ae seeey i tS ee ar ae anche hcon é 4 aes cess acest x ts : a Pe fi Sea Nae as aoe ia etry rie ae Soe i Fifties coe Lie a v6 at eras CaP ai FAs Aes as AoE seers Pes ie THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY From the collection of Julius Doerner, Chicago Purchased, 1918. ae ve av o BR: * ae eis 4 Rae THIRTY YEARS CORRESPONDENCE, &c. &t. AG) Date LONDON: Printed by A. SporriswoopDF, New Street-Square. THIRTY YEARS’ CORRESPONDENCE, BETWEEN JOHN JEBB, D.D. F.RB.S. BISHOP OF LIMERICK, ARDFERT AND AGHADOE, AND ALEXANDER KNOX, ESQ. M.R.LA. EDITED BY THE REV. CHARLES FORSTER, B.D. PERPETUAL CURATE OF ASH NEXT SANDWICH ; FORMERLY DOMESTIC CHAPLAIN TO BISHOP JEBB. Setond Cdition. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOT TT: LONDON: JAMES DUNCAN, 37. PATERNOSTER-ROW ; AND JOHN COCHRAN, 108. STRAND. MDCCCXXXVI. ae ait ®) ape AiR” re “Aen Sal 5 4 : Kk & pe ESE ae i eS ee? ot Pr ae afte eS LETTER XCIX. To A. Knox, Esq. June 5. 1810. My prEaAr FRIEND, T cannot resist, and, indeed, I do not wish to resist, the impulse that I feel, to write you a few lines before I goto bed. I have just finished my first perusal of your sheets, for I hope to gratify myself with many ; and never did I read a paper of yours, with such deep, such cordial, such unmixed, and yet, I trust, with such discriminative approbation. Your political argument could not, in my humble apprehension, be more forcibly, or more luminously put. And I cannot but anticipate its favourable operation, on all public men, (Kheu, quam, rari nantes in gurgite vasto!) that have comprehensiveness of intellect, and liberality of sentiment. But your theological branch far exceeds all praise that I could give. My mind and heart accorded with every paragraph, as I went along: a deposit, thought I, is here made, which, however it may be overlooked by superficial thinkers, or disrelished by bigotted lovers of negative religion, must, sooner or later, produce the happiest effects, both on Roman Ca- tholics, and on members of our establishment. I trust that you will, even now, ‘fit audience find’ ; but I own, on this point, I am comparatively care- less; for truth, so ably enunciated, must live; and perhaps it is in our disembodied state, (the thorough VOL, Il. B | S100 50 2 consciousness of which, we are sufficiently catholic most cordially to maintain, ) that we shall witness the best, and deepest results of those pages, which, in a happy vein, you have been enabled to throw off. If a minor consideration, but still, to. my judgment at least, of rio small consequence, may be adverted to, let me add, that I deeply like your style. It is, throughout, true, luminous, and exquisitely English ; so. that from these few pages alone, I would under- take to prove, that, without the slightest mixture of ungraceful idiom, it is possible to be strictly Angli- can. Will you tolerate a little honest self-gratulation, ‘ when I say, that in some passages, I flattered myself, I could trace the influence of my verbal criticisms ? It is not that I can pretend to have suggested any principles of composition, to which you were a stranger ; but that, by objections, sometimes founded, sometimes hypercritical, too frequently, I fear, cap- tious and presuming, I may have contributed to keep my friend on the alert, to preserve Homer from nodding. I rejoice that you have been inspirited and enabled to bring this most interesting essay to a close; and I thank you for having kept your secret so long, as I have thus enjoyed a most agreeable surprise. As to my sermon and essays ; if, on full consider- ation, you do not disapprove, I should greatly like to pursue them, when settled at my living. ‘There, I trust, I may be enabled to work pleasantly ; because voluntarily, and on an elective subject. Occasional excursions, occasional visits from a few chosen friends, and ornamental gardening, (for I put farming out of the question, ) shall, Deo volente, be my recreations; and my study, my grand scene of action. As to pa- rochial duties, they will be few; and of sermons for 3 my church, I have a pretty little stock; and then it is my wish to get a curate forthwith : who will have so little to occupy him parochially, that he may preach, at least, every second sunday. I feel my mind beginning to put forth a promise of recruited vigour and alacrity, upon this change: and, I humbly pray, that, if the prognostic be not deceitful, I may be enabled to devote my best powers, with an effect suitable to my mediocrity, to the best of causes. I wish you could find out for me, a thoroughly eligible curate. What accommodation, or how near my church a house might be procured, I cannot tell; but I would endeavour, and I trust altogether not unsuccessfully, to make the situation pleasant to a studious, active, pious, and gentleman-like young man. I must now, my good Friend, wish you good night. Ever most affectionately yours, JOHN JEBB. LETTER C. To A. Knox, Esq. Abington Glebe, Aug. 7, 1810. My pear FRrienp, YY ov may naturally begin to wonder-what is become , of me; and yet I can say with truth, that I cannot look back upon a single day, since we parted, in which I could comfortably sit down to converse with you. ‘Thus much, however, is certain, that you have B 2 4. been seldom absent from my thoughts, never from my affections. I have completely cleared out of Cashel; but not by any means completely established myself here : this is the fourth day of my residence; for I do not reckon two or three days, a week ago, when I came merely as a lodger, to pack up my wine. And, during the last three days, I have been uninterrupted by a single call from visitors; and unable to move further than church, not as yet having so much as a single horse: I must look to complete solitude, for some time longer; but, whenever I can procure a carpenter, which, in this remote spot, is a matter of some difficulty, I shall have some occupation in arranging my books. As to congregation, I fear I cannot reckon on ever having more, than from thirty to forty, old and young. ‘The last three sundays, I did not average more than twenty-four; and as the people are very plain, I must get into the habit of throwing off the plainest possible discourses, nearly approaching to extemporaneous talk. I felt many pangs on leaving Cashel, and espe- cially on parting with the admirable Archbishop. The more I know of that truly good man, the more I love and respect him. He has been to me, almost a parent; and when I look back to all our inter- course, the innumerable acts and words of kindness and forbearance that I have experienced from him, very far outweigh the great and substantial favours, which will, by and by, place me in a state of pecu- niary ease and comfort. Since he left Cashel, I had from him a most invaluable letter, in all respects like himself. It is, indeed, too kind; and speaks of me, in terms far more flattering than I at all deserve. It is delightful, however, to be so thought of, by such a 5 man. May this prove an additional incentive to my efforts and prayers, that I may be enabled, ry ERNIE TWEAT AT EY. My new situation appears to me very strange; and I am frequently saddened, and almost over- whelmed, by nervous apprehensions. Still I am sensible, that I have hitherto had the worst to en- counter ; and that, when I have so established myself, as to see my friends here, and procure the means of moving occasionally from hence, things will probably begin to wear a brighter aspect. Much as I felt at leaving Cashel, and still feel at the recollection of it, my judgment is fully convinced that a removal was indispensable. In that place, a flatness of mind was gradually stealing upon me; and, from circumstances beyond my own controul, must have continued so to do. New scenes, and new occupations, seem to have been wanting, both to my body and mind: the pre- sent sphere, does not indeed, in all respects, seem the most eligible, but it is the sphere providentially allotted ; and viewed as a part of my pilgrimage, I trust it may furnish me with some materials for self- discipline, and self-improvement. Still, I must look little beyond myself, and my books, for enjoyment; and I believe I should sink outright, were it not for the prospect, that, when my house is ready for their reception, some ehnsea friends may be induced to cheer and invigorate me, by occasional visits. On you, above all, I reckon. A room is destined for you; another for Miss Fergusson; one adjoining yours, for Mfichael. You shall have a sofa in your bed-chamber ; a table with a drawer for your papers ; a bracket for your books, and a little rug for your hearth-stone. Next year, I hope to paint and paper ; but, in the present, though the walls are bare, they B 3 6 are quite dry. Could you come to me, before you go to the Archbishop in autumn? I would then accompany you over, and I hope may be able to set you down in a post-chaise of my own.* I greatly wish to hear from you; and, if your avocations would admit of your frequently writing, your letters would be a great and invaluable relief. I never needed more to be so cheered. Farewell, my dearest Friend, and believe me ever, most entirely yours, JOHN JEBB. P.S. Direct to Abington Glebe, Limerick. LETTER CI. To A. Knox, Esq. Abington Glebe, Aug. 28. 1810. My pear FRrienp, Ao I peculiarly ingenious in the art of self-torment- ing, or is there any ground for my apprehensions, that you have entirely given me up? More than two months have now elapsed, since I was constrained to part from you at Cashel; to me, the most trying and desolate months of my life: and during that space, not a line of advice, of comfort, or support, from the friend, to whom, beyond any inhabitant of this earth, I cling. The truth is, I never, my dear Sir, more needed to be cheered by you. I am now advancing * Until Bishop of Limerick, however, my friend never indulged himself with any equipage, beyond a gig... Ep. 7 towards the fourth week of total solitude, without a single being to whom I can speak on any interesting topic; with no immediate neighbourhood ; without the means of moving from home; without the power of attracting to me those friends who had flattered me with the hopes of seeing them here. Many perplexities presented themselves at first ; but it is a solid satisfaction, that I have surmounted the greatest part of them: within doors, every thing is beginning to wear a comfortable aspect ; and without, I have no reason to dread many embarrassing avocations, as I am resolved to draw on the Limerick markets, for almost all articles of consumption. ‘The mind, how- ever, has hitherto been unexercised; and I should greatly fear, that, if this manner of life should long continue, I shall merge into a mere creature of the lower faculties. If you have not given me up, do, my dear Sir, afford me a little food, for my mind, and my affections. Had I a curate, I should endeavour to see you for a short time: but I know not when Mr. Rose* will be able to come to me. In the interim, I am chained, not to my oar, but to my boat ; which, again, is idle.. chained to the beach. Or, to drop metaphor, I am confined to a parish, in which, sundays excepted, there is nothing for me to do; and, even then, I have but a congregation of twenty, old and young. This letter, I know, must seem despond- ing; I am indeed, at present, not free from nervous- ness; therefore you must not take this specimen, as a fair picture of my general frame. Sometimes, my spirits have been considerably better; sometimes, I have been sunk in far deeper dejection, and have almost trembled for. my intellect. I trust, however, * The Rev. Henry H. Rose, now in the diocese of Limerick: the first ap- pointment made by the Bishop, after his elevation. . , Ep. B 4 8 that, through God’s goodness, I shall emerge ; and I have the firmest confidence, that this discipline, or pilgrimage, is not only good for me, but that it is a necessary stage to be passed through, in order to my mental and spiritual advancement. Sometimes, when I heard of your delightful party at B , I was tempted to repine; and to contrast, with the enjoy- ment of all that such an earthly paradise can bestow, the cheerless, solitary, unblest, unintellectual hours, of this retirement. But I have been happily checked, and even comforted by the reflection, that you have passed through a far more painful probation than mine; that my manifold infirmities and wrongnesses require, at least, as severe trials to correct them, as I have been visited with; and, let me add, a hope has presented itself, that, from all this, effects will be ultimately produced, for which I shall hereafter see abundant reason to bless Him, who afflicteth not willingly, nor grieveth the children of men.* Farewell, my dear friend, and, if you love me, write to me. Ever most affectionately yours, JOHN JEBB. * The following extract from a private note-book, found, since his death, among the Bishop’s papers at Limerick, gives delightful proof, that the hope here so affectingly expressed, was more than realized; the original MS.., inscribed ra wept avtov, (Of the existence of which the editor himself had been unaware, ) bears date March, 1823; and was written, consequently, immediately after his consecration, as Bishop of Limerick: . . ‘ I left Cashel in ,deep sorrow, and, for weeks and months, Abington, without a single congenial associate, and without any field of parochial exertion, was to me a dreary wilderness : but the good hand of Providence was, I doubt not, in this whole transaction. This hermitage, so remote, so retired, and apparently so ill adapted to my habits, became the scene of my last and happiest exertions: nor do I think a settlement in any other spot of the empire, could, in so many ways, have elicited, whatever powers it has pleased God to give me. Often, indeed, during the twelve years and a half that I passed there, my heart and spirit have sunk within me; but I was enabled, from time to time, to recruit and rally. Often, have almost all my friends regretted that I was buried in the desert; but LETTER 89. To the Rev. J. Jebb. Belleviie, Sept. 2. 1810. My pear FRrienp, I raxe the first opportunity which presents itself, since the receipt of yours of the 28th, to assure you, that never was there a more unjust or unfounded act of self-torment, than that which you have been in- flicting on yourself. No, my friend, it is as impos- sible for me to give you up, as for me to give up one of the fingers of the hand which is writing to you. Your happiness, your feelings, your eternal comforts, all that appertains to you, will ever be present to my mind, as matters of most cordial and continued con- cern. And not to hear of you, or to know about you, for any length of time together, will ever be to me, the occasion of unfeigned and painful anxiety. Why, then, did I inflict this very feeling upon you? Simply because, I have had nearly six weeks, (indeed more, ever since the Archbishop was here, ) of such health, as I have not experienced for nine preceding years. I couldshave written, as to mere they little knew, nor was I properly conscious myself, that there was manna in the desert, and living waters from the rock. I can now look back with grati- tude, to my sojourn there ; and were it not that I have had such experience of a graciously protecting power, above me and around me, I should now tremble at what may await me, in the new and arduous sphere, on which I am obliged to enter. May it be ordered (if it be for my everlasting good) that the see of Limerick shall be to me half so productive of use, and of enjoyment, as the quiet rectory of Abington!’.. Ep. Wage 10 power, but a severe pain in my leg forced me to use arecumbent posture; and using a pen, in this situ- ation, was so very painful, that, except when a few lines were indispensable, I did not attempt it. I thank God, my complaints never become extreme. But, sometimes, I was frightened at the idea of what they might become; and my kind friend Mr. was still more alarmed than myself. No one ever was taken better care of. And, for the last ten days, I have been gradually growing better. Yet I did not venture to church to-day; nor did I think it right for me to go to the chapel this evening. I therefore occupy that time, in writing to you. I feel for every inconvenience you state; and I like well all your remarks upon it. I am as confident as I can be, that the honest conflict you maintain with those painful feelings, with which divine Pro- vidence permits you to be visited, will end, as you so reasonably hope. Your bearing up, as you have done, has been to me, often, a matter of wonder. I think, or rather I trust, you will at last have nothing worse to endure ; and so sure as you have not, your better elements will finally conquer. When maladies of a constitutional kind grow no worse, about your age, they infallibly grow better, at a somewhat later age. I do believe many natural circumstances are in your favour; and I trust, surer standards will not be wanting. came here yesterday, after an absence of ten days, with the s, to settle himself in his glebe. He and I go-on together very pleasantly. I even hope I gain upon him, and that he sees more than he used to see, in my ideas. He likes better to talk to me; owns himself, in some important points, to have mistaken me; and in short, so far bids fair to agree 11 with me, as to make our intercourse, if Providence permits it to continue, truly comfortable, I hope to us both, and I am confident to me. I am not well yet. I perceive I must take the strictest care of myself. Adieu, my dear friend, Ever yours, Avex. Knox. LETTER 90. To the Rev. J. Jebb. Sept. 26. and 27. 1810. My pear Frienp, Bete able to rise, this morning, earlier than for many mornings past, (which perhaps is a mark of conva- lescence, after long indisposition,) I gladly employ it, in writing something, be the same more or less, to you: you will be pleased to have a few lines from me, though they may be but few; and when I so well. know that fact, be assured I have the cordial dispo- sition to respond to your kindly feeling. I have always delighted in the following passage, in Leighton’s Ethico-critical Meditation on the 130th Psalm: .. ‘ True and lively faith, is the eye of the inner man, which beholds an infinitely amiable God, the lucid and perpetual fountain of grace; and by the view, is immoderately kindled into most fervent love. ‘That divine light, which is sent from heaven into the soul, is the vehicle of heat too; and by its ardent rays, presently sets the heart on fire. The flame rises sublime, and bears all the affections of 12 the mind with it, to that consummate beauty which it renders visible.’ You may judge, then, how I was gratified, on meet- ing the following passage in the xxviiith Homily of Macarius:.. Touro yap ogeiner yivwoxew exaoros, ort ero obbarpos evdorepos Twy obbaruwy TouTwy, xo ETT Ly OLX07, evOoT Epa. TNS AXONS TAUTYS, xl WomeEg OUTOL O5 offaruo: asobyrwg Parerovow, xat xaTavoovoly TO mporwmoy Tov didov y Tov ayamryTov, OUTWS xOL OL TNS aF1as Hb WhO TYAS Wuy7s oPbarpor, TVEVLATIXWS PwWTi- obevres Peori Yew, PAewoves, xO xATAVOOUTL TOY AAYUiVOY DiAov, HLL YAURUTATOY HOI ToaumobnTov yup.dboy, Toy xupboy HATAALATOMEVYS THS Wuy7s UTOo TOU TpooxUYYTOU myEU= paross xas ouTw PrerovTHK vospws To exifupnrov, xo POVOY HVEXAAAYTOV KAAAOS, E1G EDWTH Se1oy TITPWOXKETOL. . If I remember right, you did not equally admire the sentence in Leighton; you thought it wanted bottom. ‘That is, you thought images were too freely used, without a sufficient substantiation of the thing to be elucidated. I can understand, that it should appear so, to a mind chiefly accustomed to attain its object by thinking. Such a mind is necessarily obliged to stop and ask, what is this ‘eye’, this ‘lucid foun- tain’, this ‘light’, these ‘rays’, the ‘sublime flame’, &e. But when the movements within, have been first in the feelings, and afterwards in the thoughts, the apprehension of such a figurative statement is direct and unembarrassed, because the mind has al- * This great truth it behoves every man to know, that there are eyes within these material eyes, and that there is a hearing within this sensible hearing ; and as those outer eyes sensibly see and discern the countenance of a friend, or of a beloved object, so, in like manner, the eyes of the worthy and faithful soul, being spiritually illumined by a divine light, see and discern the true Friend, and sweetest and much-to-be-desired bridegroom,—the Lord of every soul illuminated by the adorable Spirit; and thus seeing, intellectually, the desirable, and only ineffable beauty, is smitten with a divine love, 13 ready been habituated to these assimilations (at least of the same kind) in order to designate what it itself felt; which it could not so satisfactorily do, as by resemblances from external nature, or rather, could not otherwise do it at all. ‘These’, says Bacon, ‘be not allusions, but communities.’ Be all this as it may, is not the agreement, between the two passages curious? I think it can hardly be doubted, that Leighton had the passage in Macarius in his mind, when he was delivering the words quoted. I wish to direct your attention, to the latter part, of the 6th chapter to the Romans. It seems to me, that, after having, in the 5th chapter, represented admission into a state of grace, as an invaluable benefit, St. Paul deems it necessary to give another view of it, in the Oth chapter, as implying work or service to be faithfully performed; and this, it seems to me, St. Paul calls, speaking ‘ after the manner of men’; because it was, in some sort, coming down to the level of mere human nature. ‘The flight, arising from the first impulse, is taken for granted to be comparatively over; and if there is motion onward, it must be by effort, and through a faithful applica- tion of all the powers of the mind. ‘This lowered view the apostle gives, ‘ because pf the infirmity of their flesh. ‘That is, as I take it, because he reckoned on a declension, from their first paxapiopos, as too likely to happen; rather, all circumstances considered, as morally certain, in consequence of that infirmity. He knew human nature too well, to con- clude, that consolation, arising from any sudden cause, could, in the general, be lasting, or, in any instance, continue at its height. He, therefore, calls in conscience and reflection, to aid sentiment; and 14 mingles strong admonition, with cheering encourage- ment: his main argument, however, is taken from the difference of the two services; the service, of sin, in which they had formerly been enthralled, and the service of righteousness, in which they were now happily engaged; above all, from the opposite results. In the service of sin, nothing was to be expected, but progress in the same wretchedness. They had yielded their members servants to unclean- ness and iniquity; but now, their good employment is to lead them, to something far better than itself; they are now to yield their members, servants ‘ to righteousness, unto holiness.’ The labour of sin, was infinitely sterile: ‘ what fruit had ye, in those things whereof ye are now ashamed?’ ‘The labour of righteousness, is, on the other hand, most richly productive, even in this present time, for the fruit of ‘ righteousness’ is holiness: Eyere roy xaproyv buoy eig aviacp.ov. Now observe, that this is the first mention of a&yiacpoy, in this epistle. I mean it does not oc- cur, until it is jntroduced in the 19th verse of this chapter. It is then, evidently, not to be confounded with mere d:mcamouvy: on the contrary, it is an end to which dixaiocouvy serves. Such an end, as fruit is, of horticultural labour. I need not observe, that this idea must be confined to dixasoouvy, as exercised, not as divinely implanted: for, in this latter sense, it corresponds to eyimopos, as vegetation to fructi- fication. I do not know how this will strike you. But I own J think it very interesting; as it shows that Saint Paul never loses sight, in any one place, of what he lays down in another. There are con- comitant beauties, if I had room to mention them ; and it is implied, that the sinner, is a mere labourer, 15 who reaps nothing, and gets death for his wages. On the contrary, the righteous man, is a usufructu- ary, who gets his compensation in what he reaps; and, therefore, what he recéives hereafter, is not wages, but yapiopa. Iver yours, Arex. Knox. P.S. I mean to go to town next week. I have not spent a night in Dublin, since the 11th June. LETTER CII. To A. Know, Esq. Abington Glebe, Oct. 23. 1810. My pEarR FRIEND, On many accounts, I reproach myself for having been so long your debtor, and yet now I am unable to write more than two or three lines; not from ill health, for I have great reason to be thankful that my health has of late been much recruited ; not from lowness of spirits, for here, too, I have been greatly advancing; but simply because it is late on sunday night, and I am rather drowsy, and my messenger is to be dispatched early in the morning. My object, in this present note, is to say, that, if it be not inconvenient to you, it would be a very great accommodation to me, if you would pay M. the bookbinder, on my account, 29/. 3s. 1d. I had sent him, before my late preferment, a large cargo of books to be bound; they have lately reached 16 me, and I have reason to believe he is somewhat distressed for money, so that I do not like to remain for any time in his debt*; whilst, at the same time, my late very great expenditures, would make me wish for two or three months’ delay. If you can advance this sum, I trust I can with perfect ease replace it in January. Believe me, my dear Sir, ever most affectionately yours, JOHN JEBB. P.S. I hope to write you a long letter, in two or three days. LETTER 91. To the Rev. J. Jebb. Dawson St., Oct. 3]. 1810. My pear FRrienp, I received yours this morning, with no little satis- faction. I had heard good accounts of you; but then, said I to myself, if there be no exaggeration in these reports, why does he not tell the fact to me, * The thoughtful consideration for others, shown in this passage, is peculiarly characteristic. It forcibly reminds the editor of a similar circumstance, at the time of the Bishop’s great illness, in 1827. On the eve of his attack, he had written to a Dublin bookseller for his account, thinking the amount might be a convenience. The answer did not arrive, until the day after his seizure. And. the first effort of returning speech was directed to convey his wish, that a draft should be enclosed by that day’s post, in order that the worthy bookseller might not experience an hour’s needless disappointment, in consequence of his illness. The words ‘ draw .. write’, (the only ones he could articulate, as he held the account, in his remaining hand, to help out his meaning) left an inde- lible impression on the medical gentlemen, no less than on the other friends pre- sent... Ep. 17 who would be so glad to know it? You have now done so, and I rejoice that I am assured of what, I own, I was before afraid, to give full credit to. I am sorry not to be able to do exactly as you wish, my receipts this half-year being a little tardy; but I have taken M. off your hands. I have pro- mised to give him fifteen pounds to-morrow, and the remainder as soon as I can safely part with it. He seemed perfectly satisfied with this arrangement. I cannot give as good an account of myself, as you give of yourself. For the last five weeks, I have been more nervous, than for eight years before. My nerves, being my weakest part, are of course the scene of conflict: they have, in similar cases, been always so with me, and so long as the contention lasts, I must suffer more or less. I do not despair of being relieved, but how it will be I cannot tell; and I endeavour, with some little success, not to be anxious. In truth, to be nervously unwell, I am gently affected; and I do find, that in such a case, deeply formed habits of sober devotion are the best and sweetest resource, that mortal man could be blessed with. I find this, [ say, but by no means in the degree which I could wish. I possess a little, and thank God for this invaluable catholicon ; but I deeply feel, that I need still more and‘ more, and I often think that my present indisposition is intended to teach me that I have wants, the filling up of which, ought to be my primary and paramount ob- ject. If I learn this lesson to any purpose, all will be well. Have you read Q.’s pamphlet? If I conceive aright, he proceeds upon a principle, that will fall to the ground with a touch; namely,. that episcopal power, is limited by the canons. In my judgment, VOL. Il. C 1S: this must be wrong; because bishops ruled the church, before any of those English canons were enacted. ‘They, therefore, possessed a power, which the canon-makers never dreamed of abridging, but only of directing. ‘heir authority, therefore, is not to be collected from canons alone, but from prescrip- tion also; were it otherwise, a bishop would be no more than what a German superintendant is. But I need not argue the case; the following two passages appear to settle it; that is, they prove Mr. Q. perfectly adrift as to authorities. He, (Q ) says, ‘The right does not appear to be granted to your lordship, either by the statute, or the canon law; that it is not granted by, nor even claimed under the former, your lordship will readily acknowledge; and whether by the latter, the canons which relate particularly to the subject of preaching and preachers, must testify. We shall allow them to speak for themselves. ‘The of the English canons ecclesiastical, &c. &c.’?..so he proceeds to adduce English and Irish canons, until, by their supposed implication, he thinks he has settled the point. | But, says Sir John Nicholl (in his judgment about the baptism of dissenters), ‘The law of the Church of England, is to be deduced from the ancient general canon law; from the particular constitutions made in this country, to regulate the English church (meaning evidently before the Reformation); from our own canons, &c.’ Therefore Mr. Q.’s reasonings are perfectly in- conclusive; because they are founded, not on the whole, but on a very limited part, of the law of the English church. I am gratified by the prospect of a long letter 19 from you; but, I assure you, I never wish you to give me that»pleasure, at the risk of hurt to yourself. Have ‘you Dugald Stewart’s book, on the phi- losophy of the mind? If you have, read the intro- duction, Ist and 2nd part. I think you will see in it a remarkable correspondence, to favourite views of yours and mine. I would say more about it, if I had room. preached a sermon, sunday sennight, in D , on delighting in God; about which he said to Mr. P. L., that there was more of Knox in that sermon, than in any other he had ever preached. I have deeply comfortable hopes about him. The Archbishop has returned to Ireland much _ better than he left it. Miss F. begs me to assure you of her great pleasure, in hearing of your good health and happiness. Believe me ever yours, ALEX. Knox. LETTER CIM. To A. Know, Esq. t Abington Glebe, Noy. 10. 1810. } My pear FRIEND, You should have heard from me many days ago, had I not been considerably thrown back, by the transit from autumn to winter. It is to be hoped, however, that this has been merely a slight consti- tutional tax, levied, after the manner of tax-gatherers, early in the season. If this, like our pecuniary im- posts, is to be paid in advance, it is matter of comfort, c 2 20 that some instalments have already been collected ; but the grand consolation of all, is, that, if we prove faithful subjects, and obedient children, whatever is levied, will be applied to our own immediate advan- tage. In this view, I have the firmest reliance, that your present ailments are, at this moment, producing an invaluable effect, roav tTipswrepov ypvoov d1a mupos doxiagouevov. And when all is over, it is, perhaps, the most painful and mysterious part of the divine process, that will be regarded with greatest admir- ation, and most unmixed pleasure. As to myself, I do not find it possible to deter- mine, whether I may not have been intellectually and spiritually retrograde. Certainly my mind and heart do not appear to have been much exercised, since my removal; yet, as I believe I have, through life, been more formed by providential events, than by inward feelings, and as I am by no means sure that both Wuyy and wvevxua may not have been receiving almost imperceptible impressions, I am not inclined to despair. It is certain, that all my remark- able movements; to Derry; to college; to Swanlin- bar; to Dublin, for a short, but memorable interval ; and to Cashel; have been attended by, and, in a good measure, productive of, great changes in my mental habits. To recapitulate these would be tedious, but they are impressed with great vividness on my mind ; and I am not without frequent and flattering hopes, that this last movement of mine, may prove the means of giving me, in due time, more expansion and ex- cursiveness of imagination; and, what is of more im- portance, that by calling me forth, at least, to the occasional exercise of courtesies, before out of my power, it may greatly tend to rub off corners, to smooth asperities, to make me, in a word, somewhat 21 a different fellow-traveller, from him, with whom, in the year 1809, your patience and good nature were so often put to the test. Reading and writing have been almost wholly suspended ; but it may be well, that in these respects, the ground should for a time _ lie fallow. Meanwhile, the materials of future occu- pation have been rolling in my mind; whether at any time to be brought forth and compacted, is another question. I thank you for your observations on Q.’s pam- phlet. I have not yet seen it. I have not Dugald Stewart ; but I recollect being forcibly struck, and greatly delighted, by a quotation from him, in a note to Villers on the Reformation pp. 26... 33. When I sufficiently recover from the pressure of paying 1270/. for my house, to become a book-buyer, (should that ever be the case,) Dugald tewart should, I think, be among my purchases. It affords me sincere gratification to hear such a report of our amiable and excellent friend I trust he will even outdo his prognostics. I beg my kindest regards to Miss Fergusson: and trust that you will not fail, also, to say every thing that I wish to be said for me, to our invaluable friends at B , and at D Glebe. & Ever most affectionately yours, JOHN JEBB. P.S. By the way, do you know who was the author of a small treatise on the Covenants, published 1673, to which Baxter prefixed a prefatory address ? It says capital things, in favour of moral qualifica- tions being indispensable to justification. LETTER CIV. To A. Knox, Esq. Glankeen, Borrisoleigh, Nov. 24. 1810. My pear FRienp, I wave been greatly grieved and alarmed by hear- ing, that both Miss Fergusson and you have been very unwell: my hope is, that the report has ex- ceeded the reality; and, at all events, that the worst is now over; but if would be a great con- solation, if I could have even a line from yourself, by return of post, directed here; or if you would even commission Michael to write a line. As I pro- pose leaving this on wednesday, a letter written so late as tuesday, had better be directed to Cashel. Since I last wrote to you, I had a communication from the Archbishop, through M , on the sub- ject of Mr. M‘Cormick. It is needless to say how deeply I am gratified, at this result of your kind interference. Mr. M‘C. is ready to accede to the proposed exchange, and I had hoped to settle all matters this week, at Cashel. ‘The present rise of income, indeed, will be very inconsiderable; but it will be to me a most pleasant circumstance, to have my nearest connections thus brought within my reach; and though I do not consider the Arch- bishop at all pledged to any further measure, I cannot but indulge the hope, that Mr. M‘C.’s character and conduct, will be the means of procuring him, in due time, another step in his profession. 23 You will not be sorry to hear, that I have begun, in some measure, to resume my interrupted studies ; not indeed in a laborious way, but so far, that I think I understand, as I never did before, our Lord’s parting prayer, St. John, xvii. I conceive it is a thorough clue*to the whole of the christian system ; and that, from it, can be irrefragably deduced, not only the distinct departments of agery, and arnfbeia, but also the whole economy which is unfolded in the Epistle to the Ephesians. I meditate writing a dis- course on this wonderful chapter; an arduous under- taking, indeed ; but which will afford an opportunity of gratifying my taste for accumulation, condensa- tion, and arrangement. Should J even fail in the object of writing a sermon, I trust I shall be repaid, by attaining a tolerably distinct conception, as well of the most striking parallel passages, as of this chapter itself. I should have mentioned, that I came to Cashel wednesday ; and though disappointed of meeting the Archbishop, met a most cordial and truly gratify- ing reception from Miss B H. W. desires his best regards, and joins with me in requesting a line from yourself or Michael, on monday, as he is anxious to hear of Miss I. and yourself. & Farewell, my dear friend, ever most affectionately yours, JOHN JEBB. 24, LETTER 92. To the Rev. J. Jebb. « Dawson St., Nov. 26. 1810. My pear FRienp, I am happy to be able to give an answer, at once prompt and satisfactory, to your kind and acceptable letter. Miss F. is, I thank God, a great deal better: her strength is slow in returning, but her complaints are gone. She is, this day, sitting up in her chair. My nerves have been unusually discomposed, now for some months; you may judge, therefore, that the state of things for the last two weeks did not serve my health. The day Mr. M saw me, I was peculiarly out of sorts, having closed my eyes for a few minutes only, for two nights, and being by no means sanguine about the third night. I slept, however; and, in spite of my nerves, am greatly comforted by Miss F’.’s convalescence. I ought to say that my nerves have not been very bad. My mind does for me, through God’s mercy, what it could not have done formerly; so that, on the whole, I have no cause for talking sadly. I dare say it is perfectly best, that I should be as I am; and I humbly hope, that I shall not be afflicted above my strength. I have had feelings, already, enough to show me, that some degree of suffering may be necessary to make us acquainted with our resources; and as to the future, I leave it in that gracious hand, which has ordered all things for me, D5 ow from my childhood to this present moment, < So sweetly and so well.?* I dare say you will write a * Throughout the correspondence, Mr. Knox frequently makes allusion to his own providential trials, some notice of which, may, therefore, interest the reader. From his earliest years, he had been afflicted with attacks of epilepsy, attended by depression of spirits, amounting, frequently, to mental distress of the most painful character. This visitation continued to return, at intervals, until Mr. Knox had passed his fortieth year, when (as the editor has had it from his own lips) on his taking the resolution to retire from public life, or as he expressed it, ‘to give up the world’, the disorder totally disappeared; nor did he experience a single recurrence of his constitutional malady, or of mental dejection, from that period, to the day of his death, July 18, 1831. But the remarkable feature of this very remarkable case, is, that Mr. Knox’s vener- able guide, Mr. Wesley, so early as the year 1776, foresaw and foretold the course of things, which actually took place ; as will appear from the following extracts of his letters to Mr. K., then a boy. A copy of these letters, in Mr. Knox’s handwriting, and given by him, many years ago, to the Bishop of Limerick, is now in the editor’s possession. ‘ London, Jan. 27. 1776. ‘ My pear ALICcK, ‘ Your illness will continue just so Jong as is necessary to repress the fire of youth, to keep you dead to the world, and to prevent your seeking happiness, where it never was, nor ever can be found. Considered in this view, it is a great blessing, and a proof of God’s watchful care over you. — I cannot but admire the wisdom and goodness of divine Providence, with regard to you. As you have all the necessaries and conveniences of life, as you have a tender indulgent parent, as you have a natural sprightliness and flow of spirits; you must, in all probability, have excited the admiration or affection of your relations and ac- quaintance, and have placed your happiness therein, had not so wonderful a coun- terpoise been prepared for you. A common illness, and especially a transient one, would by no means have answered the intention, or saved you either from admiring yourself, or being admired by others. Therefore, Godskeeps you long in his school, the very best wherein infinite wisdom could place, that you may thoroughly learn to be meek and lowly in heart, and to seek all your happiness only in God. ‘ Wishing every blessing to my dear Mrs. Knox, and the little ones, I remain, ‘ Yours affectionately, ‘J. WESLEY,’ Again, ina letter dated April 1. of the same year: ‘ Your depression of spirit is a bodily, as well as spiritual malady. And it is permitted, to repress the fire of youth, and to wean you from the desire of earthly things, to teach you that happy lesson, 26 most interesting dissertation, on the 17th chapter of St. John; but I doubt the possibility of a sermon. Perhaps you hope better respecting the people of this generation, than I do; but I think they have as Wealth, honour, pleasure, and what else This short-enduring world can give ; Tempt as ye will, my heart repels, To Christ alone resolved to live.’ * Edinburgh, May 28. 1776... Ijudge your disorder to be but partly na- tural, and partly divine; the gift of God, perhaps by the ministry of angels, to balance the natural petulance of youth, to save you from foolish desires, and to keep you steady in the pursuit of that better part, which shall never be taken from you. Whether you have more or less sorrow, it matters not ; you want only more faith. This is the one point. .. Dare to believe! On Christ lay hold! See all your sins on Jesus laid, and by his stripes you are healed.’ ‘ Bristol, March 19. 1277... If the returns of your disorder are more and more gentle, there is reason to hope it will be, at length, totally removed. Very probably if you live to five or six and twenty, your constitution will take a new turn. But it is certainly the design of Him that loves you to heal, both body and soul; and possibly he delays the healing of the former, that the cure of the latter may keep pace with it. ds it is a great loss to lose an affliction, he would not have you lose what you have suffered. I trust it will not be lost, but will be for your profit, that you may be a partaker of his holiness. It isa blessing that he has given you, . . that fear which is the beginning of wisdom; and it is a pledge of greater things to come. How soon? Perhaps to-day!’ ‘ Bristol, July 29. 1777... No! God hath not forgotten you. You must not say he hideth away his face, and he will never see it. Surely God hath seen it, and he cannot despise the work of his own hands. But he frequently delays giving bodily health, till he heals both body and soul together. Perhaps this is his design concerning you. But why do you not go to the salt water? If you are short of money, let me have the pleasure of assisting you a little. Meantime I give you a word for your consideration. ‘¢ Why art thou so heavy, oh my soul, and why art thou so disquieted within me? Oh put thy trust in God, for I shall yet give him thanks, who is the help of my countenance and my God.” Peace be with all your spirits ! ‘ Tam yours affectionately, ‘Joun WESLEY.’ However to be accounted for, the fact is certain, that Mr. Knox’s health of body, and peace of mind, were restored in the one hour, after a last severe illness, which revived all his best early impressions, when in England, about the close of the last century. As he expressed himself to the editor, . . ‘ It is now thirteen years since I gave up the world, for conscience sake ; and from that hour to the present, I have never had a return of my illness, either of body or mind, but have enjoyed uninterrupted peace.’ And so it was to the end. It was the editor’s happiness to know, from a common friend, who witnessed the departure of this eminent servant of God, that all was peace at the last. 27 little disposition to give attention to that which is worth being attended to, as any of their prede- Cessors. ‘ Still govern thou my song, Urania! and fit audience find, though few.’ Fewness and fitness are as near neighbours still, I fear, as they were in the days of Milton. A. propos, of fewness and fitness being near neigh- bours, I am led to doubt the meaning given by Hierocles, to a passage in the golden verses. | Mnd exOaipe pidoy coy duaprados eivence minons, Oppa dvyy? duvapus. yap avaynns eyyvOs vore.™ Hierocles explains this, as if it meant to say, that necessity elicited power; whereas I conceive what is said, is, that he, who now has power, may very speedily become the victim of necessity. He who can threaten to-day, may be the object of derision to-morrow. It is thus I would understand dvvapus yap avayuys eyyvis vase. In this sense, it is a good argument for not being harsh to a friend, since, next turn, you may need his friendship. Last night, I met an account of faith, in St. Bernard, which I thought worth copying into my scrap-book. Pe ns ‘ Justus ex fide vivit’, et ‘ Hac est victoria que vincit mundum, fides nostra. Heec est, que, velut quoddam eternitatis exemplar, preterita simul et preesentia ac futura, sinu quodam vastissimo com- prehendit; et nihil ei praetereat, nihil pereat, preeeat nihilf Is not this like Johnson’s fine passage ? * © Hate not thy friend, where his offence is small, Though in thy power : for power is near a fall.’ + ‘ The just shall live by faith’, and ¢ This is the victory which overcometh the world, even our faith.’ In other words, Faith, as it were the image of eternity, comprehends all things past, present, and to come, in one illimitable ocean: this is that, which nothing goeth by, nothing goeth beyond, nothing goeth before, 28 Townson has reached Dublin. There are three new sermons in the second volume, which are of such a kind, as to make every one who can appre- clate those matters, anxious to have as many of his finished sermons, as Churton possesses. Probably they are given, to excite such a requisition. You will see them at Cashel, as fhe Archbishop has got the two volumes. I do not know where I have seen the notion of the sacrament of the Lord’s supper I have been dwelling upon, more simply and more strongly re- presented than by ‘Townson, in one of the little critical discourses in his life. No, I find Mr. C. extracts it from a sermon. Iam wrong now through inadvertence, and was right. He is speaking of St. Paul’s assertion of the receivers becoming one body, and he says, ‘ Christ only could originally constitute such a body, and his power and energy must be perpetually necessary, to animate and compact it (Ephes. iv. 16.): without him, the Head, no social act of any number of christians can avail any thing to that purpose. But, by verse 17., the joint par- ticipation of the sacramental bread, does avail to that purpose. It must be, therefore, because he is present in the celebration of the ordinance, and hath appointed it as a means, by which he imparts, and the faithful receive, of that sanctifying spirit, which unites the members to the head and to each other, and compacts the whole into one body. This imparting and receiving must, then, be implied, in the communion of v.16.; for nothing short of this . is adequate to the effect, which, by verse 17., is annexed. to the joint partaking of this one bread and wine.’ . Iver yours, A. K. 2g LETTER 93. To the Rev. J. Jebb. Jan. 23. 1811. Dawson St. My pear FRrienp, Lone or short, a letter you must have by this night’s mail. I would fain have answered your last, on the day of its receipt; but I was prevented by various circumstances. Among the rest, by a mind occupied with law. I was called suddenly, on business of that disagreeable description, from B., on friday the 11th; and am now only beginning to be at rest, from the apprehensions of legal difficulties and dangers, which that summons excited. I have had, within these two days, a letter from the solicitor on the opposite side, which speaks an amicable language; so that I now entertain good hope of not having to pass through the ordeal of settling an account, which began twenty- eight years ago, and closed (as to guardianship) be- tween seventeen and eighteen years ago, .. before a master in chancery, every thing that I have heard of the animal.so denominated, being to me a source of terror. I hear with pleasure your account of your health, and I hope that at length nothing will remain, out- ward or inward, to cause you real pain. I thank God, I grow better, and am, on the whole, in point of health, in a sufficiently encouraging state. I have passed through much uneasiness, during the last four or five months. Miss F’.’s dangerous illness, such at least it threatened to be, pressed hard upon me. Never before did I feel so much, from an extrinsic 30 cause; but God was good to me in that most im- portant instance, and indeed has been so in every other, so that I feel as if- I were better satisfied with my securities for peace and comfort, than I ever was before. : I will not attempt to write a long letter, for at this moment I am engaged in one of my voluminous ones to Mr. Parken, the editor of the Eclectic. The subject is Fénelon, whose new life he wished me to review. As he sent mea present of the book (2 vols. 8vo.) I felt myself bound to make some return; and being resolved against it, in his way, all that remained was, to show gratitude in a way of my own. My object is, to detect the faults in Fénelon’s system of devotion, by showing the oppositeness of its leading features, to that nature, which God has formed us with; that word, which he has provided to be our guide; and that providence, by which he ‘ ordereth, all things, both in heaven and in earth.’ Mysticism, or quietism (in a word) would have the mere mind itself, without any of its instrumental powers, not exercised upon (for how could that be, without me- mory, reflection, conception, &c.) but absorbed in God; and to make this absorption simple, as well as effectual, the instrumental powers are not merely left out, but they are shut out. They may still serve purposes in this life, but they have no place in perfect religion. ‘This consists in one simple act, or habit, which becomes the more genuine and pure, the less we think about it. In fact, to think about it, is to adulterate it; for we cannot think about it, without employing, more or less, the instrumental powers of our mind, which are discarded by the leading prin- ciples of the system. Christianity, on the contrary, takes mankind as it 3k is, and, in its purview, leaves out nothing; affording an antidote, for every moral poison; a medicine, for every moral disease ; and providing, at the same time, unfailing aid, attraction, and occupation, for every faculty, and every taste of the soul. ‘ The occa- sion’, says William Law, ‘of persons of great piety and devotion having fallen into great delusion, was, that they made a saint of the natural man; my meaning’, adds he, ‘is, they considered their whole nature, as the subject of religion, and divine graces,’ But how signally does St. Paul do this very thing, in that luminous prayer for the Thessalonians, v. 23. This single verse overthrows mysticism; I mean, in that transcendental notion of it, which Fénelon, and Law, and all the German mystics, have incul- cated. The new edition of Townson has in it three here- tofore unpublished sermons; and it is stated by the editor, (Churton) that he has a great number of the same kind.* If so, I conceive that they will be a treasure such as rarely comes abroad. One of the sermons is on the Rechabites; a perfect model, in my mind, for that species of sermon. ‘The whole is in the best manner, but the concluding part ad- mirable. It is an exquisite specimen of Qhurch-of- England preaching; such, I deliberately say, as has hardly yet been equalled. ‘It is’, said Mrs. P. L., ‘what none but a churchman could have written.’ liver yours, Ab Ss * A selection from these sermons was afterwards privately printed, and eventually published, by Bishop Jebb, . . Iu. 32 LETTER 94. To the Rev. J. . Jebb. ~ Belleviie, June 13. 1811. My pear FRienp, Y ov will be ready to think I am forgetting you, but nothing could be farther from reality. The truth is, I have been occupied, and I am very lazy. Once, I liked writing better than reading ; now, I like reading better than writing. The cause of the change is, I conceive, twofold, improvement in one respect, and declension in another. I am, I thank God, much more tranquil in mental habits and feelings, than I. was formerly, and therefore do not need the same stimulus, to excite my attention; and I have com- mencing infirmity of body, which makes exertion of whatever kind less agreeable. I humbly hope, the first of these causes will increase more and more; and that I shall have resolution not to yield, unneces- sarily, to the latter. If inclination could trace its movements on paper, without corporal instrument- ality, you should have heard from me long since. I . think of you continually ; right glad was I, therefore, to receive a good account of you, a short time since, from , and to be farther assured of your good health, by your brother, who was at D church, on sunday morning last. ‘lo have these reports con- firmed by yourself, will be still more comfortable ; for, after all, no one knows exactly how a person is, in all respects, except himself. I did not come to this place, until the 28th of last month. I stayed a week in town beyond what I 33 could have made convenient, in order to pay a visit to the new president of Maynooth, Dr. Everard; whom I could not have seen to his own satisfaction, during the preceding week, as he could have given me nothing to eat, it being rogation week. I waited, therefore, for a convenient day; viz. monday, 27th, and I was fully compensated. So much cordially pious talk, I never heard from a R.C. priest before. I hope and believe he is a good man. He seemed to love the subject, and to have that understanding of it, which feeling alone can give. Along with this, he is perfectly a gentleman, clearly loves litera- ture, is zealously loyal, and as liberal as is consistent with the substance of his belief» His expressions, on this last point, were peculiarly satisfactory. In short, what he said, came up to every thing I could look for. Had he said more, he would have proved himself, what neither you nor I wish such persons to be, a latitudinarian. He received my visit with cordiality, and expressed the warmest approbation of my pamphlet. He said he had read it with heart- felt pleasure, as the sentiments ascribed to R. C.s in it, had ever been his own: and that nothing was nearer his heart, than that they should be so felt, on the one side, and so credited, on the other, as to promote and cherish that christian sympathy, which, in God’s good time, might bring about an outward as well as inward union. On the whole, I never heard, nor could expect to hear, any R.C. speak more the language, and breathe more the spirit, of unfeigned christian charity. His sentiments, respect- ing the official duties, were remarkably what they ought to be. He is careful to diffuse a classical taste, from the conviction, that Irish Roman catholic VOL. Il. D 34 priests can be kept moral, only by being made in- tellectual. He is anxious, also, if government afford him the means, to give them knowledge of botany, and agri- cultural science, in order to fit them, not only for living independently of low gratifications, but for dif- fusing useful information. That every such means is necessary to introduce decency amongst them, is but too evident; when, therefore, there is a disposition to set those means in operation, it will be infatuation not to second the endeavour. When I came here, I brought with me a Roman catholic gentleman, son to a Count M‘C , of Tou- louse, with whose situation, before the revolution, Mr. and Mrs. L. were so well acquainted, as to make my young friend an interesting visitant. He came with the intention of spending two, or at most three days, but staid till last monday ; that was, within one day of afortnight. He was detained by pure liking, every thing exceeding his expectation. He, also, was very much liked, so that my entire expectation was more than fulfilled. I wished to try an experiment, for proof, or disproof, of my theory of possible chris- tian harmony. J. M‘C was the very subject for my purpose: for, with a good education, and a most acutely discerning mind, he is devoted to his religion, even in its minute observances. Still, he recognized the religion of this house, as of an uncommonly right sort, for one without the pale. Such conversation he had met no where, since he left France, except at Doctor Moylan’s in Cork.* | Whether this opinion will remain firm when I meet him again, or whether reflection will suggest doubts, I know not. If this * The late titular bishop. . . En. 35 should not be the case, but that he shall still feel the same kindly respect, I must deem my doctrine con- firmed. I began this letter, as you have seen, on the 13th; and I am now attempting to complete it on the 19th. The explanation is, I have been sick in the mean time. When M