief prevailed : the mistress of the house
- conducted him to the door of the room, where lay
the pale and lifeless corpse. .
He threw himself, with unutterable distress, on
the bed beside his daughter, and bedeving her
clay-cold face with tears, lay for some time in all
the agony of silent sorrow ! “Are we thus to
meet?” at length he burst out, “thus?–Oh! my
KITTY, my child, my daughter, are those dear lips
ever sealed in silence P Ah! all pale and white!
and will those eyes, which used to look upon me
with such joy, never, never open more! One
word, my child, oh if it were but one word 1
Ah! cruel and unkind—that I might not be al-
lowed to watch thee in thy sickness! hadst thou
permitted me to attend, thy dear life had been
saved. Alas! why do I rave! she hears me not
º
REFLECTIONS on DEATH. r 45
—pale indeed, but lovely as ever. Ah! soft and
precious hand, marble in coldness.-I will never
let thee go.—Oh! my KITTY, my child, my only
beloved ! I am undone, for thou art no more. Oh!
that I had died with thee; would to God I
might die this moment! My KITTY, my child, my
daughter, my all !”—Here again he burst into an
agony of tears, and betrayed all the signs of the
most afflicted grief.
But it is unnecessary to dwell longer on this part
of our tale; it will be more proper to make some
remarks upon it; these, however, together with
the very different character of PULCHERIA, must
engage the next chapter.
CHAP. VI.
Take compassion on the rising age;
In them redeem your errors manifold :
And by due discipline and nurture sage,
In Virtue's love, betimes your docile sons engage.
West’s Poem or Education.
How great a blessing is early instruction 1 Misell'A
never heard the sweetly persuasive lectures of wis-
dom; she was never called to attend to the winning
voice of religion and truth; and therefore, left to.
the blind conduct of impetuous passions, she was
driven along, “to every wave a scorn:” she foun-
46 REFLECTIONS on DEATH.
dered, and was lost !—We do not pretend to say,
that early instruction and virtue are so inseparably
commected as never to be divided ; we do not say,
that all who enjoy this advantage, must go right;
that all who enjoy it not, must infallibly go wrong.
This would be to contradict palpable experience;
but we .are bold to advance, that as there is the
chance of ten thousand to one in favour of the
former, so is there the same chance, it is feared,
against the latter. How alarming a reflection to
parents z • .
Had Miseſ.I.A, from her early infancy, been
trained up in the knowledge of herself, her God,
and her duty,+had she been carefully led to a
true estimate of her corruptible frame, not de-
ceived into a wrong opinion of it, from poisomous
flattery and delusive adulation,-had she been
taught, that every good gift comes from God, and
consequently can be no proper subject of human
vanity,+had she been taught, that God expects a
proper return and reasonable service for the
bounty he shows, that our present is a state of
trial,—that we are pilgrims and probationers of
a day, and must necessarily, in a short time, re-
move our tent from this world, and live—live
everlastingly in another, happy or wretched, as
we have performed our duty in this, had these
lessons of useful import been early and steadily
imprinted on her mind, most probably the miser-
able parent had not wept in such anguish over
his more miserable daughter; most probably her
hands might have closed with filial piety and ten- .
derness his aged eyes. -
But—ah me!—how constantly do we behold
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 47
these important lessons neglected Parents, like
those of Mrs.ELLA, cheat their little ones, even
from infancy, into false opinions of themselves!
The mistakes, so frequent and so fatal in the edu-
cation of children, would almost lead one to ap-
prove the Lacedemonian policy, which allowed not
to parents the liberty of educating their own
children, but committed this most necessary busi-
ness to the care of the state. And, from an accu-
rate observation of the conduct of parents, how
few have yet fallen within the observation of the
writer of these lines, who were tolerably capaci-
tated for the task who had prudence and forti-
tude enough to conquer parental prejudices; and
to stand superior to the soft foibles of melting
affection . .
With respect to the gentler sex, it is an evil too
notorious to be denied, that ere the pretty inno-
cents can lisp their pleasing tales, they are initiated
in the school of pride and show ; taught to re-
verence dress even to superstition, and to behold,
with an eye of satisfaction, the glare of alluring
finery l—The mind, thus early vitiated, strongly
retains the taste; vanity and modish folly engross
the whole attention, and ruin half, or render trifling
and insipid, half the female world. For it is a
fact, I apprehend, scarcely to be controverted,
that, in the lower order of life, more women are
seduced into prostitution through their love of
dress, than through their love of vice; and in the
higher, we know to what lengths an attachment
to this deep-rooted foible is carried. -
With such principles strongly impressed, how’
can we expect to find in the fair one, the endear-
48 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
w
ing and sensible companion,--replete, as Milton
phrases it, with all good, wherein consists
Woman's domestic honour, and chief praise;
while, as he goes on, they are, How can we
expect it?
Bred only and completed to the taste
Of lustful appetence, to dance, to sing,
To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eyel
Par. Lost, xi. 616.
Let it not be said that the writer is severe; he
would only wish to hold out a friendly warning
against an evil destructive to the tender and affec-
tionate parent; upon whom it lies to give to the
female elegance its greatest merit; while he en-
treats the inconsiderate and the fond, to contem-
plate the half-distracted father, weeping over the
clay-cold corpse of his MISELLA. .
And wouldst thou, oh reader wish thy be-,
loved offspring a better fate; wouldst thou wish
never to share in the horrors of so sad distress P
—let it be thy chief study, early and diligently,
to inform with true wisdom the young, the waxen
mind; attentive to the poet's remark,
Children like tender osiers take the bow,
And as they first are fashion'd, always grow.
Sensible of this capital truth, the parents of the
amiable PULCHERIA omitted no opportunity to cul-
tivate her mind, and early to lead her into the pure
and peaceful paths of sacred wisdom. She was not
inferior in person to MISELLA; but in conduct, how
superior 1 in death, how different! As I have not
liad the happiness to converse with many, from
REFLECTIONS on DEATH. 49
whom I have reaped greater improvement, or re-
ceived more delight; as I have mever attended a
death-bed with more profit and edification, than
that of the ever-valued PULCHERIA ; it hath fre-
quently made me curious to learn from her parents
the method they pursued in her education ; and
one day, sitting with her excellent father, I took
the liberty to hint my desire.
“I know, Sir,” said I, “you are above the vul-
gar prejudices; and have so just a sense of the
divine wisdom and goodness, in removing your -
daughter from the state of probation to a realm of
glory, that the subject is rather pleasing than
painful to you. You know my high opinion of
her virtue; tell me what particular steps you
took, in her early days, to lay the foundation of
that noble structure which she reared 2" “You
judge rightly, sir,” said the good old man; “it is
pleasing to me to think and to talk of my daughter,
whom I reflect upon with the most heartfelt com-
placence, as having soon ran her complete circle
of virtues here *; as having speedily finished her
course, and entered so early on her everlasting re-
ward. .
“Praised be God for giving me such a child ;
praised be God for vouchsafing to me the sight of
so triumphant a death; praise be to God for
placing before me such an example.—Forgive the
* The speaker had perhaps the following celevated lines of
Paller in view : . -
Circles are prais'd, not that abound .
In largeness, but th’ exactly round ;
So life we praise that doth excel,
Not in much time, but acting well.
J)
5() REFLECTIONS on DEATH.
involuntary tear—I cannot on this occasion with-
hold it; the remembrance of my dear angel so
affects and ravishes me: Oh! when will the hour
come that I shall once more see her—once more
meet her for ever, to enjoy her lovely converse.—
Meet her l—Dear sir, excuse me, the pleasing
hope overpowers me; excuse the parent; excuse
the man.”—We sat silent a few minutes; some
natural tears we mutually dropt—but wiped them
soon; when my worthy friend proceeded : “I
will satisfy your desire ; I did, indeed, lay down
some few rules respecting the education of my
child, and they were invariably regarded : I will
tell you the most material of them. Attribute it
to the weakness of an old man's memory, if I am
not altogether so perfect in them as I wish.
“In care, reproof, correction, and encouragement,
my wife and myself (as all parents should) resolved
to act, and ever acted, in perfect concert. We
early taught our child implicit submission to our-
selves, assured, that otherwise we should be able
to teach her nothing. It was our care to remove
all bad examples, as far as possible, from our sight;
and, in consequence, to be cautious in our choice
of domestics. We endeavoured always to under-
stand ourselves what we wished our child to under-
stand; to be ourselves, what we would have her
be; to do ourselves, what we'would have her prac-
tise; as knowing that parents are the original
models upon which children form their tempers
and behaviour. - - * . . . ;
“We laboured gradually and pleasingly, to in-
fuse into the mind the clearest and most affecting
notions of God; his universal presence; almighty
REFLECTIONS ON DEATII. 51
power; his goodness, truth, and over-ruling provi-
dence; his regard to pious men, and attention to
their prayers. These things we imprinted upon
the tender spirit, and fixed them by those striking
examples”, where with the sacred writings abound.
We took care, that she should frequently hear con-
versation upon serious and heavenly subjects, to
which she used to attend as matter of curiosity;
and from which she caught much of a religious and
proper spirit. Few people are sensible of the
advantage derived to children from suitable and
serious conversation. ->
“It was our most earnest study, early to show
her the vanity of the world, the frailty of the body,
the corruption of our fallen mature, the dignity and
.infinite worth of the soul, and to make her ac-
quainted, as she was capable, with what God hath
done for that soul : to set before her all the
riches and mercy of redemption. We constantly
inculcated upon her this important truth, That
she was not created to live here below, but in
the glorious and etermal world above; and that
she was placed here only to have her virtue tried
and exercised, that she might be made fit to live for
ever in heaven.—“And therefore, my dear, you see
(I used to observe) that there can be no room for
pride in your person, or vanity in any external en-
dowments, for your body is the workmanship of the
* Such, particularly, as those of Noah, Abraham, Joseph,
&c.; the passage of the Israelites through the Red Sea; the
miracles in the wilderness; the deliverance of Daniel, and of
'the three Israelites, from the furnace; the miracles of Christ ;
of the apostles, &c. -
52 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
great God; you cannot make one hair of your
head white or black; and your body is but the
prison, if I may so say, of your nobler part, which
is immortal, and must share in the rewards or
punishments of, futurity, while your body will
moulder in corruption, and become so odious, that
your nearest and dearest friends cannot approach
it. Remember, you have received all you are and
all you have from God; therefore, never presume .
to assign any merit to yourself; nor estimate any
thing here below at too high a rate; for this life,
you perceive, is only a state of trial, and of conse-
quenée, unworthy our too fond attachment. Hea-
ven is your home ; God is your father; and etermity
is your life.” But pardon me, dear “sir, I digress
from my rules, and, like an old man, indeed fall
into downright prating.
“Satisfied that all religion stands or falls with the
breach of the Sabbath, we habituated our dear child
from her infancy, to sanctify that sacred day; to
esteem highly the word of God; to reverence his
ordinances, and to respect his ministers. And we
were especially careful, that with all religious in-
struction, (you know my own sentiments) she
should imbibe a spirit of universal candour, good-
ness, and charity; as far from the wildness of en-
thusiasm, as from the marrowness of superstition and
bigotry. We always addressed her understanding,
and treated her as a rational” creature ; we encou-
* We suppose, that, by this remark, the gentleman means to
express his disapprobation of the simple method in which many
ignorant nurses (we would not say parents) treat children, as
if they imagined them mere little animals, unconcerned with
rationality. -
REFLECTIONS ON IDEATH. 53
raged her enquiries, and used her betimes to think
and to reason. We represented vice in its true co-
lours, which are the most odious, and virtue in her
proper form of beauty and loveliness. We were
especially diligent to give her a deep sense of truth
and integrity ; and an abhorrence of all manner of
falsehood, fraud, craft, subterfuge, and dissimula-
tion, as base, dishonourable, and highly displeasing
to the All-wise. Assured that we could not cherish
veracity too much, we never were severe for any
fault she ingeniously acknowledged ; but always,
while we strove to convince her of the wrong she
had done, we honoured and commended her for
the truth she had spoken. -
“Convinced of the countless evils which attend
the female sex from their passion for dress and
show, we endeavoured, all in our power, to give
her a low, that is, a true opinion of these things,
and though she always wore such apparel in her
younger days as became her rank and station, yet
we mever deceived her into a wrong opinion of
herself by gaudy external ornaments—if we had—
how could we have excused ourselves? When-
ever we observed any thing tending to a bold,
pert, or forward behaviour (though, blessed be
God, there was, even from her infancy, little ap-
pearance of this—she seemed to be born meek
and humble) yet, if ever we observed this, it
was checked immediately ; we knew that it might
grow up into a flippant pertness, or a dissolute
insolence. From many examples before us, we
saw the misfortune of suffering children to be
7men and women too soon; for children are by no
means fit to govern themselves, or to direct others;
54 REFLECTIONs on DEATH.
we avoided this dangerous rock. Soon as she was
able to apply to the business of instruction, we
inured her to diligence and close application, yet
not so close as to deprive her of such amusement
and exercise as were proper to preserve cheerful-
mess, vivacity; and health. And you, who knew her,
good sir, and her many accomplishments, will do
me the justice to believe, that we permitted her not
to want any advantages of increasing in wisdom
and knowledge, and that she did not abuse those
advantages. I had forgot to observe, that we taught
her most assiduously the duty of humanity; for we
taught her to reverence the human mature, even in
the lowest; we suffered her not to treat any with
contempt, but show all possible acts of tenderness
and charity, cherishing with all our might a spirit
of modesty and gentleness, of benevolence and
compassion, even to insects and animals, from an
allowed and wanton cruelty to which children often'
receive a barbarous and inhuman disposition *.
“And the fruits were equal to our labours—the
lovely plant well repaid all our care and tendance.”
To show that this was not merely the remarks of
parental partiality, let us proceed to take a view,
in our next chapter, of the amiable PULCHERIA in
her life and death.
* See Advice to a Daughter.
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 55
CHAP. VII.
Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman that
feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Prov. xxxi. 30.
OUR obligations are great to those parents who
carefully train up their children in the paths of
Wisdom and Virtue, that they may be enabled to
discharge every social duty with propriety. And,
as so much of the comfort and peace of human
life depends upon the fair sex, we are doubly in-
debted to those who early informs their tender
minds, and deliver into the hands of the husband,
not only the lovely mistress, but the endearing
companion, and heart-approved friend. This was
the constant and the successful endeavour of the
parents of PULCHERIA ; some of whose rules, in
the education of their child, were delivered in the
foregoing chapter.
An education so wise and rational, could scarce
be supposed to have failed of the desired effect.
The modesty, understanding, and elegance of PUL-
CHERIA, were generally observed, and the charms
of her person, though of the first rate, were always
eclipsed by the superior beauties of her mind. She
was sensible, but not assuming ; humble, but not
mean ; familiar, but not loguacious; religious, but
not gloomy. The tenderness and delicacy of her
56 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
sentiments peculiarly recommended her; and that
sweet temper, which never suffered her to indulge
the malevolence of censure, rendered her the ob-
ject of universal esteem. I speak not of her
accidental acquirements, her skill in music, her
taste for painting, &c. nor of her domestic know-
ledge; suffice it to say, she was well accomplished
in these, and in every improvement which her
parents could supply, or she could make.
The happy BEN volio with the perfect approba-
tion of her parents, received this rich treasure to
his embraces, and called the lovely PULCHERIA his
in her twenty-first year. He was the object of
her choice, and his acknowledged worth well
justified her heart's attachment to him. The fruits
of her parents' care were now abundantly mani-
fest; BEN volio thought—and justly thought—
his lot peculiarly blessed, in a wife of so refined
and happy a disposition, Their felicity was con-
summate as the strongest and most undissembled
affection can produce. Their pleasures were mu-
tual; and of separate satisfactions (happy pair ()
they had not the idea. *
Her servants could never be large enougll in her
praises; for she treated them always with the most
amiable humanity: “ she considered them (she
used to say) as fellow-creatures, placed indeed in
an inferior station; but not on that account the
less acceptable in the sight of God. Nay, if we
remembered (she would observe) who it was that
for our sakes took upon him the form of a servant,
we should certainly treat our. domestics with be-
coming gentleness. Besides, (she would go on) it
appears to me an office of common humanity, to
*
REFLECTIONS ON DEATHI. 57
render a state of servitude and dependence as
light and pleasing as possible; for while we, by
the bounty of Heaven, enjoy such superior bless-
ings, shall we not, in gratitude, do all in our power
to bless others who are less favoured by Provi-
dence 2 I esteem my servants as a kind of
meaner, humble friends; and though I would on
no account make myself too familiar with them,
or listen either to their flattery or their tales, yet
I never would be deficient in alleviating their
inconveniences, and promoting their real happi-
Iness.”
Acting upon these principles, she was the darling
of her domestics; they beheld her with a degree
of veneration. She was so happy, as seldom. to
find cause to change; and she never entertained
her friends with tedious tales of ill behaviour and
vileness of her servants. I should observe, that
she was careful to see them well instructed in
their duty; and for that purpose, she not only
supplied them with proper books, but saw that
they read them, and her worthy husband omitted
no opportunity to assist in this necessary service.
Conscious of the high obligation upon us to
observe the Sabbath, she strictly devoted that day
to duty. She took care that such of her family
as could possibly be spared, should always attend
with her at the morning and evening service of the
parish church. This she esteemed an indispensable
duty; and never allowed herself to ramble from
church to church, as was the case with some ladies
of her familiar acquaintance whose practice she
constantly disapproved. “I owe this duty (she
used to say) to my family, to my neighbours, to
58. REFLECTIONS ON DEATEI.
my minister; and I cannot tell what evil may
arise from a different example.” The evening of
the Sabbath was always spent in religious exer-
cises; and she never would think of seeing com-
pany on that day. - Routs on Sundays were mon-
sters in her apprehensions. “I can excuse (she
would often observe) those in the lower stations
of life, who have no other day of leisure but the
Sabbath, and who, perhaps, are pent up in mar-
row shops all the rest of the week, if they dedi-
cate some part of the day to recreation; but for
ws, who have the enjoyment of all the week, Surely
it is inexcusable to devote this sacred day, to our
pleasures. Shall not the great Giver of all receive
a tribute of some small portion of our time *
But were I to dwell upon all the excellences of
her life and conduct, the limits prescribed me in
this treatise would soon be exceeded. I shall omit,
therefore, any account of the benevolent charity
which she exercised so largely (insomuch that
never child of distress went with heavy heart and
unrelieved from her presence)—while I lasten
to give some account of her death. Her consti-
tution was delicate; after the birth of the second
beloved infant which she brought her BENvolio
(her first died early, and gave an opportunity for
the display of the most exemplary resignation),
she caught a cold, which was accompanied with
unhappy circumstances; and though she recovered
in some measure, yet the consequence was hasty
decay. - -
It is easy to conceive the anguish of her pa-
rents and her husband, upon so melancholy an
occasion, upon a discovery that all the efforts of
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 59
art, and all the powers of medicine, were in vain:
while her patience and resignation obliged them to
refrain from every word of repining, though it
tended to increase their sorrow, by enhancing
their esteem for her. Happy as I was in her friend-
ship, it was my custom often to visit her during her
long and trying illness; but I shall not easily forget
an interview at the close of it, which I must con-
fess wholly unmanned me, while it taught me the
deepest humility.
I found her seated in the chair of sickness, in
her chamber, with her little infant lying in her
lap, over which she hung with such a look of .
maternal fondness and anxiety, as I yet never saw,
and which no painting could express | Soon as I
advanced, she lifted up her eyes, in which stood
the big, the affectionate drops, while death seemed
to sit upon her countenance, wan, yet not devoid
of that placid sweetness which ever dwelt upon it.
“I was indulging, sir,” said she, “and I hope
not improperly, some natural affection, and taking
perhaps, my last leave of my poor little babe, who
holds my heart too fast—(false- and weak heart as
it is I) rather too fast bound to this transitory
scene | Pretty innocent see how it smiles on its
weeping mother; unconscious yet of the bitter-
mess of grief, and the sadness of tears. Sweet
babe I must leave thee; indeed I must leave
thee: the Father of Heaven thinks fit, and his
will be done. But, oh! the parent, dear sir, the
parent will feel : surely this will not be deemed a
deficiency in humble resignation.” I observed, that
Christianity by no means opposes humanity; and
that grace doth not destroy; it only regulates and,
6() . REFLECTIONS ON DEAT II.
refines our affections. “My soul,” she went on,
“ thankfully acquiesces in all the divine disposals;
and I am satisfied, that whatever a God of love and
wisdom ordains, must be best for his creatures.
But when I look upon this dear innocent; when I
consider the various evils of the world, and the
prevalence of our corrupt passions, when I consider
the peculiar inconveniences of our sex, if deprived
of maternal care and instruction, my heart throbs
with sensible anxiety—and I wish–O! Father of
love, pity and pardon me ! Must 1, ah must I
leave this sweet harmless one to all the trials
and difficulties of life! Oh! my pretty babe, I
must leave thee; but shall I entrust thee (and in
that let me take comfort)—entrust thee to a ten-
der father, and to the protection of a Saviour and
a God, who careth for his little ones. Blessed
Saviour !”—She was here overpowered by the
strength of her affection ; and falling into a faint-
ing fit, from which we almost apprehended she
would never recover, her husband and her parents
were instantly called up ; every effort was used to
restore her, though grief suffered no one present
to utter a syllable. The scene was the most pro-
foundly awful I ever beheld. :
At length she came to herself, and the first
object she saw was, her trembling mother bathed
in tears, and holding her clay-cold hand ; on the
other side, stood her father ; at her feet, knelt her
anxious and distressed husband ; around her,
Several of us were placed, whose tears snfficiently
witnessed our concern :—she raised her languid
eyes, gazing wishfully at us—then fixing them upon
her mother: “Best and most beloved of parents,”
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 61
said she, “farewell, farewell, God, of his good
mercy reward your tender care of me, and give
us a meeting in the future world.—Oh! my
father, and are you there too P do not let me see
your tears; support my poor mother, and remem-
ber you have a daughter gone before you to that
place where all sorrow ceases – But my husband
..” She said no more ; but threw her arms
round his neck, and both mingled their tears to-
gether for some time. She sighed forth, “Best
and most dear of men, let me thank you, sincerely
thank you, for all the marks of your tender esteem.
Be kind to my pretty babe—oh ! why should I
say be kind? I know your goodness; but my
sweet innocent, let her—” She stopt short; but
soon went on, “I little expected all this pain at
parting; this is dying; this is the bitterness of
death !—My dear friends,” she continued, address-
ing herself to all of us around her, “accept my
best acknowledgments for all your kind offices to
me : if you ever remember me when I am gone,
remember, that my soul perfectly rejoiced in
God’s dealing with me; and that, however the
weaker passions of nature may prevail, yet I am
wholly resigned to his will, thankful to him for all;
may, desirous to quit this world, that I may see
my Saviour, the Lord of Love, who gave his life
for me, and in whose merits I joyfully trust for
salvation—I am on the brink of eternity, and now
see clearly the importance of it.—Remember, oh
remember, that every thing in time is insignificant
to the awful concerns of ” Eternity, she would
have said; but her breath failed; she fainted a
Second time; and when all our labours to recover
*-* * * ~.
, 62 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
her seemed just effectual, and she appeared re-
turning to life, a deep sob alarmed us—and the
lovely body was left untenanted by its immortal
inhabitant - • ,
NOW SHE IS NUMBERED AMONG THE CHILDREN
of GoD, AND HER Lot 1s AMong THE SAINTs.
CHAP. VIII.
Should such a wretch to mum’rous years arrive,
It can be little worth his while to live :
No honours, no regards, his age attend;
Companions fly : he ne'er could have a friend :
His flatterers leave him, and with wild affright
He looks within, and shudders at the sight:
When threat’ning Death uplifts his pointed dart,
With what impatience he applies to art,
Life to prolong amid disease and pains!
—Why this, if after it no sense remains?
Why should he choose these miseries to endure,
If Death could grant an everlasting cure?
'Tis plain there's something whispers in his ear,
(Though fain he'd hide it) he has much to fear.
- Jennym’s Translation of Brown’s Poem on
Immortality, &c.
AMong the various arguments of consolation on
the loss of our friends, that which is drawn from
the pleasing hope of a future meeting, in perfect
felicity, doubtless is the most persuasive. Grief
subsides, and sorrow softens into a tenderly pleas-
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 63
ing remembrance; when the soul is comforted
with the happy expectation of one day seeing
again,_seeing, never more to separate, those
whom Death hath reft from our affectionate em-
braces, and removed a little before us to our
Father's house. The transporting thought suffers
us no longer to lament our loss; the flame of our
friendship is still kept alive; and the anxious fear
of disappointment on our parts becomes an active
principle of obedience and duty. See in this view
what we owe to our friends; and how careful we .
should be so to pass the short time of our pilgrim-
age here, that, when we depart, they may have
rational ground to believe, that our souls are with
God, and that there they shall meet us in the ful-
ness of bliss I --
What a comfort was this to the parents and
Jriends of the amiable PUſ.cHERIA ; who, sensible
of her constant attention to spiritual concerns,
were well convinced that her change was from
mortality to glory ; and therefore resigned her
with cheerful thanksgiving to God; weeping over
her, it is true, but weeping only the tears of gentle
affection; and living always with a comfortable
respect to that happy hour, when again they should
meet, after melancholy absence, when again they
should meet to be absent mo more. - •
And shall it be 2–O thou God of infinite Grace,
ever studious of thy creatures felicity, various in
thy bounties, and infinite in lovingkindness.—It
must be so for whatever conduces most to our
bliss, we have abundant evidence to conclude will
be always thy decree.—It must be so! oh pleasing
balmy hope And once again, ye best-loved
64 F. EFLECTIONS ON DEATH,
parents, ye tender solicitous guardians, of my
youth, once again shall I behold you—but ah :
not as once ; not as wasted with sickness, and
wearied with pain ' I shall see you made like
unto God; and saved from sorrow, from sin, and
from death ! Thou too, my LAN CASTER, loved
friend of my youth, with whom so often I have
roved along the banks of favoured Cam, and en-
joyed all the sweets of virtuous umpolluted friend-
ship; thou too shalt rejoice my longing sight; for
never hast thou been wiped from the tables of my
memory ! still have I borne thee, as a seal, upon
my heart; my first, my dearest, my disinterested
friend! Happy, thrice happy thou, removed from
this bad world, ignorant of its glozing arts and
fatal deceitsl Happy, thrice happy thou, offered,
in virtuous innocence and yet unhackneyed in the
ways of evil men, an unpolluted flower, an early
and Sweet sacrifice to heaven! And shall we
meet? Alas, too well I know where rests the only
doubt But the blest hope shall animate my
Soul; still, still will I maintain the painful conflict.
—Aid me, oh mighty Redeemer, in the fight; and
through thy merits give me victory; give happy,
speedy union with thyself, and with my friends !
But have we not living friends 2 And shall we,
in our regard for the dead, forget our duty to the
living?—Forbid it, heaven l Nor let it be feared,
where virtuous friendship reigns in the generous
heart, that the love which awakens every tender
sentiment for the departed, will make us less
anxious to communicate felicity to the surviving;
Jess anxious so to live, that we may leave behind
the Sweet odour of our memory, and the anxious
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH, 65
desire to enjoy us again! Without this reciproca-
tion of mutual endearment, what is life, and what
is man Was he formed for himself, or can he be
blest in unsocial existence 2 Can he be contented
—(may, then let him relinquish his claim to im-
mortality) can he be contented to live without the
love, to die without the tribute of friendly remem-
brance —Can he be contented to live the despirer
of his God, and to die the affliction of his friends,
who can never think without horror of his future
existence! How then can they dry up their tears?
Oh, wretched parents of the more wretched MII-
SELLA my heart bleeds for you : I wonder not
that ye refuse to be comforted -
Have we then any value for our friends? Are
they really dear to us? Do we wish to remove
every cause of anguish from their souls, and to
wipe off every tear of distress from their eyes?—
Let this be a motive to influence our conduct, and
to render us active in the discharge of every duty
to God and to them, that so when we are summoned
to that future and important world, they may close
our eyes with peace, and say, with infelt satis-
faction—“Farewell! oh! farewell! thou dearest,
best loved friendſ thy life, thy love, thy faith,
leave us no room to doubt of thy felicity | Thou
art happy We mourn only for ourselves | Yet
soon, very soon, we hope to meet thee hereafter—
Then farewell!- only for a while : we will ever
bear thee in most faithful remembrance; and,
treading in the paths of thy virtues, will hope
speedily to receive thy reward.” -
How desirable to leave this world thus lamented
}:
66 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH,
and beloved! How much better than to drag out
a contemptible existence through threescore and
ten worthless years, and at length to drop into
the grave, and there to rot, without one longing
wish from one lamenting friend -
The contrast, perhaps, may strike us; let us
view it in BUBULo; whose funeral obsequies I saw
lately performed with all the pomp and vain pa-
rade of ostentatious pride; yet, though carried to
the silent tomb with all this farce of show, no
eye dropped a tear, and no heart heaved a sigh,
when BUBULo ceased to breathe. Full threescore
years and ten had BUBULo encumbered with his
heavy load this sublunary world; and it would
be difficult to point out any works of benevolence
or religion, any works of real worth or humanity,
which distinguished these seventy years. Fond
of vile pelf, the earth-worm continually toiled to
add to his heap ; and though rich, and daily in-
creasing in wealth, could never prevail upon him-
self to communicate to others, or to serve his
nearest relations. Yet smooth were his words,
and fair were his promises; and who that knew
him not, would have thought him any other than
an universal friend to mankind 2 The hours which
were not devoted to gain, were consecrated to the
service of his nice and enormous appetite, to
devouring of flesh and drinking of wine. He was
in this respect a perfect animal; and who that
saw him at a city feast ever thought him of a su-
perior order? His faculties were almost entirely
absorbed by this life of indulgence and gluttony;
yet, laden as he was, he could pretend to scoff
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 67
at religion, to deny the Being, and to despise the
revelation of God.—What rational man will think
this strange 2 w
He found a female willing to submit to the
slavery of his dominion: she brought him three
children, and happily was soon freed from her
captivity. The eldest son continued a kind of
superior servant to him till his death, which he
had long impatiently wished for, and heard of
with joy. The younger, of a more sprightly dis-
position, unbiassed by principles, rushed headlong
into the practice of all fashionable vices, and
being unassisted by his father, committed some
actions which obliged him to secure himself by a
voluntary banishment into the West Indies. His
daughter, though frequently asked in marriage,
could never prevail upon him to forward her
happy settlement in life;—he could not spare a
fortune for her : she continued with him, there-
fore, in a state of discontent, and added not much
to his felicity by her filial duty, as he was so averse
to make any addition to her’s by his parental re-
gard. He saw his widowed sister, with many little
orphans, surrounded with a variety of difficulties;
and, persuaded at length to undertake her affairs,
embroiled them more and more; and in conclusion
gave them up, because his own business and concerns
would not allow him sufficient time to attend them.
A long and wasting illness warned him of eter-
nity. He would not receive the warning. He
dreaded death, yet would not prepare to die. The
jovial associates of the tavern and the club for-
sook and forgot him : his servants attended, but
cursed him; his children thought every day of his
68 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH,
existence too long; the few dependants, which his
money occasioned, ceased to regard him, and
paid their respects to his son. BUDULO observed
it, and it grieved him to the soul. He sent for
more and more physicians; they wrote, shook
their heads, and took their fees. All hope was
gone. The minister of the parish was sent for :
he found the almost lifeless wretch weeping, and
lying along the ground; for he would be removed
from bed; had not strength to support himself;
fell down, and in a few minutes died. Nobody
wept, for nobody had cause to weep : the pride of
the family gave him a pompous funeral—And he is
forgotten -
Think not, oh, reader, the character of IłUBULO
exaggerated. He lived; and, alas ! too much it is
to be feared there are many BUBULos living,
whose example should inspire us with detestation of
a life, which must certainly end in a death not less
dreadful.
*** A friend of the writer of these Reflections is pleased to
observe, “ These Reflections on Death please me much. But
don’t you carry things rather too far, when you say (in your
cighth chapter) * 'tis an indispensable duty to go to our parish
church 2°–Was I to live in London, I should rarely or ever go
to my parish church, if I had a stupid hum-drum minister.
I long to live in London, that I might hear clever men, &c.—
I disapprove as much as you can do, running after methodist
preachers and enthusiasts; but should I not prefer a Sherlock
at the Temple, if I lived in Fleet-street, to &c.” -
It is a misfortune that when gentlemen quote, they will not
refer to the work, and observe the words—It is not said posi-
tively, in the place referred to, that “it is an indispensable
duty,” &c.—The writer of the Reflections doth not deliver
his own sentiments in that place; he only says that the lady
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 69
whose character is given, Pulcheria, esteemed it (for her part)
an indispensable duty. It would not follow from thence, that
the writer of these Reflections thought it so : though, being thus
called upon by a man of sense and learning (as his friend
confessedly is) he is now ready to declare, that he sincerely
thinks there can be but very few exceptious. As to that of a
Sherlock, it is too peculiar to be drawn into example—But
what would this gentleman say of those, who, loose to all con.
nections with their parish minister, &c. would leave a Sherlock,
may, and esteem him a legal preacher, without unction, &c.
to hear a butcher or a weaver, a man without any learning,
may, a stranger to his own mother tougue. -
CHAPTER IX.
—Cut off, even in the blossoms of my sin;
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfectious on my head Î
O horrible l—O horrible ! onost horrible :
Shakspeare.
IN the Liturgy of the Church of England we pray
God to deliver us from sudden death; that is, as
her best divines have always explained it, and as
reason clearly understands it, from a death sudden
and unlooked for, from a death instantaneous and
unexpected ; for which no provision has been
made; which finds the soul utterly unprepared,
and sends the unhappy mortal to eternity, with
all his imperfections on his head. A death like
this is doubtless to be deprecated, more than the
wide wasting pestilence, or the devouring Sword.
70 REFLUCTIONS ON DEATH.
On the other side, to the good man, to the soul
conscious of its frail dependence here, and pro-
perly careful to secure its interest in the world .
beyond the grave, a sudden death is so far from
an evil, that it appears rather a blessing, and in
this view hath been earnestly wished by many
men of exemplary piety. -
Indeed, strictly speaking, there is no such thing
as sudden death to us, “who, as soon as we are
born, begin to draw to our end;” who breathe
this sublunary air as temporary strangers, existing
only awhile upon the bounty of Providence; and
assured that the moment will come shortly, may
come instantly, when the Lord of life shall summon
us into his tremendous presence. And as such is
the condition of our being, we cannot properly
call that stroke sudden, to live in constant expect-
ation of which is our highest wisdom and duty.
Submission to the will of him who is as good as he
is wise, is doubtless the best service which such
imperfect creatures can pay in every particular;
and therefore we act most wisely when we submit
the determination of this point to the Father of
mercies, and wait with resignation, either for the
momentary stroke, or the long and lingering trial,
which dismisses us from the stage of life.—This
care only should be our's, well to act our parts,
that the dismission may be with a plaudit, with
the approbation of our judge. ,
“Yet, yet, O Father of unutterable love—thou
source of everlasting goodness—yet, if the meanest
of thy creatures might be allowed to make its re-
quest,--if thou wouldst deign to give him liberty of
choice—suffer him not, oh! do not suffer him long
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 71
to languish on the bed of feeble disease, or excru-
ciating pain, nor yet snatch him hence, by an in-
stantaneous stroke, before he has looked his last
farewell, and given the final affectionate adieu, to
all his heart approved, his dearest, tenderest, and
most valued friends ! He will not call their kind
attendance round his bed, the afflicting parade
of death; “He will rejoice in their sympathetic
tenderness ; he will struggle to pour forth the
voice of consolation and love; he will point to the
hope which upholds his soul, the shining pole-star
by which he steers, and by which, he trusts, his
dearest friends shall steer into the joyful harbour
of eternal rest! The hope, the star, the sun, Christ
Jesus, the conqueror of death, and the destruction
of the grave.’” ---
Such was the petition of the beloved URAN1Us
Heaven heard and granted his prayer. This day
he sickened; the next summoned, and took leave
of his friends. Perfect in his senses, he saw death
approaching, and saw him unappalled ! for he had
led his life in continual preparation for the awful
event.—On the evening of the third day he closed
his eyes, and commended his spirit to God, who
gave it; and, almost without a groan, exchanged
this mortal for an immortal stäte Happy URA-
NIUs!—so let me die! or rather let me say, “so
let me live,” and death cannot fail to be blessed.
How different was the death, and ah! how dif-
ferent was the life of my neighbour AG RicoLA
whom oft, though in vain, I have endeavoured to
weam from the world, and to show the deceit and
delusion of all earthly attachments. But, alas ! he
would not believe AGRIcon. A was a wealthy and
72 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
laborious farmer ; it might, strictly speaking, be
said of him, that he “ rose up early, and late took
rest, and eat the bread of carefulness.” He rose
before the morning's dawn, and called the hinds
to the field ere the rosy sun peeped over the misty
mountains. The flail, early heard resounding in
his barn, awakened the rest of the village, and was
industry's summons to arise. His shepherds first
drove their flocks a-field; and, as the bleating
multitude poured forth their cotes, AGR1cola
stood by, and beheld with rapture the whiteness
of their fleeces, and the strength of his sportive
lambs. The neighbouring markets saw him always
first to enter, and last to leave the scene of com-
merce and advantage; his samples were always
ready, and were always best. *
Thus he pursued temporal things with unwearied
application, and unremitted diligence; but for
etermal things, AGRICOLA mever once heeded, never
once thought of them | What then? Did not AGRI-
CoLA believe in God, in Providence, in Eternity 2
O yes, he believed all this;–but he had no time
to think of such things “ Hereafter,” was his
word: “it will be soon enough hereafter.” What
then? Did AGRicoLA forsake the weekly services
of the church, and wholly relinquish the worship
of God? Oh, by no means. AGRICOLA never, or
very rarely, was absent from the divine service. He
generally invited the curate of his little village—
(a poor laborious man, like himself, who rode with
all haste from parish to parish, and served three
distant churches 1) He generally invited him to re-
gale at his louse on the Sabbath; when the time
would allow, the good man embraced it with
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 73
thankfulness; they drank together in friendly sort;
and behold, their conversation was of “ the oxen
in the field.” AGRIcola had sagacity enough to
discern this impropriety in the conduct of the man
of God: his rector's rare appearance in the village,
and ready acceptance of his tithes, gave him also
no very favourable idea of religion. He judged
these men servants of the Lord for the wages of
the world ; and apprehended all religion to be
merely lucrative and earthly. He was desirous
to believe it such; hence in the alehouse, at the
markets, and at the little club of his village neigh-
bours, he frequently delivered his sentiments with.
freedom, and God and his priests were treated
with no great respect.
AGRICOLA continued this course of life for some
years; only as his money increased, so increased
his heart's attachment to it; and (as the world
was fond to say) his regard to probity diminished
as his professions were multiplied. The widows and
the poor complained of his rapacity and extortion;
the fields spoke his coveteousness, for he encroach-
ed upon his neighbours' lands, and the ancient
boundaries were rendered disputable. The markets
were said to be forestalled, and his abundance
became the source of oppression to the poorer
farmer: he wished to stand alone; and beheld, with
a malevolent eye, the flocks, the herds, and the crops
of others. He grew surly, proud, and insolent;
vainly imagining that his wealth gave him in port-
ance and a wretched right to tyrannize over his
inferior neighbours. My connections with him
afforded me opportunity often to remonstrate; he
Sometimes heard and promised fair ; but he heard
74 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
more frequently with impatience, and would have
spoken his dislike, if wordly motives had not com-
pelled him to silence. - - -
Happy had it been for him if he had heard, re-
garded, and been wise ; happy for him, if he had
trusted less to that “hereafter” which never came !
for as last summer, he attended his reapers in the
field, suddenly the heavens grew black with clouds;
the sun withdrew his light; the air seemed to stag-
mate with intolerable fervour; the lightning flashed
with unremitting fury; vast peals of thunder burst
fearfully around; there was no place to fly unto ;
they were exposed to all the terrors of the storm.
AGRICOLA stood aghast when, behold ! the
thunderbolt of Omnipotence (a sheet of living
flame disclosing itself over his head) in a moment
struck him a blackened corpse to the ground !
O horrible most horrible ! thus to be sent to
our final account And shall not the death of
AGRIcola instruct us? Wilt thou, O Man after
such an admonition, persevere in forgetfulness of
duty, and attachment to the world 2 Then eer-
tainly thou camst secure thyself from so deplorable
an end.—No I thou canst not : thou canst not pro-
mise to thyself one future moment Death lies
concealed in every path we tread, and his stroke
will ever be sudden and dreadful, in proportion to
the degree of our forgetfulness of that stroke, and
our attachment to the world.
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 75
- CHAP. X.
He who liveth in pleasure, is dead while he liveth.
1 Tim. v. G.
IT gives the Author of these Reflections singular
pleasure to have the approbation of a lady, so
justly admired for her good taste as Lady e
He esteems it a particular favour, that she con-
descends to make a request to him, which he most
readily grants, as assured that the letter which she
desires him to admit, will not only be pleasing, but
highly instructive to his serious readers. The
death of Mr. NASH drew her thoughts to it; and,
therefore, she is pleased to inform me, she copied
it out for the benefit of the public: it was sent
by a person of known worth and piety, some years
since, to that son of pleasure; what effect it had,
his future life, alas! did but too plainly show !
To Rich ARD NASH, Esq. at Bath.
SIR,
This comes from your sincere friend, and one that
has your best interest deeply at heart: it comes
on a design altogether important, and of no less
consequence than your everlasting happiness ; so
that it may justly challenge your careful regard.
It is not to upbraid or reproach, much less to tri-
76 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
umph and insult over your misconduct; no, it is
pure benevolence, it is disinterested good-will,
prompts me to write; so that I hope I shall not
raise your resentment. However, be the issue what
it will, I cannot bear to see you walk in the paths
which lead to death, without warning you of your
danger, without sounding in your ears the awful
admonition, “Return and live; for why will you
die?” I beg you to consider whether you do
not, in some measure, resemble those unhappy
children of Eli, whom, though they were famous
in their generation, and men of renown, yet ven-
geance suffered not to live. For my part, I may
safely use the expostulation of the old priest—
“Why do you such things? for I hear of your evil
doings by all this people. Nay, my brother, for it.
is me good report I hear; you make the Lord's
people to transgress.” I have long observed and
pitied you; and a most melancholy spectacle I
lately beheld, made me resolve to caution you, lest
you also come into the same condemnation.
I was not long since called to visit a poor gen-
tleman, erewhile of the most robust body, and of
the gayest temper I ever knew ; but when I visited
him, oh! how was the glory departed from him
I found him no more that sprightly and vivacious
son of joy which he used to be, but languishing,
pining away, and withering under the chastising
hand of God; his limbs feeble and trembling; his
countenance forlorn and ghastly; and the little
breath he had left sobbed out in sorrowful sighs;
his body hastening apace to the dust, to lodge in
the silent grave, the land of darkness and desola-
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 77.
tion; his soul just going to God who gave it;
preparing itself to wing away unto its long home,
to enter upon an unchangeable and eternal state. . .
When I was come up into his chamber, and had
seated myself on his bed, he first cast a most wist-
ful look upon me, and then began, as well as he
was able to speak—“O that I had been wise, that
I had known this, that I had considered my latter
end Ah, Mr. , Death is knocking at my doors:
in a few hours more I shall draw my last gasp! .
and then judgment, the tremendous judgment
How shall I appear, unprepared as I am, before
the All-knowing and Omnipotent God P. How .
shall I endure the day of his coming?”
When I mentioned, among many other things,
that holy Religion which he had formerly so slightly
esteemed, he replied, with a hasty eagerness,
“Oh! that Religion is the only thing I now long
for. I have not words to tell you how highly I
value it: I would gladly part with all my estate,
large as it is, or a world, to have lived in the prac-
tice of it. Now my benighted eyes are enlight-
ened, I clearly discern the things that are excellent.
What is there in the place whither I am going
but God? or what is there to be desired on earth
but religion?”—“But if this God should restore
you to health, said I, think you that you should
after your former course?”—“I call heaven and
earth to witness, said he, I would labour for holi-
ness as I shall soon labour for life. As for riches
and pleasures, and the applauses of men, I account
them as dross and dung, no more to my happiness
than the feathers that lie on the floor. . . )
“Oh if the righteous Judge would try me.
78 REFLECTIONS ON I) EATH.
once more; if he would but reprieve and spare me
a little longer—in what a spirit would I spend the
remainder of my days I would know no other busi-
ness, aim at no other end than perfecting myself
in holiness. Whatever contributed to that, every
means of grace, every opportunity of spiritual im-
provement, should be dearer to me than ten thou-
sands of gold and silver. But, alas ! why do I amuse
myself with fond imaginations! The best resolu-
tions are now insignificant, because they are too
late. The day in which I should have worked is
over and gone, and I see a sad horrible might ap-
proaching, bringing with it the blackness of dark-
ness for ever. Heretofore (woe is me !) when
God called, I refused; when he invited, I was one
of them that made excuse. Now, therefore, I re-
ceive the reward of my deeds; fearfulness and
trembling are come upon me; I smart, I am in sore
anguish already : and yet this is but the begin-
ning of sorrows It doth not yet appear what I
shall be ; but sure I shall be ruined, undone, and
destroyed with an everlasting destruction tº
This sad scene I saw with my eyes: these words,
and many more equally affecting, I heard with my
ears, and soon after attended the unhappy gentle-
man to his tomb. The poor breathless skeleton
spoke in such an accent, and with so much earnest-
mess, that I could not easily forget him or his
words. And as I was musing upon this sorrowful
subject, I remembered Mr. N ; I remembered
you, sir; for I discerned too near an agreement
and correspondence between yourself and the de-
ceased. “They are alike, said I, in their ways,
and what shall hinder them from being alike in
REFLECTions on DEATH. 79
their end The course of their actions was equally
full of sin and folly, and why should not the period
of them be equally full of horror and distress 2 I
am grievously afraid for the survivor, lest as he lives
the life, so he should die the death of this wretched
- man; and his latter end should be like his.”
For this cause, therefore, I take my pen to ad-
vise—to admonish—may, to request of you to re-
pent while you have opportunity, if haply you
may find grace and forgiveness. Yet a moment,
and you may die; yet a little while, and you
must die; and will you go down with infamy and
despair to the grave, rather than depart in peace,
and with hopes full of immortality ?
But I must tell you, sir, with the utmost free-
dom, that your present behaviour is not the way to
reconcile yourself to God. You are so far from
making atonement to offended justice, that you
are aggravating the future account, and heaping up
an increase of wrath against the day of wrath.
For what say the Scriptures P those books, which,
at the consummation of all things, the Ancient of
Days shall open, and by which you shall be judged?
What say those sacred volumes 2 They testify
and declare to every soul of man, “That whoso
liveth in pleasure, is dead while he liveth;” so that
while you roll on in a continued circle of sensual
delights, and vain entertainments, you are dead to
all the purposes of piety and virtue.
Think, sir, I conjure you, think upon this if you
have any inclination to escape the fire that will
never be quenchéd.—Would you be rescued from
the just vengeance of Almighty God? Would
you be delivered from weeping and wailing, and
80 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
.*
*
incessant gnashing of teeth P Sure you would:
But be certain that will never be dome by annuse-
ments, which, at the best, are trifling and imper-
timent; and, for that, if for mo other reason, foolish
and sinful. It is by seriousness; it is by retire-
ment and self-application you must accomplish this
great and desirable deliverance. You must not
appear at the head of every silly diversion, but
enter into your closet, and shut the door; com-
mune with your own heart, and search out your
spirit. The pride of life, and all the superfluity of
haughtiness, must be put away. You must make
haste, and delay not the time to keep (and with all
your might too) all God’s holy commandments,
always remembering that mighty sinners must be
mighty penitent, or else be mightily tormented.
Your example, and your projects, have been ex-
tremely prejudicial, I wish I could not say fatal
and destructive to many; for this, there is no.
amends, but an alteration of your conduct, as
signal and remarkable as your person and name.
If you do not by this method remedy, in some
degree, the evils which you have sent abroad, and
prevent the mischievous consequences which may
ensue, wretched will you be, yea wretched above
men, to eternity. The blood of souls will be laid
, to your charge ; God's jealousy, like a consuming
flame, will smoke against you ; as you yourself will
See in that day, when the mountains shall quake,
and the hills melt, and the earth be burnt up at
his presence.
Once more them, I exhort you as a friend; I
beseech you as a brother; I charge you as a mes-
senger from the great God, in his own most solemn
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. - 81
words: “Cast away from you your transgressions;
make a new heart, and a new spirit; so iniquity
shall not be your ruin.” - -
Perhaps you may be disposed to contemn this,
and its serious purpose, or to recommend it to your
companions as a fit subject for raillery: but let
me tell you beforehand, that for this, as well as foi
other things, God will bring you into judgment.
He sees me now I write; he will observe you
when you read: he notes down my words in
his book, he will also note down your consequent
procedure. So that, not upon me, but upon your
own self, . will the neglecting or despising my
friendly admonitions turn. “If thou be wise,
thou shalt be wise for thyself; if thou scornest,
thou alone shalt bear it.” .
With hearty good wishes for your welfare, I re-
main, sir, your unknown friend, &c.
*** The writer of these Reflections thought himself obliged
to retain this letter (which, however, he has taken the liberty to
correct in a few places) not only out of respect to the lady who
communicated it, but because it was published in the Christiaoz's
Magazine, in the regular course of the Reflections.—He finds it
too in a life of Mr. Nash, lately published, and was therefore
• the rather inclined to retain it, as that biographer seems to think
it too severe, and is inclined to palliate a life of utter dissipa-
tion, which certainly merited the severest strictures. No man
living can have a higher regard for benevolence and humanity
than the writer of these lines; but he thinks benevolence to
the soul of a much higher nature than that of the body; and
would be far from leading those who are treading the insidious
paths of pleasure with too eager delight, into delusive and dan-
gerous opinions, as if tenderness of heart, and acts of charity,
could atone for every other deficiency. Dissipated and fond
of pleastire as we are, little need there is to encourage men in
F
82 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH,
so false a pursuit. It is hoped, therefore, that the writer of
Nash’s life (who he is I know not) in a future edition, will
strike out that offensive and hurtful passage, which every sincere
Christian must disapprove, wherein he asserts, “That there
was nothing criminal in his (Nash's) conduct; that he was a
harmless creature, whose greatest vice was vanity,-and that
scarce a single action of his life, except one, deserves the
asperity of reproach *.” And this is said of a man, who,
with a heart of exquisite humanity, and which might have been
moulded into the noblest form, was yet, through life, a gamester
profest, and an encourager of illicit gaming a follower of plea-
sure all his days, and a perpetual dissipater! and whose conver-
sation was made up of trifling, of falsehood, and of immorality.
In matters which concern the souls of men let us he especially
careful; for fatal, indeed, may it be to betray them into wrong
opinions. In other respects we will unite to applaud Mr. Nash,
and will readily join in his panegyrists; we will be thankful to
him for the improvements he hath made at Bath, by his means
the most elegant and pleasing of all public places; and we will
be thankful to the editor of his life, for the amusement and
satisfaction we have received from so well wrote and entertain-
ing a performance.
* In justice to the ingenious writer of Mr. Nash's life, it is pro-
per to declare, that this passage is corrected in the second edition
of that work.
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 83
CHAP. XI.
So may'st thou live, till, like ripe fruit, thou drop º
Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease
Gather’d, not harshly pluck'd, for death mature.
* This is old age; but then thou must outlive
Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change
. To wither'd, weak, and grey; thy senses then
Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forego
To what thou hast; and for the air of youth,
Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign
A melancholy damp of cold and dry,
To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume
The balm of health. Milton.
IN our two foregoing chapters we have two very
different and alarming characters before us; each
sufficient to show us the vanity of this life, and to
awaken in our souls an earnest attention to future
concerns. The one cut off by a sudden blast from
heaven, in the full bloom of days, and the vigour
of health; the other, dragging through a length of
weary years, a feeble existence”, to the last scene
of all,
Which ends our strange eventful history,
To second childishness, and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Shakspeare.
* Mr. Nash died at Bath in February, 1761, aged 88. “The
ºnan was sunk long before, as one expresses it, in the weakness
and infirmities of exhausted mature.” See the Public Ledger,
No. 865.
84 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
Old age is honourable, and hath its advantages.
—But might I presume, O thou Almighty and
All-wise ! short-sighted as I am, and incapable at
the best to distinguish my real good or evil,-
might I presume to judge, or to ask any thing of
thee respecting my future state in this poor pass-
ing world, I would humbly say, “Suffer me not
to bear the load of life when every faculty is be-
numbed; when every power of enjoyment is past;
when, oblivion darkens the memory, and all the
senses seem wearied and sealed up; when the
power of being useful to mankind is totally re-
moved; nay, when the power of pleasing is no
more, and we become a burden, even to our near-
est friends.” -
See the trembling palsied HAss AN unable to
move, scarce able to utter intelligible sounds,
weak in his sight, imperfect in hearing, oppressed
with pains, forgotten by all the world, forsaken by
all, and attended only by a distant relation, whom
interest keeps with him, impatient for his de-
parture, and anxious to possess his wealth. Yet
though thus miserable, despised, forsaken, for-
gotten, HAss AN loves the world; clings faster to
it, the more it shrinks from his embraces; detests
the thoughts of death ; and thinks and talks of no-
thing with satisfaction, but the delusive mammon
of unrighteousness. Oh, what an old age is this
How wretched an issue of a long useless life
Fourscore years have been passed to no end, but
procuring of wealth. Fourscore years are over;
the wealth is procured; the man is about to die;
and he hath neither child nor friend to inherit it!
He hath no power to enjoy it; he is dead while he
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH, 85
liveth; yet his affections are placed—not on things
--
above, but, ah! Sad reverse l—on things below.
Can the world produce any object more pitiable
or more contemptible than HASs AN ?
Vigorous old age, the winter of an useful virtuous
life, is as much to be desired as the contrary is to
be deprecated. Crowned with victory over the
inferior passions, girt round with useful and expe-
rimental knowledge, leaning on the staff of pru-
dence, courage *, and resolution, the old man be-
comes a blessing to society; we rise up to him
with reverence, and rejoice to do him honour.
Such is the hoary SoPHRon; we behold him with
a degree of awe and veneration; we consult him
with confidence; and to follow his advice it to act
wisely and consistently. SoPHRON filled a very busy
sphere of life, and maintained a high reputation
for integrity, prudence and piety. He retreated
in proper season from the stage, and now dedi-
cates his time to the great business of self-recol-
lection. Yet is he no absolute hermit nor recluse;
nor does he so live to himself as to forget the con-
cerns of others; mild and affable, he delights in
* Bishop Hall gives us an instance of courage in an old plain
man in the country: some thieves broke into his solitary dwell-
ing, taking advantage of the absence of his family, and finding
him sitting alone by his fire-side, they fell violently upon him;
when one of them, fixing his dagger to the old man’s heart,
swore that he would presently kill hitn, if he did not instantly
deliver to them that money which they knew he had lately re-
ceived. The old man, looking boldly into the face of the vil-
lain, replied with an undaunted courage, “Nay, if I were killed
by thee I have lived long enough ; but I tell thee, son, unless
thou mend thy manners, thou wilt never live to see half my
days.” -
*
86 REFLECTIONS on DEATH.
the conversation of his friends, and pleasingly in-
structs, while scarce seeming to instruct; bene-
volent and humane, he listens to the voice of afflic-
tion, and is always the ready friend of the poor
and the oppressed. Happy SoPHRON he has not
lived in vain; his youth was active; his old age is
healthful, placid, and peaceable. Resigned to the
sovereign Disposer's will, he waits contentedly for
his approaching change, and looks with joy to his
journey's end; looks with joy to that harbour,
wherein his weather-beaten vessel must shortly
cast anchor ; when his youth shall be renewed as
the eagle's, and he shall live with God in perfect
fruition for ever. .
If men will not look forward, nor prepare for
eternity, we cannot expect they should prepare for
old age ; but surely, if we wish or desire to live
long—and it is to be feared this is too much the
wish of human hearts—we should endeavour to
provide for the winter of life, by laying up such a
store of true wisdom and health, as may render
the close comfortable, or at least soften the many
unavoidable difficulties of age.
Intemperance will, for the general, prevent our
long continuance here below”, it will certainly
treasure for us many pains and evils, if we are
* Old Adam, the faithful servant in Shakspeare, speaks thus:
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty,
Tor in my youth I naver did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did I with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility:
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frostv, but kindly.—
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 87
allowed a longer existence, vice and immorality
will render our old age despicable to others and
afflicting to ourselves; and make us the more
uneasy to quit the stage of life, as we draw nearer
the dire necessity. So that the grand rule to
attain a happy old age, as well as a happy death,
is to “live well;” is to live as becomes those who
bear the solemn name of Christians, and profess
the sacred name of Christ.
Uncertain as is the tenure of human life, this
rule, one would conceive, should be universally
regarded; for how few, how very few of the my-
riads of mortals, who tread this faithless earth,
arrive at old age, or see the present boundary of
human life, the “ seventieth year?” What num-
bers before that age are consigned to a state eter-
nal and unalterable ! Alārming thought !—And
canst thou, oh, readerſ promise thyself this length
of days * Knowest thou how long thy line shall
run ? Knowest thou when the mighty Master shall
call, and thou must appear before his impartial
tribunal? Alas! human fate is mantled in thick
darkness! But etermity—who, like AGRICOLA,
would be utterly unprepared, since the call may
come instantly, and then how terrible the con-
sequences !
But AGRIcol A's fate was peculiar.—So thought
his neighbour HAUSTULUs. He saw the singed
corpse of AG RicoLA borne from the field, shook his
head, declared the stroke a judgment from heaven,
and enlarged greatly on the demerits of the de-
ceased ; yet he forgot himself. HAUSTULUS was
the pride of the village where he lived : young,
healthy, robust; the maidens beheld him with
88 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH,
pleasure; the young men heard of his perfections
with envy. A lively good-nature recommended
him universally; and relying on the strength of
his constitution, he was the first and last at every
merriment, at every wake, at every scene of rural
pleasantry and joy.
Drinking too deep at one of these, and stay-
ing too late from home, he caught a cold; a
violent fever ensued; he became delirious; all
hopes in a few days were lost; and he, who had
never employed one serious hour about his soul,
thus plunged,—ah! hapless improvident!—into a
state everlasting !—Was his fate peculiar P was his
death sudden 2–It is a death, it is a fate every day
exemplified. And would you choose to share
such a fate, to die such a death? Surely no. Then
be careful not to lead such a life ; for there are
innumerable outlets from this present scene; light-
nings and fevers are not the only instruments in
the hand of God; the meanest and most inconsi-
derable agent is all-sufficient with him to stop the
throbbing heart, and to draw the veil of death
over the closing eyes.
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH, 89
CHAP. XII.
Woe, then, apart (if woe apart can be
From mortal man;) and fortune at our nod;
The gay, rich, great, triumphant, and august,
What are they the most happy : Strange to say,
Convince me most of human misery. Yoºtng.
THOUGH Death levels all distinctions, and pays no
more deference to the Crown than to the unnoticed
head of the meanest peasant; yet the great seem
willing to preserve, even in death, that distinction
which they have shared in life; and therefore re-
fuse to mix their social dust with common and
inferior clay. There may be a propriety in this ;
subordination is absolutely necessary; and it may
be decent that they who have been elevated in
life, should, at the close of it, still keep up their
due dignity. But this will not prevent us from
meditating in the pault of the nobles, where surely
we shall find ample matter for conversation.
By the side of the church, where first I was led
into these reflections, such a vault is found. Let
me descend into the solemn and Sacred recess l
How awful Aš I tread slowly down the stone
steps which lead into it, a melancholy murmur
seems to echo through the silent mansion; the
moon just throws in a faint light, sufficient for me •
to discern the contents (though indeed no stranger
to them) and all my soul thrills with anxious
90 - REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. Af
horror. Whence this strange and uncommon
dread fear upon us when conversing with the
deceased ? Helpless dust and ashes as they are, we
know they cannot harm or injure us. Nay, and
were it possible for any of them to appear to us,
surely it would be most delightful, and most accept-
able to view them, and to hear from them some
of the wonders of that world, which is at once
so interesting and so much unknown.
But ahl no notice they give,
Nor tell us where, or how they live:
Though conscious, while with us below,
How Inuch themselves desir'd to know !
As if bound up by solemn fate,
To keep this secret of their state ;
To tell their joys or pains to none,
That ruan might live by faith alone.
Oh! come hither, ye sons of ambition, ye child-
ren of pride; descend awhile from the lofty sum-
mit whereon you stand, and look disdain on all
beneath you; oh! come, and pass a few silent
minutes with me in this lonely vault, which boasts
the most noble inhabitants; and elevation will no
more dwell in your eye, nor vamity rise in your
hearts.
Here are the great and the gay, the young and
the brilliant, the lionourable and the lovely, placed
in no mean order or elegance together. Their
coffins are decorated with velvet and with silver ;
but, all ! their contents are only like vulgar dust.
There lies the noble ALTAMonT ; no wonder the
remembrance of him first strikes every soul which
descends into this vault, and was no stranger to
Reflections on DEATH. 91
his character. An able writer* liath given us a
striking account of his last moments; let us first
recollect this, and then make our reflections upon
it. -
“I am about to represent you (says he) the last
hours of a person of high birth, and high spirit, of
great parts, and strong passions, every way accom-
plished, not least in iniquity. His unkind treat-
ment was the death of a most amiable wife, and
his great extravagance, in effect, disinherited his
- only child.
“The sad evening before the death of that noble
youth, I was with him. No one was there but his
physician, and an intimate, whom he loved, and
whom he had ruined. At my coming in, he said,
‘You and the physician are come too late. I have
neither life nor hope. You both aim at miracles.
You would raise the dead.”
“Heaven, I said, was merciful”
“Or I could not have been thus guilty. What
has it not done to bless and to save me? I have
been too strong for Omnipotence 1 I have plucked
down ruin.”
“I said, the blessed Redeemer”
* Hold hold! you wound me. That is the rock
on which I split. I denied his name.’
“ Refusing to hear any thing from me, or to take
any thing from the physician, he lay silent, as far
as sudden darts of pain would permit, till the clock
struck; then, with vehemence— -
‘Oh, time! time ! it is fit thou shouldst thus
* Dr. Young, in his Centaur not Fabulous.
92 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
strike thy murderer to the heart.—How art thou
fled for ever !—A month !—Oh, for a single week
I ask not for years: though an age were too little
for the much I have to do.”
“On my saying, we could not do too much ;
that heaven was a blessed place—”
“So much the worse. It is lost It is lost!
Heaven to me is the severest part of hell!’ -
Soon after I proposed prayer.
‘Pray you that can ; I never prayed, I cannot
pray.' Nor need I. Is not heaven on my side
already? It closes with my conscience. Its se-
verest strokes but second my own.” -
His friend being much touched, even to tears,
at this, (who could forbear 2 I could not) with a
most affectionate look, he said,
‘Keep those tears for thyself. I have undone
thee—Dost thou weep for me? That is cruel. What
can pain me more ?'
Here his friend, too much affected, would have
left him.
‘No, stay. Thou still mayst hope; therefore.
hear me; how madly have I talked how madly
hast thou listened and believed | But look on my
present state as a full answer to thee, and to my-
self. This body is all weakness and pain but my
soul, as if stung up by torment to greater strength
and spirit, is full powerful to reason ; full mighty
to suffer; and that which thus triumphs within
the jaws of mortality, is doubtless immortal. And
as for a Deity, nothing less than an Almighty could
inflict whát I feel.” -
“I was about to congratulate this passive, invo-
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 93
luntary confessor, on his asserting the two prime ar-
ticles of his creed, extorted by the rack of nature;
when he thus very passionately, ,
“No, no let me speak on. I have not long to :
speak—My much injured friend my soul, as my
body, lies in ruins ; in scattered fragments of
broken thought. Remorse for the past, throws
my thought on the future. Worse dread of the
future, strikes it back on the past. I turn and
turn, and find no ray.—Didst thou feel half the
mountain that is on me, thou wouldst struggle with
the martyr for his stake; and bless heaven for the
flames—that is not an everlasting flame ; that is
not an unquenchable fire.” *
How were we struck? yet soon after, still
more. With what eye of distraction, what a face
of despair, he cried out,
“My principles have poisoned my friend; my
extravagance has beggared my boy ; my unkind-
ness has murdered my wife And is there another
hell? Oh! thou blasphemed, yet most indulgent
Lord God hell itself is a refuge, if it hides me
from thy frown.” -
Soon after his understanding failed. His terri-
fied innagination uttered horrors not to be repeated
or ever forgot. And ere the sun (which I hope
has seen few like him) arose, the gay, young,
noble, ingenious, accomplished, and most wretched
ALTAMonT expired.”
94 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
CHAP, XIII.
Adorned with all that earth or heaven could give
To make her amiable. Milton.
How doubly dreadful is Death, when it hurries
away an affrighted and unprepared soul from all
the splendour and pomp of earthly greatness; from
noble mansions, elegant gardens, beautiful and
extensive parks, numerous attendants, large posses-
sions, and all the bright circle of towering gran-
deur? “And must I leave these?—Curse upon
my fate—must I leave all these ?” said the noble
PUBLIo; as stretched upon the bed of acute dis-
ease, he lay struggling with his fate, like a wild
bull in the net; impatient and restless under the
hand of Omnipotence, as the untamed lion in the
toils of the Lybian hunter. Yes, PUBLIo, thou
must leave all these ; and, proud and vain as thou
hast been of thy titles and honours, as much
elevated as thou hast thought thyself above thy
fellow mortals, thou must now at length experi-
ence that Death levels all distinctions, and strikes
at thee with as cruel unconcern, as he strikes at
the meanest peasant who toils in thy spacious
fields. Why will men forget this obvious truth?
surèly if the noble would bear it in mind, it would
be a powerful check against every motion of
pride, and would instantly crush the least tumour
of elation.
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH, 95
If we look to this world only, how superior are
the advantages which the great and wealthy enjoy;
how infinitely superior to those which the poor
and mean can attain P But if we look beyond the
present scene, may, if we look only at the parting
moment, how great advantages have the poor over
the wealthy? Poverty denies to men the enjoy-
ment of almost every thing which the rich call con-
venient and comfortable ; much more of what
they call elegant and pleasurable. But poverty
disengages the affections from this transitory scene,
and, depriving men of the enjoyment, renders
them indifferent to the continuance of life. He
who has nothing to leave behind him, must be
supposed to quit the stage with infinitely less
regret, than he who is surrounded with every thing
that can elevate the desires, or delight the heart of
man. Now, if we were steady to our Christian
principles, and fixed in our pursuits of the bless-
ings of etermity, doubtless, in this view, poverty
would be very far from being ever esteemed an .
evil.
But let us not conceal the truth : there is often
more of envy and chagrin in our strictures on
wealth and greatness, than real contempt of these
idols, than Christian renunciation of them; and it
is to be feared, that our remarks respecting their
possessors are frequently stretched beyond the
line of truth. It is a point of which long expe-
rience and close observation have left me no room
to doubt, that the great are not the happy: I
mean, that sincere felicity, and an exalted State,
have no natural and necessary connection. Yet
am I equally satisfied that the poor are not the
96 - REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
happy. If the disturbing and higher passions
molest the repose of the former; the chagrining
and vexatious passions sufficiently ruffle the quiet
of the latter. In great goodness and condescen-
tion to his creatures, the all-wise Disposer of
Things hath made happiness peculiar to no state,
and attainable in all. It is a plant which will
thrive in every soil, though some may be more
kindly to it than others: I have seen it blooming in
all the verdure of the most flourishing palm-tree,
in the splendid palace of the noble : I have seen it
fresh, beautiful, and fragrant, in the lowly dwelling
of the peaceful and contented cottager. For the
true Christian is the happy man ; and he who is
indeed a Christian, will find peace and joy, whether
in the cottage or the palace.
What could have deprived the gay, the young,
the noble, ingenious, and most accomplished ALTA-
Mont, of happiness superlatively pleasing, had he
but known and practised that divine religion,
whose excellence is sufficiently marked by the
name of him who revealed it—the etermal Son of
God? Every earthly bliss crowded around the
noble young man, sedulous to present themselves,
and anxious to offer their sweets to his hand.
Elegant mansions, highly furnished with all that
art could bestow, were ready provided for him ;
parks beautified with the finest lawns, and most
extensive prospects, stretched themselves around
him; ample estates were in his possession, suffi-
cient to supply every necessity, and sufficient for
the calls of magnificence, liberality, and charity;
and heaven had blessed him with a mind capacious.
of the largest enjoyments, with sense equal to the
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH, 97 -
most elegant refinement. Happy peculiarity—
heaven had blessed him too with a bride, whose
virtuous endearments were themselves sufficient to
have constituted perfect bliss ; and in whose love
scarce a man exists, who would not have thought
himself amply crowned with his heart's full con-
tent.
Ah, wretched ALTAMonT 1 the want of that
Christian virtue, which alone will felicitate, robbed
thee of the enjoyment of all these blessings, and
brought thee in early youth to a despairing death;
thy soul undone, thy fortune ruined, thy wife
broken-hearted, and thy orphans beggared ah,
vain and worthless nobility l what availed to thy
miserable remains, the nodding plumes and the
escutcheoned hearse, with all the pomp of funeral
solemnity | Here thou liest mouldering in thy
velvet-clad coffin ; and I, so much beneath thee in
station, can weep thy sad fate, and commisserate
thee, thou fallen son of greatness -
Oh, ye nobles of the earth, consider and be
wise l Nobility without virtue is but a polished
shaft, more quick and keen to destroy ; adorned
with Christian faith, it is a coronet of gold, grace-
ful and honourable to the brow ; it will dignify
you in time, and add honour to your greatest
honours in eternity.
So thought the incomparable lady, whose sad
relics I view with joy, and am transported to find
in this doleful vault an inscription like the follow-
ing, over her homoured remains. Let us peruse it,
and leave it to our reader's reflections. *
“Here rests the body of MARY, Countess of
—, &c. — , who departed this life, &c. whom
G
98 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
it were unpardonable to lay down in silence, and
of whom it is difficult to speak with justice; for
her just character will look like flattery, and the
least abatement of it is an injury to her memory.
“In every condition of life she was a pattern to
her sex; appeared mistress of those peculiar quali-
ties which were requisite to conduct her through
it with honour, and never failed to exert them in
their proper seasons, to the utmost advantage.
“ She was modest without affectation, easy
without levity, and reserved without pride; knew
how to stoop without sinking, and to gain people's
affections without lessening their regard.
“She was careful without anxiety, frugal with-
out parsimony; not at all fond of the superfluous
trappings of greatness, yet abridged herself of
nothing which her quality required.
“ She was a faithful member of the Church . of
England. . ... . . . .
“ Her piety was exemplary, her charity uni-
versal. - -
“She found herself a widow in the beginning of
her life, when the temptations of honour, beauty,
youth, and pleasure were in their full strength;
yet she made them all give way to the interest of
her family, and betook herself entirely to the .
matron's part. 4
“The education of her children engrossed all
her care: no charge was spared in the cultivation
of their minds, nor any pains in the improvement
of their fortunes. -
“In a word, she was truly wise—truly honour-
able—and truly good. -
“ More can scarce be said; and yet he who
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. - 99
said this, knew her well, and is well assured, that
he has said nothing which either veracity or
modesty should oblige him to suppress*.”
CHAP. XIV.
Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour?
'What tho? we wade in wealth or soar in fame?
Darth’s highest station ends in, “Here he lies;”
And “Dust to Dust,” concludes her noblest song.
Young.
FROM the vault where rest the precious remains of
the great and noble, I ascended into the church,
and was immediately led to that part of the
sacred edifice which is dedicated to the memory of
these illustrious personages. What superb monut-
ments what elaborate declarations ! what pomp-
ous inscriptions ! what high-sounding epitaphs 1
One would imagine from a perusal of these, that
all the sons and daughters of this noble house,
like those mentioned in another sacred place, were
valiant and virtuous: but, alas ! even tombs are
taught to flatter and to lie
How strong is the desire of pre-eminence in the
human breast ! we wish to preserve it even in
death. In some respects it may be well to pre-
* The reader may be assured of the strict truth of what is here
delivered, as this character was penned by that excellent pre-
late Dr. Hough, formerly Bishop of Worcester.
100 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
serve it : but what vanity can be so truly con-
temptible, as that which assigns a large sum of
money to the erecting a splendid monument,
serving to perpetuate only the erector's folly and
pride Let the truly virtuous and the truly good,
the friends to society, and the ornaments of reli-
gion, be distinguished in death; for the rest,
whatever titles they bear, or honours they boast,
they are a mere number only—let them be con-
signed to oblivion and dust!
Wiiat a foppery and false taste discovers itself
in some of these fantastic monuments before me,
the emblems of which it is more difficult to
decipher than the darkest shades of an allegoric
poem ' What absurdity and profaneness glare in
others | Methinks I am transported by some in-
visible power, while I gaze from a Christian church
into one of the heathen temples; for their deities
crowd around me, sculptured with all the pride of
art, while I can discern a medallion only of him to
whose memory the monument is consecrated . It
looks as if the noble dead had renounced their de-
pendence upon Christ and , his gospel; and re-
turned to the worship of those heathen divinities
into whose hands they seem to commend their
fame. A. -
But while I turn away with disgust from those
fine but misapplied efforts of art, that elegantly-
simple monument strikes and delights me. It is
the statue of the late Duke of ****; it is finished
in the highest taste; it affords the most exact re-
semblance of his person : the posture is the most
natural and easy; proper for the place, serious and
contemplative: it is raised on a plain and beauti-
REFLECTIONS ON I) EATH. 101
ful pedestal; there are no fantastic decorations;
the inscription contains nothing more than the
name of this worthy nobleman, the date of his
birth and death, and the detail of his illustrious
issue. There needs no more ; his virtues live in
the faithful memory of his friends and of his coun-
try; and time itself cannot obliterate the impres-
Sion which his beneficence hath made on the
hearts of mankind. . But could time efface these,
should they be universally forgotten, yet will they
be had in everlasting remembrance before God,
the eternal rewarder of those who live to do good;
who make the blessings vouchsafed to them by
Providence the exalted means of felicity to others.
Such actions in life will smooth the rough brow of
death, and render the departure from honours and
opulence not only easy, but joyful
Methinks, as Istand contemplating this animated
statue, I can fancy its noble original before me, as
I have often seen him, and imagine I hear him
thus addressing me: “See the end of human gran-
deur, and learn to think nothing great in mortality
nothing can be truly great which is uncertain ; no-
thing truly good which must shortly have an end.
Ere while I flourished in all the verdure which
human existence can boast. High in birth, high
in honours; dignified with the royal favour;
abounding in wealth, and of consequence courted
and flattered by the universal voice of men In
this elevated state I forgot not myself: ... I remem-
bered that I was a man, that I was to give an
account to a superior tribunal, and that my punish-
ment or reward would be in proportion to the
trust reposed in me. When therefore the solemn
102 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
Summons came, when I heard the alarming voice—
“Thou must die P’ I was not confounded though
imprest with awe; commending myself to the
Father of Mercies, I resigned his earthly favours
with complacence and thankfulness, in happy hope
of a future and better state 1 -
“Had my conduct been the reverse of this,
what should I have gained—what should I not
have lost for my pomp and power could not have
arrested the stroke of Death, which would have
pierced my heart with agony inexpressible, as
separating me from all things desirable below, and
removing me to a world where I had neither hope
nor desire | Then might this melancholy statue well
stand as a representative of my afflicted soul .
revolving with 5orrow the past enjoyments, and
looking with a wishful eye to that mansion, and .
that lovely park, which once I ranged with such
pleasure, then for ever denied to my hapless feet !
Mine was a better choice: the remembrance of
death taught me wisdom; ‘for they who remem-
ber death, will assuredly be wise.”
This is an important truth: the abuse of life
proceeds from the forgetfulness of death. When
men fix their standards upon earth, and vainly
promise this transitory scene as the end of their
being and the objects of their love, what errors
and evils are the consequence; what fearful dis-
appointments here, and what horrid punishment
hereafter.—
This was the case with the famous Cardinal of
the noble house of BEAUFoRT, who, much unlike
that amiable nobleman whose character we have
been considering, remembered not that wealth and
herfections on, DEAtti. jó3
greatmess were insignificant and unavailing to
stay the hand of death ; and that, gained by
indirectness, they prove, in conclusion, a never.
dying worm to the distracted conscience. When,
therefore, as history informs us, he was arrested in
mid-career, and all the terrors of death were mar.
shalled in horrid array before him, thus he comá
plained, and thus vented his afflicted soul to his
friends weeping around *.—“And must I then
die? will not all my riches save me? I could pur-
ichase the kingdom, if that would prolong my life.
What! is there no bribing of death? When my
mephew the Duke of Bedford died, I thought my
happiness and my authority greatly increased; but
the Duke of Gloucester's death raised me in fancy
to a level with kings, and I thought of nothing but
accumulating still greater wealth to purchase at
length the triple crown. Alas ! how are my hopes
disappointed! Wherefore, O my friends, let me
earnestly beseech you to pray for me, and recome
mend my departing soul to God f.” -
* See Harpsfield's History.
.# Cardinal Beaufort was of royal extraction : He was the
son of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, by his third wife
Catherine Swinford ; he was commonly called, the rich Car-
dinal of Winchester: he died in 1447. Shakspeare, who
generally preserves historical truths very exactly, in his second
part of Henry Vſ. hath given us, in lively colours, a description
of the cardinal’s death, with which, I am persuaded, my reaſier8
will be pleased, and therefore subjoin it here:
Scene, the Cardinal's Bedchamber.
Enter King Henry, Salisbury, and Warwick, to the Cardinač
in Bed.
K. H. How fares my lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.
Card. If thou beest Death, I’ll give thee England's treasure,
$
104 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
Oh, what an end was this! what availed it this
unhappy great man, that sacrificing to his ambi-
tion some of the most sacred duties of humanity,
he died possessed of a sum, superior to what, per-
haps, any subject before him had possessed ; what
Enough to pnrchase such another island,
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.
. . K. H. Ah! what a sign it is of evil life,
Where Death’s approach is secn so terrible.
War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
Card. Bring me unto trial when you will,
Dy’d he * not in his bed 2 where should he die?
Can I make men live, whether they will or no?
Oh, torture me no more, I will confess—
Alive again! then show me where he is:
I’ll give a thousand pounds to look upon him.
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them:
Comb down his hair;—look, look, it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.
Give me some drink; and bid th’ apothecary
Bring me the strong poison that I bought of him.
R. H. Ob, thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
Look with a gentle pity upon this wretch!
o, beat away the busy meddling fiend
-That lays strong siege upon this wretch's soul,
And from his bosom purge his black despair.
War. See how the pangs of death do make him grin
Sal. Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably:
IC. H. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure bel
Lord Cardinal, if thou thinkest on heaven’s bliss,
Lift mp thy hand, make signal of thy hope :-
He dies, and makes no sign.—O God, forgive him!
FWar. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
K. H. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtains round,
And let us all to meditation.— .
* Meaning the Duke of Gloucester, of whose murder he was sus-
pected.
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 105
availed it, that amid the terrors of death, he con-
signed large sums to charitable offices ! and least
of all, what could avail the ten thousand masses
which he ordered to be said for his soul'ſ Heaveri
is not to be purchased with gold, nor the favour
of God to be bought with money. Our redemp-
tion was not perfected by such corruptible things,
but by the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb
without blemish and without spot! and he, who,
after an evil life, thinks to conciliate the regard
of the Most High by donations and masses, dies
in a mistake as gross and fatal as that wherein he
lived. Indeed, to the honour of the Protestant
church, we must observe, that this most destruc-
tive of all errors is seldom found within her pale;
at least, in comparison with its frequency in the
Romish church; where the religious orders are led
to deceive even the souls of dying men, for the
sake of accumulating wealth to their own societies:
shocking and dreadful how contrary to the tenor
of that gospel, by which we are assured, that the
truly humbled heart and penitent desire, the lively
faith, and undissembled sorrow, can alone recom-
mend us to the Father, through the merits and in-
tercession of the only-begotten Son |
Before I conclude this chapter, let me point
out to my reader a noble penitent of the Pro-
testant communion, as a contrast to the cardinal
of the church of Rome: the Earl of Rochest ER,
I mean ; whose life was defiled with every vice,
but whose death was distinguished by the most
exemplary repentance—a repentance not shewn
by merely external gifts, and the appointment of
repeated masses for his soul; but by inward con-
106 REFLECTIONS ON DEATER:
trition and real sorrow for the past—by a desire
to undo all the evil he had dome, and to stop the
current of all the mischief which unhappily owed
its source to him:—by an unfeigned application
to the only Redeemer, and a fixed resolution to
amend his life (if that life should be spared), and
to be as exemplary in holiness, as he had been in-
famous in the practice of vice.—This is true re-
pentance; and such a penitent Christ will assuredly
redeem, as well from the guilt as from the defile-
ment of all his former iniquities.
*
CHAP, XV.
— Take physic pomp:
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
* That thou may’st shake the superflux to them,
And shew the Heavens more just. Shakspearc.
HIGH in health, and recumbent on the downy
breast of prosperity and indulgence, SEcuRUs re-
jects our Reflections with disdain, and will not,
cannot bear to hear of Death, the cruel spoiler of
all his circling comforts “Away with the melan-
choly strain,” he cries, “I cannot endure the voice
of this gloomy contemplative. Let him not ap-
proach to disturb my repose, mor, like the hoarse
and ill-boden raven, croak his fatal admonitions in
my ears.” Ah, mistaken mortal, what troubles art
thou treasuring up for a future moment! Pity him,
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH a 107
Heaven, who has no pity for himself!—We will
leave him then, though with sorrow and compas-
sionate regret, and entreat thy attendance, oh,
serious and Christian Reader (who art not afraid
to view these mournful but instructive scenes), to
the sick, the dying bed of the poor man, now that
we have visited together the superb vault of the
noble. If thou art rich, perhaps thou hast never
been called to so sad a scene, and the sight of it
will teach thee content: if thou art poor, it will
affect thy heart, and lead thee to a serious concern
for futurity, that both temporal and eternal evils
may not be thy deplorable lot!
Come, them, and let me lead thee up these nar-
row and miserable stairs to the wretched apart-
ment, whither I was ere while led, and where the
poor man lies, languishing on the bed of emaciating
disease I Seest thou this dismal dwelling, foul, of:
fensive, squalid
Hear; the wind whistles through the shattered
casement, ill defended by vile rags and darkening
paper, sure mark of penury and distress.
Seest thou that wretched object, pale and mea-
gre, with haggard staring eyes, and beard un-
shaven, stretched upon those flocks, with not a
curtain round him, and with scarce a cover to con-
ceal his wasted body. -
Turn round and view upon the floor another
miserable heap of tatters: it is the bed of two
poor children of this afflicted sufferer! and this,
this place of woe, is the only habitation which re-
ceives and hides the heads of these children, with
their mother and himself! That woman, bathed in
tears, and clothed in the garments of poverty, is
108 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
the wife of that husband, is the mother of these
children—hapless wife, and still more hapless mo-
ther -
But though narrow this apartment, though of
fensive and foul, it would well suffice, and be but
Hittle complained of, did not want, cruel want,
here too fix her abode; could the mother supply
the importunate demands of her hungry children,
or alleviate the pains and sufferings of her op-
pressed husband. But, alas ! the parish withholds
relief from aliens to its rights; and how shall the
charity of the beneficent find out in their popu-
lous, but obscure retreats, the stranger and un-
known -
Nay, but even poverty itself, with all its dire
necessities might be borne;—well, very well, if de-
pendance upon God was found in the heart; if hea-
venly hope dwelt in the breast; if there was any
prospect of a happy issue, when all these mournful
trials are overpast, and the soul safely landed on a
future and fortunate shore; but for this we inquire
in vain; from the want of it proceeds far the
greater part of those evils. When I came to talk
with EGENO (so call we this poor man), concern-
ing his soul, his faith, his hope, and future expec-
tations; he fixed his eyes upon me with the most
unutterable concern, and elevating his emaciated
hand, sighed, “Alas, alas! sir, sure I shall re-
cover !” “But if you should not, as, God knows,
there appears, but little probability—what then P
what says your conscience, and in what is your
trust?” “I cannot tell,” he replied; “I have
not been so good as I ought; but if I live I will
endeavour to be better.” I turned to his wife, to
REFLECTIONS ON I) EATH, 109
ask 8omewhat of his manner of life; and to know
whether during his long illness (for he had long
been declining), he had ever shewn any concern
for his soul, or whether she had ever read to him
for his instruction? Weak and wretched as he
was, he could reply with abundant acrimony,
“. She instruct me?—No, she had better first in-
struct herself; she wants it most P. What greater
shock could a human heart feel, than to perceive
a fierce altercation likely to ensue between two
persons so mutually and so deeply distressed ? I
interposed with some authority; and endeavoured
with all my power to set forth the dread terrors
of futurity before the eyes of this unawakened
sinner, just, just about to launch—Oh, horrible—
into its irredeemable gulf!
He heard me with attention, and I perceived at
length a tear stealing into his sunken eyes: “I haves
been miserable,” said the poor unhappy object,
“all the days of my life; and now I perceive that
I must be miserable through all etermity too !”
Upon hearing this, we could none of us refrain
from tears. Oh, who could refrain, to see a fel-
low-creature lying in this exquisite distress, soul
and body equally estranged from comfort and ease?
—Oh, who could refrain, to see one, for whom
Christ died, thus about to perish, ignorant and
hopeless, in a land where the glad tidings of this
Saviour are so constantly and universally preached?
Moved with compassion, I endeavoured to offer
some consolation—the utmost which I dared to
offer; for, alas ! how can the ministers of Christ
exceed their commission ? how speak peace to
those with whom there is no peace?—But my
11() REFLECTIONS ON DEATH,
offers were unavailing; he told me, “he had led
a wicked and careless life, and now he found that
the end of it was sorrow and despair.” After
every argument to arouse and console, I joined in
prayer with him and his wretched household ; and
exhorting him to earnest prayer and fervent sup-
plication for himself to the Father of our Lord
Jesus Christ. I left them, designing on the mor-
row to renew my visit.
But from this melancholy office I was prevented
by his wife, who came in the morning to inform me
that he expired in the night; expired regardless, as
it seemed, of all things, utterly stupid, senseless,
and unheeding. º,
And thus too it often happens, that the minister
is sent for when the soul is at the last gasp, when
hope is given up, and when all our endeavours,
alas ! are inefficacious as pouring water into a
sieve. During almost a twelvemonth's illness,
EGENO thought not of God, of repentance, of
death. Just when the lamp of life was going out,
just when the trembling soul fluttered on the verge
of eternity, the alarm was given, and all was con-
fusion, disorder, and dismay. His whole life was
a Scene of care, of toil, of discontent, and sin.
Neglectful, wholly neglectful of religion, his Sab-
baths were passed in trifling or drunkenness; the
Scanty pittance he gained by his labour, was too
commonly condemned, before it was earned; and
his wife and children bewailed in hunger and want,
their frequent disappointment of his wages. Hence
arose brawls and contentions at home; which ren-
dered the little wretched lodging still more wretch-
ed. As no surplus was saved, his own, and the
R EP LECTIONS ON TO EATH. 111
clothing of his family was seldon superior to rags 3
and he lived without a friend to serve, as he died
without a friend to succour or to pity him 1 Mise-
rable end of a miserable existence : fearful po-
verty, and introduction to sufferings far more
fearful.
... Good God what is man? how terrible is it
thus to pass a few years in this vale of sorrow,
comfortless, despicable, abandoned—To know
none of the refreshments and delights of this life,
and yet to forfeit all the delights of the future
But let me forbear making any reflections, till I
have shewn you the contrast of EGENO, in a man
of the same occupation and the same rank of life,
whom also I late attended upon his death-bed—
and would to Heaven my latter end may be like
his
To the AUTHoR of the Reflections on Death.
SIR,
THE wise Son of Sirach observes, that death is
most dreadful to a man at ease in his possession. Of
the truth of this we have a remarkable proof in
Cardinal BEAUForT. Your account of this un-
happy person was extremely affecting and instruc-
tive: permit me to add thereto a few particulars
concerning him, He was buried in the cathedral
of Winchester, with this Latin inscription over his
grave: Tribularer si mescirem misericordias twas,
“Did I not know the greatness of thy mercy, I
should be sorely troubled.” History inform us, that
he was accused of poisoning Humphrey Duke of .
Gloucester, but he prevailed with the king to
112 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH:
grant him letters of pardon for all the offences he
had committed; contrary to the statute of provi-
sors, and the act of praemunire. This pardom, says
Rymer, is dated at Westminster, July 19, 1432.
Five years after which, we are told, he procured
another pardon under the great seal, for all sorts of .
crimes whatever, from the creation of the world
to the 26th of July, 1437. He died the 11th of
June, 1447, having survived the above-mentioned
Duke Humphrey little more than twenty-eight
days: he left vast sums to charitable uses, and, if
Harpsfield may be credited, no less than 400,000l.
to the prisons of London. BeAUFoRT is repre-
sented by some historians as an arbitrary, super-
cilious, turbulent prelate; yet they seem to agree,
that, by his death, the king lost one of his most
able, and most faithful counsellors.
*-
CHAP. XVI.
The ports of death are sins, of life good deeds,
Through which the Saviour leads us to our meeds:
How wilful blind is he then, who should stray,
And hath it in his power to make his way;
This world death’s region is, the other life's;
And here it should be one of our first strifes,
So to front death as men should judge ms past it:
For good men but see death, the wicked taste it. Itowe.
IT is common to hear circumstances and stations
in life, urged as an excuse for neglect in religion;
to obviate which, we have examples proposed to
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH; 113
us of sincero and regular piety, in every station of
life". Thus we are shewn, that religion is incoma
patible with no worldly circumstances : and of
consequence, no worldly circumstances can offer
a sufficient excuse for a disregard to it. The
wretched EG ENO could urge his labour and po-
verty—but how ineffectually P Look at his fel-
low-labourer, MENToR, and learn how weak and
frivolous such an apology.
MENTOR was of the same occupation with
EGENO; worked in the same shop, and earned the
same wages : MENTort too was a married man,
and had children. Thus far there was a simili-
tude; but in other respects, where can that simi-
litude be found? Diligent and punctual, MENTort
was never absent a day from his business, unless
detained by sickness or some other necessary avo-
cation; ever found in his duty, while EGF. No kept
holiday, and wasted his important time in drunk-
enness and riot. - -
Fearing God, and anxious to please him, MEN-
Top never refrained his feet from the church, and
was a regular attendant at the blessed Supper of
the Lord ; strictly observing the Sabbath, aud
spending it as became a Christian, a husband, a
father: while EG ENo's temple was the alehouse,
and his devotion only oaths and impiety,
Go to the places of their abode, and mark the
# It must be understood, that I speak of the honest and al-
lowable stations in life. There are some professions, , with
which, indeed, religion is incompatible; and, therefore, if a
man would save his soul, he must either abjure these, or never
think of salvation. -
Fl
1 14 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
contrast there also : you have viewed that of
EGENo–miserable scene of poverty —At MEN-
Tor's little dwelling all was meat and clean, and
wholesome. He had procured a small house, with
a good piece of ground, which he carefully culti-
vated with his own hands, when he returned from
his work in the evening ; often rising an hour or
two before the time of jabour in the morning, to
do the business of his garden, and to take eare
of his crops, which paid him well for his toil.
His wife, industrious and cheerful, contributed her
part with gladness: her children were brouglit up
with every motion suitable to their station; and
she omitted no opportunity to aid her husband's
honest efforts by her frugality and pains. An aged
mother dwelt under the same roof with them, and
owed a comfortable subsistance to the pious affec-
tions of her laborious son.
It pleased God to extend the life of this useful
and worthy, though mean and unnoticed man, to a
happy length; for he lived to close his aged mo-
ther's eyes, and to pay the last duties of filial re-
gard to her:—he lived to see two of his sons ca-
pable of maintaining themselves in the world with
decency and comfort; and freading—distinguish-
ing felicity of a parent l—in the steps of their fa-
ther's sobriety and virtue: sons, to whose care he
could with confidence leave his wife, as their reli-
- gion had taught them that a peculiar blessing ever
attends those who delight to honour their parents,
and “to rock the cradle of declining age.”
How pleasing, how instructive, to attend the
death-bed of such a Christian Oh, ye great, and
ye vain, ye children of voluptuousness and pomp,
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH, 115
how doth the death-bed of such a Christian re-
proach your follies, and condemn your visionary
view l—on that bed I saw him.—True, no com-
Sultation of physicians was held on his account;
mo damask decorated his apartments; no carpets
his floors; vessels of silver and gold were wanting
to convey the little nourishment he took :- but
ah! what wretched comforters are these, when
the languishing body declares, the fatal moment of
eternal separation from this world approaching !
How much more excellent the consolation arising
from the testimony of an approving conscience I
The more a man leaves behind him, the more re-
luctantly he dies: to die is an easy matter to the
poor; and to a good man, what matters it whether
he die on a throne or a dunghill? The only misfor-
tune at the hour of death is to find oneself desti-
tute of the supports of true religion! .
MENTOR was not destitute of these: “I am
arrived, sir,” said he, “at that period for which I
was born, and for which I have been long prepar-
ing: and, blessed be God, I do not find any terrors.
in the approach of death! “Thanks be to God,
who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus.
Christ!' I am thankful to the good providence
of my heavenly Father for all things; but how
shall I express my thankfulness for his exceeding
love in the precious gift of his Son | Oh, what a
support is he to sinful creatures, like us, in this
hour especially I Blessed, for ever blessed be God,
for his inestimable gift of redemption through the
blood of the Lamb, offered up for the sins of the
whole world!” Rejoiced to see him thus trium-
phant over death, I congratulated his felicity, and
116 REFLECTIONS ON. DEATH,
remarked the vanity of worldly stations, when God
distributes this spiritual favours freely to the low
as well as the high, to the poor as well as the rich.
“True, sir,” said he, “this is a sweet reflection
to the poorer and meaner sort of us: it hath often
refreshed my soul, and stopped every tendency to
murmuring and complaints, which are too apt to
arise in our naughty hearts, at the sight of the .
rich, and their plentiful enjoyments. And it was
a pleasing thought often to me in the midst of my
labour, that my divine and glorious Saviour stooped
to a mean and toilsome employment, and conde-
scended to work with his own hands; setting us
an example, and thus alleviating, to the true Chris-
tian, all the weariness of fatigue and daily pains.
I am sure, the recollection of this has given me
new life and spirits when I have been almost worn
out, and ready to sink down with labour. And
when I have considered all his lovingkindness to-
wards me, which he has shewed in so many in-
stances, I have always with joy persevered in my
duty, and thought myself happy that I had a being
to praise and adore him. And now my race is
run, and I am about to appear before the Judge
of all the earth !” “I doubt not,” replied I, “ you.
will appear with joy, and be for ever blessed in
his kingdom P’ “Through Christ I trust I shall,”
said he ; “my only hope and reliance is on the
precious Redeemer for, oh, sir, what am I, what
have I, but from him And, alas! what I have
done is so imperfect and unworthy, that it cries
for pardom only, not for rewardſ Can it be pos-
sible that any human being can talk of merit be-
fore God Lord Jesus, pardon the sinfulness even
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 117
of my best and most holy services, and wash them
clean in thy blood I" “But,” observed I, “though
you depend not upon any thing you have done,
nor apprehend the least merit or deserving in any
of your works, doth it not give your soul great
peace and comfort, when you look back, and re-
member, that you have done such works, or rather
that you have used your best endeavours to obey
all the laws of Christ?” “Oh, yes,” replied he,
“great, very great peace without this I could
have no peace at all ; for without this what test
could I have of my own sincerity, or how could I
dare to expect any mercy from the Redeemer?
No, I bless him for enabling me, by his grace, to
do something; would to God I had been more
diligent, and could have done more Without ho-
liness no man shall see him : I have laboured after
it with all my might, and to the best of my know-
ledge: may the gracious Saviour pity my weak-
ness, and perfect what is wanting in me!”
He added much more; but from this the reader
may easily collect, how happy an end a man
of such sentiments must make. He received the
blessed sacrament from my hands, and never did
I administer that sacred viaticum to a more ele-
vated Christian. I remember one passage in our
conversation struck me: “'Sir,” said he, “ though
I had never any great learning, I have always been
pleased with reading; and from some book, early
in my life, I was taught to consider myself as a
pilgrim, appointed to travel through this world to
the other, where I was to remain for ever. This
notion made a great impression upon me; and I
ever afterward used to consider myself as a tra-
118 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
veller, and therefore entertained no great hopes
or fears respecting any thing below; but looked
continually to the end of my journey, the hap-
piness of which, I was persuaded, depended on
my right management of myself during my stay
here. And this thought was the occasion not only
of much content to my soul, and of much peace
and resignation under every affliction and cross
accident; but of my continued attention to duty,
and of the exactest caution in my daily walking.”
Such was MENToR ; whose life and death were
equally amiable and exemplary. What a contrast
to the wretched EGENo l—What man but would
wish to die the death of the former? then let him
take heed not to lead the life of the latter. Ye
sons of men in the humbler stations of life, read
the important lesson before you. Look at the ex-
amples, and revolve their ends ! avoid the vices of
EGENo, and copy the the virtues of MENToR—
80 you will live in credit and die in peace.
And let us all remember, “That every day of
our life is, in the morning, a blank leaf, whereon,
during the course of it, we write, and in charac-
ters indelible, all the actions of our life: letus be
careful then, that there be nothing impure, nothing
base in them ; that He, before whom they are to
be laid, may read them with approbation. Let us
live so, that we may never die; let us instantly
set about it with all our might, before that tre-
mendous sound be given—“ He eaſpires "’
*REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 119
CHAP. XVII.
Jexhort servants to be obedient unto their masters, and to
please them well in all things; not answering again—Not pur- .
loining, but showing all good fidelity; that they may adorn the
doctrine of God our Saviour in all things. Titus ii. 9, 10.
Let thy soul love a good servant, and defraud him not of his
iiberty. - Eccles. vii. 21. ,
AFTER having attended the death-beds of the
busy and the gay, the noble and the poor; after
having surveyed the issue of life spent in those
pursuits which are common to mankind, and con-
trasted every character, to make each more strik-
ing; I intended to have stopped here, and con-
sidered Death in the general view, to have
offered arguments and consolations against the
fear of it; and, in conclusion, to have contem-
plated the great things which follow after—judg-
ment, heaven, and hell.
But a funeral, at which I was called last might to
officiate, leads me to postpone these reflections to
a following chapter, that I may pay some tribute
to the memory of a humble man, whose virtues de-
serve to be had in honour, though his low station
denies him the loud applause of public celebrity.
But why should fame be the prerogative of great-
mess; of worldly greatness and external splendour *
To do well and to deserve in every station, is to
126), REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
be great, and ought to obtain praise—and will
obtain praise —Yes, ye sons of obscurity, whom
no titles dignify, whom no pedigrees ennoble—but
whose virtuous actions aré more illustrious than
either—yes, ye shall inherit praise, as much supc-
rior to that which men, the world, and time can
give, as God, as heaven, as etermity are superior to
all these. This bright and blessed honour is not
conferred according to rank, or birth, or titles;
but to high and low, rich and poor, the glorious
prize is held forth alike, and to him who does best
and best deserves, shall the best recompense be
given. Yet one sure method to obtain this bless-
ing, in that kingdom, where all distinctions eter-
nally cease, is to act and live agreeably to those
distinctions and subordinations, which God hath
wisely appointed upon earth : I mean, the sure
method to obtain God's favour, is to acquiesce
‘thankfully in that station of life wherein he hath
placed us; and, with entire submission, to dis-
charge faithfully, and uniformly, all the duties
of it.
So thought the worthy man, whose decent
funeral was last might solemnized: he had been
servant in a neighbouring family above twenty
years, and during that time had abundantly ap-
proved himself by the strictest fidelity. A rare
example, when the depravity of this order among
us is the subject of universal complaint, and the
severest tax upon the domestic felicity of numbers!
Though perhaps the cause and the remedy of the
evil are both to be drawn from other sources than
those which are generally proposed; to be drawn
rather from the heads of families, than from those
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 131
who aet in menial capacities. A prudent and
conscientious master, for the most part, makes
prudent and regular servants; and it is from the
increase of such examples, that we must expect
improvements in our attendants.
PETRUcio (so call we the subject of our present
chapter) was happy in this respect; happy in a
master, whose own life was regular, and whose
great care was to discharge tenderly every duty
which he owed to his servants. He was well
recompensed by the love and fidelity of his ser-
wants in general, but of PETRUCIO in particular.
This faithful domestic. had right motions of God,
himself, and his duty. He murmured not at the
inferiority and servility of his own condition: he
knew it was the will of God : as such he received
it with thankfulness, and lived in it with cheerful
content: considering himself as the servant of
Christ; he acted always conscientiously, as de-
sirous to please him, and not man only. Reflect-
ing, that the eye of God, if mot of his master, was
always upon him, he feared to neglect his duty,
and thought it a poor excuse for himself, if he
could escape the notice of an earthly observer,
while all his actions were minutely scammed by
him who searches the secrets of the heart. Hence
he served not “as a manpleaser, but as the servant
of God, in singleness of heart as unto Christ; not
with eye-service, but as the servant of Christ, doing
the will of God from the heart;” all his service
was done with a good will, not with a morose con-
straint and sourness—“ as to the Lord, and not to
man only;” for he knew and ever bore in mind the
comfortable truth, “That whatsoever good thing
#22 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
any man doeth, the same shall he receive of the
Lord, whether he be bond or free.*.”
In consequence of these right principles, PE-
TRUCIo ever esteemed his master's interest, as
essentially connected with his own; and would as
soon have suffered the extremest punishment, as
have joined in any collusion to defraud, much more
to have himself defrauded his master. It was his
constant endeavour to preserve the strictest econ-
omy in every part of his trust, and he would ex-
press the highest wonder and deepest abhorrence .
at many of those infamous arts which modern
polite servants would frequently advise him to
practise, and to which tradesmen, for the basest
ends, would often attempt to allure him. “Though
I am in a state of servitude upon earth,” he would
often say, “I hope to be in a state of freedom with
God hereafter : but how can I hope for this, if I
am deficient in those easy duties which are re-
quired in my station 2 For surely, when all the
necessaries of life are found me, it is easy to be
just and faithful, homest and industrious—may,
gratitude itself alone should lead to this, for his
sake, who provides so well for me; and who re-
quires certainly that I should repay all his expense
with every worthy and cheerful endeavour possible
on my part.” A.
We may well believe that a servant with such
motions must be uniform and excellent in his whole
conduct. And such indeed was PETRUCIo. He
received every order with silence and humility:
he executed every order with diligence and punc-
* Ephes. vi. 8, &c.
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 123
tuality. He pretended not to be wiser than his
directors; and he was a stranger to the odious
malapertness, which is one of the distinguishing
qualifications of contemptible modern valets. His
long continuance in the family had contracted in
his breast a tender affection not only for his master
and mistress, but also for their children and rela-
tions: and at length their interest was become so
peculiarly his own, that he joyed in all their joys,
and partook of all their sorrows.
The fruits of his fidelity were the confidence
and esteem of his master and mistress; the affec-
tion of the family; the reverence of his fellow-
servants; and a comfortable saving, on which he
proposed to live, if ever he should have cause to
quit the service; and which, dying in it, he had
the pleasure to bequeath to a widow sister, and
her children, whom it rescued from many difficul-
ties, and placed in a happy situation, above des
pendence and necessity.
During the time of his last sickness, he fre-
quently declared, that the tenderness and regard
of his master and mistress to him more than over- .
balanced the merit of all his former services, and
were an abundant recompence to him. For PE-
TRUCIo had a generous mind, and was sensible of
affectionate treatment. His master frequently
every day visited his sick room, and read and
prayed by his bed-side : his mistress with her own
hands administered his medicines, and took care
to supply him with the most proper nourishment.
His humility alone could equal his gratitude and
thankfulness on such occasions: and when, upon
124 refDECTIONS ON DEATH.
his expressing his great obligations, his mistress
once said, that “this, and much more than this,
was due for his faithful services.”—“And that
word, madam,” said the honest fellow, with tears
in his eyes, “ that word is a reward sufficient for
more than twenty times such services as mine.”
Thus died this useful worthy man: and, to do all
honour to him, his master buried him at his own
expense, with all the decency and propriety con-
ceivable : six neighbouring farmers, tenants to his
niaster, bore his pall; his master and mistress
walked as chief mourners; the rest of the family
attended in procession, and had mourning given
them on the occasion ; and so great was the esteem
in which this faithful servant was held, (who, I
should have observed, was the willing and joyful
hand by which his master and mistress distributed
their liberal charities,) that scarce a dry eye was
seen at his funeral : and his death and funeral, I
persuade myself, have done more to reform the
servants in that part of the world, than twenty lec-
tures to them could have achieved. “See how
PETRUCIo, though a servant, is honoured and re-
spected,” was the general cry; and the general
reason given on all hands was, “Because he was
faithful, honest, and industrious.”
And let servants, in conclusion, be told, that, if
they would obtain such favour here, and such re-
compense as PETRUcio doubtless hath obtained,
their only method is to go and do likewise; is to
imitate his example; is to make their master's in-
terests their own. The best motive upon which
they can do this, is to consider, that in so doing
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH, 12:5
they serve the Lord Christ, and may be assured
that, according to their fidelity, so shall they reap
hereafter. . For God is no respecter of persons.
*...* I subjoin. to this chapter the following ex-
cellent rules, which were sent by, an unknown
hand to the Christian's Magazine”; entirely agree-
ing with the gentleman who sent them, “That, if
they were hung up in all kitchens and servants
halls (printed on a large sheet) they would be ex-
tremely useful.”
To the Faithful, Honest, and Industrious.
I. : A good character is valuable to every one,
but especially to servants, for it is their bread;
and without it they cannot be admitted into a
creditable family: and happy it is, that the best
of characters is in every one's power to deserve.
II. Engage yourself cautiously, but stay long
in your place ; for long 'service shows worth, as
quitting a good place through: passion is a folly,
which is always repented of too late. -
III. Never undertake any place you are not
qualified for ; for pretending to do what you do
not understand, exposes yourself, and, what is
still worse, deceives them whom you serve.
IV. Preserve your fidelity ; for a faithful ser-
vant is a jewel, for whom no encouragement can
be too great. p r
V. Adhere to the truth, for falsehood is detest-
able: and he that tells one lie, must tell twenty
more to conceal it. -
* In January 1762, p. 36.
126 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
*
VI. Be strictly honest; for it is shameful to be
thought unworthy of trust.
VII. Be modest in your behaviour; it becomes
your station, and is pleasing to your superiors.
VIII. Avoid pert answers; for civil language
is cheap, and impertinent provoking.
IX. Be clean in your business; for slovens and
sluts are disrespectful servants.
X, Never tell the affairs of the family you be-
long to; for that is a sort of treachery, and
often makes mischief; but keep their secrets, and
have none of your own.
XI. Live friendly with your fellow-servants;
for the contrary destroys the peace of the house.
XII. Above all things avoid drunkeuness; for it
is an inlet to vice, the ruin of your character, and
the destruction of your constitution.
XIII. Prefer a peaceable life with moderate
gains, to great advantages with irregularity.
XIV. Save your money, for that will be a friend
to you in old age : be not expensive in dress, nor
marry too soon. -
XV. Be careful of your master's property; for
wastefulness is a sin. -
XVI. Never swear; for that is a sin without
excuse, as there is no pleasure in it.
XVII. Be always ready to assist a fellow-ser-
vant: for goodnature gains the love of every one.
XVIII. Never stay when sent on a message;
for waiting long is painful to a master, and quick
return shows diligence.
XIX. Rise early; for it is difficult to recover
lost time. -
XX. The servant that often changes his place
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 127
works only to be poor: for the rolling stone
gathers no moss.
XXI. Be not fond of increasing your acquaint-
ance; for visiting leads you out of your business,
robs your master of your time, and puts you to an
expense you cannot afford; and, above all things,
take caré with whom you are acquainted, for per-
sons are generally the better or the worse for the
company they keep.
XXII. When out of place be cautious where
you lodge; for living in a disreputable house puts
you upon a footing with those that keep it, how-
ever innocent you are yourself.
XXIII. Never go out on your own business
without the knowledge of the family, lest in your
absence you should be wanted; for leave is light;
and returning punctually at the time you promise,
shows obedience, and is a proof of sobriety.
XXIV. If you are dissatisfied in your place,
mention your objections modestly to your master
or mistress, and give a fair warning, and do not
neglect your business, or behave ill, in order to
provoke them to turn you away: for this will be a
blemish in your character, which you must always
have from the place you served.
1.28 REFLECTio NS on DEAT II,
CHAP. xviii.
Faith builds a bridge across the gulph of death,
To break the shock, blind Nature cannot shun!
And lands thought smoothly on the farther shore.
Death’s terror is the mountain faith removes;
That mountain barrier between man and peace.
'Tis faith disarms destruction; and absolves
Froin every clamorous charge the guiltless tomb.
Yont?!g.
-
-
WHILE wrapt in the silence of the night, I take
my solitary and contemplative walk in the church-
yard, with what a feeling concern do I reflect on .
the living world around me! How striking the
contrast; Here rest in quiet and peace the well
migh forgotten remains of those who once filled
up busy spheres on the earth! All those distinc-
tions which they so anxiously courted, are now
for ever done away; all those animosities which
they so warmly agitated, are now for ever hushed
and forgotten; and all those complainings and sighs
which they so mournfully uttered, are silenced for
ever, and heard no more—Yet on the great thea-
tre of the world the same parts are still acting;
the same ardour for place and pre-eminence; the
same propensity to malice and envy; the same
repinings and lamentations are found:—as if ge-
nerations preceding read no lessons of instruction;
as if men utterly forgot that their hour appointed
was hastily advancing. .."
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 129
“Oh that they were wise, that they understood
these things, that they would consider their latter
end " Bénevolent wish; for nothing so powerful-
ly, so strongly teaches as a consideration of that
latter end—which is of general concern, for every
son of Adam is equally interested | Can we reflect
upon the day of dissolution approaching, when
every sublunary hope shall cease, and every worldly
project vanish as the shadow; can we survey the
solemn mansions of the dead, where the mingling
dust bespeaks the folly of all earthly pre-eminence
and honour; — and yet pursue, with unremitted
chase, the fleeting vanities of life; and yet indulge,
with unrelenting hearts, the burning passions,
which torture human peace, and murder man's
best felicity 2–Nay, and can it be possible that
we should look beyond the grave, and recollect
that an existence everlasting awaits us, and not
use every wise, every rational method to secure
to our souls the comforts of that existence, when
time hath closed upon us, and we have bid an
etermal adieu to all things here below?
Thrice awful meditation! May its powerful
instruction deeply impress my soul!—Nothing
teaches like Death. It is, indeed, the wages of
sin, and a fearful evil, we must needs allow it!
but then it is a persuasive monitor, and superior
to all things, convinces us of, and leads us to com-
bat and conquer, sin
The sting of Death is sin From thence we
may plainly discover what is the grand remedy
against its fear and its power to harm. Destroy
sin, and Death becomes no longer formidable; he
cannot hurt or annoy, for his sting is taken away.
I
130 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
But how shall we achieve this desirable enterprize,
how destroy the sting of death? It is done, already
done for us! “Thanks be to God, who giveth us
the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
Here then, thou trembling mortal, who art every
day distressing thy feeble soul with the fear of
approaching death — here behold the first and
greatest consolation under it: “‘Faith in Jesus
Christ, who through death destroyed him who had
the power of death;” and will deliver, thee from
that fear of death, which all thy lifetime math kept
thee in bondage! Look to that triumphant Con-
queror, who died on the cross, and lay in the
grave, to sanctify it for us: see in his precious
redemption a full pardon for all thy offences; and,
with the eye of faith steadily fixed upon him, thou
also shalt triumph over an enemy, already van-
quished. -
This is the grand remedy against, and chief
consolation under, the fear of death, “the know-
ledge and love of Jesus Christ;” which, properly
understood, comprehends every other consolation.
But that we may not be misunderstood, let us, as
a second consolation and remedy, recommend to
the soul, desirous of victory over this fearful foe,
“an earnest care to live a life of obedience
through that faith in Christ,” which indeed with-
out such obedience will be found weak to support
the firm structure of a joyful hope. Live as you
would wish to have lived when your anxious head
is laid upon the dying pillow; live as the gospel of
that Saviour directs through whom alone you ex-
pect salvation; live as you are assured he will
approve: the prospect of death will then animate
REFLECTIONS ON DEATHI, 131
your soul with fortitude and delight; you will
wish to be dissolved and to be with Christ!
There again we enjoy another consolation, ex-
quisite and unspeakable, under the apprehension -
of death: “We shall be with Christ!” We shall
live with him, and be like him! Like in purity
and holiness, and like him in happiness too ! Trans-
porting thought ! Can Death be esteemed an evil?
—nay, rather must we not welcome that as our
greatest good, which conveys us from a world;
like the present, to a kingdom, where joy and rest,
and peace, shall eternally surround us!—But of
this we shall speak more hereafter.
Another reflection which ought to abate our
fears, and reconcile us to death, is “ the absolute
certainty, and unavoidable necessity of it.” Could
our fears at all prevail to prevent the stroke, or
even to respite it, they might well be allowed,
and we should have some plausible reason to urge
in their support. But, alas! the stroke is inevita-
ble. Surely then it is our wisdom to familiarize
ourselves to an event which must come shortly;
and which, to render us still more watchful, may
come instantly. Claim ye then mo more the cha-
racter of rational, ye simple ones of the earth,
who start at the thoughts of death, and use every
method which ingenious thought can devise, to
dissipate and drive it from you.-Lo, the moment
comes, and utterly unprepared, ye must stand be-
fore your God.—Conquer yourselves; and remem-
bering that death will come when it will come,
review it in all its circumstances, and learn, through
Christ, to gain a happy victory over this dreadfu
leveller of all human distinctions. -
132 - REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
And reflect, of what will Death deprive you?
Not of being—which to us must certainly be of
all things most dear! No; the soul cannot cease
to be; it only changes its circumstances and
state |
“But it separates those old and familiar friends
the body and the soul!”—And let us bless God for
the separation. For who can regret a separation
from that flesh, which is the seat of sin and of
diseases, and which, from both, hath so frequently
afflicted us with the most piercing distress No;
farewell to thee body (we will say with joy) since
thereby we bid an eternal farewell to sickness and
sin
“But Death separates us from this world!”
True; and it introduces to one, unlike the present,
where sorrows and losses, disappointments and
trials, shall never more be known.—“But it sepa-
rates us from our friends !”—Afflicting separation 1
The tender heart must bleed, and the affectionate
eye cannot fail to drop a tear! Yet look forward
and behold—see in the joyful realms to which thy
spirit is soaring—friends, immortal and unaltera-
ble friends, awaiting thy glad arrival!—and per-
haps many already, many near to thy heart, have
gone before thee, and will give thee an enraptur-
ing welcome. Nay, yet a little while, and thou
shall receive to thy rejoicing embraces those whom
thou hast left weeping in the vale of sorrow!
Armed with these consolations, who shall fear
the stroke of Death? Who but must rejoice to
relinquish this scene of trial and trouble, and to
commit their souls into the arms of a Redeemer,
who died to save his people from their sins; of a
Tº EFLECTIONS ON IDEATH. 133
Father, whose unwearied care is over all his works,
and whose watchful providence extends to the
minutest concerns of his creatures? In that cheer-
ing truth the soul must find comfort, as under
every trial and affliction, so especially when the
moment of death approaches; which a child, sub-
missive to the better will of such a father, will re-
ceive with thankfulness and consummate resigna-
tion?
As therefore death must come, and after death,
judgment, and a state of bliss or misery unaltera-
ble, let us, like the wise virgins, keep our lamps
always ready trimmed and burning, that we may
never be found unprepared, and that we may still
be excited to a stricter watchfulness—let us con-
template those great things that are to come here-
after, let us now suppose ourselves as summoned
to appear before the judgment-seat of God, and as
about to receive that eternal reward of our deeds
—heaven or hell;-affecting thought! Holy Father
—we tremble and adore | Blessed Jesus, be our
advocate and intercessor'
134 - REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
*
CHAP. XIX.
gºmºmºmº
Shall man alone, whose fate, whose final fate
Hangs on that hour, exclude it from his thought?
I think of nothing else: I see, I feel it!
All nature, like an earthquake, trembling round;
All deities, like summer swarms, on wing;
All basking in the full meridian blaze!
I see the Judge enthron’d the flaming guard I
The volume open'd I open'd every heart;
A sun-beam pointing out each secret thought!
No patron l intercessor none! now past
The Sweet, the clement, mediatorial, hourſ
Tor guilt no plea; to pain no pause, no bound !
Inexorable all! and all extreme. -
Might Thoughts, Night 9.
DID our existence end with this life, how little to
be dreaded, yea, in many cases, how much to be
desired were death! But our existence doth mot
end with this life: eternity is before us: and it is
etermity which makes death of so much conse-
quence. How awful, how alarming is that repre-
sentation which the sacred scriptures give us of
the solemn day approaching, which is to determine
our fate for this etermity! Let us contemplate the
stupendous scene;—for who can dwell upon such
interesting reflections without serious thoughts,
and heaven-directed resolutions? The steady be-
lief of a future judgment is sufficient to make all
men zealous in duty.
The doctrine of a future judgment is peculiar to
R E1’E.ECTIONS ON D FATPI. 135
the Christian Revelation. Human reason could
not discover it; for human reason could not dis-
cover how the God of all the earth would be
pleased to deal with his creatures, and with that
world which he hath formed for them.—But in
much mercy, to animate and awaken our best de-
sires, the eternal Lord of all hath declared, that
an endless and unalterable state is reserved for us,
happy or miserable, as we comply with, or refuse
the terms of his covenant:—and that upon a day
appointed, he will pass the righteous sentence upon
all; when those who have done good shall go into
life-everlasting, and those who have done evil into
everlasting fire! .
Alarming, important truth ! What thinking crea-
ture can be indifferent to it! Picture the awful
scene to your view: imagine yourself now called
to the bar of inviolable justice! there, enthroned
in glory unutterable, sits the sovereign Judge, the
gracious Redeemer; thousand thousands minister-
ing unto him, and ten thousand times ten thou-
sand standing before him! See that earth, once
the seat of all your cares and fears, now wrapped
in universal flame: hark! the heavens are passing
away with insufferable noise; the sum is extin-
guished; the stars have started from their spheres,
and all this system of created things is hastening
into utter destruction! the trump, the awakening
trump hath sounded, and all the dead, arising from
their sepulchres, are summoned to appear before
the impartial Judge! -
..Oh, terrible distress! where, where shall we fly,
if conscience condemns us, and we dare not ap-
proach that impartial Judge! In vain shall we call
*
136 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH,
upon rocks to hide, or mountains to cover us!
rocks and mountains are themselves dissolving;
they can give neither shelter for our heads, nor
support for our feet! In vain shall we solicit our
friends to intercede;—our friends will be then too
deeply concerned themselves to regard the cause
of others; and what, all—what could patrons or
friends avail, when “the clement, the mediatorial
hour,” is now absolutely passed and gone;—and we
have not made him our intercessor, who would
have been as mighty to save and reward, as he
now is to punish and avenge! What too will dis-
sembling profit us; or how can we expect to de-
ceive him whose eyes are as a flame of fire, who
pierces into the heart's inmost recess! who will
lay open before us the whole volume of our lives,
and place in the universal view all those thoughts,
and words, and deeds of darkness, which in vain
we secreted from the eyes of our fellow creatures
on earth; for who can escape the eyes of Omnis-
cience 2
Xan tongue express, can heart conceive, the
anguish which will rend Sour souls, when the dire
sentence of condemnation shall pass—a sentence
from his lips which breathed only mercy and love
to the just; and which we despised, when calling
us upon earth unto him, with the most pathetic
invitations:– “Come unto me, and I will give
you rest!” Aggravating circumstance! We have
abused this love. We might have been blessed,
eternally blessed l—But now the fatal moment is
arrived; “Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting fire,
prepared for the devil and his angels—is the dread-
ful malediction
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 137
No, my soul, through this Redeemer's never-
changing love, we will hope, confidently hope, to
avoid the horrors of this extreme distress! And,
oh, that every soul of man, would, with such com-
posed and solemn thought, meditate upon it, that
joyful songs of thankfulness only might on that
day be heard; that with humble trust we might
approach the Judge's throne, and find in him,
not the Almighty Avenger—but the Father, the
Saviour, the Friend!
What can equal the goodness of our God! or
what could we desire more gracious at his hands,
than that he should seat upon the tribunal of jus-
tice that Son, the only-begotten and beloved Son,
who once came to our earth, not to judge, but to
be judged; who died for those sinners on whom
he is now willing to confer an eternity of bliss
Happy he, who, convinced of this adorable
grace, looks continually and stedfastly with the
eye of Faith, to that great day when the Saviour
shall come in the clouds ! Then shall his fears be
for ever removed, and all his anxious doubts shall
vanish as the smoke; them, with an accent of me-
lodious sweetness, with a look full of love and joy
ineffable, the great Redeemer shall welcome him,
together with all those who have been faithful
unto death, shall welcome them and Say, “Come,
ye blessed of my Father, receive the kingdom pre-
pared for you from the beginning of the world !”
—Nay, he shall vouchsafe to enumerate those ge-
neral deeds of Christian benevolence, which such
souls have performed through their faith in him:
and not only enumerate, but acknowledge them,
as if they had been conferred upon himself; “ In-
138 REFLECTIONS ON IDEATH.
asmuch as ye did it unto the least of these my
brethren, ye did it unto me!”
How forcible, how affectionate a motive to ns
mow in the day of pilgrimage, to be diligent, con-
tinually and unwearedly diligent in all such acts
and offices of love: Christ will accept them; our
redeemer, our judge, our hope, and our all, will
accept our tender charities to his members, and
our fellow-creatures; will accept our works of
faith and labours of love, as if we had been happy
enough to have had an opportunity of performing
them, even to his own person 1 and, publishing the
grateful tidings to all around, he will allow us to
partake of his triumph, and to enter, amid his
returning saints and angels, those regions of glory
and peace, where we shall live with him, and enjoy
everlasting happiness,
But we will refer to our next chapter what we
have to add respecting the peculiar blessedness of
that state, and the exquisite misery reserved for
those “who know not God, and who obey not
the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ; who will be
punished with everlasting destruction, from the
presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his
power, when he shall be revealed from heaven
with his mighty angels, in flaming fire, taking ven-
geance; and when he shall come to be glorified in
his saints, and to be admired in all them who be-
lieve, in that day”.” A passage of scripture which
cannot fail greatly to influence those who give it
that attention which its importance deserves: for
who can think of everlasting destruction, from the
+ 2 Tim. i. 7.
R. EFLECTIONS ON 1) EATH. 139.
presence of the Lord, and the glory of his power,
without an anxious desire to avoid that destruc-
tion, the very terror of which chills the heart!
Prostrate, my contrite heart I rend:
My God, my Father, and my Friend I
Do not forsake me in my end I
Lord Roscºn072.
CHAP. XX.
And these shall go away into everlasting punishment, but the
righteous into life eternal.— Matt. xxv. 26.
ETERNAL punishment! Eternal life! What awful
words ! What solemn sanctions ! Who can read
them and be unconcerned? Who can think of them,
and be indifferent to the momentous truths they
impart?—Were our existence to terminate with
the present passing scene, indulgence might be
laudable, and every self gratification right. “Let
us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die; let us
crown ourselves with rose-buds; let mone of us go
without his part of our voluptuousness;” would
then be the language of reason and truth—But
Eternity before us—consummately blessed, or con-
summately wretched;—and death every moment
shaking his dart triumphantly over us, preparing
to strike once and strike no more;— can it be
possible that any rational being should remain un-
140 REFſ, ECTIONS ON DEATHI,
solicitous, and neglect to prepare for the impor-
tant realities of eternity, while chasing with unre-
mitted ardour, the fugitive vanities of time!
Yet, alas ! many beings, proud of their faculties,
and boasting their superior reason—are found, are
daily found, immersed in sin, and rivetted to the
world ! heedless of God, of themselves, and im-
mortality; uninfluenced by every motive of grati-
tude, unmoved by every argument of interest to
obey the voice of Religion and Truth, and to
secure the eternal salvation of their souls Oh that
they would indulge one serious reflection; that
they would condescend awhile to meditate, with
us, on the miserable woe reserved for those who
forget their God—on the inexpressible comforts
which they shall reap in joy who love and serve
him
Think then, my fellow-creatures, oh, think of
that awful day of which we spoke in the preceding
-chapter, and imagine, if you can, the horror which
must seize the souls of those who hear the dread-
ful sentence, “Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting
fire!”—driven from the presence of God, which is
itself complete and perfect joy; driven from the
habitations of the blessed, where songs of gladness
are heard continually; driven from the society
of those best loved friends, whose kind remon-
strances they would not hear on earth, and now—
ah! fatal separation—now must never, never more
hear or behold! and driven thence—aggravating
circumstance I even by the condemnation of that
Lord of Love, who, desirous to bless and to save,
freely shed even his own blood, and as freely would
have given life, had they but asked it! *
REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 141
And were not this, even only this expulsion from
God, from Christ, from Heaven—of itself a hell
sufficient! Yet what horrors remain behind? They
shall be driven into the lake which burns with fire
and brimstone, whose actual and insufferable tor-
tures shall aggravate the mind's inward horror.—
Oh, who can dwell with everlasting burnings yet
where, where shall one drop of water be found to
cool the parchéd tongues P who can dwell where
devils and condemned souls shall mix their mutual
and insulting taunts and upbraidings! where there
shall be no society, but a society in common accu-
sations; and where, every gentler passion ex-
pelled, the tumultuous workings of despairing
minds shall miserably confuse and distract each
Other |
There too the passions which were indulged and
mortified on earth, shall become severe tormen-
tors, ever craving, yet never finding gratification;
ever consuming the anxious heart, themselves
never consumed ! There the worm of conscience
never dies; there the flame of self-condemnation
and burning guilt shall never be quenched
Where shall the soul find comfort? shall it be in
the companions of its earthly crimes, condemned
to the same place of woe 1 Alas, those companions
will then be found the sharpest thorns to goad the
guilty mind Fierce hate will seize the place of
former love, and they will curse each other in the
bitterness of their souls, as the mutual causes of
each other's undoing ! But, little consolation be-
ing found in accusing others, their upbraidings
will speedily recur upon themselves: then only
will be heard—(ah me! the very thought is anguish)
142 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
only heard dire gnashing of the teeth, weeping and
wailing, execrations and sorrow ! Yet neither is
this all: for though peace and rest enter not there;
though one gleam of joy shall never pierce through
the darkness of their distress; yet all this, and
more, might be borne well, very well—did hope,
fair comforter, who comes to all, did she but ever
come, and cheer the wretched sufferers with the
sweet alleviation, that, years on years passed by ;
that ages upon ages gone; a period will be put to
this consummate misery, and the prisoners of hell
be set free But this hope is withdrawn *! -
Oh Eternity, Eternity, how fearful is the
thought ! And wilt thou, oh man, for the momen-
tary delusions of sin, plunge into this gulph of
punishment unutterable, unending ! $
At least, my soul, let the prospect be profitable
to thyself; and, struck abundantly with its horrors
—infinitely more alarming than thou canst imagine
or paint—turn thy view, and let us contemplate
the more pleasing scene, the life eternal, the per-
* In Milton's Paradise Lost, we find the following tremen-
dous description:-
He (Satan) views
The dismal situation waste and wild :
A dungeon horrible on all sides round
As one great ſurnace flam'd : yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible
Serv'd only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades; where peace
And rest can never dwell: hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsum’d! .
- - & B. i. v. 60, &c.
REFLECTIONs on DEATH. 143
fect pleasures which the dear Redeemer hath in
store for those, who, by patient continuance in
well-doing, seek for honour and for immortality
But if an inspired Apostle, who was favoured
with the rapturous prospect, declares, that it hath
not even entered into the heart of man to conceive
the greatness and excellency of the good things .
reserved for the righteous ; how shall we attempt
to spell them out, dark habitants in cottages of
clay ? May it not suffice to know, that the happi-
mess we expect will be on all parts complete;
happiness, without the least mixture or alloy of
discontent or dissatisfaction | Pleasing truth; yet
not entirely sufficient to gratify our thirsty and in-
quisitive souls. In condescension to our weak-
ness, or perhaps I might say, our strength (for
earnest desires after the knowledge of immortality
doubtless bespeak the soul immortal)—however,
in great goodness certainly, the Lord of Gur life
has vouchsafed to us some glimpses of that future
felicity, which may render us desirous enough to
know more, which may animate every endeavour
toward the possession of so exalted a good |
We feel evil so sensibly, that perhaps we can
form a better idea of heaven from its negative than
its positive blessings. Who among us is a stranger
to sickness, to sorrow and pain 2 Who among us
is a stranger to the comfort which would follow an
entire exemption from these evils?—Now, in
heaven, our bodies spiritualized, and our souls
made perfect, we shall never know pain of body,
or pain of mind: sorrow and crying shall never
have admission into those realms of joy.
But, happy as our state would be, freed from
144 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.
those cruel spoilers of our peace, yet, if death and
dissolution were certain, the eminence of our bliss
would only render the stroke doubly dreadful!
In heaven, then, to secure the perpetuity of our
delight, there shall be no more death : this mortal
shall put on immortality—and, free from pain and
from sorrow, we shall fear no end of the transport-
ing scene.
Positive blessings, numberless and unutterable,
shall attend these negative ones. God will not only
wipe away all tears from our eyes; will not only
invest us with eternal security in bliss ; will not
only remove every thing defiling and noxious from
those regions of joy; but he himself will dwell
among us, and be our God. He, the adorable
Father, with the Lamb of Love, and the Spirit of
Holiness, shall be the object of our contemplation.
He, the blessed and all-glorious Deity, whose pre-
sence is joy, and bliss, and heaven, shall be the
life, the light, the praise of the NEw JERUSALEM,
and all its divine inhabitants I Love shall reign
triumphant in every heart : every pure and celes-
tial desire shall be gratified to the full: every holy
and devout affection shall find its adequate supply;
and one uninterrupted scene of thankfulness,
serenity, and comfort, shall smile cternally, and
eternally be found : where the harps of ten thou-
sand times ten thousand shall ceaselessly hymn the
Father of Mercies, and the Lamb who sitteth on
the throne for ever and ever!
Come, then, Lord Jesus ! come and put a speedy
period to this miserable world of confusion, and
sin! Hasten, blessed Lord, hasten thy kingdom.;
whence every evil shall be wholly removed, and
.REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 145
where all good shall be found which can perfect
the bliss of men and of angels Faint and dark,
indeed, are our earth-bound conceptions of this
consummate glory, and of that which thou hast
purchased for thy servants—purchased at a price
which may justify our most elevated hopes, even
at the price of thy own loved life, and ever pre-
cious blood | Yet, through the riches of thy won-
derous grace, the humble Christian, who by faith
now enters into rest, hath some sweet foretaste,
some pleasing anticipation of the joys to come.
Love, grateful love, looking to thee, feels a trans-
port which enraptures the soul, fills it with sweet
complacence toward all its fellow-creatures, and
makes the afflictions of this transitory world light
and easy to be borne—may, which makes death it-
self no longer formidable, but devoutly to be
wished, as the happy conveyance of an imprisoned
spirit to its God and its hope; to its freedom and
perfection; to its dear departed friends, and all
the joys of blissful immortality
. . Give me then, oh give me LovE, thou bountiful
bestower of every good gift so shall I experience
the beginning of heaven in my heart, and die with
full persuasion that the fair bud will burst into a
perfect blossom—that my joys, begun in grace,
will be consummated in glory everlasting
For thee, too, my READER, let me offer up this
fervent prayer: “Oh mayest thou feel and be
made perfect in the love of Christ!” so will thy
life be blessed below ; so will thy death be com-
fortable: so wilt thou be made partaker of thy
Saviour's kingdom
Serious and important have been the subjects
- }{
146 REFLECTIONS ON 1) EATH,
which have employed our mutual meditations:
may they be impressed no less strongly on thy
heart than on my own : may they awaken thee, if
careless, to a life of love : may they confirm thee
in that life, if happily thou art already devoted to
it! This, this be sure is the only road to peace ;
this, this be sure is the only wisdom of man
Earnestly wishing thee much success in thy
christian course, I bid thee farewell, and exhort
thee to keep thine eye stedfast on the Author and
Finisher of thy Salvation all beside will fail and
forsake thee! But a little while, and as well the
hand which hath written, as the eye which reads
these lines, shall become cold and inactive, and
moulder in the dust: speedily, oh! my friend, our
days will be completed, and we must bid adieu to
all things below ! Then let us live like men con-
scious of this truth—let us live like those who
know they must die, who know that they must
live for ever.—So shall we secure our own salva-
tion ; and, however strangers to each other here,
shall meet and rejoice together in that kingdom,
where mutability shall be known no more.
THE EN ID,
I N D E X.
-º-
- Page
ADDRESS to mortals....................... . . . . . . . . . . 19
Affection, parental, its influence ............... , 29
often abused ....... • e º e º e º a tº e º e º e - e. e. e. e. e. e. e. 30
AGRICOLA, a wealthy farmer, his manner of
life, and sudden end...................... tº e º 'º $ tº $ tº 71
ALTAMont, the noble, his last hours .......... 90
AVARO, character of ....... .......... tº º e º e º 'º e º e º e is 30
BEAUForT, cardinal, his melancholy end..... 102
— anecdotes respecting him ........ . 111
BUBULo, an ungrateful worldling, his death ... 66
Burial-service, fine prayer from ................ ... 21
Consolations against the fear of death .......... 189
Countess of , her amiable character ....... 97
Christ’s merits the soul's grand dependence... 28
Church, parish, the duty of attending it..... 57, 81
Churchyard, reflections in .................... ... .. 8
Duke of ****, his elogy............. ... . . . . . . . . . . . .100
Education, parents mistakes in it.…. tº e º e de & tº 46
*- rules for it º e º 'º e º 'º & © tº * * * * * * * * * * * * • * * * * * * * * 50
EGENO, his wretched case ........................ 107
INDEX,
Page
PULCHERIA, an amiable and excellent young g
lady, her life and death................ . . . . . . . . . . 48
—, her parents’ manner of educat-
ing her .............. $ tº e º e s e º e º e º e ................... 50
Punishment, future described ....... tº tº e º 'º $ tº e º e º E tº tº 140
Tèeader, farewell to ............. e e e'e e a e º e s = < * * * * * * * * * 145
Roch ESTER, earl of, his penitence .............. 105
Rules for educating children ...................... 5()
Sabbath...........................'s e e ee e e s e s - e. e. e. e. e. e s • * * * 57 .
SECURUS ........................ tº e º 'º tº e º e e te e º e º 'º e º 'º tº tº $ tº º 106
Servants, PULCHERIA’s amiable motions with
respect to ......... tº e º a tº ‘tº º e” e” e º º e º 'º a tº e º º e º e º a e e º e º & tº e 56
——, a good one described .................. 120
-, useful rules for .......................... 125
Sea, female, mistakes in their education........ 47
SoPHRON, a wise old man, his character....... , 85
Sudden death, reflections upon it................. 69
URANIUS, his prayer, and death.................. 7 O
Widowhood, consolations for that state.......... 34
THOUGHTS IN PRISON;
IN FIVE PARTs,
VIZ.
THE IMPRISONMENT, THE RETROSPECT, PUBLIc
PUNISHMENT, THE TRIAL, FUTURITY.
BY
WILLIAM DODD, LL.D
To WHICH ARE ADDED,
HIS LAST PRAYER,
THE
GIGnuitt'g 3bbregg to big 39njappu Brett, ren;
AND OTHER
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF THE Author.
-º-
These evils I deserve, and more;
Acknowledge them from God inflicted on me
Justly; yet despair not of his final pardon,
Whose ear is ever open, and his eye,
Gracious to re-admit the Suppliant.—MILTON.
}}rinted at tije (Lijígímicſ; pregg,
BY C. W. HITTING FIAM,
so I.D BY R. JENNINGS, POULTRY; T. TEGG, CHEAPSIDE,
LONDON; AND J. SUTHERLAND, EDINBURGH.
1818.
ADWERTISEMENT.
-º-,
The Work now offered to the Public, was the
last performance of one who often afforded
amusement and instruction; who possessed
the talents of pleasing in a high degree;
whose labours were devoted to advance the
interest of Religion and Morality; and who,
during the greater part of his life, was es-
teemed, beloved and respected by all to whom
he was known. Unbappily for himself and
his connections, the dictates of prudence were
unattended to amidst the fashionable dissipa-
tion of the times. With many advantages,
both natural and acquired, and with the most
flattering prospects before him, he, by an act
of folly, to give it no worse a name, plunged
himself from a situation, in which he had
every happiness to expect, into a state, which,
to contemplate, must fill the mind with as-
tonishment and horror. It was in some of
the most dreadful moments of his life, when
the exercise of every faculty might be pre-
sumed to be suspended, that the present work
was composed: a work which will be ever
iv ADVERTISEMENT.
read with wonder, as exhibiting an extraor-
dinary exertion of the mental powers in very
unpropitious circumstances, and affording, at
the same time, a lesson worthy, the most at-
tentive consideration, of every one into whose
hands it may chance to fall. As the curiosity
of the world will naturally follow the person
whose solitude and confinement produced the
instruction to be derived from this perform-
arice, a short Account of the Author is added.
To enlarge on the merit of this Poem will be
unnecessary. The feelings of every reader
will estimate and proportionate its value.
That it contains an awful admonition to, the
gay and dissipated, will be readily acknow-
ledged by every reflecting mind, especially
when it is considered as the bitter fruit of
those fashionable indulgencies which brought
disgrace and death upon its unhappy author,
in spite of learning and genius, accomplish-
ments the most captivating, and services the
most important to-mankind. -
AN
ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR.
WILLIAM DoDD was the eldest son * of a clergyman
of the same name, who held the vicarage of Bourne, in
the county of Lincoln, where he died the 8th day of
August 1756, at the age of 54 years. His wife depart-
ed this life on the 21st of the preceding May. Their
son was born at Bourne on the 29th day of May, 1729,
and, after finishing his school education, was admitted
a Sizar of Clare-Hall, Cambridge, in the year 1745,
under the tuition of Mr. John Courtail, since Arcli-
deacon of Lewis. At the university he acquired the
notice of his superiors by a close application to his
studies; and in the year 1749-50, took his first degree
of Bachelor of Arts with considerable reputation, his
name being in the list of wranglers on that occasion.
It was not, however, only in his academical pursuits
that he was emulous of distinction. Having a pleasing
form, a genteel address, and a lively imagination, he
was equally celebrated for accomplishments which sel-
dom accompany a life of learned retirement. In par-
ticular, he was fond of the elegancies of dress, and
became, as he ludicrously expressed it, a zealous yotary:
of the God of Dancing, to whose service he dedicated
much of that time and attention which he could borrow
from his more important avocations. t
The talents which he possessed he very early dis-
played to the public: and by the time he had attained
* He speaks of himself as descended from Sir Thomas
Overbury. *
3.
t
vi ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR.
the age of eighteen years, prompted by the desire of
fame, and perhaps to increase his income, commenced
author; in which character he began to obtain soune
degree of reputation.—At this period of his life, young,
thoughtless, volatile, and unexperienced, he precipi-
tately quitted the university, and relying entirely on his
pen, removed to the metropolis, where he entered
largely into the gaieties of the town, was a constant
frequenter of all places of public diversion, and fol-
lowed every species of amusement with the most dan-
gerous avidity. In this course, however, he did not
continue long. To the surprise of his friends, who
least suspected him of taking such a step, without ſor-
tune, with few friends, and destitute of all means of
supporting a family, he hastily united himself, on the
15th of April, 1751, in marriage with Miss Mary Perkins,
daughter of one of the domestics of Sir John Dolben,
a young lady then residing in Frith-street, Soho, who,
though largely endowed with personal attractions, was
certainly deficient in those of birth and fortune. To a
person circumstanced as Mr. Dodd then was, no mea-
sure could be more imprudent, or apparently more
ruinous and destructive of his future prospects in life.
He did not, however, seem to view it in that light,
but, with a degree of thoughtlessness natural to him,
immediately took and furnished a house in Wardour-
street. Thus dancing on the brink of a precipice, and
careless of to-morrow, his friends began to be alarmed
at his situation. His father came to town in great
distress upon the occasion: and by parental injunction
he quitted his house before winter. By the same ad-
wice he probably was induced to adopt a new plan for
his future subsistence. On the 19th of October, in that
year, he was ordained a Deacon by the Bishop of Ely,
at Caius College, Cambridge; and with more prudence
than he had ever shown before, devoted himself, with
great assiduity to the study and duties of his profession.
In these pursuits he appeared so sincere, that he even
renounced all attention to his favourite objects, Polite
Létters. At the end of his Preſace to the Beauties of
ACCOUNT OF TEIE AUTHOR. vii
Shakspeare, published in this year, he says, “ For my
“ own part, better and more important things hence-
“ forth demand my attention, and I here with no small
pleasure take leave of Shakspeare and the Critics.
As this work was begun and finished before I entered
upon the sacred function, in which I am now happily
employed, let me trust this juvenile performance
will prove no objection, since graver, and some very
eminent members of the church, have thought it no
“ improper employ to comment, explain, and publish
‘ the works of their own country poets.” x
The first service in which he was engaged as a cler-
gyman, was to assist the Reverend Mr. Wyatt, vicar of
West Ham, as his curate : thither he removed, and
there he spent the happiest and more honourable mo-
ments of his life. His behaviour was proper, decent,
and exemplary. It acquired him the respect, and se-
cured him the favour of his parishioners so far, that,
on the death of their lecturer, in 1752, he was chosen
to succeed him. . His abilities had at this time every
opportunity of being shown to advantage; and his
exertions were so properly directed, that he soon be-
came a favourite and popular preacher. Those who
remember him at this period, will bear testimony to
the indefatigable zeal which he exerted in his ministry,
and the success which crowned his efforts. The follies
of his youth seemed entirely extinguished, his friends
viewed his conduct with the utmost satisfaction, and
the world promised itself an example to hold out for
the imitation of his brethren.
At this early season of his life he entertained favour-
able sentiments of the doctrine of Mr. Hutchinson ;
and was suspected to incline towards the opinions of
the Methodists. A more mature age, however, induced
him to renounce the one, and to disclaim the other. In
1752 he was appointed Lecturer of St. James, Garlick-
hill, which, two years afterwards, he exchanged for the
S3 in e º at St. Olave, Hart-street. About the same
time he was appointed to preach Lady Moyer’s Lec-
tures at St. Paul's; where, from The Visit of the Three
Angels to Abraham, and other similar passages from
g
&
&
&
g&&&&
&g&tg{
&
viii Account OF THE AUTHOR.
the Old Testament, he endeavoured to prove the coin-
monly received doctrine of the Trinity. On the estab-
lishment of the Magdalen House, 1758, he was amongst
the first and most active promoters of that charitable
institution, which received great advantage from his
zeal for its prosperity, and, even to the conclusion of
his life, continued to be materially benefited by his
labours.
From the time Mr. Dodd entered into the service of
the Church, he resided at West Ham, and made up
the deficiencies of his income by superintending the
.education of some young gentlemen who were placed
under his care. In 1759 he took his degree of Master
of Arts. In the year 1763, he was appointed Chaplain
in Ordinary to the King, and about the same time be-
came known to Dr. Squire, Bishop of St. David's, who
received him into his patronage, presented him to the
prebend of Brecon, and recommended him to the Earl
of Chesterfield, as a proper person to be intrusted with
the tuition of his successor in the title. The next year
saw him Chaplain to his Majesty. In 1766 he took the
degree of Doctor of Laws at Cambridge. He had
some expectations of succeeding to the Rectory of
West Ham; but having been twice disappointed, he
resigned his lectureships both there and in the city,
and quitted the place: “A place (says he to Lord
“ Chesterfield) ever dear ºf ever regretted by me,
“ the loss of which, truly affecting to my mind (for
“ there I was useful, and there I trust 1 was loved),
“ nothing but your Lordship's friendship and connec-
“tion should have counterbalanced *.”—From a pas-
sage in his Thoughts in Prison, it may be inferred that
he was compelled to quit this his favourite residence;
a circumstance which he pathetically laments, and pro-
bably with great reason, as the first step to that change
in his situation, which led him insensibly to his last
fatal catastrophe.
On his leaving West Ham, he removed to a house in
* See Dedication to a Sermon, entitled “ Popery incon-
sistent with the Natural Rights of Men -in general, and
Englishmen in particular.
&
ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR. ix
Southampton-row, and at the same time launched out
into scenes of expense, which his income, by this time
not a small one, was unequal to support. He provided
himself with a country house at Ealing, and exchanged
his chariot for a coach, in order to accommodate his
pupils, who, besides his noble charge, were in general
persons of family and fortune. About the same time it
was his misfortune to obtain a prize of 1000l. in the
state-lottery. Elated with this success, he engaged
with a builder in a plan to erect a chapel near the
palace of the Queen, from whom it took its name. He
entered also into a like partnership at Charlotte Cha-
pel, Bloomsbury; and both these schemes were for
some time very beneficial to him, though much inferior
to his then expensive habits of living. His expecta-
tions from the former of these undertakings were ex-
tremely sanguine. It is reported, that in fitting up the
chapel near the palace, he ſlattered himself with the
hopes of having some young royal auditors; and in
that expectation assigned a particular, pew or gallery
for the heir-apparent.—But in this, as in many other of
his views, he was disappointed.
In the year 1772 he obtained the rectory of Hock-
łiſfe, in Bedfordshire, the first cure of souls he ever
had. With this also he held the vicarage of Chal-
grove; and the two were soon after consolidated. An
'accident happened about this time, from which he nar-
rowly escaped with his life. Returning from his living,
he was stopped near Pancras by a highwayman, who
discharged a pistol into the carriage, which happily, as
it was then thought, only broke the glass. For this
fact the delinquent was tried, and on Dr. Dodd's evi-
dence convicted, and hanged. Early in the next year
Lord Chesterfield died, and was succeeded by, our
lºor's pupil, who appointed his preceptor his chap-
tl] 13.
At this period Dr. Dodd appears to have been in the
zenith of his popularity and reputation. Beloved and
, respected by all orders of people, he would have
reached, in all probability, the situation which was the
object of his wishes, had he possessed patience enough
X ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR,
to have waited for it, and prudence sufficient to keep
himself out of difficulties which might prove fatal to
his integrity. But the habits of dissipation and ex-
pense had acquired too much influence over him. He
had by their means involved himself in considerable
debts. To extricate himself from them he was tempted
to an act which entirely cut off every hope which he
could entertain of rising in his profession, and totally
ruined him in the opinion of the world. On the trans-
lation of Bishop Moss, in Feb. 1774, to the see of Bath
and Wells, the valuable rectory of St. George, Hano-
ver-square, fell to the disposal of the Crown, by virtue
of the King's prerogative. Whether from the sugges-
tion of his own mind, or ſrom the persuasion of some
friend, is uncertain; but on this occasion he took a
step, of all others the most wild and extravagant, and
least likely to be attended with success. He caused an
anonymous letter to be sent to Lady Apsley, offering
the sum of 3000l. if by her means he could be presented
to the living. The letter was immediately communi-
cated to the Chancellor, and, after being traced to the
sender, was laid before his Majesty. The insult offered
to so high an officer by the proposal, was followed by
instant punishment. Dr. Dodd's name was ordered to
be struck out of the list of chaplains. The press teemed
with satire and invective; he was abused and ridiculed
in the papers of the day; and, to crown the whole, the
transaction became a subject of entertainment in one
of Mr. Foote's pieces at the Haymarket.
As no explanation could justify so absurd a measure,
so no apology could palliate it. An evasive letter in
the newspapers, promising a justification at a future
day, was treated with universal contempt. Stung with
remorse, and feelingly alive to the disgrace he had
brought on himself, he hastily quitted the place where
neglect and insult attended him, and went to Geneva to
his pupil, who presented him to the living of Winge
in Buckinghamshire, which he held with Hockliffe by
virtue of a dispensation. Though encumbered with
debts, he might still have retrieved his circumstances,
iſ not his character, had he attended to the lessons of
A CCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR, xi
prudence; but his extravagance continued undiminish-
ed, and drove him to schemes which overwhelmed him
with additional inſauny. He descended so low as to
become the editor of a newspaper; and is said to have
attempted to disengage himself from his debts by a
commission of bankruptcy in which he ſailed. From
this period every step led to complete his ruin. In the
summer of 1776 he went to T’aris, and, with little re-
gard to decency, paraded it in a phaeton at the races
on the plains of Sablons, dressed in all the foppery of
the kingdom in which he then resided. He returned
to England about the beginning of winter, and couti-
nued to exercise the duties of his function, particularly
at the Magdalen Chapel, where he still was heard with
approbation, and where his last sermon was preached,
February 2, 1777, two days only bcſore he signed tho
º instrument which brought him to an ignominious
€1] [..
Pressed at length by creditors, whose importunities
he was unable longer to sooth, he fell upon an expe-
dient, from the consequences of which he could not
escape. He forged a bond from his pupil Lord Ches-
terfield, for the sum of 4,200l. and upon the credit of
it obtained a considerable sum of money. Detection
of the fraud almost immediately followed. He was
taken before a magistrate, and committed to prison.
At the sessions held at the Old Bailey, February 24,
his trial commenced ; and the commission of the offence
being clearly proved, he was pronounced guilty; but
the sentence was postponed until the sentiments of the
judges could be taken respecting the admissibility of
an evidence, whose testimony had been made use of to
convict him.
This agcident suspended his fate until the ensuing
session. In the mean time, the doubt which had been
suggested as to the validity of the evidence, was re-
moved, by the unanimous opinion of the judges, that
the testimony of the person objected to had been pro-
perly and legally received. This inſormation was com-
municated to the criminal on the 12th of May ; and on
the 26th of the same month he was brought to the bar
xii ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR,
to receive bis sentence. Being asked what he had to
allege why it should not be pronounced upon him, he
addressed the court in the following animated and pa-
thetic speech: in the composition of which he is said
to have been materially assisted by a very eminent
writer. g
“My Lord, -
“I now stand before you a dreadful example of
human infirinity. I entered upon public life with 'the
expectations common to young men whose education.
has been liberal, and whose abilities have been flatter-
ed; and, when I became a clergyman, considered my-
self as not impairing the dignity of the order, I was
not an idle, nor I hope an useless minister. I taught
the truths of Christianity with the zeal of conviction
and the authority of inuocence. My labours were ap-
proved, my pulpit became popular; and I have reason .
to believe, that of those who heard me, some have been
preserved from sin, and some have been reclaimed.
Condescend, my Lord, to think, if these considerations
aggravate my crime, how much they must embitter my
punishment! -
“Being distinguished and elated by the confidence
of mankind, I had too much confidence in myself; and
thinking my integrity what others thought it, estab-
lished in sincerity, and fortified by religion, I did not
consider the danger of vanity, nor suspect the deceit–
fulness of my own heart. The day of conflict came, in
which temptations surprised and overwhelmed me. I
committed the crime, which I entreat your Lordship to
- believe that my conscience hourly represents to me in
its full bulk of mischief and malignity. Many have
been overpowered by temptation, who are now among
the penitent in heaven. .
“To an act now waiting the decision of vindicative
justice, I will not presume to oppose the counterbalance
of almost thirty years (a great part of the life of man)
passed in exciting and exercising charity; in relieving
such distresses as I now feel, in administering those
consolations which I now want. I will not otherwise
ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR, xiii
extenuate my offence, than by declaring, what many cir-
cumstances make probable, that I did not intend to be
finally fraudulent. Nor will it become me to apportion.
my punishment, by alleging that my sufferings have
been not much less than my guilt. I have fallen from
reputation, which ought to have made me cautious ;
and from a fortune, which ought to have given me
content: I am sunk at once into poverty and scorn;
my name and my crime fill the ballads in the street,
the sport of the thoughtless, and the triumph of the
wicked. - *
“ It may seem strange, remembering what I have
lately been, that I should still wish to continue what I
am:—but contempt of death, how speciously soever it
might mingle with Heathen virtues, has nothing suit-
able to Christian penitence. Many motives impel me to
beg earnestly for life. I feel the natural horror of a -
violent death, and the universal dread of untimely dis-
solution. I am desirous of recompensing the injury I
have done to the clergy, to the world, and to religion,
and to efface the scandal of my crime by the example
of my repentance. But, above all, I wish to die with
thoughts more composed, and calmer preparation. The
gloom of a prison, the anxiety of a trial, and the inevit-
able vicissitudes of passion, leave the mind little dis-
posed to the holy exercises of prayer and self-examina-
tion. Let not a little time be denied me, in which I
may, by meditation and contrition, be prepared to
stand at the tribunal of Omnipotence, and support the
presence of that Judge who shall distribute to all ac-
cording to their works; who will receive to pardon
the repenting sinner, and from whom the merciful shall
obtain mercy.
“For these reasons, amidst shame and misery, I yet
wish to live; and most humbly entreat, that I may be
recommended by your Lordship to the clemency of his
Majesty.” <
From this time the friends of Dr. Dodd wére assi-
duously employed in endeavouring to save his life.
Besides the petitions of many individuals, the members
xiv ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR.
of several charities which had been benefited by him,
joined in applications to the Throne for mercy; the
City of London likewise, in its corporate capacity, so-
licited a remission of the punishment, in consideration
of the advantages which the public had derived from
his various and laudable exertions. The petitions were
supposed to be signed by near thirty thousand persons.
They were, however, of no avail. On the 15th of June
the Privy Council assembled, and deliberated on the
case of the several prisoners then under condemnation;
and in the end a warrant was ordered to be made out
for the execution of Dr. Dodd, with two others (one
of whom was afterwards reprieved), on the 27th of the
same month.
Having been flattered with hopes of a pardon, he
appeared to be much shocked at the intimation of
his approaching destiny; but resumed in a short time
a degree of fortitude, sufficient to enable him to
pass through the last scene of his life with firmness
and decency. On the 26th he took leave of his wiſe
and some friends, after which he declared himself ready
to atone for the offence he had given to the world.
His deportment was meek, humble, and devout, ex-
pressive of resignation and contrition, and calculated
to inspire sentiments of respect for his person, and con-
cern for his unhappy fate. g
Of his behaviour at this awful juncture, a particular
account was given by Mr. Villette, Ordinary of New-
gate, in the following terms: -
“On the morning of his death I went to him, with
the Rev. Mr. Dobey, Chaplain of the Magdalen, whom
he had desired to attend him to the place of execution.
He appeared composed ; and when I, asked him how
he had been supported, he said he had had some com-
fortable sleep, by which he should be the better ena-
bled to perform his duty.
“As we went from his room, in our way to the cha-
pel, we were joined by his friend, who had spent the
foregoing evening with him, and also by another cler-
gyman. When we were in the vestry adjoining the
*
ACCOUNT OF THE AUTE:or. XV
chapel, he exhorted his fellow-suſterer, who had at-
tempted to destroy himself, but had been prevented
by the vigilance of the keeper. He spoke to him with
great tenderness and emotion of heart, entreating him
to consider that he had but a short time to live, and
that it was highly necessary that he, as well as himself,
made good use of their time, implored pardon of God
under a deep sense of sin, and looked to that Lord by
whose mercy alone sinners could be saved. He de-
sired me to call in the other gentleman, who likewise
assisted him to move the heart of the poor youth: but
the Doctor’s words were the most pathetic and effec-
tual. He liſted up his hands, and cried out, “O Lord
Jesus, have mercy on us, and give, O give unto him,
my fellow-sinner, that as we suffer together, we may
go together to Heaven!’ His conversation to this poor
youth was so moving, that tears flowed from the eyes
of all present. -
“When we went into the chapel to prayer and the
holy communion, true contrition and warmth of devo-
tion appeared evident in him throughout the whole
service. After it was ended, he again addressed him-
self to Harris in the most moving and persuasive man-
ner, and not without effect: for he declared that he was
glad he had not made away with himself, and said he
was easier, and hoped he should now go to heaven.
The Doctor told him how Christ had suffered for them;
and that he himself was a greater sinner than he, as he
had sinned more against light and conviction, and there-
fore his guilt was greater; and that, as he was confident
that mercy was shown to his soul, so he should look to
Christ, and trust in his merits.
“He prayed God to bless his friends who were pre-
sent with him, and to give his blessing to all his bre-
thren the clergy; that he would pour out his spirit
upon them, and make them true ministers of Jesus
Christ, and that they might follow the divine precepts
of their heavenly Master. Turning to one who stood
near him, he stretched out his hand, and said, ‘Now,
iny dear friend, speculation is at an end; all must be
real what poor, ignorant beings we are P He prayed
xvi Account of THE AUTHOR.
for the Magdalens, and wished they were there, to sing
for him the 23d psalm. .
“After he had waited some time for the officers, he
asked what o'clock it was 2 and being told that it was
half an hour after eight, he said, ‘I wish they were
ready, for I long to be gone.’ He requested of his
friends, who were in tears about him, to pray for him :
to which he was answered by two of them, ‘We pray .
more than language can utter.’. He replied, ‘ I be-
Iieve it.’ “ -
“At length he was summoned to go down into a part
of the yard which is inclosed from the rest of the jail,
where the two unhappy convicts and the friends of the
Doctor were alone. On his seeing two prisoners look-
ing out of the windows, he went to them, and exhorted
them so pathetically, that they both wept abundantly,
He said once, ‘ I am now a spectacle to men, and shall
soon be a spectacle to angels.” ... * •
“Just before the sheriff’s officers came with the hal-
ters, one who was walking with him told him that there
was yet a little solemnity he must pass through before
he went out. He asked, “What is that?’ ‘You will
be bound.’ He looked up, and said, ‘Yet I am free;
my freedom is there,’ pointing upwards. He bore it
with Christian patience, and beyond what might have
been expected ; and when the men offered to excuse
tying his hands, he desired them to do their duty, and
thanked them for their kindness”. After he was bound,
I offered to assist him with my arm in conducting him
through the yard, where several people were assembled
to see him; but he replied with seeming pleasure, ‘No!
I am as firm as a rock.”—As he passed along the yard,
the spectators and prisoners wept and bemoaned him ;
and he in return, prayed God to bless them.
“On the way to execution he consoled himself in
reflecting and speaking on what Christ had suffered for
* It was done in the passage leading to the chapel, by
order of Mr. Akerman, the keeper, to prevent his being gazed
at; to whom he desired I would return his sincere thanks for
all civilities to him, even to the last. -
Account of THE AUTHoR. xvii
him; lamenting the depravity of human nature, which
made sanguinary laws necessary; and said he could
gladly have ji. the prison yard, as being led out to
public execution tended greatly to distress him. He
desired me to read to him the 51st psalm, and also
pointed out an admirable penitential prayer from Ros-
sell’s Prisoner's Director. He prayed again for the
king, and likewise for the people.
“When he came near the street where he formerly
dwelt, he was much affected, and wept. He said, pro-
bably his tears would seem to be the effect of cow-
ardice, but it was a weakness he could not well help;
and added, he hoped he was going to a better home.
“When he arrived at the gallows, he ascended the
cart, and spoke to his fellow-sufferer. He then prayed,
not only for himself, but also for his wife, and the un-
fortunate youtb that suffered with him; and declared
that he died in the true faith of the gospel of Christ,
in perfect love and charity with all mankind, and with
thankfulness to his friends, he was launched into eter-
nity, imploring mercy for his soul for the sake of the
blessed Redeemer.”
His corpse, on the Monday following, was carried to
Cowley, in Buckinghamshire, and deposited in the
church there.
The following Paper was intended to have been read by
Mr. WILLETTE, at the Place of Execution, but was
omitted, as it seemed not possible to communicate the
Knowledge of it to so great a Number of Persons as
were then assembled.

“To the words of dying men regard has always been
paid. I am brought hither to suffer death for an act of
fraud, of which I confess myself guilty, with shame,
such as my former state of life naturally produces, and
I hope with such sorrow as He, to whom the heart is
known, will not disregard. I repent that I have vio-
lated the laws by which peace and confidence are esta-
blished among men; I repent that I have attempted to
xviii ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR.
injure my fellow-creatures; and I repent that I have
brought disgrace upon my order, and discredit upon
my religion: but my offences against God are without
name or number, and can admit only of general con-
fession and general repentance.—Grant, Almighty God,
for the sake of Jesus Christ, that my repentance, how-
ever late, however imperfect, may not be in vain!
“The little good that now remains in my power, is
to warn others against those temptations by which I
have been seduced. I have always sinned against con-
viction; my principles have never been shaken; I have
always considered the Christian religion as a revelation
from God, and its divine Author as the Saviour of the
world: but the laws of God, though never disowned
by me, have often been forgotten. I was led astray from
religious strictness by the delusion of show and the de-
lights of voluptuousness. I never knew or attended to
the calls of frugality, or the needful minuteness of pain-
sful economy. Vanity and pleasure, into which I plunged,
required expense disproportionate to my income; ex-
pense brought distress upon me; and distress, importu-
nate distress, urged me to temporary fraud. -
“For this fraud I am to die; and I die declaring, in
the most solemn manner, that however I have deviated
from my own precepts, I have taught others, to the best
of my knowledge, and with all sincerity, the true way
to eternal happiness. , My life, for some few unhappy
years past, has been dreadfully erroneous; but my mi-
mistry has been always sincere... I have constantly be-
lieved, and I now leave the world solemnly avowing my
conviction, that there is no other name under heaven by
which we can be saved, but only the name of the Lord
Jesus; and I entreat all who are here to join me in my
last petition, that, for the sake of that Lord Jesus Christ,
my sins may be forgiven, and my soul received into his
everlasting kingdom, ... •
“ June 27, 1777.” « WILLIAM DODD,”
ADVERTISEMENT
ORIGINALLY PREFIXED
TO THE PRISON THOUGHTS.
f
Title following Work, as the dates of the respective parts
evince, was begun by its unhappy Author in his apart-
ment at Newgate, on the evening of the day subsequent
to his trial and conviction at Justice-hall, and was ſi-
mished, amidst various necessary interruptions, in little
more than the space of two months. •
Prefixed to the MAN Uscript is the ensuing Note:
- April 23, 1777.
“I began these thoughts merely from the impression
of my mind, without plan, purpose, or motive, more than
the situation and state of my soul. I continued them on
a thoughtful and regular plan; and I have been enabled
wonderfully,–in a state, which in better days I should
have supposed would have destroyed all power of re-
flection—to bring them nearly to a conclusion. I de-
dicate them to God, and to the reflecting Serious among
my fellow-creatures ; and I bless the Almighty for the
ability to go through them, amidst the terrors of this
dire place, and the bitter anguish of my disconsolate
mind
“The Thinking will easily pardon all inaccuracies,
as I am neither able nor willing to read over those melan-
choly lines with a curious and critical eye. They are im-
perfect, but the language of the heart; and, had I time
and inclination, might and should be improved.
* * But “ W. D.”
The few little pieces subjoined to the Thoughts, and
the Author's Last Prayer, were ſound amongst his pa-
pers. Their evident connection with the Poem was the
inducement for adding them to the Volume.
THOUGHTS IN PRISON;
COMM bPN CED
SUNDAY EVENING, EIGHT O'CLOCK",
February 23, 1777.
r-º-
wer K THE FIRST.
THE IMPRIsonMENT.
My friends are gone! Harsh on its sullen hinge
Grates the dread door; the massy bolts respond
Tremendous to the surly keeper's touch.
The dire keys clang, with movement dull and slow,
While their behest the ponderous locks perform:
And fastened firm, the object of their care
Is left to solitude,-to sorrow left.
But wherefore fastened? Oh, still stronger bonds
Than bolts, or locks, or doors of molten brass,
To solitude and sorrow would consign
His anguish’d soul, and prison him, though free!
For, whither should he fly, or where produce
In open day, and to the golden sun,
His hapless head? whence every laurel torn,
On his bald brow sits grinning Infamy;
And all in sportive triumph twines around
The keen, the stinging adders of disgrace?',
* The hour when they lock up in this dismal place.
B
2
THOUGHTS IN PR1S () N.
Yet what's disgrace with man? or all the stings
Of pointed scorn? What the tumultuous voice
Of erring multitudes 2 Or what the shafts
Of keenest malice, levell'd from the bow
Of human inquisition ?—if the God,
Who knows the heart, looks with complacence down
Upon the struggling victim, and beholds
Repentance bursting from the earth-bent eye,
And faith's red cross held closely to the breast?
Oh, Author of my being of my bliss
Beneficent dispenser wondrous power,
Whose eye, all-searching, thro’ this dreary gloom
Discerns the deepest secrets of the soul,
Assist me ! With thy ray of light divine
Illumine my dark thoughts; upraise my low;
And give me wisdom's guidance, while I strive
Impartially to state the dread account,
And call myself to trial Trial far
Than that more fearful—though how fearful that
Which trembling late I prov’d l Oh, aid my hand
To hold the balance equal, and allow
The few sad moments of remaining life
To retrospection usefull make my end,
As my first wish (thou know'st the heart) has been
To make my whole of being to my friends,
My fellow-pilgrims through this world of woe,
Instructive —Oh, could I conduct but one,
One only with me to our Canaan's rest,
How could I meet my fate, nor think it hard |
Not think it hard?—Burst into tears, my soul;
Gush every pore of my distracted frame,
Gush into drops of blood?—But one; save one,
Or guide to Canaan's rest?—when all thy views
In better days were dedicate alone
.THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 3
To guide, persuade to that celestial rest,
Souls which have listen’d with devotion's ear
To Sion's songs enchanting from thy lips,
And tidings sweet of Jesu's pardoning iove P
But one, save one 2—Oh, what a rest is this."
Oh, what a Sabbath in this dungeon's gloom,
This prison-house, meet emblem of the realm
Reserv'd for the ungodly Hark! methinks
I hear the cheerful melody of praise
And penitential sweetness * ! 'Tis the sound,
The well-known sound, to which my soul attum’d
For year succeeding year, hath hearken'd glad,
And still with fresh delight: while all my powers
In blost employ have press'd the saving truths
Of grace divine, and faith's all-conquering might,
On the sure Rock of Ages grounded firm. [out,
Those hours are gone! and here, from heaven shut
And heavenly works like these, on this lov’d day,
Rest of my God,—I only hear around
The dismal clang of chains, the hoarse rough shout
Of dissonant imprecation, and the cry
Of misery and vice, in fearful din
Impetuous mingled ! while my frighted mind
Shrinks back in horror; while the scalding tears,
Involuntarily starting, furrow down
My sickly cheeks; and whirling thought, confus'd
For giddy moments, scarce allows to know
Or where, or who, or what a wretch I am
. Not know?—Alas! too well it strikes my heart;
Emphatical it speaks! while dungeons, chains,
And bars and bolts, proclaim the mournful truth,
* Refering more immediately to the duty of the Magdalen
Chapel.
4 THOUGHTS IN PRISON,
“Ah, what a wretch thou art! how sunk, how fall'm .
*From what high state of bliss, into what woe I."
Fall'n from the topmost bough that plays in air
L'en of the tallest cedar; where aloft
Proud happiness her tow'ring eyry built,
Built, as I dreamt, for ages. Idle dream :
And yet, amongst the millions of mankind,
Who sleep like me, how few, like me deceiv'd,
Do not indulge the same fantastic dream
Give me the angel's clarion —Let me sound
Loud as the blast which shall awake the dead;
Oh, let me sound, and call the slumberers forth
To view the vision which delusion charms ;
To shake the potent incantation off;
Or ere it burst in ruin on their souls,
As it has burst on mine.—Not on my soul!
Retract the dread idea : Righteous God I
Not on my soul | Oh, thou art gracious all !
And with an eye of pity, from thy throme
Of majesty supernal, thou behold'st
The creatures of thy hand, thy feeble sons,
Struggling with sin, with Satan, and the world,
Their sworn and deadly foes ; and having felt
In human flesh the trials of our kind,
Know'st sympathetic how to aid the tried!
Rock of my hope I the rash, rash phrase forgive.
Safe is my Soul; nor can it know one fear,
Grounded on Thee Unchangeable ! Thee first,
Thee last, great Cleanser of all human sin!
But though secure the vessel rides in port,
Held firm by faith's strong anchor, well it suits
The mariner to think by what strange means
* Milton’s Paradise Lost, B. 5, 1.5 po
THOUGHTS IN PRISON, 5
Through perils inconceivable he pass'd [waves,
Through rocks, sands, pirates, storms and boisterous
And happily obtained that port at last.
On these my thoughts are bent, nor deem it wrong,
Ministring angels whose benignant task,
Assign'd by Heaven, is to console distress,
And hold up human hearts amidst the toil
Of human woe" —Blest spirits, who delight
In sweet submissive resignation's smile,
To that high will you know for ever right;-
Deem it not wrong, that with a bleeding heart,
I dwell awhile, unworthiest of my race, [storms,
On those black rocks, those quicksands, waves, and
Which in a sea of trouble have engulf'd.
All, all my earthly comforts; and have left
Me, a poor naked, shipwreck'd, suffering wretch,
On this bleak shore, in this confinement drear,
At sight of which, in better days, my soul
Hath started back with horror while my friend,
My bosom-partner in each hour of pain,
With antidotes preventive kindly arm’d, -
Trembling for my lov’d health, when christian calls
And zeal for others’ welfare, haply brought
My steps attendant on this den of death !
Oh, dismal change now not in friendly sort
A christian visitor, to pour the balm
Of christian comfort in some wretch's ear.—
I am that wretch myself! and want, much want,
The christian consolation I bestow'd, **
So cheerfully bestow'd want, want, my God,
From Thee the mercy, from my fellow-man
The lenient mercy, which, great Judge of hearts,
* See Psalm xxxiv. 7. Heb. i. 1 1, t
6 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
To Thee I make the solemn, sad appeal—
That mercy which Thou know'st my gladsome soul
Ever sprang forth with transport to impart!
Why, then, mysterious Providence 1 pursued
With such unfeeling ardour? why pursued
To death's dread bourn, by men to me unknown 2
Why—Stop the deep question; it o'erwhelms my
Soul’; - [brain
It reels, it staggers!—Earth turns round !—my
Whirls in confusion' my impetuous heart -
Throbs with pulsations not to be restrained
Why?—where?—Oh, Chesterfield! my son, my son 1
Nay, talk not of compesure I had thought
In olden time, that my weak heart was soft,
And pity's self might break it.—I had thought
That marble-eyed severity would crack
The slender nerves which guide my reins of sense,
And give me up to madness. 'Tis not so :
My heart is callous, and my nerves are tough:
It will not break they will not crack 1 or else
What more, just Heaven, was wanting to the deed,
Than to behold?—Oh, that eternal night
Had in that moment screen'd me from myself!—
My Stanhope to beholdſ whose filial ear
Drank pleas'd the lore of wisdom from my tongue !
My Stanhope to behold l—Ah, piercing sight !
Forget it;-'tis distraction :-Speak who can
But I am lost! a criminal adjudg’d
A guilty miscreant Canst thou think, my friend,
Oh, Butler,-'midst a million faithful found —-
Oh, canst thou think, who know'st, who long hast
S. $nown, *
My inmost soul; on, canst thou think that life,
From such rude outrage for a moment sav'd,
THOUGHTS l N PRISON, 7
And sav'd almost by miracle”, deserves
The languid wish, or e'er can be sustain'd?
It can—it must 1 That miracle alone
To life gives consequence. Oh, deem it not
Presumptuous, that my grateful soul thus rates
The present high deliverance it hath found;—
Sole effort of thy wisdom, Sovereign Power,
Without whose knowledge not a sparrow falls
Oh, may l cease to live, ere cease to bless
That interposing hand, which turn’d aside,-
Nay to my life and preservation turn'd
. The fatal blow precipitate, ordain'd
To level all my little hopes in dust,
And give me to the gravel Rather, my hand,
Forget thy cunning ! Rather shall my tongue
In gloomy silence bury every mote
To my glad heart respondent, than I cease
To dedicate to Him who spar'd my life,
- Each breath, each power, while he vouchsafes to lend
The precious boon —To Him be all its praise !
To Him be all its service Long or short,
The gift's the same: to live or die to him
Is gain sufficient, everlasting gain;
And may that gain be mine !—I live, I live
Ye hours, ye minutes, bounty of his grace,
Fleet not away without improvement due :
Rich on your wings bear penitence and prayer
To Heaven's all-clement Ruler ; and to man
Bear all the retribution man can make!
Ye precious hours, ye moments smatch'd from death,
* Referring to the case reserved for the solemn decision of
the twelve Judges; and which gave the prisoner a much longer
space than his most sanguine friends could have expected, from
the complexion of the process.-See the Sessions Paper for
Feb. 1777.
8 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
*s
Replete with incense rise, that my cheer'd soul,
When comes the solemn call, may spring away,
Delighted to the bosom of its God!
Who shall condemn the trust?—proud rationals,
(That deep in speculation's 'wildering maze
Bemuse themselves with error, and confound
The laws of men, of nature, and of Heav'n)
Presumptuous in their wisdom, dare dethrone
Even from his works the Maker; and contend
That he who form'd it governs not the world :
While, steep'd in sense's Lethe, Sons of earth
From the world's partial picture gaily draw
Their mad conclusions. Bold, broad-staring Vice,
Lull'd on the lap of every mundame bliss,
At meek-eyed Virtue's patient suffering scoffs,
And dares with dauntless innocence the God,
Regardless of his votaries —Vain and blind
Alike through wisdom or through folly blind—
Whose dim contracted view the petty round,
The mere horizon of the present hour
In darkness terminates Oh, could I ope
The golden portals of etermal day;
Pour on your sight the congregated blaze
Of light, of wisdom, bursting from the throne
Of universal glory; on the round
The boundless cycle of his moral plan,
Who, hid in clouds terrific, Master sits
Of subject men and worlds; and sees at once
The ample scene of present, future, past,
All naked to his eye of flame, all rang'd
In harmony complete, to work his will,
And finish with the plaudit of the skies
But, while this 'whelming blazon may not burst
On the weak eyes of mortals; while confin'd
Thro' dark dim glass, with dark dim sight to look
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 9
All trembling to the future, and collect
The scatter'd rays of wisdom; while referr'd
Our infant reason to the guiding hand -
Of faith strong-eyed, which never quits the view
Of Jesus, her great pole-star! from whose word,
Irradiate with the lustre of his love,
She learns the mighty Master to explore
In all his works; and from the meanest taught
Beholds the God, the Father, Scorn ye not,
My fellow-pilgrims, fellow-heirs of death,
And, oh, triumphant thought !—my fellow-heirs
Of life immortal; if not sold to sense
And infidelity’s black cause, you cast
Ungracious from yourselves the proffer'd boon;
—Then scorn not, oh, my friends, when Heaven
vouchsafes
To teach by meanest objects, reptiles, birds,
To take one lesson from a worm like me !
Proof of a gracious Providence I live;—
To him be all the glory ! Of his care
Paternal, his supporting signal love,
I live each hour an argument. Away
The systematic dulness of dispute
Away, each doting reasoner | I feel,
Feel in my inmost heart the conscious sense,
The grateful pressure of distinguish’d grace,
And live, and only wish for life to praise it.
For say, my soul,-nor 'midst this silence sad,
This midnight, awful, melancholy gloom,
Nor in this solemn moment of account
*Twixt thee and Heaven, when on his altar lies
A sacrifice thy maked bleeding heart! -
Say, nor self-flattering, to thy conscience hold
The mirror of deceit: could'st thou have thought
Thy nerves, thy head, thy heart, thy frame, thy sense,
fº) THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
Sufficient to sustain the sudden shock,
Rude as a bursting earthquake, which at once
Toppled the happy edifice adown,
Whelm'd thee and thine beneath its ruinous crash,
And buried all in sorrow?—Torn away
Impetuous from thy home, thy much-lov’d home,
Without one moment to reflection giv'n
By soothing, solemn promise, led to place
Ingenuous all thy confidence of life
In men assuming gentle pity's guise !
Vain confidence in ought beneath the sun
Behold the hour, the dreadful hour arriv'd :
The prison opes its ruthless gates upon thee!
Oh, horror . But what’s this, this fresh attack 2
'Tis she, ’tis she my weeping, fainting wife
“And hast thou faithful found me? Has thy love
Thus burst thro’ ev'ry barrier? Hast thou trac'd
—Depress'd in health, and timid as thou art—
At midnight trac'd the desolate wild streets,
Thus in a prison's gloom to throw thy arms
Of conjugal endearment round the neck
Of thy lost husband?—Fate, exact thy worst;
The bitterness is past.”—Idea vain
To tenfold bitterness drench’d in my deep cup
Of gall, the morning rises Statue-like,
Inanimate, half dead, and fainting half,
To stand a spectacle!—the praeter stern
Denying to my pleading tears one pang
Of human sympathy | Conducted forth,
Amidst the unfeeling populace; pursued
Like some deer, which from the hunter's aim
Hath ta'en its deadly hurt; and glad to find—
Panting with woe, my refuge in a jail!
Cam misery stretch more tight the torturing cord
But hence this softness! Wherefore thus lament
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 11
These petty poor escutcheons of thy fate,
When lies—all worthy of thyself and life,
Cold in the hearse of ruin?—Rather turn
Grateful thine eyes, and raise, though red with tears,
To his high throne, who looks on thy distress
With fatherly compassion; kindly throws
Sweet comfort's mixture in thy cup, and sooths
With Gilead's balm thy death-wound. He it is
Who, 'midst the shock disrupting, holds in healtli
Thy shatter'd frame, and keeps thy reason clear;
He, He it is, whose pitying power supports
Thy humbled soul, deep humbled in the dust,
Beneath the sense of guilt; the mournful sense
Of deep transgression 'gainst thy fellow-men,
Of sad offence 'gainst Him, thy Father, God;
Who, lavish in his bounties, woo'd thy heart
With each paternal blessing;-ah, ingrate,
And worthless Yet—(His mercies who can count,
Or truly speak his praise!)—Yet through this gloomi
Of self-conviction, lowly he vouchsafes º
To dart a ray of comfort, like the sun's,
All-cheering through a summer's evening shower!
Arch’d in his gorgeous sky, I view the bow
Of grace, fix’d emblem 'Tis that grace alone
Which gives my soul its firinness; builds my hope
Beyond the grave ; and bids me spurn the earth !
First of all blessings, hail ' Yet Thou, from whom
Both first and last, both great and small proceed;
Exhaustless source of every good to man,
Accept for all, the tribute of my praise;
For all are thine !—Thine the ingenuous friends,
Who solace with compassion sweet my woe ;
Mingle with mine their sympathetic tears;
Incessant and disinterested toil
To work my weal; and delicately kind,
12 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
Watch every keener sensibility
That lives about my soul. Oh, more than friends,
In tenderness my children l—Thine are too
. The very keepers of the rugged jail,
—Ill school to learn humanity's soft lore!—
Yet here humanity their duty pays,
Respectably affecting ! Whilst they tend
My little wants, officious in their zeal,
They turn away, and ſain would hide the tear
That gushes all unbidden to their eye,
And sanctifies their service.—On their heads
Thy Blessing, Lord of Bounty
But, of all,
All thy choice comforts in this drear distress,
God of our first young love 1 Thine is the Wife,
Who with assiduous care, from might to morn,
From morn to night, watches my every need;
And, as in brightest days of peace and joy,
Smiles on my anguish, while her own poor breast
Is full almost to bursting ! Prostrate, Lord,
Before thy footstool—Thou, whose highest style
On earth, in heaven, is Love!—Thou, who hast
breath’d
Through human hearts the tender charities,
The social fond affections which unite
In bonds of sweetest amity those hearts,
And guide to every good ſ—Thou, whose kind eye
Complacent must behold the rich, ripe fruit,
Mature and mellow'd on the generous stock
Of thy own careful planting !—Low on earth,
And mingled with my native dust, I cry;
With all the husband's anxious fondness cry;
With all the friend's solicitude and truth;
With all the teacher's fervour, “God of Love,
Vouchsafe thy choicest comforts on her head!
*
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 13
|Be thine my fate's decision: To thy will -
With angel-resignation, lo! we bend " [ear!
But, hark! what sound, wounding the night’s dull
Bursts sudden on my sense, and makes more horrible
These midnight horrors?—'Tis the solemn bell,
Alarum to the prisoners of death *.
Hark! what a groan, responsive from the cells
Of condemnation, calls upon my heart,
My thrilling heart, for intercession strong,
And pleadings in the sufferer's behalf—
My fellow-sufferers, and my fellow-men I
Cease them awhile the strain, my plaintive soul,
And veil thy face in sorrow ! Lonely hours
Soon will return thee to thy midnight task,
For much remains to sing; sad themes, unsung,
As deem'd;perchance,too mournful;-yet, what else
Than themes like these can suit a muse like mine?
—And might it be, that while ingenuous woe
Bleeds through my verse; while the succeeding page,
Weaving with my sad story the detail -
Of crimes, of punishments, of prisons drear,
Of present life and future, sad discourse
And serious shall containſ Oh, might it be,
That human hearts may listen and improve 1
Oh, might it be, that benefit to souls
Flow from the weeping tablet; though the Man
In torture die, the Paintershall rejoice
Sunday, March 2, 1777.
* This alludes to a very striking and awſul circumstance.
The bellman of St. Sepulchre's, near the prison, is, by long
and pious custom, appointed to announce at midnight to the
condemned criminals in their cells, That the hour of their de-
4)42-ture is at hazzd f w
14 TIn OUGHTS I.N PRISON.
W E E R T H E S E C O N D.
SUN DAY, March 2, 1777.
THE RETROSPECT.
OIſ, not that thou goest hence—sweet drooping
flower, [quitt'st
Surcharg’d with Sorrow's dew l—Not that thou
This pent and feverish gloom, which beams with
light, f
With health, with comfort, by thy presence cheer'd,
Companion of my life, and of my woes
Blest soother! Not that thou goest hence to drink
A purer air, and gather from the breath
Of balmy spring new succour, to recruit
Thy waning health, and aid thee to snstain,
With more than manly fortitude, thy own
And my afflictive trials! Not that here,
Amidst the glories of this genial day,
Immur'd, through iron bars ſpeep at Heaven
With dim, lack-lustre eye!—Oh, 'tis not this
That drives the poison'd point of torturous thought
Deep to my spring of life! It is not this
That prostrate lays me weeping in the dust,
And draws in sobs the life-blood from my heart!
Well could I bear thy absence: well, full well;
Though angel-comforts in thy converse smile,
And make my dungeon Paradise! Full well
Could I sustain through iron bars to view
The golden Sun, in bridegroom-majesty
Taking benignant Nature to his love,
And decking her with bounties! Well, very well
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 15
*
Could I forego the delicate delight
Of tracing nature's germens as they bud;
Of viewing spring's first children as they rise
In innocent sweetness, or beneath the thorn
In rural privacy, or on gay parterre
More artful, less enchanting !—Well, very well
Could I forego to listen, in this house
Of unremitted din, and nought complain ;
To listen as I oft have stood with thee,
Listening in fond endearment to the voice,
Of stock-dove, through the silence of the wood
Hoarse murmuring !—Well, oh could I forego,
These innocent, though exquisite delights,
Still new, and to my bosom still attum'd -
In moral, mental melody!—Sweet Spring !
Well could I bear this sad exile from thee, .
Nor drop one tear reluctant; for my soul,
Strong to superior feeling soars aloft
To eminence of misery l—Confin'd
On this blest day—the Sabbath of my God!
—Not from his house alone, not from the power .
Of joyful worship with assembling crowds. *,
But from the labours once so amply mine,
The labours of his love. Now, laid aside,
Cover'd my head with ignominious dust,
My voice is stopp'd; and had I ev'n the power,
Strong shame, and stronger grief wouid to that voice
Forbid all utterance —Ah, thrice hapless voice,
By Heaven's own finger all-indulgent tum'd
To touch the heart, and win th’ attentive soul
To love of truth divine, how useless now,
How dissonant, unstrung !—Like Salem's harps,
* See Psalm lxxxiv.
16 THOUGHTS IN PRISON,
Once fraught with richest harmony of praise,
Hung in sad silence by Euphrates' stream,
Upon the mournful willows! There they wept,
Thy captive people wept, O God!—when thought
To bitter memory recall'd the songs,
The dulcet songs of Sion Oh blest songs,
Transporting chorus of united hearts,
In cheerful music mounting to the praise
Of Sion's King of Glory !—Oh the joy
Transcendant, of petitions wing'd aloft
With fervour irresistible, from throngs
Assembled in thy earthly courts, dread King
Of all-dependant mature —looking up
For all to Thee, as do the servants eyes
Up to their fostering master Joy of joys,
Amidst such throng’d assemblies to stand forth,
To blow the Silver Trumpet of thy Grace,
The gladsome year of jubilee to proclaim,
And offer to the aching sinner's heart
Redemption's healing mercies! And methinks,
(—Indulge the pleasing reverie, my soul!
The waking dream, which in oblivion sweet
Lulls thy o'erlabour'd sense () methinks convey’d
To Ham's lov’d shades—dear favourite shades, by
And pure religion sanctify'd, I hear [peace
The tuneful bells their hallow'd message sound
To Christian hearts symphonious! Circling time
Once more hath happily brought round the day
Which calls us to the temple of our God:
Then let us haste, in decent neatness clad,
My cheerful little household, to his courts,
So lov'd, so truly honour’d There we'll mix
In meek, ingenuous deprecation's cry;
THOUG FITS IN PRISON. 1?
There we’ll unite in full thanksgiving's choir,
And all the rich melodiousness of praise.
I feel, I feel the rapturel David's harp
Concordant with a thousand voices sounds:
Prayer mounts exulting: Man ascends the skies
On wings of angel-fervour! Holy writ
Or speaks the wonders of Jehovah's power,
Or tells in more than mortal majesty,
The greater wonders of his love to man
Proofs of that love, see where the mystic signs,
High emblems of unutterable grace,
Confirm to man the zeal of Heaven to save,
And call to gratitude's best office
- Wise
In all thy sacred institutions, Lord,
Thy Sabbaths with peculiar wisdom shine;
First and high argument, creation done,
Of thy benign solicitude for man,
Thy chiefest, favourite creature. Time is thine;
How just to claim a part, who giv'st the whole !
But, oh! how gracious, to assign that part
To man's supreme behoof, his soul's best good;
His mortal and his mental benefit;
His body's genial comfort! Savage else,
Untaught, undisciplin'd, in shaggy pride
He'd rov'd the wild, amidst the brutes a brute
Ferocious; to the soft civilities *
Of cultivated life, Religion, Truth,
A barbarous stranger. To thy Sabbaths then
All hail, wise Legislator! 'Tis to these
We owe at once the memory of thy works,
Thy mighty works of nature and of grace;—
We owe divine religion; and to these
The decent comeliness of social life,
C
38 THOUGHTS IN PRISON,
Revere, ye earthly magistrates, who wield
The sword of Heaven, the wisdom of Heaven's
And sanctify the Sabbath of your God I [plan,
Religion's all: With that or stands or falls
Your country's weal! but where shall she obtain,
–Religion, sainted pilgrim, shelter safe
Or honourable greeting;-through the land,
If led by high and low, in giddy dance,
Mad profanation on the sacred day
Of God's appointed rest, her revel-rout
Insulting heads, and leaves the temple void?
–Oh, my lov’d country! oh, ye thoughtless great,
Intoxicate with draughts, that opium-like
For transient moments stupify the mind
To wake in horrors, and confusion wild !—
But soft, and know thyself! 'Tis not for thee,
Poor destitute thus grovelling in the dust
Of self-annihilation, to assume
The Censor's office, and reprove mankind.
Ah me, thy day of duty is declin’d
Thou rather, to the quick probe thine own wounds,
And plead for mercy at the judgment seat, -
Where conscience smites thee for th’ offence de-
Yet not presumptuous deem it, Arbiter [plor’d.
Of human thoughts, that through the long, long
Of multiply'd transgressions, I behold Igloom
Complacent smiling on my sickening soul,
“Delight in thy lov'd Sabbaths " — Well thou
know'st—
For thou know'stall things, that the cheerful sound
Of that blest day's return, for circling weeks,
For months, for years, for more than thrice seven
Was music to my heart! My feet rejoic'd [years,
To bear me to thy temples, haply fraught
THOUGEITS IN PRISON. 19
With Comfort's tidings; with thy gospel's truth,
The gospel of thy peace! Oh, well thou know'st,
Who knowest all things, with what welcome toil,
What pleasing assiduity I search'd
Thy heavenly word, to learn thy heavenly will;
That faithful I might minister its truth,
And of the high commission nought kept back
From the great congregation * ! Well thou know'st,
—Sole, sacred witness of my private hours,
How copiously I bath'd with pleadigg tears,
How earnestly in prayer consign'd to Thee
The humble efforts of my trembling pen;
My best, weak efforts in my Master's cause;
Weak as the feather 'gainst the giant's shield,
Light as the gosmer floating on the wind,
Without thy aid omnipotent! Thou know'st
How, anxious to improve in every grace,
That best to man's attention might commend
Th’ important message, studious I apply'd
My feeble talents to the holy art
Of 'suasive elocution; emulous
Of every acquisition which might clothe '
In purest dignity the purest work,
The first, the highest office man can bear,
“The messenger of God!” And well thou know'st,
—For all the work, as all the praise is thine—
What sweet success accompanied the toil; &
What harvests bless'd the seed-time ! Well thou
know'st
With what triumphant gladness my rapt soul
Wrought in the vineyard how it thankful bore
The moon-day's heat, the evening's chilly frost,
* Psalm xl. ver, 10,
20 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
Exulting in its much-lov’d Master's cause
To spend, and to be spent! and bring it home
From triple labours of the well-toil'd day,
A body by fatigue o'erborne; a mind
Replete with glad emotions to its God!
Ah, my lov’d household! ah, my little round
Of social friends ! well do you bear in mind
Those pleasing evenings, when, on my return,
Much-wish’d return—serenity the mild, -
And cheerfulness the innocent, with me
Enter'd the happy dwelling! Thou, my Ernest,
Ingenuous youth whose early spring bespoke
Thy summer, as it is, with richest crops
Luxuriant waving; gentle youth, canst thou
Those welcome hours forget? or thou—oh thou!
—How shall I utter from my beating heart
Thy name, so musical, so heavenly sweet
Once to these ears distracted l—Stanhope, say,
Canst thou forget, those hours, when, cloth'd in
smiles
Of fond respect, thou and thy friend have strove
Whose little hands should readiest supply
My willing wants; officious in your zeal
To make the Sabbath evenings, like the day,
A scene of sweet composure to my soul”
Oh happy Sabbaths Oh my soul's delight!
Oh days of matchless mercy! matchless praise !
Gone, gone, for ever gone! How dreadful spent,
Useless, in tears, and groans, and bitter woe,
In this wild place of horrorst Oh, return,
* Good Friday, Easter, &c. once so peculiarly happy—yet
how past here!—What a sad want of the spirit of reformalionſ
+ Boethius has a reflection highly applicable to the sense of
our Author: “Nec inficiari possum prosperitatis mea: velocis:
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 21
Ye happy Sabbaths!—or to that lov’d realm
T]ismiss me, Father of compassions, where
Reigns one etermal Sabbath! Though my voice,
Feeble at best, be damp'd, and cannot soar
To strains sublime, beneath the sorrowing sense
Of base ingratitude to thee, my God,
My Father, Benefactor, Saviour, Friend,-
Yet in that realm of rest 'twill quickly catch
Congenial harmony 'twill quickly rise,
Even from humility's weak, trembling touch ;
Rise with the glowing Seraph in the choir,
And strive to be the loudest in thy praise.
Too Soaring thought ! that in a moment sunk
By sad reflection and convicting guilt,
Falls prostrate on the earth.-So, pois'd in air,
And warbling his wild notes about the clouds,
Almost beyond the ken of human sight;
Clapp'd to his side his plumy steerage, down
Drops—instantaneous drops the silent lark 1
How shall I mount to Heaven? how join the choir
Celestial of bright Seraphim? deprest
Beneath the burden of a thousand sins,
On what blest dove-like wing shall I arise,
And fly to the wish’d rest?
—Of counsel free,
Some to my aching heart, with kind intent,
Offer the poisonous balsam of desert;
“Bid me take comfort from the cheering view
“Of deeds benevolent, and active life
“Spent for the weal of others!” Syren-songs,
Soon hush’d by howlings of severe reproach,
simum cursum. Sed hoc est, quod recolentem me vehementius
coquit. Nath in omni adversitate fortunae, infelicissimmin genus
est infortunii, fuisse felicem.” De Consol. L.2. Pros. 4.
22 Thoughts IN PR1son.
Unfeeling, uncompassionate, and rude,
Which o'er my body, panting on the earth,
With wounds incurable, insulting, whirls
Her iron Scourge: accumulates each ill
That can to man’s best fame damnation add;
Spies not one mark of white throughout my life;
And, groaning o'er my anguish to despair,
As my soul, sad resource, indignant points'
But not from you, -ah cruel, callous foes,
Thus to exult and press a fallen man l—
Nor even from you, though kind, mistaken friends,
Admit we counsel here. Too deep the stake,
Too awful the inquiry—how the soul
May smile at death, and meet its God in peace—
To rest the answer on uncertain man
Alike above your friendship or your hate,
Here, here I tour triumphant, and behold
At once confirm'd security and joy,
Beyond the reach of mortal.hand to shake,
Or for a moment cloud.—Hail, bleeding Love!
In thy humiliation deep and dread,
Divine Philanthropist, my ransom'd soul
Beholds its triumph, and avows its cure,
Its perfect, free salvation I knows or feels
No merit, no dependence, but thy faith,
Thy hope and love consummate! All abjures;
Casts all,—each care, each burden at the foot
Of thy victorious cross: in heart and life
One wish, one word uniting—ever may
That wish and word in me, blest Lord, unite!—
“Oh, ever may in me Thy will be done!”
Firm and unshaken as old Sion's Hill,
Remains this sure foundation: who on Christ,
The Corner-Stone, build faithful, build secure,
THoug HTS IN PRISON. 23.
Eternity is theirs. Then talk no more,
Ye airy, vague, fantastic reasoners,
Of the light stubble, crackling in the fire
Of God's investigation; of the chaff
Dispers'd and floating 'fore the slightest wind,-
Theschaff of hunian merit! gracious God!
What pride, what contradiction in the term;
Shall man, vain man, drest in a little power
Deriv'd from Nature's Author; and that power
Holding, an humble tenant, at the will
Of him who freely gave it; His high will,
The dread Supreme Disposer, shall poor man,
A beggar indigent and vile, enrich'd
With every precious faculty of soul,
Of reason, intellect; with every gift
Of animal life luxuriant, from the store
Of unexhausted bounty; shall he turn
That bounty to abuse; lavish defy
The Giver with his gifts, a rebel base !
And yet, presumptuous, arrogant, deceiv'd,
Assume a pride for actions not his own,
Or boast of merit, when his all's for God,
And he that all has squander'd? Purest saints,
Brightest archangels, in the choir of heaven,
Fulfilling all complete his holy will,
Who plac'd them high in glory as they stand,
Fulfil but duty 1 nay, as owing more
From love's Supreme distinction, readier veil
Their radiant faces with their golden plumes,
And fall more humbled 'fore the throne they hymn
With gratitude superior. Could bold pride
Ome moment whisper to their lucid souls
Desert's intolerable folly,–down,
Like Lucifer, the morning star, they’d fall
24 THoug HTS 1 N PR1son.
t
From their bright state obscur'd l Then, proud,
poor worm,
Conceiv'd in sins, offending from thy youth, *.
In every point transgressor of the law -
Of righteousness, of merit towards God,
Dream, if thou canst; or, madman if thou art,
Stand on that plea for heav'n—and be undone!
Blest be thy tender mercy, God of Grace?
That 'midst the terrors of this trying hour,
When in this midnight, lonely, prison gloom,
My inmost soul hangs naked to thy view;
When, undissembled in the search, I fain
Would know, explore, and balance every thought;
(For old, I see Eternity’s dread gates
Expand before me, soon perhaps to close l–)
Blest be thy mercy, that, subdued to thee,
Each lofty vain imagination bows;
Each high idea humbled in the dust,
Of self-sufficient righteousness, my soul
Disclaims, abhors, with reprobation full,
The slightest apprehension —worthless, Lord,
Even of the meanest crumb beneath thy board.
Blest be thy mercy, that, so far from due,
I own thy bounties, manifold and rich,
Upon my soul have laid a debt so deep,
That I can never pay !—And oh! I feel
Compunction inexpressible, to think
How I have us’d those bounties! sackcloth-clad,
And cover'd o'er with ashes, I deplore
My utter worthlessness; and, trembling, own
Thy wrath and just displeasure, well might sink
In deeper floods than these, that o'er my head
Roar horrible,_in fiery floods of woe, .
That know nof end nor respite! but my God,
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 25
Blest be thy mercy ever! Thou'st not left
My soul to Desperation's dark dismay;
On Calvary’s Hill my mourning eye discerns,
With faith's clear view, that Spectacle which wipes
Each tear away, and bids the heart exult! .
There hangs the love of God There hangs of man
The ransom; there the Merit; there the Cure
Of human grief—The Way, the Truth, the Life!
O thou, for sin-burnt sacrifice complete
Oh Thou, of holy life th' exemplar bright !
Perfectiou's lucid mirror! while to Thee
Repentance scarce dare lift her flowing eyes,
Though in his strong arms manly Faith supports
The self-convicted mourner!—Let not love,
Source of thy matchless mercies, aught delay,
Like Mary, with Humility’s meek hand
Her precious box of costly Nard to pour
On thy dear feet, diffusing through the house
The odour of her unguents' Let mot love,
Looking with Gratitude's full eye to Thee,
Cease with the hallow’d fragrance of her works
To cheer thy lowliest members; to refresh
Thee in thy saints afflicted? Let not love,
Cease with each spiritual grace, each temper mild,
Fruits of the Holy Spirit, to enrich,
To fill, perfume, and sanctify the soul
Assimulate to Thee, sweet Jesu! Thee
That soul's immortal habitant. How blest,
How beyond value rich the privilege,
To welcome such a Guest! how doubly blest
With such a signature, the royal stamp
Of thy resemblance, Primee of Righteousness,
Of Mercy, Peace, and Truth! Oh more and more
.96 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
Transform me to that Image! More and more
Thou New Creation's Author, form complete
. In me the birth divine; the heavenly mind,
The love consummate, all-performing love,
Which dwelt in Thee, its Pattern and its Source ;
And is to man, happy, regenerate man,
Heaven's surest foretaste, and its earnest too.
The thought delights and cheers, though not
elates:
Through pensive Meditation's sable gloom
It darts a ray of soft, well-temper'd light,
A kind of lunar-radiance on my soul,
Gentle, not dazzling ! Thou who knowest all,
Know'st well, thrice gracious Master! that my heart
Attum'd to thy dear love, howe'er seduc’d
By worldly adulation from its vows,
And for a few contemptible, contemm'd
Unhappy moments faithless; well thou know'st
That heart ne'er knew true peace but in thy love:
That heart hath in thy love known thorough peace;
Hath frequent panted for that love's full growth;
And sought occasions to display its warmth
By deeds of kindness, mild humanity,
And pitying mercy to its fellow-men!
And thou hast blest me! and I will rejoice
That thou hast blest me! thou hast giv'n my soul
The Luxury of Luxuries, to wipe
The tear from many an eye; to stop the groan
At many an aching heart. And thou wilt wipe
The tears from mine, and thou the groan repress:
And thou, -for oh, this beating heart is thine,
Fram'd by thy hand to pity’s quickest touch,-
Thou wilt forgive the sinner; and bestow
THOUG HTS IN PRISON, 37
Mercy, sweet mercy! which, inspir’d by thee,
He never had the power, and ne'er the will,
To hold from others where he could bestow !
Shall he not then rest happily secure
Of mercy, thrice blest mercy from mankind?
Where rests it? Resignation's meek-ey'd power
Sustain me still; Composure still be mine:
Where rests it?–Oh mysterious Providence!
Silence the wild idea:—I have found
No mercy yet; no mild humanity:
With cruel unrelenting rigour torn,
And, lost in prison, wild to all below !
So from his daily toil, returning late
O'er Grison's rugged mountains, clad in snow,
The peasant with astonish’d eyes beholds
A gaunt wolf, from the pine-grove howling rush;
Chill horror stiffens him, alike to fly
Unable, to resist; the monster feeds
Blood-happy, growling, on his quivering heart!
Meanwhile light blazes in his lonely cot
The crackling hearth; his careful wife prepares
Her humble cates; and through the lattic'd light
His little ones, expecting his return,
Peep, anxious! Ah, poor victim, he nor hearth
Bright blazing, nor the housewife's humble cates,
Nor much-lov’d children, henceforth more shall see
But soft: 'Tis calm reflection's midnight hour;
'Tis the soul's solemn inquest. Broods a thought
Resentful in thy bosom 2 Art thou yet,
Penitent Pilgrim, on earth's utmost bourn,
And candidate for Heaven, Art thou yet,
In love imperfect? and has malice place,
With dark revenge, and unforgiving hate,
28 THOUGEITS IN PRISON.
Hell's blackest offspring?—Glory to my God!
'With triumph let me sing, and close my strains
Abhorrent ever from my earliest youth
Of these detested passions, in this hour,
This trying hour of keen oppressive grief,
My soul superior rises; nor of these
Malevolent, a touch, the slightest touch
Feels, or shall ever harbour ! Though it feels
In all their amplitude, with all their weight,
Ungentlest treatment, and a load of woe,
Heavy as that which fabling poets lay
On proud Enceladus! Though life be drawn
By Cruelty’s fierce hand down to the lees,
Yet can my heart with all the truth of prayer,
With all the fervour of sincere desire,
Looking at Thee, thou love of God and man;
Yet can my heart in life or death implore,
“Father, forgive them, as Thou pitiest me!”
Oh, where's the wonder, when thy cross is seen!
Oh, where's the wonder, when thy voice is heard
Harmonious intercession | Son of God!
Oh, where's the wonder—or the merit where,
Or what's the task to love-attuned souls—
Poor fellow-creatures pitying, to implore
Forgiveness for them? Oh forgive my foes!
Best friends, perchance, for they may bring to Thee?
—Complete forgiveness on them, God of Grace
Complete forgiveness, in the dreadful hour,
When most they need forgiveness! And oh! Sueh
As in that dreadful hour, my poor heart wants,
And trust, great Father, to receive from Thee,
Such full forgiveness grant;-and my glad soul
Shall fold them then, my brethren, in thy house ty.
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. -* 49
Thus do I sooth, and while away with song
My lonely hours in drear confinement past,
like thee, oh gallant Raleigh or like thee,
My hapless ancestor, fam'd Overbury
But oh, in this how different is our fate 1
Thou to a vengeful woman's subtle wiles
A hapless victim fall'st; while my deep gloom,
Brighten’d by female virtue, and the light
Of conjugal affection—leads me oft,
Like the poor prison'd linnet, to forget
Freedom, and tuneful friends, and russef heath,
Vocal with native melody; to swell
The feeble throat, and chant the lowly.strain;
As in the season, when from spray to spray
Flew liberty on light elastic wing.
She flies no more:—Be mute my plaintive lyre
March 15, 1777. -
e-
W E E R T H E T H I R. D.
SUNDAY, March 18, 1777.
PUBLIC PUNISHMENT.
VAIN are thy generous efforts, worthy Bull”,
Thy kind compassion's vain The hour is come :
Stern fate demands compliance: I must pass
Through various deaths, keen torturing, to arrive
At that my heart so fervently implores; -
Yet fruitless. Ah! why hides he his fell front
From woe, from wretchedness, that with glad smiles
* Frederick Bull, Esq. Alderman of London; to whose
kindness and humanity the Author has expressed the highest
obligations. -
30 THOUGHTS IN PRISON,
Would welcome his approach; and, tyrant-like,
. Delights to dash the jocund roseate cup
From the full hand of gaudy luxury
And unsuspecting ease I Far worse than death
That prison’s entrance, whose idea chills
With freezing horror all my curdling blood;
Whose very name, stamping with infamy,
Makes my soul frighted start, in frenzy whirl’d,
And verging near to madness See, they ope
Their iron jaws See, the vast gates expand,
Gate after gate—and in an instant twang,
Clos'd by their growling keepers; when again,
Mysterious powers l—oh, when to ope on me?
Mercy, sweet Heaven, support my faltering steps,
Support my sickening heart! My full eyes swim
O'er all my frame distils a cold damp sweat!
Hark—what a rattling din on every side
The congregated chains clank frightful: Throngs
Tumultuous press around, to view, to gaze
Upon the wretched stranger; scarce believ'd
Other than visitor within such walls,
With mercy and with freedom in his hands.
Alas, how chang'd Sons of confinement, see
No pitying deliverer, but a wretch -
O'erwhelm'd with misery, more hapless far
Than the most hapless 'mongst ye; loaded hard
With guilt's oppressive irons ! His are chains.
No time can loosen, and no hand unbind :
Fetters which gore the soul. Oh, horror, horror!
Ye massive bolts give way: ye sullen doors,
Ah, open quick, and from this clamorous rout,
Close in my dismal, lone, allotted room -
Shrowd me;—for ever shrowd from human sight,
And make it, if 'tis possible, my gravel
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 31
How truly welcome, then Then would I greet
With hallow'd joy, the drear, but blest abode;
And deem it far the happiest I have known,
The best I e'er inhabited. But, alas !
There's no such mercy for me. I must run
Misery’s extremest round; and this must be
Awhile my living grave; the doleful tomb,
Sad sounding with my unremitting groans,
And moisten’d with the bitterness of tears :
Ah, mournful dwelling ! destin’d ne'er to see
The human face divine in placid smiles,
And innocent gladness cloth'd; destin'd to hear
No sounds of genial heart-reviving joy!
The sons of sorrow only are thy guests,
And thine the only music of their sighs,
Thick sobbing from the tempest of their breasts
Ah! mournful dwelling! never hast thou seen,
Amidst the numerous wretched ones immur'd
Within thy stone-girt compass, wretch so sunk,
So lost, so ruin'd, as the man who falls
Thus in deep anguish, on thy ruthless floor,
And bathes it with the torrent of his tears.
And can it be 2 or is it all a dream 2
A vapour of the mind 2–I scarce believe
Myself awake or acting. Sudden thus
Am I–so compass'd round with comforts late,
Health, freedom, peace, torn, torn from all, and
A prisoner in—Impossible!—I sleep ! [lost!
'Tis fancy's coinage 'tis a dream's delusion |
Vain dream vain fancy! Quickly I am rous'd
To all the dire reality's distress: - -
I tremble, start, and feel myself awake,
Dreadfully awake to all my woes and roll
From wave to wave on Sorrow's ocean toss'd
32 sºn
THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
Oh, for a moment's pause,_a moment's rest,
To calm my hurried spirits! to recal
Reflection's staggering pilot to the helm,
And still the maddening whirlwind in my soul!
—It cannot be The din increases round :
Rough voices rage discordant; dreadful shrieks;
Hoarse imprecations dare the Thunderer's ire,
And call down swift damnation I thousand chains
In dismal notes clink, mirthfull Roaring bursts
Of loud obstreperous laughter, and strange choirs
Of gutturals, dissonant and rueful, vex
Ev’n the dull ear of midnight ! Neither rest,
Nor peaceful calm, nor silence of the mind,
Refreshment sweet, nor interval or pause
From morn to eve, from eve to morn is found
Amidst the surges of this troubled sea * !
So, from the Leman Lake th’ impetuous Rhone
His blue waves pushes rapid, and bears down
Furiate to meet Saome's pellucid stream,
(With roar tremendous, through the craggy straits
Of Alpine rocks) his freight of waters wild :
Still rushing in perturbed eddies on ;
And still from hour to hour, from age to age,
In conflux wast and unremitting, pours
His boisterous flood to old Lugdunim's wall !
* It is but a just tribute to Mr. Ackerman, the keeper of
this dismal place, to observe, that all the evils here enumerated
are the immediate consequences of promiscuous confinement,
and no way chargeable to Mr. A's account. It is from the
strictest observation, I am persuaded, that no man could do
more in the present circumstances. His attention is great, and
his kindness and humanity to those in sickness or affliction pecu-
liarly pleasing. I can bear testimony to many signal instances,
which I have remarked since my sad confinement.
THoughts IN PRISON. 33
Oh, my rack'd brain l—oh, my distracted heart!
The tumult thickens: wild disorder grows
More painfully confus’d l—And can it be?
Is this, the mansion—this the house ordain'd
For recollection's Solemn purpose ſ—this
The place from whence full many a flitting soul
(The work of deep repentance—mighty work,
Still, still to be perform'd) must mount to God,
And give its dread account Is this the place
Ordain’d by justice, to confine awhile
The foe to civil order, and return
Reform'd and moraliz'd to social life!
This den of drear confusion, wild uproar,
Of mingled riot and unblushing vice!
This school of infamy! from whence, improv’d
In every hardy villany, returus
More harden'd, more a foe to God and man,
The miscreamt, nurs'd in its infectious lap,
All cover'd with its pestilential spots,
And breathing death and poison whersoe'er
He stalks contagious! from the lion's den
A lion more ferocious as confin'd
Britons, while sailing in the golden barge
Of giddy dissipation, on the stream,
Smooth silver stream of gorgeous luxury,
Boast gaily—and for ages may they boast,
And truly; for through ages we may trust
'Twill interpose between our crimes and God,
And turn away his just avenging scourge—
“The national Humanity! Hither, then,
Ye sons of pity, and ye sons of thought !—
Whether by public zeal and patriot love,
Or by Compassion's gentle stirrings wrought,
Oh hither come, and find sufficient scope
D -
34 - TEXOUGHITS IN PRISON.
For all the patriot's, all the Christian's search 1
Some great, some salutary plan to frame,
Turning confinement's curses into good;
And, like the God who but rebukes to save,
Extracting comfort from correction's stroke
Why do we punish P Why do penal laws
Coercive, by tremendous sanctions bind
Offending mortals —Justice on her throne
Rigid on this hand to example points;
More mild to reformation upon that:
—She balances, and finds no ends but these.
Crowd then, along with yonder revel-rout,
To exemplary punishment, and mark
The language of the multitude, obscene,
Wild, blasphemous, and cruel! Tent their looks
Of madding, drunken, thoughtless, ruthless gaze,
Of giddy curiosity and vain
Their deeds still more emphatic, note; and see
By the sad spectacle unimpress'd, they dare
Even in the eye of death, what to their doom
Brought their expiring fellows | Learn we lience,
How to example’s salutary end
Our justice Sagely ministers! But one,—
Should there be one—thrice hapless, of a mind
By guilt unharden'd, and above the throng
Of desperate miscreants, through repeated crimes
In stupor lull'd, and lost to every sense;—
Ah me, the sad reverse ! should there be one
Of generous feelings; whom remorseless fate,
Pallid necessity, or chill distress,
The family's urgent call, or just demand
Of honest creditor, (solicitudes *..
To reckless, pamper'd worldlings all unknown)
Should there be one, whose trembling, frighted hand,
THOUGHTS IN PRISON."
3
5
Causes like these in temporary guilt,
Abhorrent to his inmost soul, have plung’d,
And made obnoxious to the rigid law
Sentenc'd to pay,+and, wearied with its weight,
Well-pleas'd to pay with life that law's demand;
Awful dispensers of strict justice, say,
Would ye have more than life? or, in an age,
A country, where humanity reverts -
At torture's bare idea, would you tear
Worse than on-racking wheels a soul like this,
And make him of the stupid crowd a gaze
For lingering hours?—drag him along to death
An useless spectacle; and more than slay
Your living victim?—Death is your demand:
Death your law's sentence: then this life is yours:
Take the just forfeit; you can claim no more :
Foe to my infidelity, and griev'd
That he avows not, from the Christian source,
The first great Christian duty, which so well,
So forcibly he paints!—Yet let me greet
With heart-felt gratulations thy warm zeal,
Successful in that sacred duty's cause,
The cause of our humanity, Voltaire
Torture's vile agents trembling at thy pen:
Intolerance and persecution gnash
Their teeth, despairing at the lucid rays
Of truth all prevalent, beaming from thy page.
The rack, the wheel, the dungeon, and the flame,
In happier Europe useless and unknown,
Shall soon,_oh speed the hour, Compassion's God,
Be seen no more; or seen as prodigies, -
Scarce credited, of Gothic barbarous times.
Ah, gallant France, for milder manners fam’d,
How wrung it my sad soul, to view expos'd
36 THOUGHTS IN U'RISON.
gº?
On instruments of torture—mangled limbs
And bleeding carcasses, beside thy roads,
Thy beauteous woods and avenues Fam'd works,
And worthy well the grandeur of old Rome !
We, too, who boast of gentler laws, reform'd
And civiliz'd hy liberty’s kind hand;
Of mercy boast, and mildest punishments:
Yet punishments of torture exquisite
And idle; painful, ruinous paradel
We, too, with Europe humaniz'd, shall drop
The barbarous severity of death,
Example's bane, not profit; shall abridge
The savage base Qvation; shall assign
The wretch, whose life is forfeit to the laws,
With all the silent dignity of woe,
With all the mournful majesty of death,
Refir’d and solemn, to his awful fate
Shall to the dreadful moment, moment still
To souls best fitted, give distinction due; .
Teach the well-order'd sufferer to depart
With each impression serious; nor insult
With clamorous crowds and exultations base,
A soul, a fellow-soul, which stands prepard
On time's dread verge to take its wondrous flight,
To realms of immortality 1. Yes, the day
—I joy in the idea, will arrive,
When Britons philanthropic shall reject
The cruel custom, to the sufferer cruel,
Useless and baneful to the gaping crowd
The day will come, when life, the dearest price
Man can pay down, sufficient forfeit deem'd
For guilty man's transgression of the law,
Shall be paid down, as meet for such a price
Respectful, sad ; with reverence to a soul's
THOUG IIT'S IN PRISON, 37
Departure hence; with reverence to the soul's
And body's separation, much-lov’d friends !
Without a torture to augment its loss,
Without an insult to molest its calm ;
To the demanded debt no fell account
Of curious, hissing ignominy annex’d;
Anguish, beyond the bitterest torture keen ;
Unparallel'd in realms where bigotry
Gives to the furious sons of Dominic
Her sable flag, and marks their way with blood.
Hail, milder sons of Athens! civiliz'd
By arts ingenious, by the 'suasive power
Of humanizing science : well ye thought,
Like you may Britons think, that 'twas enough,
The sentence pass'd, a Socrates should die
The sage, obedient to the law's decree,
Took from the weeping executioner
The draught, resign'd; amidst his sorrowing friends,
Full of immortal hopes, convers’d sublime;
And, half in Heaven—compos'd himself, and died
Oh, envy’d fate 1 oh, happiness supreme !
So let me die; so, midst my weeping friends,
Resign my life I ask not the delay
Ev’n of a moment. Law, thou'st have thy due ! .
Northou, nor justice, can have more to claim.
But equal laws, on truth and reason built,
Look to humanity with lenient eye, .
And temper rigid justice with the claims
Of heaven-descended mercy to condemn
Sorrowing and slow; while studious to correct,
Like man's all-gracious parent, with the view
- Benign and laudable, of moral good,
And reformation perfect. Hither, then,
Ye sons of sympathy, of wisdom; friends
38 - TH() (JG FITS IN PRISON.
To, order, to compassion, to the state,
And to your fellow-beings; hither come,
To this wild realm of uproar! hither haste,
And see the reformation, see the good
Wrought by confinement in a den like this!
View, with unblushing front, undaunted heart,
The callous harlot in the open day
Administer her poisons 'midst a rout
Scarcely less bold or poison'd than herself!
View, and with eyes that will not hold the tear
In gentle pity gushing for such griefs,
View the young wretch, as yet unfledg'd in vice,
Just shackled here, and by the veteran throng,
In every infamy and every crime
Grey and insulting, quickly taught to dare,
Harden’d like them in guilt’s opprobrious school;
Each bashful sentiment, incipient grace,
Each yet remorseful thought of right and wrong
Murder'd and buried in his darken'd heart!—
Hear how these veterans clank, ev’n jovial clank
—Such is obduracy and vice—their chains" !
Hear, how with curses hoarse, and vauntings bold,
Each spirits up, encourages, and dares
His deperate fellow to more desperate proofs
Of future hardy enterprize ; to plans
Of death and ruin! Not exulting more
*
* This circumstance is slightly mentioned before, and alludes
to a fact equally singular and disgustful. The rattling of their
fetters is frequently, and in a wanton manner, practised amongst
some of the worst offenders, as if an amusement, or to show
their insensibility, to shame. How shocking to see human na-
tnre thus in ruins ! Here it is emphatically so, worse than in
Bedlam, as madness with reason is more dreadful than with-
out it.
THoughts IN PRIson. 39
Heroes or chiefs for noble acts renown'd,
Holding high converse, mutually relate
Gallant achievements worthy, than the sons
Of plunder and of rapine here recount
On peaceful life their devastations wild,
Their dangers, hair-breadth 'scapes, atrocious feats,
Confederate, and confederating still º
In schemes of deathful horror! Who, surpris'd,
Can such effects contemplate, upon minds
Estrang'd to good: fermenting on the lees -
Of pregnant ill; associate and combin'd
In intercourse infernal, restless, dire;
And goading constant each to other's thoughts
To deeds of desperation, from the tale
Of vaunted infamy oft told : sad fruit
Of the mind's vacancy! And to that mind
Employment none is offer'd : not an hour
To secret recollection is assign'd ; -
No seasonable sound instruction brought,
Food for their thoughts, self-guawing. Not the day
To rest and duty dedicate, finds here
Or rest or duty; revel'd off, unmark'd ;
Or like the others undistinguish'd, save
By riot's roar, and self-consuming sloth !
For useful occupation none is found,
Benevolent to employ their listless hands,
With indolence fatigued Thus every day
Anew they gather Guilt’s corrosive rust;
Each wretched day accumulates fresh ills;
And horribly advanc'd, flagitious grown
From faulty, they go forth, tenfold of Hell
More the devoted children: to the state
Tenfold more dangerous envenom'd foes
Than first they enter'd this improving school!
40 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
So, cag'd and scanty fed, or taught to rage
By taunting insults, more ferocious burst
On man the tyger or hyaena race,
From fell confinement, and with hunger urg’d,
Gnash their dire fangs, and drench themselves in
blood. -
But should the felon fierce, th’ abandom'd train,
Whose inroads on the human peace forbid,
Almost forbid Compassion's mild regard ;
(Yet, ah what man with fellow-man can fall
So low as not to claim soft pity's care?)
Should these aught justify the rigid voice,
Which to severe confinement's durance doom
Infallible the body and the soul -
To bitterest, surest ruin ; shall we not
With generous indignation execrate
The cruel indiscriminating law,
Which turns misfortune into guilt and curse,
And with the felon harden'd in his crimes
Ranks the poor hapless debtor?—Debt's not guilt:
Alas ! the worthiest may incur the stroke
Of worldly infelicity | What man,
How high soe'er he builds his earthly nest,
Can claim security from fortune's change,
Or boast him of to-morrow P Of the East,
Greatest and chief, lo! humble in the dust,
Sits Job, the sport of misery | Wealthiest late
Of all blest Araby's most wealthy sons,
He wants a potsherd now to scrape his wounds;
He wants a bed to shroud his tortur'd limbs,
And only finds a dunghill! Creditor,
Would'st thou add sorrows to this sorrowing man,
Tear him from ev’m his dunghill, and confine
"Midst recreant felons in a British jail!—
*THOUG EITS IN PRISON. 41
Oh, British inhumanity Ye climes,
Ye foreign climes—Be not the truth proclaim'd
Within your streets, nor be it heard or told;
Lest ye retort the cruelty we urge,
And scorn the boasted mildness of our laws
Blest be the hour, amidst my depth of woe,
Amidst this perturbation of my soul,
God of my life, I can, I will exult —-
Blest be the hour, that to my humble thought
Thy spirit, sacred source of every good,
Brought the sublime idea, to expand
By charity, the angels grace divine,
The rude, relentless, iron prison gates,
And give the pining debtor to the world,
His weeping family, and humble home !
Blest be the hour, when, heedful to my voice,
Bearing the prisoners sad sighs to their ears,
Thousands, with soft commiseration touch'd,
Delighted to go forth, and visit glad
Those prisoners in their woe, and set them free
God of the merciful! thou hast announc'd
On mercy, thy first, dearest attribute,
Chosen beatitude. Oh, pour the dew,
The fostering dew of mercy on their gifts,
Their rich donations grateful 1 May the prayers
Of those enfranchis’d by their bounteous zeal
Arise propitious for them and, when hers'd
In death’s cold arms this hapless frame shall lie,
—The generous tear, perchance, not qmite with-
held ;- --
When friendly memory to reflection brings
My humble efforts, and my mournful fate,
On stable basis founded, may the work
Diffuse its good through ages 1 nor withhold
42 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
f
Its rescuing influence, till the hour arrives
When wants, and debts, and sickness, are no more,
And universal freedom blesseth all !
But, till that hour, on reformation's plan,
Ye generous sons of sympathy, intent, .
Boldly stand forth. The cause may well demand,
And justify full well your noblest zeal.
Religion, policy, your country's good,
And Christian pity for the souls of men,
To prisons call you ; call to cleanse away
The filth of these foul dens; to purge from guilt,
And turn them to morality’s fair school.
Nor'deem impossible the great attempt,
Augaean though it seem; yet not beyond
The strength-of those, that, like Alcides, aim
High to be rank'd amidst the godlike few,
Who shine eternal on fame's amplest roll :
Honour’d with titles, far beyond the first
Which proudest monarchs of the globe can give ;
“Saviours and benefactors of mankind ſ”
Hail, generous Hanway ! To thy noble, plan,
Sage, sympathetic *, let the muse subscribe,
Rejoicing ! In the kind pursuit, good luck
She wisheth thee, and honour. Could her strain
Embellish aught, or aught assist thy toils
Benevolent, 'twould cheer her lonely hours,
And make the dungeon smile. But toils like thine
Need no embellishment; need not the aid
Of muse or feeble verse. Reason-approv’d
And charity-sustain'd, firm will they stand
Under his sanction, who on mercy's works
&
* See Mr. Hanway's pamphlet, entitled, “Solitude in Im
prisonment.”
THOUGHTS IN PRISON, 43
E'er look complacent; and his sons on earth,
His chosen sons, with angel-zeal inspires
To plan and to support. And thine well-plann'd,
Shall be supported. Pity for thy brow,
With policy the sage, shall shortly twine
The garland, worthier far than that of oak,
So fam'd in ancient Rome—the meed of him
Who sav'd a single citizen. More bless'd
Religion mild, with gentle mercy join'd,
Shall hail thee—for the citizens, the souls
Innumerous restor'd to God, the state,
Themselves, and social life, by solitude,
Devotion's parent, Recollection's-nurse,
Source of Repentance true; of the mind's wounds
The deepest prober, but the safest cure * !
Hail, sacred solitude These are thy works,
True source of good supreme ! Thy blest effects
Already on my mind's delighted eye
Open beneficent. Ev’n now I view -
The revel-rout dispers'd ; each to his cell
Admitted, silent! The obstreperous cries -
Worse than infernal yells! the clank of chains—
Opprobrious chains, to man severe disgrace,
Hush'd in calm order, vex the ear no more I
While, in their stead, reflection's deep-drawn sighs,
And prayers of humble penitence are heard,
To heaven well-pleasing, in soft whispers round !
No more, 'midst wantom idleness the hours
Drag wearisome and slow : kind industry
Gives wings and weight to every moment's speed;
Each minute marking with a golden thread,
Of moral profit. Harden’d vice no more
* Wide Taylor’s Holy Living and Dying, Part II. p. 42.
44 TIHOUGIITS IN PRISON.
Communicates its poison to the souls
Of young associates, nor diffuses wide
A pestilential taint. Still thought pervades
The inmost heart: instruction aids the thought;
And blest religion, with life-giving ray,
Shines on the mind sequester'd in its gloom ;
Disclosing glad the golden gates, through which
Reperſtance, led by faith, may tread the courts
Of peace and reformation | Cleer'd and chang'd,
—His happy days of quarantine perform’d—
Lo, from his solitude the captive comes
New-born,' and opes once more his grateful eyes
On day, on life, on man, a fellow-man
Hail, Sacred solitude 1 from thee alone
Flow these high blessings. Norbe’t deem’d severe,
Such sequestration; destin'd to retrieve
The mental lapse; and to its powers restore
The Heaven-born soul, encrusted with foul guilt :
'Tis tenderest mercy, 'tis humanity -
Yearning with kindliest softness; while her arm
From ruin plucks, effectuates the release,
And gives a ransom'd man to earth—to Heaven
To the sick patient, struggling in the jaws
Of obstimate disease, e'er knew we yet
Grateful and pleasing from physician's hand
The rough, but salutary draught?—For that
Do we withhold the draught and, falsely kind,
Hang sighing o'er our friend,-allow'd to toss
On the hot fever's bed, rave on and die,
Unmedicin'd, unreliev'd 2 Bnt, sages, say,
Where, is the medicine? Who will prescribe a cure,
Or adequate to this corroding ill, -
Or in its operation milder found? {ſº
See on old Thames's waves indignant ride,
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 45
In sullen terror, yonder Sable bark,
By state physicians lately launch'd, and hight
. Justitia" | Dove-eyed Pity, if thou canst,
That bark ascend with me, and let us learn
How, temper'd with her sister Mercy, there
Reigns Justice; and, effective to the ill
Inveterate grown, her lenient aid supplies.
And rolls this bark on Thames's generous flood—
Flood that wafts freedom, wafts the high-born sons
Of gallant liberty to every land 2
See the chain'd Britons, fetter'd man by man!
See in the stifled hold—excluded whence
Man's common blessing, air, ne’er freely breathes—
They mingle, crowded ! To our pamper'd steeds
Inferior how in lodging ! Tainted food
And poison'd fumes their life-springs stagnate rank;
They reel aloft for breath : their tottering limbs
Bend weak beneath the burden of a frame
Corrupted, burning; with blue feverous spots
Contagious; and, unequal to the toil,
Urg'd by task-masters, vehement, severe,
On the chill sand-bank!—by despair and pain
Worn down and wearied, some their being curse,
And die, devoting to destruction's rage
Society's whole race detested . Some,
More mild, gasp out in agonies of soul
Their loath’d existence; which nor physic's aid,
Nor sweet religion's interposing smile,
Sooths with one ray of comfort | Gracious God!
* The Author seems chiefly to have formed his idea of the
mode of treating convicts ou the Thames, from a late pamphlet,
published by Dr. Smith: but we are informed that the evils here
complained of have been already, in a great measure, and we
trust will soon be wholly removed.
46 THOUGEITS IN PRISON.
And this is mercy!—Thus, from sentenc'd death,
Britons in pity respite, to restore
And moralize mankind I Correction this,
Just Heaven, design'd for reformation's end I
Ye slaves, that bred in tyranny's domains
Toil at the galleys, how supremely blest,
How exquisite your lot, (so much deplor’d
By haughty sons of freedom) to the fate
Experienc'd hourly by her free-born sons,
In our Britannia's vaunted residence *;
Sole, chosen residence of faith refin'd,
And genuine liberty Ye semators,
Ye venerable sages of the law,
In just resentment for your country's fame,
Wipe off this contradictory reproach
To manners, and to policy like yours!
Correct, but to amend: 'tis God’s own plan.
Correct, but to reform ; then give to men
The means of reformation : then, restor'd
To recollection, to himself, to God,
The criminal will bless your saving hand ; .
And brought to reason, to religion brought,
Will own that solitude, as solely apt
For work so solemn, has that work achiev’d,
Miraculous, and perfect of his cure.
Ah me !—to sentiments like these estrang’d,
Fstrang'd as ignorant, and never pent
Till this sad chance within a prison's wall,
* There is a thought in Lucan to the same purpose, elegantly
expressed.
“ Felices Arabes, Medigue, Eoaque Tellus,
Quam sub perpetuis temuerunt ſata tyrannis.
Ex populis, qui regna ferunt, Sors ultima nostra est,
Qugs servire pudct.” Pharsal, lib. 7.
THOUGHTS IN PRISON, 47.
With what deep force, experienc'd, can I urge
The truths momentous ! How their power I feel
In this my solitude, in this lone hour,
This melancholy midnight hour of thought,
Encircled with the unhappy : firmly clos'd
Each barricadoed door, and left, just God,
Oh blessing—left to pensiveness and Thee!
To me how high a blessing ! nor contains
Seclusion aught of punishment; to mix
With wretches here were punishment indeed
How dread a punishment!—In life's best days,
Of all most chosen, valued and belov’d,
Was soft retirement's season. From youth's dawn
To solitude inur’d, “ ne'er less alone
Than when alone,” with him so truly fam'd
In wisdom's school, my heart could ever, beat
Glad unison. To meditation's charms,
Pleas'd votary, how have pass'd my sweetest hours
In her secrete and calm society -
Still Meditation, Solitude's fair child, -
Man's dearest friend,-Oh, happy be the time
That introduc’d me to thy hallow'd train;
That taught me through thy genial lessons Sage
My best, my truest dignity to place -
In thought, reflection deep, and studious search,
Divinest recreations of the mind $
Oh, happy be the day which gave that mind
Learning's first tincture—blest thy fostering care,
Thou most belov'd of parents, worthiest sire
Which, taste-inspiring, made the letter'd page
My favourite companion : most esteem'd
And most improving ! Almost from the day
Of earliest childhood to the present hour,
Of gloomy, black misfortune, books, dear books,
48 THOUGHTS IN PRISON,
Have been, and are, my comforts: Morm and night,
Adversity, prosperity, at home, -
Abroad, health, sickness, good or ill report,
The same firm friends; the same refreshment rich,
And source of consolation l Nay, ev’n here
Their magic power they lose not : still the same,
Of matchless influence in this prison-house,
Unutterably horrid; in an hour
Of woe, beyond all fancy’s fictions drear.
Drear liour !—What is it l—Lost in poignant
- Lost in the retrospection manifold [thought,
Of thee, lov’d study, and of thee, my sire,
Who, to the fountain fair of Science led
My infant feet,_I lose all count of time,
I lose myself. List!—'tis dread midnight's hour,
When waking fancy with invention wild
(By ages hallow'd) hath to spirits assign'd
—Spirits of dear departed friends—to walk
The silent gloom, and bring us from the dead
Tales harrowing up the soul aghast!—And, hark
Solemn and slow the iron tongue of night
Resounds alarming ! My o'er-harass'd soul.
Confus'd, is lost in sorrows: down mine eyes
Stream the full tears, distress is all alive,
And quick inmagination's pulse beats high.
“Dear father, is it thou?” Methought his ghost
Glided in silence by me ! Not a word,
While mournfully he shakes his dear pale face
O stay, thou much-lov'd parent 1 stay, and give
One word of consolation; if allow'd
To son, like whom no son hath ever lov’d,
None ever suffer'd See, it comes again :
August it flits across th'astonish’d room
I know thee well, thy beauteous image know :
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 49
Dear spirit stay, and take me to the world
Where thou art. And where thou art, oh my father,
I must, I must be happy.—Every day [love,
Thou know'st, remembrance hath embalm’d thy
And wish'd thy presence. Melancholy thought,
At last to meet thee in a place like this 1
Oh stay and waft me instant—But, 'tis gone,
The dear delusion He nor hears my words,
My filial anxiety, nor regards
My pleading tears. 'Twas but a coinage vain
Of the distemper'd fancy Gone, ’tis gone,
And here I’m left a trembling wretch to weep
Unheard, umpitied left, to weep alone !
Northou, Maria, with me ! Oh, my wife,
And is this bitter with the bitterest mix’d,
That I must lose thy heavenly company,
And consolation soothing ! Yet, 'tis best :
Thy tenderness, thy presence, doth but wound
And stab to the keenest quick my bursting heart!
“I have undone thee!” Can I then sustain
Thy killing aspect, and that tender tear
Which secret steals adown thy lovely face,
Dissemblingsmiles to cheer me—cheer me, heaven!
Look on the mighty ruin I have pluck'd,
Pluck'd instant, unsuspected, in the hour
Of peace and dear security on her head
And where—O where can cheerfulness, be found?
Mine must be mourning ever. Oh, my wife,
“I have undone thee!”—What th' infuriate hand
Of foes vindictive could not have achiev'd,
In mercy would not, I have wrought ! Tlly
husband 1
Thy husband, lov’d with such unshaken truth,
Thy husband, lov’d with such a steady flame,
E
50 - TFſ OUGHTS IN PRISON.
From youth's first hour !—Even he hath on thee
pluck'd, &
On thee, his soul's companion, life’s best friend,
Such desolation, as to view would draw
From the wild savage pity's deepest groan
Yes, yes, thou coward mimic, pamper’d vice,
High praise be sure is thine. Thou hast obtain'd
A worthy triumph” Thou hast pierc'd to the quick
A weak, an amiable female heart,
A conjugal heart most faithful, most attach'd :
Yet can I pardon thee; for, poor buffoon,
Thy vices must be fed ; and thou must live,
Luxurious live, a foe to God and man; *
Commission'd live, thy poison to diffuse,
And taint the public virtue with thy crimes.
Yes, I can pardon thee—low as thou art,
And far too mean an object ev’n of scorn;
For thou her merits knew'st not. Hadst thou
Thou, -callous as thou art to every sense [known,
Of human feeling, every nobler touch
Of generous sensibility,+even thou
Could'st not have wanton pierc’d her gentle breast;
But at a distance awful would'st have stood,
And, like thy prototype of oldest time,
View'd her just virtues, pass in triumph by,
And own’d, howe'er reluctant
March 30, 1777.
* Alluding to the character of Mrs. Simony, introduced by
Mr. Foote in his play of The Cozeners.
T HOUGHTS IN PRIS () N. 51
WEEK THE FOURTH.
y THE TRIAL.
DREAD'ST thou an earthly bar 2 Thou who so oft
In contemplation serious hast employ'd
Thy dearest meditation's on a bar
Tremendously decisive who so oft
That bar's important terrors hast display'd
To crowds attentive; with the solemn theme
Rapt in thought profound—And beats thy heart
With throbs tumultuous—fail thy trembling knees,
Now that in judgment thou must stand before
Weak mortals, like thyself, and soon like thee,
Shiv'ring with guilt and apprehensions dire,
To answer in dread judgment 'fore their God?
What gives that judgment terror? Guilt, pale guilt;
Conscience accusing stern; the fiery law,
The terrible hand-writing on the wall !
But vanish these,_ that mighty Day’s-man found,
Who, smiling on confession's genuine tear,
The meek repentant aspect, and the hand
With ready, perfect retribution fraught,
Urges complete his ransom, and sets free
Th’ immortal prisoner.—But, all me! on earth
Such golden mercy reigns not: here is found
No potent Day's-man ; here no ransom full,
No clement mediator. Here stern law,
With visage all-unbending, eyes alone
The rigorous act. Confession here is guilt,
And restitution perfect, perfect loss!
52 . THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
Ah me the while, here men the judges are;
And there, th’ Omniscient mercy's source and
stream | --
Triumphant consolation! Firm in faith,
And justify’d by him whose precious blood
For man flow’d liberal, the soul secure
Of future acceptation at that bar .
Cf trial most momentous soars above
The world's severest trials”, and can view
* The verses subjoined were written by the King of Prussia,
afer a defeat, when one of his general officers had proposed to
set him the example of self-destruction:
Dans ces jours, pleins d’alarmes
La constance et la fermeté
Sont les boucliers et les armes
.Que j'oppose a l'adversité:
Que le Destin me persecute,
Qu'il prepare ou hate machute,
Le danger me peut m'ebranler:
Quand le vulgaire est plein de crainte,
Que Pesperance semple eteinte,
L’homme fort doit le signaler.
A friend having given Dr. Dodd in ptison a copy of these
lines, he was much pleased with them, and immediately para- .
phrased as follows:
In these sad moments of severe distress,
When dangers threaten, and when sorrows press,
For my defence, behold what arms are given—
Firmness of soul, and confidence in Heaven I
With these, though fortune hunt me through the land,
Though instant, utter ruin seem at hand,
Compos'd and self-collected I remain,
Nor start at perils, nor of ills complain.
To mean despair the low, the servile fly,
When Hope’s bright star seems darken'd in their sky:
Then shines the Christian, and delights to prove
IIis faith unshaken, and unchang'd his lovel
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 53
Serene the horrors of an eartlily bar,
Though far than death more horrid. Yes, kind
How preferable far thy sight to me! [death,
Oh that, without this tedious, dread detail
Of awful circumstance,—this long, sad pomp
Of ministering wretchedness, thy friendly shaft
Had instant reach'd, and pierc'd my tortur'd heart;
How had I blest the stroke, and been at peace!
But through a dreary avenue of woe,
A lengthen’d vault of black distress and shame,
With mournful, melancholy sable hung,
Must I be led *, or ere I can receive
Thine icy comforts to my chill'd life's blood |
Welcome, thrice welcome were they; but the call
Of Heaven's dread arbiter we wait: His will
Is rectitude consummate. 'Tis the will
Parental of high wisdom and pure love.
Then to that will submissive bend, my soul:
And, while meek resignation to the rod
Corrective of his justice and his love
Obedient bows, Oh for impartial search!
Oh for a trial strict, to trace the cause,
The fatal cause, whence sprung the ill deplor’d!
And why—Sad spectacle of woe—we stand
Thus, sin and sorrow sunk, at this dread bar!
Return, blest hours—ye peaceful days, return
When through each office of celestial love
Ennobling piety my glad feet led
Continual, and my head each night to rest
Lull'd on the downy pillow of contentl
Dear were thy shades, O Ham, and dear the hours
* Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,
Quam quae Sunt occulis subjecta fidelibus, et quae
Ipse sibi tradit Spectator : flo)".
54 THOUGHTS IN PRISON,
In manly musing 'midst thy forests pass'd,
And antique woods of sober solitude,
Oh, Epping, witness to my lonely walks
By Heaven-directed contemplation led !
Ye days of duty, tranquil mights, return *:
How ill-exchang'd for those, which busier scenes
To the world’s follies dedicate, engross'd
In specious trifling ! all-important deem’d,
While guilt, O Chesterfield, with seeming gold
Of prime refinement, through thy fostering smile,
And patronage auspicious !
Sought by thee,
And singled out, unpatroniz'd, unknown;
By thee, whose taste consummate was applause,
Whose approbation merit; forth I came,
And with me to the task, delighted, brought
The upright purpose, the intention firm
To fill the charge, to justify the choice,
Perchance too flattering to my heart; a heart
Frank, inexpert, unhackney’d in the world,
And yet estranged to guile! But ye, more skill'd
In that world’s artful style, judges severe;
Say, in the zenith of bright Stanhope’s sum,
(Though set that sun, alas, in misty clouds !)
Say, 'midst his lustre, whom would not that choice
Have flatter'd?—and still more, when urg’d, ap-
prov’d,
And bless'd by thee, St. Tavid's honour'd friend;
Alike in wisdom's and in learning's school
Advanc'd and sage l—Short pause, my muse, and sad
Allow, while leaning on Affection's arm
Deep-sighing Gratitude, with tears of truth,
Bedews the urn, the happy urn, where rest
Mingled thy ashes, oh, my friend, and her’s,
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 55
Whose life bound up with thine in amity
Indissolubly firm, felt thy last pang
Disrupting as her own! gently sigh’d forth
The precious boon while sprung her faithful soul,
Indignant without thee to rest below,
On wings of love, to meet thee in the skies!
Blest pair, and envied Envied and embalm'd
In our recording memory, my wife,
My friend, my lov’d Maria, be our lot [thoughts!
Like theirs! — But soft, — ah my foreboding
Repress the gushing tear;-return my song.
Plac'd thus, and shelter'd underneath a tree,
Which seem'd like that in visions of the might
To Babylonia's haughty prince pourtray'd,
Whose height reach'd Heav'n, and, whose verdant
boughs -
Extended wide their succour and their shade,
How did I trust, too confident how dream
That fortune's smiles were mine! and how deceiv'd,
By gradual declension yield my trust,
My humble happy trust on Thee, my God!
How ill-exchang'd for confidence in man,
In Chesterfield's, in princes !—Wider scenes,
Alps still on Alps were open'd to my view;
And, as the circle in the flood enlarg’d,
Enlarg’d expenses call. Fed to the full
With flattery's light food”, and the puff’d wind
* So praysen babes, the peacock's starry traine,
And wondren at bright Argus’ blazing eye;
But who rewards him e'er the more for thy :
Or feeds him once the fuller by a graine?
Sike praise is smoke that sheddeth in the skie,
Sike words been winde, and wastem soon in vaine.
Spenser.
56 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
Of promises delusive “Onward still,
“Press onward,” cried the world’s alluring voice;
“ The time of retribution is at hand :
“See the ripe vintage waits thee.” Fool and blind,
Still credulous I heard, and still pursued
The airy meteor glittering through the mire,
Through brake and bog, till more and more engulf'd
In the deceitful quag, floundering I lay.
Nor heard was then the world's alluring voice,
Or promises delusive: then not seen
The tree umbrageous, with its ample shade:
For me, alas, that tree had shade no more
But struggling in the gulf, my languid eye
Saw only round the barren rushy moor,
The flat, wide dreary desert, till a hope,
Dress'd by the tempter in an angel's form,
Presenting its fair hand—imagin’d fair,
Though foul as murkiest hell, to drag me forth,
Down to the centre plung'd me, dark and dire
Of howling ruin; bottomless abyss -
Of desolating shame, and nameless woeſ
But, witness Heaven and earth, 'midst this brief
This blasting period of my chequer'd life, [stage,
Though by the world's gay vanities allur’d,
I danc'd, too oft, alas, with the wild route
Of thoughtless fellow-mortals, to the sound
Of folly's tinkling bells; though oft, too oft,
Those pastimes shar'd enervating, which ill
—Howe'er by some judg’d innocent—become
Religion’s sober character and garb ;
Though oft, too oft, by weak compliance led,
External seemings, and the ruinous. bait
Of smooth politeness; what my heart condemn'd
Unwise it practis'd; never without pang;
THOUGHTS IN PRIS()N. 57
Though too much influenc'd by the pleasing force
Of native generosity, uncurb’d ſ
And unchastis'd (as reason, duty taught)
Prudent economy, in thy sober school
Of parsimonious lecture; useful lore,
And of prime moment to our worldly weal;
—Yet, witness heaven and earth, amidst this dream,
This transient vision, ne'er so slept my soul,
Or sacrific'd my hands at folly's shrine,
As to forget Religion's public toil,
Study's improvement, or the pleading cause
Of suffering humanity.—Gracious God,
How wonderful a compound, mixture strange,
Incongruous, inconsistent, is frail man!
Yes, my lov'd Charlotte, whose top-stone with joy
My careful hands brought forth, what time expell'd
From Ham's lost paradise, and driv'n to seek’
Another place of rest? Yes, beauteous fame,
To bright Religion dedicate, thou well
My happy public labours camst attest,
Unwearied and successful in the cause,
The glorious, honour’d cause of Him, whose love
Bled for the human race: Thou canst attest
The Sabbath-days delightful, when the throng
Crowded thy hallow’d walls with eager joy,
To hear truth evangelical, the sound
Of gospel comfort! When attentive sat,
Or at the holy altar humbly knelt,
Persuasive, pleasing patterns—Athol's Duke,
The polish’d Hervey, Kingston the humane,
Aylesbury and Marchmont, Romney all-rever'd ;
With numbers more—by splendid titles less
Than piety distinguish’d and pure zeal. .
Nor 'midst this public duty's blest discharge,
58 THoughts IN PR1son.
Pass'd idle, unimproving, unemploy'd,
My other days; as if the Sabbath's task
Fulfill'd, the business of the week was done,
Or self-allow'd. Witness, thrice holy book,
Pure transcript of th’ Eternal Will to Man;
Witness with what assiduous care I turn’d
Daily thy hallow'd page; with what deep search .
Explor'd thy sacred meaning; through the round
Of learn'd expositors and grave, trod slow,
And painfully deliberating; the while
My labours unremitting to the world
Convey’d instruction large;—and shall convey,
When moulders in the grave the feeble hand,
The head, the heart, that gave those labours” birth.
Oh happy toil, oh labours well employ'd,
Oh Sweet remembrance to my sickening soul,
Blest volumes | Nor though levell’d in the dust
Of self-annihilation shall my soul
Cease to rejoice, or thy preventive grace
Adoring laud, Fountain of every good |
For that no letter'd poison ever stain'd
My page, how weak soe'er; for that my pen,
However humble, ne'er has trac'd a line
Of tendency immoral, whose black guilt
It well might wish to blot with tears of blood :
Dear to the Christian shall my little works,
—Effusions of a heart sincere, devote
To God and duty, happily survive
Their wretched master; and thro' lengthen’d years
To souls opprest, comfort's sweet balm impart,
And teach the pensive mourner how to diet.
* Alluding to “Commentary on the Bible,” in 3 vols. folio.
+ Referring to “ Comfort for the Afflicted,” and “Reflec-
tions on Death,”
THOUGHTS IN PRISON, 59
Thou too, blest Charity, whose golden key
So liberal, unlocks the prison's gate
At the poor debtor's call; oh, witness thou,
To cruel taxers of my time and thought,
All was not lost, all were not misemploy'd,
Nor all humanity's fair rights forgot;
Since thou, spontaneous effort of the last,
My pity's child, and by the first matur’d,
Amidst this flattering, fatal era, rose;
Rose into being, to perfection rose,
Beneath my humble fostering; and at length
Grown into public favour, thou shalt live,
And endless good diffuse, when sleeps in dust
Thy hapless founder, now, by direst fate,
Lock’d in a prison, whence thy bounty sets,
And shall—oh comfort—long set thousands free.
Happy, thrice happy, had my active zeal,—
Already deem'd too active, chance, by some,
Whose frozen hearts, in icy fetters bound
Of sordid selfishness, ne'er felt the warmth,
The genial warmth of pure benevolence,
Love's ardent flame aspiring; had that flame
Kindled my glowing zeal into effect,
And to thy counterpart” existence giv'n,
* He intended to have established a “ Charity for the Loan
of Money, without interest, to industrious tradesmen.” Ne-
cessary papers for that end were collected from Dublin, &c.;
and the following address, which he wrote, and inserted in the
Public Ledger of the 1st January, 1776, will in some measure
explain his purpose:
To the Wealthy in the Commercial World.
I have often wished most sincerely to see a charitable fund
established in this great and trading city, for the beneficent
6() THOUGHTS IN PRISON,
*
Lov’d insitution; with its guardian aid
Protecting from the prison's ruinous doors,
purpose of “ lending to honest and industrious tradesmen small
Sumns without interest, and on a reasonable security.”
The benefits which would arise from such an establishment
are too obvious to meed enumeration. Almost every newspaper
tends more and more to convince Ine of the necessity of such a
plan; for in almost every newspaper we read advertisements
from-tradesmen, soliciting little sums in their distress, and offer-
ing—poor unhappy men I even premiums for those little sums.
It is not possible but that persons occupied in trade and com-
nierce must feel for the difficulties of their brethren, and be
ready to promote the undertaking I would wish to recommend,
although on no interested motives; for I am no tradesman, nor
can any way be benefited by the plan. Pure good will, and a
compassionate respect to the hardships and distresses of my fel-
low creatures, actuate my heart: and from these motives l shall
be happy to proceed upon, and prosecute this plan, with all the
efforts and assiduity I am able, if it shall be approved by the
benevolent; and they will testify that approbation, and desire
of concurrence, by a line directed to D. at Anderson's Coffee-
house, Fleet-street. In consequence of which, should a proba-
bility of success appear, a meeting shall speedily be advertised
in the papers, and all measures pursued to put the good design
into immediate execution, which on such a meeting may be
judged advisable. It may be proper just to observe, that in
many cities abroad,—at Rome in particular, -there are institu-
tions of this sort; and there has been one established for many
years at Dublin, which is found productive of the happiest con-
sequences.
It is made in Scripture one characteristic of the good man,
“ that he is merciful, and lendeth;” and a very small sum, thus
given to a permanent establishment, may enable a man to lend
for perpetuity
How can we better begin the new year, my worthy and hu-
mane countrymen, than by entering on a work which may draw
down upon us God’s blessing, by our charitable relief to many
Bons and daughters of honest and laborious industry?
- HUMANITY,
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 61
Those whom thy kindly mercy rescues thence 1
Or, had that zeal on firm foundation fix’d
Like thine my favourite Magdalen, the plan,
Preservative of tender female fame*,
Fair innocence and virtue, from those ills
Destructive, complicate, which only find
Relief beneath thy hospitable roof;
How had I died exulting !—But, oh raise,
Inspire some godlike spirit, some great soul,
Father of mercies, of all love, all good,
Author and finisher;-these and every work
Beneficent, with courage to pursue,
With wisdom to complete Oh crown his zeal;
While sorrowing human mature, by his hand
Cherish'd and sooth'd, to latest times shall tell
And bless with tears of gratitude his name.
Mime is a different fate, confess'd, just Judge,
The meed of human mixture in my works
Imperfect, frail: and needing, even the best,
Thy pardon and the cleansing of thy blood;
Else whence the frequent retributions base
Calumnious and ungrateful, for the deeds
Of private pity! Whence, for public acts,
The stab opprobrious, and the slanders vile !
Or whence, at this dread moment, from the sight
Shrowd me in tenfold darkness!—Mercy, Heaven!
And is it He—th' ingenuous youth, so loft
Cfall my being, fortune, comfort deem'd
The generous, ample source?—And is it He,
In whom, through dread misfortune's darkest night,
* “A plan for a National Female Seminary”—since found
annongst the Author’s papers; and which appears to have nn-
dergone the inspection, and received the approbation, of some
very distinguished names.
G2 THOUGHTS IN PRISON,
I saw Hope's day-star rising?—Angel of peace,
Amidst his future hours, my life’s sad loss,
Let not accusing conscience to his charge
Impute, distracting—to my crimson guilt,
Oh let him lay it, as the forfeit due,
And justly paid!—Would Heaven that it were paid
Oh, that with Rome's first Caesar, in my robe
From sight so killing, mantled up mine eyes,
I might receive the welcome stab; sigh forth,
“My Philip, my lov’d. Stanhope, Is it thou?
“Then let me die.”—
Yet, though thus wounded at this bar I stand
In pains unutterable, witness Heaven, -
With deep commiseration do I view
Their sedulous anxiety to prove
A guilt my heart—too wounded to-demy,
Wounded by that guilt's sense, its bitterest part,
Instant avow’d. What need them all this toil P
The deed is done. Wound not the fall'n hart,
'Tis cruel—that lies bleeding at your feet:
* I own the whole; I urge no legal plea.
* On dire necessity’s imperious call, *
‘(Sons of the robe, of commerce, sons of men,
* That call imperious have you never heard;)
* On full intention to repay the whole ;
‘And on that full intention's perfect work, .
‘Free restoration and complete; on wrong
“Or injury to mone design'd or wrought,
* I rest my claim;-I found my sole defence.
“Groundless, 'tis thumder in my ears—and weak:
“For in the rigid courts of human law,
“Nor restitution wipes away th’ offence,
“Nor does intention justify.” So spoke
(And who shall argue :) Judgment's awful voice
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 63
Haste them, ye weeping jurymen, and pass
Th’ awarded sentence. To the world, to fame,
To honour, fortune, peace, and Stanhope lost,
What have I more to lose? or can I think
Death were an evil to a wretch like me?
Yet, oh ye sons of justice!—ere we quit
This awful court, expostulation's voice
One moment hear impartial. Give a while
Your honest hearts to mature's touches true,
Her fine resentments faithful; draw aside
That veil from reason's clear reflecting view,
Which practice long, and rectitude suppos'd
Of laws establish'd, hath obstructive hung.
But pleads, or time, or long prescription aught
In favour or abatement of the wrong
By folly wrought, or error? Hoary grown,
And sanctify’d by custom’s habit gray,
Absurdity stalks forth, still more absurd,
And double shame reflects upon an age
Wise and enlighten’d. Should not equal laws
Their punishments proportionate to crimes *;
Nor, all Draconic, ev'n to blood pursue
Vindicate, where the venial poor offence
Cries loud for mercy P Death's the last demand
Law can exact: the penalty extreme
Of human crime ! and shall the petty thief
Succumb beneath its terrors, when no more
Pays the bold murderer, crimson'd o'er with guilt?
* Horace's precept must for ever stand forth as irrefragably
just :
** Adsit
Regular I peccatis quae poenas irroget, aequas
Ne Scutica dignum horribili sectere flagello.”
- Sat. 3. Lib. 1.
64 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
Few are the crimes against or God or man,
—Consult th' eternal code of right or wrong—
Which eter can justify this last extreme",
This wanton sporting with the human life,
This trade in blood. Ye Sages, then, review,
Speedy and diligent, the penal code,
Humanity's disgrace; our nation's first
And just reproach, amidst its vaunted boasts
Of equity and mercy:—Shiver not
Full oft your inmost souls, when from the bench
Ye deal out death tremendous; and proclaim
Th’ irrevocable sentence on a wretch
Pluck'd early from the paths of social life,
And immature, to the low grave consign'd
For misdemeanors trivial? Runs not back,
Affrighted, to its fountain, your chill'd blood,
When deck’d in all the horrid pomp of death,
And gothic rage surpassing, to the flames
The weaker sex,−incredible—you doom ;
Denouncing punishments the more severe,
As less of strength is found to bear their force:
Shame on the savage practice Oh stand forth
In the great cause, Compassion's, Equity's,
Your Nation's, Truth's, Religion's, Honour's cause,
* “ He had sometimes expressed his thoughts about our penal
laws, that they were too sanguinary; that they were against
not only the laws of God, but of nature; that his own case was
hard, that he should die for an act which he always declared to
be wrong, but by which he never intended to injure any one
individual; and that, as the public had forgiven him, he thought
he might have been pardoned. But now (the day before his
execution) he laid all these thoughts, touching himself, aside,
though he continued to think in the same manner of the penal
laws to his end.” See the Ordinary’s account.
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 65
—Stand forth, reflecting Eden “! Well thou'st toil'd
Already in the honourable field:
Might thy young labours animate, the hour
Auspicious is arriv'd. Sages esteem’d,
And venerably learn'd, as in the school
Of legal science, so in that of worth
And sentiment exalted, fill the bench :
And lo! the imperial Muscovite, intent
On public weal, a bright example shines
Of civilizing justice. Sages, rise:
The cause, the animating pattern calls.
Oh, I adjure you with my parting breath,
By all your hopes of mercy and of peace,
By all the blood henceforth unjustly spilt,
Or wantonly, by all the sorrows deep,
And scalding tears shed for that blood so spilt;
In God's tremendous name, lo, I adjure,
Without procrastination to the task
Important that you haste! With equal hand
In scales of temperate justice, balance well
The claims of pleading mercy! Unto crimes
Inflictions just and adequate assign;
On reformation or example sole,
And all impartial, constantly intent, ,
Banish the rage for blood! for tortures fell,
Savage, reproachful. Study to restore
Its young, its useful members to the state,
Well disciplin'd, corrected, moralized; [hell,
Preserv'd at once, from shame, from death, from
Men, rationals, immortals.--Sons of God,
Oh prosperous be your labours, crown'd your zeal!
So shall the annals of our Sovereign's reign,
* Sco Mr. Jºden’s admirable book on Penal Laws.
F .
6, 6 THOUGHTS 1 N PRISON,
Distinguish’d by your virtue, nobie fruit
Of that high independence he bestow'd “
So freely from the treasury of his love
To genuine justice down to future times,
Transmitting the rich blessing, shine renown'd,
With truest glory; not by her’s surpass'd,
Th' immortal Legislator of the North ! *.
Ah me unhappy! to that Sovereign's ear
Resolv’d to bring those truths which, labouring long,
Have lain and toss'd upon my anxious thoughtst:
Thence too am I excluded! Fatal stroke,
And wounding to my peace! Rigour extreme
Of angry vengeance “Nay, it recks not now,”
(Oft 'midst the tempest of my grief I cried)
“ It recks not now what falls me! From the house
“Of him I honour’d, shut! Him, whose lov’d sire
“My muse in strains elegiac weeping sung+,
“ Mixing her tribute with a nation's tears
“Him to whose high-born race,—of liberty,
“Firm friends and fautors, from my earliest youth,
“My heart, devoted, willing homage paid,
“And sacred reverence: So pâternal love
“And so my college taught, delightful Clare l’’
Dear ever to my memory, for hours
In innocence and peaceful study past;
Nor less for thee, my friend, my Lancasterſ
Blest youth, in early hour from this life's woes
In richest mercy bornel Had I but died,
* Referring to the independence of the judges settled by the
King, as almost one of the first acts of his reign. * *
+ See my Sérmon on the Injustice, &c. of capital Punish-
Innen (S.
Í See my “Elegy on the Death of Frederick Prince of Wales.”
Puents, p. 63.
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 67
Oh had I died for thee, how had I shunn'd
This harsh severity,+exclusion sad
From my lov'd Royal master how escap'd
Its ills attendant!—Reputation dies,
The darling of my soul beneath the stroke ,
Wild, wanton curses tear my mangled frame
My sphere of usefulness contracted shrinks;
And infamy herself with “ ghastly smiles”
My ruin ridicules! Turn, turn my brain,
Distracted, madden'd, turn Of reason more,
Religion, duty, eminence, dream not:
.The door of mercy's clos'd. Thee—oft from thee,
Mercy, sweet Heaven, have I sought and found; .
From fellow-mortals, seldom could I find,
How humbled e'er, or penitent for faults
And wh9 of erring mortals faultless breathes 2
Mercy, that gift of thine, which most adorns
The judge's vestment, and the monarch's crown.
Adieu them to its liope, its earthly hope;
Elsewhere we'll seek it. Forth—oh forth, my
My generous, supporting, weeping friends, [friends,
Forth from the bar conduct me. It is past.
Justice has done her office. Mercy's fled;
And smiling, lo! she sits upon a cloud
Of fleecy whiteness, ting'd with azur'd gold,
And beams ineffable composure on me !
Light sits my bosom'd master on his throne;
Airy and disencumber'd feels my soul,
And, panting, wishes to spring instant up
To that white cloud, the golden vehicle
To realms of rest immortal! In my eyes,
So languid late, and all suffus'd with tears,
Methinks I see Hope's lamp rekindled bright;
A living lustre; shedding like the sun
68 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
After thick mists, Illumination's smile,
O'er all my countenance, marr'd, dimm’d, and wan.
Cheerly, my friends, oh cheerly Look not thus
With pity's melting softness That alone.
Can shake my fortitude. All is not lost.
Lo! I have gain'd, on this important day
A victory consummate o'er myself,
And o'er this life a victory. On this day,
My birth-day to etermity—I’ve gain'd
Dismission from a world, where for a while,
Like you, like all, a pilgrim passing poor,
A traveller, a stranger, I have met
But stranger treatment, rude and harsh So much
The dearer, more desir'd, the home I seek
Eternal, of my Father and my God!
Ah, little thought ye, prosecutors prompt,
To do me good like this; little intend
For earthly poverty to give th’ exchange
Of wealth eternal. Cheronea's sage,
Thy dogma's here, so paradoxal deem'd
By weak half-thinkers”—see how amply prov’d,
How verify’d by men I judg'd my foes;–
Friends in disguise, Heaven's instruments of good!
Freely, triumphantly, my soul forgives
Each injury, each evil they have wrought,
Each tear they've drawn, each groan they’ve cost
my heart,
Guiltless tow'rds them, uninjur'd. Hapless men!
Down do I look with pity; fervent beg,
And unremitting from all-gracious Heaven
Eternal blessings on you! Be your lives,
* See Plutarch “ On the Benefits deducible from Enemics.”
Morals, Wol. I.
Thoug|ITS IN PRISON. 69
Like mine, true convertites to grace, to God!
And be our deaths, ah there all difference ends—
Then be our deaths like his, th' atoning just;
Like his, the only righteous, our last end
But oli, oblivious memory ! baneful woe,
Which thus in dull forgetfulness can steep
My faculties:—forgetfulness of her
My better self, for whom alone I wish,
Thus fallen to remenber that I am I
My wife, my soul's dear partner in distress,
Where sits she? lives she? Ah! not lives, but drags
The tedious, torturing, horrid anxious hours
Of this dire day!—In solemn silence wrapt,
—Expressive silence, motionless, compos'd,
The melancholy mourner meekly waits
The awful issue ! From her lovely eyes
Drops not a tear ! not ev’n a sigli is heard
From her deep-wounded heart; N or through her
Unsever'd from the luckless morn till night, [lips,
Mute sufferer, steals a murmur". Gentle dove,
So, in the mournful absence of thy mate,
Perhaps or levell’d by the fowler's art,
Or lur'd in met assiduous, sittest thou alone
Upon the bared bough; thy little head
Nestling beneath thy silvery wings; while hang
Thy pennons, late so glossy, shivering down
Unplum’d, neglected, drooping! Through the day
So tried, my tender friends,-another task,
And heavier yet, remains to be perform'd.
Oh, with the balm of comfort, with the voice
Of soothing softness, the sad truth unfold !
* “I speechless sat;—nor plaintive word,
“ Nor murmur, from my lips was heard.”
Merrick's Psalms, p. 39.
7() THOUGHTS IN PR1son.
Approach the beauteous mourner, all-rever'd; .
And tell her, “that her husband triumphs, lives;–
“Lives, though condemn'd; lives to a nobler life!
“Nor in the gladsome view of that high life,
“Feels he to death reluctance: Blest with her,
“Indifferent in his choice to live or die!”
Be the decision thine, Father of life!
Thou gavest, thou hast right to take away;
In each alike beneficent! If thou
Hast pleasure in me, once more shall I share
Thy hallow'd services, my heart's chief joy;
If not with happy David—oh like his
Could my song flow repentant—every thought
Uniting cries with resignation's voice,
“Do with me, Lord, as it shall seem thee good *!"
Thus supplicating, down my weary head,
To slumber on its wretched pillow, sunk,
O'erpower'd, oppress'd; mor on the main-mast high,
Rock’d by the bellowing tempest, and the dash
Of furious surges, the poor ship-boy sleeps
More soundly, than my powers o'erwrought, amidst
The din of desperate felons, and the roar -
Of harden'd guilt's mad midnight orgies loud 1
But fancy free, the busy soul was wake;
Anticipation pleasing of its state,
When sleeps its clayey prison in the grave,
And forth it bursts to liberty Methought
—Such was the vision—in a lowly vale
Myself I found, whose living green was deck'd
With all the beauteous family of Spring:
Pale primrose, modest violet, hare-bell blue,
Sweet-scented eglantime of fragrance rich,
* 2 Sam. xv. 25, 26.
THOUGHITS IN PRISON. 7 1
And permanent the rose; golden jonquil,
And polyanthus variegate of hue,
With lilies dale delighting. Through the midst
Meandering, of pure crystal, flow'd a stream
The flowery banks reflecting: On each side,
With homely cots adorn'd, whose 'habitants,
When sorrow-sunk, my voice of comfort sooth'd;
When sickness-worn, my hand of care reliev'd,
Tended, and ministering to all their wants,
Instructed in the language of the skies.
Dear was the office, cheering was the toil,
And something like angelic felt my soul
When Jur'd, methought, by one of glittering hut
(Bright gleam'd the coronet upon his brow,
Rich glow'd his robe of crimson, ermine-deck'd)
I toil'd to gain a neighbouring-mountain's top,
Where blaz'd preferment's temple. So my guide,
With smile complacent, taught and led me on,
Softening with artful speech the tedious way,
And arduous ever. As I rose, the view
Still gloomier seem’d, and dreary: the strait path
Still strait, and more sliarp the pointed briars
Entangling! With insulting sneers the crowd,
Pressing the same bad road, jostled me by,
Or threw me prostrate; till fatigu'd and faint,
With feeble voice, exhausted quite, I cried,
“Oh to my vale restore me! to my cots,
“Illustrious guideſ my ministrations blest,
“Angelical and blessing!”—With a look
Of killing scorn he ey'd me: Instant down,
Precipitate dash'd o'er me craggy rocks,
Tumbling tumultuous; and in dungeon dark,
Illumin'd only by the furious glare
Of lynx and tygers eyes, through bunger fierce,
72 THOUGHTS IN IPRISON.
And eager to devour, trembling I lay!
When in a moment, through the dungeon's gloom,
Burst light resplendent as the mid-day sun,
From adamantine shield of heavenly proof,
Held high by one *, of more than human port,
Advancing slow; while on his tow'ring crest
Sat For titude unshaken: At his feet
Crouch'd the half-famish'd savages! From earth
He rais'd me weeping, and with look of peace
Benignant, pointed to a crimson cross
On his bright shield pourtray’d. A milder form,
Yet of celestial sweetness, such as oft
My raptur'd eyes have in the tablet trac'd
Of unaffected penitence; of her
Pleasing similitude—the weeping fair
Early from royal but unhallow'd love,
To God's sole service flying?—Fam’d Le Brun,
Thy glowing pencil's master-piece!—Such seem’d
Repentance, meek approaching. From the den,
Illumin’d and defended by Faith's shield,
My trembling feet she led; and having borne
Through perils infinite, and terrors wild
And various, fainting almost my sick soul—
She left me at a gate of glittering gold,
Which open'd instantaneous at the touch
Of homely porterf, clad in wolsey gray,
And ever bending lowly to the ground
His modest countenance! But what a scene---
—Admitted through the portal—on my sight
Transported, rush'd High on a sapphire throne,
+' Faith. - -
+ Madame de la Valiere. This fine picture is in the Chapel
of the Carmelite Nuns at Paris.
: Humility.
THOUGHTS IN PRISON,
7
s
Amidst a flame like carbuncle, sat Love,
Beaming forth living rays of light and joy
On clioral crowds of spirits infinite,
In immortality and glory cloth'd;
And hymning lofty strains to minstrelsy
Of golden harps accorded, in his praise,
Love, uncreate, essential: Love, which bled, -
Which bleeding blanch'd to purest white their robes,
And with eternal gold adorn'd their brows
Dissolv'd, methought, and all my senses rapt
In vision beatific, to a bank
Of purple amaranthus was I borne
By a superior genius. His white wings
Distilling panacea, dove-like spread
Refreshing fragrance o'er me: Firm of brow
And masculine he seem’d—th' ennobling power
Angelic, destin’d in the human heart
To nourish friendship's flame! Uprais'd my eyes
As from a trance returning—“Spirit belov'd,
“And honour'd ever!” anxious straight I cried,
“Thrice welcome to my wishes! Oh impart—
“For you can tell—in these delightful realms
“Of happiness supernal, shall we know,
“Say, shall we meet and know those dearestfriends,
“Those tender relatives, to whose concerns
“You minister appointed Shall we meet
“In mutual amity? mutual converse hold,
“And live in love immortal? Oh relieve
“My aching heart's solicitude; and say, º
“Here shall I meet, hele know, in boundless bliss,
“Here view transported, her, my life's best friend,
“My sorrow's faithful soother!"—Gushing tears,
Impetuous stopp'd my voice; and I awoke
To earth, to night, to darkness, and a jail!
April 14, 1777. - - - -- * *
7.4 Tji OUGHTS IN PRISON,
week THE FIFTH.
FUTURITY.
“To death devote l’’ That in the vernal bloom
Of redolent youth and beauty, on the cross
Hung high her motto * !—she, in name and choice
Of that far better part, like her so fam'd
In story evangelical,—sweet saint,
Friend of my soul, and soother of my grief,
Shall I then dread age, and worn with woe,
To meet the king of terrors?—Coward fear,
Of what we all must meet: The primal curse
Of our first father rests on all his race, *
And “Dust to dust,” the charter of mankind
But, were it possible, oh, who would wish
To stretch the narrow span, grown tedious, stale,
With dull recurrence of the same dull acts,
Ev’n in its happiest state A toilsome care,
A wearying round of clothing, food, and sleep;
While chequer’d over with a thousand ills
Inevitably painful!—In our frame
Dwell (death's artillery) diseases dire,
And potent to dislodge the brittle life
With agonies heart-rending ! In the soul
* Miss Mary Bosanquet, whose motto, encircling a cross, is,
* Devoted to Death.” From fourteen years of age she dedicated
herself to sincere religion, and to the present hour has persevered
in the most exemplary line of duty. Her letters to the anthor,
in his last distress, afforded him peculiar comfort.
THOUGHT S I N PRISO N.
7.
5
Lurks sin, the serpent, with her fiery sting
Of sorrow, rankling on the conscience deep,
Source of all mental misery —From without,
In close battalion, a black troop of ills
Level their deep-drawn arrows at our peace;
And fail not, as we pass through life's bad road,
To wound th' unguarded traveller! witness you
Who groan distress'd beneath oppression's scourge;
Ingratitude's sharp tooth; the canker'd tongue
Of slander; fortune's loss; or bitterer far,
The loss of fame, and soul connected friends!
Thus tax'd, thus wretched, can the man be wise.
Who wishes to retain so poor a boon?
Who fears to render the deposit up
To his blest hands who gave? and who thus -
Beneficent hath rang'd his moral plan,
Thus good with evil mix’d; from earth's poor love
(School of probation) suffering man to wean,
And raise his hopes to heaven? Silence then
The whisper of complaint ; low in the dust.
Dissatisfaction's demons growl unheard!
All, all is good, all excellent below :
Pain is a blessing; sorrow leads to joy,
Joy permanent and solid . Every ill
Beals with it love paternal : nay, ev'n death,
Grim death itself, in all its horrors clad,
Is man's supremest privilege It frees
The soul from prison, from foul sin, from woe,
And gives it back to glory, rest and God
When will its welcome message lay at peace
My burden'd beating heart?—Oh, strangeſ to point
Thy darts, inexorable tyrant, there, [arms,
Where life laughs crown'd with roses; when these
Familiar to thy sister Sorrow's fold, .
76 THOUGHT3 N PRISON . -
Would so delighted hug thee! But thou lov'st
Full oft the noblest quarry, highest aim ;
Lov'st unsuspected, and with silent step,
To steal on the secure; lov'st to deal round
Tremendous and impartial thy stern strokes,
Asserting terrible o'er human-kind
Thy empire irresistible; and now
At monarchs, now at minics, grinning scorn,
Thy hand indifferent hurls the twanging shaft.
Ah, what a group of primest deer lie pierc'd,
Thou hunter all-victorious, at thy feet !
Since to thy empire dedicate I fell -
From life's bright hope, and languish’d in this grave,
This living, doleful sepulchre immur’d
Not all thy gold, or orient pearl, could save
Thee, Lusitania's monarch, from the stroke
Impending long and dread | Nor, Terrick”, thee,
Thy mitre, and thy rochet ! Ensigns blest,
When worn with sanctity; then surely chang'd
For crown of gold, and robe of spotless white l
See, neither can the coronet, nor garb
Of ermin’d pomp, from Templet turn aside
The levell'd blow; mor, higher fair in price,
Th’ uplifted shield of Janssen's honest heart!
Lo ! too, as if in scorn of purple pride,
And all life's glories, in this high parade,
Funeral marches, tragic-actor now,
He who so late light on the comic sock
Trod the gay stage, and bade with laughter's burst
Involuntary the throng'd theatres resound !
And, food for worms, poor Woodward, thou no less
Than patriots, princes, countesses, and priests!
* Bishop of London. + Countess of Temple.
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. - 77
Death scorns distinction: but, despotic power,
Cloth'd in his direst terrors, here he reigns,
Here revels! Here with bitterest vengeance, shakes
O'er trembling convicts his determin’d shaft,
And gluts himself with horror! See him lead
From yonder darksome cell, all pale with woe,
That stranger” sinking, who, in luckless hour,
With rash hand pierc'd the bosom he ador'd,
Nor drank of comfort more half in his heart
The black lance festering strikes; and death him-
Howe'er relentless, ere he drives it home, [self,
Of strange commiseration feels a pang,
Reluctant to his office —
But, that shriek—
Thrilling with dread—whence is it? 'Tis the voice
Of female misery, bursting through the crowd
To the lone dungeon; view that lovely formt,
Deck'd in the meatest white, yet not so white
And wan as her wild visage: “ Keep me not,”
Raving, she cries, “Keep me mot, cruel, from him.
He dies this morn; I know it: he's condemn'd ;
The dreadful judge has done it! He must die,
My husband and I’m come, clad in my best,
To go and suffer with him I have brought
* Alluding to Tolosa, a poor unhappy Spaniard, lately exe-
cuted for the murder of his female friend. He took scarce any
sustenance from the tirne of the fact, and was more than half
dead when conveyed to the place of execution.
+ This also alludes to a miserable catastrophe, which hap-
pened here on the .morning of a late executiou. The poor
young woman who came to visit her husband, had lain in but
seven days. As soon as the husband's fetters were knocked off,
he stepped aside, and cut his throat in a dismal manner, but not
quite sufficiently to finish his existence;—and in that shocking
state—paid his debt at the destined place.
78 T iſ O U G HTS IN PRISON.
Sweet flowers to cheer him, and to strew his corse.
Pale, pale, and speechless lies it!—Husband, come!
The little infant, fruit of our glad loves,
Smil’d on me, as with parting breath I blest,
And kiss'd the dear babe for thee! 'Tis but young;
'Tis tender yet;-seven days is young in life:
Angels will guard my little innocent:
They'll feed it, tho’ thou could'st not find it food,
And its poor mother too !—And so thou dy'st ||
For me and it thou dy'st | But not alone;
Thou shalt not go alone; I will die with thee;
Sweet mercy be upon us! Hence, hence, hence I’
Impetuous then her white arms round his neck
She threw ; and, with deep groans would pierce a
*. rock,
Sunk fainting. Oh, the husband's, father's pangs,
Stopping all utterance 1 Up to Heaven he roll'd
His frantic eyes; and, staring wildly round
In desperation's madness, to his heart
Drove the destructive steel !—Fell death,
Would'st thou a fuller triumph 2–Oh, my wife,
How dismal to our ears the shrieks, the groans —
And what a crowd of wild ideas press
Distracting on the soul! “Merciful. Heaven,
In pity spare us ! Say, it is enough,
And bid the avenging angel stay his hand!”
Death bars the plea; and with his thundering stalk,
Brushing beside us, calls, in solemn sound,
Heed to his dart grief pointed. Its keen.stroke,
Ah, gentle Eleonora*! gives at once
* Mrs. Dodd's sister; who, in the midst of our sorrows, did
—what she never did before--augment them, by dying of a
heart broken with grief for our calamity, Oll, misery :
, thoughts IN PRiso N. 79
Relief to thy o'erburdem'd breast ! to ours
Anguish unutterable ! 'Tis ours he wounds,
Thou amiable friend!—whose languid eye
Ne'er rais’d a look from earth, since that sad liour
When sunk my sun Thou, who from earliest youth
Hast humbly sought thy God, thou art at peace :
Happy, thrice happy, on that golden shore,
Where, from the tossing of these troublous waves
We soon shall land. Oh, stay, affectionate,
Oh, wait, and welcome us! Or, if in Heaven
Blest saints retain concern for those on earth
Held in the dearest amity, become •
Thy darling sister's guardian As for youth,
From childhood's dawn her dear maternal guide,
Be now, lov’d spirit, in this hour of woe,
Her angel-comfort, her support | Alas,
What talk I of support! thou mercy's God!
When her conduct, by thy grace inspir’d—
When all her patient gentleness and love,
Her fortitude unparallel’d, and peace,
Have thee their Author : be the glory thine !
But say, my soul, 'midst these alarming calls,
This dread familiarity with death;
Our common debt, from infancy's first cry
Denounc'd, expected, though its sure approach
Lurks in uncertainty's obscurest night:—
Our common debt, which babes and palsied seers,
Princes and pilgrims, equally must pay;—
Say, canst thou feel reluctance to discharge
The claim inevitable 2 Senseless he,
Who in life's gaudiest moments fondly strives
To turn his eyes unheeding from the view
Instructive. ‘Midst those moments, deep it dwelt
¥
80 THOUGEITS IN PRISON.
On my reflecting mind *ſ a mind which liv'd
More in the future than the present world,
Which, frequent call'd by duty's solemn voice
IFrom earth's low scenes, on those sublimer far
Hath ever thought delighted ; and those thoughts
Conveying to mankind, in them desires
Its real transcripts, its resemblance true,
May be survey’d—the picture of itself.
For, whatsoe'er may be our earthly state,
The mind's the man. My humble labours, then,
When rest my part corporeal in the dust,
Hang up my living portrait – And to give
Those labours all their force, summon'd I stand
By awful Providence, to realise
The theoretic lessons I have taught.
And lo! compos'd, I fix my dying seal
In attestation to their truth, their power,
Felt at my heart, my inmost conscience felt;
Imparting triumph o'er life's love; o'er death
Consummate exultation while my soul
Longs to go forth, and pants for endless day !
But who can wonder, that amidst the woes,
Like a swoln torrent, which with frightful roar
Have burst destructive o'er me; midst the loss
Of all things dear, Fame, Honour, Peace, and Rest;
Amidst the cruel spoiling of my goods,
The bitterest rancour of envenom'd spite
And calumny unfeelingf; what surprise
* Reflections on Death—Thoughts on Epiphany—Sermon on
Mutual Knowledge, &c. -
+ Numberless letters of a most unchristian, horrid, and cruel
nature, were continually sent to him in the height of his dis-
tresses. Yet some of these letters were subscribed, A Lady,
A Christian, or, A Christian Brother.
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. - 81
That my weam'd soul, above this worldly wreck,
With anxious expectation waits the call
From melancholy mourning, and dim grief,'
To everlasting gladness P Powerful Hope,
And all-sufficient to sustain the soul,
Though walking through the darkest vale of woe
Who shall disprove that Hope 2 or who pretend
JBy subtle sophistry that soul to rob -
Of its chief anchor, choicest privilege
And noblest consolation—“Stedfast faith,
In great Futurity’s extended scene:
Eternity of being 2" All things round
Arise in brightest proof: I see it, feel it,
Through all my faculties, through all my powers,
Pervading irresistible. Each groan
Sent from my sorrowing heart; each scalding tear
From my convicted eyes; each fervent prayer
By meek repentance offer'd up to Heaven,
Asserts my immortality proclaims
A pardoning Deity and future world.
Nor less the thought, chill, comfortless abhorr'd
Of loath'd annihilation!—From the view
Humiliating, mean, unworthy man,
Almost unworthy reptiles, glad I turn,
And triumph in existence Nay, each ill
And every mundane trouble preaches loud
The same important truth. I read it fair
And legibly engrav'd on all below;
On all the inequalities discern’d
In this perplexing, mix’d, and motley scene;
In every rank and order of mankind *;
. Nay, in the wisest system of our laws,
* See Maclean's Answer to Jeuyns, &c. p. 52.
. G
82 THOUGHTS IN PR1son.
Inadequate, imperfect, and full oft
Unjust and cruel; in this dismal jail,
And in the proudest palaces, alike
I read, and glory to trace out the marks
Irrefragably clear of future life,
Of retribution's just and equal state.
So reason urges; while fair Nature's self
At this sweet season *, joyfully throws in
Her attestation lovely; bids the sun,
All-bounteous, pour his vivifying light,
To rouse and waken from their wintry death
The vegetable tribel Fresh from their graves,
At his resistless summons, start they forth,
A verdant resurrection In each plant,
Each flower, each tree to blooming life restor'd,
I trace the pledge, the earnest, and the type
Of man's revival, of his future rise
And victory o'er the grave, compell'd to yield,
Her sacred, rich deposit, from the seed
Corrupt and mortal, and immortal frame
Glorious and incorruptible; like his,
The Son of righteousness, whose living power
The mighty work shall operate! Yes, bright source
Of spiritual life —the immaterial world
Pervading, quickening, gladdening—in the rays
Full-orb’d of Revelation, thy prime gift,
I view display'd, magnificent, and full,
What reason, mature, in dim darkness teach,
Though visible, not distinct : . I read with joy
* Spring Sve my Poem on the Epiphany, ver, 131, &c.
I would have that Poem considered, in dependence with this, as
my serious thoughts on these awful subjects, in an early period
of my life; and which, in this last and dreadful one, I find no
reason to alter. - . .
THOUGHTS : N PRISON, 83
Man's high prerogative ; transported read
The certain, clear discovery of life
And immortality, announc'd by thee,
Parent of truth, celestial Visitant,
Fountain of all intelligence divine !
Of that high immortality the King,
And of that life the Author . How man mounts,
Mounts upon angel-wings, when fiefd, secur'd
In that sublime inheritance; when seen
As a terrestrial stranger here; a god
Confim'd awhile in prison of the flesh,
Soon, soon to soar, and meet his brother gods,
His fellows, in etermity!—How creeps,
How grovels human nature | What a worm,
An insect of an hour, poor, sinful, sad ;
Despis'd and despicable, reptile-like,
Crawls man, his moment on his ant-hill here :
—Marking his little shining path with slime,
If limited to earth's brief round
His painful, marrow views I Like the poor moth,
By lights delusive to destruction led,
Still struggling oft its horrors to evade,
Still more and more involv’d ; in flames he lives .
His transient, toilsome minute, and expires
In suffocating smoke.
Hume, thou art gone !
Amidst the catalogue of those mow’d down
By Time's huge scythe, late noted *; thou, be sure,
Wast not forgotten! Author, thou hast gain'd
Thy vast ambition's summit: Fame was thine,
Wealth too, beyond thy amplest wishes’ bound
* See Mr. Hume's Life, written by himself; with a letter by
T}r. Smith, giving an account of his death. - #
84. ~ THOUGHTS IN PRISON,
Encompass d. thee: and lo, the pageant ends !
For who, without compassion's generous tear,
Thy mind, at once capacious and humane,
Can view, to truth, to hope innmortal dead
Thy penetrating reason, subtle, strong,
Hoodwink’d by dark infatuation’s veil;
And all thy fine and manly sense employ'd,
Ev’n on etermity's thrice awful verge,
To trifle with the wonders of a state
Respectably alarming ! of a state
Whose being gives to man—had given to thee
(Accepted by the humble hand of faith)
True glory, solid fame, and boundless wealth !
Treasures that wax not old.
Oh, the high blessings of humility
Man's first and richest grace | Of virtue, truth,
Knowledge, and exaltation, certain source,
And most abundant: pregnant of all good;
And poor in show, to treasures infinite
Infallibly conducting; her sure gift
So, when old Hyems has deform'd the year,
We view, on fam'd Burgundia's craggy cliffs,
The slow wines, scarce distinct, on the brown earth
Neglected lie and grovelling;-promise poor
From plant so humble, of the swelling grape
In glowing clustérs purpling o'er the hills:–
When all-impregnating rolls forth the sun,
And from the mean stalk pours a luscious flood
Of juice nectarious through the laughing land
Nervous essayist! haply had thy pen,
Öf masculine ability, this theme
Pursued intelligent; from lowly heart
3Delineating true the features mild
Of genuine humility; mankind,
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 85
Now 'wilder'd by thy sophistry, had bless'd
And honour’d well thy teaching; whilst thyself
Secure had sail'd and happy; nor been cast
On pride's black rocks, or empty scorn's bleak shore I
Proud scorn, how poor and blind—how it at once
Destroys the sight, and makes us think we see
While desperate ridicule in wit’s wild hands
Implants a dangerous weapon How it warps
From clear discernment, and conclusions just,
Ev'n captive reason's self! How gay soe'er—
(All, misplac'd gaiety on such a theme)
In life's last hour !—on Charon's crazy bark,
On Tartarus and Elysium, and the pomp
Solemn and dreaded of dark pagans' Hell !
Thy reasoning powers knew well, full well to draw
Deductions true from fables gross as these,
By poets fancy heighten'd / Well thou knew'st
The deep intelligence, the solid truth
Conceal’d beneath the mystic tale; well knew'st
Fables like these, familiar to mankind
In every nation, every clime, through earth
Widely disseminate, through earth proclaim'd
In language strong, intelligent, and clear,
“ A future state retributive:” Thou knew'st,
That in each age the wise embrac'd the truth,
And gloried in an hope, how dim soc'er,
Which thou, amidst the blaze, the moon-day blaze
Of Christian information, madly scorn'dst,
And died'st insulting ! Hail of ancient times,
Worthies and fam'd believers Plato, hail!
And thou, immortal Socrates! Of Rome
Prime ornament and boast ! my Tully hail
Friend and companion of my studious life
In eloquence and sound philosophy
86 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
Alike superlative with minds enlarg’d,
Yet teachable and modest, how ye sought,
You and your kindred souls, how daily dug
For wisdom, as the labourer in the mines 1
How grop'd, in fancy's and dark fable's might,
Your way assiduous, painful How discern'd
By the mind's trembling, unassisted light,
(Or, haply, aided by a scatter'd ray
Of distant revelation, half extinct)
The glimmer of a dawn; the twinkling star
Of day-light far remotel How sigh’d sincere
For fuller information and how long’d, ,
How panted for admission to that world
O'er which hung veils impervious ! Sages, yes,
Immortal of your writings speaks this truth !
Hear, ye minute philosophers; ye herd
Of mean half-thinkers, who chief glory place
In boldness to arraign and judge your god,
And think that singularity is sense !
Hear, and be humbled : Socrates himself"—
And him you boast your master,<-would have fall'n
In humble, thankful reverence at the feet
Of Jesus, and drank wisdom from his tongue !
Divinest Fountain from the copious stream
Then drink we freely, gladly, plented us draughts
Of ever-living wisdom; knowledge clear,
And otherwise attainless of that state
Supernal, glorious ; where, in angel-form
And angel-blessednessf, from Death's dread pow'r,
From Sin's dominion, and from Sorrow's sense
Emancipated ever, we shall share
* Alluding to his celebrated wish of divine illumination from
some superior power. t ſacºyyt?\ot.
THOUGHTS. IN PRISON, - 37 °
Complete, uninterrupted, boundless bliss; *-
Incessant flowing forth from God's right hand,
Well of perennial joy" . Our moral powers,
By perfect pure benevolence enlarg’d,
With universal sympathy, shall glow
Love's flame ethereal | And from God himself,
Love's primal source, and ever-blessing sun,
Receive, and round communicate the warmth
Of gladness and of glory ! Then shall rule,
From dregs of sordid interest defecate,
Immortal friendship. Then too shall we trace—
With minds congenial, and a thirst for truth
Sincere and simple, the Creator's works,
Illumin'd by the intellectual soul,
Refin'd, exalted 1– Animating thought !
To talk with Plato, or with New ton tread
Through empyrean space the boundless track
Of stars erratic, or the comet vague
With fiery lustre wandering through the depths
Of the blue void, exhaustless, infinite;
While all its wonders, all its mystic use,
Expand themselves to the admiring sight !
Descending then from the celestial range
Of planetary worlds, how blest to walk
And trace with thee, Nature's true lover, Hale,
—In science sage and venerable—trace
Through vegetation's principle, the God
Read in each tube, capillary, and root,
In every leaf and blossom, fruit and flower,
Creative energy, consummate art,
Beauty and bounty blended and complete!
Oll, what a burst of wisdom and delight,
* See Psalm xiv. 12.
88 THOUGHTS IN PR H S (3 N.
Intelligence and pleasure, to cngage
Th’ enraptur'd mind for ages ' 'Twere too short
Eternity itself, with reasoning quest *
To search, to contemplate great Nature's God
Through all his Nature's works! Sun, stars, and skies,
With all their vast and elemental store:
Seas, with their finny myriads: birds that wing
With glittering pinions the elastic air, -
And fill the woods with music: Animals,
That feed, that clothe, that labour for their lord,
Proud man; and half up to his reason climb,
By instinct marvellous ! Fruits, that infinite
In glow and taste refresh creation's toil; ,”
And flowers, that rich in scent their incense sweet
—Delicious offering both to God and man,—
Breathe free from velvet variegated hues,
And speak celestial kindness then from these
His lesser wonders—Fam’d anatomists,
Ye, who with scrupulous, but still painful search,
Pore doubtful in the dark recess of life;
Then turn we, Cheselden, to man; so form'd
With fear and wonder by the master-hand,
And learn we, from discovery of the springs
Of this divine automaton : the blood .*
In mimble currents coursing through the veins
And purple arteries; the fibres fine ;
The tubal nerves, so ramified and quick
To keen sensation ; all the various parts .
So complicate, yet distinct; adapted each
Its functions with minuteness to fulfil,
While to the one great end concurring alk
With harmony unvarying !—Learn we helice,
The wisdom exquisite, which gave to life,
To motion, this his prime, his chief machine !
THoughTS IN PRISON, 89
And superadded, in his love's display,
The soul's superior, intellectual rule ;
Connection wonderful I and till that hour
Of all-expanding knowledge, to man's mind
Inexplicable still, and still unknown
How rise upon the thought, to truth attent,
Truths new and interesting, 'midst this field
Of universal science —Nor shall then
The spirits' seat and influence on our frame,
Gross and material, be alone involv’d
To our astonish’d view. Spirit itself,
Its nature, properties, distinctions, powers,
—Deep subject of investigation deep,
º
And chief resolver of man's anxious doubts;
Though to his sight impossible, or search,
While darken'd by mortality—shall rise,
Soon as he bursts the barrier of the grave,
Clear and familiar on his sight enlarg’d:
Seen in himself, beautify'd, and cloth'd
With spiritual glory: in the angelic world
Seen and admir’d. And—oh, ecstatic view,
Whose sight is perfect bliss, transforming, pure”,
Seen and ador'd in Thee, great first and last
* There must be sympathy in the future state, to render it uni-
formly complete and perſect. We can have no pleasure in God,
or God in us, but from that sympathy arising from similitude.
We must be made like God, to enjoy beatific vision. Bring a bad
man to Heaven, with a soul encrusted and sensualized, he would
have no pleasure in it; nor could he endure the sight, any more
than reptiles that grovel in a cave amidst filth and darkness,
could endure the splenidours of the mid-day sun. Shakspeare's
description is in this view highly animated:
“For vice, though to a radiant angel link'd.
Would sate itself in a celestial bed,
And prey on garbage.”
90 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
t
Sole, self-existing Thou the gracious cause
Of all existence; infinitely blest, -
Yet pleas'd with life and being to impart
That blessing to innumerous creatures round !
Spirit of the universe, through all diffus'd,
And animating all I Dread Triune God”,
With beams exhaustless of eternal love,
Of life, of glory, from thy central throne
Shining beneficent; and kindling warm
In every being subject to thy rule,
Devotion's rapture, and thanksgiving's song;
Mellifluous songs, and hallel, jahs high
New wonders elevate For not alone
By contemplation up to Nature's God
From Nature's works ascending, shall the soul
Beatified receive in future bliss -
Accessions of delight through endless day:—
Lo! what a scene, engaging and profound,
Presents itself, the darkening curtain drawn—
*From the high acts of Providence, display'd
In one clear view consistent; in one end
Important, grand, concentering : one design
Superlatively gracious, through the whole
Pursued invariably ; even from the hour
When pass'd the sentence on the serpent's head,
To that thrice-awful moment, when the Son
His victor-car o'er death and hell shall drive
Triumphant, and bolt fast the gates of time !
Unroll'd the mystic volume we behold,
In characters of wisdom strong pourtray'd,
The rise and fall of empires; in thy hand
Omnipotent, or instruments of good,
* See Maclean’s Answer to Jenyns, p. 72.
Thoughts IN PRIson. * 91
Or of thy justice punitive and dread
Awful dispensers : There, of heroes, kings,
Sages, and saints, of prophets and of priests,
Thy distributions, difficult but wise,
Discerning, shall we gratefully adore:
And in the long, long chain of seeming chance,
And accidents fortuitous, shall trace
Omniscience all-combining, guiding all !
No dispensations then will seem too hard,
Through temporary ills to blissful life
Leading, though labyrinthal | All will shine
In open day : all, o'er the mighty plan,
Discover Thee, with wisdom infinite
Presiding glorious: All thy stedfast truth,
And love paternal, manifest; while falls
The prostrate world of spirits, angels, saints,
In adoration's homage 'fore thy thronel
Not to our earth, or earth's poor confines bound:
The soul dilated, glorified, and free,
On seraph's wings shall soar, and drink in glad
New draughts of high delight from each survey
Of its Creator's kingdoms Pleas'd shall pass
From star to star; from planetary worlds,
And systems far remote, to systems, worlds
Remoter still, in boundless depths of space;
Each peopled with its myriads: and shall learn
The wise and strict dependence of the whole;
Concatemation striking of thy works,
All-perfect, mighty Master! Wonder-lost
In the vast view of systems numberless,
All regular, in one eternal round
Of beauteous order rolling ! All design'd
With skill consummate, tending to one goal;
And manifesting all, in characters
92 - Thoug HTS IN PR1son.
º
Transparent as the diamond's brilliant blaze,
Their Sovereign Ruler's unity of will,
His all-efficient wisdom, and his love,
In grace and glory infinite; the chain
Connecting firm, and through its every link
Transfusing life's ineffable delights
Oh, Goodness providential sleepless care
Intent, as ever blest, to bless the whole!
What plaudits from that whole are due, shall burst
From full creation's universal choir : [found,
Then, oh, transporting ! shall the scheme pro-
Heaven's labour, and of angels' anxious thought
Sublimest meditation ;-then shall blaze
In fullest glory on the race redeem’d,
Redemption's boundless mercy l—High in Heav'n,
To millions blest, rejoicing in its grace,
And hymning all its bounties, shall the cross,
Thy cross, all-conquering Saviour, be display’d,
While seraphs veil their glories, and while men
Thronging innumerable, prostrate fall
Before thy feet, and to the bleeding Lamb
Ascribe their free salvation : -
"Midst that throng
Of spirits justified, and through thy blood
Cleans'd, perfected, and blest, might I be found,
To scenes so high exalted; to such views
Ennobling brought, such intellect refin'd,
Such light and love, such holiness and pèace,
| Such spheres of science, and such realms of rest;
Ah, how I'd scorn the passage strait of death,
How doleful e'er and horrid! How I'd look
With stedfastness unshaken through the grave,
And smile o'er all its sadness How I’d rise
Exulting, great Forerunner, o'er the waves
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. - 93
And bitterness of life How smiling, court
Ev’n the fell hand of horror, to dismiss
From earth, from darkness, my delighted soul
To Heaven, to God, and everlasting day!
Teacher of truth, blest Jesuſ—On the throne,
Of majesty co-equal, thou who sitt'st
From all etermity in glory's blaze
With thy Almighty Father | Thou, benign,
From bosom of that Father luast brought down
Intelligence to man of this blest state
Consolatory, rational; and fraught
With every good beyond the highest reach
Of man's supreme conception . How shall then
In equal language man his homage pay,
Or grateful laud thy goodness! Sons of Greece,
Or ye, who in old times, of sevenfold Nile,
Proud Tyber, or the Ganges' sacred flood
Religious drank, and to your demons dark
Paid superstition's tribute;—though I trace
Delighted, in your visions of the world
Beyond the grave, your dreams of future life,
Proofs of that life's firm credence of your faith
In the soul's deathless nature; yet with tears
Of human pity, humbled o'er the sense
Of human imbecility, I read
Your futile fables, puerile and poor;
To the soul's life, to virtue's godlike love
Unanimating, useless; while illum'd
By gospel-splendour, else, no doubt, as dark
And worthy pity—owns my heart rejoic'd,
That gospel's eminence of wisdom, truth,
And heavenly emanation, in its traits
Of future life superlatively drawn -
And who could paint that life, that scene describe
94 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
Immortal, and all-glorious, from the view
Of mortals shrouded ever,3–save the Som,
Who from Eternity that life enjoy'd ;
And came in condescension to reveal
A glimpse of its perfection to mankind P
Presumption vain and arrogant in man,
To think of sketching with his weak, faint line,
A scene so much above him And behold
That vain presumption punish'd as it ought,
In Araby’s impostor, dark and lewd ;
Who dar'd, with temporary follies fraught,
And low self-interest, stalking in the van
Of mad ambition's rout—to cheat his train,
Deluded by his darings, with the hope
Of sensual ravishment, and carnal joys
Perpetual in the Paradise of God:
Reserv’d—for sons of murder and of lust!
Shame on the impious madness!—Nor less shame
Must truth indignant dart on those who boast
Exclusive Christianity; yet dare,
Presumptuous, in their fancied penal fire
To fetter the free soul, “till the foul sins
Done in its days of nature be purg'd out
And burn’d away *;” unless by lucky chance
The oft-repeated mass, through potent gold,—
All sacred influence —gain'd, unlocks the door
Of dismal prison-house, and gives the soul
Enfranchis’d up to Peter's better care!
Preposterous, weak delusion I strange reproach
To Christian sapience, and to manly sense !
But not to Christ's true gospel, and the code
Of Revelation pure; before whose light,
* See Hamlet.
Tiloughts IN PRISON. 95
Resplendently informing, fables old
Like these, and vain of ignorance the birth,
Or coinage sacerdotal, in an age
Of gross Cimmerian darkness, growling hide
Their ignominious heads; as birds of might,
Reptiles, and beasts of prey before the sun |
Mounting the misty hills, in splendour rob'd,
And beaming all around refulgent day !
Other, far other from that luminous code
Breaks on the rational, enlighten’d mind
In perfect beauty that exalted state,
Of whose high excellence our sight hath dar'd,
How dim Soe'er, to take an humble glimpse,
And peep into its wonders!— But what tongue
Of man in language adequate can tell;
What mortal pencil worthily pourtray
That excellence, those wonders—where nor death,
Nor sin, nor pain shall enter ever;—where,
Each ill excluded, every good shall reign ;
Where day shall ne'er decline, but ceaseless light
—The Lamb's eternal lustre—blazing bless
Wiś salutary glory ! where shall smile
One spring unvarying; and glad nature teem
Spontaneous with exuberance of bounty;
Where, in immortal health, the frame sublim’d,
Refin'd, exalted through the chymic grave,
In union with the soul made perfect, pure,
And to the likeness of its God transform’d,
Shall find for every sense divine employ,
Gratification ample, exquisite,
Angelical, and holy : Chief in sight,
In vision beatific of its God;
In blest communion of his love; in praise
High choral praise, strung to the golden harp
96 -T}{OUGHTS 1 N PRISON.
*
In unison eternal, with the throng,
Thousands of thousands that surround the threne,
And feel his praise, their glory, and their bliss:
There too his works constant th' adoring soul
Shall pleas'd investigate ; and constant find
Fresh well-spring of delight; there constant share
The lov’d society and converse high … -
Of all the good, the wise, the truly great
Of every age and clime ; with saints and seers
Divine communication holding, rapt
Perpetually in new and deep displays -
Of wisdom boundless, and of perfect love.
Then, too, oh, joy 1 amidst this blaze of good,
This consummation rich of highest bliss; *
Then shall we meet,_meet never more to part,
Dear, dear departed friends ! and then enjoy
Eternal amity. My parents them, [cheeks,
My youth's companions*!—From my moisten’d
Dry the unworthy tear ! Where art thou, Death f
Is this a cause for mourning?—What a state
Of happiness exalted lies before me!
Lo, my bar'd bosom Strike: I court the blow :
I long, I pant, for everlasting day, *
For glory, immortality, and God!
But, ah why droops my soul? why o'er me thus
Comes a chill cloud P Such triumph well besuits
The faithful Christian ; thee had suited well
If haply persevering in the course,
As first thy race exultingly began.
But thou art fallen, fallen! Oh, my heart,
What dire compunction 2–sunk in foul offence
A prisoner, and condemn'd; an outcast vile;
* See Thoughts on the Epiphany, ver, 331, &c.
THGU GHTS IN PRISON. 97.
Bye-word and scorn of an indignant world,
Who reprobate with horror thy ill deeds;
Turn'd from thee loath'd, and to damnation just
Assign, umpitying, thy devoted head,
Loaded with every infamy!
- Dread God
Of Justice and of Mercy! wilt thou too,
In fearful indignation on my soul,
My anguish’d soul, the door of pity close,
And shut me from thee ever?—Lo! in dust,
Humiliant, prostrate, weeping 'fore thy throne—
Before thy cross, oh, dying Friend of man,
Friend of repentant sinners, I confess, -
And mourn my deep transgressions; as the sand
Innumerous, as the glowing crimson red;
With every aggravation, every guilt
Accumulate and burden'd / Against light,
'Gainst love and clearest knowledge perpetrate 1
Stamp'd with ingratitude's most odious stain;
Ingratitude to thee, whose favouring love
Had bless'd me, had distinguish'd me with grace,
With goodness far beyond my wish or worth !
Ingratitude to man; whose partial ear
Attended to my doctrine with delight;
And from my zeal conspicuous, justly claim'd
Conspicuous example Lord, I sink
O'erwhelm'd with self-conviction, with dismay,
With anguish and confusion past compare!
And could I weep whole seas of briny tears
In painful penitence; could I deplore
From my heart's aching fountain, drop by drop,
My crimes and follies; my deep grief and shame,
For vile dishonour on thy gospel brought;
For vile discredit to my order done;
H
98 . THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
For deep offence against my country's laws;
For deep offence to pity, and to man—
A patriarchal age would be too short
To speak my sorrows, and lament my sins;
Chief, as I am, of sinners Guiltier far
Than he who, falling, at the cock's shrill call,
Rose and repented, weeping; guiltier far—
I dare not say, than Judas; for my heart
Hath ever lov’d,—could never have betray'd,
Oh, never, never Thee, dear Lord 1 to death;
Though cruelly, unkindly, and unwise
That heart hath sacrific’d its truth and peace,
—For what a shameful, what a paltry price —
To sin, detested sin; and done thee wrong,
Oh, blessed source of all its good, its hope
For, though thus sunk, thus sinful, Sorrowing thus,
It dare not, cannot Judas' crime commit,
Last crime, and of thy mercy, Lord, despair!
But, conscious of its guilt; contrite and plung’d
In lowest self-abjection, in the depths
Of sad compunction, of repentance due
And undissembled, to thy cross it cleaves,
And cries for—ardent cries, for mercy, Lord!
Mercy, its only refuge! Mercy, Christ
By the red drops that in the garden gush'd •
"Midst thy soul's anguish from thee! By the drops
That down thy precious temples from the crown
Of agony distill'd By those that flow'd
From thy pierc'd hands and blessed feet so free;
By all thy blood, thy sufferings, and thy death,
Mercy, oh, Mercy, Jesus ! Mercy, Thou,
Who erst on David, with a clement eye,
When mourning at thy footstool, deigns to look ;
Thou, who, th’ adulterous Magdalen forgav'st,
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 99
When in the winning garb of penitence
Contrite she knelt, and with her flowing tears
Wash'd lowly thy lov’d feet! Northou the thief,
Ev’n in the last, the bitterest hour of pain,
Refusedst, gracious! Nor wilt thou refuse
My humble supplication, nor reject
My broken bleeding heart, thus offer'd up
On true contrition's altar; while through Thee,
Only through Thee acceptance do I hope,
Thou bleeding Love consummate Advocate,
Prevailing Intercessor, great High Priest,
Almighty Sufferer! Oh look pitying down
On thy sufficient merits I depend;
From thy unbounded mercies I implore
The look of pardon and the voice of grace,—
Grace, Grace —Victorious Conqueror over sin,
O'er death, o'er Hell, for me, for all mankind;
For grace I plead; repentant at thy feet
I throw myself, unworthy, lost, undone;
Trusting my soul, and all its dear concerns,
With filial resignation to thy will:
Grace,—still on grace my whole reliance built,
Glory to grace triumphant!—And to thee,
Dispenser bounteous of that sovereign grace!
Jesus, thou King of glory! at thy call
I come obedient: lo, the future world -
Expands its views transporting ! Lord, I come;
And in that world eternal trust to 'plaud,
With all redemption's sons, thy glorious grace'
Them farewell, ob, my friends! light o'er my grave
The green sod lay, and dew it with the tear
Of memory affectionate! and you -
—The curtain drop decisive, oh my foes,
Your rancour drop; and, candid, as I am
100 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
Speak of me, hapless! Then you’ll speak of one
Whose bosom beat at pity's gentlest touch
From earliest infancy; whose boyish mind
In acts humane and tender ever joy’d;
And who, that temper by his inmost sense
Approv’d and cultivate with constant care,
Melted through life at Sorrow's plaintive tale,
And urg'd, compassionate with pleasure ran
To sooth the sufferer and relieve the woe
Of one, who, though to humble fortune bred,
With splendid generosity's bright form
Too ardently enamour'd turn’d his sight,
Deluded, from frugality's just care,
And parsimony needful! One who scorn’d
Mean love of gold, yet to that power, his scorn
Retorting vengeful, a mark’d victim fell!
Of one, who, unsuspecting, and ill-form'd
For the world's subtleties, his bare breast bore
Unguarded, open; and ingenuous, thought
All men ingenuous, frank and open too !
Of one, who, warm with human passions, soft
To tenderest impressions, frequent rush'd
Precipitate into the tangling maze
Of error;-instant to each fault alive
Who, in his little journey through the world—
Misled, deluded oft, mistook his way;
Met with bad roads and robbers, for his steps
Insidious lurking; and by cunning craft
Of fellow-travellers sometimes deceiv'd,
Severely felt of cruelty and scorn,
Of envy, malice, and of ill report*,
* The following is a striking instance, and an alarming
proof, that calumny and slander will oue day grievously afflict
the conscious mind.—A clergyman, with whom I had lived in
TH() (JG FITS IN PRISON, 101
The heavy hand oppressive! One who brought
—From ignorance, from indiscretion blind,-
, Ills numerous on his head; but never aim’d,
Nor wish'd an ill or injury to man!
Injur'd, with cheerful readiness forgave;
Nor for a moment in his happy heart
Harbour'd of malice or revenge a thought;
Still glad and blest to avenge his foes despite
By deeds of love benevolent!—Of one—
Oh painful contradiction!—who in God,
In duty, plac'd the summit of his joy;
Yet left that God, that blissful duty left,
Preposterous, vile deserter! and receiv'd
A just return—“Desertion from his God,
“And consequential plunge into the depth
much friendship, always ready to show him every proof of
civility, and for whom I had much esteem, after an absence of
a twelvemonth and more, sent me a line, that he was then in a
dangerous state, apprehensive of a speedy death. I flew to my
friend with all zeal and speed, and found hin, as it seemed, in
a very dangerous way. Almost as soon as he saw me he burst
into tears, and clasping iny hands vehemently, said, “Oh, my
dear Doctor, I could not die in. peace without seeing you, and
earnestly imploring your pardon: For amidst ail the seeming
friendship I showed, I have been your bitter enemy: I have
done all I could on every occasion to traduce and lessen you :
envy, base envy alone, being my notive; for I could not bear
the brilliancy of your reputation, and the splendour of your
abilities—Can you forgive me?” -
I was shocked; but with great truth told him to be perfectly
at peace; that he had my most sincere forgiveness.--I did all
I could to soothe his mind. He recovered, and surely must
ever be my friend! Would to God what he then suffered may
be a warning to him, and to all, how they indulge such diaboli-
cal passions; which, as being most opposite to the God who is
love, cannot but sooner or later woefully distract the heart!
1()2 ThoughTS IN PR1son,
“Of all his present—of all human woe P.
Then hear his sufferings! Hear (if found too faint
His feeble song to win attention) hear
And heed his dying counsel? Cautious, shun
The rocks on which he split; cleave close to God,
Your Father, sure Protector, and Defence;
Forsake not his lov’d service; and your cause
Be sure he'll ne'er forsake. Initiate once;
Happy and prosperous, in religion's course
Oh persevere unfainting! Nor to vice
Or tempting folly slightest parley give :
Their black tents never enter: On the watch
Continue unremitting, nor e'er slack
The necessary guard. Trivial neglects,
Smallest beginnings”, to the wakeful foe
Open the door of danger; and down sinks,
Through the minutest leak once sprung, the ship
In gayest and most gallant tackle trim.
By small neglects he fell!—
Oh could ye rise,
Blest ministers of peace, by his sad fall:
Gather increase of caution and of zeal;
And seeing on what slippery edge ye stand,
Of foul and fatal lapse take the more heed;—
With deeper thankfulness he'd bow the knee,
While thus his fate productive, prov'd of good
To you, of truth blest heralds! whom he views
With heart-felt anguish scandaliz’d, impugn'd
By his atrocious follies: But for that
* Principiis obsta: sero medicina paratur,
Cum mala per longas convaluere moras.
Sed propera; mec te venturas differ in horas.
Quinon est bodie, cras minus aptus erit.
Ov. R. A lib. l. l. 91.
TH() UC HTS IN IPR IS () N. 1, 1 ()3
Not homour'd less, or honourable, if rous'd,
Ev’n by his errors, wisely you maintain
Your high profession's dignity, and look
"With single eye intent on the great work
Turice holy, of your calling; happiest work
Of mortals here, “Salvation of men's souls.”
Oh envied pastor, who thus occupied
Looks down on low preferment's distant views
Contemptible; more'er his plotting mind
To little, mean servilities enslaves;
Forgetting duty's exercise sublime,
And his attachments heavenly! Who nor joins
In frivolous converse on the rise of this,
Nor prospects flattering of that worldly clerk;
Strange inconsistency! marching aloft
With step superior, and ambition's paw,
To dignity's wish'd summit!— Nor allows
Envious, or spreads malicious the low tales
Diminishing of brethren, who by zeal,
Or eminence of merit in the cause,
The common cause of Christ distinguish’d shine
Of futile politics and party rage
Who, heedless, ever for the powers that be
In meek sincerity implores; and lives
Only to spread around the good, the peace,
The truth, the happiness, his open heart
Innocuous possesses, as the gift
Of him the God of peace he serves and loves!
Much envied pastor! Ah, ye men of God,
Who crowd the levee, theatre, or court;
Foremost in each amusement's idle walk;
Of vice and vanity the sportive scorn,
The vaunted pillars; ah that ye were all
Such happy, envied pastors! how mankind
arº
1 ()4 THOUGHTS IN PRISON.
With eyes of reverence would devoutly look,
How would yourselves with eyes of pleasure look,
On characters so uniform! while now,
What view is found less pleasing to the sight !
Nor wonderful, my aged friends! For none
Cam inward look complacent where a void
Presents its desolations drear and dark.
Hence ’tis your turn (incapable to bear
Reflection's just resentment) your lull'd minds
To infantime amusements, and employ
The hours, short hours, indulgent Heaven affords
For purposes most solem,-in the toil
Of busy trifling; of diversions poor,
Which irritate as often as amuse:
Passions most low and sordid! With due shame,
With sorrow I regret—Oh pardon me
This mighty wrong!—that frequent by your side
Silent I’ve sat, and with a pitying eye
Your follies mark'd, and unadmonish'd left, "
Though tenderly lamenting! Yet, at last,
—If haply not too late my friendly call
Strike on dead ears, oh profit by that call!
And to the grave approaching, its alarms
Weigh with me all consideratel Brief time
Advances quick in tread; few hours and dark
Remain: those hours in frivolous employ
Waste not impertinent; they ne'er return!
Nor deem it dulness to stand still and pause
When dread eternity hath claims so high.
Oh be those claims fulfill’d!
Nor my young friends,
Whom life's gay sunshine warms with laughing joy,
Pass you those claims unheeding!—In the bud
Of earliest rose oft have Isorrowing seen
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 105
The canker-worm lurk blighting; oft ere noon,
The tulip have beheld drop its proud head
In eminent beauty open'd to the morn!
In youth, in beauty, in life's outward charms
Boasts not self-flattering; virtue has a grace,
Religion has a power, which will preserve
Immortal your true excellence! O give
Early and happy your young hearts to God,
And God will smile in countless blessings on you!
Nor, captivate by fashion's idle glare,
And the world's show delusive, dance the maze,
The same dull round, fatiguing and fatigu'd,
Till, discontented, down in folly's seat f
And disappointment's, worthless, toil’d, you sink,
Despising and despis'd? Your gentle hearts
To kind impressions yet susceptible,
Will amiably hear a friend's advice;
And if, perchance, amidst the giddy whirl
Of circling folly, his unheeded tongue
Hath whisper’d vanity, or not announc'd
Truth's salutary dictates to your ears,
Forgive the injury, my friends belov’d;
And see me now, solicitous tº atome -
That and each fault, each error; with full eyes
Entreating you, by all your hopes and fears,
By all your dear anxieties, by all
You hold in life most precious, to attend,
To listen to his lore! to seek for bliss
In God, in piety; in hearts devote
To duty and to Heav'n' and seeking thus
The treasure is your own. Angels on earth,
Thus pure and good, soon will you mount, and live
Eternal angels with your Father—God!
Of admonition due, just self-contempt,
106 THOUG HTS IN PRISON.
And frank expostulation's honest charge,
The needful debt thus paid; haste thou, my song,
As hastes my life, -brief shadow, to its close!
Then farewell, oh my friends, most valued! bound
By consanguinity's endearing tie,
Or friendship's noble service, manly love,
And generous obligations! See, in all
—And spare the tear of pity—Heaven's high will
Ordaining wise and good. I see, I own
His dispensation, howsoever harsh,
To my hard heart, to my rebellious soul
Needful and salutary I His dread rod
Paternal, lo, I kiss; and to the stroke
Severe, submissive thankfully resign
It weans me from the world; it proves how vain,
How poor the life of erring man! hath taught,
Experimentally hath taught, to look
With scorn, with triumph upon death; to wish.
The moment come !—Oh were that moment come,
When, launch'd from all that's sinful here below,
Securely I shall sail along the tide
Of glorious etermity! My friends,
Belov'd and honour’d, oli that we were launch'd,
And sailing happy there, where shortly all
Must one day sailſ Oh that in peaceful port
We all were landed ! all together safe
In everlasting amity and love
With God, our God; our pilot through the storms
Of this life's sea:—But why the frivolous wish?
Set a few suns, a few more days decline,
And I shall meet you. —Oh the gladsome hour !
Meet you in glory,<nor with flowing tears
Afflicted drop my pen, and sigh Adieu!
THOUGHTS IN PRISON. 1()7
*** In a Postscript to a friend, the Author writes thus:–I
forgot to request my good friend to tell Mr. Hanway, that in
one of my little melancholy Poems, written in this dreary
place, I have made such mention of him as I think his attention
to the improvement of jails demands: That I earnestly press
him, as a Christian and a Man, to pursue that improvement
with zeal :—That much, very much is to be done:—And that
while the state of prisons remains as it is, the legislature has
some reason to charge itself with the greater robberies, &c.
committed: For the offenders for petty crimes are here har-
dened in almost every species of vice, and turned out, necessary
plunderers of the public, from the depravity of their unaltered
disposition, and the deficiency of proper employment. I have
felt much on this subject since I have been here, and expressed
something of it in the Poem, Week the Third. See page 42,
43, &c.
PIECES
FOUND AMONGST THE AUTHOR’s PAPERS IN PRI-
son, witH HIS LAST PRAYER.
I. THE ADMONITION.
AFFLICTED prisoner, whosoe'er thou art,
To this lone room unhappily confin'd,
Be thy first business here to search thy heart,
And probe the deep corruptions of thy mind
Struck with the foul transgressions thou hast .
wrought,
With sin—the source of all thy worldly woe;
To shame, to sorrow, to conviction brought,
Oh, fall before the throne of mercy low !
With true repentance pour thy soul in prayer,
And fervent plead the Saviour's cleansing blood;
Faith's ardent cry will pierce the Father's ear,
And Christ's a plea which cannot be withstood
II. SCRIPTURE PENITENTs.
A FRAGMENT,
FIRST in the list of penitents we place
The sinful parent of our sinful race;
Who, by temptation foil'd, and man's first foe,
“Brought death into the world, and all our woeſ"
- PIECES, 109
Transgression's debt how deeply does he pay l
Depriv'd of innocence; to death a prey;
From Paradise expell'd ; to toil assign'd,
Toil of the fainting frame and sick'ning mind
And doom'd to shed, for near a thousand years,
O'er fall'n descendants penitential tears!
Thus seiz'd the triple league * on mortal man,
And thus, Repentance, tºy sad reign began.
Yet, awful Power how blest beneath thy sway,
Who feel Contrition's dictates, and obey !
Their vicious deviations who detest,
And hold Faith's cross, all humbled, to their breast !
From God's lov’d presence then they need not fly t ;
Nor ope in wrath the flood-gates of the sky:
For since to man perfection was deny’d,
By thee his deep demerits are supply'd ;
And, led by thee a suppliant to the throne,
The God of mercy looks with pity down,
Suniles on the mourner, and delights to prove
How free his grace, and how triumphant love 1
Eternal proof! See, bath'd in floods of tears,
Where David foremost in thy train appears:
How deep his crime, the prophet pictures well;
How deep his penitence, those sorrows tell ! .
That, whether to deplore the crime, or bless,
We stand suspended ; since its evil less,
Less bright his soul's ingenuous grief had shone,
And less at once his comfort, and our own
Hear, like a torrent how his sorrows roll,
Conviction's tempest tearing up his soul!
Hear, sad and solemn, to the mournful strings,
In trembling anguish, how he weeps and sings :
* Siu, sorrow, and death. + As Cain, Gen. iv. 14, 16.
110 PIECES.
“Mercy, oh mercy, Lord! with humble heart!
For thy known pity's sake, mercy I pray !
Boundless in tender mercies as Thou art,
Take, Lord! on, take my foul offence away!
“Oh, from my loathsome guilt, wash, cleanse my
Remove, dear Father, each defiling stain : [soul,
Guilty, oh, guilty, Lord I own the whole;
I see, I feel it; all excuse is vain.
“Against Thee, Lord ev'm Thee, have I trans-
Lo, self-convicted, I before Thee fall! [gress'd;
Just are thy words; their truth is thus confess'd ;
Just are thy judgments Sinners are we all.
“Prome to offend, or ere to birth I came,
My mother, when conceiving, gave me guilt;
Shapen in sin was my corrupted frame,
When in the womb that wond’rousframe was built.
“But thou, of purer eyes than guilt to view,
Thou wilt accept the soul's sincere desire ;
Pardon, the past, the humble heart renew,
And wisdom by thy secret one inspire.
“Then listen to my cry; and oh, my God,
Purge me with hyssop, and I pure shall grow;
Wash me, foul leper, in the mystic blood,
And whiter I shall be than whitest snow.
“Again the voice of gladness let me hear,
Thy voice of pardoning love, for it is sweet;
The soul dejected so shall thou uprear, [feet.
The worm which, crush'd, lies trembling at thy
PI ECES. 1 11
“Hide from my sins—the objects of thy hate,
Oh, hide thy face, and blot them from thy view:
A clean heart, God of grace, in me create,
And a right spirit in my soul renew I
“From thy lov’d presence let me not be driven;
Let me not lose thy blessed spirit's aid;
Again the joy of thy salvation giv'n, .
Uphold, support, sustain my heart dismay’d.
“Then, of thy pardoming mercy satisfy'd,
Thy pardoning mercy loud will I proclaim :
So shall transgressors, taught by me, confide
In thy compassions; turn, and bless thy name.
“Ah! my soul shudders 1—From the guilt of blood,
Oh, from blood-guiltiness deliver me!
Oh God, deliver—my salvation's God,
And praise unceasing will I pay to thee.
“Permit my lips, now clos'd by guilt and shame,
'Thy pardoning love, Jehovah, to express;
Then to thy list'ning world I'll tell thy name,
Proclaim thy praise, and sing thy righteousness.
“For crimes like mine no offerings can atone;
The gift of outward sacrifice is vain:
Could these avail, before thy righteous throne,
Whole hecatombs I gladly would have slain.
“The contrite spirit and the sighs sincere,
Which from the broken bleeding heart arise,
To thee more pleasing sacrifices are ;
Are gifts, my God, which thou wilt not despise.
3.
1 12 PIECEs.
“Hear then, and save and to my people, Lord,
Thy saving mercy graciously extend
Oh, let our Zion live in thy regard;
The walls of our Jerusalem defend I
“So shall the righteous to thy temple go,
And joyful bring their offering and their praise:
So shall the blood of lambs in plenty flow,
And incense on thy altar copious blaze".”
With joy, with grief, the penitent I see,
Offending Heav'n, yet Heav'n-absolv’d for me !
Oh while, like his, I feel my guilt and shame,
Be my repentance and my grief the same !
Thenshall the truth which cheer'd his heart be mine;
Thy God has pardon'd thee, and life is thine.
But hark, my soul, what melancholy sound
Re-echoes from the dungeon's dark profound !
Hear, sympathetic hear: A king complains,
Fall’n from his throne, a prisoner, and in chains !
*
“God of the world, at length thy rule I own,
And prostrate fall before thy boundless throne:
-The power resistless, trembling I confess:
In threat'nings awful, but in love no less
“Oh, what a blessing has that love assign'd,
By penitence to heal the wounded mind!
By penitence to sinners, who, like me,
More than th' unnumber'd sands that shore the sea;
My crimes acknowledge; which, of crimson die,
In all their scarlet horrors meet my eye
“Oh, eye, unworthy of the light of Heav'n :
Oh, sins too mountainous to be forgiv'n: •
* See Psalm 51, and Christian’s Magazine, vol. iii. p. 134.
PIECES. 113
Oh, rebel to the law and love divine,
How justly God's severest vengeance thine !
But oh, Lbend my heart's obedient knee,
In supplication, Lord, for grace from Thee!
Yes, I have sinn'd, and I confess the whole—
Forgive me then, nor cast away my soul I
Save me from evil, from thine anger save,
And snatch me from the dark, untinuely grave
“Friend of the contrite, Thou wilt pardon give:
A monument of mercy I shall live
And worthless as I am, for ever prove,
That true repentance leads to saving love .
That true repentance tunes to praise the heart,
And in the choir of Heaven shall bear an ample
partº P.
• Thus, by affliction's deep correction taught,
Manasseh to the Lord for mercy sought:
By the kind chastening of a Father's rod,
Brought to the knowledge of himself and God :
Happy affliction, for such knowledge given;
And blest the dungeon which led thus to Heaven
w III. REFLECTIONS.
(UNFINISHED.)
HERE, secluse from worldly pleasure,
In this doleful place confin'd,
Come, and let's improve the leisure;
Meditate, my thoughtful mind
* See Prayer of Manasseh, in the Apocrypha, next to the first
book of Maccabees; and compare 2 Chron. xxxiii. 21, &c.
I
114 P! ECE$.
Soul alike and body sharing,
How have I the one forgot!
While for t'other only caring;
Lo my miserable lot!
Yet the one I so much cherish,
Doom'd to death when giv'n to life,
Soon, perhaps, must sink and perish,
Dust to dust—must end the strife :
From a tedious tour returning,
Into distant foreign land,
How my anxious heart is burning
News of home to understand 1
* * * * * * * * * *
TO MY FRIENDS,
Es PECIALLY OF THE CHARITABLE SocIETIES, on
THEIR SOLICITUDE. -
A H, my lov'd friends ! why all this care for one
To life so lost, so totally undone,
Whose meat and drink are only bitter tears,
Nights pass'd in sorrow, mornings wak’d to cares;
Whose deep offence sits heavy on his soul,
And thoughts self-torturing in deep tumult roll
Could you, by all your labours so humane,
From this dread prison his deliverance gain;
, Could you, by kind exertions of your love,
To generous pardon royal mercy move, -
Where should he fly! where hide his wretched head,
With shame so cover'd, so to honour dead
Pſ ECES. . 115
Spare then the task, and, as he longs to die, R
Set free the captive, let his spirit fly, &=
Enlarg’d and happy, to his native sky : §
Not doubting mercy from his grace to find,
Who bled upon the cross for all mankind.
But if it must not be, if Heaven's high will
Ordains him yet a duty to fulfil, [Spare,
Oh, may each breath, while God that breath shall
Be yours in gratitude, be Heaven's in prayer
Deep as his sin, and low as his offence,
High be his rise through humblest penitenceſ
While, life or death, mankind at least shall learn
From his sad story and your kind concern,
That works of mercy, and a zeal to prove
By Smpathetic aid the heart of love,
On earth itself a sure reward obtain :
Nor e'er fall pity's kindly drops in vain
I live a proof! and dying, round my urn
Affliction's family will crowd and mourn:
“Here rests our friend,” if, weeping o'er my grave,
They cry—’tis all the epitaph I crave.
THE
C O N VICT'S AD D RESS
TO HIS
UNHAPPY BRETHREN:
DELIVERED IN THE CHAPEL OF NEWGATE, ON PRIDAY,
JUNE 6, 1777,
BY WILLIAM DODD, L.L. D.
-º-
I acknowledge my faults: and my Sin is ever before me.
Ps A LM li. 3.
TO THE
REVEREND MR. VILLETTE,
ORDINARY OF NEWGATE.
REVEREND SIR,
THE following Address owes its present public
appearance to you. I read it to you, after it was
composed, and you thought it proper to be deli-
vered, as was intended. You heard it delivered,
and are pleased to think that its publication will
be useful.—To a poor abject worm, like myself,
this is a sufficient inducement to that publication ;
and l heartily pray God, that in your hands it may
frequently and effectually administer to the instruc-
tion and comfort of the miserable.
I am, dear SIR,
With my sincerest thanks for your humane
and friendly attention,
Your truly sorrowful
and much afflicted Brother in Christ,
WILLIAM DODD.
Friday, June 6, 1777.
T II ſº
CONVICT'S ADDRESS,
&c. &c.
My dear and unhappy Fellow Prisoners,
CoNSIDERING my peculiar circumstances and situa-
tion, I cannot think myself justified, if I do not deliver
to you, in sincere Christian love, some of my serious
thoughts on our present awful state.
In the sixteenth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles,
you read a memorable story respecting Paul and Silas,
who, for preaching the Gospel, were cast by magis-
trates into prison, ver. 23.−and, after having received
many stripes, were committed to the jailor, with a strict
charge to keep them safely. Accordingly he thrust
them into the inner prison, and made their feet fast in
the stocks. At midnight Paul and Silas, supported by
the testimony of a good conscience, prayed and sung
prayers to God, and the prisoners heard them ; and
suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foun-
dations of the prison were shaken; and immediately all
the doors were opened, and every one's chains were
loosed. The keeper of the prison awaking out of his
sleep, and seeing the prison doors open, in the greatest
distress, as might well be imagined, drew his sword,
and would have killed himself, supposing that the pri-
soners had been fled. But Paul cried with a loud voice,
Do thyself no harm, for we are all here.—The keeper
calling for a light, and finding his prisoners thus freed
from their bonds by the imperceptible agency of divine
power, was irresistibly convinced that these men were
120 CON VICT'S AD 3) RESS.
not offenders against the law, but martyrs to the truth:
he sprang in therefore, and came trembling, and fell
down before Paul and Silas, and brought them out, and
said, “ Sirs, What must I do to be saved P’’ *
“What must I do to be saved?” is the important
question, which it becomes every human being to study,
from the first hour of reason to the last; but which we,
my fellow-prisoners, ought to consider, with particular
diligence and intenseness of meditation. Had it not
been forgotten or neglected by us, we had never ap-
peared in this place. A little time for recollection and
amendment is yet allowed us by the mercy of the law.
Of this little time let no particle be lost. Let us fill
our remaining life with all the duties which our present
condition, allows us to practise. Let us make one
earnest effort for salvation | And oh! heavenly Father,
who desireth not the death of a sinner, grant that this
effort may not be in vain.
To teach others what they must do to be saved, has
long been my employment and profession. You see
with what confusion and dishonour I now stand before
you—no more in the pulpit of instruction, but on this
humble seat with yourselves. You are not to consider
me now as a man authorized to form the manners, or
direct the conscience, and speaking with the authority
of a pastor to his flock—I am here guilty, like your-
selves, for a capital offence; and sentenced, like your-
selves, to public and shameful death. My profession,
which has given me stronger convictions of my duty
than most of you can be supposed to have attained, and
has extended my views to the consequences of wicked-
ness farther than your observation is likely to have
reached, has loaded my sins with peculiar aggravations;
and I entreat you to join your prayérs with mine, that
my sorrow may be proportionate to my guilt
. . .I am now, like you, inquiring what I must do to be
saved and stand here to communicate to you what that
inquiry suggests. Hear me with attention, my fellow-
prisoners; and in your melancholy hours of retirement,
consider well what I offer to you from the sincerity of
CON VICT'S ADDRESS. 121
my good will, and from the deepest conviction of a pe-
nitent heart. •
Salvation is promised to us Christians, on the terms
of Faith, Obedience, and Repentance. I shall there-
fore endeavour to show how, in the short interval be-
tween this moment and death, we may exert faith,
perform obedience, and exercise repentance, in a man-
ner which our heaveniy Father may, in his infinite
mercy, vouchsafe to accept. - ---
I. Faith is the foundation of all Christian virtue. It
is that, without which it is impossible to please God. I
shall therefore consider, first, how faith is to be parti-
cularly exerted by us in our present state.
Faith is a full and undoubting confidence in the de-
clarations made by God in the Holy Scriptures; a sin-
cere reception of the doctrines taught by our blessed
Sayiour; with a firm assurance that he died to take
away the sins of the world, and that we have, each of
us, a part in the boundless benefits of the universal
Sacrifice.
To this faith we must have recourse at all times, but
particularly iſ we find ourselves tempted to despair. If
thoughts arise in our minds, which suggest that we have
sinned beyond the hope of pardon, and that therefore it
is vain to seek for reconciliation by repentance, we
must remember how God willeth that every man should
be saved, and that those who obey his call, however
late, shall not be rejected. If we are tempted to think
that the injuries we have done are unrepaired, and
therefore repentance is vain, let us remember that the
reparation which is impossible, is not required; that
sincerely to will, is to do, in the sight of Him to whom
all hearts are open; and that what is deficient in our
endeavours, is supplied by the merits of Him who died
to redeem us. -
Yet let us be careful, lest an erroneous opinion of
the all-sufficiency of our Saviour's merits lull us into
carelessness and security. His merits are indeed all-
sufficient! But he has prescribed the terms on which
they are to operate. He died to save sinners, but to
122 CON VICT'S ADDRESS.
*
save only those sinners that repent. Peter, who denied
him, was forgiven; but he obtained his pardon by weep-
ing bitterly. They who live in perpetual regularity of
duty, and are free from any gross or visible transgres-
sion, are yet but unprofitable servants: What then are
we, whose crimes are hastening us to the grave before
our time?—Let us work with fear and trembling, but
still let us endeavour to work out our salvation. Let
us hope without presumption ; let us fear without des-
peration; and let our faith animate us to that which we
were to consider.
Secondly, “Sincere Obedience to the laws of God.”
Our obedience, for the short time yet remaining, is re-
strained to a narrow circle. Those duties which are
called social and relative, are for the most part out of .
our power. We can contribute very little to the gene-
ral happiness of mankind, while on those, whom kindred.
and friendship have allied to us, we have brought dis-
grace and sorrow. We can only benefit the public by
an example of contrition, and fortify our friends against
temptation by warning and admonition. -
The obedience left us now to practise is “submis-
sion to the will of God, and calm acquiescence in his
wisdom and his justice.” We must not allow ourselves
to repine at those miseries which have followed our
offences, but suffer, with silent humility and resigned
patience, the punishment which we deserve; remem-
bering that, according to the apostle's decision, no
praise is due to them who bear with patience to be buf-
feted for their fault. --
When we consider the wickedness of our past lives,
and the danger of having been summoned to the final
judgment without preparation, we shall, I hope, gra-
dually rise so much above the gross conceptions of
human nature, as to return thanks to God for what once
seemed the most dreadful of all evils—our detection
and conviction | We shrink back by immediate and in-
stinctive terror from the public eye, turned as it is upon
as with indignation and contempt. Imprisonment is
aſilictive, and ignominious death is fearful! But let us
CONVICT'S ADDRESS. - 123
compare our condition with that which our actions
might reasonably have incurred. The robber might
have died in the act of violence, by lawful resistance;
the man of fraud might have sunk into the grave while
he was enjoying the gain of his artifice,—and where
then had been our hope 2 We have now leisure for
thought; we have opportunities of instruction; and,
whatever we suffer from offended laws, may yet recon-
cile ourselves to God, who, if we sincerely seek him,
will assuredly be found.
But how are we to seek the Lord? By the way which
he himself hath appointed; by humble, ſervent, and
frequent prayer. Some hours of worship are appointed
us; let us duly observe them. Some assistance to our
devotion is supplied; let us thankfully accept it. But
let us not rest in formality and prescription; let us call
upon God night and day. When, in the review of the
times which we have past, any offence arises to our
thoughts, let us humbly implore forgiveness; and for
those faults º many j. and must be) which we
cannot recollect, let us solicit mercy in general peti-
tions. But it must be our constant care that we pray
not merely with our lips; but that when we lament our
sins, we are really humbled in self-abhorrence”; and
that, when we call for mercy, we raise our thoughts to
hope and trust in the goodness of God, and the merits
of our blessed Saviour Jesus Christ.
The reception of the holy sacrament, to which we
shall be called, in the most solemn manner, perhaps a .
few hours, before we die, is the highest act of Christian
worship. At that awful moment it will become us to
drop for ever all worldly thoughts, to fix our hopes
solely upon Christ, whose death is represented, and to
consider ourselves as no longer connected with mortal-
ity.—And, possibly, it may please God to afford us
some consolation, some secret intimations of acceptance
and forgiveness. But these radiations of favour are
not always felt by the sincerest penitents. To the
* See Job, chap. xlii. ver, 6.
124 GON VICT'S ADDRESS.
greater part of those whom angels stand ready to re-
ceive, nothing is granted in this world beyond rational
hope;—and with hope founded, on promise, we may
well be satisfied.
But such promises of salvation are made only to the
penitent. It is requisite then that we consider,
Thirdly, “How Repentance is to be exercised.”
Repentance, in the general state of Christian life, is
such a sorrow for sin as produces a change of manners,
and an amendment of life. It is that disposition of
mind, by which he who stole steals no more; by which
the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness, and
doth that which is lawſul and right. And to the man
thus reformed it is expressly promised, that he shall
save bis soul alive”. Of this repentance the proofs are
visible, and the reality certain, always to the penitent,
and commonly, to the church with which he communi-
cates; because the state of the mind is discovered by
the outward actions. But of the repentance which our
condition requires and admits, no such evidence can
appear; for to us many crimes and many virtues are
made impossible by confinement; and the shortness of
the time which is before us, gives little power even to
ourselves, of distinguishing the efforts of terror from
those of conviction; of deciding whether our present
sorrow for sin proceeds from abhorrence of guilt, or
dread of punishment; whether the violence of our in-
ordinate passions be totally subdued by the fear of
God, or only crushed and restrained by the temporary
force of present calamity. -
Our repentance is like that of other sinners on the
death-bed; but with this advantage, that our danger
is not greater, and our strength is more; our faculties
are not impaired by weakness of body. We come to
the great work, not withered by pains, nor clouded
* There cannot be a stronger exemplification of this idea
than the conduct of the jailor, who uttered the question with
which we commenced our inquiry—What shall I do to be
saved?—What a change of mind and manners was wrought
in him by the power of God? Read Acts, chap. xvi.
convict's ADDRESS. 125
by the fumes of disease, but with minds capable of
continued attention, and with bodies, of which we need
have no care! We may therefore better discharge this
tremendous duty, and better judge of our own per-
formance: . - - -
... Of the efficacy of a death-bed repentance many have
disputed; but we have no leisure for controversy. Fix
in your minds this decision, “Repentance is a change
of the heart; of an evil to a good disposition.” When
that change is made, repentance is complete. God will
consider that life as amended, which would have been
amended, if he had spared it. Repentance in the sight
of man, even of the penitent, is not known but by its
fruits; but our Creator sees the fruit in the blossom, or
the seed. He knows those resolutions which are fixed,
those conversions which would be permanent; and will
receive them who are qualified by holy desires for
works of righteousness, without exacting from them
those outward duties which the shortness of their lives
hindered them from perſorming.
... Nothing therefore remains, but that we apply with
all our speed, and with all our strength, to rectify our
desires and purify our thoughts; that we set God be-
fore us in all his goodness and terrors; that we consider
him as the Father and the Judge of all the earth; as a
Father desirous to save; as a Judge, who cannot par-
don unrepented iniquity; that we fall down before him-
self condemned, and excite in our hearts an intense.de-
testation of those crimes which have provoked him;
with vehement and steady resolutions, that if life were
granted us, it should be spent hereafter in the practice
of our duty #; that we pray the Giver of grace to
strengthen and impress these holy thoughts, and to ac-
cept our repentance, though late, and in its beginnings
violent; that we improve every good motion by dili-
gent prayer; and having declared and confirmed four
* See 2 Cor. chap. v. I4, 15.
+ 1 would have this expression to be particularly attended
to. . While as a dying man, and with all possible sincerity of
soul, I add, that, if I could wish to declare my faith, 1 know
126 CON VICT'S ADDRESS.
faith by the holy communion,--we deliver ourselves
into his hands, in firm hope, that he who created and
redeemed us will not suffer us to perish.--Rom. v. 8.
viii. 32. -
The condition, without which forgiveness is not to
be obtained, is that we forgive others. There is always
a danger lest men, fresh from a trial in which life has
been lost, should remember with resentment and malig-
nity the prosecutor, the witnesses, or the judges. It is
indeed scarce possible, that with all the prejudices of
an interest so weighty and so aſſecting, the convict
should think otherwise than that he has been treated,
in some part of the process, with unnecessary severity.
In this opinion he is perhaps singular, and therefore
probably mistaken. But there is no time for disquisi-
tion: we must try to find the shortest way to peace. It
is easier to forgive than to reason aright. He that has
been injuriously or unnecessarily harassed, has one op-
portunity more of proving his sincerity, by forgiving
the wrong, and praying for his enemy.
It is the duty of a penitent to repair, so far as he has
the power, the injury which he has done. What we
can do, is commonly nothing more than to leave the
world an example of contrition. On the dreadful day,
when the sentence of the law has its ſull force, some
will be found to have affected a shameless bravery, or
negligent intrepidity. Such is not the proper behaviour
of a convicted criminal. To rejoice in tortures is the
privilege of a martyr; to meet death with intrepidity is
the right only of innocence, if in any human being in-
not of any words in which I could do it so well, and so per-
fectly to my satisfaction, as in the communion service of our
church; and if I would wish to confirm that faith, I know
not of any appointed method so thoroughly adapted to that
end of participation in that communion itself.--See particu-
larly in this service, the Exhortation, Confession, Prayer be-
ginning, “We do not presume,” &c.—Consecration—and
Prayer after receiving, “O Lord and heavenly Father,” &c.
—Convicts should diligently and repeatedly read over the
service before they communicate.
CONVICT'S ADDRESS. * 127
nocence could be found. Of him whose life is short-
ened by his crimes, the last duties are humility and
self-abasement. We owe to God sincere repentance;
we owe to man the appearance of repentance.—We
ought not to propagate an opinion, that he who lived in
wickedness can die with courage. If the serenity or
gaiety with which some men have ended a life of guilt
were unfeigned, they can be imputed only to ignorance
or stupidity, or what is more . to voluntary in-
toxication:—if they were artificial and hypocritical,
they are acts of deception, the useless and unprofitable
º of pride unmortified, and obstinacy unsub-
UICCI. -
There is yet another crime possible, and, as there is
reason to believe, sometimes committed in the last mo-
ment, on the margin of eternity. , Men have died with
a stedfast denial of crimes, of which it is very difficult
to suppose them innocent. By what equivocation or
reserve they may have reconciled their consciences to
falsehood, if their consciences were at all consulted, it
is impossible to know; but if they thought that, when
they were to die, they paid their legal forfeit, and that
the world had no ſariher demand upon them; that
therefore they might, by keeping their own secrets, try
to leave behind them a disreputable reputation; and
that the falsehood was harmless, because none were in-
jured,—they had very little considered the nature of
society. One of the principal parts of national felicity
arises from a wise and impartial administration of jus-
tice. Every man reposes upon the tribunals of ‘his
country the stability of possession, and the serenity of
life. He therefore who unjustly exposes the courts of
judicature to suspicion, either of partiality or error, not
only does an injury to those who dispense the laws, but
diminishes the public confidence in i. laws themselves,
and shakes the foundation of public tranquillity. -
For my own part, I confess, with deepest compunc-
tion, the crime which has brought me to this place;
and admit the justice of my sentence, while I am sink-
ing under its severity. And I earnestly exhort you, my
128 CON VICT'S ADDRESS.
fellow-prisoners, to acknowledge the offences which
have been already proved; and to bequeath to our.
country that confidence in public justice, without which
there can be neither peace nor safety. * -
As few men suffer for their first offences, and most.
convicts are conscious of more crimes than have been
brought within judicial cognizance, it is necessary to
inquire how far confession ought to be extended. Peace
of mind, or desire of instruction, may sometimes de-,
mand, that to the minister, whose counsel is requested,
a long course of evil life should be discovered; but of
this every man must determine for hinself.-To the
public, every man who departs from life, is obliged to
confess those ácts which have brought, or may bring,
unjust suspicion upon others; and to convey such in-
formation as may enable those who have suffered losses
to obtain restitution. s -
Whatever good remains in our power we must dili-
gently perform. We must prevent, to the utmost of
our power, all the evil consequences of our crimes; we
must forgive all who have injured us: we must, by fer-
vency of prayer, and constancy in meditation, endea-
vour to repress all worldly passions, and generate in
our minds that love of goodness and hatred of sin,
which may fit us for the society of heavenly minds.
And, finally, we must commend and intrust our souls to
Him who died for the sins of men; with earnest wishes
*
and humble hopes, that he will admit us with the la-
bourers who entered the vineyard at the last bour, and .
associate us with the thief whom he pardoned on the
cross! * *
To this great end you will not refuse to unite with
me, on...bended knees, and with humble hearts, in fer-
vent prayer to the throne of grace! May the Father of
mercy hear our supplications, and have compassion
upon us! -
“O Almighty Lord God, the righteous Judge of all
the earth, who in thy providential justice dost frequent-
ly inflict severe vengeance upon sinners in this life,
that thou mayest, by their sad examples, effectually
CON VICT'S ADDRESS. 129
deter others from committing the like heinous offences;
and that they themselves, truly repenting of their faults,
may escape the condemnation of hell,—look. down in
mercy upon us, thy sorrowful servants, whom thou hast
suffered to become the unhappy objects of offended
justice in this world.
“Give us a thorough sense of all those evil thoughts,
words and works, which have so provoked thy pa-
tience, that thou hast been pleased to permit this public
and shameful judgment to fall upon us; and grant us
such a portion of grace and godly sincerity, that we
may heartily conſess and unſeignedly repent of every
breach of those most holy laws and ordinances, which
if a man do, he shall even live in them.
“Let no root of bitterness and malice, no habitual
and deadly sin, either of omission or commission, re-
main undisturbed in our hearts! But enable us to make
our repentance universal, without the least flattering or
deceitful reserve, so that we may clear our consciences
before we close our eyes.
“And now that thou hast brought us within the view
of our long home, and made us sensible that the time of
our dissolution draweth near, endow us, we humbly
pray thee, O gracious Father, with such Christian for-
titude, that neither the terrors of thy present dispensa-
tions, nor the remembrance of our former sins, may
have power to sink our spirits into a despondency of
i. everlasting mercies in the adorable Son of thy
OW 6.
“Wean our thoughts and affections, good Lord,
from all the vain and delusive enjoyments of this tran-
sitory world, that we may not only with patient resig-
nation submit to the appointed stroke of death, but that
our faith and hope may be so elevated, that we may
conceive a longing desire to be dissolved from these
our earthly tabernacles, and to be with Christ, which
is far better than all the happiness we can wish for
besides : -
“And in a due sense of our own extraordinary want
of forgiveness at thy hands, and of our utter unworthi-
mess of the very least of all thy favours—of the meanest
- K -
130 CONWICT'S ADDRESS.
crumbs which fall from thy table—O blessed Lord "
Jesus, make us so truly and universally charitable, that
in an undissembled compliance with thy own awful
command and most endearing example, we may both
freely forgive and cordially pray for our most inveterate
enemies, persecutors, and slanderers! Forgive them, O
Lord, we beseech thee—turn their hearts, and fill them .
with thy love
“Thus may we humbly trust, our sorrowful prayers
and tears will be acceptable in thy sight: thus shall we
be qualified, through Christ, to exchange this dismal
bodily confinement (and these uneasy fetters) for the
glorious liberty of the sons of God; and thus shall our
legal doom upon earth be changed into a comfortable
declaration of mercy in the highest heavens;–and all
through thy most precious and all-sufficient merits. O
blessed Saviour of mankind – who with the Father,
and the Holy Ghost, livest and reignest ever, one God, .
world without end. Amen”.”
* See Rossell’s Prisoner’s Director ;-a work of some merit
—and which I have endeavoured, in my melancholy hours
of leisure, to revise, and, (I humbly hope) improve; and
mean to leave behind me, in the hands of the ordinary, as a
small testimony of my sincere, but very weak, endeavours
for the best welfare of unhappy men in confinement; to
whom I have written a general Address, to be prefixed to the .
new edition of Rossell. - - -
*
DR. DoDD's LAST PRAYER;
Written June 27. In the Night previous to his Suffering.
GREAT and glorious Lord God | Thou Father of Mer-
cies, and God of all Comfort! a poor and humble pub-
lican stands trembling in thy awful presence; and,
under the deep sense of innumerable transgressions,
scarce dares so much as to lift up his eyes, or to say,.
“ Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner l” -
For 1 have sinned, oh Lord have most grievously
sinned against Thee ; sinned against light, against con-
LAST PRAYER. 131
viction; and by a thousand, thousand offences, justly
provoked thy wrath and indignation' My sins are pe.
culiarly aggravated, and their burden more than ordi-
nary oppressive to my soul, from the sight and sense I
have had of thy love, and from the high and solemn ob-
ligations of my sacred character!
But, oppressed with consciousness, and broken in
heart under the sense of guilt, I conne, oh Lord! With
earnest prayer and tears, supplicating Thee, of thy mer-
cy, to look upon me, and forgive me for his precious
merits' sake, which are infinitely more unbounded than
even all the sins of a whole sinful world ! By his cross
and passion, I implore, to spare and deliver me, O
Lord -
Blessed be thy unspeakable goodness for that won-
derful display of divine love, on which alone is my
hope and my confidence Thou hast invited, oh blessed
Redeemer! the burdened and heavy laden, the sick in
soul, and wearied with sin, to come to Thee, and re-
ceive rest. Lord, I come ! Be it unto me according to
thy infallible word ' Grant me thy precious, thy inesti-
mable rest -
Be with me, thou all-sufficient God, in the dreadful
trial through which I am to pass! and graciously vouch-
safe to fulfil in me those precious promises which Thou
in such fatherly kindness, hast delivered to thy afflicted
children | Enable me to see and adore thy disposing
- hand in this awful, but mournful event; and to contem-
plate at an humble distance, thy great example, who
did go forth, bearing thy cross, and enduring its shame,
under the consolatory assurance of the joy set before
. Thee! - - -
And oh! my triumphant Lord! in the moment of
death and in the last hour of conflict, suffer me not to
doubt or despondſ but sustain me in thy arms of love;
and oh, receive and present faultless to thy Father, in
the robe of thy righteousness, my poor and unworthy
soul, which thou hast redeemed with thy most precious
blood. -
Thus commending myself and my eternal concerns
into thy most faithful hands, in firm hope of a happy
132 - LAST PRAY ER.
reception into thy kingdom: Oh my God, hear me,
while I humbly extend my supplications for others;
and pray, That thou wouldest bless the King and all
his family; that thou wouldest preserve the crown in
his house to endless generations, and make him the
happy minister of truth, of peace, and of prosperity to
his people ! Bless that people, O Lord! and shine, as
thou hast done, with the light of thy favour, on this
little portion of thy boundless creation. Diffuse more
and more spirit of Christian piety amongst all ranks and
orders of men; and in particular fill their hearts with
universal and undissembled love—Love to thee, and
love to each other!
Amidst the manifold mercies and blessings vouch-
safed through thy gracious influence—thou Sovereign
Ruler of all hearts!—to so unworthy a worm during
this dark day of my sorrows, enable me to be thankful;
and in the sincerity of heartfelt gratitude, to implore
thine especial blessing on all my beloved fellow-crea-
tures, who have by any means interested themselves in
my preservation 1 May the prayers they have offered
for me, return in mercies on their own heads! May the
sympathy they have shown, refresh and comfort their
own hearts | And may all their good endeavours and
kindness be amply repaid by a full supply of thy grace,
and abundant assistance to them in their day of distress;
—in their most anxious hours of need!
To the more particular and immediate instruments
of thy providential love and goodness to me, O vouch-
safe to impart, Author of all good, a rich supply of
thy choicest comforts! Fill their hearts with thy love,
and their lives with thy favour! Guard them in every
danger: sooth them in every sorrow : bless them in
every laudable undertaking: restore an hundredfold
all their temporal supplies to me and nine: and, after
a course of extensive utility, advance them, through the
Inerits of Jesus, to lives of eternal bliss.
Extend, great Father of the world, thy more especial
care and kindness to my nearer and most dear connee-
tions. Bless with thy continual presence, and protec-
tion my dear brother and sister, and all their children
LAST PRAYER. , 133
and friends! Hold them in thy hand of tender care and
mercy ; and give them to experience, that in thee there
is infinite lovingkindness and truth ! Look with a ten-
der eye on all their temporal concerns; and after lives
of faithfulness and truth, oh bear them to thy bosom,
and unite us together in thy eternal love
But oh, my adorable Lord and hope, suffer me in a
more particular manner to offer up to thy sovereign and
gracious care my long-tried and most affectionate wiſel
Husband of the widow, be thou her support sustain
and console her afflicted mind! enable her with patient
submission to receive all thy will ! and when, in thy
good time, thou hast perfected her for thy blessed
kingdom, unite again our happy and immortal spirits
in celestial love, as thou hast been pleased to unite us
in sincere earthly affection | Lord Jesus, vouchsafe
unto her thy peculiar grace and all-sufficient consola-
tion
If I have any enemies, oh, thou who diest for thy
enemies, hear my prayers for them | Forgive them all
their ill-will to me, and fill their hearts with thy love .
And, oh, vouchsafe abundantly to bless and save all
those who have either wished or done me evil! For-
give me, gracious God! the wrong or injury I have
dome to others; and so forgive me my trespasses, as I
.freely and fully forgive all those who have in any de-
gree trespassed against me. I desire thy grace to purify
my soul from every taint of malevolence; and to fit me,
by perfect love, for the society of spirits, whose business
and happiness is love -
Glory be to thee, oh God! for all the blessings thou
hast granted me from the day of my creation until the
present hour; I feel and adore thy exceeding goodness
in all; and in this last and closing affliction of my life,
I acknowledge most humbly the justice of thy fatherly
correction, and bow my head with thankfulness for thy
rod Great and good in all; I adore and magnify thy
mercy I behold, in all, thy love manifestly displayed,
and rejoice that 1 am at once thy creature and thy
redeemed !
As such, O Lord, my Creator and Redeemer, l com-
134 - LETTER.
mit my soul into thy faithful hands ! Wash it, and puriſy
it in the blood of thy Son from every deſiling stain: per-
fect what is wanting in it; and grant me, poor, return-
ing, weeping, wretched prodigal—grant me the lowest
place in thy heavenly house; in and for his sole and
all-sufficient merits, the adorable Jesus;–who, with
the Father and the Holy Ghost, liveth and reigneth
ever, one God, world without end
Amen and Amen, Lord Jesus!
A LETTER TO THE REVEREND DR. DODD,
Sent to him during his Confinement in Newgate.
D EAR SIR,.
LET it not surprise you in this tremendous hour to be
accosted by an old, perhaps forgotten, but still sympa-
thising friend. The world smiles in prosperity; ille
Christian loves in adversity; and the hour of Nature's
sorrow is the important period for such a friendship.
From the first moment the melancholy news had reach-
ed my ear, how truly was my heart, engaged in prayer
and pity! I anticipated the dreadful pangs which rend
your soul; and the awful consideration, that these things
were but the beginning of sorrow, was ready to draw
blood from my heart, as well as tears from my eyes.
I turned to him from whom proceeds all that is truly
great and good, and was encouraged to entreat the mer-
ciſul Redeemer to look down with tender pity, and
cause this dark night to become the womb of a bright
morning, yea, the brightest your eyes have ever seen.
Every stroke of your rod deeply. aſſects me ; but,
above all, I feel for your precious, your immortal soul.
Will you permit me, my dear sir, to throw aside all
reserve, while treating on this important subject? Shall
I prevail with you to bear with the manner for the sake
of the matter, and despise not truth though ignorantly
uttered? -
I fear you have lived a long time in that friendship
with the world which the spirit of God declares is en-
I, ETTER. - 135
mity with himself. However excellent some of many
of your actions may have been, you have rested in the
letter, not in the spirit of Christianity : you have been
contented without the experimental knowledge of those
words, “He that is in Christ Jesus is a new creature.”
Your will, your affections, your desires and delights,
have they not all been fixed on earthly objects? Re-
joicing in the possession, or mourning the disappoint-
ment, your daily delight has not been in the divine
communications of the Holy Spirit; fellowship with
God has, not been your chiefest joy; the pursuit of
empty shadows found nearer access to your heart than
the noble choice of following the despised Nazarene.
Think not, dear sir, I draw this judgment from the last
unhappy event. O, no ; that I only consider as the na-
tural fruit of the unregenerate heart. The point I aim
at, is the want of that change, that death unto sin, that
new birth unto righteousness, whereby the children of
wrath become the children of grace. St. Paul says,
“I have ſought the good fight, I have kept the faith:”
therefore he was willing to be offered up, since nothing
but a crown of righteousness presented itself to his
opening prospect. He had kept that faith which puri-
fieth the heart, overcometh the world, and quencheth
all the fiery darts of the evil one. x *
I remember, when I was about fourteen, the season
in which I was favoured with your most intimate ac
quaintance, you once told a story which I shall never
forget, concerning one of the Scots divines, who said
on his death-bed, “If every stone, timber, and nail in
this house, could speak, they would bear witness to the
many hours of sweet communion my soul hath spent
with God therein.” O, sir, can the beams of your
house bear witness that your enjoyments have been
such as eternity shall ripen And this heavenly dispo-
sition, you must be sensible, can alone fit us for the
enjoyment of the New Jerusalem: No object can
give pleasure unless it meets with a sense which suits
and apprehends it. The grain of corn is more wel .
come to the fowl than the richest pear! : so to the soul
whose treasure is yet on earth, the beauties of the lovely
136 LETTER.
Jesus shine in vain 1. But, alas! who can break this ada-
mantine chain 2 Who can unlock the heart bound down
with twice ten thousand ties, and bring the captive soul
into the glorious liberty of the sons of God 2 Can dis-
appointment, can reproach, dishonour, loss, or even
death itself? Alas ! these may torment, but never
change the heart: it is a sight of the crucified Jesus
alone which breaks your heart in pieces. This Jesus
waits to do you good; hear him saying, Thou hast de-
stroyed thyself, but in me is thy help. O that you
would cry; his ear attends the softest prayer. This is
my fear, lest you should forget there is no way into the
sheepfold but through the door, and no way of enter-
ing that door but knowing ourselves to be lost and un-
dóne creatures, whose ways have been altogether per-
verse before him, and then to be saved by faith in
Christ alone.
How often has Christ appeared delightful even in a
prison | Several have praised God for bringing them
there, and by that means awakening them to a know-
ledge of their lost estate, that they might be made ac-
quainted with a happiness till then unknown. Ador-
able Jesus ! so work on the soul of this my unhappy
friend, display thy pardoning love, and write it on his
aching heart:
“No ; my best actions cannot save,
But thou must cleanse e'en them ;
Yet, when on thee I do believe,
My worst shall not condemn.” -
I know not how to break off. My spirit deeply
mourns both for your present and approaching suffer-
ings, and equally for her who so sadly shares your every
woe. Had you remained in prosperity, nothing would
have been farther from my thought, than a renewal of
acquaintance; for I have found, in being despised and
trampled under foot of the great ones of the earth,
more solid peace, more lasting joy, than my warmest
wishes could ever have expected : but now I cannot
forget you if I would, I long for your salvation: Will
you acknowledge, all the wisdom of the world can
never save you? Will you look for salvation from the
LETTER. 137
mere mercy of God? How many have gone triumphantly
to glory, even from under the hand of an executioner!
My dear sir, that triumph may be yours; and if you
do not reject it, it surely shall. The king of terrors
shall appear no longer terrible; and your happy spirit,
loosed from every earthly tie, and delighted with the
freedom of the living water, shall spring into eternity
with so feeling a joy as you have never known in all
your life. You have tried the world, and found it
empty. Never did man strive more for the honours of
it than you have done; for that, you turned your back
on the closest followers of the Lamb, the little few de-
spised indeed of man, but whose lives were bid with
Christ in God; for that you have been conformed in
all your life and conversation to the customs, fashions,
and maxims of it: but while you were a slave to man,
ungrateful man! who neither thanked nor paid you, you
slighted Him who is able to cast both body and soul
into Hell. But, O, the unbounded love of Jesus ! He
blasted all your hopes; He chastened and corrected.
For what end | Only to convince you how ready he is
to receive and make you a beloved son. The wicked
have no bands in their death, they will not listen to
awakening fears; but whom the Lord loveth he chas-
teneth : yea, the body may be given up to suffer, that
the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord.
I am not yet without hope, even for your life. It is
founded on this: I know the hearts of all men are in
the hand of my God, from the king on the throne to
the beggar on the dunghill ; and lie turneth them what
way soever he will. I know, if you seek but Daniel’s
faith, Daniel's God can shut the lion's mouth. If, with
Nebuchadnezzar, you have learned to acknowledge the
Most High Ruler over all, he can restore you again to
your former state, or else take you to behold his glory.
When I consider your great talents, and how much you
might have done for God, I cannot help crying to the
Lord once more to send you into his vineyard with a
changed heart full of the Holy Ghost and power. And
now, my dear sir, what shall I say ? My heart is full :
I know not how to leave off. It is as though my pen
138 CORRESPONDENCE.
t
could not part from the paper. Nature shrinks from
that pang which is usually the sad attendant of a last
farewell: but Grace cries out, Yet there is hope. And
eternity of joy presents a kingdom where no horrid
alarm of war shall break our eternal repose; where
sorrow, death, and parting shall be no more; and the
Royal Army of Cross-bearers, who have washed their
robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb,
are ready to embrace and welcome you among them.
To that efficacious blood, with tears of love and sor-
row, I commit you ; and, though with reluctance, I
must now conclude,
Your sincerely affectionate
and sympathising friend,
I'eb. 1777. MARY BOSANQUET.
By a series of Correspondence, almost weekly, from the
above date, till within three days of his execution, Miss
Bos ANQUET says she had reason to believe he felt a
contrite Heart, and found the Sinner's Friend to be
his.--June 25th, he wrote her his last Farewell, as
follows:
MY DEAR FRIEND, June 25, 1777.
ON Friday morning I am to be made immortal I die
with a heart truly contrite, and broken under a sense of
its great and manifold offences, but comforted and sus-
tained by a firm faith in the pardoning love of Jesus
Christ. My earnest prayers to God are, that we may
meet and know each other in that kingdom, towards
which you have been so long and so happily travelling.
I return you my most affectionate thanks for all your
friendly attention to me; and have no doubt, should
any opportunity offer, you will remember my excellent,
but most afflicted partner in distress. I do not know
where to direct to worthy Mr. Parker, but beg to trou-
ble you with my dying love and kind remembrance to
him. The Lord Jesus Christ be with our spirits.
Amen.
W. DODD,
ACCOUNT OF DR. D. OTD D. 139
*
Soon aſter the Doctor's death, the lady received from
a faithful minister of Jesus Christ, who constantly at-
tended him, a very encouraging account, in which he
believes him to be singing the songs of the redeemed,
and concludes his letter with the following words:
“Thus ended the mortal, and began the never-ceas-
ing life of your old and my new friend : and I bless
God our Saviour for this new proof of his saving grace,
and the power of his precious blood.
“The time is elapsed; I have written more than I
intended, and yet not a tenth part of what I could.
You may be comforted, as I have been richly. Your
and my fears are at an end.
“May the God of all grace keep your and my heart
in the kºi, of him, yea, cause us to grow in
grace and love . This is the earnest prayer of
“Your aſſectionate friend,
“ and willing servant in Christ.”
2”
Dr. DoDD’s Account of Himself”.
THE greatest affliction and oppression to my mind at pre-
sent is, the piercing reſlection that I, who have lived all
my life in an endeavour to promoto the truth of Christian-
ity, should now become an obstacle to that truth, and a
scandal to that profession ;-that I, who have with all
my power, and with all sincerity, laboured to do good,
and be a blessing to my fellow-creatures, should now
become an evil and a curse. What shall I, can I, ought
I to do, to prevent, as much as in me lies, any such
dreadful consequences of my shame and my crime 3
Will a public attestation of my sincere belief of Chris-
tianity, and an ingenuous detail and confession of my
offences, be of any avail?—In order to do this, and to
acquaint you in a few words with a perſect knowledge
of myself (though I should wish to do it more fully), be
so good as to consider the few following particulars:
* Of this account Dr. Dodd may be said to have only
drawn the outlines; the picture, as it appears, was finished
by Dr. Johnson.
1 40 A CCOUNT OF DIR. DO D D,
I entered very young on public life, very innocent—
very ignorant—and very ingenuous. I lived many
happy years at West Ham, in an uninterrupted and
successful discharge of my duty. A disappointment in
the living of that parish obliged me to exert myself;
and I engaged for a chapel near Buckingham Gate.
Great success attended the undertaking: it pleased and
elated me. At the same Lord Chesterfield, to whom
I was personally unknown, oſtered me the care of his
heir, Mr. Stanhope”. By the advice of my dear friend,
now in heaven, Dr, Squire, I engaged, under promises,
which were not performed. Such a distinction, too,
you must know, served to increase a young man’s va-
nity. 1 was naturally led into more extensive and im-
portant connections, and, of course, into greater ex-
penses, and more dissipations. Indeed, before, I never
dissipated at all—for many, many years, never seeing a
play-house, or any public place, but living entirely in
Christian duties. Thus brought to town, and intro-
duced to gay life, I fell into its snares. Ambition and
vanity led me on. My temper, naturally cheerful, was
pleased with company; naturally generous, it knew
not the use of money; it was a stranger to the useful
science of economy and frugality; nor could it with-
º from distress, what it too much (often) wanted it-
Sefſ.
Besides this, the habit of uniform, regular, sober
piety, and of watchfulness and devotion, wearing off,
amidst this unavoidable scene of dissipation, I was not,
as at West Ham, the innocent man that I lived there.
I committed offences against my God which yet, i.
bless him, were always, in reflection, detestable to me.
But my greatest evil was expense. 'To supply it, I
fell into the dreadſal and ruinous mode of raising
money by annuities, The annuities devoured me. Still
I exerted myself by every means to do what I thought
right, and built my hopes of perfect extrication from
all my difficulties when my young and beloved pupil
should come of age. But, alas ! during this interval,
* The present Lord Chesterfield.
A CCOUNT OF DIR. DOI) D. 141
which was not very long, I declare with solemn truth,
that I never varied from the steady belief of the Chris-
tian doctrines | I preached them with all my power, and
kept back nothing from my congregations which I
thought might tend to their welfare; and I was very
successful in this way during the time, Nor, though
I spent in dissipation many hours which I ought not,
but to which my connections inevitably led, was I idle
during this period; as my Commentary on the Bible,
my Sermons to Young Men, and several other publica-
tions prove. I can say too, with pleasure, that I stu-
diously employed my interest, through the connections
I had, for the good of others. I never forgot or neg-
lected the cause of the distressed; many, if need were,
could bear me witness. Let it suffice to say, that dur-
ing this period I instituted the Charity for the Dis-
charge of Debtors. -
Such is the plan and ingenuous detail of myself. I
sincerely lament all I have done wrong. I love, and
ever did, religion and goodness. I hate and abhor
vice, and myself for ever having committed any. . I
look with peculiar detestation on the crime to which
I am at present obnoxious ; and I wish before I die, of
all things, if possible, to make amends—by the most
sincere and full confession and humiliation of myself.
May 21, 1777. W. DODD.
The following DEcLARATION Dr. DoDD inclosed in a
Letter to a Friend some Time before he suffered.
THou GH I acknowledge in all its atrocity, and more
especially with a view to my peculiar circumstances
and character, the offence for which I suſler,-yet, con-
sidering that it is punished with such sanguinary seve-
rity in no commercial state under heaven, and that in
my case it has been fully atoned for, so far as human
creatures can atone to each other, I cannot but judge
my punishment rather hard:—and still more so, as that
public (for whose benefit and example such ignomi-
nious death and punishment can alone be intended, has
142 ACCOUNT OF DR. DODD.
$
with a pleading, and almost unanimous) voice suppli-
cated the Throne, in the most humble manner, to show
mercy, and avert the abhorred stroke, by assigning ano-
ther, though perhaps not less aſſlictive punishment.
In this dispensation, however, I look far beyond the
shand of poor human vengeance, and adore the justice
and goodness of God, who, correcting me in judgment
for deviations from the purity of his Gospel, as a dis-
tinguished minister of it, has been pleased to call me
thus by death to proclaim my repentance, and to attest
my faith in him; and to declare to all my fellow-crea-
tures, and to my beloved countrymen in particular (for
whose love to me I am under the highest obligations),
my firm belief of the principles’ which I have long
preached, and in my writings delivered with the ut-
most truth and sincerity ; and which l thus seal with
my blood, in perfect resignation to the will of my ador-
able Master, and in a firm dependance on those princi-
ples for the salvation of my own soul.
s W. DOD.D.
Letters to Two Noble Lords of His MAJESTY's Most
Honourable Privy Council.
LETTER. I.
MY LORD #, .
I II Ave committed a capital crime, for which the sen-
tence of the law has passed upon me ; and whether that
sentence shall be executed in its full rigour, may, per-
haps, depend upon the suffrage of your Lordship.
The shame and self-reproach with which I now so-
licit your commiseration, I hope no man will ever feel,
who has not deserved to feel them like myself. But I
will not despair of being heard with pity, when, under
the terrors of a speedy and disgraceful death, I most
'humbly implore your Lordship's intercession.
My life has not been wholly useless; I have laboured
in my calling diligently and successfully ; but success
* Lord North, then Prime Minister.
A CCOUNT OF DR. DODD, 143
inſlamed my vanity, and my heart betrayed me. Violent
passions have exposed me to violent temptations; but
I am not the first whom temptation has overthrown.
I have, in all my deviations, kept Right always in view,
and have invariably resolved to return to it. Whether,
in a prosperous state, I should have kept my resolu-
tion, public justice has not suffered me to know.
My crime has been indeed atrocious, but my punish-
ment has not been light. From a height of reputation,
which perhaps raised envy in others, and certainly pro,
duced pride in myself, I have fallen to the lowest and
grossest infamy; from an income which prudence might
have made plentiful, I am reduced to live on those re-
mains of charity which infamy has left ine.
When so much has been given to justice, I humbly
entreat, that life, such as it must now be, may be given
to mercy; and that your Lordship's influence may be
employed in disposing our Sovereign to look with com-
passion on, My Lo R p,
Your Lordship's most humble supplicant,
June 11, 1777. WILLIAM DODD.
LETTER II.
My Lof Dº,
Not many days are now to pass before the fate of one
of the most miserable of human beings will be finally
determined. The efficacy of your Lordship's voice is
well known; and whether I shall immediately suffer
an ignominious death, or wander the rest of my days in
ignominious exile, your opinion will probably deter-
mine. Do not refuse, my Lord, to hear the plea, what-
ever it may be, which I humbly oppose to the extre-
mity of justice. . º
I acknowledge, my Lord, the atrociousness of my
crime ; I admit the truth of the verdict that condemned
me; yet, I hope, that when my evil is censured, my
good may likewise be remembered ; and that it may
* Earl Mansfield.
144 DR. DoDD’s PETITION.
be considered how much that society which is injured
by my fraud, has been benefited by my charitable la-
bours. I have offended ; I am penitent; 1 entreat but
for life, for a life which must pass certainly in disho-
nour, and probably in want. ... Do not refuse, my Lord;
to compassionate a man who, blasted in fame, and ruined
in fortune, yet shrinks with terror from the precipice of
etcruity. Let me live, however miserable; and let my
miseries warn all those to whom they shall be known,
against self-indulgence, vanity, and profusion.
Once more, my Lord, let me beg for life; and when
you see me going from the gloom of a prison to the
penury of banishment, do not consider public justice
as wholly unsatisfied by the sufferings of,
My Lon D,
Your Lordship's most humble supplicant,
June 11, 1777. WILLIAM DODD.
DR. DODD’S PETITION,
(PRESENTED BY HIS BROTHER.)
TO THE KING”S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY.
SIRIE, /*
IT is most humbly presented to Your Majesty by Wil-
ºdd , the unhappy convict now under sentence of
eath,
That William Dodd, acknowledging the justice of
the sentence denounced against him, has no hope or
refuge but in Your Majesty’s clemency: '
That though to recollect or mention the usefulness of
his life, or the efficacy of his ministry, must overwhelm
him in his present condition with shame and sorrow,
he yet humbly hopes that his past labours will not
wholly be forgotten; and that the zeal with which he has
exhorted others to a good life, though it does not exte-
nuate his crime, may mitigate his punishinent:
That debased as he is by ignominy, and distressed as
he is by poverty, scorned by the world, and detested by
himself, deprived of all external comforts, and afflicted
MRs. Dodo's Petition. 145
by consciousness of guilt, he can derive no hopes of
longer life, but that of repairing the injury he has done
to mankind, by exhibiting an example of shame and
submission, and of expiating his sins by prayer and pe-
nitence: • - -
That for this end he humbly implores from the cle-
mency of Your Majesty, the continuance of a life le-
gally forfeited ; and of the days which by your gra-
cious compassion he may yet live, no one shall pass
without a prayer, that Your Majesty, after a long life of
happiness and honour, may stand at the final day of
judgment, among the merciful that obtain mercy.
So fervently prays the most distressed and wretched
of Your Majesty's subjects, -
- WILLIAM DODD.
t
-:
MRS. DODD’S PETITION,
(PRESENTED BY HERSELF) -
TO THE *
QUEEN'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY.
M A D A M, •
IT is most humbly represented by Mary Dodd, the wife
of Dr. William Dodd, now lying in prison under sen-
tence of death : ... • -
That she has been the wiſe of this unhappy man more
than twenty-seven years, and has lived with him in the
greatest happiness of conjugal union, and the highest
state of conjugal confidence:
That she has been a constant witness of his unwea-
ried endeavours for public good, and his laborious at-
tendance on charitable institutions. Many are the fa–
milies whom his care has delivered from want; many
are the hearts which he has freed from pain, and the
faces which he has cleared from sorrow : -
That therefore she most humbly throws herself at the
feet of the Queen, earnestly entreating that the petition
of a distressed wife, asking mercy for a husband, may
be considered as naturally soliciting the compassion of
J,
146 OBSERVATIONS.
Her Majesty; and that when her wisdom has compared
the offender's good actions with his crime, she will be
pleased to represent his case to our Most Gracious So-
vereign in such terms as may dispose him to mitigate
the rigour of the law.
So prays Your Majesty's most dutiful subject and
supplicant, *
MARY DODD.
*
Such were the last thoughts of a man whom we have
seen exulting in popularity, and sunk in shame. For
his reputation, which no man can give to himself, those
who conferred it are to answer. Of his public ministry,
the means of judging were sufficiently attainable. He
must be allowed to preach well, whose sermons strike
the audience with forcible conviction. Of his life, those
who thought it consistent with his doctrine, did not ori-
ginally form ſalse notions. He was at first what he en-
deavoured to make others; but the world broke down
his resolution, and he in time ceased to exempliſy his
own instructions. - -
Let those who are tempted to his faults, tremble at
his punishment; and those whom he impressed from
the pulpit with religious sentiments, endeavour to con-
firm them, by considering the regret and self-ablior-
rence with which he reviewed in prison his deviations
from rectitude.
Whatever assistance his anxiety might prompt him
to solicit in forming the petitions (which, however, he
Inust be considered as confirming by his naine), the ac-
count of his past life, and of his dying sentiments, are
the eſtusions of his own mind. Those who read them
With the proper disposition, will not read in vain,
t
obs ERVATIONs. 147
A few Days before, Dr. DoDD suffered Death, the fol-
lowing Observations on the Propriety of pardoning
him, were written and sent to the public Papers by
Dr. Jori Nso N.
YESTERDAY was presented to the Secretary of State,
by the Earl Percy, a Petition in favour of Dr. Dodd,
signed by twenty-three thousand hands. On this occa-
sion it is natural to consider—
That in all countries penal laws have been relaxed,
as particular reasons have emerged:
That a life eminently beneficent, a single action emi
mently good, or even the power of being useful to the
public, have been sufficient to protect the life of a de-
linquent : . sº
That no arbiter of life and death has ever been cen-
sured for granting the life of a criminal to honest and
powerful solicitation:
That the man for whom a nation petitions, must be
presumed to have merit uncommon in kind or in de-
gree ; for however the mode of collecting subscrip-
tions, or the right of judgment exercised by the sub-
scribers, may be open to dispute, it is at least plain that
something is done for this man, that was never done
for any other; and Government, which must proceed
upon general views, may rationally conclude that this
man is something better than other offenders have been,
or has done something more than others have done:
That though the people cannot judge of the admi-
mistration of justice so well as their governors, yet their
woice has always been regarded :
That this is a case in which the petitioners determine
against their own interest; those for whose protection
the law was made, entreat its relaxation; and our Go-
vernors cannot be charged with the consequence which
the people bring upon themselves:
That as this is a case without example, it will pro-
bably be without consequences, and many ages will
* 148 observations.
elapse before such a crime is again committed by sub
a man : , - & - -
..That though life be spared, justice may be satisfi :
with ruin, imprisonment, exile, infamy, and penury,
T II E E N D,
c. whittingham, printer, Chiswick."
mºſt
;
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