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THIRTY YEARS' 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE, 
 
 BETWEEN 
 
 JOHN JEBB, D.D. F.R.S. 
 
 BISHOP OF LIMERICK, ARDFERT AND AGHADOE, 
 
 AND 
 
 ALEXANDER KNOX, ESQ. M.R.I.A. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 THE REV. CHARLES FORSTER, B.D. 
 
 PERPETUAL CURATE OP ASH NEXT SANDWICH : 
 FORMERLY DOMESTIC CHAPLAIN TO BISHOP JEBB. 
 
 Second Cdmom 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JAMES DUNCAN, 37. PATERNOSTER-ROW; 
 AND JOHN COCHRAN, 108. STRAND, 
 
 MDCCCXXXVI. 
 
*<* 
 
 h ' ' f i 
 
 “ The above letter is almost the earliest of a series, terminating only with the 
 year of Mr. Knox’s death, (1831,) which the editor has long cherished, among 
 his choicest treasures. How much he owes to this correspondence, . . how much 
 to the free, familiar, yet paternal converse, of many thousand happy hours, . . 
 how much to the uniform example of this true-hearted Christian philosopher, 
 will not be known, until the secrets of all hearts are disclosed. But thus much 
 he can say, with certainty, that scarce a day elapses, in which some energetic 
 truth, some pregnant principle, or some happy illustration, (and those illustrations 
 were always powerful arguments,) does not present itself, for which he was 
 primarily indebted to the ever-salient mind of Alexander Knox.” 
 
 Bishop Jebb, Extract from his new Edition oj 
 Burnet's Lives , Introduction, p. xxix. 
 
 
 -c. * 
 
 London: 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoodz, 
 New- Street- Squ are. 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 
TO 
 
 THE HONOURABLE 
 
 RICHARD JEBE, 
 
 SECOND JUSTICE OF THE COURT OF KING’S BENCH 
 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Upon the opposite page, you will read the recorded 
 judgment of my late honoured friend, the Bishop 
 of Limerick, upon the merits of Mr. Knox’s portion 
 of the following correspondence. With regard to 
 the published specimen there alluded to, Bishop 
 Jebb’s high estimate has been amply borne out: 
 Mr. Knox’s letter upon Christian preaching, first 
 printed in the Bishop’s introduction to Burnet’s 
 Lives, having not only experienced a most favour¬ 
 able reception in this country, but having been 
 twice re-published in North America; the second 
 
 a S 
 
 570 0 4-9 
 
VI 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 time, in a separate form, for distribution among the 
 epispocal clergy. 
 
 Upon the death of his friend, the Bishop received 
 back his own part of the correspondence ; and 
 having, for the first time, carefully perused both 
 sides of the series, as a whole, he confided the 
 manuscripts, not many months before his own de¬ 
 parture hence, to my care, in the following words: .. 
 ‘ These volumes are yours ; and remember the cor¬ 
 respondence is to be given to the world/ 
 
 Immediately after our great bereavement, almost 
 my first thoughts were directed to this injunction, 
 and to the grateful, though trying duty, which it 
 laid upon me. The duty, however imperfectly, is 
 at length accomplished. And in the discharge of 
 my sacred trust, I feel a satisfaction, which words 
 cannot express, in the opportunity afforded me of 
 inscribing these remains to one, whom Bishop Jebb 
 loved as the best of brothers, and honoured as his 
 second father. The daily companionship of nearly 
 one and twenty years, enables me to say, that the 
 motto prefixed to the dedication of Practical The¬ 
 ology, was the Bishop’s prevailing sentiment through 
 life: — 
 
 ‘ Vivet extento Proculeius aevo, 
 
 Notus in fratres animi paterni!’ 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 • • 
 Vll 
 
 With regard to your brother’s part of the corre¬ 
 spondence, the name of Bishop Jebb will sufficiently 
 recommend to public notice any writing known to 
 come from his pen. It may be mentioned, however, 
 as an interesting fact, that Mr. Knox always con¬ 
 sidered the Bishop’s familiar letters, as, in point of 
 composition, the mos perfect of his writings. I well 
 remember Mr. Knox’s strong expression to myself j 
 to this effect, so far back as the year 1810 . He had 
 just received a letter from your brother, which, in 
 taking out of his pocket to read had been slightly 
 creased. The accident annoyed him for the moment, 
 and he thought it right to explain why it discom¬ 
 posed him. Unfolding the injured letter, he ob¬ 
 served, ‘ I shall lay this carefully by; I keep all 
 Mr. Jebb’s letters ; for I know no such letter-writer 
 in the English language. Every letter of his is fit to 
 pass, without correction, from the post-office into the 
 printer’s hands.’ 
 
 In preparing the correspondence for publication, I 
 find evidence of still earlier date, that, in Mr. Knox’s 
 judgment, your brother’s letters were most deserving 
 of permanent preservation. 
 
 The value of a correspondence so long and in¬ 
 timate, between two such minds, upon subjects the 
 most interesting that can engage the thoughts of 
 
VI n 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 man, will be felt by every reflecting reader. For 
 myself, I can only add, that, taking together the 
 ability and attainments of the correspondents, and 
 the perfect freedom, the entire absence of reserve, 
 which characterize, throughout, their interchange of 
 thought, I am unaware of the existence, in our 
 own or in any language, of a correspondence similar 
 in interest or importance to that between Alexander 
 Knox and Bishop Jebb. 
 
 I remain, my dear Sir, 
 
 With great respect, 
 
 Your truly obliged and affectionate 
 
 Friend and Servant, 
 
 CHARLES FORSTER. 
 
 Vicarage , Ash next Sandwich , 
 
 May 29. 1834. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 TO 
 
 THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 In compliance with a wish somewhat generally felt 
 and expressed, the editor has thought it right to give 
 an Index, and translations of the greek and latin 
 passages. For the verse translations marked with 
 inverted commas, the public is indebted to the kind¬ 
 ness of two of the friends, who suggested the desir¬ 
 ableness of these additions ; and to a third friend, for 
 the important addition of the Index. 
 
Just Published , 
 
 THE LIFE OF JOHN JEBB, D.D. F.R.S. 
 
 BISHOP OF LIMERICK, ARDFERT AND AGHADOE. 
 
 WITH 
 
 A SELECTION FROM HIS LETTERS. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE REV. CHARLES FORSTER, B. D. 
 
LETTER 1 . 
 
 July 25. 1799. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I yesterday received a letter from the Bishop of 
 Kilmore, letting me know that he had recommended 
 you to a vacant cure in his diocese, in Dean Blun¬ 
 dell’s parish of Swanlinbar; and the Dean called on 
 me this day, to tell me that he was ready to acquiesce 
 with pleasure in the Bishop’s recommendation. In 
 order to enable you to judge how far the business 
 may be eligible for you, I will transcribe that part of 
 the Bishop’s letter. 
 
 “ Dean Blundell has offered me the curacy of Swan- 
 linbar ; I have accepted of it, and recommended Mr. 
 Jebb for it, if the appointment should meet his and 
 your wishes. I am anxious to have a creditable cler¬ 
 gyman fixed there, it being a place of fashionable 
 resort during the summer. I conceive, too, that, for 
 him, it will offer better accommodations than most 
 country towns in Ireland. By accepting of it, he 
 will obtain a footing in the diocese : it is the first 
 establishment which has offered since you spoke to 
 me. I own I wish it may suit him ; but do not ima¬ 
 gine that I make a point of his accepting it.” 
 
 Now, my dear Mr. Jebb, all I can say is, consider 
 the point, and make your election as speedily as you 
 can ; for Dean Blundell is impatient to have the cure 
 filled; as it has been some time vacant, to the no 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
 B 
 
Q 
 
 /-W 
 
 small detriment of the parish. I need make no re¬ 
 mark to you, I am sure, on the kind, candid, gentle¬ 
 manlike manner in which the Bishop expresses himself. 
 It is in unison with every thing I have seen in him. 
 Your own views and feelings, however, must decide ; 
 and if it be in favour of the appointment, you must 
 arrange matters for entering on it without delay. It 
 is not the cure, strictly, of the parish, but of a chapel 
 of ease ; the salary, the usual one, 50/. 
 
 Write to me as soon as you can, and believe me, 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 Swanlinbar, Ballyconnel, May 29. 1800. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I have frequently accused myself of scandalous neg¬ 
 lect, in not, long since, having given you some account 
 of my situation here. I did, indeed, write you one 
 letter, many months ago ; but I am ignorant whether 
 it ever reached you. Since that, I was not certain in 
 what part of England you were ; but, from some 
 inquiries I made, I am happy to find, that your health 
 and spirits are both better, than when I had last the 
 pleasure of seeing you. 
 
 By your kindness, I am embarked in my profession 
 in a manner as favourable as I could possibly have 
 wished ; and much more so than I ever had any 
 reason to expect. In the Bishop of Kilmore, I have 
 experienced a gentleman, and a friend. His man- 
 
3 
 
 ners are highly pleasing, and his attention to me has 
 been such, as clearly proves, that he had a high re¬ 
 gard for your recommendation. Added to this, when 
 I find him a good man, and a truly pious Christian, 
 surely I need not say, that it is delightful to me to 
 have commenced my duties under him. Independent 
 of any prospects, I am happy at being placed in his 
 diocese; and I shall not attempt to thank you for 
 the introduction you gave me to such a man, because 
 I never could do so sufficiently. 
 
 I find myself very pleasantly situated. Immedi¬ 
 ate neighbourhood I have none, except one family. 
 That family is very pleasing, friendly, and good. 
 Their house is always open to me ; and they are most 
 ready to co-operate in any plan for the good of the 
 poorer classes; teaching and clothing their children, 
 and providing them with work. At a greater distance, 
 I have an intercourse with Mr. Woodward*, Lord 
 Enniskillen, and the Bishop : this society, parochial 
 duties, and my books, occupy my time very com¬ 
 pletely ; and leave me no room to complain of heavy 
 hours. 
 
 I have followed your advice, in occasionally mak¬ 
 ing a particular sermon of Tillotson, or Seeker, my 
 model; following their arguments, and adopting their 
 arrangement. I have, also, preached a kind of com¬ 
 mentary on a Psalm, now and then ; keeping in view 
 your very useful lecture in Dawson Street, on that 
 subject: this practice I find extremely pleasant to 
 myself, and do not think it is unpleasing to my con¬ 
 gregation. These are, for the most part, of the lower 
 
 * The Rev. Henry Woodward, youngest son of Richard Woodward, D. D. 
 Bishop of Cloyne; and, through after-life, one of Bishop Jebb’s most attached 
 and valued friends. — Ed. 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 order ; very decent, regular, and attentive- I almost 
 regret, that the arrival of water-drinkers is so near. 
 
 I think I could preach more usefully to my own poor, 
 but respectable audience : they are, in general, about 
 150 in number ; sometimes, much more. 
 
 I have a near neighbour (at Florence Court) Wm. 
 Cole, with whom, till lately, I have had but little 
 intercourse. He is a most respectable young man ; 
 as a clergyman, extremely zealous and correct. I 
 should wish, very much, to cultivate an acquaintance 
 with him; and was happy to find him lately making 
 advances, towards my more frequently visiting at his 
 father’s. He has made it very much his business to 
 study the tastes, and dispositions of his parishioners ; 
 going to their houses; inviting them to the Sacra¬ 
 ment ; and preaching in a manner level to their 
 understandings. There are few young men of rank, 
 who take so much pains; and I am convinced that I 
 may derive from him much useful information. It is 
 very happy that he is settled in a place, where the 
 rank and influence of his family give him so many 
 opportunities of doing good. 
 
 I hope and trust, that you continue to mend in 
 health and spirits. I should think, that the variety of 
 situation, and the air of England, must be useful to 
 you. It would give me true pleasure, if, in any 
 leisure half hour, you would let me know how, and 
 where, you are; there are, I believe, very few, who 
 wish more sincerely for your welfare, — I am sure 
 none have better reason,—than I. That you maybe 
 well and happy, that it may please God to continue 
 you long to your friends, and to society, is the wish 
 and prayer, of your obliged 
 
 And most sincere friend and servant, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
5 
 
 LETTER II. 
 To A. Knox, Esq . 
 
 Swanlinbar, Ballyconnel, Nov. 6. 1800. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I have just learnt your address in London, and can¬ 
 not deny myself the pleasure of writing you a few 
 lines. I heard, lately, from my brother, that you 
 favoured him with your company for one day. I 
 hope and trust that your health continues in, at least, 
 as good a state, as when he saw you. I have often 
 wished for some more satisfactory way of learning 
 where, and how, you were, than from inquiries 
 which could be seldom made, and still less frequently 
 answered. If you could spare so much time, I believe 
 few would be more gratified than I should, to hear 
 from yourself, a little of yourself: however, I should 
 be sorry to trespass upon time, which is employed to 
 far better purpose. Do not, therefore, think of writ¬ 
 ing, till you have a vacant hour; should any occur, 
 I would be extremely gratified by your giving me a 
 line. 
 
 The extreme retirement of this place gives me 
 abundant time for reading. I wish I were able to 
 give a good account of the method in which it is em¬ 
 ployed. However, I can say, I am not absolutely 
 idle; and in the duties of the parish, and occasional 
 visits to my friends, I find sufficient relaxation. I 
 have it in contemplation to study greek with some 
 care ; chiefly with a view to make myself well ac- 
 
 b 3 
 
6 
 
 quainted with the New Testament. I propose begin¬ 
 ning with the historians; Herodotus, Thucydides, 
 &c. I should be very thankful for your opinion of 
 this plan. I by no means intend to let it exclude 
 divinity, and english literature. Two hours a day is 
 all I would give up to it. 
 
 I have been, very lately, with the Bishop of Kil- 
 more. The more I see him, the more reason have I 
 to admire and esteem him. I think myself happy in 
 the society of such a man ; and am not without hopes 
 that I receive improvement from every visit I make 
 him. His piety is unaffected; his understanding is 
 sound ; and his opinions are most correct. If I do 
 not improve by his example, it is my own fault. I 
 often meet, with him, a very excellent, and very 
 learned man, Dr. Hales. 
 
 Both-and-are very anxious for the com¬ 
 
 pletion of the Flapper.* According to the original 
 plan, there were to have been 108 Nos.; 75 only 
 have appeared. Its publication in London is depre¬ 
 cated, in the present unfinished state. Dr.- 
 
 would engage for his full proportion : so would-. 
 
 The latter would, also, rally the contributors in 
 Dublin. Dr.—proposes signifying, by advertise¬ 
 ment, that a letter-box will be open till the 1st of 
 January ; and publishing all the additional numbers 
 together, on the 1st of February. Then, he says, the 
 entire work might go, in a handsome manner, to 
 Rivington’s press. Your co-operation is earnestly 
 
 requested. - has no doubt of the Dublin 
 
 Flappers. I have been invited to take a share ; and, 
 though very fearful that I should be wofully deficient, 
 would endeavour to do something, if the business 
 were taken up. 
 
 * A literary journal, published in Dublin. — Ed. 
 
>*7 
 
 t 
 
 If you can spare time, an answer to this will make 
 me very happy. 
 
 Believe me, dear Sir, 
 
 Your much obliged and affectionate 
 
 humble servant, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq, 
 
 December 4. J 800. 
 
 My Dear Sir, 
 
 I do assure you, I know not when I received a 
 letter, which gave me so much real gratification, as 
 that you had the goodness to write me. I need not, 
 I trust, say, that I am truly sorry for the cause of 
 your former silence. Your letter, however, is to me 
 a most acceptable proof, that your state of health is 
 improved ; I am willing to imagine, that its length 
 proves not only your kindness to me, but, also, the 
 absence of any oppressive complaint. To write to 
 you, will always be a pleasure to me ; but, however 
 anxious I may be to hear from you, I beg and 
 intreat, that you never may attempt writing, when it 
 does not perfectly suit your state of health and spirits. 
 I shall certainly, as you desire it, frequently indulge 
 myself by writing to you ; and will be amply repaid 
 b y a few lines, whenever you can give them perfectly 
 at your ease . 
 
 Your kind expressions concerning my brother, are 
 such as demand my warmest thanks. I feel their 
 value the more sensibly, because I know they are 
 
 b 4 
 
8 
 
 sincere, and think they are merited. In him, I 
 have experienced, not only a brother, but an adviser, 
 a friend, and a father; I assure you, he has more 
 than once reminded me of Proculeius, — * Notus in 
 fratres animi paterni.’ That he should marry, is, 
 and has long been, a favourite wish of mine; I hope 
 and believe that he will do so : he is a man of 
 domestic habits, exceedingly attached to ‘ home¬ 
 bred happiness.’ My sister would, I am sure, be 
 happy in your favourable opinion ; in a letter I so m 
 time since received from her, she expressed herself 
 of you as she ought. 
 
 I have not very lately seen the Bishop ; but shall, 
 please God, soon take a trip to Kilmore. I will not 
 fail, then, to look at the passage in the British Critic, 
 you so kindly pointed out. I will, I fancy, take in 
 that publication, from January next. 
 
 I agree perfectly with you in deprecating illiberal 
 churchmanship. I read the notice to Rusticus, and 
 think it as fair and candid, as could possibly be 
 expected. 
 
 For your kindness in procuring me Lowth and 
 Blackwall, I feel much indebted. They are books 
 which I had a great inclination to read; their value 
 will certainly experience no diminution, by their 
 coming from you. Sacred criticism I have always 
 looked forward to, since I thought of divinity, as a 
 very principal and delightful branch of my future 
 studies; and Marsh’s Michaelis, with Lardner, &c. 
 &c., I purposed procuring. I am, therefore, happy 
 to find my intentions corroborated, by your opinion. 
 I shall keep in view your caution as to Michaelis’s 
 boldness. I fancy some caution will be also neces¬ 
 sary, in using Lardner. Cruden’s english, and Schmi- 
 dius’s greek Concordances, properly used, will, per- 
 
9 
 
 haps, be the most effectual guards against any thing 
 fanciful; by leading to Scripture, as its own expositor. 
 Any criticism that is just, an accurate investigation 
 of Scripture must confirm. Whatever is unfair, or 
 unscriptural, will not stand the test, but must meet 
 detection. 
 
 I discovered, lately, a most brilliant passage, in 
 Spenser’s Fairy Queen, astonishingly applicable to 
 the present times ; Book 5. Canto 2. Stanza 29. ad 
 finem. It depicts the arrogant impugners of the 
 natural and moral dispensations of Providence,— the 
 unsettlers and equalizers, the democrats and deists,— 
 in most vivid and appropriate colours. I really 
 believe, that, if a person of considerable talents were 
 to sit down, for the express purpose of attacking such 
 gentry, in the style of Spenser, he could not do it 
 in so exact and so poignant a manner, as Spenser 
 has done. He would use more antiquated words 
 (which you will observe are very rare in this pas¬ 
 sage) ; and he would be afraid to venture certain 
 words, which seem of modern coinage, and which 
 Spenser has almost prophetically given, — ‘ equalize 
 — uncontrouled freedom — equality — innovation — 
 lordings — commons,’ &c. &c. 
 
 I should think it a great pity, if this eloquent and 
 admirably descriptive passage were not given to the 
 world, with suitable remarks. The writings of God¬ 
 win, Paine, Darwin, and Co. would afford an excellent 
 commentary. I had thoughts of sending it to the 
 Gentleman’s Magazine myself; but, on some con¬ 
 versation with-, am of opinion, it should pass 
 
 from abler hands than mine. I wish you had 
 leisure and inclination to take it up. It would take, 
 well edited with notes, somewhat after the style of the 
 ‘ Pursuits of Literature.’ If you decline it, might it 
 
not, by some means, be put into the ‘ Pursuer’s ’ 
 hands, or suggested to Mr. Canning ? I beg you will 
 inform me of your opinion on the subject. 
 
 I hear a report that the Archbishop of Dublin is 
 dead. May there not be some prospect of our ex¬ 
 cellent friend’s removal to Cashel ? 
 
 Believe me your most faithful and obliged 
 
 friend and servant, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 Swanlinbar, Dec. 31. 1800. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Though I consider it highly probable you have, by 
 this time, fixed your quarters at Bristol, I write this, 
 at random, to London ; concluding, that, if you have 
 removed, the persons with whom you lodged are 
 acquainted with your address. 
 
 I have not lately seen the Bishop of Kilmore; but 
 purpose, please God, as soon as I have shaken off a 
 cold, produced by this raw weather in a very damp 
 country, to pay him a visit. He went to town the 
 26th inst. to pay his respects to the new primate ; 
 but will, I am informed, speedily return. I wish he 
 could be prevailed upon to vary the scene, by remain¬ 
 ing a little longer. 
 
 Since I last wrote to you, I have experienced 
 much pleasure, and derived no small advantage, from 
 a correspondence, which has been pretty briskly car¬ 
 ried on, between Stop ford of the College, and me. 
 
11 
 
 Every letter that he writes, is calculated to make 
 him who receives it a better Christian. He abounds 
 in truly ardent zeal; his simplicity, humility, and 
 benevolence are most edifying ; he has a charitable 
 and friendly feeling for Christians of all denomina¬ 
 tions ; and it is his supreme wish, to promote piety in 
 sentiment and practice, and the knowledge of gospel 
 truth. I am not without sanguine hopes of his exer¬ 
 tions, and example, having a happy influence on the 
 minds and habits of young students (he is lecturer 
 in divinity) : if they only follow his advice, they 
 will become exemplary clergymen. And I think it 
 nearly impossible, that many of them should not 
 imbibe some of his spirit, and be warmed by a por¬ 
 tion of his zeal. 
 
 My present study is the Bible, without any com¬ 
 mentary : the object, to acquire a general view of 
 God’s dispensations. After having gone through 
 the Sacred Volume, I purpose reading general views 
 of Scripture ; and, then, applying the information 
 acquired from them; reading over the Bible again; 
 reviewing my remarks ; and looking at the queries 
 put down; for I do not, now, stop to investigate 
 minute difficulties. For all this, I allow about a 
 year. And then, with God’s help, having formed 
 some ideas for myself, I propose to enter on a plan 
 of general study, in which divinity shall be the 
 grand object, and all the branches shall be sub¬ 
 ordinate. 
 
 Correspondence on religious topics, I believe, 
 would be extremely useful. Stopford says, he has 
 found it of singular service ; and strongly recom¬ 
 mends it to me. His letters are a great treasure. I 
 find, in them, a powerful stimulus to exertion; and, 
 at the same time, a serious call to humility. They 
 
12 
 
 unite, in an uncommon degree, fervour, and a sense 
 of man’s weakness in himself. They have created 
 in me some new feelings. And I heartily implore 
 God’s grace, that I may improve by them as I 
 ought. 
 
 Whenever you can conveniently write, I would 
 be particularly obliged to you for your advice; 
 whether as to study, or practice, or methods of im¬ 
 proving my religious feelings. 
 
 I should be very thankful for a few ideas, on what 
 Christian preaching should be : it is a complaint with 
 many, and I believe in some measure just, that 
 clergymen do not sufficiently preach the peculiar 
 doctrines of our religion. What do you conceive to 
 be the mean, between cold morality, and wild en¬ 
 thusiasm, in preaching? 
 
 Have you thought about the passage in Spenser, 
 which I mentioned ? 
 
 I was much taken with an epitaph on Voltaire, in 
 the Gentleman’s Magazine for December. Do you 
 think it could possibly be translated ? 
 
 Will you have the goodness to excuse this too 
 hasty and imperfect letter, written at the close of a 
 very busy day, and believe me 
 
 Your most obliged and affectionate 
 
 friend and servant, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
13 
 
 LETTER 2. 
 
 Shrewsbury, Jan. 29. 1801. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I thank you much, for your last letter: I sat down 
 to answer it, several days ago ; but I began on a 
 larger scale, than I was able to accomplish : I must, 
 therefore, be content to take in my sails; not, as is 
 customary, because there is too much wind, . . but, 
 because there is not enough to fill them. 
 
 What you say of Stopford # is just, in every respect: 
 he is an uncommonly good man ; and you cannot do 
 better, than keep up a correspondence with him. 
 The grand deficiencies in right temper and conduct, 
 
 * ‘ The Rev. Joseph Stopford, D. D. then fellow of Trinity College, Dublin, 
 afterwards rector of Letterkenny, Ireland. The motives of delicacy which, in 
 1832, led to the suppression of his name, no longer exist: he died this year (1833) 
 alike regretted and beloved.’—Bp. Jebb : note to the 2nd edition of his Burnet’s 
 Lives, Introduction, p. vi. 
 
 Before the close of the same year (December 9. 1833), the Bishop of Limerick 
 was himself taken to his reward: — 
 
 * He taught us how to live, and (oh ! too high 
 The price of knowledge) taught us how to die ! ’ 
 
 The following brief notice, taken from a public journal, is so justly descriptive, 
 that it claims more permanent preservation : — 
 
 * Died, on the 9th instant, at East Hill, Wandsworth, in the 59th year of his 
 age, after a long illness, the Right Reverend John Jebb, D. D. F.R.S., Lord 
 Bishop of Limerick, Ardfert, and Aghadoe. For nearly seven years, he had 
 suffered under the effects of a violent paralytic seizure, which compelled him to 
 withdraw from the more active duties of his See, and to reside in this country for 
 the benefit of medical advice. But his mind survived his body; and, while an 
 invalid scarcely able to move about his room, even with assistance, he continued 
 an anxious and watchful care over his diocese, and employed the hours of languor 
 and sickness in the preparation and publication of works original, or those of 
 other great divines, for the benefit of the church of Christ. In private life he 
 was among the most amiable and beloved of men, with a singular faculty of 
 attaching all of every age to him. In literature, he was among the most distin¬ 
 guished biblical scholars of the age; and, in personal humility and piety, he was 
 worthy of his office as a Christian bishop.’ — Ed. 
 
14 
 
 arise, much more, from want of right feelings, than 
 from want of knowledge : and right feelings cannot, 
 so certainly, be either obtained, or improved, as by 
 communication, and close intercourse, with those 
 who possess them. ‘ As iron sharpeneth iron, so 
 doth the countenance of a man, his friend :’ Solomon 
 said some true things; and this is not the least 
 important of them. 
 
 You say, that, * it is nearly impossible, that many 
 of those, who attend Stop ford’s divinity lectures, 
 should not imbibe some of his spirit, and be warmed 
 by a portion of his zeal.’ It is, indeed, impossible. 
 True religion is happily contagious : and, I am sure, 
 it owed its rapid progress, in the early ages of the 
 church, infinitely more, to the divine infection, (if I 
 may use such an expression,) that attended the spirit 
 of the Apostles, than to the demonstrative evidence 
 of their miracles. I believe, there never yet was a 
 really good man, I mean, a zealous, decided Chris¬ 
 tian, whose lively expression of his own feelings, did 
 not, more or less, reach the hearts of those who 
 heard him. 
 
 And this, in some degree, answers your ques¬ 
 tion, ‘ What Christian preaching should be ? ’ At 
 least, it points out an indispensable pre-requisite : 
 Christian preaching can arise-, only, from a Christian 
 mind and heart. This is the great want in the 
 preaching of to-day: there is no spirit in it. It is 
 the result of a kind of intellectual pumping ; there is 
 no gushing from the spring. Our Saviour, speaking 
 to the woman of Samaria, of the happiness which his 
 religion would bring, into the bosoms of those who 
 cordially embraced it, elegantly and expressively 
 represents it, by a well of water in the breast, 
 
 ‘ springing up into everlasting life.* Where this 
 
15 
 
 is in a minister, it will spring out , as well as spring 
 up: and it will be felt to be living water, from the 
 pleasure and refreshment which it conveys, almost 
 even to minds hitherto unaccustomed to such com¬ 
 munications. 
 
 What Horace says, is quite in point: — 
 
 Non satis est pulchra esse poemata, dulcia sunto: 
 
 Et, quocunque volunt animum auditoris agunto. 
 
 Ut ridentibus arrident, ita flentibus adsunt 
 Humani vultus. Si vis me flere, dolendum est 
 Primum ipsi tibi; tunc tua me infortunia laedent :* 
 
 the Pulchra, is all, that a man who does not himself 
 feel, can attain to,: the Dulcia, is the offspring of an 
 impressed, and interested heart. But, if such effects 
 were to be produced, by the mere feeling exhibition 
 of human distress, what may not be looked for, from 
 divine truths, . . interesting to the hearer, no less 
 than to the speaker; and interesting, beyond all that 
 can be conceived, to every natural sentiment of 
 man, . . when done justice to, in the same way, that 
 Horace here demands for the drama ? 
 
 A witty poet has well said,. . 
 
 The specious sermons of a worldly man, 
 
 Are little more than flashes in the pan : 
 
 The mere haranguing upon what men call 
 Morality, is powder without ball: 
 
 But he, who preaches with a Christian grace, 
 
 Fires at our vices, and the shot takes place. 
 
 But you also ask, * what do I conceive to be the 
 mean, between cold morality, and wild enthusiasm ? * 
 
 * ’Tis not enough to weave the graceful line, 
 
 With grace thy poems sweetness should combine; -— 
 
 A melting tenderness must mellow art, 
 
 If thou would’st move at will the hearer’s heart. 
 
 To every mood the human face can turn, 
 
 Smile with the smiling, with the mourner mourn ; 
 
 Would’st thou my tears ? First bid thy sorrows flow, 
 
 My heart then bleeds with sympathetic woe. 
 
16 
 
 To this, I answer, that the mean between all ex¬ 
 tremes, is Christianity, as given in the New Testa¬ 
 ment. An attention to the exhibition of Christ’s 
 religion, as taught, by himself , as exemplified, in 
 the acts of the apostles ; and as expanded and ra¬ 
 mified, in the epistles, particularly of Saint Paul, .. 
 is the best, and only preservative, against coldness, 
 against fanaticism, and against superstition. But, 
 let me tell you, that this simple, direct view of 
 Christianity, has very seldom been taken. Most 
 men, in all ages, have sat down to the gospel, with a 
 set of prejudices, which, like so many inquisitors, 
 have laid the Christian religion on a bed like that of 
 Procrustes j and, as it suited them, either mutilated 
 it by violence, or extended it by force. 
 
 I agree, however, with Mrs. Chapone, in her inge¬ 
 nious essay on the subject, that coldness is a far 
 more dangerous extreme, than over-much heat. The 
 one, may consist with real goodness: nay, may be 
 the consequence of real goodness, commixing with a 
 perturbed imagination, or an ill-formed judgement. 
 But coldness can be resolved, only, into an absolute 
 want of feeling. Enthusiasm is excess, but coldness 
 is want of vitality. The enthusiast, in a moral view, 
 is insane ; which implies the possibility of recovery, 
 and, perhaps, a partial or occasional recurrence of 
 reason. The cold person is like the idiot, where 
 reason never shows itself, and where convalescence 
 is desperate. 
 
 But, let it ever be remembered, that he who has 
 really found the mean, between the two extremes, 
 will, and must, be reckoned enthusiastic, by those 
 who are in the extreme of coldness. You can easily 
 conceive, that, when any one stands on a middle 
 point, between two others, who are, with respect to 
 
17 
 
 him, strictly equidistant, he must, from the inevitable 
 laws of perspective, appear to both, not to be in the 
 middle, but comparatively near the opposite party. 
 He therefore, 
 
 Auream quisquis mediocritatem 
 Diligit, 
 
 must make up his mind, to be censured on both 
 sides: by the enthusiast, as cold; by those who are 
 really cold, as an enthusiast. 
 
 This, however, is a digression. I return to the 
 New-Testament view of Christianity. 
 
 Now this, I repeat, (for the reasons above given,) 
 is most surely, to be sought, in the New Testament 
 itself. And the representation given of Christianity 
 there, differs, in my mind, from that given, in most 
 pulpits, in very many, and very important instances. 
 I shall notice two instances particularly: . . 
 
 I. Christianity is represented, in most pulpits, rather 
 as a scheme of external conduct, than as an inward 
 principle of moral happiness, and moral rectitude. 
 
 In modern sermons, you get a great many ad¬ 
 monitions and directions, as to right conduct: but, 
 what David asked for so earnestly, is seldom touched 
 upon, . . ‘ Create in me a clean heart, O God! 
 and renew a right spirit within me.’ Now, the 
 New Testament dwells on this, as its main object: 
 ‘make the tree good , 5 says Christ, ‘and its fruit 
 will, also, be good’ . . ‘Except ye be converted, 
 and become as little children, you can, in no wise, 
 enter into the kingdom of heaven/ 
 
 These expressions evidently imply, that, in order 
 to be Christians, persons must undergo a moral 
 change; that Christianity is designed to make them 
 something, which they are not by nature; and that 
 the alteration produced, in the mind, the affections, 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
18 
 
 and the conduct, by a right, and full, acquiescence 
 in the Gospel, is so radical, so striking, and so effica¬ 
 cious, as to warrant the strongest imagery, in order 
 to do it justice, that language can furnish. 
 
 ‘ Except a man,’ says our Lord, ‘ be born again, 
 he cannot see the kingdom of God.’. . ‘If any 
 
 man,’ says St. Paul, ‘be in Christ, he is a new 
 
 creature: old things are passed away; behold all 
 things are become new.’ . . ‘ If ye, then, be risen 
 with Christ, seek those things which are above: for 
 ye are dead, and your life is hid, with Christ in 
 God.’ . . ‘ Being justified by faith, we have peace 
 with God, by our Lord Jesus Christ; for the love of 
 God is shed abroad in our hearts, by the Holy Ghost, 
 which is given unto us/ And, to quote but one 
 
 passage more, from St. Paul, . . ‘ They that are 
 
 Christ’s, have crucified the flesh, with the affec¬ 
 tions and desires.’ 
 
 Now, what, I ask, do these expressions imply? 
 After every fair allowance for figure, and metaphor, 
 do they not convey a far deeper, and more mysteri¬ 
 ous view of Christianity, than is, commonly, adverted 
 to? Some divines, I know, endeavour to explain 
 these, and similar passages, as if they referred, rather 
 to a relative and extrinsic, than to a real and internal 
 change; as if they meant, merely, proselytism from 
 heathenism to Christianity, and initiation into out¬ 
 ward church privileges. But this miserable mode of 
 interpretation, is flatly inconsistent with the whole 
 tenor of the New Testament. It is not heathenism, 
 but moral evil, which is here pointed out, as the 
 grand source of human misery: and the aptitude of 
 the gospel, to overcome and extirpate this moral 
 evil, is what is dwelt upon, as its great, and leading 
 excellence. These, therefore, and all similar pas- 
 
19 
 
 sages, must be understood in a moral sense : and, 
 when so understood, how deep is their import! To 
 suppose that there is not a strict appositeness, in 
 these figurative expressions, would be to accuse the 
 apostles,, and Christ himself, of bombastic amplifica¬ 
 tion : but, if they have been thus applied, because no 
 other ones were adequate to do justice to the sub¬ 
 ject, I say again, what a view do they give of 
 Christianity! 
 
 It may be said, that enthusiasts have abused these 
 expressions. True : but what then ? What gift of 
 God, has not been abused ? And the richest gifts 
 most grossly ? Meanwhile, the Scriptures remain 
 unadulterated ; and, abused as they may have been, by 
 perverse misrepresentation, on the one side, or on the 
 other, we have no right to go to any other standard. 
 
 With these passages of Scripture, then, and many 
 similar ones, .. nay, with the whole tenor of the New 
 Testament, in my view, I hesitate not to say, that 
 Christian preaching consists, first, in representing 
 man to be, by nature, (I mean in his present fallen 
 state,) a weak, ignorant, sinful, and, of course, 
 miserable being; as such, to be liable to God’s dis¬ 
 pleasure ; and to be absolutely incapable of enjoying 
 any real happiness, either here or hereafter. The 
 passages of Scripture which prove this, are innumer¬ 
 able : I shall give but a few. ‘ You hath he quick¬ 
 ened, who were dead in trespasses and sins. The 
 carnal mind is enmity against God. The carnal man 
 knoweth not the things of the Spirit of God, neither 
 can he know them; because they are spiritually 
 discerned. They that are in the flesh, cannot please 
 God. Having the understanding darkened; being 
 alienated from the life of God.’ 
 
 Nor, are we to suppose, that these texts speak 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 only, of the grossly wicked. St. Paul repeatedly 
 explains such statements, to belong to all mankind, 
 until they are brought to repentance, and are in¬ 
 wardly, as well as outwardly, changed by divine grace. 
 And, in fact, our own experience confirms the truth 
 of this. For, if we look around us, whom do we see, 
 either truly good, or truly happy ? Some there are, 
 unquestionably; though, too generally, in a very 
 low, and imperfect degree. But, how rarely do we dis¬ 
 cover, what St. Paul calls, ‘the fruit of the spirit, 
 
 . . . love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, good¬ 
 ness, faith, meekness, temperance.’ Yet, surely, the 
 possession of these tempers, is just as essential to 
 Christianity now, as it was in the days of St. Paul: 
 now, as well as then, it is an immutable truth, that, 
 
 ‘ If any man have not the spirit of Christ, he is 
 none of his.’ 
 
 To shew, then, strongly, and feelingly, the misery, 
 not only of sinful actions, but, of that carnal, worldly, 
 indevout, unfeeling state of mind, in which, most 
 men are content to live; and to point out the ab¬ 
 solute necessity, of a change from that state, into an 
 humble, watchful, spiritual, devout, filial frame of 
 mind, is, in my opinion, the very foundation of all 
 Christian preaching; as it is, in truth, the key-stone 
 of Christianity. 
 
 The very word for repentance, points out the 
 reality, and depth of this change; [xsravoia , a trans¬ 
 formation of mind . And our Lord’s words to St. 
 Paul, clearly explain wherein that change, that 
 [ASTOLVoia. consists: ‘ To open their eyes; to turn 
 them from darkness, to light; and from the power of 
 Satan, unto God:’ that is, to enlighten them, with 
 a divine and saving knowledge, of what is true, and 
 good ; to fill their hearts, with the Jove of it; and to 
 
n 
 
 furnish them with the power, to perform it. The 
 blessings consequent upon this change, immediately 
 follow : 4 That they may receive forgiveness of sins ; 
 and an inheritance among them that are sanctified ; 
 through faith, that is in me/ 
 
 Christianity, then, in this view, is really what St. 
 Paul calls it,. . the power of God unto salvation. 
 When thus pursued, . . I mean, when a deep sense of 
 inward depravity and weakness excites a man, to seek 
 divine knowledge, and divine grace, in order to the 
 enlightening of his mind, and the renewing of his 
 heart,. . when this view produces conscientious watch¬ 
 fulness ; excites to fervent, habitual devotion ; and 
 presents to the mind, in a new light, God’s inestima¬ 
 ble love, in the redemption of the world by his Son, 
 . . then, by degrees, sometimes more rapidly, some¬ 
 times more slowly, the true Christian character 
 begins to form itself in the mind. Then, the great 
 things spoken of Christianity, in the New Testament, 
 begin to be understood, because they begin to be 
 felt. The vanity of earthly things, becomes more 
 and more apparent: that divine faith which gives 
 victory over the world, begins to operate : religious 
 duties, once burthensome, become delightful: self- 
 government, becomes natural and easy: reverential 
 love to God, and gratitude to the Redeemer, pro¬ 
 ducing humility, meekness, active, unbounded bene¬ 
 volence, grow into habitual principles ; private prayer 
 is cultivated, not merely as a duty, but, as the most 
 delightful exercise of the mind: cheerfulness reigns 
 within, and diffuses its sweet influence, over the 
 whole conversation, and conduct: all the innocent, na¬ 
 tural enjoyments of life, (scarcely, perhaps, tasted 
 before, from the natural relish of the mind being 
 blunted bv artificial pleasures,) become inexhaustible 
 
 c 3 
 
sources of comfort: and the close of life is contem¬ 
 plated as the end of all pain, and the commencement 
 of perfect, everlasting felicity. 
 
 This, then, I conceive, is a faint sketch, of that 
 state of mind, to which, the Christian preacher, should 
 labour to bring himself and his hearers. This, I take 
 to be, ‘true religion;’ our Saviour’s, ‘well of water, 
 springing up into everlasting life;’ St. Paul’s, ‘ new 
 creature,’ and ‘ spiritual mind ;’ and St. John’s, 
 ‘fellowship with the Father, and with his Son, Jesus 
 Christ.’ 
 
 These points, therefore, I take to be the great 
 features of Christian preaching:.. 
 
 1. The danger and misery of an unrenewed, un¬ 
 regenerate state ; whether it be of the more gross, or 
 of the more decent kind. 
 
 <2. The absolute necessity of an inward change : a 
 moral transformation of mind and spirit. 
 
 3. The important and happy effects which take 
 place, when this change is really produced. 
 
 But, how little justice have I done the subject! 
 what a meagre outline have 1 given you! But, if it 
 sets you on thinking for yourself, and leads you, like 
 the Bereans, to search the Scriptures, ‘ whether these 
 things be so,’ it is the utmost I can look for. 
 
 I know not any place, in which, the view of prac¬ 
 tical Christianity I have been giving, is, either so 
 clearly, or so compendiously set forth, as, in that col¬ 
 lect of the afternoon service, ‘ O God, from whom 
 all holy desires, &c.’ It seems as if that prayer 
 were peculiarly fitted for those, who feel in them¬ 
 selves the marks of sincere repentance ; but whose 
 change, from the influence of the carnal mind, to 
 that of the spiritual mind, is not yet completed. It, 
 therefore, begins with a scriptural enumeration of the 
 
component parts, and effects, of true repentance ; and 
 an ascription of these to the God of grace, as their 
 only source. ‘ Holy desires,’ answer to St. Paul’s 
 ‘ opening of the eyes;’ ‘good counsels,’ or resolu¬ 
 tions, to the ‘ turning from darkness, unto light;’ and 
 ‘ just works,’ are the certain consequences, of being 
 brought ‘ from the power of Satan, unto God.’ St. 
 Paul was directed, to inculcate this [Aeravoict , in order 
 to the receiving of ‘ remission of sins, and an inherit¬ 
 ance among them that are sanctified’: and, on exactly 
 the same principle, this admirable collect directs the 
 penitent to ask from God, ‘ that peace, which the 
 world cannot give.’ This is what the true penitent 
 looks for; and it embraces, in the largest sense of 
 the word, both the blessings, which the Apostle 
 speaks of: ‘remission of sins,’ that is, well-grounded 
 peace in the conscience ; and ‘ an inheritance among 
 them that are sanctified,’ that is, the blessed peace of 
 a pure, holy, benevolent, pious mind ; living, by faith, 
 above the world; and having its conversation (its 
 7roXiT£V[xot f citizenship , Phil. iii. 20.) in heaven. 
 Both these, are contained in the nature of that ‘ peace 
 of God, which passeth all understanding ;’ and its 
 effects are beautifully expanded, in the words which 
 immediately follow: ‘ that, both our hearts may be 
 set to obey thy commandments, and also, that, by 
 thee, we, being defended from the fear of our 
 enemies, may pass our time in rest and quietness, 
 through the merits of Jesus Christ our Saviour.’ 
 This determinateness of heart,. . as, by a second 
 nature, more fixed, even, than the first, .. to keep 
 God’s commandments, and the consequent freedom 
 from all fear, external and internal, being the per¬ 
 fection of Christianity. And see, how scriptural all 
 this is : .. 6 The work of righteousness, shall be 
 
 c 4 
 
peace : and the effect of righteousness,’ (its less imme¬ 
 diate, but not less certain, consequence,) 4 quietness 
 and assurance for ever.’ Zacharias, in his hymn, 
 states it to be, the very matter, and substance of the 
 mercy promised to the fathers,. . 4 That we, being 
 delivered out of the hand of our enemies, might 
 serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness 
 before him, all the days of our life.’ And St. John 
 expressly says, * Perfect love casteth out fear; for 
 he that feareth, is not made perfect in love.’ Now, 
 only compare this collect, with my statement above, 
 and say, whether they do not suggest the identical 
 same view of Christianity. 
 
 Let me observe, however, that the change I speak 
 of, must, from variety of circumstances, vary in con¬ 
 spicuousness. Some, have pleased God from their 
 youth ; have never lost a sense of duty : in these, of 
 course, there cannot, in the nature of things, be that 
 deep compunction, which penitents feel, who have been 
 rescued from a lower depth. Nay, some even, are 
 gently, and gradually reclaimed, from a course of vice, 
 and folly; so that, their final safety, may be the re¬ 
 sult of an almost imperceptible advance, through many 
 years. But the change itself from the dominion of 
 the carnal mind, to that of the spiritual mind, must 
 be wrought : because, 4 If ye live after the flesh, ye 
 shall die; but, if ye, through the spirit, mortify the 
 deeds of the body, ye shall live.’ To insist, there¬ 
 fore, on the change itself: to lead men into their 
 own bosoms, to inquire, what most prevails with 
 them ; this world, or the next: to ascertain, what 
 spirit they are of; of the self-denying spirit of 
 Christ, or the self-indulging spirit of the world : to 
 ask, whether, like David, they love God’s law; or 
 whether their obedience is the result of servile fear ; 
 
25 
 
 to examine, whether they have any sense of ‘ God’s 
 inestimable love, in the redemption of the world, by 
 his Son or whether they are conscious, that they 
 would have been just as happy, if such a thing 
 never had taken place : to seek, finally, whether they 
 feel the need of the aid and consolations of God’s 
 
 0 
 
 Spirit; and, therefore, find prayer as necessary to 
 their mental comfort, as food is, to their bodily 
 strength : .. to urge such inquiries, I take to be 
 Christian preaching ; to insist on circumstances, . . 
 such as, a moment of conversion, known and remem¬ 
 bered ; certain depths of distress ; strongly marked, 
 instantaneous consolations, . . as if these had been 
 necessary , I humbly conceive to be enthusiasm. 
 
 I have now said enough, of the Jirst error in 
 preaching: that of making Christianity to consist, 
 rather in outward performances, than in an inward 
 change. 
 
 II. The second error, according to my apprehen¬ 
 sion, is, that preachers exhort men to do , without 
 impressing on them a sense of their natural inability, 
 to do any thing that is right; and their consequent 
 need of divine grace : first, to create them anew unto 
 good works; and, then, to strengthen them, by daily 
 and hourly assistance. 
 
 Our blessed Saviour begins his sermon on the 
 mount, by pronouncing, not certain actions, but 
 certain dispositions happy; to shew, that, right dis¬ 
 positions are the only source, whence right actions 
 can proceed. And, in order to the attainment of 
 those right tempers, he directs to earnest prayer, for 
 God’s holy Spirit; with this encouragement, . . « If 
 ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your 
 children, how much more, will your Father, who is 
 in heaven, give his holy Spirit, to them that ask him.’ 
 
26 
 
 But, the second error, is, in fact, the natural con¬ 
 sequence of the first. For, where an inward, spiritual 
 principle, is not insisted on, as primarily, and essen¬ 
 tially, requisite in religion, there, the whole system 
 must be vague, extrinsic, and superficial. 
 
 It is remarkable, but, I believe, it will be found a 
 fact, that the meditations of Marcus Antoninus con¬ 
 tain a much stricter plan of moral self-government, 
 than is set forth, by most modern Christian preachers. 
 He seems to have looked, much more to the state of 
 his mind and temper, than the generality of pulpit 
 instruction insists upon. And certainly, Cicero’s 
 beautiful picture of a virtuous man, (de Legib. lib. 1. 
 ad fin.) comes nearer the New Testament, than the 
 view taken, by the far greater number of existing 
 Christian moralists. But, can this be just, and right ? 
 If Christianity amounts to no more, than a heathen 
 moralist could, by philosophic discipline, attain to, 
 we may well ask, to what purpose did the Son of 
 God take our nature upon him ? Why did he suffer 
 death upon the cross ? 
 
 To some, I doubt not, this whole scheme would 
 appear enthusiastic, and be set down as rank metho- 
 dism. If so, I can only say, it is such methodism, 
 as was taught by the great divines of our church, 
 from the reformation, until the latter end of the 
 seventeenth century. Then, some of the most popular 
 divines, took up a mode of moral preaching, which 
 they seemed to have learned from Episcopius, and the 
 other Dutch remonstrants; and to which, Tillotson’s 
 over-disgust at his own puritanic education, very 
 much contributed. This mode became more and 
 more general; until, at length, little other was to be 
 met with. 
 
 And yet, were I to point out authors, whose works, 
 as most nearly agreeing with the views given above, 
 
2 ? 
 
 I am most disposed to recommend to you, as part of 
 your first studies, I should name some of that very pe¬ 
 riod, the latter end of the seventeenth century. Two 
 laymen of that time, may be set down, as, in their 
 lives, among the brightest examples of Christianity, 
 that ever the church afforded : I mean Judge Hale, 
 and Robert Boyle. The life of the former, by 
 Bishop Burnet, ought to be in every one’s hands. 
 But his * Contemplations on moral and religious sub¬ 
 jects’, is the work I particularly refer to : wonderfully 
 plain and simple ; but exquisitely Christian. There 
 is a work, also, of that time, which contains, perhaps, 
 the finest view of practical religion, the most removed, 
 from coldness, on the one hand, and over-heat, on the 
 other, that is to be found in the Christian world, . . 
 Scougal’s life of God, in the soul of man. The author 
 was a Scotch episcopal clergyman ; and died at a very 
 early age. This, every Christian ought to have, as a 
 sort of manual. 
 
 Another composition of that day, I would earnestly 
 recommend to your perusal; Bishop Burnet’s con¬ 
 clusion of his own life and times. It, also, contains, 
 in a small compass, as fine a view of practical 
 Christianity, as almost ever was composed. 
 
 Burnet, both in his Pastoral Care, and in his own 
 Life and Times, speaks much about, and bestows the 
 highest encomiums upon, Archbishop Leighton. He 
 was a pattern of Christian perfection. His writings 
 bear a close resemblance to early English divinity : 
 but, in sublime piety, and often in genuine strokes of 
 natural, but most exalted eloquence, they are not 
 excelled, but by the sacred writers. 
 
 Lucas’s inquiry after happiness, especially his 
 second volume, is, peculiarly, of that kind, which 
 avoids both coldness and enthusiasm. And to these, 
 I would add Dr. Worthington’s book on self-resignation. 
 
^8 
 
 Burnet’s life of Bishop Bedel ; his account of 
 Lord Rochester; and his funeral sermon for Mr. Boyle, 
 
 . . deserve, also, to be placed in the highest rank. I 
 wish much, that all Burnet’s lives, including the 
 sermon, were to be republished in Ireland ; except 
 his large one of Bishop Bedel, which is easily come 
 at, and peculiarly worth having. 
 
 Burnet’s most interesting anecdotes of Archbishop 
 Leighton, given in his own Life and Times, should, 
 also, be extracted, and introduced into such a volume. 
 
 Archbishop Leighton, however, on second thoughts, 
 I do not recommend to you, as just for your purpose 
 now: because I wish to mention those, only, who 
 completely occupy that middle place you speak of; 
 and on whom, of course, you may safely rely. But 
 Leighton had a leaning to Calvinism : which places 
 him in a different class. Hereafter, when your 
 theological knowledge is somewhat more advanced, 
 and you are able to exercise the eclectic faculty, he 
 ought to make a part of your library : for, a more 
 apostolic man never lived ; and his genius was not 
 only vivid, but sublime. In the far greater part of 
 his works, he really deserves to stand very near the 
 inspired writers. 
 
 But there are two authors, whom I would certainly 
 wish to occupy a place in your earliest course. One, 
 more ancient, whom, I fear, it may not be easy to 
 come at, in Ireland. The other, modern. 
 
 The ancient one lies, at this moment, before me : 
 it is entitled, e Select discourses by John Smith, late 
 fellow of queen’s college, Cambridge :’ a quarto, of 
 the smaller size, printed at Cambridge, in the year 
 1660. His editor was the Dr. Worthington, already 
 mentioned. Of this volume, all is learned, liberal, 
 ingenious, and eminently pious : but the latter part is 
 
29 
 
 the most interesting, 4 A discourse of legal and 
 evangelical righteousness, &c.’, and all those that 
 follow, to the end. The first short treatise in the 
 volume, however, on the true method of attaining 
 divine knowledge, ought, by no means, to be passed 
 over. 
 
 The other, the wise and excellent Doddridge, was 
 a man, who, though a dissenter from our church, 
 would have done any church the highest honour. 
 Pure conscience kept him from conforming ; his early 
 views having been formed on another plan: though, 
 there can be little doubt, that, in our establishment, 
 his transcendent merits would have raised him to the 
 highest dignities. He is not exactly of the description 
 of writers I have been mentioning : but he is, indeed 
 and in truth, a combination of all excellencies. 
 Scougal, Burnet, Lucas, and John Smith, excelled in 
 their views of the religion of the heart, as embracing 
 habitual devotion, internal purity, and active charity. 
 In these respects, they are, perhaps, the first writers 
 in the world. But the excesses of some of the 
 puritanical men of that age, led them to be much on 
 the reserve, as to some of the peculiar doctrines of 
 Christianity. On what concerns the Christian [xaroLvoia, 
 and its most precious fruits, they are unrivalled: 
 respecting the Christian 7 tkttis, its nature, and its ex¬ 
 ercise, they are perhaps somewhat deficient. Who is 
 perfect ? 
 
 Our Saviour says, ‘Ye believe in God; believe, also, 
 in Me.’ The former duty, they well understood, and 
 nobly inculcated, from well-experienced hearts: the 
 latter, they themselves professed and practised ; but 
 not with equal clearness. Here, the calvinistic puri¬ 
 tans have been somewhat wild ; and their wildness, 
 perhaps, occasioned over-caution, in these excellent 
 men. But Doddridge is as perfect here, as in every 
 
30 
 
 other respect. Instead of shunning puritanism, to 
 which extreme, some of his connections might rather 
 have given him an over-inclination, he extracts all its 
 excellencies, and leaves behind all its feculence. Never 
 was there a better-informed divine, a more judicious 
 casuist, or a more evangelic Christian. His theological 
 lectures, though in some measure deformed, by the 
 strange adoption of a mathematical form in demon¬ 
 strating his propositions, are a complete body, and most 
 candid treasury, both of theoretic, and practical in¬ 
 struction ; both of questionable opinions, and of un¬ 
 questionable truth. His Family Expositor, is, in most 
 parts, a perfectly sound, fair, pious, and rational in¬ 
 terpreter of the New Testament. And his sermons on 
 regeneration, are, of all practical works, that which, 
 perhaps, comes nearest what you mention as a de¬ 
 sideratum, . . the fulness of evangelical truth, without 
 the alloy of enthusiasm. His Rise and Progress of 
 Religion, has been unusually read, and approved. It 
 is a capital work, but, I think, it involves this defect, 
 that its plan almost necessarily leads to an insisting on 
 one mode of passing, from a thoughtless, to a religious 
 life; and, therefore, seems to lay stress on a certain 
 method, where both reason and religion would seem 
 to point out an infinite variety. From this, which, 
 however, he meant, as much as possible, to guard 
 against, his sermons on regeneration, (which, also, he 
 intended as a kind of elementary work on practical 
 religion,) are admirably free.* 
 
 * In later years, I have good reason for knowing, that, respecting the writings 
 of the excellent Doddridge, Mr. Knox’s views underwent some modification. 
 He would, especially, have guarded youthful readers, against, what he was 
 obliged to think, educational prejudices, on the subject of church-government: 
 and, of some circumstantial errors, even in his theology, he became duly sensible. 
 But, with few drawbacks, (as few, perhaps, as often fall to the lot of humanity,) 
 he continued, and most justly, to account Doddridge a burning and a shining 
 light; which, in days of more than ordinary coldness, Divine Providence 
 was pleased to enkindle, in order to impart both warmth, and illumination, to 
 
31 
 
 I have now, my good friend, nearly executed what 
 I intended : and have only to make a few observa¬ 
 tions, to prevent any possible misconception of the 
 plan I have dwelt upon. 
 
 If you do not, many would, think the view I have 
 given of religion, as implying an inward change, 
 and an habitual devotion, 1. too strict: 2. somewhat 
 fanatical. 
 
 1 . As to the first objection, I would desire any 
 candid person, seriously to consider our Lord’s view 
 of religion, in the parable of the sower; and ask his 
 own reason, whether, in the distinction made, between 
 the thorny-ground, and the good-ground hearers, 
 there is not an awful indication of the strictness of 
 his religion. I would recommend to attention, 
 also, the truths suggested in the parable of the man 
 who came into the marriage feast, not having on a 
 wedding garment. But, above all, the parable of the 
 ten virgins : this, to my apprehension, is the most 
 awful of all our Lord’s discourses. Where, it may be 
 asked, lay the difference between those individuals? 
 It was not external: they were all called virgins; 
 they all appeared in equal readiness ; they had all had 
 their lamps burning; which must mean, that they all 
 maintained an equally promising character, as far as 
 human eyes could go. The difference, then, is 
 internal: the foolish, had oil in their lamps, for the 
 present; but no supply, no reservoir, in their vessels. 
 Can this mean any thing short, of what I have been 
 stating above \ that Christianity implies, (I use the 
 words of Scougal,) ‘ a real participation of the divine 
 nature; the very image of Christ, drawn upon the 
 soul; or, as it is in the Apostle’s phrase, Christ 
 
 FORMED WITHIN US’? 
 
 the professing Christian world. — Bp. Jebb’s Introduction to Burnet's Lives, 
 editions 1832-1833, note. 
 
I 
 
 32 
 
 2 . As to the second objection, that this view is 
 somewhat fanatical,.. I would answer, that the divines 
 above mentioned are deservedly esteemed among the 
 wisest, and most rational, in our church. And, so far 
 as I can understand them, it is precisely their view. 
 But, there is another divine, whom I have not yet 
 named, and to whom I may safely appeal; the 
 judicious Hooker. Turn to the tracts, at the end of 
 his Ecclesiastical Polity, and read the thirteenth and 
 fourteenth sections of the first of the two sermons, on 
 part of St. Jude’s epistle ; compare what he there says, 
 with my statements, and see, whether he does not, in 
 using language bolder, and more unqualified, go 
 beyond my view of the question. And yet, no one 
 ever charged Hooker with being an enthusiast, or 
 fanatic. The truth is, that what he there delivered, 
 was no more, than what was daily taught in the 
 churches: only, Hooker expresses himself in stronger 
 terms, and with more fiery eloquence. 
 
 I hope you will excuse the incoherencies, and 
 indigested manner, of the above. Your question 
 appeared to me a weighty one: and I wished to 
 answer it as well as I could. But I could not do it, 
 as I wished. Besides, I have been obliged to do it 
 by snatches, when bad health, and bad spirits, per¬ 
 mitted me. 
 
 It is now, full time to have done : you will consider 
 this poor attempt, as, at least, a small mark of the real 
 regard, with which I am, 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 Your affectionate, 
 
 And faithful friend, 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 Feb. 13. 1801. 
 
 The Rev. John Jebb, 
 
 Swanlinbar, Ballyconnel, Ireland. 
 
LETTER V. 
 
 To A. Knox , Esq. 
 
 Swanlinbar, May 13. 180L 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 1 have frequently read your letter on Christian 
 preaching; and each reading has, more decidedly 
 than the preceding one, convinced me, that your 
 ideas on the subject are perfectly scriptural. If any 
 were to deem your scheme enthusiastic, I should be 
 inclined to think them cold; and I should be happy 
 in preaching, all my life, such methodism, as you have 
 furnished me with a specimen of. The books, for 
 which I am indebted to your kindness and re com 
 mendation, have not yet reached the country. When 
 they arrive, I shall lose no time in having recourse to 
 them. They are such, from the description you have 
 given of them, as cannot fail to be highly useful; but 
 I must fear my power of turning them to good account; 
 however, I shall make some efforts, not relying on my 
 own strength ; and I will leave the event in his hands, 
 who, alone, is able to order things for the good of 
 his creatures. 
 
 By the kindness with which you have answered my 
 former question, you have subjected yourself to the 
 trouble of receiving similar applications from me. 
 You have had some experience of applicants, in your 
 official capacity ; and, I dare say, that experience 
 proved to you, that success, on one occasion, seldom 
 prevents people from being solicitous a second, and a 
 third time. Such is the case with me. I am em¬ 
 boldened by your goodness, to trespass on it still 
 further. 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 I hear, that you read to the Clerical Society, a 
 paper on 4 The Treatment of Roman Catholics .’ I 
 should be more than commonly gratified, if you would 
 favour me with a copy of it. However, I beg, if it 
 be in the least degree troublesome to you, that you 
 will not think of sending it. I should be truly sorry 
 to derive advantage, from any thing irksome, or in¬ 
 convenient to you. 
 
 I have commenced a plan of giving service, in the 
 evening of Sunday ; which concludes with a kind of 
 expository lecture, on a portion of the New Testa¬ 
 ment. I began with St. Matthew’s Gospel; and 
 purpose to go regularly through it. The attendance 
 of the parishioners is very respectable; never less 
 than 50 to 60. From never having heard a lecture of 
 the kind, I am sometimes at a loss to know, whether 
 I have adopted the proper plan. If any ideas on the 
 subject of lecturing occur to you, I would thankfully 
 receive them ; and endeavour, by following them up, 
 to improve myself and the parish. 
 
 On the treatment of Methodists, you gave me some 
 useful advice in Dublin. They form so considerable 
 a portion of my flock, that I wish to direct much of 
 my attention to them. I have some pleasure in 
 imagining, that most of them are inclined to attend 
 to me, and have rather a favourable opinion of me. 
 One preacher, indeed, I have been well informed, en¬ 
 deavoured to infuse suspicions of me. Of this I shall, 
 you may be certain, take no notice. Other of their 
 preachers, I have been informed, recommend attention 
 to what I preach, &c. &c. I wish, indeed, that their 
 meetings did not interfere with the hours of divine 
 service; which they sometimes do. On the means 
 of effecting a change in their time of meeting, and on 
 any other particulars respecting them, a few hints 
 
35 
 
 from you would be extremely serviceable to me. 
 You well know the principles and feeling of the sect; 
 and could, no doubt, point out the gentlest, and the 
 most effectual mode of dealing with them. 
 
 I have written this day to Stopford, and requested 
 that he, or other members of the Clerical Society, 
 would turn their minds towards investigating the best 
 mode of instructing Protestants, who cannot read, 
 and are completely ignorant of the principles of 
 Christianity. He will tell you the occasion of this 
 request. Probably, your friend Mr. Alcock, from his 
 great experience, acquired by long visiting his pa¬ 
 rishioners, could draw up most useful ‘ Hints for re¬ 
 ligious conversation with the uninstructed poor.’ 
 
 You have, I suppose, seen Magee’s book, on Atone¬ 
 ment and Sacrifice. It evinces astonishing research ; 
 and appears to me full of most excellent argument. 
 
 I heard of the purpose to which you applied Orton’s 
 letters. There could not be a better one. I am 
 much obliged by your sending over for another set. 
 
 I trust this fine weather has been beneficial to your 
 health. In the country, every thing promises well. 
 Thank God, every thing here is plentiful ; and there 
 is a geater prospect of an increase of harvest, than 
 has been recollected for many years. Providence 
 orders all things wisely: the scarcity of two years, 
 has been the means of creating a foresight, and in¬ 
 dustry, and economy, hitherto unknown; probably, 
 these may ripen into a habit. 
 
 I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 D c l 
 
LETTER VI. 
 
 To A. Knox , Esq. 
 
 Kilmore House, Nov. 26. 1801. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 The Bishop of Kilmore tells me, that he has in¬ 
 formed you of the option he has given me, of remain¬ 
 ing at Swanlinbar, or removing to Cashel. He spoke 
 to me this day of his intentions, in that open, kind, 
 and delicate manner, which might be expected from 
 such a man. You, most probably, know, better than 
 I can know, what might be expected, from his re¬ 
 commending me in the strongest manner to Bishop 
 
 -; but, I confess, that, from various reasons, 
 
 and, not least among them, from a wish to be under 
 the good man, from whom, during more than two 
 years, I have experienced nothing but kindness, I 
 should prefer removing to Cashel. 
 
 By your advice and opinion, in conjunction with 
 that of my brother, I shall be decided. This only I 
 would say, that, if an introduction to any Bishop I 
 know, were to place me immediately in a comfortable 
 living, on condition of my giving up all prospect of 
 getting into the Bishop of Kilmore’s (Brodrick’s) 
 diocese, at some future period, I should feel a very 
 strong inclination to refuse it. 
 
 I have just written to my brother, and desired him 
 to call on you. I am sure that you, who had the 
 goodness to establish me in my profession, will grant 
 me the additional favour of your advice, in this case. 
 
 I should long since have written to you, on other 
 matters, had I not feared that my letters might be 
 troublesome. If I could be certain that the fact 
 
cyr^f 
 
 were not so, I should sometimes do myself the real 
 pleasure of writing to you ; and be amply satisfied by 
 hearing from you only when perfectly convenient, 
 should it be but once a year. 
 
 I am, my dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged, and most faithful servant, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 3. 
 
 Feb. 2. 1802. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I should sooner have acknowledged your very ac¬ 
 ceptable letter, if X had not been, both particularly 
 engaged in, and indisposed for, writing. Both the 
 same obstacles, too much continue; but I cannot 
 longer defer saying something to you. 
 
 I yesterday dined with our archbishop. I mentioned 
 to his Grace your having asked my opinion about 
 your course of lectures; and he expressed his wish, 
 that you should particularly apply yourself, to the 
 preparing youth for confirmation: and gave, I 
 thought, as a reason, his purpose of setting you on 
 that employment, when you should go to Cashel. I 
 answered, that both were very compatible ; that I did 
 not question the importance of what he mentioned, 
 but that I consider the lectures, also, as of peculiar 
 moment; and, therefore, could not help hoping you 
 would persevere in your design. He seemed not 
 disposed to differ from me : though I am not sure, that 
 he has yet before his mind, all the motives, for culti¬ 
 vating that particular mode of instruction. 1 think, 
 that, if he saw it in the light, in which, if I live, X will 
 endeavour to place it to him, he will be more decidedly 
 attached to it. And the epitome of these reasons is 
 VOL. i. * d 3 
 
38 
 
 simply this, . . that this, alone, is preaching the word 
 of God . This is bringing the Scriptures forward, 
 into the light of day; while the common mode of 
 preaching, is but a statement of human sentiments. 
 
 I soberly think, that, in the Scriptures themselves, 
 there is a clearness, a directness, an energy, a conge¬ 
 niality, with all that is honest, good, and wise, in 
 the human heart 5 which places them infinitely above 
 every thing else in the world. But these qualities do 
 not show themselves, to the superficial reader, or 
 hearer. They are too genuine, to be ostentatious. 
 They are, also, perhaps, so disposed, as to require 
 that attention to discover them, which tends to fit 
 the mind for valuing them when found. The trea¬ 
 sure was hid in a field; but in fact, ‘ Pater ipse haud 
 facilem esse viam voluit,’ applies almost to every 
 thing promotive of human improvement: which say¬ 
 ing of Virgil’s, is astonishingly correspondent with 
 that in Genesis, ‘ In the sweat of thy face, shalt thou 
 eat bread.’ In order, therefore, to bring the energies 
 of the Scriptures into action, there must be labour of 
 some ; there must be study. But the inability of the 
 people, in general, to do this for themselves, is the 
 very foundation of the clerical office. How, then, 
 can this office be so well fulfilled, as in developing 
 these concealed excellencies? How can the time, 
 allotted for public instruction, be so happily employed, 
 as in opening the very words, and expressions, of 
 Moses and the Prophets, of Christ and his Apostles ? 
 If they are to be effected at all, what so fit for the 
 purpose, as that which was performed, for this very 
 end, by the very wisdom of God ? ‘ The word of 
 
 God is quick and powerful,’ we are told, ‘ and 
 sharper than a two-edged sword.’ But, I think, 
 modern practice effectually prevents this being either 
 
39 
 
 known, or felt. For, in my mind, mere reading the 
 Scriptures, without opening them, is but wielding the 
 sword, with the scabbard on: and preaching, in the 
 usual way, is brandishing a weapon, of human manu¬ 
 facture, (which has neither power nor sharpness,) in 
 its room. But, to explain the Scriptures themselves ; 
 to lead them, from clause to clause, and from verse to 
 verse ; to shew the wise adaptation, of the observation, 
 to the occasion; to explain the connection, and, by 
 that means, exhibit the innate wisdom, of the sacred 
 text; to shew the knowledge of the human heart, 
 which it implies ; the accordance with human conduct, 
 and the matchless conduciveness to real happiness, 
 personal and social, which it displays; and, under 
 such a display, to put it to them, ‘ Is not this infinite 
 truth ? Is not this the way to happiness ? Do not 
 your hearts give their testimony to this,.. c that he that 
 doeth these things, shall never fall ? 5 consequently, 
 this is the word of God, which if you go on to despise, 
 let your own hearts tell what must be your feelings, 
 when you come to the verge of eternity ! ’ — It is only 
 after laying open the Scriptures themselves, that any 
 modest man could speak thus, and yet, to speak thus, 
 is the only way to rouse the benumbed consciences of 
 men. 
 
 In another letter, I hope to give you my thoughts, 
 on the matter of your lectures ; which, at present, I 
 conceive should be, alternately, from the historical 
 parts of the Old Testament, beginning with the lives 
 and characters of the Patriarchs; and from the 
 Gospel, and Epistles. 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 j) 4 
 
40 
 
 LETTER 4. 
 
 Dawson-street, April 3. 1802. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I ought long since to have written to you; but various 
 causes have concurred, to make me a defaulter. I 
 was obliged to you for your little memoir.* My only 
 fault with which was, that it was too well — that is, 
 too elaborately written. The matter, as far as I can 
 pretend to judge, was, in point of local information, 
 interesting; and the arrangement, and expression, 
 clear; but I could have wished to have seen no 
 attempt at good writing; nor any rise, above col¬ 
 loquial ease. Perhaps, you were not aware, that 
 there was such an attempt. I, therefore, take the 
 liberty of mentioning that it struck me ; as I cannot 
 but think the occurrence of this, now and then, your 
 single fault. I may, perhaps, some other time, go 
 more into the particulars of your pleasant statistic 
 sketch. But, at present, I have a more important 
 subject to talk to you on. 
 
 Mr.-shewed me your prospectus for an asso¬ 
 
 ciation sermon ; which, in substance, I much like. 
 But, let me advise you, sit down, in the very first 
 instance, to Lowth ; and read at the average of two 
 lectures a day. No one can do full justice to the 
 sacred volume, until he has read that exquisite work. 
 I do not mean to say, that you would find materials 
 in it. I rather think not: at least, to any great 
 amount. But you would, on perusing it, see the 
 Scriptures of the Old Testament, in so new, and so 
 elevated a point of view, that you would be able to 
 
 * A statistical account of the parish of Swanlinbar. — Ed. 
 
41 
 
 speak of them, with a spirit and animation, which 
 nothing short of the rich light he throws on them, 
 could, I think, raise in the mind.* I am, myself 
 going through them slowly. And a more beautiful 
 work, or more useful aid for understanding holy 
 Scripture, never, I conceive, in any other instance, 
 came from a human pen. In fact, I never met 
 any thing more interesting, or more truly entertain¬ 
 ing ; nor can I believe, that it was, wholly, sine 
 numine . If you have not yet begun it, let this be a 
 stimulus : if you have begun it, you could, I am 
 sure, say more yourself. 
 
 Any^ assistance I could help you to, you may fairly 
 command. And that I may be able to help you, I 
 should be glad to have your syllabus, as soon as you 
 form it. What hints I offer you, will be yours to re¬ 
 ject, as freely as to use. But, having thought a little 
 on the subject, and wishing you to make the most, 
 that can be made of it, in a single sermon, I feel an 
 inclination to contribute towards your stock of 
 materials. 
 
 It is my conjecture, that the idea usually enter¬ 
 tained, of the holy Scripture being (dsoTTvava-Tog (in, 
 perhaps, a different sense from what the Apostle 
 meant), has kept very many back, from exercising 
 their judgments, on its structure and composition. 
 It has been so regarded, as authoritative, as, possibly, 
 to have lost some of the esteem it deserved, as a scheme 
 of sublime philosophy. It has been usual, to view 
 the holy Scripture, as a divine code of laws ; but this, 
 I conceive, is but a small part of its design. It, cer- 
 
 * The fruits of this recommendation were seen, 18 years after the date of this 
 letter, in Bishop Jebb’s ‘ Sacred Literaturein which Bishop Lowth’s prin¬ 
 ciple, advanced on and matured, has been successfully applied to the New 
 Testament. — Ed. 
 
42 
 
 tainly, does give directions for conduct, both by ex¬ 
 ample, and precept; but it seems to me, to aim, 
 primarily, at making provision, a priori, for right 
 conduct, by fixing in the human heart, right principles 
 of action. It is not satisfied with enlightening the 
 understanding, and depending upon that for wise 
 acting : which is the strict province of a code of 
 laws. But, on the far nobler plan, it directs its 
 energies to the centre of all action, the heart; and, 
 when fully operative there, makes virtue and good¬ 
 ness, matters of course. The scripture philosophy 
 is, that there are no right actions, where there are no 
 right tempers. 4 If I give my body to be burned, 
 and all my goods to feed the poor, and have not love, 
 it profiteth me nothing.’ Again, that, where there 
 are right tempers, there must be right actions. ‘ Love 
 worketh no evil to his neighbour, therefore, love is 
 the fulfilling of the law,’ and, ‘ if there be any other 
 commandment, it is briefly comprehended in this say¬ 
 ing, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’ But 
 it teacheth, farther, that all right tempers are resolv¬ 
 able into a farther principle, which it denominates 
 faith, that is, an impressive, heart-felt sense of God, 
 and of our relation to him, as revealed in the Scripture. 
 
 ‘ This is life eternal, to know thee, the only true God, 
 and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.’ ‘ Neither 
 circumcision availeth any thing, nor uncircumcision, 
 but faith which worketh by love.’ That is, — true 
 faith immediately produces love; and, by means of that 
 divine-temper, becomes operative in every thing true 
 and honest, just and pure, lovely and of good report. 
 
 This, briefly, I take to be the heart and soul of the 
 Scripture. True, it certainly appears, apart from its 
 divinity, as the most noble and beautiful scheme of 
 philosophy, that ever was thought of: indeed, not apart 
 
43 
 
 from its divinity ; as none, I am assured, but the 
 Fountain of wisdom and goodness, could have con¬ 
 ceived so divine a system. I must now break off, for 
 the present, fearing I shall be too late for the post. 
 
 Most sincerely yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 To A. Knox , Esq . 
 
 Swanlinbar, April 7. 1802. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I had been, for some time, accusing myself, of not 
 thanking you for your excellent advice, respecting 
 the popish perversion; and, still more, for your most 
 improving observations on lecturing ; when I found 
 my debt considerably increased, by your last, most 
 acceptable letter. Your reasons for lecturing are so 
 solid and convincing, that, had I entertained any 
 idea of relinquishing the plan, they could not but 
 have removed it. I hope to plan a little course, ere 
 long; and, indeed, nothing would prevent me from 
 chalking it out immediately, but the expectation of 
 your promised thoughts, on the matter which it would 
 be best to employ. I have sent to town for Henry’s 
 Commentary; from which I expect much materials. 
 And now, my dear Sir, let me return you my 
 warmest thanks, for your candid and friendly men¬ 
 tion of a fault, which I am conscious ofi in my style 
 of writing. I think that you have touched me only 
 too gently ; and you will greatly add to the many 
 obligations you have conferred on me, by probing 
 
44 
 
 me to the quick on this, or any other point. One 
 of the greatest blessings which can be derived, from 
 a communication with real friends, is the exposure of 
 our errors. And I trust that, if vou, now and then, 
 take the trouble of bestowing a little correction on me, 
 it will not be thrown aw r ay. I am sure, in the present 
 case, you are perfectly right. My pen too often runs 
 into a kind of measured period. I shall endeavour to 
 correct the fault, and to write with more simplicity 
 for the future. 
 
 Need I say, that I am truly grateful for your kind 
 offer of assistance, in the business of an association 
 sermon ? I think not. I am sure that it will be 
 more agreeable to you, that I should restrain myself 
 from speaking what I feel, respecting both the kind¬ 
 ness, and value, of the proposal. I shall, indeed, most 
 thankfully send you my syllabus, when it is formed : 
 but I am in doubts how far I can go beyond the little 
 sketch you saw, till I have made some progress in 
 collecting materials. Besides, though, at the instance 
 of my friend Magee # , I undertook to think of the 
 matter, I do not believe it has been mentioned to the 
 Association ; and I cannot help thinking they may, 
 very probably, not listen to the proposal of employing 
 a person so young, inexperienced, and unknown, as 
 I am. 
 
 I should, long since, have made a great advance in 
 Lowth, had it not been for the negligence and delay 
 of carmen. ] did not receive it till about jive days 
 since ; and had just entered on it, when I received 
 your stimulus. Even the small progress I have now 
 made, fully justifies me in calling it a wonderful book. 
 
 The entrance to the temple is beautiful and glorious \ 
 
 \ 
 
 * Afterwards Archbishop of Dublin. — Ed. 
 
4 5 
 
 what shall I say, when I atn admitted into the Sanc¬ 
 tuary ? 
 
 # # # # # 
 
 -V, 44. JA, 
 
 ■Jr TT TT 1? 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged and sincere friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 5. 
 
 April 13. 1802. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I certainly know no fault in your compositions, but 
 the single one I have mentioned. And I was the more 
 disposed to mention that, because I conceive you 
 may easily get rid of it. Dr. O’Connor and I are the 
 only present members of the Preacher Committee ; 
 
 -, the third member, having gone to England. 
 
 We, of course, could soon settle the matter, were it 
 not that the Bishop of Killaloe has been somehow or 
 other spoken of. My opinion, however, is, that he 
 will not choose to undertake it, as speaking in public 
 is troublesome to him; and, as I conceive, he will 
 not choose to move in so very trodden a path. The 
 Bishop is a first-rate preacher, for sense and language. 
 Too flowery, a little, perhaps; but very able. So 
 that I promise, since it has been spoken of, the offer 
 will be made to him : though, as I said, I think he will 
 not undertake it. I hope to mention to you whatever 
 may occur. 
 
 My notion of the best mode of lecturing would be, 
 to begin with Genesis and the Gospels, alternately ; 
 not going regularly through either, but selecting 
 
46 
 
 portions in order. The flood, perhaps, would furnish 
 matter for one ; and, perhaps, the subsidence of the 
 water, and the going out of the ark, and the sacrifice 
 of Noah, another. The life of Abraham *, would 
 afford several: in particular, the sacrifice of Isaac. I 
 do not know whether Isaac’s life, after this event, 
 would furnish any thing: but Jacob’s history would 
 give two or three; beginning with the vision of the 
 ladder. The Gospels might be lectured on, select¬ 
 ively, or continuously, as you found it expedient: 
 perhaps, however, the former mode would, in the 
 first instance, be better, as leaving more liberty. To 
 begin, as if continuously, would bind one, in some 
 respects, to go on. 
 
 In your lectures in Genesis, Hale might help. 
 But I would recommend one great object: to impress 
 awful and interesting views of God’s attributes ; the 
 reality of his providence in the world ; his care of 
 those who serve him; and the happiness of those 
 who do so. The circumstance of their being stran¬ 
 gers and pilgrims, wherever it is referred to, has in it 
 something peculiarly capable of improvement. The 
 design in this, most probably, was, to keep their 
 families insulated, until they had acquired a set of 
 habits of their own; peculiar to themselves, as wor¬ 
 shippers of the one true God. And, in this view, 
 Egypt was a most proper country for them to sojourn 
 in ; as the repulsive habits of the Egyptians, were a 
 full security against any vicious contagion. One 
 grand use of the patriarchal history is, to shew, that 
 true religion requires total resignation of one’s self, 
 to the will and guidance of God. This, as operating 
 in the heart, was that faith, which was imputed to 
 
 * A sermon, on this important subject, was composed, long after, by Bishop 
 Jebb; and has appeared in c Practical Theology,’ published in 1830. — Ed. 
 
47 
 
 them for righteousness. They were at God’s dis¬ 
 posal ; ever ready to go, at his call, from country to 
 country. This was, in its principle, true religion ; 
 and, therefore, they are held forth as examples to us, 
 who, like them, are called, also, 4 to be pilgrims and 
 strangers upon earth.’ Yet, who, then on earth, 
 were so happy as those pilgrims ? They wandered 
 from one kingdom to another, from one nation to 
 another people. But they were still in God’s empire ; 
 and he shewed they were : for, 4 he suffered no man 
 to do them wrong; but reproved even kings for 
 their sake.’ How infinitely, then, was their lot pre¬ 
 ferable, to the kings, in whose lands they sojourned? 
 In this, also, they are patterns and encouragements. 
 God calls all men, to leave the country, they have 
 hitherto, in general, lived in : for who has not, more 
 or less, like the prodigal, gone into 4 a far country?’ 
 Nay, we are born in sin ; and, too generally, continue 
 in it. This country, then, we are to leave ; and 
 follow God’s will, in righteousness, and true holiness ; 
 though to do so, may imply, sometimes, a 'pilgrimage, 
 in respect to present gratifications, and the favourite 
 objects of the world. Yet, is it not worth while to 
 submit to the inconveniences of the Patriarchs, in 
 order to share with them in their blessings ? The city 
 they sought, that which 4 hath foundations,’ is destined 
 for all, who imitate their obedient, self-denying faith. 
 And, even here, there is substantially, though less visi¬ 
 bly, the same protection ; for, says Saint Peter, c Who 
 will harm you, if ye be followers of that which is 
 good?’ The hebraisms, which are used in the Old 
 
 <D 
 
 Testament to describe religion, are peculiarly sus¬ 
 ceptible of useful interprement. For instance, 4 Noah 
 was perfect in his generation, and walked with God 
 Again, 4 Walk before me, and be thou perfect.’ Every 
 
48 
 
 thing of this kind ought to be laid hold of; it being 
 always the great point, to impress the happiness of a 
 life of true religion, and the misery of the reverse. 
 
 Whether I have now said any thing very worthy 
 your attention, I do not know. But, as I was in 
 your debt for some remarks, I have wished, at least, 
 to shew you my good will. The Gospels may, per¬ 
 haps, be attended to a little, at some other time. 
 You have, perhaps, observed, that the Bishop of 
 London’s lectures are at press. 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER VIIL 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 Swanlinbar, July 26 . 1802 . 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I have just formed a kind of syllabus of my As¬ 
 sociation Sermon; and am now about to avail myself 
 of your friendly permission to send it to you, trusting 
 that you will have the goodness to point out its de¬ 
 fects ; and, according to your kind promise, will 
 furnish me with some hints and materials, towards 
 tilling it up. I am doubtful about many things, 
 especially the text; and, therefore, shall not proceed 
 in the business, till I hear from you. 
 
 Text — Isaiah, LXII. 10. 
 
 I, 1. Text opened—refers to the ultimate restoration 
 of the Jews—admits of application to the calling 
 of any people, to the knowledge and practice of 
 true spiritual religion—This the object of As- 
 
49 
 
 sociation, who have 4 gone through the gates 9 . 
 
 4 cast up the highway 5 . . 4 gathered out the 
 stones 9 . . actively engaged in removing obstruc¬ 
 tions, and making necessary preparations, for the 
 establishment of righteousness in our land . . 
 Shown how instrumental to these great objects, 
 have been the talents and exertions of former 
 preachers. . aim of my humble efforts, to assist 
 in 4 lifting up a Standard for the people 9 . .: the 
 Standard of holy Scripture. . which, like a 
 military banner, shall not only serve to collect 
 together a people zealous of good works, but to 
 inspire them with courage and resolution, in their 
 holy warfare. 
 
 2. Standard to be lifted up amongst higher orders 
 . . lament their general neglect of sacred volume 
 . . this, in a great measure attributable to, 
 
 3, Undue prejudices against its style; 
 
 2, inadequate conceptions of its object: 
 
 These obviated by, 
 
 1, An attempt to vindicate the sublimity 
 and beauty of Scripture, corroborated 
 by, 
 
 1, A view of the noble spirit in¬ 
 fused into the writings of our 
 
 • earliest English authors, by an in¬ 
 
 timate acquaintance with holy 
 writ. 
 
 2, Testimonies of men eminent for 
 learning, accomplishments, and 
 taste . . Lord Bacon . . Robert 
 Boyle . . Sir Wm, Jones . . 
 
 2, A statement of the real object of Scrip¬ 
 ture . . not merely a code of laws, 
 directed to the understanding, but a 
 
 E 
 
 VOL, i. 
 
50 
 
 scheme of sublime philosophy, on a far 
 nobler plan, addressing itself to the 
 heart. 
 
 This supported by. 
 
 Its effects on men in the active and 
 elevated stations of life, when 
 operative rather as a vital prin¬ 
 ciple, than an external rule. 
 
 3. Association, urged to provide for the inculcating 
 these and similar ideas of Scripture, by much 
 abler persons than myself, through the medium 
 of a public lecture in the Metropolis. .A measure 
 once in their contemplation. 
 
 This plan vindicated from the imputation of 
 being chimerical and inefficient, by the suc¬ 
 cess of the Bishop of London’s lectures; 
 attended, during four years, in the most 
 fashionable church of our sister metropolis, 
 by an assemblage noless remarkable for strict 
 order, and apparent piety, than for magni¬ 
 tude and rank. . Brief view of the Bishop’s 
 lectures.. and statement of the happy effects 
 which might be produced on the minds of 
 our higher ranks, by similar lectures, here. 
 
 II. All that has been said, is connected with the 
 Association’s great object, a dissemination of the 
 Scriptures amongst the poor. 
 
 1. The rich, the conduits, through which, the 
 Scriptures must flow to the lower orders :.. it is 
 not by cold calculations of political expediency, 
 that they can be induced to enter, with zeal, into 
 this labour of love . . but inspire them with 
 love and veneration for the sacred volume, and 
 the most happy effects will be conspicuous ; 
 
 1. In themselves . . zeal, warm and affec- 
 
51 
 
 / 
 
 tionate, proceeding from a divine principle 
 of charity. 
 
 2. In the people. . receiving the Bible from 
 the hands of their superiors, without sus¬ 
 picion of any sinister view. . love . . grati¬ 
 tude, &c... people shrewd . . know the dif¬ 
 ference, between those, who would ‘ hold 
 them in with hit and bridle , like brute beasts 
 that have no understanding * and those, who 
 would ‘ draw them with the cords of a man , 
 with the bands of love, 9 
 
 2. Necessity of such exertions .. view of wretched 
 ignorance of lower classes, respecting the great 
 truths of Religion, and consequent effects. . 
 Much has been done, it is true. . number of 
 Bibles and Testaments distributed . . approba¬ 
 tion of mode . . statement, from experience of 
 effects. . donation from Society for promoting 
 Christian Knowledge in London . . but much re¬ 
 mains to be done . . Association urged to proceed 
 . . to impress on the gentry, by every possible 
 means, the necessity and advantages of their in¬ 
 terference . . Members called upon, not to rest 
 satisfied with the public and general applications 
 of the body at large, but to apply, privately and 
 earnestly, to their individual friends. 
 
 3. Conclusion. Delightful effects on country at 
 large . . high and low, rich and poor. . view of 
 a country, where the Scriptures rule the life, and 
 regulate the heart . . preparing the way, for 
 glorious time (alluded to in the text) when 
 Christ’s kingdom of universal piety, shall be 
 established on earth . . for still more glorious 
 consummation of all things in heaven. 
 
 e °Z 
 
52 
 
 This, my dear Sir, is the sketch, which I un¬ 
 reservedly submit to your castigation : to your tried 
 friendship, I look for unqualified censure, where- 
 ever you think it due. You will perceive, that the 
 best feature in this little prospectus, is borrowed from 
 one of your letters. I need not tell you, that I mean 
 the moral view of Scripture, as a scheme of sublime 
 philosophy. On that subject, a few hints will be 
 most truly acceptable. I commissioned a friend to 
 get for me the Bishop of London’s lectures ; but have 
 heard nothing from him. I am extremely anxious to 
 get them; and I should be very much obliged to you, 
 if they are at Archer’s, to procure them, and get 
 
 them freed by Mr.--—; or, if they are not, to 
 
 get them, through the Post Office, from London, and 
 send them to me. I shall thankfully repay you, when 
 we meet; and should not think of giving you this 
 trouble, but that I think it essential to my scheme, 
 that I should very soon read them. 
 
 I have been lecturing through Genesis: not so 
 much to my own satisfaction, as I could wish ; but 
 endeavouring, haud passibus cequis , to follow up your 
 views. 
 
 I am, also, preparing young people for confirm¬ 
 ation : so that, with this sermon, which not a little 
 alarms me, I have much business on hands. My 
 head aches, with much writing to-day; I must, 
 therefore, conclude with assuring you, that I am, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your much obliged, and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
53 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 To A. Knox , Esq . 
 
 August 16. 1802. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I have been prevented from answering any of your 
 kind letters, by an apprehension, that I could not 
 reach you before your sailing for England ; and I now 
 venture a few lines, at hazard. 
 
 I thank you much, for your observations on the 
 text; and have been anxiously waiting for something 
 more. I suspend doing any thing, till I hear from 
 you more fully. 
 
 At present, I confess myself not entirely inclined 
 to acquiesce, in the text you recommend: it strikes 
 me as an excellent one, for a sermon addressed to 
 parents, on giving their children an early knowledge 
 of, and taste for the Scriptures. But, if you look at 
 the little sketch I sent, I think you will see, that the 
 object I propose to myself, is not so much a panegyric 
 on Scripture, as an incitement to the Association, to 
 pursue the dissemination of the Bible; as being the 
 best mode of promoting religion. I am, however, 
 fully open to conviction ; and doubt not, that you 
 have good reasons to object to the text from Isaiah; 
 though, at present, I still think, it touches the sub¬ 
 ject, without any strained construction. 
 
 I trust that you will not give me up as incorrigible, 
 for not immediately seeing the text from St. Timothy, 
 in the light you do. lam really not without a great 
 deal of diffidence, in even appearing to put my opinion 
 in competition with yours; but I hope your next 
 
 e 3 
 
5i< 
 
 letter will put an end to all doubt and difficulty. I 
 am obliged to conclude myself) in much haste, 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Your much obliged, and affectionate 
 
 friend and servant, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER X. 
 To A. Knooc y Esq . 
 
 Swanlinbar, Sept. 15. 1802. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 It is now more than a month, since I received your 
 last letter of the 7th August; in which you were kind 
 enough to promise me a full letter, by the next post. 
 I make no doubt this letter has been lost, through 
 some mistake of the Post Office; and, from the dis¬ 
 appointment, I am constrained to begin the sermon, 
 on the plan I submitted to you; as the time ap¬ 
 proaches too near, for any further delay. However, 
 though I know not where you now are, or how en¬ 
 gaged, I entertain some hopes, that this may soon 
 reach you, and that you will have the goodness to 
 send me a few hints. I need not say, how highly 
 useful I would esteem them : and they are the more 
 wanting, as, from a confinement of some days, by a 
 heavy cold, which is not yet removed, I find myself 
 much unfitted for exertion. I fear much I shall do 
 myself, and my friends, some discredit in this business. 
 But, though I enter on it with much distrust in my¬ 
 self) I still have hopes, from the assistance of that 
 
55 
 
 good Providence, which has been uniformly kind to 
 me. 
 
 I have met with, and read some of the Bishop of 
 London’s lectures. I am sorry they were published. 
 They certainly made great impression, at the time of 
 their delivery; but, in the closet, they appear to such 
 disadvantage, that I wonder much at the character 
 they obtained. 
 
 # # * # * 
 ##*■#* 
 
 As I am desirous not to be too late for our post, I 
 must have done. 
 
 Believe me, dear Sir, 
 
 Your truly obliged and affectionate, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER XL 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 ] 802. About Sept, or Oct. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I yesterday dispatched a packet to you, under cover 
 to Mr. Taylor, which I trust you have, ere this, re¬ 
 ceived. Lest, however, it should not have reached 
 you, let me request, that you will have the goodness 
 to procure further time for the sermon. You have 
 shown me the necessity of new-modelling a part of my 
 plan; and, indeed, indisposition has thrown me so far 
 back, and continues to impede me so much, that I 
 could not, with any justice, either to the committee 
 that proposed me, or to the Association, pretend to 
 address them on the 2nd of November; especially on 
 
 e f 
 
56 
 
 a subject that requires some thought and energy; 
 neither of which I can command at present. If 
 Christmas did not interfere, and absolutely require 
 my presence here, a day in December might answer, 
 But, circumstanced as I am, I could much wish for 
 a day in January; against which time, I hope, with 
 God’s assistance, to be in some degree prepared. 
 
 This morning in looking over Cicero’s moral works, 
 I was forcibly struck, with his beautiful apostrophe 
 to philosophy. Tusc. Quaest. lib. 5. cap. 2. As, per¬ 
 haps, you may not just now have the book by you, 
 and to save you the trouble of going to your shelf for 
 it, I shall transcribe the passage. 
 
 c Oh, vitae Philosophia dux! oh virtutis indagatrix, 
 expultrixque vitiorum! quid, non modo nos, sed 
 omnino vita hominum sine te esse potuisset ? Tu, 
 urbes peperisti: tu, dissipatos homines in societatem 
 vitae convocasti: tu, eos inter se prirno domiciliis, 
 deinde conjugiis, turn literarum et vocum com- 
 munione, junxisti: tu, inventrix legum, tu, magistra 
 morum et discipline fuisti. Ad te confugimus : a 
 te opem petimus: tibi nos, ut, antea, magna ex parte, 
 sic, nunc, penitus totosque tradimus. Est autem 
 unus dies, bene, et ex praeceptis tuis actus, peccanti 
 immortalitati anteponendus. Cujus igitur potius 
 opibus utamur, quam tuis? quae et vitae tranquilli- 
 tatem largita nobis es, et terrorem mortis sustulisti. 
 At Philosophia, quidem, tantum abest, ut, proinde 
 ac de hominum est vita merita, laudetur; ut a 
 plerisque neglecta, a multis etiam vituperetur. Vitu- 
 perare quisquam vitae parentem, et hoc parricidio se 
 inquinare, audet? et tarn impie ingratus esse, ut earn 
 accuset quam vereri deberet, etiam si minus perci- 
 pere potuisset ? ’ # 
 
 * O ! Philosophy, guide of life, discoverer of virtue, and extirpator of vice,— 
 what must be, not our condition only, but that of all mankind, if bereft of thee ? 
 
5 7 
 
 Is not this wonderfully apposite ? IF, for Phi¬ 
 losophy, we substitute divine wisdom (as displayed 
 in the Scriptures), is not every word, and sentence, 
 true ? What was wanting, but the certainty of reve¬ 
 lation, and the ‘ matter-of-fact display,’ which per¬ 
 vades holy Scripture, to render the view powerfully 
 influential ? Alas, in Cicero it was, at the best, but 
 sublime speculation. It wanted reality; it wanted 
 sanction. It was not connected with a sure and cer¬ 
 tain hope, of protection in danger, support under 
 adversity, comfort in the hour of death, . . proceeding 
 from an all-good, all-wise, all-powerful Being; the 
 cause, creator, and preserver of all things. And, 
 hence, it availed but little, in the hour of distress. 
 This * vitas dux,’ could not allay the bitterness of 
 more than manly sorrow, at the death of a daughter; 
 could not bestow either cheering hope, or patient re¬ 
 signation, in the hour of banishment. Let us view the 
 feelings and conduct of David, under similar calami- 
 
 O J 
 
 ties ; and, surely, we must at once acknowledge, the 
 superiority of the views which influenced him. 
 
 To thee, cities owe their birth ; by thee, the scattered sons of men, were gathered 
 together in the fellowship of social life: thou hast blended them into one family, 
 first, by the bonds of cohabitation ; next, by the ties of marriage; then, by 
 the intercommunity of written and spoken language. Thou hast been the 
 inventress of laws, and the teacher of morals and of manners. To thee we fly, 
 from thee we seek for succour : as, aforetime, we yielded thee a more than par¬ 
 tial service, so, now, we desire to surrender ourselves wholly, and without 
 reserve. For one well-spent day, passed in conformity with thy precepts, is 
 preferable to a sinning immortality. Whose aids, then, shall we use, in pre¬ 
 ference to thine, who, at once, hast given us richly to enjoy the blessings of a 
 tranquil life, and hast robbed death of his terrors? Yet, so far is Philosophy from 
 receiving praise, proportioned to her merits, as the benefactress of mankind, that, 
 by most men, on the contrary, she is held in neglect, and, by too many, even 
 contumeliously entreated. Who durst entreat with contumely the parent of life, 
 or pollute his soul by such a parricide ? who be so impiously ungrateful, as to 
 bring railing accusations against her, whom he ought to reverence, however 
 incompetent to estimate her at her real worth ? 
 
58 
 
 I am obliged to conclude, as the post is waiting for 
 this. My ideas, on the subject I have attempted 
 writing on, are, at present, far from clear. So far as 
 they are, they but follow up yours. However, I should 
 be happy to have your opinion, whether this passage 
 might be translated, and quoted with effect. As I 
 mentioned, I met it only this morning; and have not 
 yet had time to consider it. I shall employ, for some 
 days, as much time as my head-aches will permit me, in 
 thinking over the subject of Scripture, taken in a moral 
 view. I see, from the limits I must necessarily put to 
 the discourse, that the beauties of style can be treated 
 of only incidentally; for, certainly, no very small 
 portion of the sermon should be matter of business. 
 Quere . . might not the 1st Psalm furnish a text suf¬ 
 ficiently apposite ? the 3rd verse, taking in the con¬ 
 siderations, both of the happiness conferred on the 
 individual, who loves and meditates on Scripture, and 
 of the benefits, which he confers on others. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Sir, 
 
 Your obliged and affectionate, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 To A, Knox , Esq . 
 
 October 6 . 1802. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 It is now some time, since I removed to my friend 
 Mr. Woodward’s house, here, with hopes of working 
 more uninterruptedly, than I could at Swanlinbar; 
 
59 
 
 by which means, I did not receive your third commu¬ 
 nication, till yesterday evening. The whole is truly 
 valuable. I consider it, not merely as affording mate¬ 
 rials for the present occasion, but hope to derive much 
 advantage from it, in my future study of the Bible. 
 Notwithstanding I was much impeded by illness, 
 when I received your first packet, I had then made 
 some progress, on my own plan. And, after no little 
 consideration, I found, that, on the whole, I could 
 not act precisely on yours, without copying you more 
 closely, than I think I conscientiously could : for, 
 would not this be holding out false colours to the 
 world ? Besides, my ideas had got into a particular 
 train : and I should have found it very difficult to 
 bring them into another. 
 
 According to the scheme I had laid down in my 
 mind, the sermon was to be a hortatory discourse, 
 addressed to the Association: its main object, to ex¬ 
 cite them to perseverance, in the dissemination of 
 the Scriptures. This divided itself into two parts. 
 1. Giving the higher orders a taste for those sacred 
 writings. 2. Through their assistance, generally dis¬ 
 seminating them among the poor. In this view, the 
 direct praise of Scripture forms but a branch. And 
 the full discussion of that topic, I rather wish to leave 
 for the public lecturer, who will, I hope, be appointed 
 by the Association; and to whose labours, I could 
 wish this to be a preliminary step : as, in fact, a 
 leading object of my scheme is, to urge the Associ¬ 
 ation to make provision, for the future inculcation of 
 right ideas concerning Scripture. 
 
 I cannot fail to derive considerable aid from your 
 papers, in that part of my sermon, which relates to 
 the moral efficacy of Scripture. The only thing I fear 
 is, that I shall be at a loss which ideas to select; for 
 
60 
 
 it is really not easy to make a choice, where all is so 
 good. I am conscious, that, by not more largely 
 adopting your plan, I shall not produce near so good 
 a sermon, as I otherwise might. But I know you 
 will attribute my continuance in the plan I have 
 chalked out, not to any confidence in my own judg¬ 
 ment. The Text first proposed, I have retained: but 
 as, please God, I shall be in town, six days before 
 the 2nd of November, I shall have time to confer 
 with you *, and to make an alteration, if you deem it 
 expedient. 
 
 I feel a particular inclination to profit by your 
 ideas, of Scripture operating on the heart, through the 
 interesting matter-of-fact view it gives of God, exem¬ 
 plified in the feelings and actions of David. Quere. 
 Does not the 84th Psalm furnish a fine contrast, to 
 the abject complaints of Cicero, in exile ? The Psalm¬ 
 ist is evidently deprived of all access to Jerusalem : 
 in this situation, he utters the most pathetic expres¬ 
 sions of sorrow. But, what gives rise tc them ? his 
 banishment from the Sanctuary, from the altars of 
 his King and his God: and, so consolatory are the 
 feelings of religion, that the very mention of God, 
 turns his sorrow into joy. And he concludes, with 
 the most lively declarations of complacency and con¬ 
 fidence, in the Lord of Hosts, his sun and his shield. 
 Perhaps the expressions and sentiments of this hea¬ 
 venly production, immediately contrasted with Cicero’s 
 poor, unmanly complaints, would afford a happy spe¬ 
 cimen of the superior dignity and happiness bestowed, 
 by right, i. e. scriptural conceptions of the Deity. 
 
 The view of God’s particular Providence, as drawn 
 from the patriarchal history, I much admire. And 
 the New-Testament part, I am desirous, in some 
 measure, to adopt. In fact, the two circumstances 
 
61 
 
 that would prevent me from making free use of all 
 your ideas, are, want of room within a sermon, and a 
 feeling, that it would be disingenuous, and unfair in 
 me, to gain credit, as I undoubtedly should, for that 
 which is not my own. 
 
 I propose returning home to-morrow; when I shall, 
 I hope, proceed to the Scriptural part of the dis¬ 
 course ; the rest, I have almost finished, but in a 
 manner that does not satisfy me. 
 
 I have some idea of introducing a few words, from 
 Josephus against Apion: that passage, in which he 
 says, that the reward of obedience to the Mosaic code, 
 was not a crown, or a garland, &c., but an internal 
 feeling of confidence in God, and hope of a future 
 state, &c. I have not the book by me: but it strikes 
 me, that those five or six lines are extremely beauti¬ 
 ful ; and give a very exalted idea of the spiritual 
 nature of the Old Testament. 
 
 I trust you will excuse the great incorrectness and 
 confusion of this scrawl. I have been forced to 
 write in a great hurry, as I feared my man might be 
 too late for the post in Granard, four miles distant. 
 I should be truly obliged to you for a few lines, if 
 any thing occurs, pro or con any thing I have men¬ 
 tioned. Much, indeed, am I indebted to your good¬ 
 ness, for the great trouble you have taken in this 
 affair. And whether, on the present occasion, I can 
 avail myself of much or little of your valuable papers, 
 they will be of most material service to me in future; 
 particularly as giving me new ideas, on the mode of 
 lecturing on Scripture. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged and affectionate, 
 
 John Jerb. 
 
m 
 
 LETTER 6. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 Your letter relieved me from some little anxiety; 
 as I feared, from not hearing from you, that my 
 packets had miscarried. I enter most fully into 
 all your feelings, respecting a literal use of what I 
 sent you. I had not time to accompany my hints, 
 with my ideas how you might best use them ; but, 
 most certainly, I felt that you could not do so, con¬ 
 sistently with the delicacy of your own mind, at all 
 in the way of transcript. I believe I said something 
 to that amount. I am sure I thought it. But 
 pardon me for thinking, that there is not a thought in 
 it, which you might not make your own in substance ; 
 by reading it once or twice over, then laying it quite 
 aside ; and, after ten days’ intermediate thought, put 
 pen to paper, and compose your discourse, from the 
 digested materials of your own mind, following your 
 own train, and not looking at me, until, at least, your 
 rough draught were completed. 
 
 I have now yours, of the 26th July, before me. 
 Could I have commanded thought, as I wished, I 
 should have commented, somewhat at large, on your 
 plan, to explain to you my objections; for to say the 
 truth, I much more dislike your arrangement, than I 
 like, particularly, the plan I suggested. Any subject 
 and outline, that would leave room for giving due 
 relief to main figures in the piece, would sufficiently 
 answer. But I think, in every discourse, the first 
 object is, to arrest attention. A sermon, therefore, 
 should not commence, with a statement of any col- 
 
63 
 
 lateral, or subordinate, parts or circumstances ; but 
 should rather impress the great end, . . the supreme 
 utility, the indispensable necessity, of the matter in 
 question. There was something of this, in the view 
 of the greatest epic poets; who made it a point to 
 go, at once, into the midst of things. We are in¬ 
 stantly engaged, by the wrath of Achilles ; it makes 
 us know, and feel for the hero ; and we follow him, 
 ever after, with interest. So, too, with the shipwreck 
 of Eneas. For this reason, then, I objected to the 
 far-fetched text, as requiring a round-about, and as it 
 might seem to many, a forced allegorizing; . . by 
 which the minds of some might be dissipated, of others, 
 disgusted, . . and once off, might not return again. 
 
 On the same principle, I disliked the beginning the 
 causes of neglect, by speaking about the style. This 
 is a good subordinate topic, because it leaves room for 
 beautiful and captivating remarks. But it seems to r 
 me misplaced here, because scarcely suitable to fact. 
 They who neglect the Scripture, do so, because they 
 love darkness rather than light. The fault is in the 
 mind and heart; not in the taste, nor in philological 
 fastidiousness. This seems somewhat taken up in 
 the next point; but the idea is not direct nor forcible 
 enough. Inadequate conceptions, implies but partial 
 ignorance ; and would rather account for misestima- 
 tion, than absolute neglect. Nor would adequate 
 conceptions be a remedy. For strange to tell, men 
 may 4 understand all mysteries, and all knowledge,’ 
 and yet not have Aya7rrj. Therefore, Saint Paul rests 
 all, on receiving the truth, 4 in the love of it.’ The 
 subordinate members, here, are not inapposite; but 
 they would grow stronger, by being connected with 
 a more vitalizing kind ; which, I think, should be, not 
 as above, but the want of a due feeling of personal 
 
64 
 
 interest in the Scripture. This is really what you 
 meant, but you wrapt it up too much ; and nothing 
 can be done in morals, but by running up every line 
 to the centre, resolving every thing into the ultimate 
 object, . . personal concern,. . a man’s own safety or 
 danger, misery or happiness. Here, I conceive, you 
 ought to use my thoughts. As to the next point, 
 I doubt the expediency of introducing it at all. As 
 I see no prospect of a lecture, nor, inter nos , knowing 
 any one, fit for it . . Graves*, alone, excepted: and 
 he, hitherto, I think, has hardly ever done full 
 justice, either to his subjects, or himself; his con¬ 
 stitutional fault being slovenliness. What a pity, 
 with such a head and heart ! But imperfection 
 cleaves, inseparably, to mortality. 
 
 I now proceed to your second general; in which, 
 most of what you say is in point, but subor¬ 
 dinate^ to the feeling of personal concern; for, 
 without that, men will never do warmly for others, 
 what they disregard for themselves. He who loves 
 the Bible for himself, for its [own sake, may], thereby, 
 gain, or communicate feeling; and, when you open a 
 channel for that feeling to act in, it will flow forward 
 of itself. But, if the sentiment be not there, your 
 stating what may be done gradually, and politically 
 what ought, will be like laying pipes, where there is 
 no spring. 
 
 For all these reasons, I wish you, certainly, to make 
 your discourse as personal as you possibly can ; and 
 as I know no pressing reason, why it should be in 
 November, rather than in January, if you thought 
 you might gain any thing by time, we might easily 
 have the day postponed. I wish your sermon to be 
 
 * Richard Graves, D. D., the late learned Dean of Ardagh. — Ed. 
 
65 
 
 solid, striking, worthy of dispersion, and worthy of 
 preservation. But, to be so, it must not be hurried ; 
 because it must not be superficial, nor common-place. 
 Do not, therefore, be over-nice as to time ; but be 
 more solicitous to do justice to the subject, and to 
 your own character, . . not for your own, but for 
 your work’s sake. 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 To A. Knox , Esq . 
 
 Swanlinbar, Oct. 12. 1802. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I am sincerely obliged to you for your objections, and 
 for the truly candid and friendly manner in which you 
 state them. In general, they are to me convincing; 
 and I cannot but regret, that I did not receive them 
 sooner, as they would, probably, have saved me some 
 fruitless thought and labour. 
 
 I cheerfully accede to your general position, that, 
 in every discourse, the first object should be, to arrest 
 attention; and, also, to the inference drawn, that ‘ a 
 sermon should not commence, with the statement of 
 any collateral, or subordinate, parts or circumstances.’ 
 But granting these points, I am not quite certain, 
 that my unfortunate text would be altogether so 
 exceptionable, as it appears to you. I trust you will 
 credit me, when I say, that I defend it, not from 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 
 
 tenaciousness of my own opinion : in truth, I am 
 ready to give it up: I wish only to state a few of my 
 ideas on the subject, merely in self-justification ; and 
 with a view to show, that, however erroneous may be 
 my conception of the passage, it was far from being 
 my intention to allegorize ; a practice which, perhaps, 
 few dislike more, in sermons, than myself. * 
 
 Notwithstanding the narrow and confined inter¬ 
 pretation, given to Isaiah lxii. 10., by most commen¬ 
 tators, who apply it to the return from the Babylonish 
 captivity, I have not a doubt on my mind, after no slight 
 consideration of the context, and of parallel places, 
 that, in its direct and full sense, it relates to the final 
 restoration of the Jewish people; when they shall be 
 converted to true spiritual religion, and the Messiah 
 shall reign over them. Of this, I conceive, the 
 4th verse, when taken together with the general turn 
 of prophecy, furnishes the most convincing proofs; 
 absolutely precluding an application, either to the 
 return from Babylon, or to the first coming of 'our 
 Lord: since, to this hour, the Jews are, with peculiar 
 propriety, termed 4 forsaken,’ and their land 4 de¬ 
 solate.’ No other event, then, remains to be applied 
 to this prophecy, but the final redemption of Israel. 
 Nor is this interpretation without the support of the 
 best authorities, . . Vitringa and Lowth. See the 
 notes of the latter (in his Quarto Edition) on 
 Chap, xl., and, especially, on Chap. lii. 13., where 
 there is this decisive opinion, . . 4 Here, Babylon is, 
 at once, dropped; and, I think, hardly ever comes 
 in sight again, . . unless, perhaps, in Chap. lv. 12., 
 lvii. 14. The Prophet’s views are engrossed, by 
 the higher part of his subject.’ p. 237. Assuming, 
 then, the spiritual meaning of the passage, it was my 
 purpose, very briefly to describe the Prophet’s view 
 
67 
 
 of Christ’s future kingdom; and, as briefly, to state 
 its expansion, by our Lord, and his Apostles,. . taking 
 in Gentiles, as well as Jews ; and to be completely 
 established on earth, at that glorious time, when the 
 kingdoms of this world, shall become the kingdoms 
 of our Lord and of his Christ: and, however remote 
 may be the completion of this grand prophetic scheme, 
 however insignificant all human exertions, compared 
 with the stupendous means, by which the Almighty 
 can, doubtless, mature his mysterious purposes, . . we 
 are surely bound to act, as labourers, and pioneers in 
 the blessed work, of establishing righteousness upon 
 earth ; to be strenuous, in converting the sinner from 
 the error of his way; and, by well-directed exertions, 
 to increase the number of those, who worship the 
 Father in spirit and in truth. To us, then, the words 
 of Isaiah’s prophecy directly apply; for, so long as 
 ignorance and superstition debase our land, . . so long 
 as the pure precepts, and exalted hopes of Christian¬ 
 ity, are unknown to our poor, . . so long as licen¬ 
 tiousness and irreligion profane our streets, and pollute 
 even the distant shades of rural retirement, a warning 
 voice will not cease to exclaim unto our consciences, 
 . . 4 Go through, go through the gates, . . prepare 
 you the way of the people, . . cast up, cast up the 
 high way, .. gather out the stones, .. lift up a stand¬ 
 ard for the people !’ 
 
 It was something in this manner, that I purposed 
 beginning: not allegorizing, but directly entering on 
 the main subject: 4 Bringing our people, to the 
 knowledge, love, and practice of true religion, by a 
 dissemination of the Scriptures.’ And I a n soberly 
 and seriously of opinion, that the solemn proclamation 
 of the Prophet, contained in the proposed text, is 
 
 f 2 
 
68 
 
 truly and really addressed to all, who believe in the 
 Lord Jesus Christ, and are his faithful followers. 
 
 I perfectly acquiesce in your ideas, respecting the 
 causes of neglect. Certainly, style is a subordinate 
 consideration; and personal interest is the grand 
 object, the pivot on which the whole should turn. 
 And this, whatever be my plan, I shall keep in view. 
 
 The 2nd general head I never intended, but as 
 subordinate to the feeling of personal concern ; it 
 being my plan, previously to dwell, on the moral in¬ 
 fluence of Scripture, . . and warmly to recommend 
 making provision, for giving the higher orders right 
 feelings of its value, and of its conduciveness to hu¬ 
 man happiness. And, from a few pages that I send 
 you, which begin precisely at II. general, you will 
 find, that I considered a ‘practical influence of Scrip¬ 
 ture on the heart, a sine qua non , in disseminating 
 the Bible amongst others.’ By the bye, much of 
 those pages was written, before I received your 
 papers; and the two quotations of the ‘ glass,’ and 
 the ‘ cisterns,’ were my own : though I could not for¬ 
 bear adopting two expressions of yours, . . the word 
 assimilative , and the moral thirst . I am truly sen¬ 
 sible, that the sheets I send, have very little matter in 
 them ; and are, every way, much deficient. 
 
 I regret much, that you think the lecture imprac¬ 
 ticable. Could it be compassed, I have no doubt it 
 would be highly useful: but you, who are on the spot, 
 and are, in other respects, so well qualified to judge, 
 can best determine how far it would be feasible. The 
 omission of this branch (and I clearly think it should 
 be omitted, if there be no prospect of establishing a 
 lecture) will inevitably oblige me to alter my mode 
 of address. For the lecture served me as a medium, 
 through which I might address the association them- 
 
69 
 
 selves, as constituting the force, that would give 
 motion to the whole machine; that would set the 
 higher ranks at work, by communicating to them a 
 power, derived from the practical influence of Scrip¬ 
 ture on their own hearts; and, through their instru¬ 
 mentality, convey to the people, not only the Scrip- 
 tu: 'es, but a feeling of their sovereign utility. 
 
 You will pardon me for thinking, that your text, 
 would not exactly suit the purpose in view. I hardly 
 think it appropriate to the occasion of addressing a 
 great public body, on the necessity and advantage of 
 disseminating Scripture; and I conceive, that, to 
 accord with your views, it requires an exposition of 
 the term salvation , not altogether suitable to the 
 context, or to the usual acceptation of the word. I 
 say this, with great diffidence in myself, and great 
 deference for your opinion ; but I should not consider 
 it, either candid, or respectful, to object to your text, 
 without assigning some reason ; and I know your good 
 nature will not impute to me, any impertinence, or 
 presumption, for appearing to put my opinion in com¬ 
 petition with yours. 
 
 As it will now be necessary for me to reconsider 
 the matter entirely, I should be much obliged to you 
 to have the day postponed. Any time in January 
 would answer. Indeed, indisposition, for the last 
 month, completely unfitted me for almost any ex¬ 
 ertion. I have had a violent cold, accompanied 
 with racking head-aches j and, I am sorry to say, am 
 still under its influence. On these grounds, I trust 
 the Association will consent to give me a little time. 
 For, unfit as I am, at any time, to do justice to the 
 situation they have placed me in, I am, at present, 
 peculiarly unable to do any thing. I trust in God I 
 shall soon get better ; but, at this instant, my head 
 
 f 3 
 
70 
 
 aches so violently, that I do not feel able to say much 
 more, than that I am, my dear Sir, 
 
 Your much obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 7- 
 
 Oct. 14. 1802. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 Your strong and interesting defence of your text, 
 has had its due effect on my mind. I cannot help 
 considering, that different minds, have their different 
 modes of moving. And, if any extrinsic force should 
 obstruct the natural mode, the pleasantness of the 
 progress is much diminished, if not destroyed. 
 Your mind is really a very solid one. But it is, also, 
 a poetical one; and, from this joint character, arises 
 a species of composition, which demands materials 
 fitted for its own peculiar fabric. A text furnishing 
 only plain maxims, or facts, is, by no means, the 
 thing for this ; it must rather be one, pregnant in 
 vivid imagery. Itself a picture, and exciting other 
 picturesque ideas, by, as it were, lighting a train. 
 
 I cannot, therefore, be the instrument, of making 
 such a text as you have chosen, in any respect un¬ 
 fortunate. And, on weighing what you have written, 
 I cannot hesitate to recommend to you, still to keep 
 it; and only alter the treatment of it, as the com- 
 pletest bringing forward of personal interest may 
 require. Do not think, in this, I am giving up my 
 opinion, by way of indulging yours. No truly. The 
 few words you have said on the text, have convinced 
 
 > 
 
71 
 
 me, that it will not only do ; but may be wrought into 
 an elegant, and most interesting introduction, as 
 well as serve to keep up the sequel. 
 
 Whether it allude to the return from Babylon, or 
 not, is really of little moment. I rather, I think, 
 would assume that it did. I looked only to making 
 it fit. The Jewish history was typical, as well as 
 their ceremonies. And, whatever is said of their 
 captivity, may be applied to the moral bondage of 
 mankind ; as, whatever is said of the deliverances of 
 theWews, will certainly find correspondencies, in the 
 Christian system. £ Whatsoever was written afore¬ 
 time, was written for our learning; ’ and, certainly, 
 I own with pleasure, that, in this very text, there is, 
 not only a grand eloquence, but a happy evangelic 
 character; which, in a very great degree, if not 
 wholly, answers what I objected, about allegory. 
 
 Every individual, who lives, in sin of temper, or 
 conduct, is in captivity, and needs a deliverance; to 
 which much of the prophetic language concerning 
 Israel, will, perhaps, from direct divine intention 
 (why do I say perhaps ?) most appositely fit. Every 
 portion of people, who are, collectively, in ignorance or 
 barbarousness, are, still more literally and strikingly, 
 in captivity. For both, the same means of deliverance 
 are provided. And, to these means, all the prophetic 
 indications point. The completeness of their mean¬ 
 ing, probably, here, as well as elsewhere, embraces 
 the last triumph of the Messiah, over the moral evil 
 of the world: but every step towards that consum¬ 
 mation, must, substantially, resemble the ultimate 
 event; because, the whole design being moral, and 
 the means uniform, the means, between the moral 
 liberation of an individual, of a people, of the whole 
 of mankind, must be in gradu rather than in re, 
 
 f 4 
 
72 
 
 The reiteration in the text, is exceeding fine ; and, 
 if there be even an approach to allegory, I renounce 
 all I said of its being uninteresting. In some hands, 
 it might; because it wiil require justice to be done 
 to it. Be you only as spirited in your introduction, 
 as you have been in your defence, and I venture to 
 promise, you will lose no one’s attention. 
 
 The first words seem to imply, that they to whom 
 they are spoken, are yet in the house of bondage. 
 But they need not continue there. The gates are 
 opened for them to march forth ; but such is their 
 perverseness, that they linger ; and, therefore, we may 
 suppose, is the restoration. Or, perhaps they have 
 another meaning, and certainly one more agreeable 
 to the tenor of the chapter. It is that given by 
 Pool, from one Forerius; and, though he seems not 
 to rely on it, I own it appears to me very plausible. 
 4 Hortatur viros Israelites, ut, exeuntes per portas, 
 praeparent itinera filiis Dei dispersis jam adventantibus 
 Hierosolymam.’ * It is added, c quae certe nihil aliud 
 significant, quam, ex Jerusalem ituros Discipulos 
 Domini per totum orbem, ut alios ad Ecclesiam 
 perducant/ t The nihil aliud , at least, I protest 
 against. The passage may refer, to the Apostles going 
 forth from Jerusalem, . . but not only, nor chiefly; 
 
 • for the Jerusalem here, is, the church. As to any 
 final restoration of the Jews, to their literal Jerusalem 
 (which might here divide, or distract, the application 
 of the words to Christians), I own, I more than 
 question it: all that is said about the latter times, 
 being, in my humble opinion, moral only; and, of 
 
 * He exhorts the men of Israel to go forth out of the gates, that they may 
 prepare the way for the dispersed children of God, now drawing near to Jerusa¬ 
 lem. 
 
 t Which certainly means nothing else, than that the disciples of the Lord should 
 go forth throughout the world, in order that they may conduct others into the 
 Church. 
 
78 
 
 course, predicting no other reinstatement of the 
 Jews, but in the true and spiritual Jerusalem : the 
 now invisible, but hereafter morally triumphant, 
 church of Christ. For support of these views, I 
 would refer to the 6th verse; which has, I believe, 
 been ever applied to the Christian ministry. Perhaps, 
 then, on the whole, it may be best to take the words 
 in the latter [sense] ; and they will be an exhortation 
 to all who are already in the spiritual Jerusalem, to 
 do all that in them lies, to bring others into it. The 
 nations are represented in movement toward it; but 
 there are obstructions to their progress, which they, 
 who are already within, are called upon, with reiterated 
 earnestness, to remove. The repetition, calls forth 
 zeal; perhaps, indirectly, reproves a want of it. They 
 who are citizens of the holy city, are required to 
 do this work, because they possess the necessary 
 qualifications. Strangers, coming amongst them, 
 cannot make a way for themselves ; the duty, the 
 necessary knowledge, the materials, all must pertain 
 to the inhabitants. How are strangers to complete 
 their approach and entrance, without this ? Prepare 
 the way : that is, lay it out, plan it, find out its best 
 direction, use your best skill and talents, in discover¬ 
 ing how it may be best done. Cast up, cast up the 
 high way : that is, having planned, execute ; do it 
 quietly, and do it effectually. What the way to the 
 spiritual Jerusalem is, can admit of no doubt: it is 
 reformation of heart and life. 4 A way shall be there ; 
 and it shall be called the way of righteousness; and 
 the wayfaring man, though a fool, shall not err 
 therein/ What, then, is the command ? Do every 
 thing possible to reform the people,.. 4 Make straight 
 paths for their feet*/ give them fit and full instruction; 
 4 Train up a child in the way,’ &c.: and lead them to 
 
74< 
 
 right habits... Gather out the stones: make it 
 pleasant and easy to them: let nothing remain to 
 deter them; but everything to induce them: add 
 kindness, to skill and diligence. Lift up a stand¬ 
 ard : that is, after all, furnish them with some sure 
 direction, toward which they may look, and by 
 which they are to be guided toward their ultimate 
 object. 
 
 If these hints give you any satisfaction, or serve to 
 confirm you in your first design, it will give much 
 pleasure to 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 P. S. The postponement, I will attend to. The 
 above hints, are for your amusement and consider¬ 
 ation, rather than for any material use. 
 
 LETTER 8. 
 
 Oct. 17. 1802. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I hope you have received my letter of Thursday. 
 The purport was to tell you, that what you said, 
 actually inclined me to your own first text: as that, 
 which, after all, you could most conveniently manage. 
 I hope you have got the letter. If you have, you 
 will have had my comment on the text. Yet, after all, 
 it is but fair to say, that, though I can well conceive 
 how, out of that very energetic text, you would draw 
 exhortations to disseminate the Scripture ; I do not 
 so clearly see, how the personal part could be deduced. 
 Therefore, once for all, I say, consider all that has 
 
come from me, as the merest materials, for your own 
 mind to judge of, and determine upon, as you see 
 proper. For, I assure you, if I could think, that 
 what I wrote would sway you an hair-breadth, against 
 your own conviction, I should be very much pained 
 and disappointed. 
 
 The quotation is transcendent. Why should you 
 not use it ? But, undoubtedly, it would fall in better, 
 with the first psalm, than with that from Isaiah. 
 The first two verses of the psalm, might, if you liked 
 it, answer well: or rather, the first four verses ; which 
 would give your fancy tolerable scope, from the de¬ 
 lightful imagery,.. lead you immediately to a personal 
 application, and yet afford sufficient room, for exhort¬ 
 ation to the spiritual charity. Indeed, I like your 
 query, and I wish you would think of it: though, 
 as I said in my last, that from Isaiah is a beauti¬ 
 ful passage. Still, it is not personal, like the first 
 psalm. 
 
 As to the first psalm, it opens with one of the 
 neatest arrangements of thought, that I ever saw. 
 
 ‘ Oh the happiness of him, that hath not walked in 
 the counsel of the ungodly, and hath not stood in the 
 way of sinners, and hath not sat in the seat of the 
 scornful!’ here, you will observe, is a gradation of 
 wickedness. Ungodly: . . they who neglect religion. 
 Sinners : . . they who commit iniquity. Scornful: . . 
 they who not only neglect religion, and commit ini¬ 
 quity, but justify the ways of vice, and calumniate those 
 of goodness. To these, again, the words betokening 
 action, answer. Ungodly : . . he that walketh, . . the 
 least fixed. Sinners : .. he that standeth, .. more fixed. 
 Scornful : . . he that sitteth. 4 Here will I dwell,’ says 
 he, ‘for I have a delight therein.’ 4 Nemo fit repente 
 turpissimus,’ says Juvenal I think. So that verse tells 
 
76 
 
 the progress of vice. He that walks, will be apt, at 
 length, to stand. From standing, sitting naturally 
 follows. ‘ Evil men and seducers,’ says the Apostle, 
 ‘ will wax worse and worse.’ ‘ But his delight is in the 
 law of the Lord.’ There it must begin. Except love 
 be excited, nothing is done to purpose. But, if love 
 be there, it will lead to the exercise there spoken of. 
 Night, ever recurs to David’s mind ; because it is then 
 the mind turns in on itself, and feels its own true 
 character, whatever it be. If a man delight in God’s 
 law, he will, of course, not fail to think of it then, when 
 a subject of pleasant thought, is most pleasing. It is 
 a noble attribute, which Job giveth to God: ‘ Who 
 givest songs in the night.’ How this was verified, 
 (to digress for a moment,) in the case of Paul and Silas 
 in the dungeon 1 ‘ He shall be as a tree, planted 
 
 by the waters.’ What a full figure this is, you well 
 know ; having no doubt read Bishop Lowth’slast note, 
 on the first chapter of Isaiah. ‘ Leaf not withering,’ 
 . . is the permanency of what is pleasing : as, ‘ Look, 
 whatsoever he doeth, it shall prosper,’. . seems to 
 come in the place of fruit. 
 
 ‘ Neither the heat of the sun,’ says St. Chrysostom, 
 
 ‘ nor the unfavourableness of the seasons, can injure a 
 tree, planted on the border of a river ; because, from 
 its situation, its root is ever kept moist. Just so, 
 a soul, that receives perpetually the influences of 
 grace, through the channels of the Holy Scripture, is 
 proof against all accidents, and suffers with courage, 
 all the inconveniences of life : diseases, injuries, 
 calumnies, be the evils what they may, it finds its 
 consolation in the Scripture. 
 
 ‘Fortune, glory, success, friends, must all yield to 
 the holy Scripture, in the successful banishing of 
 sorrow of heart. The best things of life are perish- 
 
77 
 
 able, and subject to change: of course, the comfort 
 that they afford, can be transient only, like themselves. 
 But one may always converse with God, by means of 
 the Scripture, and obtain therefrom that peace, which 
 the world can neither give, nor take away.’ 
 
 I really think with some regret, on the trouble I 
 shall have caused you ; when, probably, had you gone 
 on in your own way, people would have been well 
 enough satisfied. You will, however, forgive me, for 
 my motive’s sake; which certainly was, that you 
 should ‘ please all, for good to edification.’ 
 
 Farewell, I will take care about the postponement. 
 
 Believe me, most truly yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 S. Bar, Oct. 25. 1802. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 X should have written to you early in the last week, 
 but that I did not receive yours of the 14th, till 
 Thursday last, when I was obliged to go, for two or 
 three days, to Enniskillen. Notwithstanding your 
 kind reception of my defence, I now feel strongly 
 inclined to give up the text from Isaiah. In good 
 hands, it certainly would afford room for a very ani¬ 
 mated introduction; and would, perhaps, in every 
 respect, be well adapted to a sermon, whose sole ob¬ 
 ject was exhortation : but I am so completely a con- 
 
78 
 
 vert to your opinion, that personal interest, is a 
 necessary foundation on which to build, that I think 
 it essential, that the text should naturally lead to 
 personal application. That from Isaiah, does not: 
 the first psalm does: and then, ‘ bringeth forth 
 fruit in due season,’. . c And look whatsoever he 
 doeth it shall prosper,’. . afford room for exhortation 
 to disseminate the Scriptures; and for an estimate of 
 the advantages, almost inevitably derivable from doing 
 so. The admirable arrangement of thought in the 
 1st verse, you had the goodness to point out to me 
 one day, in Dawson Street, before I entered into 
 orders; and I availed myself of your hints, in a ser¬ 
 mon I preached here. On the present occasion, per¬ 
 haps, on your own principle of going at once ‘ in 
 medias res,’ it might be well to leave out verse 1., as 
 not immediately bearing upon the grand point; and 
 to make the second and third verses, (as they stand 
 in the Bible translation) the text. 
 
 According to my present view of the subject, after 
 opening the text, should follow, a proof of the power 
 of Scripture to confer happiness; including a con¬ 
 trasted view of the insufficiency of philosophy; all 
 this as personal as possible : then, appeal to the audi¬ 
 ence, whether they have made the proper use, of the rich 
 treasure given to them : not sufficient that they should 
 read Scripture,.. their ‘ delight must be in the law of 
 the Lord : ’ if they have experienced this delight, 
 they must be anxious to communicate it to others : 
 let them look around, not merely at the poor, but at 
 the rich, and they will see the want of happiness 
 which prevails . . they must labour to bring their 
 friends, &c. to a sense of the supreme efficacy of 
 Scripture .. and hence, if higher:orders in general are 
 
79 
 
 made fond of the sacred Volume, they will give it to 
 the poor. This is a very rough, and very curt view, 
 of what I now think on the subject: * but, I believe, 
 that an arrangement somewhat of this nature, is what 
 you would recommend. On the subject both of the 
 Old Testament and the New, I have made some 
 little collections, tending to show the happy effects, 
 qn the sentiments and conduct, of a matter-of-fact 
 view of God’s attributes; and, also, some instances 
 of the use made by Scripture characters, in different 
 situations, of the word of God. One remarkable in¬ 
 stance, I think, is, that Jonah’s prayer, is, in a great 
 measure, a Cento from the Psalms. 
 
 <— 
 
 To the efficacy of a matter-of-fact view of God, 
 Lord Shaftesbury seems to bear testimony. 
 
 4 If there be a belief^ or conception, of a Deity, who 
 is considered as worthy and good, and admired and 
 reverenced as such ; being understood to have, be¬ 
 sides mere power and knowledge, the highest excel¬ 
 lence of nature, such as renders him justly amiable to 
 all: and if, in the manner this sovereign and mighty 
 being is represented , or as he is historically described , 
 there appears in him, a high and eminent regard to 
 what is good and excellent; a concern for the good 
 of all; and an affection of benevolence and love to 
 the whole; . . such an example must, undoubtedly, 
 serve, to raise and increase the affections towards 
 virtue, and to help to subdue all other affections, to 
 that alone. 
 
 4 Nor is this good effected, by example merely. 
 For, when the theistical belief is entire and perfect, 
 
 * Upon maturer consideration, Bishop Jebb’s views, respecting the indiscri¬ 
 minate dissemination of the Bible, became materially modified; as may be seen 
 in his ( Sermons on Subjects chiefly practical,’ at the opening of Sermon viii. ; 
 and in the Appendix to that volume, passim. . . Ed, 
 
80 
 
 there must be a steady opinion of the superintendency 
 of a Supreme Being ; a witness and spectator of 
 human life ; and conscious of whatsoever is felt, or 
 acted, in the universe. So that, in the perfectest 
 recess, or deepest solitude, there must be one still 
 presumed remaining with us ; whose presence, singly, 
 must be of more moment, than that of the most 
 august assembly on earth.’ Charact. vol. ii. p.56, 5J. 
 
 I much regret, my dear Sir, that you should ex¬ 
 perience a moment’s uneasiness, at having induced 
 me to reconsider my plan. I can assure you, that 
 your papers have led me into a train of thought, 
 which I trust will be essentially serviceable to the 
 sermon. And, if it should please God to spare me, 
 I can possibly, at some future occasion, use the now 
 rejected text from Isaiah ; which I think too good 
 to be lost. If it should ever fall to my lot to preach 
 a visitation sermon, it might answer: particularly, 
 taking the 6th verse, as applying to the Christian 
 ministry. 
 
 I am much indebted to you for the trouble you have 
 taken, in having the day postponed; and, also, to Mr. 
 Maturin, for his exertions : and as, through your 
 means, I have gained so much time, I do not see how 
 it is possible to resist your joint application. Your 
 hinting a wish on the subject, I will confess, Would be 
 (for, ought it not?) sufficient to make me do much 
 more than this. But you may be assured, that, in 
 the present instance, there will be no inconvenience 
 attached to my preaching St. Peter’s sermon, be¬ 
 sides what arises from the difficulty of saying any 
 thing new on the subject: but I trust due allowances 
 will be made. I suppose Mr. Maturin will have the 
 goodness to provide, that I shall be furnished with 
 
81 
 
 the necessary materials, in point of information, &c. in 
 proper time. 
 
 * # # # # 
 
 # # # * # 
 
 Believe me, dear Sir, most truly yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 9 . 
 
 Oct. 28. 1802. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I certainly am not sorry that you have settled on 
 so excellent a text. It is every way to your purpose; 
 and I entirely agree with you, that the analysis of 
 the first verse, would rather perplex, than aid, your 
 entrance into the main subject. But I must submit 
 to you, whether, if you were not to commence your 
 discourse, with adverting to the first word of the first 
 verse, you would not lose a valuable, indeed, rather, 
 an invaluable topic; and peculiarly happy for an 
 exordium, 6 O the happiness of that man,’ &c. 
 
 Says Horace, . . 
 
 navibus atque 
 
 Quadrigis petimus bene vivere, quod petis, hie est.* 
 
 What all the world has been looking for in vain, is 
 here brought into narrow bounds. He, who delights, 
 
 6 in that law of the Lord, which is perfect, convert¬ 
 ing the soul, . . in that testimony of the Lord, which 
 is sure, making wise the simple, . . in those statutes 
 of the Lord, which are right, rejoicing the heart, . . 
 in that commandment of the Lord, which is pure, 
 
 * By sea and land we seek true bliss to find : 
 
 Vain search ! true bliss is centred in the mind. 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 
 
 enlightening the eyes/ . . cannot but be happy, 
 because, his relish is in unison with eternal order; 
 his mind is recreated, with all the highest harmonies 
 of nature; his gratification is not only inexhaustible, 
 but ever increasing. His happiness is infallible, 
 because it is liable to no vicissitude, and to no 
 end. It cannot be questioned, that there are great 
 pleasures, in the higher congruities, even of the 
 senses. He, for instance, who has a taste for music, 
 is often so enraptured with it, as to devote his life to 
 it. He that delights in the picturesque, would 
 hardly relinquish the pleasure he feels. What, then, 
 must be the enjoyment of that mind, whose taste is 
 turned to that, which is the transcript of eternal 
 rectitude, wisdom, and goodness; and who, in thus 
 relishing, is himself assimilated, more and more, to 
 that which he loves; growing, thereby, more and 
 more like eternal excellence; and, consequently, 
 approaching, as it were, still nearer and nearer that 
 infinite perfection, which it is the happiness of the 
 highest intelligences ever to advance toward, without 
 it being possible ever to reach it. The fine eulogium 
 of law, given by Hooker, in the latter end of his 
 first book of Ecclesiastical Polity, would be ap¬ 
 plicable ; but, perhaps, is too well known. 
 
 The passage from Shaftesbury, is certainly very 
 good. But his style is always unpleasant to me ; for 
 it has no fluency. At least, it seems so to me. I 
 do not know but Voltaire has treated the same 
 subject, with more striking simplicity. 
 
 * Newton/ says he, ‘ was intimately persuaded of 
 the existence of a God ; meaning by that word, not 
 only an infinite being, almighty, eternal, the creator, 
 
 . . but a master, who has established a relation 
 between himself and his creatures ; for, without this 
 
83 
 
 relation, the knowledge of a God is but sterile. Thus, 
 this great philosopher, makes a singular remark, at 
 the end of his Principia. 4 One does not, 9 he ob¬ 
 serves, ‘say, my eternal, or my infinite ; because these 
 attributes have nothing of relation to us in them: 
 but we say ‘myGod; 9 understanding, thereby, the 
 master and preserver of our life, and the object of 
 our minds and thoughts. 9 . . ‘ I remember, 9 adds 
 Voltaire, ‘that, in several conferences which I had, 
 in the year 1726, with Dr. Clarke, that philosopher 
 never pronounced the name of God, but with an air 
 of recollection and reverence. I remarked to him, 
 the impression that it made on me ; and he told me, it 
 was from Newton, he had insensibly caught that habit; 
 which, in fact, ought to be the habit of all men. 9 
 
 I quote this from a French work of M. de la 
 Flechi&re, (Mr. Wesley’s friend) : he quotes it from 
 Voltaire’s elements of Newton’s philosophy. 
 
 I am much obliged to you, about Saint Peter’s 
 sermon. But truly, my good friend, if I thought, 
 that my making a request of you, could ever lead 
 you to do any matter, that was not perfectly agreeable 
 to yourself, you surely never could receive a wish 
 from me; and, therefore, my worthy Mr. Jebb, your 
 parenthesis says quite too much ; and do not ever let 
 such a word again escape you. Indeed, my friend, 
 you owe much to God Almighty; but you owe no¬ 
 thing to me. It is my honour to have a little handed 
 forward, to a man capable of appreciating; and, as 
 such only, will I acknowledge my incidental inter¬ 
 ference. So talk no more of such matters. 
 
 Remember, also, when I write you any thoughts, 
 you never are to use one of them, but merely when 
 you think you may turn them to some purpose. 
 For, I assure you, I throw them out, never to ask 
 
 g 2 
 
84 
 
 about them again ; and I have done so with, perhaps, 
 more valuable ones, . . at least in a curious point of 
 view, but not in a practical one, . . than any I have 
 given you. But I give you what strikes me, on the 
 express condition, that you are to be as careless about 
 them, as if they had never reached you; except, 
 merely, where it will be to your advantage. 
 
 Yours always, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 To A . Knox, Esq. 
 
 Swanlinbar, Dec. 21. 1802. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 X purposely deferred answering your last, till I 
 should be able to report some progress in the sermon. 
 I have now brought it very nearly to a conclusion; 
 not, however, by any means, to my own satisfaction. I 
 fear it will be too long; though, in many parts, I 
 have, perhaps, condensed too much. When I go to 
 town, I shall trespass on your goodness, to point out 
 to me what parts I shall omit; and, even if some 
 little addition should be expedient, I hope to have a 
 few days to make it. 
 
 I thank you much, for your critical quotations. 
 They were, to me, entirely satisfactory. In the 3d 
 verse, I should rather think, Mr. Street uses too great 
 license in his translation. Dr. Hammond has, indeed, 
 clearly proved, that the verb in the sentence should 
 be so translated, as to continue the metaphor. The 
 same verb, is frequently applied to trees, when 
 
85 
 
 no metaphor is intended. Thus, Isaiah, v. 4., ‘ I 
 looked, that it should bring forth grapes, and it 
 brought forth wild grapes.’ And, again, Isaiah, 
 xxxvii. 31., ‘ And it shall bear fruit upward.’ 
 
 In the New Testament, a similar phrase frequently 
 occurs... xctp7rov 7 rfHsiv. St. Matt. iii. 8 . and 10 , &c. 
 The passage, therefore, I would translate, ‘whatsoever 
 it produceth, shall prosper.’ Hammond, is, I think, 
 judicious and elegant, on this thought: all the pro¬ 
 duce is intended : .. bud, blossom, and fruit; answer- 
 able to thoughts, resolutions, and actions. 
 
 I have seen and read, with much pleasure, your 
 letter to Mr. Walker. Dr. Hales had the goodness to 
 show it to me. He was extremely gratified with it. 
 What I particularly admire in it, is, that, whilst you 
 abundantly establish every thing you contend for, you 
 do it with all meekness and gentleness. There is 
 none of the gall of controversy in your book. What 
 extremely odd opinions, poor Walker has imbibed. I 
 did not think, that the highest Calvinism went so 
 far. My friend W. gave me an account of a sermon, 
 he heard him preach lately, at the Bethesda; in 
 which, he roundly asserted, that all arminians, and 
 the larger proportion of calvinists, were worshipping 
 the Devil! Is it certain that his brain is sound ? 
 
 I have been, at times, much impeded in my busi¬ 
 ness, by nervous headaches ; otherwise, I should have 
 finished the Association sermon long since. All the 
 attention I could give, to any thing serious, has been 
 bestowed on it. But I hope, next week, to enter on 
 that for St. Peter’s. I have thoughts of making use 
 of the rejected text from Isaiah; as I have some ideas 
 connected with it, not inapplicable to the occasion. 
 But, as I have abundant time to work upon another, 
 I should be exceedingly obliged to you, to tell me, 
 
 g 3 
 
86 
 
 candidly, whether you think it will answer. Jf it 
 would not, perhaps you could suggest one. The 
 road of charity sermons is so beaten, that I could 
 wish for a text, that would give room for a striking 
 introduction. 
 
 I am frequently ashamed, when I consider the 
 egotism of my letters to you. But, as they are gener¬ 
 ally applications for instruction and advice, egotism 
 is not wholly avoidable. I rely on your goodness, 
 so often tried, to excuse both this fault, and the 
 trouble I occasion you. 
 
 * < ,. t Believe me, dear Sir, 
 
 Most truly and affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 10. 
 
 Dec. 28. 1802 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I received your letter, on Christmas day, in my 
 bed; not being able to rise, in consequence of bilious 
 sickness, until after the post hour. 
 
 As to your charity sermon, I fear the text in 
 Isaiah would be too far about. I happened to be 
 looking into a pamphlet, sent me a day or two before 
 from London; and I thought I saw some topics, 
 which would furnish a good body, for such a dis¬ 
 course. 
 
 4 No large community can long subsist, without a 
 considerable part of its members being destined, to 
 laborious situations, and dependent circumstances: 
 it cannot long subsist, without food and clothing; 
 
87 
 
 and these cannot be attained without labour; and 
 men, generally, will not labour, but upon the urgency 
 of necessity. If every man was provided with a stock 
 of the necessaries of life, and had wealth to purchase 
 them, we should see few shuttles in motion, and few 
 ploughs turning up the soil, till the time came, when, 
 having wasted their resources, distress would compel, 
 some to the loom, others to the field.’ 
 
 c In a civilized state, besides food and clothing, 
 much domestic service is necessary; of which a great 
 part being neither elegant, nor unlaborious, will not 
 commonly be performed, by those who can avoid it: 
 which all may do, who are under no immediate pres¬ 
 sure, or fear, of want. Therefore, without such a 
 degree of indigence in society, as may dispose some 
 to undergo the daily drudgery of life ; and such a 
 degree of affluence, as may enable others to reward 
 them for it; we could expect to find but little, either 
 of domestic neatness or comfort. Want, in the poli¬ 
 tical machine, is the weight necessary to keep it in 
 motion ; and all that can, or ought to be done, is duly 
 to regulate it.’ 
 
 ‘ Hence, it will follow, that, to preserve society from 
 sinking into its savage state, in which every man must 
 be content to fish and hunt for himself, and to wear 
 the skin of the beast he has slain, a large proportion 
 of the people must depend for their subsistence, on 
 the toils of husbandry or useful manufactures, and 
 domestic service : which implies the relation of master 
 and servant, . . of those, who have nothing but their 
 labour to bring to market; and of those, who come, 
 with a price in their hands, to purchase it.’ 
 
 Now, I cannot help thinking, that the above para¬ 
 graphs contain a very satisfactory view, oi\ at least, 
 the political, final cause of poverty. And, I conceive, 
 
 G 4 
 
 f 
 
 V* 
 
88 
 
 might be expanded into a much larger detail, of 
 the benefits arising, to the higher classes, from this 
 providential arrangement. In short, to this arrange¬ 
 ment, the higher classes, as such, owe their civil 
 existence. 
 
 The text, then, out of which such remarks might 
 best grow, would, perhaps, be, Deut. xv. 11. ‘The 
 poor shall never cease out of the land. Therefore, I 
 command thee, saying, Thou shalt open thy hands 
 wide unto thy brother : to thy poor, and to thy needy, 
 in thy land.’ 
 
 ‘ The poor shall never cease,’ &c... Why? because 
 the ceasing of poverty, would be taking the weight 
 off the great machine ; and because the ceasing of 
 the poor, would be the annihilation of all the in¬ 
 strumental agency, subserving to civil comfort. Is 
 not, then, such an appointment, worthy of eternal 
 wisdom ? 
 
 The luxuries of the great, as to personal comfort, 
 might be dispensed with; but, in a civil and political 
 light, they, too, have their use: yea, and in a moral 
 light also. But even those conveniences, which we 
 must all value, the accommodations of our houses and 
 our persons, of our sedentary and our active hours, 
 the food we eat, the cloaths we wear, every thing, in 
 short, which forms our extrinsic comfort, flows to us 
 from that providential adjustment of continued 
 poverty. 
 
 But this is not all: from the same source arose our 
 fathers’ leisure, as our own; and, hence, how infinite 
 our intellectual blessings ! Who, of an enlarged 
 mind, would willingly relinquish the happiness of an 
 improved, and exercised understanding ? What lover 
 of science, what admirer of classic elegance and 
 simplicity, what inquirer into the moral relations 
 
89 
 
 between man and man, and between man and hisGod, 
 would be willing to have all, at once, swept from his 
 mind, by a dark, vacant, and everlasting oblivion ? 
 Yet, if these are blessings, they, also, are chiefly owing 
 to the same cause, which, by the permanent stimu¬ 
 lation of want, has roused mankind from indolence, 
 into that series of exertions, which has given rise to 
 all the rest. 
 
 Pater ipse colendi 
 
 Haud facilem esse viam voluit, prirrmsque per artem 
 
 Movit agros, curis acuens mortalia co * 
 
 With what just and gracious fitness, then, is the 
 subsequent command given! How becoming the 
 source of goodness and happiness ! Every humane 
 mind hears with pleasure, that other injunction, 
 
 4 Thou shalt not muzzle the ox, that treadeth out 
 the corn but this, resting on the same ground of 
 justice, rises far above it in importance. The very 
 terms are exquisitely suitable. 4 Therefore, I com¬ 
 mand thee in no instance is the language more 
 authoritative. As if he had said, .. The existence of 
 poverty is my direct, and special appointment, as 
 being indispensable to your civil welfare. Therefore, 
 on the fairest principle, 1 enjoin a just acknowledge¬ 
 ment of that benefit. You are to be the daily objects 
 of my bounty; and the chief of that bounty shall be 
 conveyed to you, through the instrumentality of the 
 poor. You owe me a return for this bounty; and 
 they, who are my instruments, in giving, are my ap¬ 
 pointed agents, for receiving : 4 Therefore, I com¬ 
 mand thee. 5 
 
 * Heaven first taught husbandmen to plough the soil, 
 Ordaining man should till the earth with toil, 
 Sharp’ning the heart by salutary cares. 
 
90 
 
 But there is, in addition to this, a natural tie. It 
 is not for one of another nature, or other feelings, I 
 am solicitous ; it is thy brother to whom I enjoin 
 thee to open thy hand, . . to whom thou oughtest to 
 be kind, if for this reason only, because you are, ‘ of 
 one blood/ .. creatures of like passions. Thy own 
 weaknesses and wants, therefore, are so many ad¬ 
 vocates within thee, for his. But he is, ‘ thy poor, 
 and thy needy, in thy land.’ This returns to the 
 main argument, the civil connexion between the rich 
 and poor. He is an appendage to thy civil existence, 
 
 . . a necessary part of the great body. * The body 
 is not one member, but many. If the whole body 
 were an eye, where were the hearing ? if the whole 
 body were hearing, where were the smelling ? and if 
 they were all one member, where were the body? 
 The eye, therefore, cannot say unto the hand, I have 
 no need of thee : nor, again, the head to the feet, I 
 have no need of you. Nay, much more, those 
 members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, 
 are more necessary/ The poor, then, being, as it 
 were, the hands and feet of the body politic, it is 
 most fitly said, 4 thy poor, and thy needy/ They are 
 one with their superiors, as to unity of action. They 
 should be one, therefore, in just sustenance; in sym¬ 
 pathetic tenderness; and in every instance of re¬ 
 quisite care. This is the voice of reason, of interest, 
 of nature, and of God. ‘Thou shalt open thine 
 hand wide unto thy brother/ 
 
 Various are the duties, which this command em¬ 
 braces. But none, more peculiarly, or distinctly, than 
 in meeting their opening wants and weaknesses; 
 and fitting them, betimes, for sustaining their lot, 
 with credit and comfort. It is the great end of all 
 the divine dispensations, to diffuse, and heighten 
 
91 
 
 happiness. But, in this lower world, God has been 
 pleased, as it were, to abridge his own power, as to 
 direct exercise ; and to commit, in a great degree, to 
 man’s agency, the executing of his beneficial pur¬ 
 poses ; as if every blessing here, were to be conveyed 
 in the way of mediation. What, therefore, must be 
 the divine complacency, when he beholds his adorable 
 design in progress, in consequence of an harmonious 
 co-operation, of all the different agencies. To supply 
 physical wants, is, as has been stated, the function of 
 the poor. To manufacture and distribute mental, in¬ 
 tellectual, and moral comfort, is the high allotment 
 of superior classes. God has so ordered matters, that 
 the former function is steadily performed. But, what 
 a reckoning will the rich and great have, if they do 
 not perform theirs! What are God’s final designs, as 
 to human society, he has not fully revealed. But, 
 universality of moral happiness is intimated. The 
 progress, however, is awfully committed, in a great 
 degree, as already hinted, to society itself. We have 
 made some progress, doubtless. Two thousand years 
 ago, what were these islands ? who, then, can say, 
 how far civilization might be carried ? But we do yet 
 know and feel, in this less happy island particularly, 
 what the evils of barbarism are; and how can we so 
 remove them, as by the very duty of this day ? To 
 multiply moral and religious mechanists, servants, and 
 labourers, is the only way we can, at present, leaven 
 the lump. And, so sure as we faithfully endeavour, 
 God will bless. 
 
 Such, my good friend, are the crude hints, of a 
 less common kind, which have occurred to me. Use, 
 or not, just as suits. Whatever I send you, is always 
 yours to throw by, just as much as to take up. What 
 you say of my little work, is gratifying to me. I did 
 
92 
 
 not forget you ; but there has been an omission, either 
 at the post office, or the castle. 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 To A . Knox , Esq . 
 
 Cashel, Jan. 24. 1804. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I this morning wrote a longer letter, which I intended 
 for you ; but which, through inadvertence, I suffered 
 to take fire, while I was in the act of sealing it. And, 
 therefore, I have now my labour to begin again. If 
 there be any thing like local influence, I fear my 
 epistle will not be mended: this morning I wrote, in 
 the old and precious library*: now, I am in my 
 bedchamber, not entirely undisturbed by the noise of 
 carpenters, putting up bookshelves, in my sitting 
 room. However, I feel sincere pleasure in the con¬ 
 viction, that, when I wrote in the morning, it was not 
 under the influence of a mere transient April gleam 
 of mental sunshine. I then said, ‘ I] will candidly 
 own to you, that, at my first coming down here, my 
 spirits were low. But, God be thanked, I have not 
 found myself in a more cheerful frame of mind, for 
 many months, than I am, at this moment. And it is 
 pleasant, that this change is produced, not in society, 
 
 * The diocesan library, at Cashel: the munificent bequest of Archbishop 
 Bolton, ., Ed. 
 
93 
 
 nor in consequence of any thing worldly, but in the 
 midst of good old books; partly, I believe, through 
 their influence, and primarily, I humbly hope, through 
 the influence of a far higher agency/ What I then 
 wrote, I am happy to give you, as my present feel¬ 
 ing : join, with me, my good friend, in humble 
 prayers, that it may be permanent. I And myself 
 called to the care of a small, but uninstructed flock; 
 and, therefore, I hope, that, when I am settled, I shall 
 find a sufflciency of active employment. The number 
 of my parishioners is so limited, that I hope to see, 
 almost every family, every week; and their present 
 ignorance, I have every reason to imagine, so great, 
 that there will be a Aeld for exertion among them. 
 I rejoice that my situation is such, as to exclude all 
 temptations to public display; and, consequently, I 
 trust, most of the danger of seeking popular com¬ 
 mendation. I conceive it peculiarly fortunate, that, 
 by a decent management of time, in my present 
 limited sphere, I shall have much leisure to prepare 
 for a more extensive one ; should Providence ever be 
 pleased to call me to it. I feel, and I apply, the sage 
 observation of Bishop Hall, now before me. ‘ It is 
 commonly seen, that boldness puts men forth before 
 their time, before their ability. Wherein we have 
 seen many, that, (like lapwings and partridges,) have 
 run away, with some part of their shell, upon their 
 heads. Whence, it follows, that, as they began boldly, 
 so they proceed unproAtably, and conclude, not with¬ 
 out shame. I would rather be haled, by force of 
 others, to great duties, than rush upon them unbidden. 
 It were better a man should want work; than that 
 great works should want a man, answerable to their 
 weight/ When I look back to the last eighteen 
 months of my life, and, at the same time, seriously 
 
94 
 
 consider these wise and pious sentiments of Hall, I 
 am not without a self-jealousy of forwardness, pre¬ 
 cipitancy, and boldness. God grant, that the tendency 
 to such defects, may be daily lessened in me; and 
 that, at the same time, I may grow in zeal, and 
 modestly and profitably discharge the duties, of the 
 station I am placed in. By the way, speaking of 
 Hall, I am charmed with the style and sentiments of 
 some of his practical works, into which I have looked, 
 since I saw you. His six decades of epistles, are 
 most truly interesting ; and some that I have read, 
 entirely free from that quaintness, and seeming affect¬ 
 ation, which diminishes the pleasing effect of his 
 Contemplations. I transcribed, this morning, for my 
 private use, the 8th Epis. of the 3d Decade, 4 On 
 the continual exercise of a Christian; how he may 
 keep his heart from hardness, and his way from error/ 
 I do not know, that I ever met so satisfactory, and 
 animating a compend, of the objects of thanksgiving, 
 self-examination, and prayer.* 
 
 I have been looking into Gale’s Court of the 
 Gentiles ; and hope to study the greater part of it 
 with attention. It is a treasure of erudition : and, 
 though he is perhaps, in some parts, fanciful, and 
 may carry his system of deriving all knowledge, from 
 inspiration, too far; good sense, piety, and learn¬ 
 ing, are conspicuous throughout the work. He is a 
 
 * Bishop Jebb’s relish for Hall, continued unabated through life. It is an 
 interesting fact, that, just previously to my honoured friend’s seizure, in April, 
 1827, he had been much engaged in reading Bishop Hall; whose Contempla¬ 
 tions, the last book he had been using, lay upon his table. And so it was to 
 ‘ the very last.’ For, on the eve of his last illness, a few weeks, only, before his 
 death, Bishop Hall became, once more, his favourite study; and one of the 
 latest exercises of his pen, was to enrich a new edition of Burnet’s Lives, 
 with an extract from this eminent Christian ; in contemplation, evidently, of 
 his own approaching change. See Burnet’s Lives, 2d edit. 12mo., 1834. 
 p. 291. . . Ed, 
 
95 
 
 thorough-paced platonist; and yet, (which does not 
 always happen to platonists,) he appears to have 
 hit the happy medium, between unqualified applause, 
 and unjust depreciation, of heathen wisdom. The 
 fourth and last part, I think you would particularly 
 like. Its title is ‘ Of reformed Philosophy,’ wherein 
 Plato’s moral or metaphysic, or prime philosophy, is 
 reduced to an useful form and method. I shall just 
 transcribe a specimen; which, I think, is after your 
 own heart. 4 Sin, is, in itself, the greatest punish¬ 
 ment ; because, the greatest evil. Sin was the first 
 evil that came into the world ; that which opened the 
 door to all other evils. Therefore, there cannot be 
 a more severe punishment of sin, than to be left to a 
 course of sin. This, Plato, once and again, takes 
 notice of. Thus, in his Gorgias, (p. 447* ed. Stephan.) 
 *H 7Tovv)qiol, [Azyurrov rcou ovtcov xaxov etti, . . The 
 
 moral evil of the soul, is of all evils the greatest . 
 This is an universal evil: nothing but evil is in sin ; 
 it is the spirit and elixir of all evil. All evil is in 
 sin; and sin is in all evil. So p. 479. Thou 
 accountest unjust men happy, if they escape punish¬ 
 ment; but, I account them more miserable. And he 
 gives the reason of it. To yaq [at) bixrjv fi&ovai, spfAOvy) 
 too xolxoo. For, not to he punished for sin, is the 
 establishment of sin . So p. 472, According to my 
 opinion, O Polus, 'O aftixog ot 7 ravrcou ^ aQhiog* 
 aSXicuTEQog [aev roivov, eav [ay} $1000 An unjust 
 
 man, is of all most miserable : yet he is more miserable , 
 voho, acting unjustly, avoids punishment . For, what 
 greater punishment, or misery, can there be, than to 
 be given up, by God, to the swinge of a man’s own 
 lusts, without check or rebuke. Are not such punish¬ 
 ments, which seem most silent, most severe and 
 desperate? Albeit, men may enjoy security in their 
 
96 
 
 sin, for a while. Yet, is not this the worst part of 
 their punishment? Doth not the righteous God, oft 
 convey his worst curses and plagues, in the sweet 
 wine of temporal prosperity? There is no blessing 
 that such a sinner enjoys, but there is a curse stampt 
 on it. Divine justice writes a piece of hell, on all 
 his temporal comforts; as he writes a piece of 
 heaven, on all the chastisements of the righteous. 
 Thus, also, Plato, in his Meno, p. 78. T/ yap 
 a'kT^o semis aST uov eivai, 7) E7n6ufJLeiv rcou xaxcov, xai 
 xrao-Gai ; for what else is it to he miserable , than 
 to desire evils , and to possess them . And this indeed 
 is a general dogma with Plato; as in his Gorgias, 
 that , to he punished hy a judge for sin , is not the 
 greatest punishment , hut even , then , when they are 
 involved in their sins , they fall under the most severe 
 punishment . So much pleasure as men take in the 
 commission of their sin, so much torment they find 
 in the issue. The evil of punishment, is answer- 
 able to the evil doing. He that departs from God, 
 executes on himself, his own doom. And, the 
 further he departs from God, the more he is in¬ 
 volved in chains and darkness. O ! what an in¬ 
 dissoluble connexion is there, between sin and punish¬ 
 ment ? Can any sin, be so delicious in the commission, 
 as it is bitter in the issue ? - Is not sin, a pregnant 
 mother, with child of misery ? Yea, doth it not carry 
 hell in its womb ? He that loseth his God by sin, 
 doth he not lose comforts, life, yea, self’ and all ?’ 
 If, after reading this extract, you wish to possess the 
 book, I believe it is to be had at Dugdale’s; and, if 
 you can find a second copy, on reasonable terms, 
 
 I would thank you to keep it for me. If, however, 
 it be not very cheap, I can well wait \ as I have the 
 use of Cashel Library $ from which I now have many 
 
97 
 
 books in mj lodging, and, among the rest, Gale. I 
 would trouble you to procure for me, as soon as you 
 can, at Colbert’s, or if necessary, by post, the 
 Christian Observer for the last four months, viz. 
 for Sept. Oct. Nov. and Dec.; and to transmit them, 
 through your castle, or post-office friends. Also, as 
 soon as convenient, Bates’s Baxter, Civil Govern¬ 
 ment, and Rural Philosophy. 
 
 And now, my dear Sir, I have a still greater favour 
 to ask; that you would write to me, as soon, and as 
 often, as your leisure and your spirits will admit: 
 that you would have the goodness to write, as you 
 talk to me; throwing out any hints that may occur, 
 whether curious, moral, or scriptural. I promise you, 
 I will both prize them highly, and, with God’s help, 
 endeavour to use them profitably. In return, I will 
 sometimes trouble you with my thoughts and studies. 
 I have found in Gale, a parallel division, with St. Paul’s 
 power, love, and sound mind; and with Baxter’s scire , 
 velle , posse . It is quoted from Plato; but, unfor¬ 
 tunately, without the Greek, and without reference. 
 It is, as follows: . . * To philosophize, is to know, to 
 love, and to imitate God.’ Does not this deserve to 
 be written in letters of gold, as the acme of heathen 
 philosophy ? And is it not one eminent proof, 
 that the most cultivated reason, is most coincident 
 with divine revelation. This is, in truth, divine phi¬ 
 losophy. There is nothing harsh, or crabbed, about 
 it. When I turn from it, to high Calvinism, can 
 you blame me, if I exclaim, Sit mea anima cum 
 'philosophis ? 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 J» J o 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 LETTER 11 . 
 
 Jan. 28. 1804. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I greatly thank you for your right pleasant letter. 
 The amiable apostle St. John says, in his 3d epistle, 
 
 ‘ I have no greater joy, than to hear that my children 
 walk in truth/ And I conceive the substance of 
 his sentiment is entailed upon all, that inherit any 
 real portion of his Christian feelings. I believe I felt 
 a good deal in this way, when I read your account of 
 yourself. You have heard me quote that beautiful 
 sentence of Boethius, 
 
 Fcelix qui potuit boni 
 Fontem visere lucidum.* 
 
 The quiet serenity you have tasted, and, I trust, 
 are tasting, is a prelibation from this fountain. 
 
 ‘ Great peace have they who love thy law,’ is a 
 natural, as well as a divine truth; a platonic, no less 
 than a scriptural sentiment. And, certainly, these 
 feelings are given, to make it be known, by experience, 
 that ‘ wisdom’s ways are ways of pleasantness, and 
 all her paths are peace.’ 
 
 Bishop Hall was a thoroughly Christian man ; of 
 great powers of mind, and genuine piety. It is 
 remarkable, how his piety brightens, towards the 
 close of his life. It might be supposed, that there 
 was something to be overcome in him, and, therefore, 
 such sharp sufferings were permitted to come upon 
 
 * Happy the man, whose heaven-lit eye, 
 
 Could pierce the fount of Deity. 
 
99 
 
 him; but, his Free Prisoner, and his Soul’s Farewell to 
 Earth and Approach to Heaven, or some such name, 
 shows a completely humble, spiritual, and heavenly 
 mind. He was of a different school from my greatest 
 favourites; but he had in him the root of the matter, 
 and was an excellent man. 
 
 These early post hours, make it unavoidable to 
 write short letters, if one writes at all in the evening. 
 I could not write in the morning ; and the time so 
 presses, that I must only add now. 
 
 That I am always. 
 
 Most truly and affectionately yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 P. S. I have inquired for Gale; but it is not yet 
 sent me, though I believe he has it. 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq . 
 
 March 9. 1804. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 # * & # # 
 
 # # # # # 
 
 And now as to the first part of your letter. I shall be 
 happy to hear from you on the subject, when your 
 leisure or inclination leads you to take it up. But, 
 at the present, I wish you would advert to a corre¬ 
 spondence in the Christian Obs., on Rom. vii. 14. 25.; 
 particularly a letter from J. P. in the last number, 
 p. 67 . I could wish you would commit to paper your 
 
 h 2 
 
100 
 
 view of the passages, and send it for publication. It 
 would be a very useful service; and you have so 
 thoroughly digested the subject, that it would cost 
 you no more trouble, than an ordinary letter. The 
 business, as yet, is taken up, on very partial, unsatis¬ 
 factory grounds. 
 
 I am much pleased with a review of Hall’s Fast- 
 day Sermon, in the same number. So far as I can 
 judge, from the extracts given, both the merits and 
 defects of this excellent production, are fairly stated. 
 Would you recommend the abridgment of Baxter’s 
 Christian Directory, by Adam Clarke? It is ad¬ 
 vertised on the back of the Christian Obs. (last 
 number.) If so, I would gladly order it;.. Jones on 
 the Canon, republished at the Clarendon Press, 3 
 vols. 15s. ; the 2d vol. of Gisborne’s Sermons ; and 
 Hall’s Fast Sermon. These, your friend Mr. Cooke 
 could import; and when imported, they, together 
 with Bates’s two books, and, if you can procure 
 them, Gillies’s first Collections, might be boxed by 
 him, and sent me, by a Cashel carrier. 
 
 I have to thank you for four numbers of the Ob¬ 
 server, andBates’s Rural Philosophy ; which I received 
 
 safely from the hands of Mr.- Have you ever 
 
 read any of Prudentius? If the passage, which I 
 write underneath, has not hitherto presented itself 
 to you, I think you will not be displeased at the 
 quotation. It is from his morning hymn. 
 
 Sic tota decurrat dies, 
 
 Ne lingua mendax, aut manus, 
 
 Oculive peccent lubrici; 
 
 Ne noxia corpus inquinet. 
 
 Speculator adstat desuper 
 Qui nos, diebus omnibus, 
 
101 
 
 Actusque nostros prospicit 
 A luce priraa in vesperum. 
 Hie testis, hie est arbitor, 
 
 Hie intuetur quicquid est 
 Humana quod mens concipit: 
 Hunc nemo fallit judicem.* 
 
 1 must now break off, with the assurance that 1 am, 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Very faithfully and affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 12. 
 
 Tuesday, March 13. 1804. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I see no objection to your occupying any time, that 
 should seem to require filing up, in the manner 
 you mention in yours of the 16th ult. I should 
 only wish, that it may be taken up, not as. a chief, 
 but rather as a supplementary object. The pri¬ 
 mary object, I conceive, ought to be the New Testa¬ 
 ment. I mean, in this very way; and, therefore, I 
 
 * So may this day glide peaceful by, 
 
 That neither tongue, nor hand, nor eye, 
 
 In word, in deed, in look may sin: 
 
 Pure all without, as all within. 
 
 A Holy Watcher f stands on high, 
 
 Who marks, with ever-wakeful eye, 
 
 Us and our acts, from morn’s first light, 
 
 Till evening’s shades bring on the night. 
 
 / Sole witness He, sole arbiter. 
 
 Of all the secrets buried there, — 
 
 The mind of man to nought gives birth, 
 
 That scapes the Judge of all the Earth. 
 
 f Daniel, iv. 13. 
 
 H 3 
 
102 
 
 think every divine should have an interleaved one. 
 I have, for some time, purposed to desire Dugdale 
 to prepare for me, in the manner I speak of, Mr. 
 Wesley’s quarto Testament, so as to make two 
 volumes. I prefer it, not on account of his notes, but 
 on account of his following the paragraphic division 
 of Bengelius. Also, the interleaved pages will con¬ 
 tain more comparative space. I mention this, to ex¬ 
 emplify my idea, as, in these matters, circumstantials 
 are of some moment; and, therefore, I deem it valu¬ 
 able to have sufficient room, on the page opposite to 
 the text, without multiplying the blank leaves. Now, 
 I will tell you plainly, why I thus recommend your 
 plan, only in a secondary way. It is, that no theory, 
 or systematic pursuit, however innocent or proper, or 
 even collaterally beneficial, in itself, may divert you 
 from tracing, as a devoted student, all the deep, but 
 not inextricable windings, of the New Testament 
 philosophy. 6 Why, is not this substantially in¬ 
 volved, in the plan I propose?’ I answer, The 
 first view of this divine philosophy is, its operation 
 on the individual heart: this is fundamental to all 
 the rest. In applying the mind to this, all and 
 every idea, that could, even by possibility, extrovert 
 the thought, or detach any portion of attention, 
 ought, I conceive, to be kept out of view. I would 
 wish you, therefore, to have no other object here, 
 (except the unavoidable one, growing out of minis¬ 
 terial duties,) than to possess yourself 1 of the very 
 meaning, and absolute scope, of what our Lord and 
 his apostles taught ; to see it clearly, with your mind’s 
 eye; and to feel it vitally, in your own heart. 
 
 Now, do not suppose, that I suspect you of mean¬ 
 ing any thing, which could imply neglect of this. By 
 no means. But, I thus distinctly press it upon your 
 
103 
 
 thoughts, because I think you are peculiarly well 
 fitted for it. I cannot but fancy to myself, that if, 
 with your studious habits, &c. &c. which I must 
 not spread out before yourself, you had just that 
 view of scripture, which, some how or other, God’s 
 good Spirit has led me to, but which countless in¬ 
 firmities prevent me from improving in myself, or 
 rendering even competently useful to others, what 
 a solid, substantial work on the New Testament, you 
 might one day produce! 
 
 But to return to the common place. I have thus 
 postponed it, because, though containing much prac¬ 
 tical matter, it would, in the way of research, lead 
 you rather to trace the dispensations of God in the 
 world, and to consider the external light of truth, as 
 variously and progressively afforded, than the internal 
 operation and illumination of the heart. Now, my 
 thought is, that this last is, in order of right under¬ 
 standing, so strictly prior, and is so necessary as the 
 preoccupant of the mind, that I should deem your 
 success, in the course of study you mention, to depend, 
 on it coming in as a satellite of the other. On this, 
 I think I have said enough, to make myself intel¬ 
 ligible to a duller man than yourself; and yet I am 
 loth to quit the subject. 
 
 The truth is, that, in what I am now saying, I feel 
 myself within the precincts of the 4 sapientum templa 
 serena;’ and to be hopefully attempting to lead you 
 in also. Well might Lucretius say of this sublime 
 height, £ Nil dulcius est bene quam munita tenere,’ 
 &c. ; and the advantage, which he dwells upon, of 
 being above worldly attractions and perturbations, 
 was, surely, never more impressive, than in these times. 
 Truly, when I read these first thirteen lines, of the 2d 
 book, of that atheistic poem, I cannot but think, there 
 
 h 4 ) 
 
104 
 
 must have been some sort of temporary afflatus in the 
 case. It is all so literally just of Christianity ; and of 
 nothing else. It is one of the many wonderful as¬ 
 pirations, after the ‘ peace which passeth all under¬ 
 standing/ by which the congruity of the gospel, with 
 the deepest feelings of hope and pleasure, as well as 
 of want and pain, in the human bosom, was demon¬ 
 strated, almost by anticipation. And such feelings 
 after God (s/ cl^oc ys -tyrjT^cMprjarsioLV oldtov, xou eu^oisv') 
 are surely the complete comment, on that title of the 
 Messiah, in Haggai, . . ‘ The desire of all nations/ 
 Yesterday, as I was walking in the streets, I asked 
 myself, e What is Christianity ? ’ It is, answered my 
 mind, a divine system of spiritual attractions, by 
 which, whosoever gives himself honestly to them, is 
 effectually drawn out of, the otherwise invincible 
 entanglements, and inextricable intricacies, of this 
 dark, miserable, polluting, heart-lacerating world, 
 
 (the OLICOV TOD X0(T[X0D T0DT0D . . tile E^ODCTIOL T(OU X0(T- 
 [AOXQOIT£(J(OV TOD (TXOTOUg TOD 0U(DV0£ T0DT0D ) : and led 
 
 forth into what David has described, as ‘ green pas¬ 
 tures, beside the still waters’; or what Saint Paul has 
 emphatically called ZI2H KAI EIPHNH, Life and 
 peace. The truth is, to a person of any sensibility, 
 this world is a wretched place. There is not a step in 
 life, where we can be sure of not meeting some latent, 
 lurking thorn ; and when we fall in with those various 
 adventurers, described by Lucretius above,.. if they 
 are in pursuit, they rudely shove us by; if they are 
 in possession of their prize, they despise us in their 
 hearts, and tell us by their looks and manner that 
 they do so. A hard, selfish, thorough-paced mind, 
 goes on, and cares not; but the sensible, delicate, 
 feeling spirit, is ever pushed to the wall. To such a 
 spirit, then, what a gentle, blessed relief 1 is afforded, 
 
105 
 
 by a heart-knowledge of Christianity! There is no 
 abatement of feeling: the vivid perception is as 
 great as ever. But the heart and mind are so occu¬ 
 pied, so filled, so richly compensated, and so deeply 
 tranquillized, by the pursuit, the contemplation, the 
 confident, affectionate, filial apprehension, of God; 
 the seripturally revealed God, Creator, Redeemer, 
 and Sanctifier; the incarnate God, touched with the 
 feeling of our infirmities; and all this infinitely har¬ 
 monizing, or rather identifying, with the philosophic 
 view of the first good , first perfect, and first fair, 
 while it is practically and experimentally evinced, by 
 undeniable, invaluable, never-failing influences and 
 effects within ; all this together, forms such a set-off 
 against, and such a refuge from, the common pains 
 and penalties of mortality, as often makes the natu¬ 
 rally vulnerable mind rejoice in its quickness of feel¬ 
 ing, because this serves to enhance the preciousness 
 of the blessing. 
 
 Perhaps this view may appear to you too highly 
 coloured. It would be so, were it to be taken as the 
 hourly state of a Christian’s mind: but all this, to its 
 extent, is the cloudless meridian state. Many partial 
 obscurations occur, to diminish this clearness. But 
 they only diminish it; the substance still remains. A 
 kind of mental rain and storm may, also, be often 
 experienced 5 and the weather-beaten pilgrim may 
 tremble, to find himself driven, as he thinks, to the 
 very edge of some dangerous precipice. But he 
 does not fall over. He recovers his footing, and his 
 confidence; and, in a little time, the sky is cleared ; 
 and the air becomes calm and genial. Amid all this, 
 however, there is sensible progress. And this variety 
 has its great use. In order that the mind may main¬ 
 tain its victory over sin, it must be kept on the alert 
 
106 
 
 by temptation. In order that it may continually look 
 to heaven for strength, it must be made to feel its 
 own entire imbecility. And, it is, on the whole, ne¬ 
 cessary, that nothing here should be perfect, in order 
 to the eternal sabbatism being rightly pursued, and 
 habitually anticipated. 
 
 These being my views, I should certainly feel 
 pleasure, in rescuing that perverted passage, Rom.vii. 
 14 . . 25., out of those rash hands, that are so busied 
 in variously disfiguring Saint Paul’s exquisite work¬ 
 manship ; but some other matters, at present, press 
 upon me, and must be first disposed of. But I hope 
 not to lose sight of your suggestion. 
 
 I have twice written for the two smaller Bates’s; 
 and look out for them daily. I will order the other 
 things for you. I sent you my own Bates’ R. P.*; and 
 it is well I did, for it has already got out of print. 
 Is not this a pleasant fact ? Here was no name to 
 recommend to notice, as in the case of Hannah More, 
 and Mr. Wilberforce. Of course nothing but its own 
 attractiveness, could make it popular. Certainly, I 
 have not seen, in this day, a work so wisely adapted, 
 to insinuate deepest truths into readers, with the least 
 possible alarm. Like the surgeon in John Hales, he 
 most effectually conceals his lancet in a sponge. 
 
 I must get Prudentius ; except you damp the 
 idea your quotation has given me. I, probably, have 
 several of his hymns, in the Romish breviary. 
 
 You, perhaps, do not know, that the junto of 
 Walkerites, have attacked your sermon. I must, 
 therefore, enable you to read what is said against 
 you, as far as it goes; and, therefore, send you, with 
 this, the number of their publication, wherever it is. 
 
 — Ed. 
 
 * ‘ Rural Philosophy.’ 
 
107 
 
 There are very few things indeed, which will not be 
 seen differently, from different points of view. If 
 any one, therefore, resolves to oppose, all he has to 
 do is, to discover the point of view, from which a 
 different appearance will present itself; and, then, 
 obstinately set the one appearance against the other, 
 with steady disregard of all explanatory considerations. 
 In this way, controversies may be carried on for ever : 
 as in this way, they have, already, been multiplied ad 
 infinitum. But this, after all, is the method of Babel, 
 or of Bedlam (which you will) ; and as such, to be 
 borne with patiently : for they who take this mode, 
 are as much beyond rational conviction, as any mad¬ 
 men whatever. Exactly of this kind, in my opinion, 
 was the greatest part of Mr. Walker’s letter to me. 
 It is painful, however, that such a phenomenon as 
 this ‘ Advocate,’ should present itself to our little 
 public. But Providence brings good out of evil. 
 
 Farewell, my good friend, 
 
 And believe me ever, 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 P. S. There is ability amongst those persons. The 
 remark on the expression 4 Lord's Day ,’ in [the] 
 128th and 129th pages, is very just and ingenious; 
 but, I suppose, not new. 
 
108 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 To A . Knox , Esq . 
 
 Cashel, Friday, March 23. 1804. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 This day seven-night, I received your kind com¬ 
 munication ; and, since, I have been too much 
 occupied to answer it. The packet that now ac¬ 
 companies this, will show you how I have been 
 employed. Whether well, or ill, I cannot judge: 
 but I shall expect your opinion, if possible, by return 
 of post. It should be nothing more than the laconic 
 .. c Print,’ or ‘ Not print.’ I think we ought not alto¬ 
 gether to let those people write and review us down. 
 On this principle, I would wish to publish my essay. 
 What I now send, would make, I believe, one third 
 of the whole, or thereabouts. I have in my mind, or 
 my common-place book, matter, that I consider more 
 important and interesting, than what you now see; 
 and I feel within me, that I could work it up with 
 tolerable ease. If, however, you, or any other equally 
 judicious friend, would recommend silence, I will 
 obey; though, I must own, in opposition to my present 
 sentiment. Should you recommend publication, I 
 think speed is an object. I wish to get the matter 
 off my mind, and have done with it. 
 
 Do not imagine, by all this, that I have been in¬ 
 attentive to, or unimpressed by, the excellent advice 
 you have been good enough to give me. It is my 
 present intention, with God’s help, to make New- 
 Testament truth, the great object of my pursuit. It 
 
is, incomparably, the most important. And, indi¬ 
 vidually and practically applied, is, I am sure, the 
 only solid foundation, of moral security, and internal 
 comfort. My conviction of this, at present, prin¬ 
 cipally rests, on the unquestionable testimony of good 
 and pious men; who were themselves elevated, 
 purified, and almost beatified, through the influence 
 of scriptural Christianity. And permit me to say, 
 that, in addition to this cloud of experimental evi¬ 
 dence, the rich and delightful view afforded in your 
 letter, has been to my mind, a source of calm, tran¬ 
 quil, and most comfortable assurance, that there is a 
 divine reality, in the gospel promises of happiness 
 and peace. I am disposed to wish, that my persuasion 
 were more the vivid result of personal experience. 
 But, I trust, the wish is unaccompanied by any over- 
 solicitous impatience. This great work is, most com¬ 
 monly, progressive. And I really think, that, though 
 in a very low stage of improvement, if at all im¬ 
 proving, I have reason to be thankful, that 1 have 
 been already brought to see and feel, the utter insuf¬ 
 ficiency of any means merely human; and that, 
 through the gloom of the surrounding atmosphere, a 
 few rays sometimes pierce, affording a glimpse of 
 attainable tranquillity. It is the character of the 
 good-ground hearers, that they ‘ bring forth fruit 
 'with patience .’ Is it not, therefore, my duty, in the 
 diligent use of appointed means, to await God’s good 
 time of ripening the fruit ; of bringing to maturity 
 the scire , the vette, and the posse ? 
 
 Such, in some measure, are my present feelings. 
 I consider the ‘ sapientum templa serena’, . . c the 
 regions mild, of calm and serene air,’ as distant, 
 indeed, but not unapproachable ; and I gladly lay 
 hold of the friendly hand, that would lead me there; 
 
110 
 
 relying on Him, whom I would address in the words 
 of Boetius, with humble hope, . . 
 
 Da, pater, augustam mentis conscendere sedem, 
 
 Da fontem lustrare boni, da luce reperta 
 
 In te conspicuos animi defigere visus ! * 
 
 Two days before the receipt of your letter, I had en¬ 
 tered on the regular study of the Acts, in the original. 
 It, however, has led me to considerations, which, I 
 se e, will terminate, in beginning Saint Matthew ; and 
 this, precisely with a view to the operation of divine 
 philosophy, in the individual heart. The plan of 
 operation, however, is necessarily postponed, by the 
 pressure of the present exigency. And one principal 
 reason why I wish to apply, almost exclusively, to my 
 essay, for a little time, is, that my mind may be dis¬ 
 burdened, of the subject which now presses upon it; 
 and, thus, be unclouded, for the calm consideration 
 of far more important matters. I may now say, 
 
 6 Mens agitat molem.’ Ideas are now opposing each 
 other, and now coalescing, with a quick succession. 
 I cannot resist them; and, therefore, I feel the ne¬ 
 cessity of giving them vent on paper. So entirely 
 passive have I been in the business, that I had actu¬ 
 ally, on Saturday last, written a good part of a letter 
 to you, containing reasons for passing by the 6 Ad¬ 
 vocate’s ’ review in silence. Out of that letter, how¬ 
 ever, arose the essay. It grew on me quite imper¬ 
 ceptibly ; and, as it grew, I saw reasons for changing 
 my first design. Whether the reasons are sound, or 
 
 * Father of lights, O ! guide my steps to find 
 The seat, where throned dwells th’ eternal mind ; 
 Grant xne the living fount of Good to trace, 
 
 And eye thy glory with unveiled face, d 1 
 
 f II Cor. iii. 18, 
 
Ill 
 
 whether they are the illusions of a mind bent on the 
 subject, I cannot say. You will judge coolly of the 
 matter, and advise accordingly; taking into account, 
 however, the difficulty of getting the mind clear of a 
 train of ideas, that has occupied it perforce. 
 
 I think, on the whole, Prudentius may be worth 
 getting; though there is much in it I do not like. 
 The morning hymn, whose conclusion I quoted, is 
 excellent throughout. I will give you another toler¬ 
 ably favourable specimen. It is taken from his 
 ‘ Hymnus in laudem Vincentii Martyris.’ 
 
 Erras, cruente, si meam 
 Te rere pcenam sumere, 
 
 Quum membra morti obnoxia 
 Dilancinata interficis. 
 
 Est alter, homo intrinsecus, 
 
 Violare quern nullus potest, 
 
 Liber, quietus, integer, 
 
 Exsors dolorum tristium, 
 
 Hoc, quod laboras perdere 
 Tantis furoris viribus, 
 
 Vas est solutum ac fictile, 
 
 Quocunque frangendum modo. 
 
 Quin immo nunc enitere 
 Ilium secare, ac plectere, 
 
 Qui perstat intus, qui tuam 
 Calcat, tyranne, insaniam. 
 
 Hunc, hunc lacesse ; hunc discute, 
 
 Invictum, insuperabilem, 
 
 Nullis procellis subditum, 
 
 Solique subjectum Deo. * 
 
 * Think not, vain erring man of blood, 
 On me thy tyrant vengeance pour’d, 
 When my frail limbs, in wrathful mood, 
 Thou giv’st to the destroying sword. 
 
112 
 
 There is another point of view, in which I know not 
 whether Prudentius has been considered. And that 
 is, as affording instances of incipient superstition. 
 He flourished about A. D, 400. And the following 
 passage shows, that, at that period, the cross was held 
 in a kind of superstitious reverence, as effecting what 
 could be produced only by God’s spirit, assisting 
 our own earnest efforts. It is in his ‘ Hymnus ante 
 Somnum. 
 
 Fac cum, vocante somno, 
 
 Castum petis cubile, 
 
 Frontem, locumque cordis 
 Crucis figura signet. 
 
 Crux pellit omne crimen : 
 
 Fugiunt crucem tenebrae : 
 
 Tali dicata signo, 
 
 Mens fluctuare nescit.* 
 
 Another self there dwells within, 
 
 Whom nought can harm, whom none molest; — 
 Free, quiet, scatheless, cleansed from sin, 
 
 Midst mortal agonies at rest. 
 
 That which thou lab’rest to destroy, 
 
 (Sole victim of thy fury’s stroke,) 
 
 Is but a fragile earthen toy, 
 
 By chance, or childish folly, broke. 
 
 But prove thy power ’gainst th’ inner man, 
 
 In iron bound, by tortures torn, — 
 
 The unfettered Spirit, grasp’d in vain, 
 
 Laughs all thy puny rage to scorn : 
 
 This try, this torture, this molest, — 
 Unconquered, and invincible, 
 
 No mortal storms can break its rest, 
 
 God’s freeman fears no earthly ill. 
 
 When at night thou seek’st repose, 
 
 Ere sweet sleep thine eyelids close, 
 
 Sign with the cross each nobler part. 
 
 The forehead, seat of thought, — the heart. 
 
 No crime finds place where it is nigh, 
 
 From it the powers of darkness fly : 
 
 Secure beneath this holy sign, 
 
 Rests the calm’d soul in peace divine. 
 
113 
 
 I send you back 4 Hal]/ with many thanks, and 
 would be obliged to you to order for me a copy of the 
 2d edit. ; also, the 8vo. edit, of Parkhurst’s Greek 
 Lexicon. These can come down with the other books. 
 I think I should like to have Milner’s Church His¬ 
 tory. It is calvinistic, I believe; but, then, it contains 
 biographical remark, much concerning the interior 
 of religion, which one would look for to no purpose, 
 in Mosheim. I need not say, I would be obliged by 
 your sending the next number of the 4 Advocate’ by 
 post, the day it comes out. 
 
 I must now conclude myself, my dear Sir, 
 
 Yours ever, most faithfully and affectionately, 
 
 John Jebb, 
 
 LETTER 13. 
 
 March 26*. 1804. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I have sufficiently looked at your manuscript to 
 satisfy me, that it is far too good, and too able, 
 and too learned, (I speak soberly and simply,) 
 to be thrown away on so forlorn a hope. In¬ 
 deed, you must hear, patiently and quietly, without 
 answering a word. You could not, I assure you, give 
 higher satisfaction to those pert and petulant boys, 
 than to enter the lists with them. But you must do 
 with them, as I did with their master; and I am 
 more and more convinced, that I did wisely. There 
 is a dignity in silence, which, though we must not 
 proudly assume, for our own sakes, we may prudently 
 preserve, for our cause’s sake. I consulted with -~ 
 vol. r. x 
 
114 
 
 this day; and he quite agrees with me. And, 
 let me add, that there is scarcely any more salutary 
 kind of self-denial, than to suppress that very thing, 
 which, on ground of feeling, we would be eager to 
 send abroad. I know your feeling is, zeal for truth. 
 But I soberly think, that truth will gain more advan¬ 
 tage, from those puerile opposers of it being left 
 completely to themselves. Were I to fill this sheet, 
 I could not express this conviction more strongly than 
 I feel it. 
 
 Always yours, most faithfully, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 To A . KnooCy Esq. 
 
 Cashel, April 6. 1804. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I think you will not be displeased to hear, that 
 before I received yours of the 26th ult., my mind 
 was made up, for a prohibition of any further pro¬ 
 ceeding versus the Walkerites ; and that, accordingly, 
 I most cheerfully acquiesced in your sentence; 
 though I believe there was too much of the insensible 
 partiality of friendship, in the approbation expressed 
 of the MS. Such as it is, if you please, you may 
 keep it; or if not, put it into the fire. 
 
 This morning, looking into the Exercitationes 
 Evangelicm of Abraham Scultetus (affixed to the 6th 
 vol. of the Critici Sacri), I was so struck with one, 
 that I immediately proceeded to translate it; and, as 
 
115 
 
 it treats of a subject on which we have often talked, 
 I will transcribe the translation for your perusal and 
 opinion; not as to the execution on my part, which 
 is very hasty, but as to the theology of Scultetus. 
 Doddridge, you know, holds the same opinion with 
 him, on this point. 
 
 Exercit. Evang. cap. 5. 
 
 ‘ Saint Luke pronounces a great eulogium, on the 
 parents of John the Baptist. They were both right¬ 
 eous before God, walking in all the commandments 
 and ordinances of the Lord, blameless. 5 From which 
 words, however, it is not to be inferred, that they 
 were free from all sin : for, as Justin Martyr writes, 
 4 to be blameless is one thing; to be sinless, another; 
 for he that is free from sin, is, in all respects, blame¬ 
 less, also ; but he that is blameless, is by no means ne¬ 
 cessarily exempt from sin, (Quest. 140.) Accordingly, 
 in this very chapter, the Evangelist notices the sin 
 (a^a^T^a) of incredulity, in Zacharias, And these 
 great luminaries of the church, Moses, David, 
 Hezekiah, Jeremiah, Zachariah, occasionally suffered 
 obscurations and failures, of faith, of holiness, or of 
 patience; and were eclipsed, some a greater, and 
 others a smaller, number of digits; in order that all 
 men intent upon Christ, the Sun of righteousness, 
 who perpetually shines, should, from him, daily seek 
 the constant light of faith. 
 
 From hence alone, then, we may collect, that our 
 Christian perfection does not consist (amjaag'njG'/a) in 
 sinlessness, (for < there is no man that sinneth not, 5 was 
 the confession of the wise Solomon, which St. John, 
 the first of the apostles, thus corroborates, ‘ If we say 
 that we have no sin, 5 &c.) but in a stedfast purpose 
 of serving God, according to his will; and in an exe¬ 
 cution of that purpose, though often interrupted by our 
 
 T o 
 
 A -v 
 
116 
 
 lapses, and, therefore, by no means absolutely perfect, 
 yet still, devout, sincere, and without hypocrisy. 
 
 ‘ But it is the will of God, that we should address 
 him in fervent prayer; that we should give thanks to 
 him, in and for all things ; that we should bear all 
 afflictions, with joyful patience; that we should 
 strenuously war against the foes of piety, the Devil, 
 the world, our own flesh and blood ; and, finally, that 
 we should devote ourselves, to the serious pursuit of 
 piety itself. 
 
 ‘Therefore, the perfect Christian, disburthens all 
 his cares into the bosom of God : gives thanks to him 
 in all things, through his Son Jesus Christ : bears all 
 the sorrows and afflictions of this life, with joyful pa¬ 
 tience ; knowing, that they are all from the Father, 
 that they are all for his good, that they are all sent, 
 in conformity to the sufferings of Jesus Christ; and 
 assured, that they will ail terminate, in the happy 
 issue of immortal glory : accordingly, he glories even 
 in tribulation, filled with the joy of present peace, and 
 future exaltation. The perfect Christian, maintains a 
 good combat, by fighting against all the enemies of 
 piety ; and, if not always utterly subduing them, (for, 
 even in the saints, the wicked flesh sometimes rebels 
 against the spirit) nevertheless, bridling them, and 
 taming them ; and that, by faith, which implicitly 
 believes, not only the promises made to the obedient, 
 but the threats denounced against the wicked ; by 
 prayer, which daily invokes the assistance of God; 
 by diligence, which thinks on his ways, which re¬ 
 strains his feet from every evil path, which associates 
 him with all those that fear God, and keep his com¬ 
 mandments. Finally, the perfect Christian, devotes 
 himself, with all possible zeal, to piety; and conse¬ 
 quently (among which I would include daily peni- 
 
117 
 
 tence), to the exercise of all good works. For those 
 words of Christ, are never absent from his ears, 4 the 
 violent take the kingdom of heaven by force.’ . . 
 * Forgetting those things which are behind, and 
 reaching forth unto those things which are before, he 
 presses toward the mark, for the prize of the high 
 calling in Christ Jesus.’ 
 
 This was the perfection, of pious patriarchs, kings 
 and prophets; this was the perfection, of Zacharias 
 and Elizabeth. This was the perfection, of the 
 apostles, as Saint Paul himself testifies: 4 Let us, 
 therefore, as many as are perfect, be thus minded.’ 
 This perfection, rendered difficult to the flesh, is 
 rendered easy to the spirit, by the love of Christ, 
 by the guidance of the Holy Ghost, and by the vivid 
 seed of the word of God, in the hearts of the re¬ 
 generate. For, as seven years hard labour was sweet 
 to Jacob, for the sake of Rachel, whom he loved, 
 so the love of Christ, constraineth us to dedicate our 
 entire lives to him. Nor does the Spirit of God, by 
 which we are led, guide us any where else than to 
 prayer, to a joyful suffering of evils, to a struggle 
 against sin, to the serious pursuit of piety. To this, 
 the faithful, moreover, are excited, by that seed of 
 the divine word, which is hid within them. They 
 meditate on those passages of Scripture, which exhort 
 to holiness, and dissuade from sin. Wherefore, St. 
 John says, 4 Whosoever is born of God, doth not 
 commit sin, for his seed remaineth in him, nor can 
 he [presumptuously, and habitually] sin, because he 
 is born of God.’ 
 
 4 These exercises of a Christian man, though they 
 be far short of perfection, are yet dignified with the 
 name of perfection, by God; who weighs it, not ac¬ 
 cording to the rigorous mosaic letter, but by the 
 
 i 3 
 
118 
 
 standard of evangelical clemency. The voice of the 
 law is terrible : People of Israel do not sin; for, 
 Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things, 
 which are written in the book of the law, to do them. 
 But the voice of the gospel is lovely : My little chil¬ 
 dren, sin not; but if any man sin, we have an advo¬ 
 cate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous, and 
 he is the propitiation for our sins; and not for ours 
 only, but, also, for the sins of the whole world. 
 
 I am very much gratified by the rapid sale of 
 Bates ; but I fear you are put to an inconvenience, 
 by the loss of yours. If the Walkerites have fired 
 another shot at me, will you have the goodness to 
 cause the report to reach me through the castle ? 
 And, still more, will you give me some hints, for 
 a regular plan of Scripture study ? 
 
 Farewell, my dear Sir, 
 
 Your obliged and affectionate 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 14. 
 
 April 10. 1804. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 1 thank you for your translation of Scultetus : I 
 think his description would be a very good one, if 
 applied to the confirmed Christian ; .. but, as referred 
 to the perfect Christian, I think it too low. It is, in my 
 mind, an error, to take Old Testament attainments, 
 as indicating the evangelic ne plus ultra. ‘ He that 
 
119 
 
 is least in the kingdom, is greater than he,’ speaks a 
 different language. St. John, in his 1st Epistle, 
 divides Christians into three gradations. Little chil¬ 
 dren, young men, and fathers. The first class ‘ know 
 the Father/ and ‘their sins are forgiven.’ But the 
 second class are ‘ strong,’ ‘ the word of God abideth 
 in them, and they have overcome the wicked one.’ 
 This, I conceive, is the gradation, to which Scultetus’s 
 view would best apply. I say best, because I see no 
 ground for admitting, that, even in this class, the 
 stedfast purpose of serving God, is often interrupted 
 by lapses ; or, that (of necessity,) the flesh sometimes 
 rebels against the spirit. ‘Lapses’, and ‘rebels’, are 
 both strong expressions ; and seem to me, rather to 
 belong to the lowest class of spiritual Christians, than 
 to that which Saint John denominates, young men, 
 i. e. as I said (and as I think the description implies), 
 confirmed Christians. There are abundance of mental 
 irregularities, and, also, scintillations of actual pra- 
 vity, .. vanity, impatience, self will, self complacency, 
 foolish device, . . and even of grosser evils, (perhaps 
 supposed to have been expelled for ever, but some¬ 
 times, at an unlooked for moment, starting up, and 
 so pressing upon the mind, as to show, that they can 
 still give annoyance). There are, I say, such remains 
 of sin, certainly, in Saint John’s second class ; and 
 perhaps, some remains of these remains, in his third : 
 and, therefore, even the highest cannot dare to lay 
 claim, to absolute sinlessness. But, even in the con¬ 
 firmed Christian, these disagreeable feelings do not 
 occasion lapses, (if they do, they put the person 
 down a class, i. e. to the worst); nor are their move¬ 
 ments strong enough, to be denominated rebellious. 
 When terms are transferred, for illustration’s sake, 
 from the external, to the moral world, the end is 
 
 l 4 
 
120 
 
 ftot answered, if strict analogy be not preserved. I 
 object, therefore, to the word, rebels ; because, we 
 never call that a rebellion, which can be put down 
 by police-men, without its producing an overt-act. 
 
 The views of Scultetus, are very tolerable, for the 
 school to which he belonged: but it was a uniform 
 principle with all calvinists, and, indeed, I believe, 
 with all strict followers of St. Austin, to keep down 
 the Christian moral character ; as if its rising too high, 
 was inconsistent with the honour of divine grace. 
 The misinterpreted passage in Rom. vii., has stood 
 them in stead: and I doubt not but Scultetus had 
 this distinctly in view, when he spoke of lapses, 
 and rebelling, of the wicked flesh, against the spirit. 
 But, you are sensible as I am, that it is most unfairly 
 pressed into this service. I own, too, I cannot like 
 ^ the adding to Saint John’s 4 sinneth .not,’ the quali¬ 
 fying term, habitually . Presumptuously , properly 
 
 understood, is less exceptionable. But, even that, 
 does not, I conceive, come up to the sense of the 
 apostle. He certainly could, had he seen fit, have 
 limited his own expression. He could have put in, 
 habitually, or presumptuously, as well as any of his 
 commentators. But that, I think, would not have 
 at all answered his purpose. When he says, ‘We 
 know, that whosoever is born of God, sinneth not 
 he seems to me, to make this assertion. . . He that is, 
 really and truly, renewed, in the spirit of his mind, 
 by the regenerating grace of Christ, possesses the 
 power, of so effectually repressing all wrong motions 
 within, and of resisting or guarding against all tempt¬ 
 ations from without, that, however sensible he may 
 be of painful perturbations, and humbling deficien¬ 
 cies, it is his privilege to live, without bringing actual 
 guilt on his conscience, and without yielding, even 
 
121 
 
 by volition, to the sins by which before, he was led 
 captive ; of consequence, without grieving the Holy 
 Spirit, or creating an absolute estrangement; how¬ 
 ever he may perceive and lament transient obscur¬ 
 ations, between him and his God. It is, therefore, in 
 my judgment, Saint John’s idea, to assert a privilege, 
 which may be lived up to ; and, doubtless, has, and is, 
 and will be, though in too few instances, yet, I firmly 
 believe, in many more, than, from merely looking at 
 the outside of things, one could have an idea of. If 
 any qualification, then, were to be added, I think it 
 should be, sinneth 7iot of necessity ; that is, need not 
 sin, and will not, if he does full justice to himself. 
 And this, I conceive, corresponds most strictly, with 
 what immediately follows : ‘ But he that is begotten of 
 God, keepeth himself; and that wicked one toucheth 
 him not.’ The interposed condition of his c keeping 
 himself,’ evidently points the sense to what he may do ; 
 not to what he certainly will do ; for, though he be 
 begotten, or born of God, he may, or may not, keep 
 himself; and the consequence will be accordingly. 
 And, therefore, the gospel being a scheme of mercy ; 
 of medicine for the sick, as well as of fit nourishment 
 for the convalescent; while the privilege is asserted, 
 and the practicable happy result described, there is, 
 also, a kind and tender supposition of that infidelity 
 to received grace, which, through the frailty of man’s 
 nature, and the dangerous circumstances in which 
 he is placed, is, ever and anon, occurring (yet, not 
 necessarily, nor of course, in all): and for this, ade¬ 
 quate provision is made by this apostle ; for instance, 
 
 ‘ If any man sin, &c.’; and by Saint Paul, Gal. 
 vi. 1, where, by the way, the Uveuyotrixoi (compare 
 1 Cor. ii. 14, &c. and iii. 1, 2, 3, 4.) appear to me, 
 evidently, to be such, as retain and use their privilege 
 
122 
 
 (as described above) ; such, as have kept themselves, 
 and whose safety, it is there strongly intimated, de¬ 
 pends upon their still keeping themselves. 6 Con¬ 
 sidering thyself, &c.’ So that, on the whole, Saint 
 John’s character is that of the true, faithful, uniform 
 child of God ; of what every child of God has power 
 to he, but not what every child of God actually is. 
 This view, in my opinion, neither dims the brightness 
 of evangelic morality, on the one hand, nor diminishes 
 the cheering warmth of evangelic mercy, on the 
 other. It holds out the noblest incitement, to such 
 Christian grace, till we obtain it ; and, when we ob¬ 
 tain it, to exercise it with alacrity. Since, by doing 
 so, we shall (as St. Peter has it), 4 be kept through 
 the power of God, as in a garrison’: and enjoy ha¬ 
 bitually, without intermission, though not without 
 remission, that, 4 peace of God which passeth all un¬ 
 derstanding.’ Yet it also guards against depressing, 
 the weak, or stumbling Christian; since it not only 
 provides for the strengthening of such as do stand, 
 but, also, comforting and helping the weak-hearted; 
 and even for raising such as do fall. If, however, all 
 this were my view only, I could less confidently 
 maintain it; but it is peculiarly that of our friends 
 the platonists, . . Lucas having explained and sup¬ 
 ported it at large, and even of Richard Baxter, as 
 the enclosed extract will, I think, evince. Farewell 
 for the present. I will not burn your MS. 
 
 Truly yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
12S 
 
 FROM BAXTER. 
 
 ‘ There are five descriptions, or ranks, of true Chris¬ 
 tians, observable. 1. The weakest Christians, who 
 have only the essentials of Christianity, or very little 
 more; as infants, that are alive, but of very little 
 strength or use to others. 2. Those that are lapsed 
 into some wounding sin, though not into a state of 
 damnation ; like men at age, who have lost the use 
 of some one member, for the present, though they 
 are strong in other parts. 3. Those that, having the 
 integral parts of Christianity in a considerable mea¬ 
 sure, are in a sound and healthful state ; though 
 neither perfect, nor of the highest form or rank of 
 Christians, in this life; nor without such infirmities, 
 as are the matter of their daily watchfulness and 
 humiliation. 4. Those that are so strong, as to attain 
 extraordinary degrees of grace, who are, therefore, 
 comparatively called perfect; as St. Matt. v. 45. 
 5. Those that have an absolute perfection, without 
 sin, i. e. the heavenly inhabitants.’ 
 
 I extract this from Baxter’s introduction to a tract, 
 called, ‘ The Character of a sound, confirmed Chris¬ 
 tian,’ &c. After the above, he proceeds, .. 4 Among 
 all these, it is the third sort or degree, which I have 
 here characterized. I meddle not, now, with the 
 lapsed Christian, as such ; nor with those giants in 
 holiness, of extraordinary strength ; nor with the 
 perfect, blessed souls in heaven. But it is the Chris¬ 
 tian, who hath attained that confirmation in grace, . . 
 a composed, quiet, fruitful state, which we might 
 ordinarily expect, if we were industrious, . . whose 
 image, or character, I shall now present you with. I 
 
124 
 
 call him, oft-times, a Christian indeed ; in allusion to 
 Christ’s description of Nathanael: and as we com¬ 
 monly use that word, for one that answereth his 
 own profession, without any notable dishonour or 
 defect; as we say, such a man is a scholar indeed ; 
 and not as signifying his mere sincerity. I mean 
 one, whose heart and life is so conformed to his 
 principles, . . the rule, and the hopes of Christianity, 
 that, to the honour of Christ, the true nature of our 
 religion is discernible in his conversation, St. Matt. v. 
 16. In whom an impartial infidel might perceive, 
 the true nature of the Christian faith and godliness. 
 If the world were fuller of such living images of 
 Christ, who, like true regenerate children, represent 
 their heavenly Father, Christianity would not have 
 met with so much prejudice; nor had so many ene¬ 
 mies in the world ; nor would so many millions have 
 been kept, in the darkness of heathenism and infi¬ 
 delity, by flying from Christians, as a sort of people, 
 who are common and unclean.’ 
 
 Baxter’s Works , vol. ii. p. 965. 
 
 P. S. I think you will see, from the above, that 
 Baxter (whose 1st, 3d, and 4th classes, corresponded 
 to Saint John’s threefold distinction), agrees with me, 
 in ascribing such characters, as Scultetus enumerates, 
 to the confirmed, rather than to the perfect, Christian : 
 to Saint John’s young men, not to his fathers. 
 
125 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 To A . Knox , Esq . 
 
 Cashel, May 7. 1804. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I thank you much, for your very just and judicious 
 observations on Scultetus. Your view is, I am sure, 
 right, in the main; and, after what your letter ad¬ 
 vances, I do not think your opinion needs, though it 
 is certainly corroborated by, the authority of the 
 platonists and Richard Baxter. The more I think 
 on the subject, and the more I look around me in 
 the world, the more thoroughly I am convinced, 
 that infinite mischief arises, from fixing the standard 
 of Christian perfection too low. I see many worthy 
 people, that would be really much better than they 
 are, if their views permitted them to aim at higher 
 attainments, than they mark out for themselves. As, 
 1 believe, I one day observed to you, * Possunt quia 
 posse videntur’, and its converse, apply, accurately, 
 in the case of practical theology. 
 
 The archbishop has enlisted me to preach the Fast 
 sermon this month, in his cathedral. I think of 
 taking for my text, Isaiah xxii. 12 . . 14.; which, with 
 its context, is not inapposite to our present situation. 
 If any brief skeleton hints should occur to you, they 
 would be truly acceptable; at the same time, I do 
 not wish you to move one inch out of your way in 
 this matter. 
 
 I wrote lately to Mr. Granville Sharp* ; and con- 
 
 * Bishop Jebb’s acquaintance with this eminent and excellent person, arose 
 
126 
 
 suited him on the propriety and feasibility of a cor¬ 
 responding board in London. This communication 
 on the business, is merely private: of course, it does 
 not at all commit the association ; while it may be in¬ 
 strumental in feeling the way, before any steps are 
 taken by the body itself. I should think Mr. Sharp 
 an exceeding likely person, both to engage warmly 
 in the establishment, and to weigh, with judgment, 
 the probabilities in its favour. The idea of applying 
 to him was suggested, by seeing his name as president 
 to the new Bible society, to which, in a very few 
 days, 1000/. was subscribed. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Sir, 
 
 and believe me most truly and 
 affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 15. 
 
 May 15. 1804. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I am ashamed of having been so long without no¬ 
 ticing yours of the 7th. But I have been more than 
 usually occupied, in my thoughts, and in time. My 
 silence, however, is not to be taken as a mark of 
 negligence or inattention ; for I really am always 
 glad, when I receive a letter from you. The first 
 
 from his being executor to the will of his cousin, Sir Richard Jebb, Bart., phy¬ 
 sician to George III. The bishop was fond of mentioning a characteristic little 
 circumstance, connected with Mr. Sharp’s discharge of this trust. Having 
 handed over to the residuary legatee the personal property, he closed the trans¬ 
 action by presenting him with a last remnant, . . three fence half-penny, which he 
 had found in an old drawer. Ed. 
 
127 
 
 paragraph, for example, in the letter now acknow¬ 
 ledged, was most gratifying to me. You say just 
 what I think; and I received it, as your sentiment, 
 with peculiar pleasure. 
 
 I do not feel as if I could say any thing, about 
 your intended text. It contains nothing recondite. 
 It is, merely, a terrible description of profligate 
 times; and it too well accords with the present. 
 The resemblance may too easily be traced ; and he 
 that looks at society cannot miss it. But it is too 
 much of a locus communis, to find any thing new in ; 
 nor do I well know what to do with it. It is, as 
 it appears to me, not only a common ; but I see no 
 path marked in it. Still, however, I am very sure, 
 you can draw out of it, or rather, ground upon it, 
 much serious and useful observation. The last verse 
 contains a tremendous denunciation ; which will be 
 best, perhaps, applied, by showing, from it, that there 
 is a state of guilt, which does provoke God to pro¬ 
 nounce an irreversible sentence; and that, though it 
 may be hoped, strong as our similarity is to those 
 profane Jews, that such a sentence is not yet pro¬ 
 nounced against us; yet our undeniable resemblance* 
 unquestionably implies our desperate hazard, if we 
 do not ‘ break off our sins by repentance and turn 
 to him, from whom we have so deeply revolted. 
 
 If St. Bernard’s works be in the Cashel library, 
 look out for, and read, a short tract, near the middle 
 of the book (if it be the Antwerp edition, 1616, you 
 will find it p. 1127 *)* I never saw a more complete 
 piece of methodism; and, though it rises higher 
 in that way, than my taste goes, or, rather, describes 
 a methodistic conversion, to which nothing I have 
 felt, closely approaches, yet I think it is curious and 
 interesting; and I am glad to find such feelings, so 
 
128 
 
 distinctly narrated, by so eminent a writer of the 
 twelfth century. 
 
 It is remarkable, that St. Bernard’s piety, derived 
 much of its pabulum from the Cantica Canticorum. 
 I also remember, that Dr. Watts apologizes, for 
 having imitated that sacred poem, so much as he had 
 done, in his earlier days; but declares his more ma¬ 
 tured judgment to be, for more rational language, in 
 matters of devotion. But, may not the wonderful 
 turn of that poem, have peculiarly fitted it for aiding 
 piety, in darker, and coarser times: for, in short, 
 forcing some subtle schoolmen, to think of what 
 was inward and experimental? For, be it observed, 
 that, if that book be divine at all, it can be inter¬ 
 preted only in an experimental way; I mean, in 
 suddenness. Every thing else, I know something 
 about, I hope. It must describe the spiritual va¬ 
 rieties of the inner man, . . or nothing at all. To 
 hold this book, therefore, to be divine, was the 
 admission of inward religion, in that sense, which 
 methodists hold, at this day. And to sit down to 
 study this book, was, of course, to investigate, to 
 dwell upon, and to particularize, spiritual feelings. 
 From this, I fully grant, much fancifulness could not 
 but arise: yet, was not such fancifulness, better than 
 formal superstition? in which all outward religion 
 then consisted. In short, if inward piety had not 
 laid hold of their imagination, it had little else to 
 work upon. And to provide, beforehand, a medium, 
 through which, as through a prism, it might be 
 coloured, in a way fitted to that ignorant age, was 
 a design worthy of divine condescension. 
 
 Farewell, believe me always your faithful friend, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 

 129 
 
 LETTER 16. 
 
 To the Rev. J. Jehb. 
 
 Bellevue, June 5. 1804. 
 
 My worthy Friend, 
 
 I have been strangely omissive, in not even acknow¬ 
 ledging, your most acceptable, and valuable commu¬ 
 nication ; but it found me answering a Chancery bill ; 
 and, then, I was bound to hasten hither. Yester¬ 
 day was occupied, in the most delightful fete I 
 ever witnessed, the yearly meeting, of the Delganny 
 friendly societies; so that, I may say, this morning 
 is the first time, that I could, with any comfort, sit 
 down to thank you, which I do most cordially. Some¬ 
 time or other, I shall probably trouble you, with a 
 few particular observations on your sermon ; one or 
 two things in which (had I seen it before delivery) 
 I should have advised the retrenching, or modifying 
 of. But what are these ? Truly, your view of things 
 delights me. Never did I receive more real grati¬ 
 fication, than from your sermon # , and your letter. 
 May you only grow, as you appear to me to have 
 begun, in affection to what is good; and in regulating 
 that affection, by sound wisdom and discretion ; and 
 I trust, not only you, but many others for you, will 
 bless and praise God that ever you were born. 
 
 I must not add more at present, than that I am, 
 most cordially, 
 
 Yours always, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 * For the discourse here referred to, see Bishop Jebb’s ‘ Sermons on Subjects 
 chiefly practical,’ sermon iii. En. 
 
 VOL. 1. K 
 
130 
 
 LETTER 17. 
 
 June 21. 1804. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I have wished to write to you more fully, ever since 
 I wrote the few lines from Bellevue. I then told you 
 there were one or two things in your sermon, on 
 which I meant to remark. I now sit down to do so, 
 if I be permitted; an event which I am by no means 
 sure of. 
 
 Your own objections, are not unfounded in fact ; 
 but, all circumstances considered, they amount but 
 to a slight charge. I wonder, rather, that what you 
 were obliged to write so expeditiously, should, in many 
 parts, be written so wonderfully well. Your animated 
 paragraphs, in the second and third sheets, respecting 
 living in the world, and not carrying religion into 
 the whole of life, or regarding it as an inward para- 
 mount principle, are perhaps as well written as they 
 easily could be. Matter, and manner, are both ex¬ 
 cellent. Upon this, I ground my highest approbation ; 
 not, however, depreciating several other parts. 
 
 I begin to object, where, in the first words of the 
 sentence, or paragraph, you bespeak my peculiar 
 praise. I cordially agree with you, that there is no 
 worse evil, than lowering the standard of Christian 
 rectitude; but I do not trace this to St. Austin’s 
 school, on the one hand, nor do I echo your censure 
 of certain enthusiastic zealots, on the other. I disap¬ 
 prove, with you, of the lowering views of the calvin¬ 
 ists ; and I object seriously, to many things said by 
 wesleians, on the opposite side; but it is my strong 
 persuasion, that at this time, neither ought to be 
 
131 
 
 personally pointed at in the pulpit. Between them, I 
 fear they contain the far greater part of the operative 
 religion of these countries ; nor can I imagine, where 
 religion would, at this day, be, had not their activities 
 been called forth. I would wish for something much 
 better, than the gross of either ; but, until that comes, 
 I will be cautious in censuring, lest I should go coun¬ 
 ter to our Saviour’s intimation : 4 Forbid him not, for 
 he that is not with us is against us.’ 
 
 It is my belief, that no good is ever done, by direct 
 attack of uiy body of people. If any of that body 
 hear it, it revolts them, and increases their preju¬ 
 dices. Others, who hear it, misunderstand it, and 
 apply it as their fancies lead them. Rumours are 
 spread, that the minister preached against the me- 
 thodists, or evangelics, or whomsoever it be : and, by 
 this, a wrong spirit, unfavourable to the usefulness of 
 the preacher, perhaps to the church to which he be¬ 
 longs, is propagated. My opinion is, that the safest 
 way of combating error, is, to lay down the opposite 
 truth, with due cautionary observations, in the most 
 dispassionate manner. Then, no offence can be 
 taken ; no passion justly excited ; but, the apostle’s 
 rule being adhered to, aXrjSsuovTsg eu the best 
 
 effects may be hoped for. 
 
 Besides, to say nothing of my friends, the wes- 
 leians, I own, with all their error and perplexity, I 
 have a deep respect for calvinists, or rather augusti- 
 nians. Their system, faulty as it is, has, in my judg¬ 
 ment, served noble purposes in the world. Nor can 
 I well conceive, how experimental religion could 
 have been maintained, in those dark ages, without it. 
 I cannot but think, that, as (in my mind), the Roman 
 catholic ceremonies were permitted, in order to keep 
 up professional, or visible Christianity, in the dark 
 
 k 2 
 
1 3°2 
 
 ages of society, so, Augustine’s subtleties, were no 
 less wisely ordered, for the purpose of sustaining 
 practical and invisible Christianity. As the ceremo¬ 
 nies contained within them, a substance of Christian 
 worship, . . so those subtleties, still more necessarily, 
 contain within them, the reality of experimental re¬ 
 ligion. No man can be a romanist, who does not 
 hold, in theory at least, all the essentials of the 
 Christian religion. And no man can be an augustinian, 
 who does not hold the essentials of experimental reli¬ 
 gion. I do, humbly 1 hope, admire then, the fathom¬ 
 less wisdom of heaven ; which permitted Christianity 
 to embody itself in sensible rites, when, without such 
 rites, the savage multitude might, probably, not have 
 been impressed at all. And I equally view with 
 wonder and pleasure, the metaphysical mind of St. 
 Austin, unconsciously enclosing vital Christianity, in 
 a system of his own fabrication; which system, by 
 its appositeness to the first workings of intellect, in 
 its progress from barbarism to high improvement, 
 should, by attracting and engaging a strong mental 
 appetite, ensure the perpetuation, and extended re¬ 
 ception, of the blessed nucleus within. This, I so¬ 
 berly take to be the final cause of augustinian, and 
 calvinistic subtlety. And I do believe, when its func¬ 
 tion is completed, it will fall off of itself. It certainly 
 has, on experimental religion, much of the same 
 effect, which popish worship has had on Christianity: 
 but, while it has lessened its amiableness, it has, under 
 God’s blessing, ensured its being attentively examined 
 and cultivated. In fact, it has given a body to it, 
 which, I must say, strikes me, as having been highly 
 indispensable, and infinitely beneficial. 
 
 Even at this day, I fear the corporeal integuments 
 of Calvinism, could scarcely be spared. As the 
 
romish worship bribes the imagination of the vulgar; 
 so Calvinism bribes the reasoning faculty of sciolists. 
 The former gives attractiveness, and palpability to 
 outward; and the latter, (as I conceive) to inward 
 religion. The one, furnishes objects to be gazed at; 
 the other, affords subjects to be talked of. And, by 
 every thing I can discover, this last is just as neces¬ 
 sary for half thinkers, as pomp and show are, for 
 those who do not reason at all. On the whole, as 
 the ceremonial of romish worship, was the means 
 of keeping up, through the dark ages, a visible 
 church, within which, real Christianity deeply and ex¬ 
 tensively diffused itself; so, augustinian orthodoxy 
 has formed, as it were, the interior membrane, and 
 temporary vascular apparatus, of the invisible church ; 
 and perhaps must, in part, so remain, until that mystic 
 second birth of Christianity shall take place, when 
 the fulness of the Gentiles shall come in, and all Israel 
 shall be saved. 
 
 Before you reject all this as fanciful theory, ex¬ 
 amine well, what augustinian orthodoxy necessarily 
 contains in it. In maintaining the irresistible effi¬ 
 cacy of divine grace, Augustine, and his followers, 
 raised, both this heavenly principle, and its fruits, to 
 a height, beyond the reach of mere human nature. 
 Pelagius, whom he opposed, represented it as within 
 human reach ; and, in fact, I presume, as a human 
 business throughout: implying no radical change of 
 nature, but mere melioration and improvement. 
 Austin, in opposing him, went, doubtless, to an 
 extreme : but, then, it was the safe side, for spiritual 
 religion ; since, in exalting the efficient principle, he 
 necessarily exalted its natural and necessary results. 
 Where God himself works, it will be expected, or 
 rather relied upon, that the work will be like himself. 
 
 k 3 
 
134 
 
 Augustine, therefore, in making so very much of 
 grace, could never make little of the work of grace. 
 And, accordingly, we see, that, in no instance, is the 
 transit, from a state of moral bondage, to that of 
 spiritual liberty, more strikingly described, than in 
 St. Austin’s own account of himself. For illustration 
 of all this, see his Confessions, lib. ix. cap. 1. 
 
 I am aware, that, in his zeal against pelagianism, 
 he was led to misconstrue the 7th to the Romans ; 
 and thus, lest he should allow too much, to him who 
 was not regenerate, he, by consequence, allows too 
 little, to him that is. But I believe it would be well, 
 if all, who, at this day, agree with, and so zealously 
 contend for his interpretation of that passage, held 
 that sense of it, as harmlessly as he. For I am sure, 
 he never dreamed of affording the shadow of a plea, 
 for practical relaxedness. On the contrary, both he 
 and St. Jerome, seem to have held something very 
 like the perfection of John Wesley, and Dr. Lucas. 
 ‘Etenim, absque vitio,’ says the latter, 4 quod grsece 
 dicitur K axia, hominem posse esse aio: AvapapTyTov, 
 id est, sine peccato esse, nego.’ # And St. Austin 
 similarly says, that a man may be ‘sine crimine,’ but 
 not ‘ sine peccato.’ I do acknowledge, that John 
 Wesley seems to go farther ; and to insist on living 
 without sin : but his sin, is not St. Austin’s, nor 
 Jerome’s peccatum; but, on the contrary, quite 
 identifies with the xaxioc, or vitium of the one, and 
 the crimen of the other; his express definition of sin 
 being, the wilful transgression of a known law. I 
 own, however, that Austin’s department seems rather, 
 on the whole, to have been the laying a deep founda¬ 
 tion of practical religion, than the raising a high 
 
 * That it is possible for a man to be without vice, I affirm ; that it is possible 
 for him to be without sin, I deny. 
 
13.5 
 
 superstructure. ‘ All members, 5 says St. Paul, ‘ have 
 not the same office. 5 This latter, therefore, I humbly 
 conceive to have been the especial department of the 
 platonists ; and of such writers of that day, as Chry¬ 
 sostom. Nothing can be more exalted than Chry¬ 
 sostom’s views of devotion : yet, certainly, he was 
 obscure, as to many important first principles. To 
 discover these, required, in the nature of things, a 
 subtle and penetrating mind ; and such, doubtless, 
 was Augustine’s. He over-went the boundary of 
 right reason, I grant (at least I think so with you, 
 and so many others), but he did not the less reclaim, 
 the important ground that lay within ; and on which, 
 he first, after the apostles, appears to me to have 
 bestowed successful labour. In fact, I do think 
 the school he formed, was, from his time onward, 
 the chief nursery of piety in the roman catholic 
 church. Out of it, as I conceive, came Bernard and 
 Anselm ; though seven centuries after. And, from 
 these, came the school divines; who, I suspect, have 
 done more service to Christianity (by showing its 
 connection with philosophic truth, and evincing that 
 it would bear the closest reasoning), than most 
 moderns are aware of. I have been surprised, by 
 quotations from Aquinas : they contain so much 
 strictness and consecutiveness. Mr. Kirwan* (not 
 the dean) accounts him one of the most powerful- 
 minded writers, perhaps, in the world. But one 
 remarkable growth from Augustine’s plantation, 
 even in latter times, was jansenism. To him the 
 pious originator of that sect turned, as to an authority 
 which the Romish church particularly venerated; 
 and a standard which he knew would support that 
 
 * Late president of the Royal Irish Academy . . . Ed. 
 
 K 4 
 
136 
 
 scheme of inward and divine religion, which he 
 wished to revive. The book he first published, you 
 know, he called 4 Augustinus as actually containing 
 a summary of that father’s doctrine. Probably, even 
 then, a doctrine more consonant with what you and 
 I conceive truth, might have had little effect ; as not, 
 perhaps, having a current strong enough, to work its 
 way through the stagnant lake of popery. As it was, 
 I am sure, much good was done, and good will ever 
 be doing while the world stands, by those Port Royal 
 writers. 
 
 I must, however, recur to a distinction made 
 above, of laying the foundation, and of raising the 
 superstructure. 1 made the observation extempore ; 
 but, on looking more at it, 1 doubt if it may not be 
 illustrated by many striking facts. St. Paul hints 
 at such a distinction of gifts, in both his figures, of 
 planting, and building. c I have planted; Apollos 
 watered.’ ‘ I, as a wise master builder, have laid 
 the foundation ; and another buildeth thereon ; but 
 let every man take heed how he buildeth thereon : 
 if any man build upon this foundation, gold, silver, 
 precious stones, wood, hay, stubble, &c.’ And the 
 difference of the work, is still more clearly indicated 
 in Heb. vi. 1. Therefore leaving, &c. Aio assures 
 tov T7]g a%%r}S too X^io-too “Xoyou, G7ri ty]U t £"h£ ioty]T cl 
 CpS^CUfJLsdor fAY) TTCLhlV Ss[As7iiou xoltoc£<xX7^o[asvoi, fASTavoiag 
 CL7T0 VSXfXDV EpyCOV, XCLl 1TKTTECOg £771 ©£0J/. Which eX- 
 
 hortation would imply, that this progress was, by 
 no means, a thing of course: and, even more 
 clearly, that the means of advancement were some¬ 
 what of a different nature, and to be differently 
 managed, from those of laying the foundation. 
 Now, compare these Scriptures, with what I said 
 above, of Austin and his followers, on the one 
 
13? 
 
 hand, and of Chrysostom, and the platonic divines, 
 on the other; and judge, whether the striking dis¬ 
 similitude between them, may not providentially 
 correspond, to this important difference of purpose ; 
 yea, and farther, whether the theology of Austin, 
 may not have been, and still be, the providential 
 caisson , within which, it became necessary for the 
 foundation-builders to lay their work; in conse¬ 
 quence of a deep swampiness in the human soil, 
 which we have reason to hope is under a gradual 
 corrective process, but is by no means yet done 
 away ? 
 
 But, when men are accustomed to a particular 
 work, they magnify its importance ; and are naturally 
 loth to allow the necessity of any other. Therefore 
 is it, that the above exhortation was so strongly 
 given, and has been so rarely taken. They are 
 urged to leave the first principles, and not lay again, 
 &c. But, how seldom have they done this ? On 
 the contrary, they love the dark hollow, in which 
 they work; and would insist, that the fabric should 
 never rise above their favourite caisson. 6 To go on 
 to perfection/ is the scripture rule ; but they have 
 become impatient of the very name. They protest 
 against it, as dishonourable to the foundation. 
 Hence, then, the necessity of generally appointing 
 a distinct set of workmen ; who, so far from having 
 that undue attachment to first principles, might, in 
 that respect, be deemed even deficient, if their 
 peculiar distinction was not kept in view. 
 
 Thus, as I said, Chrysostom was a superstructure- 
 man ; while Austin was sinking the foundation : and, 
 therefore, you see the former as jealous for holi¬ 
 ness, as the other for efficacious grace. You no 
 doubt remember the indignant passage, quoted in 
 
138 
 
 the Christ. Obs., from Chrysostom, respecting the 
 applying to St. Paul, what he says, in the 7th of 
 Romans. Augustine, however, as you know, made 
 this application : not, certainly, because he wished to 
 cherish depravity in the regenerate; but because he 
 was puzzled how, consistently with the exclusive 
 influence of effectual grace, to ascribe ‘ consenting to 
 the law,’ and ‘ delighting in the law,’ to every one, 
 not savingly wrought upon. This misinterpretation, 
 however, though not arising from antinomian views, 
 has, doubtless, led to them. Yet, almost all Austin’s 
 followers have persevered in it; and, as you see, 
 fight for it to this day. Whereas, on the other hand, 
 all those, whom I deem superstructure-men, agree in 
 rejecting St. Austin’s opinion ; and either explain 
 those passages in St. Paul, of the wholly unregene¬ 
 rate, as do Jeremy Taylor and Dr. Hammond ; or 
 I (as I take it, much more soundly) of the man inter 
 regenerandum , in whom the work is commenced, 
 but yet imperfect, as does Dr. Jackson. Now 
 these, I conceive, are they, whose principles lead 
 them sig just as naturally, as the others 
 
 are held back, by theirs. And, therefore, I infer, 
 that superstructure work, is the providential destiny 
 of the one ; and foundation work, that of the other. 
 
 While writing these observations, I remember, 
 that, four months ago, in a letter to a friend, I 
 was led to view some part of the present subject; 
 though with a different view, from what I have had 
 at present. I will transcribe part of what I then 
 wrote, that you may see how far it quadrates with 
 the above remarks. 
 
 c That class to which Bishop Burnet belonged, 
 though, as I intimated above, somewhat less evan¬ 
 gelical than might be wished, have, nevertheless, 
 
139 
 
 done noble justice to inward religion. They do not 
 sufficiently magnify the office of our Saviour (though 
 they by no means lower his nature) ; yet they have 
 caught the vital spirit of his divine doctrine ; and 
 excellently describe the radical change, which the in¬ 
 fluences of God’s grace produce, where they are per- 
 severingly implored, and cordially embraced. Limas’s 
 Inquiry after Happiness, is admirable in this respect; 
 and so is that beautiful epitome of revealed religion, 
 Scougal’s Life of God in the Soul of Man. 
 
 It is remarkable, that the religion of the Gospel 
 should have been so sublimely apprehended by those, 
 who appear to have been, comparatively, less im¬ 
 pressed with evangelic (i. e. mediatorial) views. 
 They were, however, substantially impressed by 
 them; though disgust at the puritanic dialect, and, 
 indeed, also, at the puritanic excesses, led them to 
 ideas and expressions of a more philosophic kind.] 
 
 ( Unfinished,') 
 
 LETTER 18. 
 To the Rev. J. Jehh. 
 
 About Oct. 1804. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I ought to be ashamed of my apparent negligence of 
 you. Yet, I may truly say, there is no negligence of 
 you in my heart; but, somehow or other, my time 
 passes away so, that if I do not write letters before 
 breakfast, I am led, almost of necessity, to put them 
 off, from day to day. 
 
140 
 
 I have long been meditating a voluminous letter 
 to you ; but, though I have twice attempted it, bilious¬ 
 ness has constrained me to break off: I hope, how¬ 
 ever, not finally; and yet, when I shall be able to 
 complete my design, I cannot say : as indisposition 
 still hangs about me; on account of which, I am 
 going to take a tour, on the other side of the Irish 
 channel. About the beginning of next week, I 
 expect to be on my way to Waterford : where, with 
 the permission of Providence, I intend to embark, in 
 order to go through S. Wales to Bristol. 
 
 The great object of my long letter was, to con¬ 
 vince you that there are the strongest and soundest 
 reasons, why nothing should be said from the pulpit, 
 in these times, that either calvinists, or wesleians, 
 could consider personal or pointed. I wished to 
 show, that truth may be better served, by the judi¬ 
 cious, and dispassionate exhibition of itself, than by 
 any other kind of attack on the abettors of error; 
 and that this latter method implies much risk to the 
 interests of the established church ; which, in Ire¬ 
 land, I conceive, would be much injured, by a seces¬ 
 sion of the wesleian methodists. 
 
 In fact, I do think, that to err on the side of 
 good nature, will always be safest; and besides, I 
 am persuaded, that the methodists, as a body, the 
 wesleians I mean, deserve far more credit, for what 
 they believe rightly, than censure, for what they 
 think erroneously. And, particularly, their doctrine 
 of perfection, in my mind, merits peculiar delicacy 
 of treatment: the truth and excellence of it being 
 most substantial; and the fault of it being, rather 
 infelicity of expression, and misconception about 
 some circumstances, than any radically false view. 
 
 You may perceive, I am alluding to a few words in 
 
141 
 
 your most interesting sermon, which, I own, I could 
 have wished not to have been there. Much that 
 you said before, was fitted to attract and engage the 
 methodists. Why, then, add any thing, that they 
 could be hurt by? I am sure you meant no such 
 thing; and yet I do think, your mention of extrava¬ 
 gant assertors of perfection, as opposed to augus- 
 tinians, had that tendency. 
 
 My dear friend, I know your deep, and unqualified 
 integrity; and I am sure it was this feeling led you 
 to think as you did; and you thought it necessary, 
 and therefore resolved, to speak plainly. But wherein 
 does the wisdom of the serpent consist, if not in 
 keeping 'within, a great deal of what we think ; and 
 of course, in modifying blunt honesty of manner, 
 though ever without losing any thing of the sub¬ 
 stance ? 
 
 Confident I am, no good can be done to persons, 
 of whatever description, by directly pointing to 
 them. It hardens them in their error ; and it un¬ 
 duly gratifies those, who are enemies to them, not 
 on account of their errors, but of their real virtues. 
 I have talked a good deal, with persons of different 
 opinions from my own ; and I ever found, that what 
 was pleasantest, was also best as to effect. Without 
 once seeming to combat their notions, I have endea¬ 
 voured to bring before them those truths, which they 
 could not dispute ; but which were directly corrective 
 of any extravagance, their opinions might lead to. I 
 did not hesitate to allude to their opinions ; but it 
 was not in way of attack, but to show how far they 
 would bear a mild interpretation, and might be re¬ 
 conciled with those I wished to inculcate. And, in 
 this way, I have generally been able, as I hoped, to 
 
142 
 
 talk usefully, and I am sure pleasantly, with those of 
 very different views from my own. 
 
 Last night, for example, I was talking to an old 
 methodist preacher, an acquaintance of eight and 
 twenty years, who is a steady maintainer of perfec¬ 
 tion. 4 Pray,’ said I, 4 would you esteem him as 
 materially differing from you, who would say, that, 
 though he was not conscious of any wrong desires or 
 volitions, yet the tendencies or temptations which 
 he found in himself, though so resisted, as not to 
 wound his conscience, appeared, nevertheless, to im¬ 
 ply a remaining root of corruption, and of course to 
 preclude the notion of entire deliverance from sin ? 9 
 4 I would not/ says he, 4 consider him that spoke so, 
 as differing from me ; for I believe, that we must 
 feel those things, while in the body/ I felt, at once, 
 it was, between real good people, a dispute of words. 
 The fact is, in substance, the methodists hold only 
 what Lucas contended for. 
 
 Always, yours most truly, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER 19. 
 
 July 19 . 1804 . 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I told you, in a short letter lately, that I was then 
 engaged in writing a long one to you, in which I 
 was advanced one or two sheets. I then expected, 
 shortly, to have had it completed ; but an attack of 
 the gouty kind, - about ten days ago, so disturbed 
 
143 
 
 my whole frame, that this, I may say, is the first day, 
 that I feel myself disposed to take a pen into my 
 hand. That letter, therefore, being thus interrupted, 
 and having taken rather too voluminous a turn, I 
 prefer leaving it as it is ; and giving you those parts 
 which I consider as useful, in a more digested form. 
 
 The part of your discourse which I chiefly object 
 to, is, where you allude to the calvinists, on one hand, 
 and the wesleians, on the other. Now, it is my strong 
 conviction, that such allusions are more likely, by 
 far, to do hurt, than good. Let the motive which 
 suggests them be ever so good and honest, they are 
 far more apt to excite wrong passions, than promote 
 the cause of right reason. If any of those alluded to 
 hear what is spoken, it revolts them; and increases 
 every kind of pernicious prejudice. If they do not, 
 it is, probably, still more hurtfully reported. Ill 
 informed persons apply it, as their fancies lead them ; 
 rumours are spread, that the clergyman preached 
 against the methodists, or evangelics, or whomsoever 
 else ; and, by this, a wrong spirit, unfavourable to the 
 usefulness of the minister, perhaps to the church to 
 which he belongs, and possibly to religion itselfj is 
 diffused through the public. 
 
 I grant, such caution might be carried too far: 
 but, I cannot but think, even this would be erring 
 on the safe side. One, however, need not err on 
 any side. Let truth,- as opposite to existing wrong 
 doctrine, be clearly, and scripturally, exhibited and 
 elucidated; and, if good is to be done at all, it will, 
 I think, in that way. Nay, even those who are most 
 tenacious of the erroneous view, may be led, in that 
 way, so to take in the right view along with it, that, 
 without any professed, or even conscious renunciation 
 of their opinions, such a modification of them may, 
 
144 
 
 imperceptibly, take place, as to do away all their 
 danger. 
 
 I conceive (allowing for exempt cases) this may 
 hold good at all times ; but I own, to me it appears, 
 that, at this time, such caution, towards the two 
 parties in view, is peculiarly expedient; inasmuch as 
 they, so very strikingly, divide between them, a large 
 share of the operative religion of the present day. I 
 would ask any person of seriousness and candour, 
 who knows well the ecclesiastical history of Britain, 
 during the by-past century, where would, or what 
 would, our religion, at this day, be, if the methodists 
 had not made their appearance ? With all their 
 foibles, I own I think they have been grand instru¬ 
 ments of good, far beyond the limits of their own so¬ 
 cieties. I feel this, I hope, not without gratitude to 
 the Author and Giver of all good things ; and, there¬ 
 fore, am most cordially disposed myselij and cannot 
 avoid persuading others, to deal gently and indul¬ 
 gently with them. Not, surely, to overlook their 
 errors ; but to touch them with all possible mildness, 
 so as to compel, both themselves, and all others, to 
 feel, that it was love of truth, alone, and not any un¬ 
 kind temper, which dictated the censure. 
 
 But I have another motive for such caution, re¬ 
 specting the wesleian methodists; and that is, that I 
 really do think them so wonderfully right, in most 
 of their views, as to render them, on the whole, 
 much more the object of my estimation, than my 
 blame. . Nay, the very point you look at in them, I 
 mean, their view of Christian perfection, is, in my 
 mind, so essentially right and important, that it is on 
 this account, particularly, I value them, above other 
 denominations of that sort. I am aware that ignorant 
 and rash individuals expose what is in itself true, by 
 
14.5 
 
 their unfounded pretensions, and irrational descrip¬ 
 tions; but, with the sincerest disapproval of every 
 such excess, I do esteem John Wesley’s stand for 
 holiness, to be that which does immortal honour to 
 his name. And I am assured, too, that, while num¬ 
 bers, in the methodist society, abuse his doctrine (to 
 which his stress on sudden revolutions in the mind 
 has, I think, contributed), perhaps a still greater 
 number (but a great number I am sure) are excited, 
 by what he has taught, to such inward and outward 
 strictness, such deep self-denial, and such substantial 
 piety and spirituality, as are scarcely to be found 
 in any other society. In John Wesley’s views of 
 Christian perfection, are combined, in substance, all 
 the sublime morality of the greek fathers, the spi¬ 
 rituality of the mystics, and the divine philosophy of 
 our favourite platonists. Macarius, Fenelon, Lucas, 
 and all of their respective classes, have been consulted 
 and digested by him ; and his ideas are, essentially, 
 theirs. But his merit is (after all just allowances for 
 mixtures of the fanatical kind), that he has popular¬ 
 ized these sublime lessons, in such a manner, in his 
 and his brother’s hymns, that he 
 
 ( Unfinished .) 
 
 LETTER 20. 
 
 Barleywood, Bristol, Oct. 23. 1804. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 How strangely negligent must I appear to you : 
 and yet, were you near me, I could show you several 
 sheets, written with a view to sending them to you. 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 
 
 One letter, I had actually completed; but became 
 puzzled, afterward, about the subject chiefly alluded 
 to ; and, therefore, deferred sending it, till I should 
 
 talk to-; and then found, it would not suit the 
 
 case. In truth, there are few whom I could be less 
 disposed to neglect than you. I think of you with 
 sincere interest; and thought of you with more feel¬ 
 ing than usual, on account of the sudden death of 
 your friend. Poor fellow, perhaps, like the son of 
 Jeroboam, good was seen in him, which the wretched 
 plan of preferment-hunting, to which his family would 
 have impelled him, might have soon blighted; and 
 therefore, while a capacity for future happiness re¬ 
 mained, he was graciously carried beyond danger. 
 This thought has occurred to me, from the manner 
 in which he came up to me, in the Castle, a tew days 
 before I left Dublin. He had no motive for speak¬ 
 ing to me, with whom he had no personal acquaint¬ 
 ance, but his love of goodness (which he had heard 
 ascribed to me), and his love of you (from whom 
 he had heard of me) : yet was there something so 
 kind, and so genuine, in his address, that my heart 
 cleaved to him ; and of course, when I heard of his 
 sudden death, the view I have mentioned arose in 
 my mind. 
 
 I have got for you Gillies’ Collections. Vallance, 
 from having taken up the idea of an auction, being 
 not to be dealt with for single books, I got it at Bath, 
 where I have left it with the archbishop ; both that 
 he may look at it, and because it is as ready a con¬ 
 veyance to you, as I could just now command. I 
 wished, also, to get for you, Jones on the Canon of 
 the New Testament; but it had been sold. 
 
 I left Dublin about the 15th of August; staid 
 some days at B-; then, proceeded southward, and 
 
147 
 
 spent two days with -—, the curate of New 
 
 Ross; in whom I found much to be esteemed and 
 loved, and some things which one might wish other- 
 ways regulated. He is, however, a most sincere 
 Christian. He accompanied me down the river in a 
 boat, to the place of embarkation for Milford ; where 
 I arrived on a Saturday, after a voyage of sixteen 
 hours. I spent my Sunday at Haverford-west; and 
 employed the ensuing week, in slowly moving through 
 South Wales, much, indeed, to my gratification. I 
 visited Grongar Hill, and the old castle described in 
 the poem ; and also walked through the grounds of 
 that seat, where Jeremy Taylor lived, and preached, 
 during the usurpation (Golden Grove). On Satur¬ 
 day, I reached Bristol: on Monday, came hither: 
 spent three weeks : then, paid another pleasant visit, 
 to a lately formed acquaintance in Bristol, where my 
 friend Butterworth met me, from London ; and, with 
 both, my stay of a fortnight was very pleasant, and, I 
 hope, not useless. Then, I spent ten days at Bath : 
 and now, I am concluding my plan, with a second 
 visit here. I brought your sermon from Bath ; and 
 I shall be able to tell you how it impresses. I know 
 it will not be to your disadvantage. 
 
 My good friend, how I have blamed myself for not 
 writing to you ! And yet, when I take a fit of not 
 writing to a person, be that person ever so dear to 
 me, I find breaking through it, something like resist¬ 
 ing the nightmare. I may truly say, I think of you, 
 perhaps daily ; and I might add, think of you in the 
 way you would wish me to think of you : yet I have 
 not had resolution to write. Indeed, I must say for 
 myselfj that I have been unusually occupied. 
 
 Write to me: no one, perhaps in the world, likes 
 better to hear from you. These are not words of 
 
 l 2 
 
148 
 
 flattery: I flatter no one. I value, where I see 
 worth : but it is my wish to judge strictly ; and my 
 resolution to express but what I feel. 
 
 The Abp. thinks he gets advantage from the 
 water. I hope he and Dr. Woodward, will come 
 here to breakfast on Saturday morning. It is worth 
 their while; for the place is interesting, but the mis¬ 
 tress of it matchless. To be sure, it is a great indul¬ 
 gence of Providence to poor me, to be thus received 
 and cultivated, in a place above all others to my wish. 
 I wonder at it: for I sought it not. 
 
 Believe me always, your faithful 
 
 and affectionate friend, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER XXL 
 To A . Knox, Esq.~ 
 
 Cashel, Oct. 31. 1804. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 .Even if I could have brought myself to suspect you 
 of unkind negligence (which is impossible), your 
 most acceptable letter would have fully obliterated 
 every uneasy feeling of that nature. I often and 
 often thought of you, indeed ; and longed to learn 
 how, and wnere, you were; how occupied, and how 
 amused ; and, frequently, feelings would arise, I hope 
 not selfish, though connected with self, of the serious 
 benefit I was losing, by the discontinuance of your 
 correspondence. I will not say how highly I value 
 your letters \ nor can I express how gratified I am, 
 
149 
 
 by the affectionate warmth of your last. Indeed, my 
 dear sir, you may most essentially serve me, by writing 
 more frequently; by advising me, both as to my 
 studies, and my feelings; and by candidly pointing 
 out every particular, that appears amiss to you in 
 either. 
 
 I am now, perhaps, going to put your good nature 
 to the test; and, perhaps, to occasion you some little 
 uneasiness, which, unnecessarily or without mature 
 deliberation, I would not do. Certain thoughts have, 
 for some time past, repeatedly occurred to my mind ; 
 which, in spite of all my exertions to suppress them, 
 again and again return. They are of the nature of 
 doubts, whether I am fit for a country clergyman, or 
 whether the situation is fit for me. I have ever found 
 a great awkwardness, and want of facility, in address¬ 
 ing myself to people of the lower classes : in my in¬ 
 tercourse with such, I myself seldom feel at ease, and 
 fear they are not at ease with me. I cannot hit on 
 topics, suited to their capacities, or situation; in a 
 word, I want the talent of bringing things home to 
 their apprehensions. Again, I find society necessary, 
 by way of relaxation. But the society generally to 
 be met with in the country, is not to my taste. It is 
 too much the society of the world. We have not 
 views, nor feelings, nor pursuits in common. At the 
 time that I possibly most need to be confirmed in 
 attachment to seriousness, I hear seriousness depre¬ 
 ciated, and identified with enthusiasm. And, in an 
 hour of depression, I am, too often, more depressed, 
 by witnessing frivolity around me, unrelieved by a 
 single topic, worthy of an educated and thinking be¬ 
 ing. I know it is my duty to be content and happy, 
 in that situation which God has been pleased to allot 
 me; yet, sometimes, I have been almost inclined to 
 
 l 3 
 
150 
 
 a voluntary relinquishment, of my prospects in this 
 diocese. My present narrow sphere of duty, affords 
 very little active occupation ; and I find myself nearly 
 incapable of composing discourses, fit to be read in a 
 little room, to a rustic audience, frequently short 
 of two dozen people. I endeavour to pursue my 
 studies ; I trust with some effect, so far as respects 
 myself, but with none, as to present professional use¬ 
 fulness ; and, indeed, with little prospect of extend¬ 
 ing my stock in future. Thus situated, something 
 often tells me, that, if I could be placed within the 
 reach of some serious and literary society, and had 
 a congregation to address, I could be happier than I 
 am. I hope and trust, that this is not ambition in 
 disguise. If I rightly know myself, I have a deep 
 sense of my deficiency in sound information ; and a 
 full conviction, that the place I now fill, is highly 
 creditable in itself and opens a prospect of advance¬ 
 ment, far beyond my merits. I think I am not eager 
 to display myself; and, if I were, the display would 
 be very middling : but I feel, that a moderate esta¬ 
 blishment for life, with such advantages as I have 
 above alluded to, would conduce more to my com¬ 
 fort, than even a large preferment in the country. 
 And this feeling is increased by the conviction, that, 
 if I have any powers of usefulness, they are in the 
 way of addressing people, whose minds are somewhat 
 cultivated ; and, that, possibly, at some future day, 
 when matured by reading and experience, I might be 
 of a little service, in the way of publication. 
 
 Now, my dear sir, I lay these thoughts freely 
 before you, in the hope that you will as freely exa¬ 
 mine, and, if necessary, reprove them. If they are 
 reprehensible, I sincerely wish for a supply of argu¬ 
 ments to dissipate them. If they are allowable, it 
 
151 
 
 may be asked, how are they to be acted upon ? My 
 present impression is, that it would, just now, be 
 highly impolitic, and indeed blameable, to withdraw 
 from the protection of our excellent friend the Arch¬ 
 bishop ; but that possibly, in the course of a little 
 time, some situation might be procured, affording 
 a moderate, though creditable maintenance, under 
 more eligible circumstances. Nothing can possibly be 
 kinder than the Archbishop’s conduct towards me ; 
 and I believe, without being sanguine, I may say 
 to you, that I imagine his views for me, are by no 
 means unfavourable: but I much doubt, whether 
 there is a single benefice in this diocese, that would 
 afford me a sphere of duty, in which I could feel 
 comfortable, and, to any extent, useful; though con¬ 
 scious, that talents very superior to mine might be 
 fully and adequately occupied, in many parishes of 
 Cashel. On this troublesome and tedious topic, I 
 will only add, that I am far more anxious to have 
 my views altered, than confirmed; especially as I 
 know that your opinion, will be the result of genuine 
 affection, and conscientious judgment, and not of 
 mere worldly prudence. 
 
 (Nov. 1.) On looking over what I wrote yester¬ 
 day, I felt a doubt whether I should send it. My 
 impressions on the subject are now somewhat weaker. 
 However, as I repeatedly and involuntarily feel the 
 whole of what is above stated, I think it best to send 
 it on ; expecting to derive real advantage, from your 
 opinion and advice. 
 
 I was delighted at your succinct, but very plea¬ 
 sant account of your tour. Such scenery, and such 
 society, as you have been enjoying, must, altogether, 
 produce a degree of gratification, superior to any 
 thing else, merely of this world. I take it for 
 
 l 4 
 
152 
 
 granted, that Barleywood, from whence you write, 
 is the residence of Mrs. H. More. If her conversa¬ 
 tion is equal to her writings, and I imagine it is fully 
 so, it must be superlative indeed. There is no mo¬ 
 dern author, whom I hold in such estimation, . . in¬ 
 deed, veneration, is a word, which would much more 
 adequately express my feeling. Her writings are 
 calculated to do most extended good; and, of all 
 her talents, I know none rarer, and more estimable, 
 than that happy facility, with which she adapts her¬ 
 self to the capacities of all ranks ; of the peasant, no 
 less than of the philosopher. Your letter brought 
 back poor C— to my mind’s eye, in a very striking 
 and affecting point of view. He had, in truth, a soul 
 of courtesy and kindness, that continually beamed 
 forth in his countenance. He was made for much 
 better things, than the turmoil of preferment-hunting 5 
 and I trust is now enjoying an unalloyed happiness, 
 which the things of this world never can confer. It 
 gives me a melancholy pleasure to reflect, that he 
 thought of me with complacency; and I am glad 
 you knew him, even for a few moments. 
 
 I got, a few days since, the abridgment of Bax¬ 
 ter’s Christian Directory: with which I am highly 
 pleased. I am truly thankful for your recollection 
 of me in Gillies’ Hist. Coll. As to Jones on the 
 Canon, it is lately republished; and, I can get it, I 
 dare say, through Cooke, whom Dr. Hales writes me 
 word, he finds more punctual, than any bookseller 
 he ever met with. I was reading, very lately, some 
 extracts from Hayley’s third volume of Cowper. They 
 pleased me even more, than any letters, in the two 
 former volumes. I wish the work may be published 
 in octavo; for, then, it would be reduced to the level 
 of my pocket. If you see the Archbishop, I would 
 
153 
 
 thank yon to inform his Grace, that I received his 
 letter, though not so soon as I should, for it was mis- 
 sent to Caine. I delay answering it, only till Mr. 
 Jacob ascertains some things, necessary to be stated 
 in reply. 
 
 I send this by Waterford, in preference to enclosing 
 it to Mr. Taylor, that it may reach you the sooner. 
 I hope, in your reply, to know when you return 
 to Ireland. Please God, if you are in Dublin this 
 winter or spring, we shall meet then. 
 
 Believe me ever, your most obliged and 
 affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 To A . Knooc , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Nov. 26 . 1804. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 The principal motive that I have for writing to you, 
 just at present, is to state my apprehension, that I 
 may have lost your answer to my last letter, by a late 
 robbery of the post, between Clonmel and this place. 
 Do not, however, imagine, that I have the slightest 
 intention of reproaching you, should no letter have 
 been hitherto dispatched; for, however anxious to 
 hear from you, I am too well acquainted with the 
 cacoethes postponendi, not to have a fellow-feeling for 
 those who suffer under it. 
 
 I thoroughly recollect, that, when last I wrote, my 
 spirits were more than usually depressed. Yet, on a 
 sober review of the sentiments contained in that letter, 
 
154 
 
 I cannot now greatly dissent from them. I do not 
 feel myself calculated for the station of a country 
 clergyman ; and, least of all, for a country clergyman 
 in the south of Ireland. Not that I quarrel with my 
 present situation; because, on the whole, it is per¬ 
 haps, well, that a few years should be spent in retire¬ 
 ment, and with little parochial duty. But I speak 
 with respect to my ultimate destination in the church. 
 A parish minister should possess an active, bustling 
 disposition, with some turn for agricultural pursuits, 
 and much fondness for introducing habits of sobriety, 
 industry, cleanliness, and comfort, among the lower 
 orders. Now, in all these particulars, I am miserably 
 deficient; either from total ignorance, or from an 
 utter incapacity for entering into their detail. Dif¬ 
 ferent spheres, require different talents. Mine, such 
 as they are, seem best suited to a sphere, where 
 things are somewhat prepared ; where civilized habits 
 have made some advance; where information has 
 been a little diffused; and where the interiora of re¬ 
 ligion, might be inculcated, with a good prospect of 
 being understood and relished. This I fear, however, 
 is very little the case, in any part of the county of 
 Tipperary. The preparative stages have not been 
 yet surmounted; the foundations are not laid ; nay, 
 the very stones and rubbish have not been cleared 
 away. And, I verily believe, that, to do any extended 
 good in tins district, but, certainly, to feel pleasure in 
 the progress, a clergyman should have talents, and 
 disposition, much akin to those of the Czar Peter. 
 Now, to such talents and dispositions, I feel that I 
 have no claim. 
 
 It has been much rumoured, both here and in 
 Dublin, that whenever a vacancy occurs at York, the 
 Archbishop of Cashel is to be translated to Armagh. 
 
155 
 
 Should it please God to throw me into that country, 
 I feel that I might be settled there more to my mind. 
 And, I will now tell you an ultimatum, which I would 
 far prefer, to any church living in his Grace of 
 Cashel’s gift: the librarianship of Armagh, and 
 preacher’s place in the cathedral. This I say, with¬ 
 out having any notion of the pecuniary income ; but 
 merely, because, in that situation, I should, at once, 
 have peculiar advantages in study; some prospect of 
 professional usefulness, without cure of souls ; and the 
 pleasure of residing near my sister and brother-in-law. 
 This, however, is castle-building. We are not to 
 chuse our own situations; and I am well convinced, 
 that Providence will order those things for the best. 
 At the same time, that, if the Archbishop were to 
 remain for life at Cashel, I could wish for your sen¬ 
 timents, as to the feasibility, and propriety of looking 
 hereafter, for a settlement in some more eligible 
 district. 
 
 I am pleased with Baxter’s Christian Directory: 
 though I think the abridgment might have been 
 more judiciously formed. Mr. A. Clark has abridged, 
 rather by omission, than by condensation ; and some 
 of Baxter’s careless phraseology is retained, to the 
 detriment of the work. I compared about 150 pages, 
 with the original folio 5 and generally found it faith¬ 
 ful ; though sometimes passages were omitted, that I 
 could have wished retained, and vice versa. At 
 page 139. vol. i., I met a little interpolation, (at least 
 it does not occur in the fol. edit, of 1673,) which, I 
 think you will agree with me, is not in the style of 
 Richard Baxter; and which, without being properly 
 explained, seems calculated to favour an enthusiastic 
 peculiarity of methodism; for which purpose, it was 
 possibly introduced. The passage is, ‘ and rest not 
 
156 
 
 without a clear sense of the love of God, shed abroad 
 in your heart by the Holy Ghost. It is the privilege 
 of every genuine Christian, to know his sins forgiven, 
 that he may rejoice in Christ Jesus, having no con¬ 
 fidence in the flesh. He that hath the witness in his 
 own soul, that he is born of God, cannot but be 
 happy.’ This language is undoubtedly scriptural; 
 but the expressions thus thrown together, unguarded 
 and unqualified, appear suited to raise, in untutored 
 minds, an expectation of some sensible impression. 
 
 I have lately engaged in a careful perusal, of the 
 controversy on Rom. vii. 14. °25 .; and purpose, with 
 God’s help, to go through with it. My chief motive 
 is, that this passage is, unquestionably, the sheet 
 anchor of those, who would lower the standard of 
 Christianity; and that, independently of its own great 
 importance, it involves the deep moral meaning of a 
 great part of the New Testament. I have got near 
 me, the long and elaborate dissertations on the sub¬ 
 ject, of Bishop Bull, Arminius, and Faustus Socinus. 
 You need not fear that the last-mentioned writer, will 
 affect the orthodoxy of my creed. He is a candid 
 and judicious advocate, for the doctrine of Christian 
 perfection ; very much in the same sense with Lucas ; 
 and it will perhaps surprize you, that he maintains, 
 not only the possibility, but the certainty, of instant¬ 
 aneous conversions, at least of sudden ones, in the 
 following strong terms. ‘ Respondeo, nihil impedire, 
 quominus Deus nonnunquam, levi admodum ante- 
 cedente pugna, cuipiam, utcarni sum plane dominetur, 
 concedat. Quinetiam, et sacra historia, et perpetuo 
 usu, teste, affirmare non dubito, smpius fieri in Chris¬ 
 tiana religione, ut quis, brevissimo tempore, et quasi 
 horse momento, ex malo bonus fiat, eoque perveniat, 
 quo, in moralis discipline via annorutn multorum 
 
157 
 
 spatio pervenire potest.’*—ApudBibl. Frat. Pol. Op. 
 tom. i. p. 99. 
 
 One result of my late studies, is a very strong 
 disposition to believe, that 1 John i. 8. refers, not to 
 present, but to past sins. On these grounds. That 
 a^oL^lioLv does not signify peccare, but peccati 
 
 reum esse: that this verse is to be explained by 
 v. 10. oh 8x ri[xocfJr)}coi[xsv, in the past tense ; and that 
 this mode of interpretation, harmonizes with the re¬ 
 markable expressions of the 3d chapter, as well as 
 with many passages of Saint Paul’s writings. 
 
 It appears to me, that your explanation of 
 Pom. vii., with a reference to and 
 
 G-axp%ovi(r{jLO£, is a more satisfactory one, than I have 
 yet met with. There are two extremes, among 
 the controversionalists: some, applying the passage 
 to persons altogether sensual; others, to persons en¬ 
 tirely regenerate. Arminius, and Socinus, steer a 
 middle course. On the whole, though much vague 
 and extraneous matter is to be waded through, and 
 many logical subtleties are to be untwisted, I find 
 satisfaction in the pursuit. I trust, through God’s 
 help, it will tend, both to enlarge my mind, and to 
 increase my knowledge of the sense of scripture. I 
 have it in contemplation, merely for my own satisfac¬ 
 tion, and future reference, to draw up a treatise on 
 the subject; which, should we meet this winter, I 
 hope to show you. 
 
 Lest you should think I am quite forgetful of pa- 
 
 * I reply, that there is nothing to hinder God from granting any man, after a 
 slight previous conflict, complete dominion over his animal nature. Nay more, 
 upon the joint authority of sacred history, and of immemorial experience, I do 
 not hesitate to affirm, as matter of common occurrence under the Gospel dispens¬ 
 ation, that a bad man shall become suddenly, almost instantaneously, good ; and 
 shall reach such heights, as, in the ordinary course of moral training, it would 
 require many years to attain. 
 
158 
 
 roehial matters, I must tell you, that I yesterday 
 preached to my little flock, which is improving, the 
 first of four sermons on the Lord’s prayer. I found 
 so much matter in Leighton, Hale, and Henry, that 
 selection became necessary ; and I endeavoured to 
 be as popular and personal as possible. 
 
 I send this to Miss Ferguson, that it may be for¬ 
 warded to you : as I know not where you are. Fare¬ 
 well, my dear Sir, and believe me ever, 
 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 P.S. I hope you may find it convenient to write soon. 
 
 LETTER 21. 
 
 Dublin, Dec. 6 . 1804. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 Finding your letter, of the 26th, on my arrival here, 
 I hasten to say, that I most deeply enter into all 
 your feelings ; no one, perhaps, being more constitu¬ 
 tionally competent to feel along with you. But I do 
 believe you need not take thought for to-morrow. 
 Your destiny is in the best hands ; ‘ Seek ye first the 
 kingdom of God, and his righteousness (as I do 
 trust you are doing), and all these things shall be 
 added unto you/ Sure I am, we may trust Provi¬ 
 dence with any thing, but to-day; we doing our 
 rational duty. And in fact, my persuasion is, that, 
 in some way or other, you will be brought, at length, 
 into a situation suited to your taste and temper. 
 
 The latter part of your last, I read with great 
 interest; and I think it not wrong, to see what all 
 
159 
 
 have said. Probably, Faustus Socinus never would 
 have gone the lengths he did, if he had not been 
 shocked, and driven into an extreme, by the incon¬ 
 gruities of Calvinism. Yet, Calvinism has had, in 
 my mind, a providential function to discharge; and 
 so, I think, had the popish ceremonies. Still, however, 
 if these swaddling bands of infant times, are still 
 pertinaciously kept on, growth must be checked, and 
 advancement to maturity postponed, if not prevented. 
 The grand error of Calvinism is, the disjoining of 
 God’s favour and preference, from moral qualifica¬ 
 tions ; and thus distorting the whole beauty and gran¬ 
 deur of the scripture. This error, therefore, must 
 be confuted, before Christianity can be purely appre¬ 
 ciated, by either deep, or half-thinkers. I trust your 
 endeavours, in this worthy cause, will be aided by 
 the best of all influences. 
 
 I like what you say of 1 John i. 8. ; and I dare say 
 the criticism is just. As I have not the abridgment 
 of Baxter, and my original, I think, must be paged 
 differently from your’s, I wish to have from you the 
 book, section, &c.; as I certainly have the latest 
 edition of the Directorv, which makes one of the 
 four volumes of his works. 
 
 I will not now pretend to enlarge, as I expect 
 Dr. Black, who staid in town to see me, to come in 
 every minute; but I trust to make up for my present 
 brevity, on another early occasion, being, my good 
 friend, with real cordiality, 
 
 Your faithful and affectionate friend, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
160 
 
 LETTER XXIII. 
 To A. Knox , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Dec. 24. 1804. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 It was said of John Hales, as doubtless you well 
 know, that ‘ his chamber was a church, and his chair 
 a pulpit/ But it was, also, his recorded foible, ‘ not 
 to pen any thing, till he needs must/ The former of 
 these little sentences, I should be at no loss to apply, 
 if it were delicate to do so. The latter, is by no 
 means equally applicable ; at least, not from me, 
 who have so often profited, by the ready assistance of 
 your pen : still, however, I cannot help recalling it to 
 your memory. The truth is, in this particular, I am 
 too much interested, not to feel warmly. I could 
 now show you a little MS. volume, filled with extracts 
 from, or copies of, your communications. And the 
 real advantage I derive from this volume, makes me 
 anxious for another and another: the more so, as I 
 find your sentiments, prudently, and in proper season, 
 dealt out, among some of my clerical brethren here, 
 productive of the happiest effects. Yet, I hope the 
 feeling is not improperly selfish, which leads me to 
 dwell most, on the advantages I most unequivocally 
 feel, the improvement of my own mind, the enlarge¬ 
 ment of my views, and the excitement of my affec¬ 
 tions. And feeling thus, I cannot but be sincerely 
 desirous, that your avocations may permit you to 
 write more frequently and fully. I have embarked 
 in theology, chiefly as your pupil; and I truly wish 
 
161 
 
 to be your pupil, also, in self-government, and self- 
 direction. The hints of the latter kind, in refer¬ 
 ence to my last two letters, have been received, I 
 trust, with a due sense of their unquestionable jus¬ 
 tice ; and not without a consequent tendency, to 
 correct and calm my feelings. Thank God, I have, 
 of late, felt myself enabled, with composure and 
 thankfulness, to await the appointments of the great 
 and wise Disposer. This calm, it is my wish and 
 prayer, that the Almighty may graciously continue. 
 Lest, however, he should see fit to try me, by any 
 temporary recurrence of low spirits and dejection, 
 I could wish to have by me some further thoughts 
 of yours, on the topics of uneasiness stated in my 
 two letters. 
 
 I trust the unpleasant effects of your sea-sickness, 
 are now altogether removed; and, on this suppos¬ 
 ition, am gratified that it occurred, as being highly 
 serviceable to persons of your bilious habit. By the 
 way, I am sorry to find the good Archbishop is de¬ 
 tained, by the illness of part of his family. I hope 
 it may please God, soon to remove this cause of 
 anxiety; which must press with particular severity, 
 on so tender a parent. 
 
 The passage in Clarke’s Baxter, which I suspect 
 to be an interpolation, follows in immediate connec¬ 
 tion with this sentence, which closes a section of my 
 copy of the original. ‘ Know, and use, religion as it 
 is, without mistaking or corrupting it, and it will not 
 appear to you as a grievous, tedious, or confounding 
 thing.’ Book i. chap. ii. direct. 13. ap. fin. p. 7<5. of 
 the edition I use. This is immediately succeeded, 
 in the abridgment, by the words, 4 And rest not 
 without a clear sense,’ &c. &c. as in my last letter. 
 
 I believe you will coincide with me, that Mr. Clarke 
 
 - VOL. I. M 
 
162 
 
 is not altogether judicious, in the total omission of 
 the 5th of Baxter’s 20 directions, in his 1st chapter. 
 It begins ‘ If thou wouldest not be destitute of 
 saving grace,’ &c.; and relates to the use of reason, 
 in matters of religion. So much, indeed, was I 
 struck with it, that I abridged and interleaved it, for 
 my own use. 
 
 My study of what has been said on Rom. chap, vii., 
 has suffered some interruption: partly, from visits to 
 neighbouring clergymen ; and partly, from a bilious 
 attack, that made me incapable of exertion. I do 
 not, however, lose sight of it: and hope (with God’s 
 assistance), however slowly, at length entirely, to 
 master it. I have lately been led to look into Farin- 
 don’s sermons; and think them, in many respects, 
 admirable. He combats the leading errors of Cal¬ 
 vinism, in a masterly manner; though, perhaps, 
 sometimes, too pointedly, and with too frequent re¬ 
 ference to the unhappy circumstances of the times. 
 I have seldom read an author, with so much strength 
 and life. If I may so speak, his style is altogether 
 personified. On comparing a page of Barrow, with 
 a page of Farindon, I cannot but give a decided 
 preference to the latter. Barrow speaks, as to beings 
 of pure intellect. Farindon, as to human creatures, 
 with passions and affections ; at the same time, con¬ 
 vincing the judgment, as he goes along. He excels, 
 particularly, in appropriate, and most forcible illus¬ 
 tration ; and paraphrases his quotations in such a 
 manner, as to give them the happiest air of allu¬ 
 sion. Perhaps a mixture of Baxter, Farindon, and 
 Doddridge, would furnish a style and manner, best 
 suited to pulpit instruction in these times. This, 
 after all, is possibly false criticism: or, if it be true, 
 has certainly occurred to yourself. Why, then, should 
 
163 
 
 I write it to you ? In truth, I have set up a top, to 
 use John Hale’s expression, . . in hopes that you 
 may be induced to whip it. 
 
 I heard of some little irregularities in your friend 
 
 -: for instance, . . interrupting the lessons of the 
 
 church, for the purpose of lecturing, paragraph by 
 paragraph, as he went along. This practice, I under¬ 
 stand, was pursued for some time: in fact till- 
 
 interfered, and publicly stopped Mr.-, who came 
 
 one day to officiate for-•. I hope-»*s manner 
 
 was not harsh; and I feel truly desirous that he may 
 be very moderate, in his way of meeting those things 
 which he disapproves; as well from an assurance that 
 Mr.- is a truly good man, as from a full con¬ 
 
 viction, that, without a spirit of meekness, and even 
 without a disposition to yield a little in nonessentials, 
 no good can be done in such cases. I have it in 
 contemplation to pay a visit to-, early in Feb¬ 
 
 ruary ; and to be present at a meeting of the Osso- 
 rian Society. I may, perhaps, learn something useful 
 for myself ; and, at all events, am desirous to see for 
 myself how things are : possibly I may be able to 
 throw out some hints for ——’s consideration. And, 
 as the zeal of these young men has occasioned much 
 talk; and their practices have been freely censured, 
 even by our good Archbishop, I am disposed to 
 examine whether, as I suspect, there are not many 
 qualifying, if not favourable circumstances, indus¬ 
 triously kept in the back ground by their opponents. 
 The worst is, that I fear they are generally calvinistic ; 
 and calvinists are usually impracticable. By the bye, 
 
 as to-’s mode of lecturing, it is curious, that 
 
 he adopted it, from the suggestion in my sermon ; 
 which he so far misunderstood, as to conceive, that it 
 
 m 2 
 
164< 
 
 referred, particularly, to the lessons of the day, and 
 even implied an interruption of the service. 
 
 I lately received, from what quarter I am igno¬ 
 rant, unless it be through my friend Mr. Sharp, a 
 printed circular letter, from the society in London, 
 for missions to Africa, and the east; stating their 
 plans, their progress, and the situation of their 
 finances; and requesting my aid, in procuring dona¬ 
 tions and subscriptions : suggesting, also, a collec¬ 
 tion, from my congregation. Some few and small 
 subscriptions, I believe, I could procure; but con¬ 
 gregation I have next to none. The society, 
 however, seems highly deserving of encouragement 
 and assistance. It occupies the ground, hitherto, 
 untouched, by any other society of the established 
 church ; and its plans seem to be under the guidance 
 of wisdom, and sound discretion. Might not some¬ 
 thing handsome be done in Dublin? Its inhabitants 
 have been unused to appeals of this nature, from 
 the established pulpit: and the novelty of the sub¬ 
 ject might, perhaps, make a strong impression. Ifj 
 indeed, the society is chiefly conducted, by what are 
 called evangelical ministers, &c. in England, a pre¬ 
 judice might hence arise against it: but no such 
 prejudice would arise against it, if a few leading 
 people were interested in its favour. I conceive a 
 charity sermon would raise a handsome sum. Should 
 you approve of the society, and of this hint, and 
 should any leading people coincide with you, there 
 would probably be no want, in Dublin, of fit persons 
 to preach the sermon : or, in the event of any 
 difficulty in that respect, rather than let the scheme 
 fall to the ground, I would endeavour to prepare 
 myself; and so to time my visit to Dublin, as would 
 best suit the purpose. It might, perhaps, not be 
 
165 
 
 unserviceable, to give a Dublin congregation a view 
 of missions, which probably has never been presented 
 to them. Preachers on this topic, generally look, to 
 the immediate introduction of Christianity among the 
 heathen. This object, after centuries of experiment, 
 has been but very partially attained; and hence 
 arises a prejudice against missions in general, as 
 unproductive of good. The prejudice, however, may 
 be met, and perhaps overcome, by placing the matter 
 in a more philosophical light; and representing 
 missions as a preparative process,. . laying the neces¬ 
 sary foundation of civilized habits, &c. &c. 
 
 I fear I have exhausted your patience, which I 
 would not wish to do, for I am, 
 
 Dear Sir, your truly affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 22. 
 
 Bellvue, Delganny, Jan. 7. 1805. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 It has not been from want of inclination, that I 
 have delayed answering your last letter. It has 
 been on my thoughts, and in my wishes ; but 
 various avocations occur, even in my quiet and still 
 life, which occasion inevitable postponements. But 
 this I tell you, .. I value all your letters, and all 
 your communications, much more, I imagine, than 
 you do yourself. 
 
 I must say something, first, about matters not 
 adverted to in that of the 26th of November. I 
 tell you then, in the simplicity of my heart, that 
 
 m 3 
 
I did not thoroughly cotton to your intended course 
 of reading. 1 have no small opinion of your stability 
 of mind ; but still, 4 Lead us not into temptation/ 
 is a lesson, as much as a petition ; and you have a 
 mind, which, if once impregnated with any senti¬ 
 ment, introducing itself as a truth, would, I appre¬ 
 hend, take to it strongly. I should, however, have 
 no idea of your shrinking from any investigation, 
 provided you had adequate possession of all necessary 
 preliminary truths. It is about this I am solicitous. 
 Were I sure here, I should not be uneasy. 
 
 I own, I have as much aversion, as is consistent 
 with good nature and Christian charity, to the whole 
 socinian tribe. The system has grown out of certain 
 concurrent characters of mind ; led, by contingency, 
 into theological disquisition. When a calm, cold, 
 steady, subtle, self-confident temper, . . benevolent 
 without passion, moral without coercion, happens 
 to be revolted by the excesses of Calvinism, it, 
 almost by a necessity of nature, runs back into so- 
 cinianism. To such a disposition, there is no inter¬ 
 mediate barrier, and there are some strong attractive 
 influences : . . socinianism, flattering human reason so 
 peculiarly, by bringing all Christianity, as is pretended, 
 within its comprehension. Of this system, .. man’s 
 power to keep God’s commandments, either by his 
 own proper strength, or with some derived aids, 
 which are so described, as, in my mind, to make little 
 difference,. . is a fundamental principle ; and, there¬ 
 fore, they who hold it, naturally take the opposite 
 side to St. Augustine, in explaining Rom. vii. Doing 
 this, however, under the propulsion of their general 
 scheme, and not from unbiassed, discriminative study 
 of revealed truth ; and for human truth, I certainly 
 give them no great credit. I seem, to be sure, to see 
 
167 
 
 them on the same piece of ground with myself; but 
 I cannot help asking, how they came there, as I per¬ 
 ceive no key in their hands. I suspect them, there¬ 
 fore, of having got to the spot which they occupy, by 
 breaking hedge. And, besides, when I look more 
 narrowly, I doubt if they are, after all, on the same 
 ground with me. If I mistake not, a deep river, not 
 apparent at first view, runs between us j which can 
 neither be forded, nor stepped over. 
 
 To drop allegory, I freely own my suspicion, that 
 their doctrine of moral perfection rests, not only on 
 high views of human power, but on low views of 
 moral sentiment. I never read any of the Fratres 
 Poloni; but I have looked at the view of this sub¬ 
 ject, given by the great arminian theologist, Lim- 
 borch ; and it struck me, that his perfection, was 
 rather of a moral, than of a spiritual kind ; such as 
 might be attained by a good temperament, without 
 much felt obligation to Divine influence. I allow 
 that the description appears to rise much higher ; 
 but I could not help suspecting, that it was only 
 appearance, from the slight view that seemed to be 
 taken of human depravity. A deep sense of this, 
 appears to me as necessary to true Christian perfec¬ 
 tion, as a sufficiently deep foundation, is necessary 
 for a lofty building. But I hardly think he can 
 have this, who denies, that that 4 infection of nature ’ 
 which 6 doth remain in them that are regenerated’ 
 (Art. ix. Church of England), hath in it the nature 
 of sin. That, when duly resisted, so as not to 
 grow into volition, it brings no condemnation to 
 the conscience, is agreed on all hands. But I am 
 ready to think, that a feeling of its being sin, in 
 esse, though not in actu, is essential to that very 
 resistance. We are curious machines, whose weights 
 
 m 4 
 
168 
 
 and springs depend, on laws that we cannot alter. 
 If the weight be deficient, the wheels will not move 
 as they ought; nor can the error be removed, but 
 by removing the cause, i. e. by correcting the de¬ 
 ficiency. We will not, therefore, I conceive, flee 
 from every appearance of evil, except we cordially 
 hate and dread it, root as well as branch. Accord¬ 
 ingly, if we deem the first movements of concu¬ 
 piscence to have nothing sinful in them, nothing 
 offensive to the nature of the all perfect God, we 
 shall not so abhor them, as to escape wholly their 
 contaminating influence. 
 
 In fact, I think, at least I hold it as a strong 
 probability, that the peculiar graces of Christianity 
 have all a reference, to the previous vices of our 
 nature ; so that each particular grace, contains in it 
 the conquest of an opposite evil; the keeping of 
 which latter tight in its chain, is the first, and most 
 indispensable exercise of the former. The evan¬ 
 gelical Christian feels, that he did not even put on 
 the chain. These monsters were once his favourites, 
 the domesticated menials of his house. But, at 
 length, he began to see a design in them, which he 
 was not till then aware of; and as he ceased to 
 caress them, they appeared to change their nature, 
 and to be ready to devour him. He called to heaven 
 for help ; and, after much fear, and perhaps horror, 
 he began to perceive that they were chained, as if 
 by some invisible power ; and that the chains were 
 given into his hands, with an assurance of fresh aid, 
 if any of the monsters should seem to be becoming 
 unmanageable. None of them, therefore, is wholly 
 dead; it only sleeps, and may be awaked 5 there¬ 
 fore, the vigilance must never be relinquished, the 
 chain never dropped. It is a horrible monster, be 
 
169 
 
 it ever so quiet; and in knowing and feeling that, 
 consists the best security. This knowledge, and 
 this feeling, the literal arminians appear to me 
 deficient in ; and, therefore, I fear a fallacy in 
 their perfection ; for, as I conceive the state of 
 regeneration depends on the effectual restraint of 
 the aforesaid monsters, in general, . . so, I believe 
 perfection consists in an equally effectual restraint of 
 the parent monster , in particular. I think, to make 
 out my metaphor (I am strangely metaphorical by 
 the bye this morning) I must suppose these monsters 
 to be of the polypus kind ; so that the due restraint 
 of the parent, shall be the summary restraint of the 
 whole. But this will not be done, if the malignity 
 of the parent be not felt as strongly, as that of her 
 multifarious offspring. 
 
 I will not ask, whether 1 have made myself in¬ 
 telligible ; because I trust to your power of finding 
 me out. But I wish you to consider how essential 
 an ingredient, such a thorough, radical sense of 
 depravity, as I have mentioned, is to every stage 
 of true Christianity. Indeed, if I were to state what 
 I take to be the truest mark of difference, between 
 a genuine Christian, and a mere moralist, pharisaieal 
 or philosophical, I would say, that the latter found 
 his ease in being insensible to his ‘ secret faults,’ 
 while the former is then easiest, when he is most 
 tenderly sensible of them. The moralist, naturally 
 wishes to discover no more, than he has the means 
 of conquering. The Christian, on the contrary, is 
 solicitous to detect every, the minutest, as well as 
 the deepest evils; because he knows, that the 
 omnipotent Saviour is able to save to the utter¬ 
 most, all that come unto God, by him ; and that 
 what he said to St. Paul, he said to all his faithful 
 
170 
 
 followers, 4 My grace is sufficient for thee, for my 
 strength is made perfect in weakness.’ The Chris¬ 
 tian, therefore, says unfeignedly, with the same 
 apostle, 4 When I am weak, then I am strong. . 
 knowing well, that nothing can prevent the success 
 of the process, but his own insensibility to the need 
 of it. 
 
 I even sometimes fear, that my own favourite 
 latitudinarians were not as much alive to this depth 
 of depravity, as might be wished. But, perhaps, 
 they could not in the nature of things; yet they are 
 nobly spiritual, and that implied the substance of 
 the other. We, however, at this day, may be able, 
 if we use the means afforded, to combine apparently 
 opposite truths, more completely than they. 
 
 I must now add only one more observation ; the 
 messenger who takes this, being at this moment de¬ 
 tained by me. It is relative to the missions. I 
 own I doubt the business altogether. Perhaps it is 
 prejudice, but I have no clear hope of these plans. 
 I suspect even something, which I should dislike. It 
 seems to me possible at least, that the evangelic 
 clergymen took up their missionary plan, because 
 the dissenters and Dr. Haweis had engaged in a 
 similar undertaking ; and they thought they ought 
 to be doing something too. They would not (I 
 dare say on just grounds enough) join with them; 
 but neither, on the other hand, did they think it 
 right to be outdone in zeal. If this was their feel¬ 
 ing, I think it not a wise one. Imitatores servum 
 pecus, is true in all matters but the essence of 
 religion. There, and there only, it is well to be 
 4 followers of those, who through faith and patience 
 inherit the promises.’ There would be something of 
 worldly policy in such a conduct, unworthy of the 
 
171 
 
 true Christian principle. Besides, 1 really think 
 that, in such matters particularly, ‘ it is not of him 
 that willeth, or of him that runneth . . on the con¬ 
 trary, .. 
 
 God moves in a mysterious way, 
 
 His wonders to perform. 
 
 1 have another objection to such plans ; ., because 
 they tend to make religion appear to the world a 
 business of bustle , and to have something of a revo¬ 
 lutionary character. The quiet moravian missions, if 
 not effectual, are at least unobjectionable 5 for they 
 are heard of at a distance, but make no show at 
 home. In fact, I think over-activity, is the grand 
 malady of the times; and I think religion will not 
 be benefited, by its votaries catching the contagion. 
 I think the whole missionary plan, supposes an effici¬ 
 ency, in what are deemed the doctrines of the Gospel, 
 which you and I do not admit. They annex more 
 than we do, to annunciation of truth on the one 
 hand, and a reception of it (which they call faith) on 
 the other. But we do not agree with the most of 
 them, perhaps, even in what they call truth; so 
 that, on the whole, I am much more solicitous to see 
 divine truth thoroughly understood, and received in 
 the love of it at home ; . . and, then, I think we shall 
 be made instruments in God’s own way, probably 
 without much scheming, to carry it to other lands. 
 
 If I do not now say any thing about your own 
 private concerns, it is not that I am not interested, 
 for you may always believe me, 
 
 Your truly faithful and 
 
 affectionate friend, 
 
 Alexander Knox. 
 
 P.S. I must end this without reading it over. 
 
LETTER XXI V. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Feb. 11. 1805. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Al ong with this, I take the liberty of sending you 
 
 a MS. the property of -, which I have had 
 
 in my possession, to my shame, more than seven 
 years; and which I should be very much obliged by 
 your conveying to him. It is a treatise on the attri¬ 
 butes, &c., which obtained the second premium in the 
 year 1797 > when mine obtained the first. 
 
 I had a letter, yesterday, from -, in which 
 
 he tells me, that methodist preachers have found 
 their way into his parish; and that he under¬ 
 stands they intend establishing regular stated meet¬ 
 ings there. He wished (thinking that I was still in 
 town) that I should ask your opinion as to the most 
 prudent line of conduct, if the preacher should make 
 an advance towards acquaintance and friendship with 
 him, as he is told by some, he means to do; that is, 
 
 the preacher intends to call on -, as a friend 
 
 and well-wisher. 
 
 -appears anxious for your opinion and advice ; 
 
 arid I could, indeed, be very glad, that you would 
 write him a few lines on the subject. I know, from 
 various conversations with him, that he is far from 
 prejudiced against methodism ; that he thinks it has, 
 on the whole, promoted the cause of piety; and 
 that were he, in a strange part of the country, to 
 meet a person of the lower class, more than ordinarily 
 decent, serious, and devout, he would think that 
 person, most probably, a methodist. At the same 
 
time, I can well conceive the delicacy and difficulty 
 of the case he now puts; so much so, that I should 
 not myself know how to act in it. I really wish you 
 would write him, by this post, if it were but a single 
 page; as the emergency may soon occur, and as I 
 know he is particularly solicitous for your opinion. 
 
 I should be much obliged by your enclosing me, 
 as soon as possible, your letter to the Christian Ob¬ 
 server, on practical preaching. Also, your long, 
 unfinished letter to me. I want them for a particular 
 purpose; and will send them back to you, whenever 
 transcribed. You will, also, have the goodness to 
 engage my worthy and respected friend Michael*, in 
 the troublesome service of having my books sent to 
 Cashel. 
 
 When settled at home, I hope to write more at 
 length. I beg my best compliments and regards to 
 Miss Fergusson, and am, dear Sir, 
 
 Your obliged and 
 
 affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 23. 
 
 Feb. 15. 1805. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 X duly received yours, and that night wrote to 
 H. W., giving him the best advice I was capable of. 
 
 I send you the unfinished letters ; but I cannot yet 
 let you have the thing intended for the C. O., as I 
 
 daily expect to make some use of it. 
 
 # # # # # # 
 
 * Mr. Knox’s servant. . . En, 
 
17 4 
 
 I am creeping on in Epictetus, and I wonder at 
 what I find in it: such magnificent morality, on the 
 one hand; and such instances of ignorance and error 
 blended with it, on the other. He strongly saw the 
 substance of that frame of mind, which was necessary 
 to passing comfortably through this world. But he 
 did not distinctly perceive its limit. He knew no way 
 of healing the maladies of the passions, but by extir¬ 
 pation of the passions themselves. Thus, 
 
 Ef 7 rpoxo\pou QeTiEig, atysg rovg roiouroug $iahoyi(r[j,oug. 
 eocv afj.s7\.r}(ra) rcou e[mmv, oux e^o) $iar%o(pag. eolv [xrj xo^acrco 
 rov 7 rct&cc, 7 ronipog egtoli. 7r%E7rov yoip 'ki^orj a7roSocvEiv, 
 OLhvirov xou a(po£ov yiuofxsuou, t\ £Vjv sv a (pSouoig tol^olo-cto- 
 
 [ASVOV XpEITTOV $E TOV 7 TOLUOL XOLXOV ElVOLl , 7] (TE XOOCofioU- 
 
 [aovol, . . Cap. 1. * 
 
 Here, the confounding, solicitude for a child’s 
 virtue, with those things which ‘ the Gentiles seek/ 
 is a strange instance of confusion. It is almost as 
 strange for him, in the end of the twenty-first 
 chapter, to introduce Diogenes as oc^icog Ssiog, on ac¬ 
 count of his moderation. Yet, how true are the 
 greater number of his sentiments; and how astonish¬ 
 ingly cutting in stone a likeness, of what the Gospel 
 presents alive! 
 
 In his thirteenth chapter he says, N oo-og, (rco[xarog 
 
 E(TTIV E[X7T0^10V, 77poaipE(TECOg $£, OV. f Upon this, flis cJlVlS - 
 
 tian commentator, Casaubon, pronounces this cen¬ 
 sure, . . morbos corporis ad animum mentemve, nihil 
 pertinere; nec per illos obstare, quin sapiens sua 
 felicitate, id est plena solidaque mentis sanitate 
 
 * If thou wouldest advance towards perfection, lay aside such reasonings as 
 these. . . If I neglect my worldly affairs, I shall want bread. Unless I chastise my 
 slave, lie will become wicked. . .For it is better to die of hunger, being free from 
 grief and fear, than to live in affluence, with a troubled heart; it is better that 
 thy slave should be a wretch, than thou wretched. 
 
 t Disease fetters the body, but not the will. 
 
fmatur; id ab omni ratione et communi usu tam 
 remotum mihi videtur, ut non tam in eorum genera 
 quae paradoxa vocantur ponendum, quam fatuum et 
 ridiculum videatur* : .. and, in proof of his opinion, 
 he adduces raging fevers, and the bite of a mad dog. 
 But is not this to push Epictetus to an unfair ex¬ 
 treme? The nature of the case shows, that he 
 spoke only of cases, in which reason could be exer¬ 
 cised \ and to bring other cases to confute him, is to 
 misunderstand his meaning. Doubtless, he, and they 
 who thought like him, talked extravagantly, of what 
 human virtue could achieve, in victoriousness over 
 calamity. But what was all this, but blind nature 
 feeling after its supreme good? And after all, is not 
 St. Paul’s challenge, at the conclusion of the eighth 
 of Romans, nearly as much open to such a censure as 
 that of Casaubon, as what he applies it to? The 
 marrow of true stoicism, is contained in that of St. 
 Paul, 7TOLVTOL KT^VCO, £U Tip eV$Vm[JLOVVTl [AS 'X.glTTip. f 
 
 Yours always, 
 
 My good friend, most truly, 
 
 Alexander Knox. 
 
 * To say that the diseases of the body, have no connection with the mind, and 
 do not prevent a wise man’s enjoyment of his proper happiness, namely, of full 
 and established health of mind, . . seems to me so far removed from reason and 
 experience, that it deserves not so much to be classed among paradoxes, but to be 
 treated rather as downright folly and absurdity. 
 
 t ‘ I can do all things, through Christ which strengtheneth me.’ 
 
LETTER XXV. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, May 7. 1804. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 X am truly obliged, both to you and Michael, for the 
 interest and trouble you have taken about my books ; 
 and much gratified by your pleasant intelligence, re¬ 
 specting our valuable and excellent friend ; for whose 
 highest welfare, I think we may safely say, we are 
 both deeply interested. 
 
 It strikes me that, on closer inspection, you will 
 find that you have misunderstood the passage from 
 Epictetus, cap. 16. Uoug does not there, to my ap¬ 
 prehension, signify filius, but servus ; and you will 
 observe, that the Latin word puer, has an ambiguity, 
 precisely similar to that of the original term. An 
 unskilful division in some editions (and most proba¬ 
 bly in yours) tends to confuse the passage, and mis¬ 
 lead the reader. Thus, one copy, now before me, 
 concludes the 16th cap. with the same words, which 
 close your quotation, rj <re xoLKo^ai^ovoL, But two 
 others, also before me, have, in immediate unbroken 
 continuation, the words ap^ou roiyapouv cltto rcov fxixpcuv, 
 &c. to TOLpoL%Qr±voLi, a mode of division which leaves no 
 opening for mistake. For the context, thus taken, 
 clearly shows, that, throughout, reference is made, not 
 to a man’s children, but to his slaves ; and that the 
 object is, to prevent anxious solicitude, about the 
 minute detail of domestic economy. 
 
 But it may be said, and in truth it has been said 
 by commentators, «Would it not be the extreme of 
 
177 
 
 selfish and cruel policy, to refrain from duly improv¬ 
 ing and correcting, and thus, eventually, reforming 
 our servants, merely in order to preserve our own 
 tranquillity?’ To this objection, different answers 
 may be offered. 1. It may be said, that the precept 
 goes on the supposition, that every proper means of 
 reformation had been previously resorted to, and 
 without effect. But to this salvo, I do not attribute 
 much, though it be sanctioned by the learned Wol- 
 fius. 2. It may, perhaps, be alleged, that the precept 
 by no means necessarily excludes, the milder modes 
 of persuasion ; which, after all, are the best modes of 
 leading people to a sense of duty, and a correspondent 
 practice. But to this, you will possibly do well to 
 pay no attention, as it is merely my own extempore 
 idea. 3. Even supposing the passage were exclusive 
 of persuasive effort, the charge of cruelty maybe met, 
 by considering, to whom the advice is addressed ; not 
 to proficients in moral wisdom, but to him who only 
 7rpoxo^ou SsTisi, proficeri studet; to him who is in 
 the lowest form of the stoical school, and who is, ac¬ 
 cordingly, classed by Seneca ‘ in numero stultorum.’ 
 (See his 75th Epistle, the whole of which I would be 
 very glad you would read as soon as possible. It 
 contains a most interesting view of the progress, from 
 moral malady of the worst kind, not only to sanity, 
 but to supreme enjoyment, the climax terminating, 
 
 in the wonderful passage I showed you at B-.) 
 
 On the whole, then, may not the view of Epictetus, 
 •be something to this effect; that the incipient mo¬ 
 ralist, should labour, in the first instance, to correct 
 himself; to subdue his wrong tempers, and, as an 
 exercise of self-discipline, to refrain from abusing and 
 chastising his servants, for every failure and offence ? 
 Till the work of self government is somewhat ad- 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 
 
 vanced, he cannot, either with safety to himself, or 
 with probable advantage to his servant’s virtue, pro¬ 
 ceed in the work of correcting that servant. There¬ 
 fore, the stoic would have him 4 pluck the beam out 
 of his own eye, that he may see clearly to pull out 
 the mote that is in his brother’s eye.’ The style of 
 advice is finely adapted, to the case of a beginner in 
 the school of wisdom : oLp^ou oltto rm (Aixpoov. New 
 wine is not put into old bottles, here. The smallest 
 privations are most easily submitted to : the sacrifice 
 of little things, will be the least difficult; and they 
 will, gradually, pave the way, for greater privations, 
 and more important sacrifices. I have been sadly 
 prolix, and I fear impertinently and uselessly so. 
 Yet, I have somewhat more to say. I cannot justify 
 the eulogium of Diogenes, and will therefore pass on 
 to the voa-og (rcofAoiToc;, &c. &c. cap. 13. 
 
 I perfectly coincide with you in opinion, that Ca- 
 saubon’s censure on this passage, is extremely unfair. 
 It is clear, that Epictetus speaks only of cases where 
 reason can be used. He first makes a general state¬ 
 ment, ' Noo-o£ (rco[xotrog ,’ &c. ; and we have no right 
 to extend the position to diseases, which necessarily 
 affect any thing but the body; yet such are 4 raging 
 fevers, and the bite of a mad dog,’ for they, neces¬ 
 sarily, affect the mind. But further, he then gives a 
 special instance, -^coT^ava-ig. Which, I humbly con¬ 
 ceive, so far limits the subject, as to require that each 
 of the e[jL7ri7rTovTcov, afterwards referred to, should 
 be ejusdem generis with lameness ; i. e. should not 
 necessarily interfere with the mental functions. The 
 reasoning of Epictetus, in fact, is this, 4 Disease is not 
 an impediment to the will, but to the body.’ 4 Lame¬ 
 ness, for instance, impedes not my will, but simply my 
 motion.’ If I am in my senses, I will never propose 
 
179 
 
 to perform on foot a journey, to which I am unequal. 
 Nor is this restriction of further progress, an impedi¬ 
 ment $ for to be free from foolish and impracticable 
 desires, is, in truth, a high privilege. Simplicius, the 
 disciple of Epictetus, in his commentary on this pas¬ 
 sage, remarks the peculiar propriety, with which his 
 master, (who was himself to tcoixol oco-Qsvrjg, xou %ooKog 
 stc vsag *) uses the instance of lameness. ‘ Ad¬ 
 
 ducing his arguments from real life; and not, as is 
 too commonly the case, labouring to say something 
 which may excite admiration.’ That Epictetus deeply 
 and really felt, what he said here, may, I think, be 
 fairly argued, from the following charming passage, 
 which I extract from his larger discourse, given by 
 Arrian. ‘ What can I, a lame old man, do, but cele¬ 
 brate the Deity in hymns ? If I were a nightingale, 
 I would perform the part of a nightingale. If I were 
 a swan, that of a swan : but as I am a rational being, 
 it is my duty to sing hymns to God : this is my 
 office : I fulfil it; nor will I cease to do so, while 
 the power is continued to me.’ Arrian. Epit. lib. i. 
 cap. 16. 
 
 Now I am on Epictetus, pray compare the 6Zd 
 chap, of his Enchiridion, with 1 Tim. ii. 9. The 
 coincidence is wonderfully striking, the very words 
 the same. Is it not highly probable, that the philo¬ 
 sopher had read, at least this production of the 
 Apostle ? Yet no commentator that I have met, 
 notices the coincidence. I hope that Ely Bates is 
 undergoing a judicial reading; or rather, indeed, 
 that your review of him, is in great forwardness. If 
 you can soon spare a little time to write to me, it 
 will be a high gratification. Do not, however, think 
 
 * Weak in body, and lame from liis youth up. 
 
 N °Z 
 
180 
 
 of thus gratifying me, till you are completely in pos¬ 
 session of a leisure hour. 
 
 I am, my dear Sir, your truly affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 P.S. If you could merely throw out for me on half a 
 sheet of paper, the heads of your scheme for a'sermon 
 on the commandments, I would endeavour to fill up 
 your outline. A mere mention of the disposition of 
 heart, which would imply the keeping of each law, 
 with a numerical reference to any striking Scriptures, 
 would be enough : and this could be comprized in a 
 quarter of a sheet. Do you wish for the fragments 
 of letters you sent me ? If so, I will transcribe them, 
 and return you the originals. They are very satis¬ 
 factory to me. 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, March 19. 1805. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 As I do not wish that any thing of yours, should 
 fall into the hands of persons who cannot, in some 
 measure, appreciate its value, (by the way, doubtful 
 whether this same word appreciate were to be spelt 
 as above, or after the latin, appretiate, I took down 
 Johnson’s Dictionary, and was surprised to find that 
 he omits it altogether,) for this reason, . . which I wish 
 my parenthesis may not have removed absolutely out 
 of sight,.. I hope that you have not written, or rather 
 
181 
 
 have not sent, (for you often write without sending) 
 any answer to my last letter; or, to express myself 
 more plainly, as our post, between Clonmel and 
 Cashel, has been five times robbed, since my return 
 from town, I hope that none of the plunders, which 
 took place within the last three or four weeks, have 
 swept away any communication of yours. The 
 supineness of bur gentry, in these parts, may be 
 tolerably well guessed at, from the fact, that these 
 repeated robberies have not produced a single effort. 
 No reward has been offered ; no remonstrances made 
 to the postmasters-general; no application to go¬ 
 vernment, for a military escort. The post still is 
 conveyed by a very young boy, on a very sorry hack ; 
 and the gentlemen robbers, whenever it suits their 
 convenience to stroll along the Clonmel road, need 
 only ask for the bag, which they instantly receive. 
 I do not think these things could be so in the north. 
 There, the yeomanry would scour the country, and 
 detect the offenders; or, at least, the gentry would 
 adopt such spirited resolutions, as would deter them 
 from so very daring a repetition of this outrage. But 
 too much of this. 
 
 f I passed some days, at the beginning of this month, 
 
 with --; and accompanied him to the meeting of 
 
 Ossorian clergy, at Kilkenny. Much of what I saw 
 gave me sincere pleasure. There was a decency, a 
 regularity, a rationality, and, withal, a true piety, in 
 the proceedings, which could not but impress any 
 candid observer highly in favour of the association. 
 
 Mr.-preached an excellent sermon, on 1 Cor. 
 
 iii. 21 . . 23.; which, with very few exceptions, truly 
 gratified me. After the sermon, a chapter (Jerem. 
 xxiii.) was read in the vestry room, with some ob¬ 
 servations from Mr.-: next followed rather a 
 
 n 8 
 
182 
 
 desultory conversation, on a doctrinal point ; but, 
 what pleased me most, in the conversations of the 
 vestry room, were several practical hints, wisely and 
 
 kindly thrown out by-, and properly received 
 
 by the rest, on the necessity of strict and guarded 
 attention to regularity, confining exertions within the 
 natural sphere of duty, &c. This association, I am 
 told, has not only been the means, under God, of 
 bringing several young men to seriousness ; but, also, 
 of keeping within bounds, the zeal of some, whose first 
 serious impressions were imbibed through communi¬ 
 cation with sectaries ; and who probably never could 
 have been restrained, by the mere injunctions of 
 ecclesiastical superiors. It was even hinted, that the 
 effervescence of those persons might, possibly, have 
 ultimately settled, into decided separation from our 
 establishment: whereas they are now thoroughly 
 confirmed in attachment to it. All this, from what 
 I have seen, I am well disposed to believe is strictly 
 true. 
 
 So much, is a just tribute to truth ; and I am 
 happy to pay it. X must now, entre nous, mention 
 
 what I cannot so much approve. - appeared, 
 
 that day, the leading man ; and his dicta, seemed 
 
 to me almost implicitly received. Now, -’s 
 
 opinions, from a little in his sermon, more in the 
 vestry room, and still more in private conversation 
 
 at -’s, I judge to be highly calvinistic. He is 
 
 practical, indeed, decidedly pious, and, as far as I 
 can judge, of a temper considerably softened by reli¬ 
 gion. He, also, has a large share of prudence in 
 his manner of stating things, which is, I believe, 
 the result of much religious experience ; but all 
 these circumstances naturally tend to heighten his 
 influence 5 and, therefore, I judge, that, if his 
 
thoughts are not already embraced by the whole 
 
 body, they soon will be so. - has them to 
 
 a great degree : he thinks, I know, that he has re¬ 
 ceived them from the Scriptures ; but I fancy there is 
 more of man’s teaching in it, than he is aware of. 
 His head is filled with notions, that he cannot ration¬ 
 ally support; for, when he attempts to do so, his 
 reasonings uniformly terminate in a petitio principii. 
 And to change his views would be a hopeless endea¬ 
 vour, as he has this rooted impression, that God has 
 promised to teach all, who come to him through 
 Christ; that God’s promises must be true ; that, con¬ 
 sequently, all real believers must have, in all ma¬ 
 terial points, infallibly right views of scripture; and 
 as he trusts he is a real believer, the inference which 
 he must draw, as to the entire rectitude of his views, 
 is plain. 
 
 The opinions which I could collect as predominant 
 ones with either, were, that real Christians cannot 
 entertain doctrinal views of an opposite nature, as 
 God cannot teach contradictories ; that we are to rest 
 upon no other righteousness than that of Christ. Here 
 
 --seems not so decided as-, limiting himself 
 
 to this assertion, that Christ’s righteousness, is the 
 sole ground of justification ; and that repentance 
 cannot precede faith (Walker’s idea). At the same 
 time, it is but just to say, that both seem zealous to 
 inculcate Christian morality; and desirous to have 
 realized within themselves, the gracious fruits of the 
 Spirit. On the whole, I see their association is aware, 
 that prudence must regulate their zeal 5 and in this 
 respect, I think the opposition they met with has 
 been serviceable. But I can see no prospect of alter¬ 
 ing, any doctrinal views which they have imbibed ; 
 therefore, wishing them every success in the sound 
 
 N 4 
 
184 
 
 and rational part of their scheme, I do not feel very 
 desirous to meet them often, as a body, or, when I 
 meet any of them as friends, to enter much into doc¬ 
 trinal discussion. 
 
 I beg my kindest compliments to Miss Fergusson. 
 Many thanks to Michael. I got my books safe. 
 
 I am, my dear Sir, very truly 
 
 And affectionately your’s, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 24. 
 To the Rev . /. Jebb. 
 
 Dawson St., March 28. 1805. 
 
 My good Friend, 
 
 Let me write ever so briefly, I will write something, 
 lest you should think I was forgetting you. 
 
 I was obliged for your letter about the passage in 
 Epictetus; in your remarks on which, I am sure you 
 are generally right, especially respecting Uciig ; as is, 
 indeed, proved, by the words occurring, in the next 
 chapter, in a connection which makes it mean as 
 you say. 
 
 *##### 
 
 #*#### 
 
 I am ready, sometimes, to say of myself, that I 
 am neither arminian, nor calvinist, yet, I believe, 
 calvinists would call me an arminian. But I imagine 
 the name does not belong to me; nor did it, I think, 
 
185 
 
 belong to John Wesley. He assumed it; but, I 
 conceive, too inconsiderately. I suspect Arminius 
 had something of the pelagian in him; and his fol¬ 
 lowers were wholly so, if not worse. 
 
 But, I think, of few things I can be more sure, 
 than that calvinistic predestination is not in the 
 Bible : providential predestination runs all through 
 it; and a warm imagination, when once the idea was 
 taken up, made it easy to transmute the one into 
 the other. The predestination which St. Paul dwells 
 upon, I think is that, which brought those whom 
 he addressed, providentially within the influences of 
 the Gospel. And, to them who stood critically within 
 the line, it was a decree of Providence deserving to 
 be cordially felt, and, indeed, necessarily interesting, 
 as having been born thirty years sooner, might have 
 left them in ignorance and darkness. 
 
 That this, and this only, is the predestination St. 
 Paul speaks of (I mean including all which this 
 includes), appears from this obvious fact, that, after 
 St. Paul has described the whole nation as cut off, he 
 still expostulates, in order that, by any means, he 
 might save some. This, consequently, was not cal- 
 vinian cutting off; for, after that, there is no place 
 for repentance. Yet this is in the midst of the part 
 of the Epistle to the Romans, which is supposed 
 most strongly to teach and explain, as far as it can 
 be explained, that doctrine. 
 
 Yet, how can we fathom the mystery of provi¬ 
 dential predestination ? What preferences may it not 
 imply? but surely not, in any instance, hopeless, 
 inevitable rejection. St. Paul’s words just quoted, 
 Rom. xi. 1A, prove he had not such a thought, even 
 in the case where he has put forth the supposed 
 system most elaborately. And yet, if St. Paul had 
 
186 
 
 clearly no such thought here, how can the doctrine 
 be supported at all ? This alone would satisfy. But, 
 does not the whole Bible speak entirely the same 
 language ? 
 
 There is one thing which these theologists do not, 
 I think, enough consider. If absolute, unconditional, 
 indefeasible election, be that, which makes a man 
 holy here, and happy hereafter; and, if this election, 
 and its results, be, as calvinists say, a mere matter 
 of will, . . where is the room for divine wisdom ? 
 And why so extended and concatenated an inter¬ 
 vention of second causes, if their operation was thus 
 infallibly anticipated ? Wisdom acts by instruments : 
 will fiats the thing. I will not dispute an infallibility 
 of wisdom, and, of course, a certainty of event, where 
 God sees right it should be certain. But an infalli¬ 
 bility of wisdom, is not an overwhelming efficiency 
 of power ; which mere will implies : nor can we tell, 
 how many events in the detail, or what events, or of 
 what kind, God wills to be certain. May he not will 
 suspense, and possible failure, as necessary to the 
 illustration of the operative wisdom ? I must stop, 
 or be too late. 
 
 Always yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
187 
 
 LETTER XXVIL 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, 23d April, 1805. 
 
 My dear Str, 
 
 I thank you much, for your timely and satisfactory 
 observations on St. Paul’s doctrine of providential 
 predestination. My studies have, of late, been 
 much* interrupted, by complaints of the nervous 
 kind : which have altogether precluded any thing like 
 fixedness of attention. Therefore, what little I have 
 read, has been of various kinds, ‘ here a little, and 
 there a little,’ though I cannot presume to say, 
 ‘ apis matinae more modoque.’ Thank God, how¬ 
 ever, I have been much better for these few days 
 back ; I hope, by regimen and exercise, soon to be 
 in working order. 
 
 I should be very glad to know bow you are pro¬ 
 ceeding, in the matters which were on the anvil, 
 when I left town. Whether the preface to Hale’s 
 religious works is transmitted, and the work itself in 
 forwardness? Whether the communications to H. 
 More are completed, and her treatise will soon be 
 out? Whether you are about making use of the 
 letter to the Archbishop ? And whether you have 
 yet furnished a critique on Bates’ Rural Philo¬ 
 sophy ? To all these queries, I do not expect an¬ 
 swers. It will, however, gratify me, if you will 
 select such of them, as may suit your inclination to 
 notice. I just took up a little publication, by your 
 friend Nicole, which I purchased from Mr. Walker. 
 
188 
 
 It is a selection of epigrams, with a very beautiful 
 and classical preliminary dissertation ; on which you 
 may find a high encomium in Bayle’s Dictionary, 
 artic. Nicole, note E. From the preface, I will ex¬ 
 tract a short passage, which, I know, accurately co¬ 
 incides with your modes of thinking; and which, if 
 you think of defending classical study, against Mr. 
 Bates’ attack, may perhaps be a little to your purpose. 
 
 ‘ Non quae apud ethnicos veritas reperitur, ideo 
 ethnica est, aut ideo veritas non est: semper ilia ex 
 aeterno et incorrupto defluit sole, qui, licet christianos 
 abundantiori lumine perfuderit, tamen ethnicis non 
 ita se subtraxit, ut illos penitus a luce sua secluderet. 
 Quod etiam, gravibus et eruditis theologis, quando- 
 cunque ipsorum libros attingunt, pias et utiles com- 
 mentationes suppeditat, dum secum considerant quid 
 ethnici cognoverint, quo progressi sint, ubi substite- 
 rint, et quam longe, obscuris illis veritatis scintillis 
 quae apud ethnicos fulserint, revelatum fidei lumen 
 excellat.’* These thoughts, I am well aware, are by 
 no means new to your mind. But are they not most 
 happily expressed ? and do they not derive a peculiar 
 force, from being the sentiments of your favourite 
 Nicole ? Messieurs of Port Boyal, indeed, in them¬ 
 selves, supply a host of arguments, in support of 
 classical learning. Who more assiduous in the culti¬ 
 vation of ethnic literature ? and yet who more con- 
 
 * Whatever truth existed among the heathen, is not, therefore, heathenish, neither, 
 therefore, ceases to be truth. Truth has ever flowed from that eternal and incor¬ 
 ruptible sun, which, although it shed a more abundant light upon the Christian 
 church, never, on the other hand, so withdrew itself from the gentiles, as wholly 
 to deprive them of its rays. A fact, which even supplies pious and useful reflections, 
 to grave and learned divines, when engaged in the study of profane literature; — 
 while they revolve in their minds, what the heathen knew, whither they advanced, 
 where they stopped short, and how far the revealed light of faith excels those 
 obscure scintillations of truth, which shone amidst the darkness of the gentile 
 world. 
 
versant in the interiora of practical and spiritual 
 religion ? 
 
 A letter lately received from my friend Mr. G. 
 Sharp, has the following P. S. ‘ A new monthly 
 review of books is proposed to be published, by a 
 society of gentlemen, under the title of the c Eclectic 
 Review/ I am not at all acquainted with Mr. 
 Greathead, the chairman of the committee; nor, in¬ 
 deed, even with the names of the other gentlemen, 
 who form that committee; but I am desired by a 
 worthy friend, who is well acquainted with them, to 
 request, that you will favour them with such occa¬ 
 sional remarks as you may think proper, from time to 
 time. And, if you desire a more particular account 
 of the intentions, and views, of that society, I am 
 desired to refer you to Alexander Knox, Esq., of 
 Dublin, with whom I understand you are acquainted, 
 as he can give you information on that head.’ 
 
 The original cause of this application, you well 
 know; and you are, certainly, the best judge how 
 far it can be complied with. ft appears to me 
 very indefinite; and I need not tell you, that the 
 range is very limited, in which I could supply any 
 thing worth notice. Now, probably, the line in 
 which I would have, either ability, or inclination, to 
 give my mite of assistance, is already filled up. At 
 your discretion, however, I leave the matter. If you 
 think there are any works newly afloat, which would 
 afford me an opportunity of throwing out hints of a 
 useful tendency ; and if, also, you deem the Eclectic 
 Review, a fit medium of doing so; I would gladly 
 endeavour to do my best. I certainly do not think 
 very highly of the work ; but it may mend. 
 
190 
 
 LETTER 25. 
 
 April 26. 1805. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 # # # * * * 
 
 % # # # # # 
 
 I have been proceeding slowly with my review, 
 which is now not far off a close ; at least, I have got 
 through three fourths. I wrought, rather because I 
 would do it; except where I was giving vent to my 
 own feelings, as in vindicating classical education, 
 &c. In fact, Ely Bates has not risen with me, on 
 closer acquaintance. I still think it a very useful, 
 and sincerely pious book. But it is superficial every 
 where, a very few instances excepted, unless where 
 piety gives it solidity. He has adopted, also, some 
 opinions of a very uncomfortable kind, drawn, as I 
 think, from Locke’s principles; which make him 
 turn out less congenial to me, than I thought him at 
 first. But I manage him respectfully ; and as gently 
 as I can, without sacrificing truth. 
 
 The letter to the Archbishop remains finished, 
 but untranscribed. The communications you ask 
 about were long since done ; and as it happened, in 
 the nick of time. I had a letter, marked with some 
 solicitude, just a day or two after I had dispatched 
 the last. The work, I believe, is published this 
 
 week in London. - vexed me no little, by 
 
 speaking of it, though I had mentioned it to him 
 in the profoundest secrecy. The author heard of its 
 divulgement; and wrote to me on the subject: you 
 will judge how mortifying this was. But I neither 
 
191 
 
 told the Archbishop, nor his brother-who has 
 
 been in town, and went off this morning. I wrote 
 strongly to himself, and he was vexed sufficiently; 
 so be you locked up. Hale’s preface I could not go 
 on with. The other business, and extra-matters which 
 occurred, made it impossible. 
 
 One of these extras, was a letter to Mr. Butter- 
 worth, on the usefulness of devout people attending 
 divine worship, when a form was used ; in order to 
 try how mere piety could engage them, without aid 
 from exciting circumstances. Mr. B. was some weeks 
 before he answered me: but I heard of my letter 
 
 from-, to whom a dissenter in the Isle of Wight, 
 
 just returned from London, gave such an account of 
 
 a letter he had heard read, while in town, that-, 
 
 who knew nothing of my having written such a letter, 
 knew it to be mine. The pleasant circumstance is, 
 
 that a dissenter should like it so. 
 
 * # # # # # 
 
 ##*### 
 
 I could wish you to write a review of the book 
 which is just coming out.* It would be, I expect, 
 just ft for you. And I think I will mention it to 
 Mr. Greathead, when I write to him; which will be 
 shortly. Have you read the remarks on Cowper, in 
 the March Christian Observer? I think they are 
 very judicious. I am endeavouring, at intervals, to 
 new modify my paper on experimental preaching; 
 and hope soon to have it complete. 
 
 On the subject of predestination, I humbly think 
 
 * Mrs. Hannah More’s ‘ Hints for the Education of a Young Princess,’ in 
 which Mr. Knox took peculiar interest; having been on a visit with the excellent 
 author, when engaged in the composition of this work, which was materially- 
 benefited by his strictures, and enriched by his suggestions. . . Ed. 
 
 ✓ 
 
192 
 
 it is demonstrable, that the calvinistic view of it has 
 no support, either from Scripture, or the course of 
 things. The terms ‘ elegit in Christo ad aeternam glo- 
 riam, idque ex amore suo et gratia mere gratuita, nec 
 fide nec bonis operibus, nec in his iilave perseverantia, 
 aut ulla alia re in creatura prsevisis, ipsum tanquam 
 causis aut conditionibus ad id moventibus, quo totum 
 nempe in laudem cederet gloriosse suae gratiae,’. . * 
 are, in my judgment, little short of their own confuta¬ 
 tion. For, if this were so, why was it necessary to wait 
 for the fulness of time ? What was that fulness, but 
 suitableness to God’s design, which his divine pur¬ 
 pose, not to force effects, but to wait for events, 
 made necessarily a business of procrastination. But 
 does not suitableness of time, resolve itself into suit¬ 
 ableness of individuals ? and did not this suitable¬ 
 ness, operate in that analogical sense, in which, 
 alone, we can speak here, as a motive to the great 
 Disposer? In fact, in their zeal to exalt God’s will, 
 they, in a manner, as far as in them lies, deprive him 
 of his wisdom : for wisdom must have something to 
 reason upon, and be guided by; but, what is there 
 here, where not only foreseen faith, and good works, 
 and perseverance, are thrown out, but ulla alia res 
 must be denied too ? Does not this involve as great 
 contradiction as human language can, to all that 
 plain sense would dictate ? Besides, St. Paul says, 
 ‘ whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate.’ 
 But this foreknowledge must have had an object, and 
 
 * He hath fore-ordained the elect in Christ unto eternal glory, and that of his 
 own mere love, and gratuitous grace, neither faith, nor good works, nor perse¬ 
 verance in either, nor any thing else foreseen in the creature, impelling him, as 
 causes or conditions, to the act of election ; in order that all things may turn to 
 the praise of His glorious grace. 
 
193 
 
 a purpose. What was its purpose, if nothing fore¬ 
 seen was to be acted upon ? Is it not much more 
 congruous with sacred writ, and right reason, to 
 suppose, that God, having subjected this world to 
 certain laws, and, amongst the rest, to that of free- 
 agency, or what we call by that name, .. in his plans 
 of grace, he takes every thing which those laws lead 
 to into the account; and adapts his divine plans to 
 those various results, so that there is the greatest 
 possible distance from that arbitrary system, with 
 which Calvinism disturbs the mind. 
 
 Yours always, 
 
 Alex. Knox, 
 
 LETTER XXVIIL 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq . 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Cashel, May 6 . 1805, 
 
 Though I cannot answer your very kind, and very 
 full letter of April 26, as I could wish, I wish to 
 answer it as I can, before I set out on a four days’ 
 excursion, to visit two brother clergymen. I am very 
 glad that I happened to hear, both of your illness and 
 recovery, at the same time. This saved me much 
 uneasiness; and I trust that there is now no danger 
 of relapse. The Archbishop assures me, that your 
 health and spirits seemed wonderfully well, the night 
 before he left town. 
 
 Your activity in getting through literary business, 
 puts me to the blush. How little have I done since 
 
 VOL. i. o 
 
194 
 
 I left Dublin, and how feebly has that little been ex¬ 
 ecuted ! We must hope that things will mend ; and 
 in order to bring this hope in its way towards com¬ 
 pletion, we must endeavour to have proper vicis¬ 
 situdes of exercise and study. Last week I was 
 employed for two days, in writing a voluminous, but 
 I fear prolix letter, to a brother clergyman, on the 
 subject of preaching. It is not yet finished. But 
 when it is, I will, with your permission, enclose it to 
 you; in the hope that you will point out some of the 
 numerous errors, which I can hardly question it must 
 contain. 
 
 The publication which has just appeared in Eng¬ 
 land, I am very anxious to see; and would be highly 
 indebted to you, if you could by any means procure 
 me an early enjoyment of this pleasure. If you think 
 I could review it, I would make the attempt with 
 pleasure; it is, indeed, just the thing I could like to 
 do for my private gratification ; though with much 
 diffidence of producing any remarks fit for the public 
 eye. It is very well that you warned me on the 
 subject of secrecy; for certain it is, that I did not 
 before understand there was any such injunction on 
 your part, either express, or implied. I need not 
 say, that I shall now be as close as the grave. I 
 think, to the best of my recollection, I did once or 
 twice casually mention such a thing, with the author’s 
 name; but certainly, it was not to any one in the 
 literary world ; or indeed to any one that will pro¬ 
 bably recollect the circumstance. 
 
 The Archbishop is well; nor do I recollect ever 
 having had a more comfortable conversation with 
 him, than the other evening. He has some hopes of 
 a visit from you. Is such a thing possible ? It would 
 be good for your health ; it would be highly service- 
 
195 
 
 able to our worthy friend ; and I really think it might 
 be serviceable in no slight degree, to the cause of 
 religion in this diocese. The Archbishop speaks most 
 candidly, and most wisely, on the subject of the Kil¬ 
 kenny association: he, also, expresses a wish, that a 
 well-regulated and modified clerical association, could 
 be formed in this diocese. It would give me real 
 pleasure, to talk over the matter with you and his 
 Grace; or rather, indeed, to hear your joint senti¬ 
 ments upon it. Were you on the spot, I soberly think, 
 much good might result. There is a substratum of 
 seriousness in some few of our clergy. There are, 
 also, several of the old school, highly respectable; 
 and without much dogmatical attachment to their 
 long established modes. Now, do you not think, that 
 good might be done by an association, under this 
 state of things ? I am glad to hear that you like my 
 
 friend-. The more thoroughly he is known, the 
 
 more evidently it will appear, that he has a heart 
 deeply impressed with religion of the best kind; and 
 a judgment, naturally strong, rendered much more 
 sound, by the infusion of wisdom from above. I 
 think that man calculated for a much wider sphere 
 of exertion, than that afforded on the rocks of Carrick- 
 a-Crewe; which, however, he fills very contentedly; 
 and, no doubt, with real usefulness to the poor people, 
 among whom he is placed. 
 
 Were there any difficulties in my mind, on the 
 point of calvinistic, or augustinian predestination, 
 what you say would, doubtless, have great weight in 
 removing them: but the truth is, I am pretty easy 
 on that point. That which most puzzled me, were 
 the views of justification, which I had seen put for¬ 
 ward ; and in fact, divines seem, somehow or other, 
 to have perplexed that doctrine, by such a multi- 
 
 o 2 
 
196 
 
 plicity of perverse reasoning, and strained inter¬ 
 pretation, that it is hard to see light through their 
 darkness. 
 
 One point I am persuaded of, that the extreme 
 mode of viewing this matter, implies a manifest con¬ 
 tradiction, to many plain assertions of our blessed 
 Lord himself. Some good people have had such a 
 horror of human merit, that they cry out ‘ Heresy/ 
 upon those, who simply use the phrase in the modi¬ 
 fied, and popular sense: which is fully authorized, by 
 numerous passages of the four Gospels. I purpose, 
 when more at leisure, reading over one or two works, 
 by Baxter, on this subject; but, just at present, I 
 have no wish to worry my mind with doctrinal con¬ 
 troversy, being in a better frame for what is practical 
 and moral. By the way, I hope you will be good 
 enough to bespeak for me, from London, c Nicole/ 
 and John Smith’s c select discourses.’ Also to get 
 for me, through the post if possible, two copies of 
 Herbert Marsh’s little tract on the Pentateuch. It 
 is a very thin octavo pamphlet; and a friend of mine, 
 who is a very hopeful convalescent from infidelity, 
 wishes to see it. He was much struck with the 
 account of it, in my note on the Pentateuch. This 
 person brings the profoundest physical arguments, 
 in defence of revelation; and appears most truly 
 anxious to arrive at full conviction. I must candidly 
 confess to you, that I told the Archbishop of your 
 reviewing Ely Bates: is this a breach of confidence ? 
 If it be so, I am truly sorry; and I can promise in¬ 
 violable secrecy for the future. But I did not, at the 
 time, nor do I now, think, you gave me any warning 
 on that head. The nature of the case, indeed/re¬ 
 quires, that it should be very sparingly mentioned. 
 
107 
 
 But I was led to conceive the Archbishop, an autho- 
 rized exception. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Sir, and 
 
 believe me ever your’s, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 26. 
 
 To the Rev . J . Jebb. 
 
 May 18. 1805. 1 
 
 My good Friend, 
 
 I will will put you to the expense of postage, for a 
 short letter. You were so good as to say, you would 
 send me a letter you were writing, when you had 
 completed it. I hope you will not omit it. I shall 
 be truly desirous to see it : you can enclose to 
 William Taylor. 
 
 I happen to have a duplicate of the new work : 
 you shall, therefore, fall heir to the superfluous copy. 
 I hope to send it early next week. 
 
 You will, probably, have looked over the Arch¬ 
 bishop’s copy, before your own reaches you. I hope 
 it will do good: but it still needs revising; there 
 being great inequality in its manner: yet it is cer¬ 
 tainly a curious kind of publication, all things con¬ 
 sidered. --writes, that the Bishop of Exeter says 
 
 he has got more information from it, on the subject 
 most interesting at present to him, as preceptor, or 
 governor,* or whatever it be, than he ever received 
 in all his reading. 
 
 * To the Princess Charlotte of Wales. 
 
 o 3 
 
 . Er>. 
 
198 
 
 As to the review, it is no secret: neither need it 
 be spoken of, except some particular motive should 
 occur. In fact, I know not what that review will 
 turn out; and though, in the mean time, I would not 
 refuse it aid $ yet I would aid it quietly, till I know 
 better, what sort of company I have got into. 
 
 I am now advanced a little, in an answer to a 
 terrible kind of pamphlet, written against the Bible 
 Society in London ; and particularly pointed at Lord 
 Teignmouth, to whom it is addressed and the four 
 Bishops who are members, Durham, London, Exeter, 
 and St. David’s. It is such an effusion of high 
 church bigotry, that I do not dislike to have an op¬ 
 portunity of saying a little of what I have to say, on 
 that subject. With thanks for your last letter, 
 
 Always most cordially your’s, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER 27. 
 
 To the Rev . J. Jebh . 
 
 Bellevue, June 1. 1805. 
 
 My worthy Friend, 
 
 I have this morning forwarded your letter to Mr* 
 Greatliead; who, I am sure, will be very much gra¬ 
 tified by it. There was not a word, which I could 
 have wished to alter. 
 
 I am very much gratified, by what you say, and 
 what you quote from the Archbishop, respecting 
 the « Hints*’ I certainly agree with you, in all your 
 drawbacks. And I lament some things, as affecting 
 
199 
 
 the sense: but, altogether, I trust it will do good. 
 If the author would adopt the measure of a thorough 
 revisal, previous to another edition, it would be a 
 great advantage to the work; which certainly ought 
 not to retain any remediable imperfection. 
 
 I thank you heartily for your sermon: its matter 
 delighted me. I read it immediately, and handed it 
 
 to Mrs.-, who was affected with it in the very 
 
 way my heart could have wished. For the time you 
 had to write it in, nothing could be better; and I 
 hope and trust, what it contains is sound doctrine. 
 
 I could wish to write to the Archbishop ; but I 
 am very much occupied. I do not mean as to time ; 
 for that I could, some way or other, always command: 
 but, when I am engaged in any thing, it occupies my 
 thoughts so, that I must put some force on myself to 
 turn to another subject. I told you, I believe, that I 
 am shaping an answer, to a very perverse attack on 
 Lord Teignmouth, and the Bishops who have taken 
 part in the Bible Society. I take the author to be 
 Daubeny. 
 
 Convey my kindest regards to the Archbishop ; 
 whose gratifying wish to see me at Cashel, has as great 
 attractive force on me, as it well can have. And, if 
 all be well after he returns from his metropolitical 
 tour, I almost think I will pay him a visit: but ‘ quam 
 multa inter labra et pocula cedunt. , 
 
 Always most truly your’s, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 o I 
 
200 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, June 12 . 1805. ' 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Your speedy, and kindly considerate letter, just 
 received, is in unison with every thing I have expe¬ 
 rienced from you. And I cannot refrain from an¬ 
 swering it immediately. Your partial friendship leads 
 you, unwittingly, to over-rate the service I mighty be 
 of at the asylum. At the same time, I do feel, 
 that I could, probably, be more useful there*, than 
 in any other situation. And, on this ground, nothing 
 would more effectually meet my wishes, than such 
 an establishment. Nothing, however, can, as I con¬ 
 ceive, be delicately said about the non-cure, in the 
 present stage of the business. As the Archbishop 
 seems to have set his mind, on establishing two effi¬ 
 cient men in the cathedral, in the room of the present 
 curate; and as I do not think, that either my own 
 private wishes, or the prospect of resulting good, in 
 the wider sphere of, perhaps, the first Dublin congre¬ 
 gation, should be permitted to clash with this excel¬ 
 lent man’s views, for the benefit of his own diocese. 
 Still, however, might it not be proper, that some¬ 
 thing should be done forthwith, before matters are 
 too far gone, in Dublin, or here, or in both places ? 
 Now, my idea is this. If you approve of the arrange- 
 
 * As chaplain to the Magdalene AsylumChapel, in Lceson Street, Dublin, . . Ed, 
 
£01 
 
 ftient, and if the Asylum can be procured, I would 
 accept it, without any other present provision. This 
 would, doubtless, somewhat abridge my income, and 
 mar my prospects of diocesan advancement: but are 
 there not considerations very superior, to any thing 
 of a pecuniary nature ; and might not strict econo¬ 
 my, in a college-room, make the Asylum chaplaincy 
 alone, with my own little modicum, adequate to my 
 support? Should you think this scheme admissible, 
 you might then, perhaps, write to the Archbishop, 
 stating the circumstances which, in your judgment, 
 make it desirable, that I should remove to the vacant 
 appointment in Dublin ; without at all adverting to 
 any thing in his disposal. 
 
 The non-cure would, undoubtedly, be a pleasant 
 thing; enabling me, both with prudence, and with 
 comfort, to remove into a situation, which, of all 
 others, would make me most happy ; because, I hope, 
 more useful, than I could be elsewhere. But then, 
 it should come from himself, of his own mere mo¬ 
 tion ; and, in this manner, I could gratefully accept 
 it, as my ne plus ultra; and without compunction, 
 because, whilst many circumstances may enable his 
 Grace to make the proposed arrangements in the 
 cathedral, at no distant date, . . perhaps, it might 
 never be in his power to secure me an independence; 
 and, at the same time, to place me where I should be 
 comfortable. 
 
 I rejoice at the popularity of the ‘ Hints.’ I did 
 not think it possible, that they should fail of making 
 a very deep impression : neither did I think it pro¬ 
 bable, that the author would long remain concealed. 
 The internal evidence was strong indeed; frequently, 
 the same train of thought, and sometimes, the very 
 turn of expression, which occur in the ‘ Strictures on 
 
202 
 
 female Education.’ Of course, as the matter is now 
 public, the Review must notice the author. Many 
 thoughts have been passing through my mind; and 
 I hope to proceed with some vigour and spirit, when 
 an unpleasant cold and headach leave me at liberty. 
 
 Have you read an exceedingly good review, in the 
 Christian Observer, of Burder’s sermon on amuse¬ 
 ments, and the answer to it? From some internal 
 evidence, from the general view given of this impor¬ 
 tant subject, and even from some modes of language 
 familiar to my mind, I should suspect that it was not 
 in print, that you saw the review for the first time. 
 The extracts from Lord Chesterfield, Baxter, and 
 Leighton, were also, I guess, furnished by a person 
 known to you and me. 
 
 Irwin Whitty has been imbibing just such views as 
 we could wish. He is delighted with the review of 
 Burder’s sermon. 
 
 Your ever grateful and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 28 . 
 To the Rev. J. Jehb. 
 
 Dublin, June 15. 1805. 
 
 Mv dear Friend, 
 
 I thank you for your confidential communication, 
 which has set some thoughts in motion in my mind. 
 
 If it were practicable, I could wish you to have the 
 non-cure at once ; and, having that, to take an actual 
 cure in this city. The cure of D-is, at this mo- 
 
203 
 
 ment, vacant. -has actually entertained thoughts 
 
 of taking the cure. Then, the Asylum would be va¬ 
 cant; and, if the possession of the non-cure, were 
 to give you the means of living where you pleased, 
 that would be the place for you. Others, too often, 
 speculate on private, and personal grounds. Subor¬ 
 dinate^, these must not be neglected : but I look 
 farther ; and you are the man to look with me. The 
 Asylum would be the place, where, on the best 
 grounds, I would rejoice to see you fixed : for there 
 you would, with God’s blessing, do much good. 
 
 If the Archbishop and I were talking on this sub¬ 
 ject, I would tell him all that is in my heart: but I 
 think it would be wrong in me to write to him. 
 Perhaps, however, there may be time for conversation 
 on the subject; as I hope to be at Cashel, about the 
 time of the Archbishop’s return from his circuit 
 
 through the province. And if-should move, I 
 
 will endeavour, at all events, to obtain, through 
 
 Mrs.-, that there shall be a temporary provision. 
 
 Dr. Browne’s death, left room for the appointment 
 of a third fellow to-day. I heard the examination in 
 morality, on Thursday; and it seemed agreed, that 
 both questions, and answers, were above what had 
 been heard there for a long time. The successful 
 men are Sadler, Meredith, and Wall. Graves goes 
 into morality con amore: and it is, of all sciences, 
 the most important, . . 4 The soul of all the rest.’ 
 
 Your’s always most faithfully, 
 
 Alex. Knox* 
 
 Extract of a Letter from H. M. 
 
 ‘ Fulham Palace, June 3. 
 
 4 I must tell you, that, to my great regret, the secret 
 betrayed itself; and, from internal evidence, the au- 
 
204 
 
 thor was discovered, as soon as the book was read. 
 I declined the avowal, however, as long as it was 
 possible ; but the suspicion became so strong, and so 
 genera], that it would have led, not only to affecta¬ 
 tion, but deceit, to persevere in silence. A curious 
 correspondence has passed, between me and the 
 Bishop of Exeter. His candour and politeness to 
 the anonymous author (whom he naturally addressed 
 by the appellation of ‘ sir’), did him credit. He 
 presented the work, at my request, to the King: 
 also a copy to the Queen, and to the Prince and 
 Princess of Wales. He wrote me, that the Queen 
 alone had then found time to read it \ that she was 
 very warm in her commendations, and as anxious as 
 himself to know the writer. As he so highly ap¬ 
 proved the book, I thought it handsome, when the 
 secret could be maintained no longer, to compliment 
 him with the first avowal; and I am expecting a visit 
 from him, in order to talk it over. I believe the 
 book is in the hands of most persons of high rank in 
 London ; and it has had the good fortune to please/ 
 
 Extract of a Letter from Dr, W, 
 
 ‘ June 4. 
 
 —— has just called in, and told me that he was 
 yesterday in company with the Bishop of Exeter : 
 who said, £ I have, at last, come at the author of the 
 Hints. H. M. has avowed it to me, and I have had 
 a long conversation with her.’ 
 
205 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq . 
 
 Monday morning, 0 o’clock, June 20. 1805. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Last night I received your letter, and the very in¬ 
 teresting communication it enclosed ; which I cannot 
 avoid acknowledging, though on the point of setting 
 off for Limerick with H. W. We hope to meet the 
 Archbishop to-morrow. Mr. Butterworth’s letters I 
 will very soon return. 
 
 As to what you say of myself, I most cordially 
 acquiesce in by far the greater part of it. I should 
 be most insensible indeed, if I did not feel, that a 
 kind over-ruling Providence has been with me, 
 through the course of my past life; and so feeling, 
 I thank God I can wait, not only quietly, but with 
 perfect complacence, for the guidance of the same 
 good Providence. The best way, then, is to let 
 things take their course. There is only one point, the 
 expediency of which I question ; and that is, speaking 
 
 to-. Of his prudence I have some doubt: but, 
 
 besides, I have a stronger ground of objection; 
 namely, that such a step would, in some measure, 
 be a departure from that entire simplicity of means, 
 which is so desirable. When the apparatus is complex, 
 may not failure, in some measure be apprehended? 
 In truth, any alteration, in my situation or prospects, 
 which took place through your immediate inter¬ 
 ference, I should consider to be in the natural course 
 of things \ and would, therefore, view complacently, 
 
206 
 
 as a strictly providential event. Now this would by 
 no means be my feeling, were an alteration, even 
 precisely similar, to arise, through the interference of 
 a third person. I must stop, in order to write to my 
 brother. 
 
 Your’s most affectionately, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 To A . Knox , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, June 22. 1805. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I return you Mr. Butter worth’s letter, with many 
 thanks. It is full of good sense, and right feeling ; 
 and contains very much, both of interesting informa¬ 
 tion, and judicious remarks. It is truly gratifying to 
 see an English methodist, so completely raised above 
 sectarian prejudice, by the spirit and power of reli¬ 
 gion. Essential service will, I trust, be done, through 
 his quiet and wise exertions, to the interests of Chris¬ 
 tianity at large, and of our establishment in parti¬ 
 cular. I hope I am not wrong in indulging the 
 reflection, for I cannot help indulging it, that you 
 are providentially employed, in sowing the seeds of 
 union betwen contending parties, here, and in Eng¬ 
 land. Mr. B. is evidently a pupil of your school; 
 and a few such pupils, might, in a few years, do 
 wonders. The high church spirit is becoming so 
 entirely unamiable, that it is tolling its own knell. 
 Is not this, therefore, the critical period, when good 
 
2G 7 
 
 and pious men, of different opinions, may, with the 
 most rational prospect of success, unite together in 
 the promotion of heart-religion ; in healing the 
 wounds which have been inflicted on our common 
 Christianity, through the dissensions of its professors ? 
 Much caution and delicacy, I own, are necessary : 
 these Mr. Butterworth appears to possess, in a degree 
 superior to what I almost ever met with ; and I hope 
 I shall be the better, in these points, for the perusal 
 of his letter. 
 
 I saw the Archbishop, on Tuesday, at Limerick. 
 He is now at Killarney. He, perhaps, never was 
 in better health and spirits: business has gone on 
 with spirit ; and without lassitude or fatigue. Not 
 a word about his plans for Cashel, &c.; nor did I 
 wish the subject to be broached. The more I think 
 of this matter, the more satisfied I feel, with letting 
 things rest precisely as they are ; and waiting quietly 
 that result, which, I am sure, will be the best; be¬ 
 cause it is, doubtless, in the hands of the All-wise 
 disposer. 
 
 I shall certainly mark what appears to me amiss.* 
 In the review, I conceive, nothing of that kind need 
 appear, except a general notice, that there are some 
 slight occasional inaccuracies : but, in private com¬ 
 munication to you, I could even wish to be hyper¬ 
 critical ; from an earnest desire, that as few blemishes 
 as possible might remain in a work, which, in very 
 many important particulars, I deem by far the most 
 valuable we have seen, within the last twenty years. 
 Pray, do you think it of importance, that I should 
 complete my review as nearly as possible within this 
 month, or early in the next? I ask, because two 
 
 * In the c Hints.’ . . Ed. 
 
208 
 
 severe wettings, have given me a most incapacitating 
 cold; and also because I have just received a third 
 
 very pressing invitation to visit-, and attend a 
 
 meeting of the Ossorian clergy ; [to decline] which, 
 after the refusal given to the last two, I fear might 
 give offence. My feeling is this, that, on personal 
 grounds, I would much rather stay at home, and at 
 my work; but that to avoid offence, and to show a 
 kindly disposition, towards a man who has been kindly 
 attentive to me, I ought to go. I will be guided in 
 this point by your advice; so that, if, by return of 
 post, you can write but three lines, and tell me 
 whether the review will be very speedily required, I 
 shall act accordingly. 
 
 I have had no answer yet from my brother; but 
 doubt not he will apply, with due interest, to Mr. 
 Hans Blackwood. 
 
 I am, my dear Sir, with the truest esteem, 
 
 Your faithful and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 P. S. The Bible Society have given 1000 Bibles, 
 through Mr. S., to the Ossorian clergy (who procured 
 many subscriptions) for distribution. I long to see a 
 sober answer, to the very bigoted attack of Dr. M, 
 
209 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 To A . Knox , 
 
 Cashel, June 25. 1805. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Along with this, I send you some very meagre 
 verbal criticism; which you may either burn, or 
 make any use of that, to you, seems fit. I shall, if 
 you choose, send you a few similar remarks, on the 
 second volume* ; which I hope to make in a short 
 time. I hope that the search for slight inaccuracies, 
 has not withdrawn my mind from the admiration of 
 the very many excellencies, which the work presents. 
 Yet I fear much, that I shall do very little justice to 
 the latter in my review. Next week, I hope to begin 
 writing to Mr. Greathead, the visit to —— being 
 entirely out of the question, from the severe illness of 
 the Cashel curate, whose extensive duties of course 
 devolve on me. You mistook, or I perhaps, imper¬ 
 fectly expressed my meaning, as to visiting-. I did 
 
 not question the propriety of occasionally mixing with 
 
 -and his friends; but merely doubted, whether 
 
 I could fairly suffer such an interruption in my present 
 business. On this point, I am not yet altogether 
 satisfied. You, therefore, would very much gratify 
 and oblige me, by letting me know at what time 
 I should have my review completed. If you write 
 to Mr. Greathead, and think it fit, you might, per¬ 
 haps, mention, that indisposition, and the accession 
 of unforeseen business, have necessarily caused some 
 
 * Of the ‘ Hints.’ 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
210 
 
 delay; but that I shall make every effort in my 
 power, to furnish my remarks speedily. 
 
 A great part of to-morrow, must be devoted to 
 preparing a sermon for the cathedral on Sunday; as 
 the little discourses addressed to my few rustics, 
 would not suit a Cashel audience. I trust you hold 
 to your resolution of coming among us here. 
 
 Believe me, 
 
 Your grateful and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 29. 
 
 To the jR ev. J . Jebb . 
 
 July 8. 1805. 
 
 My worthy Friend, 
 
 I write just a line to apologize for my silence ; and 
 to say, that, my review having appeared in this last 
 number, I wish you to be as expeditious as you can ; 
 it being my conclusion, from their speedy publica¬ 
 tion of mine, that yours will be made use of as 
 rapidly; and, when they are thus disposed, it is a 
 reason for the disposition being met as much as 
 possible. 
 
 Last week was a week of unusual movement with 
 me. I dined abroad twice: with Mr. Dugdale * 
 on Thursday, and Dr. Graves on Friday. The 
 former a methodist, the latter a clerical, dinner; 
 and drank tea out twice, Monday with -, 
 
 * An eminent Dublin bookseller; and an attached friend and follower of 
 the venerable John Wesley. . . Ed. 
 
211 
 
 and Saturday at -. I had reasons propulsory, 
 
 for every one of them ; and reasons attractive, for 
 three out of the four. ——'’s party was matter of 
 propriety: the rest, both propriety and inclination. 
 Indeed, the last was rather reluctantly acceded to; 
 but I was a great gainer, meeting there a sister-in- 
 law of H. H., A. H.’s wife; who won my heart 
 wonderfully by her great good sense, and, I do 
 think, piety of a very deep kind. It was to meet 
 her I was asked; and I did not regret having yielded 
 to their wish. 
 
 4 
 
 Dr. Hales’s second anti-methodistic pamphlet has 
 just appeared ; and a very strange thing it is. It has 
 several sensible, and candid, and ingenious remarks: 
 but his eagerness to refute that best of all methodistic 
 tenets, Christian perfection, leads him into strange 
 modes of interpreting scripture. People ought never 
 to engage in religious, or any controversy, except 
 they resolve, and are able to keep the resolution, 
 that they will quit their ground, as soon as it shall be 
 proved untenable. If Dr. H. were of this disposition, 
 he would not labour to misconstrue scripture as he 
 is doing: and the more is the pity, for he is a good- 
 minded man, and a sincerely religious man, in his way. 
 
 I am, just now, waiting for a letter from Dr. W. 
 after he has talked to the Archbishop, to fix my time 
 of movement towards you : for I do not choose to 
 fix a time, until I know what time will best answer 
 the Archbishop. 
 
 Yours always, 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 P. S. I had nearly forgot to acknowledge the re¬ 
 ceipt of the criticisms \ which I dare say are very 
 
 p 2 
 
212 
 
 just: but, from various causes, I have not been 
 able to go through them. I will transmit them, 
 when a proper opportunity occurs, with their history. 
 
 LETTER XXXIII. 
 
 Cashel, July 10. 1805. 
 
 A train of ideas has been this evening suggested 
 to my mind, which I know not whether it is worth 
 while to preserve, and which may very possibly be 
 never shewn to any person # ; yet I cannot resist the 
 inclination I feel, to commit those fugitive sentiments 
 to paper. 
 
 After very close examination of my own mind, 
 not merely under the impulse of strong temporary 
 feeling, but with much coolness and deliberation, 
 during the course of many months, I do not think 
 that a permanent settlement in this country, would 
 conduce, either to my usefulness, or my comfort. 
 That this is not the result of mental unfixedness, 
 I trust I may assume from the fact, that, during 
 six years, I have been steadily, and on the whole 
 not unactively, employed, in actual professional duty : 
 that it is not the offspring of impatience and dis¬ 
 content, I hope I shall be enabled to prove, at least 
 to my own satisfaction, by waiting, quietly and 
 composedly, for the providential guidance of Him, 
 whose gracious superintendence I have experienced 
 through the whole course of my life; which I 
 
 * Though not addressed to Mr. Knox, this document was found among the 
 Bishop’s letters to his friend. . , Ed. 
 
213 
 
 gratefully acknowledge as a blessing, far beyond 
 any thing this world can give. My determination 
 is, to make no move; nor to throw out any, the 
 slightest suggestion, through any other channel, 
 than what I can fairly deem within the natural 
 course of God’s providence; and it is my earnest 
 prayer, that I may be enabled to rest satisfied and 
 happy; and to employ myself not unusefully, in 
 whatever sphere may be providentially assigned me. 
 
 I have, however, very frequently considered the 
 kind of duty, which would be necessarily implied, 
 by almost any permanent situation in this diocese: 
 and the more I have reflected, the more has my 
 understanding been convinced, that, for such duty, 
 I am very ill qualified. My habits, my feelings, my 
 activities, are all rather of the academic, than of 
 the parochial kind. Any little good that I could 
 professionally do, would be rather in the way of 
 public address, or lecturing, or catechetical instruc¬ 
 tion, than of personal intercourse, domiciliary visits, 
 or similar duties, which come so constantly within 
 the ordinary sphere of a country clergyman’s duty. 
 So much, indeed, am I convinced of my deficiency 
 in these particulars, that I much question, whether 
 any arrangement that might place me in an extensive 
 country parish, would not be positive injury to the 
 diocese, as well as a source of uneasiness to myself. 
 
 With these impressions, 1 own my frequent wishes, 
 that I might be providentially placed in Dublin ; 
 wishes the more earnest, though I trust not anxious, 
 because I humbly hope that there I might be of 
 some service. There is a particular line of preach¬ 
 ing, not pursued in any of the Dublin pulpits, which 
 I cannot help believing would be highly beneficial. 
 I mean, the putting forward of experimental religion 
 
 p 3 
 
£M 
 
 in such a way, as not to alarm, and even in some 
 measure to attract, the higher classes of society. 
 The views to which, I trust, I am in progress, 
 through the Divine assistance and blessing on my 
 friend’s instructions, and my own slight exertions, 
 these views, I hope, I may be enabled, in some 
 measure, thus to put forward. How imperfectly, 
 and with what inferior talent, I am well aware. Yet 
 still, even a weak instrument, may be made use of 
 in promoting a great cause: did I see any reasonable 
 prospect, that the very superior abilities of many 
 well known to me, or of any one of those many, 
 would be employed in this particular line of preach¬ 
 ing, I should cheerfully retire to that background, 
 for which my knowledge and powers are, perhaps, 
 best calculated: but that prospect not appearing, 
 even in the remote perspective, I should embrace 
 with pleasure the opportunity of doing my best, as 
 a locum tenens, till others, better qualified, might 
 render my slight services unnecessary. 
 
 These, I believe, are my primary motives for 
 wishing, that my lot may not be cast in this country: 
 that there are subordinate objects, however, I will 
 not deny. Such are, opportunities of study; mix¬ 
 ture with those, whose pursuits are similar to my 
 own; the advice and assistance of those, who are 
 better and wiser than myself; and, if possible, a 
 residence in the college, to which I have looked 
 back with a sort of tender regret, ever since I left it 
 
 in 1799. 
 
 Now, entertaining as I do such feelings, I believe 
 it would be but candid and ingenuous to disclose 
 them to the Archbishop of Cashel. His Grace is, 
 probably, forming arrangements in his mind, for 
 this diocese. I have some reason to believe that he 
 
215 
 
 may look to me in some of his schemes : would it 
 not, therefore, be right that, by a sincere avowal of 
 my sentiments, I should anticipate the possible dis¬ 
 appointment, which might hereafter arise, by my 
 declining, or inadequately discharging, the duties of 
 some situation, to which, in his kindness, he might 
 call me ? 
 
 There is yet another consideration, which though 
 more apparently of a worldly nature, is not to be 
 lost sight of. In order to remove to Dublin, I 
 should have some decent independence; some pro¬ 
 fessional situation which, without implying any duty, 
 would afford some little income ; and thus enable me 
 to take an actual cure, or rather, preachership, in 
 Dublin. This, I conceive, would be a sine qua 
 non, on higher grounds than those of personal com¬ 
 fort. To go to Dublin on a mere curacy, relinquish¬ 
 ing my present prospects, would bear an appearance 
 of quixotism, which I could not approve ; and might 
 even be attributed to an arrogant presumption that 
 I could fight my own way, and rise to notice and 
 patronage by my own merit. Such an imputation 
 could not fairly arise, if I had a clerical income, 
 though it were but a small one. And I can say with 
 truth, that a small income, in Dublin, would be to 
 me far more desirable, than a large one in the 
 country. Now a frank disclosure to the Archbishop, 
 might possibly so divert the channel of his favour, 
 that, instead of calling me to an active situation in 
 his diocese, he might, at a future day, give me a 
 sinecure, which would permit my residence in town. 
 His mind, I know, is sufficiently enlarged, to look 
 beyond mere local arrangement; and his kindness 
 is so considerate, as to consult the feelings of those 
 whom he wishes to serve. However, it is, after all, 
 
 p 4 
 
216 
 
 to be considered, how far it would be delicate to 
 look for a preferment through his Grace, which 
 would take me from his immediate inspection. I 
 only trust, that not only my respect and gratitude, 
 but, if I may so express myself, my regard for him 
 is too great, to permit even that I should hint any 
 thing, which would hurt his feelings, or in the least 
 degree thwart his wishes: and this I can safely say, 
 that a removal from his diocese could never be looked 
 at with complacency by me, if it implied a cessation 
 of that intercourse and connection, which, on his 
 part, have been attended with the most unmixed 
 kindness, and on mine, have been a source, both 
 of the purest gratification, and the most solid ad¬ 
 vantage. 
 
 LETTER 30. 
 
 Nov. 12. 1805. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 # # # # # # # 
 
 * # # # # # # 
 
 -spoke of writing to you. If he has, he has 
 
 probably said for himself, the substance of what I 
 could say for him. But this I must say, that he has, 
 since you parted from us, given me a great deal of 
 pleasure. I am pretty sure his mind is untram¬ 
 melled ; but, possibly, some clogs still hang upon his 
 habits. His connections with the world are strong*, 
 complicated, and tender; and he does not yet see, 
 how he can reconcile that strict course which I plead 
 for, with the duties which he conceives those con- 
 
217 
 
 nections bind upon him. This, I soberly think, is 
 all that now remains ; and I trust this last entangle¬ 
 ment will be broke through like the others ; for, 
 were it not to be broken through, I should seriously 
 fear that all the rest would go for nought. 
 
 It is my conviction that, where it pleases God to 
 give a call to any mind, to rise into the higher regions 
 of religion, . . a disposition to hover in mid air, is one 
 of the most dangerous that can take possession of the 
 soul. In this case, nothing is little : the thing most 
 trivial in itselfj becomes momentously pernicious, if 
 it ties to earth that spirit, which God requires to soar 
 towards himself. I doubt whether the story of the 
 unfortunate king Saul, was not intended to illustrate 
 to us this very case. I. trust, however, that there is 
 not the smallest danger of any such draw-back in our 
 most interesting friend. 
 
 On Saturday we went to B-- ; from whence 
 
 we returned yesterday. There, he acquitted himself 
 well; taking a decided part in conversation; and 
 
 delighting Mrs. L-, who is much struck with the 
 
 universality of the change which she sees in him. 
 There was a good deal of company there; among 
 
 the rest, Lady K--. Our talk, however, was not 
 
 spoiled. We were, on the whole, very well satisfied 
 with our visit. 
 
 I found here, on my arrival from N. Boss, a letter 
 of five sheets from Mr. Greathead; in which there 
 was much substantial agreement, but a good deal of 
 verbal and circumstantial dissonance. I dispatched 
 one of six sheets to him this day; in which I have 
 sought to show him, that the differences he appre¬ 
 hended were in words chiefly. I now mean to enter 
 on finishing the review ; which has advanced little, 
 since I left Ross. Mr. Greathead wishes to make it 
 
218 
 
 the first article, in the first number of the new year; 
 in which, though of most entire unconcern to me, 
 yet it shall be my wish and endeavour to gratify him. 
 
 I must now say no more, lest I should be too late 
 for the post of this evening. I will only add, that I 
 am always, most cordially yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 P. S. Do you not think that Foster, in the first 
 article of the Eclec. for Nov., is, in prose, a match 
 for Shee, in verse ? What can be bolder, or more 
 just, than that demonstration of the absurdity of 
 atheism ? Tell me, also, do not you think those two 
 last numbers improved, and on the whole very re¬ 
 spectable ; particularly, the beginning of the above- 
 quoted article? I mean, the introductory remarks? 
 Surely, the temper is wonderfully good; and, con¬ 
 sidering they are dissenters, wonderfully liberal and 
 catholic. 
 
 LETTER XXXIV. 
 
 Cashel, Nov. 21. 1805. 
 
 My dear Mr. Knox, 
 
 You have, indeed, every reason to look to me for 
 some account of myself, since my return home. 
 Somewhat of bodily and nervous ailment, however, 
 has prevented my writing to you ; because it made 
 me feel I could not write as I wished. Thank God, 
 my spirits are now very good; and I look forward 
 to amendment, from steady exercise. I mount my 
 
219 
 
 horse, at least five days in the week ; and am but 
 just returned from Mr.-—’s, where I dined yes¬ 
 
 terday in company with the Archbishop and Miss 
 —-—: his Grace has been on a tour of confirm¬ 
 ation. We met there, Mrs. —- , who appears to 
 
 me to possess much talent; and what is better, a 
 desire to be good. She speaks highly of c the Hints;’ 
 and says Mrs. More is an ornament to her sex, and to 
 human nature. 
 
 Your account of my excellent friend ——- delights 
 me. I am in daily expectation of hearing from him ; 
 and were I sure when a letter would reach him, I 
 should wish to hasten his communication of his pre¬ 
 sent views. Such a man, I am convinced, will soon 
 be circumstantially, as well as mentally, unclogged. 
 I cannot but regard him as an instrument fitted by 
 Divine Providence, for the production of most ex¬ 
 tensive good : and, in this view of the subject, per¬ 
 haps just so much connection with, and estimation in 
 the world, as have obtained in his case, may have 
 their use, when he is providentially freed from all 
 entanglements. He may now be as deeply spiritual 
 as he will, without incurring the charge of fanaticism. 
 
 Our admirable Archbishop delights and gratifies 
 me more and more. Confident I am, that, when 
 you meet in Dublin, you will find no degree of 
 alteration for the worse, whatever there may be for 
 the better. The very views you could wish have 
 taken deep root, and are producing a most abundant 
 harvest. I know not whether he has written to you. 
 He expressed, at the same time, a wish to preach 
 the thanksgiving sermon, and a fear that he could 
 not do so. All his old sermons, he is determined to 
 burn ; and business so presses, that he is apprehensive 
 that he could not prepare a suitable discourse on this 
 
occasion. He spoke of writing to you for some 
 hints on the subject; but, at the same time, desired 
 me to prepare. Now, if his Grace does not wish 
 for your hints, they would be most acceptable to 
 me. I do not mean any thing at length, or in 
 detail; but a suggestion of text, topics, and especi¬ 
 ally how I ought to manage Lord Nelson. Whether 
 any mention, and how ; for this I conceive to be 
 very delicate ground, either in the alternative of 
 mentioning, or of omitting him. My view of the 
 subject would lead me, and I imagine you will agree 
 with me, to be rather practical than declamatory. 
 By the way, do you not think the 1st collect, in £ the 
 form of prayer, &c.,’ and that after the general thanks¬ 
 giving, admirable? I do not recollect to have met, on 
 any former occasion, an equal expression of humility, 
 and pious feeling. 
 
 I preached a sermon on the religious instruction 
 of youth, and two on the Lord’s prayer, since I left 
 Ross. The former was tolerable, and I hope had 
 some effect. The second, on the Lord’s prayer, was 
 also I trust calculated to convey some useful hints. 
 Still, however, I feel myself awkward in composing. 
 Do you not think it would be a good rule, as much 
 as possible, to talk as if we were writing, and to write 
 as if we were talking ? I am disposed to believe that 
 the former practice, would help us very much in 
 the latter. I mean, that the habit of looking for 
 the best, and aptest words, in common conversation, 
 would give us ready fluency, when we come to 
 put our thoughts on paper: always provided we 
 meditate in private, at least as much as we talk in 
 society. Dr. Johnson says, that reading makes a 
 full man : but how many great readers are miserably 
 empty; and how few do we find, unfurnished with 
 
22 L 
 
 ideas, that are in the habit of sober collectedness of 
 mind, and frequent meditation on important topics ? 
 The truth is, we do not so much want new mate¬ 
 rials, as skill and readiness in analyzing, combining, 
 and new modifying the materials, that we are already 
 in possession of. Were we to accustom ourselves 
 more to such exercises, I am convinced that the 
 results would be happily conspicuous, in a copious¬ 
 ness and fertility, both of just thoughts, and appo¬ 
 site illustrations, to which they are entire strangers, 
 who pace round in the same dull track, which thou¬ 
 sands have paced before them. 
 
 I am so pleased with Foster’s Essays, that I have 
 commissioned a friend to buy them for me. I cor¬ 
 dially coincide with the criticism of the E. R., both 
 as to its excellencies and defects; I do indeed see 
 with pleasure, an improvement in that publication. 
 I shall now recommend it where I can, as its merits 
 will do full justice to my recommendation. 
 
 I must now break off. A quarter of a sheet of 
 hints for a thanksgiving sermon, if sent speedily, will 
 be most useful. A confirmation, and ordination ser¬ 
 mon, must very shortly be prepared; and with all 
 these in view, I have got the Archbishop’s approba¬ 
 tion to Mr.--’s preaching next Sunday. 
 
 I am, my dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged and affectionate 
 
 Friend and servant, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
Nov. 25. 1805. 
 
 222 
 
 LETTER 31. 
 
 To the Rev. J . Jehh . 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I received great satisfaction from your letter of the 
 21st: but not more than I was looking for. 
 
 As to the sermon, it strikes me that good use 
 might be made of Isaiah, xxxvii. 33d and 35th verses: 
 4 Thus saith the Lord concerning the king of 
 Assyria, He shall not come into this city, nor shoot 
 an arrow there; nor come against it with shields ; 
 nor cast a bank against it: for I will defend this 
 city, for mine own sake, and for my servant David’s 
 sake.’ 
 
 You may begin with stating the outline of the his¬ 
 toric fact; in which you will find no difficulty in 
 making out a parallel, between Sennacherib and 
 Buonaparte. The address of Rabshakeh is in the 
 truest French spirit; and the peculiar feeling seems 
 to be that of haughty indignation, that so small a 
 country should stand out against a conqueror, who 
 had subjugated so many powerful nations. This 
 success had evidently made him think that the world 
 was his own; and he conceived, that his very pre¬ 
 sence was enough to work wonders : 4 With the sole 
 of my feet/ says he, 4 have I dried up the rivers of the 
 besieged places/ 
 
 Briefly, then, go over the wonderful way, in which 
 God was pleased to frustrate. 
 
 That the tyrant of France has an indignation 
 against Britain, of not wholly a dissimilar kind, will 
 
not be disputed : that, in the pride of his heart, he 
 contrasts the present enormous extent of his acquisi¬ 
 tions, with the comparatively narrow limits of Britain, 
 we cannot doubt; and he must be the more enraged, 
 because an island which looks so small on a map of 
 the world, should work him such annoyance. 
 
 In many signal instances, has this, hitherto, oc¬ 
 curred ; but scarcely in any more remarkable, than 
 in the instance which leads to the present solemnity. 
 In all the exultation of a victory, he that day said, 
 that what he wanted was, not conquest on land, but 
 power on sea: in other words, he wanted to be free, 
 from the only adequate restraint on his overbearing 
 ambition. Yet, on that very day, it pleased God to 
 let him see, that he was as far from that desired 
 object as ever: that what he so much longed for, was 
 the very thing which he could not accomplish. He 
 was made to see, at least enough took place to show 
 him, that God, who had given to Great Britain its 
 peculiar ascendancy on the ocean, was determined 
 still to preserve to it that superiority, in spite of all 
 his efforts to obtain it for himself. 
 
 Such, we have reason most deeply to thank God, 
 is the present aspect; and, therefore, though our de¬ 
 liverance is neither so extraordinary, nor so decisive, 
 as that of Jerusalem; yet, as we in reason are bound 
 to ascribe our deliverance to the same hand, so, con¬ 
 sidering the menaces which, for successive years, we 
 have been witnessing, we have every ground for 
 entertaining the same feelings of gratitude, which the 
 people of Jerusalem must have felt on that great oc¬ 
 casion. 
 
 But the truest method of being grateful, is to learn 
 those lessons, which, we may reasonably believe, are 
 intended to be impressed on us. The prophet says, 
 
224 
 
 concerning the judicial visitations of Providence, 
 e The Lord’s voice, &c.’ Micah vi. 9 . : but, is there 
 not a voice, too, in interferences of mercy ? We 
 learn from the Gospel, that there is a most tremen¬ 
 dous voice : what our Lord says to the cities wherein 
 most of his mighty works were done, St. Matth. xi. 20., 
 because they repented not, is surely most applicable 
 to us, if, after all the distinguishing favour we have 
 received, we refuse to own that hand of our God, 
 which has been good upon us< Neh. ii. 18. 
 
 But, if we wish to see our circumstances in the 
 true light, we must examine by the lamp of God’s 
 word. When the Psalmist was in a state of depres¬ 
 sion, k ' his feet had well nigh gone , his steps had 
 well nigh slipt; . . until he went into the sanctuary of 
 God.’ And, too probably, we may be in danger of 
 presumptuous elatedness, if we do not follow his ex¬ 
 ample. It has been wisely observed, that, while the 
 New Testament teaches us the methods of God’s 
 grace, the Old Testament teaches us the ways of his 
 providence. And the thought is most reasonable ; 
 for, in that earlier dispensation, God was dealing, not 
 so much with individuals, as with a nation. Hence, 
 therefore, all other nations are to collect their duties, 
 and their doctrines, until the consummation of all 
 things. 
 
 The passage, in particular, which has been read, 
 considered in connection with after events, conveys 
 much striking, because most suitable instruction. 
 
 Jerusalem was most signally delivered : but why ? 
 
 ‘ for my own sake,’ says God, ‘ and for my servant 
 David’s sake.’ 
 
 1. This implies the deliverance was utterly unde¬ 
 served ; and, therefore, to be rejoiced in with trem¬ 
 bling. He would do it for his own sake. They 
 
were unworthy of such a mercy : but God was a 
 gracious God; passing by iniquity, transgression, 
 and sin: because he was such, they were delivered. 
 
 2. But it implies, farther, that he would do it, be¬ 
 cause the plan of his providence required it. The 
 Jews were a nation set apart, to serve the most ex¬ 
 tended purposes of divine benevolence. Out of 
 them was to come that true seed of David, the holy 
 leaven, that was to leaven the whole earth. Let their 
 unworthiness, therefore, be ever so great, God’s 
 glorious designs were not to be frustrated. The ten 
 tribes had, already, been scattered over many coun¬ 
 tries; but the remnant of Judah must not share 
 their doom : not because it was more innocent; but 
 because the truth of God, and the religious interests 
 of mankind, were so deeply connected with its pre¬ 
 servation. 
 
 3. This is particularly intimated in the expression, 
 ‘for my servant David’s sake’ : for to David had the 
 promise been made, that his seed should inherit an 
 eternal kingdom ; and, therefore, what casualty 
 threatened the stability of that decree, must be 
 warded off: for the words seem also to imply, that 
 God’s love to David, (who, whatever faults he had 
 been guilty of, had retained, through all, an un¬ 
 deviating resolution to have no other God but the 
 God of Israel,) was the source of the entailed bless¬ 
 ing being continued to his people ; and chiefly 
 operated in preventing that total rejection of them 
 from God’s holy covenant, to which, had their national 
 conduct only been considered, they might have been 
 justly liable. 
 
 That the first of these observations applies most 
 strictly to us, I need not spend words to prove : that 
 God has aided us, not because we have been deserv- 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 
 
 ing, but because he is gracious and full of compas¬ 
 sion, every one of us will allow. In every sense may 
 we, indeed, say, £ Not unto us, not unto us, but to 
 thy name be the praise.’ 
 
 But it may be asked, how do the other meanings 
 of those words belong to us ? They teach us, that 
 most awful and interesting truth, that, as then, so 
 now, God has reasons for his conduct, far beyond 
 the common thoughts of man ; that all events, on 
 this earth, are regulated and directed, in subservience 
 to the interests of that spiritual, and invisible king¬ 
 dom of the Messiah, which the carnal eye recognizeth 
 not; which, like its divine Founder, when he came 
 at the first to establish it, ‘ hath no form or comeli¬ 
 ness,’ to them who love the world, and the things of 
 the world : but which, notwithstanding, has existed 
 in the hearts of all genuine Christians ; will at length, 
 the word of prophecy assures us, subdue all hearts ; 
 and is, indeed, that, for the sake of which, the world 
 continues ; and to which, kings and emperors, in 
 their successive generations, are nothing more than 
 subordinate, though, too often, unconscious servants. 
 Dan. ii. 44., vii. 13, 14. 
 
 Let us not, then, deceive ourselves, by calculations 
 of human force ; or by precedents drawn from com¬ 
 mon history; or by suppositions, that the little concerns 
 of states and kingdoms, as they regard, merely, the 
 present life, are any thing in the view of him, before 
 whom the inhabitants of the earth are as grasshoppers, 
 and the nations as a drop of the ocean, or as the small 
 dust of the balance. It is on far other principles, 
 and for far other purposes, that the great events on 
 this globe are directed and overruled. Little as the 
 religion of the Scripture is thought of amongst men, 
 this it actually is, to which every thing else is subser- 
 
vient. If we are chastized and corrected, it is to 
 compel us, by our necessities, to reflect on our true 
 interests, and betake ourselves to our only refuge : if 
 we are relieved and consoled, it is to lead us to ac¬ 
 knowledge the hand, which hath delivered us out of 
 the snare of the fowler. If signal judgments come 
 upon the earth, if God rebukes many nations, and 
 smites in sunder the heads over divers countries, it 
 is, though we may not always see the distinct pur¬ 
 pose, . . it is, I say, to remove some obstacles, or to 
 bring into operation some means connected with that 
 kingdom of the Messiah, which God has sworn in his 
 holiness to set up in the hearts of men. And, again, 
 if particular nations are signally protected; are re¬ 
 peatedly rescued from menaced calamity ; it is, be¬ 
 cause such deliverances are, in that instance, fittest 
 to promote the same infinitely glorious design. If 
 Jerusalem was delivered from Sennacherib, and if 
 Great Britain be preserved from the no less over¬ 
 bearing tyrant of to-day, it is for God’s own sake, and 
 for his servant David’s sake; that is for the sake of 
 the kingdom of the Messiah. 
 
 And may we not, with all humility, conjecture 
 some reasons, why the British empire should be thus 
 distinguished ? Has not God made great use of it, 
 even already, as exemplifying to mankind a state of 
 society, and a form of the Christian religion, more 
 truly worthy of imitation, than any others that are, 
 or, perhaps, ever have been ? Why God thus dis¬ 
 tinguished us, we know no more, than why he dis¬ 
 tinguished the Jews: but this we know, that in 
 comparison with other countries, we may, in great 
 degree, apply to our islands, what God, by his pro¬ 
 phet, applies to the hill of Sion: c My well-beloved 
 hath a vineyard in a very fruitful hill; and he fenced 
 
 q 2 
 
it, and gathered out the stones thereof, and planted 
 it with the choicest vine.’ Yes, God hath, as it were, 
 taken much pains with our empire ; and, by many a 
 complicated plan of providence, has brought us to 
 what we arc: . . both in our religious faith, in which 
 rationality and spirituality are harmonized ; in our 
 public worship, in which simplicity and dignity are 
 united ; in our national government, in which efficient 
 authority goes hand in hand with genuine liberty; 
 and in the prevalent manners of the country, in which, 
 amid many painful instances of open vice in some 
 classes, and as open folly in others, still good sense 
 we may hope has, on the whole, a more powerful 
 check, than in most other countries in the world. 
 
 But why has God given us these benefits; and 
 why does he still continue them to us ? Most as¬ 
 suredly, for this alone, that we may improve them, not 
 only to our own advantage, but to that of the world. 
 We have, as a country, we have, as individuals, more 
 ready means, probably, of glorifying God, than any 
 other people on earth. There is not a time that we 
 assemble in the house of prayer, that we have not a 
 fresh entry, as it were, made against us in the books 
 of heaven : for, not only our entire service, but many 
 single collects teach us, distinctly and impressively, 
 the nature of that religion to which God calls us ; 
 and to which we, favoured as we are, should, by our 
 example, be calling the world. Where no such pure 
 service as ours has been presented ; or where the 
 whole is at the option of the minister, and, therefore, 
 falls as he falls, perhaps into wrongness of faith, as 
 well as coldness of heart, then the case may be very 
 different, and the account to be rendered much less. 
 But to us, by virtue of our apostolic liturgy, vital 
 Christianity is continually held forth, in all its fulness, 
 
its depth, its beauty ; and is it not peculiarly in order 
 to the continuance of this blessing, that we have 
 been spared so long, and delivered so frequently ? 
 But, if we continue to neglect this blessing, . . to im¬ 
 prove it no better than we have done, or are now 
 doing, . . what have we to look forward to ? God, 
 surely, expects from us, that we should not remain 
 barren or unfruitful, under so permanent a provision 
 for conveying the good seed into our hearts. ‘ The 
 earth, &c. &c.’ Heb. vi. 7, 8. 
 
 The excellent writers on religious subjects might 
 be alluded to, who certainly excel all other writers in 
 the world: but that, I only suggest. 
 
 The liberty of doing as we please, which we pecu¬ 
 liarly enjoy, is a talent which God expects us to im¬ 
 prove. We may, in this land of liberty, regulate our 
 conduct by reason ; because the authority of law and 
 government is, with us, congruous with reason ; and 
 the consequence is, that even fashion, with us, is not 
 that despotic thing, which it is in less favoured coun¬ 
 tries. Personal and domestic conduct is unfettered 
 by any considerations, but those of good sense and 
 conscience. 
 
 It is not, therefore, wonderful, that so favoured a 
 land as the British empire, should be guarded, still, 
 by that hand that formed it: but, if we bury our 
 talents; if we do not shine as lights in the world ; 
 if we do not honour to that religion, the fullest 
 knowledge of which we may have, if it be not our 
 own fault; . . what have w r e to look to, but the fate 
 of the barren fig-tree ? 
 
 This impresses itself the more strongly, when it is 
 remembered, that though God delivered Jerusalem 
 for his own sake, and for his servant David’s sake, 
 when menaced by Sennacherib, he, nevertheless, soon 
 
 q 3 
 
% 
 
 230 
 
 after, delivered it into the hand of Nebuchadnezzar; 
 and though, in the one case, not a bank was per¬ 
 mitted to be raised, in the other, its walls were laid 
 low, and levelled with the ground. 
 
 Can there be a more awful warning, or one more 
 suitable for us to lay to heart ? Their deliverance, 
 was far more signal than ours ; yet that was no secu¬ 
 rity against a speedy change, in the conduct of 
 Providence toward them, when, instead of being 
 instructed, they grew more careless and hardened 
 by mercies. 
 
 And what was their chief fault ? ‘ Cursed is he/ 
 
 saith the Scripture, 4 that trusteth in man ; and 
 maketh flesh his arm ; and, in his heart, goeth from 
 the Lord.’ They had, as we have, peculiar grounds 
 to make God their refuge ; but of the rock which 
 begat them they were unmindful, and forgot the God 
 that formed them : £ therefore, thus saith the Lord, 
 forasmuch as this people refuseth the waters of Shi- 
 loah, which flow softly (that gentle brook, the stream 
 which flowed fast by the oracle of God, and made, by 
 the appointment of Heaven, an emblem of that noise¬ 
 less energy of omnipotence, which was their invalu¬ 
 able portion) and rejoice in Rezin and Remaliah’s 
 son, therefore, behold, the Lord bringeth up upon 
 them the waters of the river, strong and mighty, 
 even the king of Assyria, and all his glory; and he 
 shall come up over all his channels, and go over all 
 his banks.’ 
 
 And is not this our fault ? and may not Divine 
 Providence have indicated it to us, in the death of 
 our most successful warrior? We may, indeed, 
 mourn for him, as the Jews for Judas Maccabeus. 
 1 Mac. ix. 20, 21. But may not we, and our 
 countrymen ask, whether, by trusting in him, and 
 
231 
 
 in our hearts going from that God whose gift he 
 was, we may not have provoked our heavenly King 
 to take from us our champion ? It is surely worthy 
 of most awful reflection, that, at the same time, we 
 should gain a victory, and lose him who gained it, 
 and had gained many. Surely, this mixes admon¬ 
 ition with mercy, warning with deliverance. 
 
 Would we, then, secure to our country a con¬ 
 tinuance of the blessings, so long, and so singularly 
 vouchsafed to us, let us deeply lay to heart what 
 these words convey. God delivered Jerusalem, for 
 his own sake; that is, for the sake of religion : and 
 for his servant David’s sake ; that is, because David’s 
 love to God, was remembered in behalf of his nation. 
 Let us, then, set ourselves, in good earnest, to be 
 workers together with God; both in promoting reli¬ 
 gion in our own hearts, and in the world : by the first, 
 we shall ourselves add to the safety of our land, as ten 
 righteous persons would have procured the deliver¬ 
 ance of Sodom; by the second, we shall increase its 
 happiness, and insure its well being. And let each 
 individual lay to heart, that, let events turn out as 
 they may, he will secure his own [safety], when 
 sinners in Zion are afraid, when fearful ness, &c. 
 

 LETTER 32. 
 
 To the Rev. J. Jehh. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Bellevue, Dec. 9. 1805. 
 
 I am going to ask a favour of you: which is, that 
 you will, on receipt of this, send me your sermon 
 on 4 They that sleep, sleep in the night’, &c.: that 
 is, that you will enclose it to Mr. Taylor. I will 
 safely return it to you, in the course of the ensuing 
 week. The fact is, I wish to have it to read here, 
 in the chapel, on Sunday evening next. 
 
 This may strike you as a whimsical kind of re¬ 
 quest : but you will consider the painful dearth there 
 is of good sermons; and you will, also, have no 
 objection, thus to elongate your faculty of doing 
 good; besides, from the honest report I will make 
 to you of the effect, you will be a better judge how 
 far you may hope to profit the public, by sending 
 out some of your discourses. 
 
 I naturally wish to hear from you about your 
 thanksgiving sermon, and whether my hints were 
 useful to you. I was pretty well employed, as I 
 was obliged to write an entire sermon for one person, 
 and part of one for another. The person for whom 
 I wrote the entire sermon, modified, and I doubt 
 not, improved it. The part was delivered in my 
 own hearing, one or two errors excepted, verbatim. 
 
 I hope you are pretty well at present; for I am 
 going, with your good leave, to enlist you into a 
 service of some magnitude. It is, to preach a 
 charity sermon for the Orphan House. Mrs.- 
 
<235 
 
 had looked to ——; but he wishes to decline it; 
 and on grounds, which convince her she ought not 
 to press him. He, therefore, being out of view, 
 she next looks towards you : for her object is to have, 
 if possible, a Christian sermon. I own I wish you to 
 accede to her request, and if you do, I will furnish 
 you with a text, which you will love to enlarge 
 upon ; and some hints, which, I hope, you will not 
 dislike. You have time enough before you, as it 
 will not be till some time in May. 
 
 I hope, earnestly, to hear from you continued 
 good accounts of your health and spirits ; to which, 
 I am well assured, no earthly means can be more 
 conducible, than your steady perseverance in riding. 
 But what I also once more mention to you is, the 
 desirableness of your taking the beginning of the 
 week for your sermon. This would leave your mind 
 so disengaged, in the latter part of the week, that 
 exercise would be doubly serviceable to you. I am 
 afraid I may be in danger of teazing you on this 
 point: but, indeed, I am impressed so much with 
 its importance for you, and I consider it, also, as so 
 good an opportunity for you to acquire self-command, 
 that I cannot, consistently with my deep concern for 
 your health and happiness, omit to mention it. 
 
 I must now break off, as the gentleman who is to 
 carry this to town is on the point of going. My 
 cordial love to the Archbishop. 
 
 J. D. has probably written to you before this. He 
 perseveres in writing most happy letters to me, and 
 to Mrs. L. That is, one to each of us, since he 
 returned home. 
 
 Always yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
234 
 
 % 
 
 LETTER XXXV. 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Dec. 17. 1805. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Along with this, I send you a copy of my ordination 
 sermon ; which I was under the necessity of making 
 later in the week, than you would recommend. The 
 truth is, that, between preparing my examination, 
 the examination itself, and some indisposition, I 
 found myself, pretty late on Saturday, without any 
 other provision for the next day, than an arranged 
 plan in my head, and, on trying to write, that even¬ 
 ing, I could compass no more than the introduction 
 (p. 1.) ; being really exhausted, by the prelections I 
 had been giving for three days. In this dilemma, I 
 thought it best to go to bed at eight o’clock, and rise 
 very early. Accordingly, at one o’clock, a. m., I 
 rose, and put to paper what I now send. It gives 
 
 me much pleasure to think that Mr. -, the new 
 
 priest, is under very serious impressions. He is 
 certainly, just now, rather ignorant; but his disposi¬ 
 tions are excellent. He took hugely to all that was 
 said; and has this morning gone home, with a gig 
 full of books, and a very thorough resolution to give 
 himself up wholly to his profession. M. was present 
 at the examination ; and I think received some 
 information which gave him pleasure. 
 
 In the sermon I now send, you will recognize a 
 sentiment from Ogden, about 4 all the distinctions 
 of morality.’ It came forcibly to my mind; and 
 
235 
 
 though I had not the volume to refer to, I put it 
 down, possibly much marred in the expression. You 
 will also recollect Seneca’s sentiment, 4 Spiritus Dei 
 res delicata’, &c.; but you will, perhaps, still more 
 easily recognize ideas, which I have imbibed from 
 yourself and from 4 the Hints.’ I know not whether 
 I have, in any measure, made them my own, by the 
 phraseology ; but whether they be deemed stolen 
 goods or not, they were too much to my purpose to 
 be set aside. 
 
 I fear this letter is incoherent, for I have been 
 hurried ; and I am sure it is ill and crookedly written, 
 for I have been almost in the dark. But you will 
 excuse errors. Pray do write very soon to 
 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 33. 
 To the Rev . J. Jebb. 
 
 Bellev&e, Bray, Dec. 20. 1805. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I write a line or two to say, that your sermon 
 reached me safely on Sunday morning last; and the 
 only drawback that I have had, in my pleasure 
 respecting it, is, that I did not read it myself in 
 the evening. I thought I had drilled - suffi¬ 
 
 ciently ; but still it was not what it should be. It 
 
 was liked, however, by all; and it delighted-. 
 
 Mrs, L. has begged permission to have it transcribed, 
 
236 
 
 which I was sure you would not refuse, and I there¬ 
 fore did not oppose. 
 
 I am trying my own hand at a sermon ; and have 
 got two thirds through it. If I succeed in such 
 things, I, too, may meditate giving a volume of 
 Sunday readings. My text is that verse in Habakkuk, 
 
 ‘ But the just shall live by his faith.’ I find it a 
 pleasant subject; and you know it is a copious one. 
 I mean to stay here, till towards the beginning of 
 the new year. It is a lovely place; and I even 
 become more and more attached to it. 
 
 You must preach that sermon; and you need feel 
 no difficulty about it. As soon as one or two matters 
 are out of my thoughts, I will furnish you with the 
 hints I spoke ofi for your consideration. Your letters 
 have given me great pleasure. I cannot but be ever 
 interested in what concerns you ; and to hear from 
 yourself what satisfies me, is a very great comfort in¬ 
 deed. Your liking to ride alone, and finding your 
 faculty of solitary thinking improve, is just what I 
 could wish. I know from a little, but not enough 
 experience, that nothing tends so much to make one, 
 both agreeable, and useful in company, as finding 
 solitude agreeable to oneself. 
 
 The fact is, there is a certain inward strength, a 
 self-possession, a self-command, and, therefore, a 
 self-satisfaction, which is the happiest of all posses¬ 
 sions ; except that which gives it (the knowledge of 
 God, and of Him whom he hath sent). But this 
 frame is not to be had at once, nor, perhaps, at all, if 
 we do not labour for it. But we can do this, only by 
 continued endeavours to practise it. And we can 
 do so to purpose, in solitude only. Self-command 
 must, indeed, be most essentially exerted in society: 
 but it must have been got in private ; in perpetual 
 
237 
 
 efforts to live upon ourselves, and be, under God, 
 our own bank, from whence to draw comfort. 
 Growth in this, is growth in common sense, in 
 usefulness, and in happiness. And to find in myself 
 any satisfactory proof, that I am thus strengthened 
 with might by God’s Spirit in the inner man, does 
 delight me. I soberly ask, what can I want further 
 in this world, but to be still more established, and 
 still more settled, in this essential felicity. The 
 bell has rung for prayers, I must, therefore, only 
 add, that 
 
 I am always yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 LETTER XXXVI. 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 Cashel, Dec. 23. 1805. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 This morning brought me your letter; and, with 
 it, brought me much comfort which I stood in need 
 of. This bad weather has affected me with a severe 
 cold and headache : the latter, indeed, was probably 
 helped on, by the necessity of framing a very baddish 
 confirmation sermon for yesterday: but, whatever be 
 the cause, I so feel the effect, that I have made a 
 
 provisional engagement with Mr.-, that he shall 
 
 preach on Christmas day. 
 
 Still, however, my engagement is but provisional; 
 for I have been thinking of a discourse on St. Matt. xi. 
 
238 
 
 4, 5 .; which, I conceive, may be so managed, as to 
 suit Christmas tolerably. I know not whether you 
 recollect my differing from you, on the subject of St. 
 John’s doubts : formerly, I followed Atterbury, Dod¬ 
 dridge, &c. &c., in the opinion, that the Baptist 
 merely wished to remove the scruples of his follow¬ 
 ers. Lately, however, I have come over to the other 
 way of thinking. Our Lord never used words, with¬ 
 out a depth of meaning: but what force or spirit 
 would there be in ‘ Go and shew John,’ if St. John 
 had no doubt? Our Lord commonly shaped his 
 answers, so as to meet what was in the heart of those 
 who addressed him. If, therefore, the doubt ori¬ 
 ginated with St. John’s disciples, can it be supposed, 
 that he would have omitted so fair an opportunity of 
 censuring their unbelief; and is it probable, that he 
 would have used expressions which convey an indi¬ 
 rect reproof to St. John, if St. John did not deserve 
 it ? I do not attribute much weight to the argument, 
 which dwells on the full evidence that St. John had, 
 and the direct testimony he bore. Those earlier im¬ 
 pressions might have been considerably effaced, when 
 the special purpose of his mission was at an end : and 
 besides, would it not be attributing too much, to him 
 who was inferior to the least in the kingdom of 
 heaven, to suppose, that his faith remained unshaken, 
 amidst greater trials, than any of the Apostles were 
 exposed to, before their Master’s death ? 
 
 All this, however, is little to the purpose of my 
 sermon. I would, then, first put briefly, the evidence 
 arising from the miracles performed: this evidence, 
 in itself, does not go to prove the point in question, 
 that Jesus was the Messiah ; because, miracles might 
 have been wrought, by a person with an inferior di¬ 
 vine commission; but when it is considered, that the 
 
very miracles wrought, were those which the Piophet 
 Isaiah attributed to the Messiah; a prophet who 
 must have had peculiar weight with St. John; then, 
 indeed, the probability of our Lord’s messiahship 
 becomes very strong. But more conclusive evidence 
 remains behind. ‘ To the poor the gospel is preached.’ 
 This is the distinguishing characteristic of Christi¬ 
 anity ; the point in which it differs, from every 
 heathen, and every jewish system. The gospel is 
 preached. 1. To the poor in condition. Contrast 
 with all philosophical systems, which were exclu¬ 
 sively adapted to the wise, to the learned, to those 
 of superior stations in life. °2. To the poor in spirit, 
 (which though not commonly adverted to, I take to 
 be the grand point,): in Isaiah, it is ‘ to the meek 9 , 
 which is rendered, in our Lord’s quotation, ‘ to the 
 poor.’ St. Luke, iv. 18. Now, that the poor may sig¬ 
 nify the poor in spirit, is evident from a comparison 
 of the first beatitude, with the parallel place in St. 
 Luke. These passages, taken along with ‘ Come 
 unto me all ye that labour, &c. &c.’, ‘ The whole 
 need not a physician, but they that are sick, &c.’; 
 and, indeed, compared with the whole tenor of the 
 gospel, leave no doubt on my mind, that the answer 
 to St. John Baptist, has a direct reference to what I 
 deem the highest branch of internal evidence, the 
 adaptation of the gospel, to all those who are con¬ 
 sciously ‘ wretched, and miserable, and poor, and 
 blind and naked’, in a moral sense. The preaching 
 good tidings, to persons thus spiritually poor, is a fine 
 contrast to Jewish theology and morals; which af¬ 
 forded comfort to those only, who thought themselves 
 righteous. On the above, then, and other grounds, I 
 shall not scruple to take that spiritual view, which 
 the common interpretation very imperfectly affords. 
 
% 
 
 240 
 
 All this, I fear, is meagre, common-place stuff! I 
 was willing, however, first to satisfy myself, and 
 then to satisfy you, that I can think a little, under 
 the pressure of bodily ailments, which would, some 
 time ago, have prevented me from thinking at all. 
 I am very glad that my sermon could be of any use 
 as a Sunday reading: and happy, on higher than 
 personal motives, that it gave satisfaction to the con¬ 
 gregation. You judged quite right, in not objecting 
 to its being transcribed. Surely, it must ever be 
 most gratifying to me, to afford any kind of gratifica¬ 
 tion to Mrs. L-. But who, indeed, has a better 
 
 title than you, to dispose of that, or any sermon of 
 mine ? Pray have you since received the enclosure of 
 an ordination sermon ? I sent it to Mr. Taylor, with 
 a request that he would forward it to you; but did 
 
 not mention B-, as I was uncertain whether 
 
 it would reach you there. 
 
 Since you are imperative about the Female Orphan 
 Asylum, I have nothing to say in the way of objec¬ 
 tion. You know you may freely and fully command 
 me. And as, in this instance, you promise me much 
 useful aid, I know not whether the matter may not 
 be as well thus settled, as in any other feasible mode ; 
 since our friend is out of the question. It is cer¬ 
 tain that, however I may partake of the perfections 
 attributed to himself, by Shakspeare’s clown, 4 Marry, 
 and I can mar a good story in the telling of it’, your 
 hints will at least come forward with this advantage, 
 that I can promise they will be cordially received 
 by me. I wish I could be equally certain of feeling 
 their influence upon my heart. 
 
 And now, my dear sir, let me return you my best 
 thanks for your letter: it was a cordial to me, and 
 has actually contributed more to support me through 
 
241 
 
 a day of illness, than you can, perhaps, well conceive. 
 Will not this be a stimulus to you to write often, 
 though it be but half a page ? My temperament is 
 such, that a little sound wisdom, thrown in at a need¬ 
 ful time, cheers my spirits far more, than any thing 
 which society can afford. Happy as I am in con¬ 
 versing with you, I doubt whether, in the hour of 
 nervous depression, a letter from you would not tend 
 more to calm and compose my mind, than even a 
 whole day of actual conversation with you. Must 
 not this arise from hence, that the letter inspires me 
 with the wish, and solitude affords me the opportu¬ 
 nity, of looking at home for comfort ? I have often 
 wondered, why hours of your wise, instructive, de¬ 
 lightful talk have so frequently failed ‘ mihi me red- 
 dere amicum.’ May not this have been the cause, . . 
 that I was seduced, by it, to transgress that sage 
 moral maxim, Ne te quaesiveris extra ? 
 
 The Archbishop called on me just before my dinner. 
 I talked over with him the substance of what I wrote 
 above, as to the poor in spirit; at first, he differed 
 altogether; but, latterly, was coming round to me. 
 I hope I have not been wrong in my view; for, pro¬ 
 bably, I shall have preached on the subject, before 
 an answer from you could reach me. I was much 
 struck, some weeks back, with passages from Seneca 
 and Lucretius, graphically descriptive of the tedium 
 vitrn : one from Lucretius I will transcribe for you, 
 lest you should not have the book to refer to : 
 
 Si possent homines, proinde ac sentire videntur 
 Pondus inesse animo, quod se gravitate fatiget, 
 
 Et quibus id fiat causis cognoscere, et unde 
 Tanta mali tanquam moles in pectore constet; 
 
 Haud ita vitam agerent, ut nunc plerumque videmus. 
 
 Quid sibi quisque velit, nescire, et quaerere semper, 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 
 
 Commutare locum, quasi onus deponere possit. 
 
 Exit saepe foras, magnis ex aedibus ille, 
 
 Esse domi quem pertaesum ’st, subitoque revertit; 
 Quippe foris nihilo melius qui sentiat esse. 
 
 Currit agens mannos ad villam hie praecipitanter, 
 Auxilium tectis quasi ferre ardentibus instans: 
 Oscitat extemplo, tetigit cum limina villae ; 
 
 Aut abit in somnum gravis, atque oblivia quaerit, 
 Aut etiam properans urbem petit, atque revisit. 
 
 Hoc se quisque modo fugit: at, quem scilicet, ut fit, 
 Effugere haud potis est, ingratis haeret, et angit.* 
 
 Is not this a masterly description ? The whole car¬ 
 ries the impression of real life ; it is no fancy piece. 
 Some of the touches describe the very manners of to¬ 
 day. ‘ Currit agens mannos.’ There, we have pre¬ 
 cisely the curricles and ponies of Bond Street; for, 
 happily, Bond Street has monopolized our Dublin 
 loungers of the first rate, .. one of the best results 
 of the Union. But, indeed, we have, throughout, an 
 almost living picture of the miserable shifts and expe- 
 
 * 1 If, while they feel the cares that clog the mind. 
 
 Whose ponderous load weighs down the soul, mankind 
 Could equal learn what source, what causes press 
 Their breasts with such a mountain of distress,.. 
 Changed in their thoughts, their actions, and their views. 
 And taught to seize the good, the bad refuse. 
 
 They would not look, as now, to fly their lot. 
 
 And seek, as happiness, they know not what; 
 
 For ever wandering, as though the mind, 
 
 In different climes, a different state could find. 
 
 Tired of the house, one leaves his lofty dome. 
 
 But, finding nought abroad, revisits home : 
 
 One to his villa whirls the rapid car, 
 
 As though the roof were blazing from afar ; 
 
 ’T is reached,. . he nods, and sinks to sleep away. 
 
 In dark oblivion, all his ill-spent day; 
 
 Or turning back, regains the crowded street. 
 
 That something seeking, which he ne’er shall meet. 
 
 Each flies himself; that self, which none can fly. 
 
 Still goads his course with secret agony.’ 
 
MS 
 
 dients, by which the world is trying, ‘ onus deponere.* 
 Lucretius knew the malady right well; unhappily, he 
 did not know the cure. His remedy was suicide ; 
 and after that, an eternal sleep : for these he actually 
 proposes, as the only refuge of the miserable. Who 
 that deeply considers this, must not, from his heart, 
 bless God for the gospel ? 
 
 I do believe the Archbishop acquits me of laziness. 
 Since we parted, I have preached every Sunday but 
 two; and in lieu of them, there has been a thanks¬ 
 giving sermon; besides the examination for orders, 
 and extra preparation for the confirmation, in the 
 course of which I have catechized on Mondays, as 
 well as Fridays. It would, however, be a small 
 matter to be acquitted by the Archbishop, if I could 
 not acquit myself: this, I trust, I can. I own I 
 should be very thankful, if I were to rise to-morrow 
 without a throbbing head; in that case, I might do 
 something for Christmas day. 
 
 Your faithful and affectionate friend, 
 
 J. J. 
 
 LETTER 34. 
 
 Bellevue, Bray, Dec. 23. 1805. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I thank you much for sending me your ordination 
 sermon *; which I think most substantially good: and 
 what I particularly like in it, is that easy flow of com- 
 
 * This discourse was published in the following year. See Jebb’s Sermons, 
 on Subjects chiefly Practical, Serm. XI. . . Ed. 
 
 R S 
 
244 
 
 position, to which I was solicitous to see you come. 
 The time in which you wrote it, makes it appear 
 
 to me a wonderful little discourse; and Mrs. L- 
 
 thinks it one of the best discourses she has ever read. 
 I do not go thus far: but I am highly pleased with 
 it indeed. There were one or two places in which, 
 had I been near, and had there been time, I should 
 have suggested a short addition, in order to prevent 
 your meaning being mistaken. For example, where 
 you say, that 4 the word of God would enable ’, (I 
 
 quote from memory, for Mrs. L- has not yet 
 
 returned the sermon,) I should have expressly added, 
 4 when impressed by the Spirit of God/ You may 
 be sure I conceive you to have had this fully in 
 your thoughts. And, where you speak of the Bible 
 furnishing such rich, and diversified materials, I 
 should have recommended the express recognition of 
 the utility and necessity of human learning, as both 
 philologically, and philosophically, aiding the due un¬ 
 derstanding of God’s word. This, too, you feel just 
 as much as I. In fact, my good friend, your style 
 of preaching seems to me to be wonderfully what it 
 should be ; and its being so, and its obvious improve¬ 
 ment as to manner, even in this last discourse, gives 
 me most cordial gratification and satisfaction. 
 
 I must only add, that I am always your’s, 
 
 A. K. 
 
215 
 
 LETTER 35. 
 To the Rev. J. Jehb. 
 
 Written at B-, Jan. 4., 
 
 Dated from Dublin, Jan. 7. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I ought, before this, to have acknowledged the re¬ 
 ceipt of your pleasant letter. It was a cordial to me. 
 Every sentiment and observation in it, relative to 
 yourself and to human nature, I cordially agreed 
 with ; and am obliged to you for the passage from 
 Lucretius, which is most remarkable. But, as to the 
 meaning of the text there, I do not so fully accord 
 with you. I say, so fully, because I have no doubt 
 that your sense is really in the text; but, in my 
 mind, not as the immediate meaning, but as that 
 which the literal meaning leads to, or rather (what is 
 very near your own idea) involves. I would object 
 only to its being supposed, that our Lord meant 
 those to whom he spoke, or even John, so to under¬ 
 stand him. The frame of mind John appears to have 
 sunk into, made it peculiarly expedient to present to 
 him proofs, sensible and palpable; therefore, our 
 Saviour says, * Go, and tell John the things which 
 ye hear and see.’ Now, what did they hear and see, 
 respecting the particular point you speak of? Not, 
 I think, the spiritual, but the literal fact: our Lord 
 was, at the time, working miracles, and surrounded 
 by a multitude ; for, as the messengers of John 4 de¬ 
 parted, he began to say to the multitude’, See. He, 
 therefore, made an appeal to their own senses$ and, 
 
 r 3 
 
246 
 
 as their senses were not yet so exercised, as to dis¬ 
 cern spiritual things in themselves ; nor, probably, to 
 apprehend much about any thing inward; they would, 
 of course, explain our Saviour’s words, by what they 
 saw 5 and give the same literal meaning to the poor, 
 as to the blind, the lame, the lepers, the deaf, and 
 the dead. In which terms, however, there was, gene¬ 
 rally at least, if not particularly, a spiritual purport, as 
 well as in the other; as appears from St. John, ix. 39, 
 &c. &c. 
 
 Yet I must allow, that the last particular involves 
 a spiritual meaning, more necessarily than the others : 
 because, in whatever sense we are to understand the 
 poor, the evangelizing them is, ipso facto, a spiritual 
 blessing. This, however, does not, 1 conceive, make 
 at all against the primary meaning of being 
 
 literal. I rather think there is a peculiar propriety 
 in so understanding it, because, in this view, I think 
 this last fact becomes the uniting link, by which 
 the old dispensation, and the new, are connected 
 together. 
 
 Isaiah prophesied of the Messiah all the things 
 here enumerated, and particularly the last. He pro¬ 
 phesied under an outward, and miraculous dispens¬ 
 ation ; under which dispensation, also, the Messiah 
 was to come. The prophecy, ultimately, pointed to 
 spiritual blessings : the Messiah came, substantially, 
 for spiritual purposes. But, as the prophecy must 
 speak the language of the existing dispensation, so 
 the Divine personage, whom the prophet described, 
 must literally, as well as spiritually, fulfil the pro¬ 
 phecy, in order to fit the circumstances under which 
 he appears. His divine course commences, under 
 the outward system of judaism: outward miracles, 
 therefore, must attend that commencement, to show 
 
247 
 
 that he is the consummation of that system. He, 
 therefore, does literally, all that Isaiah predicts, as 
 the necessary introduction to his doing the same 
 things spiritually. But, as the prophet had remark¬ 
 ably added a spiritual blessing to all the rest, so our 
 Saviour adds to his outward miracles, from the very 
 beginning of his ministry, this completely spiritual 
 function ; that is, he engages, professedly and osten¬ 
 sibly, in the instructing of that part of society, who, 
 until now, had been comparatively neglected. And 
 he does so, not only from divine benevolence to those 
 whom he commiserated ‘ as sheep having no shep¬ 
 herd ’, but to show, by an impressive and intelligible 
 act, the complete spirituality of the system he was 
 about to introduce. 
 
 You justly observe, that this is the point, in which 
 the gospel differs from every heathen, and every 
 jewish system; and you add, that the preaching to 
 the poor in condition, forms a contrast with all philo¬ 
 sophical systems. But I would add, that the differ¬ 
 ence does not lie merely between every philosophical 
 and every Jewish system, and Christianity; but be¬ 
 tween the divine dispensations of Judaism, and Chris¬ 
 tianity : for judaism, being a system of temporal 
 blessings and promises (I speak not now of the 
 spiritual and moral influences, which ran on, latently, 
 from the patriarchs, and preserved, throughout the 
 jewish economy, a kind of subterranean course, . . ‘ If 
 thou seekest her as silver, and searchest for her as for 
 hid treasures ’, says Solomon, *. though bubbling up 
 every now and then, in the Psalms and the Prophets : 
 but I speak strictly of the mosaic dispensation) this, 
 I say, being as it was, there was actually no text to 
 preach to the poor upon ; no open, no warrant, for 
 evangelizing them. Some scintillations of such a 
 
 ii 4 
 
248 
 
 thing, appear in the prophetic, and devotional parts ; 
 but, in the law itself, absolutely nothing : but rather 
 the reverse. The Jewish poor might certainly pick 
 up much, to cherish the virtues fit to yield them 
 comfort; but they were no more expressly provided 
 for, than the heathens themselves were. 
 
 Nor could this be otherwise, until a ‘ more excel¬ 
 lent ministry 9 should come ; ‘ a covenant established 
 upon better promises’: spiritual promises, applicable 
 to man as man ; and of course extending to the 
 poor, as well as to the rich : yea, more applicable to 
 the poor, as being the only prospect, by which they 
 could be rationally invited to take comfort. Here, 
 then, lay the propriety of our Saviour seeking the 
 literally poor, as his most immediate charge: not 
 only because he, for the first time, offered them 
 rational consolation ; but also because, in doing so, 
 he evidenced the sublime novelty of his character, 
 and the peculiar nature of his mission. Many pro¬ 
 phets, in former times, had wrought miracles; this 
 being perfectly congruous with the then state of 
 things: but they did not collect around them the 
 forlorn classes of society ; because they had no good 
 news for them ; no blessings applicable to them. 
 Nothing, therefore, could so distinctly and unequivo¬ 
 cally manifest the opening of a new state of things, 
 as this particular conduct of our Saviour: by no act 
 could he, in the first instance, so aptly have cracked 
 the shell of judaism, if I may so speak ; in no way 
 so strikingly indicate his real object, or so directly 
 disabuse those who entertained secular ideas of the 
 Messiah, and, in a word, in no other manner so fitly 
 make a transit, from the one system, to the other. I 
 would add, that, of all possible predictions, this was 
 the most remarkable, for the reasons just given : it 
 
249 
 
 being in fact a prediction, which, when fulfilled, 
 must imply the passing away of a temporal, and the 
 establishment of a spiritual dispensation. It, there¬ 
 fore, on the whole, was, as I already hinted, the very 
 fittest for our Lord to lay stress upon, or to conclude 
 with, on such an occasion. 
 
 You see, then, that, in my mind, the word was 
 used by our Lord literally ; but that, in this literal 
 fact, the spirituality of the Gospel began signally to 
 unfold itself: and doubtless it was hereby mainly 
 intimated, that, in this new dispensation, the rich, in 
 order to be profited, must come down to the same 
 level with the poor. But there was a poverty inhe¬ 
 rent in human nature, alike extreme in all. And, as 
 the blessings of the new dispensation related wholly 
 to this poverty, they were first addressed, who were 
 most likely to acknowledge their want of that, which 
 
 * JEque pauperibus prodest, locupletibus seque.’ * 
 
 I am inclined to think, that the discourse in St. 
 Luke, is not the same with that in St. Matthew ; but 
 a repetition of the substance of it, on some other 
 occasion. And while the expression in St. Matthew, 
 fixes the term to a spiritual sense, that in St. Luke 
 might safely have a more literal bearing 5 because it 
 is not, blessed are the poor, but ‘ye poor ye, who 
 have made the right use of your outward circum¬ 
 stances, and are become my disciples, so very few of 
 whom are to be found among the more affluent. 
 
 Yet, if you preached what you intended, you have 
 nothing to repent of: for, most assuredly, you have 
 said nothing, into which the text would not unfold. 
 I mean only to say, that the fullest scriptural meaning 
 
 * Is equally profitable to rich and poor. 
 
&50 
 
 is aided rather than [hindered], by the fullest literal 
 interpretation. 
 
 I sincerely hope I shall not lose sight of your wish 
 to hear often from me, however briefly. You have, 
 I assure you, furnished me with as strong motives for 
 doing this, as you well could ; not only by the ex¬ 
 pressions in your letter, but by the very physiognomy 
 of it. I think I see in it the very hilarity, that I 
 myself was the means of exciting; and believe me, 
 to make you cheerful, will ever cheer myself. 
 
 I mean to return to town on Tuesday the 7th, 
 after a very pleasant time. I more and more think, 
 that my visits to this place are in the order of Pro¬ 
 vidence ; and I seem to myself to perceive conse¬ 
 quences actually arising, from my being here, which 
 gladden my heart. It is a place which seems to have 
 had the Divine eye peculiarly upon it. And appear¬ 
 ing to myself to observe growing proofs of this, I 
 more and more enjoy myself here. 
 
 I presume you have, ere this, heard from-. I 
 
 know he meant to write to you : and I think must 
 have done so, if something has not retarded it. I 
 certainly get charming letters from him. 
 
 I feel that I have not written as often, or as 
 largely, as I should have done, to the dear Arch¬ 
 bishop. I am sure it is not from want of disposition, 
 for he lives in my heart of hearts : but I find it pecu¬ 
 liarly difficult to me to be a regular correspondent, 
 when there is not stimulating regularity in the post. 
 In Dublin, the hour of seven makes me sit down at 
 six, and work for fifty-five minutes ; which leaves 
 room for one tolerable letter. My natural indolence 
 requires all this: for, were there not something in 
 me to counteract bodily disposition, I should be as 
 torpid an animal as goes upon two legs. In fact, I 
 
251 
 
 believe I could not exist at all, and, therefore, I may 
 well give thanks in every thing; for every ray of 
 consolation I have ever felt, has emanated from, not 
 merely the providence, but the grace of God. And 
 were the influences, which have distinguished my last 
 eight years from former years, to be, for one day, 
 wholly withdrawn, that setting sun would see me the 
 wretchedest of human creatures. I shall very shortly 
 endeavour to talk to you, about the text I propose to 
 you. In the mean time, believe me always, most 
 truly and entirely yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER XXXVII. 
 To A. Knooc , Esq . 
 
 Cashel, Jan. 8 . 1806 . 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 X was not without hopes of hearing from you before 
 this; but, perhaps, my hopes were somewhat unrea¬ 
 sonable. Our last letters passed each other on the 
 road j and, therefore, as the strict matter of debt 
 must remain in doubt, I feel that it is my part, to 
 provoke you to a renewal of that instruction and 
 delight, which I never fail to receive from your 
 communications# 
 
 It gives me heart-felt pleasure, that the little ordi¬ 
 nation sermon affords you any gratification ; especi¬ 
 ally, in point of style. But I am sensible that much, 
 
252 
 
 very much requires to be corrected and acquired : 
 more, indeed, than I can hope will ever be accom¬ 
 plished ; for, both in matter and manner, I fear I am 
 doomed never to rise above the * non contemnenda 
 mediocritas’ of Quinctilian, if, indeed, I ever got so 
 far. However, it will be very well if I am enabled 
 to do what I can ; though I should never attain the 
 power of doing what I would. You will, perhaps, be 
 well pleased to hear, that I did not meddle with St. 
 John the Baptist’s message. In order to make a 
 useful discourse upon it, I think it would be necessary 
 to give that spiritual turn, to that part of the gospel 
 being preached to the poor, which a congregation 
 might not be prepared to acquiesce in. And, as 
 plain and unquestionable tests are not wanting, from 
 whence to derive the instruction I wished to com¬ 
 municate, it is surely best to avoid setting out, with 
 prejudices against one. The Sunday before last, 
 I gave a little discourse on that passage of Isaiah, 
 ‘ The voice said, Cry ’. ‘All flesh is grass’, &c. I con¬ 
 nected the introduction with the season of our Lord’s 
 first advent, as leading to the consideration of his 
 second ; and I made full use of Lowth’s striking 
 comment on the whole passage. The body and close 
 of the discourse, was occupied by reflections, suitable 
 to the close of the year, with a short reference to the 
 sudden death of Mr. Mansergh, the curate of Tippe¬ 
 rary, who was carried off on Christmas-day, after an 
 illness of only three days. He was well known to 
 most of the congregation, and nearly connected with 
 some of them. The awfulness of the subject, and 
 the train of thought which that very pregnant text 
 naturally produced, did, I think, deeply impress ; but 
 whether permanently, remains yet to be decided. 
 
 - has written me a most happy letter. The 
 
253 
 
 very sentiments your heart could wish, flowing 
 forth with spontaneous liveliness; coming from the 
 heart, and speaking to the heart. In truth, my dear 
 sir, he has got S. Chrysostom’s wings. He is now a 
 hawk, or an eagle ; and, I trust, untethered, or at least 
 without any other incumbrance than a few tags, or 
 threads, which will soon crumble into dust, and 
 mingle with the thin air. I do, with my soberest 
 judgment, expect great things from him. All the 
 ardour of his fine spirit still remains ; only that he is 
 now directed to loving, more than to doing. And 
 we know that the progress, in the one case, is infinite ; 
 while, in the other, it is bounded in very narrow 
 limits. Why should he not have been urged to accept 
 the Orphan Asylum sermon ? I conclude there were 
 some urgent reasons, or Mrs. L. would not have let 
 him off. But do you not think, that, by preaching a 
 Christian discourse on that occasion, he might have 
 done much good ? There is something so attractive, 
 so gentle, so winning, in his manner, that we may say 
 of him, in a qualified sense, 
 
 ‘ That truths divine come mended from his tongue.’ 
 
 If you could give me a text for a Cashel sermon, and 
 a very short paper of hints, I would be very glad to 
 write from it: such a thing might, perhaps, be here 
 in time, to enable me to have it against Sunday, 19th 
 inst. The shorter the hints, the more acceptable; 
 because my object is to be led into a train of thought 
 for myself. When you send any thing at length, I 
 find your words so good, that from a consciousness of 
 inability to supply better, I use them more than it is 
 perhaps honest, or serviceable to myself to do. If, 
 however, you are otherwise employed; or if you do 
 
254 
 
 not find half an hour, which may as well be employed 
 this way, as any other, I beg you may not think of 
 troubling yourself. 
 
 LETTER XXXVIII. 
 To A . Knox , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Jan. 30. 1806. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Y" our note was handed to me by Mr. Torrens *, for 
 whom I had before been looking out; and whom, 
 from character, I was well prepared to receive as a 
 friend. The character I had heard of him, and his 
 own interesting manners, would have warmly recom¬ 
 mended him to me: but what you say, binds me to 
 him still more closely; and makes me regret only, that 
 it is not in my power to serve him substantially. But 
 what I can do I will do. 
 
 / 
 
 Your letter of hints reached me, and found me well 
 prepared for it: as I had been conning over Isaiah, iv. 
 with a view to a sermon; and reading Vitringa and 
 the Critici Sacri, from whom I was deriving some 
 light. Your text, therefore, fell in altogether with 
 my train of thought: and I have since written much 
 of a sermon, and hints for more of it, pretty much on 
 your plan. I hope to preach it next Sunday ; and, 
 but for circumstances, would have had it prepared 
 for last Sunday. Your suggestions have been most 
 
 * The late Rev. John Torrens, master of the diocesan school of Cashel. 
 
255 
 
 useful, and you just left as much as I could have 
 wished for; enough to lead me into a train of thought, 
 or to continue the metaphor, to give me food for re¬ 
 flection. 
 
 I direct to Dublin, but if this find you at B-, 
 
 I beg you will offer my kindest and most respectful 
 compliments. Farewell, my dear friend, and believe 
 me your most obliged and faithful friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 P. S. Thank God, my health, spirits, and faculties 
 are pretty well. 
 
 LETTER XXXIX. 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq. 
 
 April 17. 1806. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I thank you for your account of the decision. I am 
 glad that it has taken place even by a casting voice, 
 which all things considered was perhaps as much as 
 could be expected against an influx of party men, 
 who were determined to act blindly on Dr. Magee’s 
 ipse dixit. 
 
 It is pretty clear that we are committed with the 
 anti-fanatics, and if a battle must be, it is better they 
 should show themselves openly; though for such 
 matters, I am now very weak. The strange weather 
 has produced in me an inflammatory cold, of the most 
 incapacitating kind. It was hanging on me some days, 
 
256 
 
 without my knowing it; the consequence was, that 
 working as I did for the Orphan Asylum, I produced 
 some wretched stuff; and am obliged now to give up 
 till I reach town, unless I should prove wonderfully 
 convalescent to-morrow and next day. Please God, 
 I shall set off on Monday. It would mortify me 
 deeply were this most interesting institution to suffer, 
 through my illness. I can hardly describe to you 
 what have been my feelings these two days ; and now 
 I feel it my duty, in every point of view, not to be 
 careful in the matter, but to pray to God, if it please 
 him, to remove my complaints, and to give that aid 
 without which I can do nothing. 
 
 The eleven days I hope to be in Dublin, will afford 
 me more than time enough. You will believe that I 
 do not postpone from laziness. 
 
 Farewell, my dear sir, we shall I trust meet on 
 Wednesday. 
 
 Your most affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 Thursday. 
 
 LETTER XL. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq . 
 
 Cashel, June 23. 1806. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I enclosed you a letter, which I received from the 
 
 unfortunate-, on my return here. Possibly you 
 
 might have it in your power, to convey him, for me, 
 a couple of guineas, which I will thankfully repay 
 
%57 
 
 you: Mr. Bourne can most probably let you know 
 where he is to be found. I wish some little sub¬ 
 scription could be set on foot for him : for whatever 
 have been his faults, the poor man seems deeply 
 sensible of them; and it is a shocking thing to see 
 a clergyman of our establishment, reduced to the 
 deplorable state he is in. Should you think well of 
 a subscription, I will write about it to my brother, 
 who I am sure would aid it; and I would then try 
 and give somewhat more, than I have commissioned 
 you to give for me. The fact is, I fear it would not 
 be of any service to trust more money in his own 
 hands, than the little pittance I speak of for the 
 present. Were there a subscription, I think it should 
 be in some person’s hands for his use. 
 
 The easterly winds, and the alternate hot and cold, 
 have continued to affect me. Still, however, I live 
 in hopes of getting better. My landlord has taken 
 down almost the whole front of his house, to make 
 alterations; and I am driven to the library*, to take 
 refuge from the most deafening noise. I must, I 
 believe, accept the invitations of some friends, for 
 these ten days to come, as there is no prospect of 
 quietness at home. 
 
 I had a long conversation with S-, in town; 
 
 which gave rise to a long cautionary letter, against 
 the pernicious influence of philosophy and poetry. 
 It is well meant, but far from judicious. I shall 
 briefly thank him for it; and reserve to myself the 
 power of replying more at large, in a more conve¬ 
 nient season. So far as good S- is concerned, 
 
 an apology for the use we would make of philosophy, 
 can, I apprehend, produce little effect. But it might 
 
 * Archbishop Bolton’s library, adjoining the palace, at Cashel. . . Ed. 
 
 VOL. I. S 
 
258 
 
 not be amiss, to have some arranged and methodized 
 arguments on the subject, ready prepared for those 
 who may be jealous of one’s system. 
 
 I hope you received the sheet of your letter, which 
 I did indeed detain an unreasonable time ; and I 
 hope, too, that you have dispatched the whole to its 
 destination. Good may be done by it; for were 
 H. M, # decidedly of your way of thinking, with the 
 high character she has acquired, and the weight 
 which attaches to her sentiments, among evangelical 
 people, she might be an instrument of great good. 
 
 Pray have you. got Whichcote’s Aphorisms, with a 
 correspondence annexed between him and Dr. Tuck- 
 ney ? In this latter, there seems to be much to the 
 purpose, on the great controversy, whether justifi¬ 
 cation be moral or forensic; but I have yet only 
 glanced my eye over it, having but just procured 
 the book when leaving town. 
 
 Has any progress been made in Dean Kirwan’s 
 sermons? I wish much that they were collated with 
 those of Massillon and Bourdaloue, on similar topics: 
 for lately reading Massillon’s sermon, ‘ sur le man- 
 vais riche’, I thought I recognized several of the 
 very thoughts with which we were so much pleased, 
 in the Dean’s sermon, on the same subject. Should 
 my apprehension have any foundation, which 1 hope 
 it has not, this would at once put an end to the pro¬ 
 ject of publication. 
 
 Are we to hope for the pleasure of seeing you 
 here ? Pray, my dear sir, do write me a few lines ; 
 and thereby do provoke me to send you something 
 less vapid, than this most stupid epistle. 
 
 Believe me, most gratefully. 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 Ed. 
 
 * Mrs. Hannah More. . . 
 
LETTER' 36. 
 
 June, or July, 1806. 
 
 My dear Mr. Jebb, 
 
 I have actually begun something, with an eye to a 
 more digested exposition of my sentiments, which, if 
 I succeed in it, I shall most probably publish. I 
 have not seen the work you mention ; but shall look 
 out for it: though, probably, I should not find the ex¬ 
 cellent Whichcote expressing himself just as I should 
 like. I conceive him to be the head of two stocks : the 
 great leaders of the one, our well known friends * ; 
 those of the other, Wilkins and Tillotson. Burnet 
 was not aware of this twofold character : and, there¬ 
 fore, ascribes to all of them, what belonged to one 
 class only. For instance, he says, that s they read 
 Episcopius much/ This was clearly true (as I 
 conceive) of such as Wilkins and Tillotson; for no 
 writer, I imagine, is more un-platonic than Episco¬ 
 pius ; nor, probably, did any more contribute to spoil 
 English theology. 
 
 I have this day engaged Keene to reprint Mrs. 
 Barbaukl’s essay on devotional taste; and promised, 
 if he should lose by it, I would indemnify him. I 
 will next try to engage him in reprinting Cudworth’s 
 two sermons, f And shall lose no time in setting 
 Dugdale upon Smith. 
 
 Yesterday, at the visitation of the country part of 
 this diocese, a parish clerk and schoolmaster was 
 
 * The Platonists of Cambridge, as Mr. Knox usually styled John Smith, 
 Cudworth, Sec. . . Ed. 
 
 f Since republished by Bishop Jebb, in the Protestant Kempis. . . Ed. 
 
 s °2 
 
260 
 
 displaced, for being a methodist. This was most im¬ 
 politic, considered as a voluntary act; and most 
 strange, considered as an event: most impolitic, 
 because the secession ought not, on any account, to 
 be either accelerated, or made appear excusable ; not 
 accelerated, because, left to themselves, they will 
 every day become less formidable enemies, and can 
 be formidable only from being thrust out, while they 
 retain some portion of their original energy. Besides, 
 while they continue in the church, their non-metho- 
 dist children continue professing members of the 
 church; but once make them dissenters, and the 
 schism will absorb their children, though the [part 
 toj'n away by the seal ,] 
 
 But it is strange as an event. It is a new symptom 
 of the times being out of joint: such a thing has not 
 been done for many years, perhaps, never. In 
 England, most certainly, the dissenting interest in¬ 
 creases : and not only a disrespect for, but an igno¬ 
 rance of, the establishment, seems to spread. Even 
 this might not ensure the downfall of the established 
 church, if matters were left in quietness. But if, 
 while dissenters are multiplied, they are also exas¬ 
 perated, what can be looked for, but some such thing 
 as Bishop Laud brought about, an actual pulling 
 down of the church and the hierarchy. 
 
 Believe me most cordially yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
£61 
 
 LETTER XLI, 
 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 Cashel, July 12. 1806. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 J wish I had an excuse for not answering your last 
 letter, which it would give you pleasure to receive ; 
 but this not being the case, I must plainly state 
 the fact. I did not write, because sunk as I was in 
 
 mental power of exertion, while we were at B- 
 
 I have been much more so, since my return to 
 Cashel. 4 I know’, said poor Cowper, c and know 
 most perfectly, and am, perhaps, to be taught it to the 
 last, that my power to think, whatever it be, and 
 consequently my power to compose, is, as much as 
 my outward form, afforded to me by the same hand, 
 that makes me, in any respect, to differ from a brute.’ 
 Now, what Cowper said, I can say, with no less 
 truth. The visitation of God, which has been, and 
 which still is upon me, I trust is not suffered to pass 
 unimproved. I feel that I strictly hold every thing 
 from Him : and that, when He is pleased to with-hold 
 his influence, I can do nothing. A feeling, which I 
 hope may pluck up by the roots, every working of' 
 pride, every undue complacency in the fruits of my 
 own exertions. I am, however, aware, that there 
 may be another danger; ; . that, so wonderfully are 
 we disposed to deceive ourselves, it is possible to 
 shelter ourselves, from the self-accusation which must 
 accompany wilful indolence, under the idea, that ex¬ 
 ertion is put out of our power. On this point, I have 
 
 s 3 
 
£ 6 % 
 
 taken myselfto task ; and think, that, notwithstanding 
 occasional misgivings, which I believe attributable to 
 nervousness, I can fairly and honestly acquit myself 
 of a disposition to be idle. The truth is, some kind 
 of mental activity is necessary to my enjoying any 
 comfort; and were I well, no manner of exertion 
 would more fall in with my tastes and wishes, than 
 preparation for the pulpit. But I feel that the hand 
 of God is upon me ; and, so feeling, I submit in 
 patience. Since my return, I have been obliged to 
 preach a segment of my last charity sermon, some¬ 
 what modified ; to give two borrowed ones, and an 
 old one. And to-morrow I am obliged to give one, 
 preached the 4th of last August. Could you furnish 
 me with a text and hints? I will strive to begin a 
 sermon on Monday. 
 
 Under this malady, my spirits have, thank God, 
 been less depressed than formerly ; and though not 
 able to give out , I have taken in a little. Reading 
 has been my great resource, with some exercise, and 
 the variety of a little active duty as rural Dean. 
 
 I most thoroughly coincide in opinion, as to the 
 displacing of methodist clerks. I trust this measure 
 will not be followed up, in other cases: should it so 
 happen, then I would seriously apprehend a secession 
 of the whole body from us. 
 
 I had a letter last night, from-. He warns me 
 
 that I am verging to excess, in my view of contem¬ 
 plation being the great nurse of wisdom. 1 am truly 
 obliged to him for his friendly caution : but, as he 
 neither gives the ground of his opinion, nor enters 
 into reasoning on the point, I cannot say that he has 
 produced any revolution in my mind. I suppose his 
 apprehensions for me, are founded, chiefly, on the 
 letter I wrote from B-; as we had very little 
 
263 
 
 conversation since, and no communication by letter. 
 Now I, on the other hand, fear, that he has too great 
 a hankering after the activities, as ground of comfort, 
 and means of self-improvement. 
 
 I am very glad you are republishing : and hope 
 that, ere long, you will give something of your own 
 to the world. Pray are we to hope for you here? 
 The entire want of society, has been a damper to me: 
 but indeed I have not been well enough for society. 
 The variable weather affected me. I had a greater 
 inflammatory cold, with more feverish, and more 
 languid symptoms than even pending the orphan 
 sermon. 
 
 A line from you speedily, would be an act of real 
 kindness. It would relieve my spirits ; and besides, 
 I almost uniformly find, that such letters as I have 
 from you, and one or two others, set me a thinking, 
 and, by doing so, render an essential service. 
 
 Believe me, dear Sir, 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
LETTER 37. 
 To the Rev. J. Jebb. 
 
 July 15. 1805- 
 
 My good Friend, 
 
 Were I to write to you but six lines, I will not let 
 this post pass. 
 
 I have been much with methodists these eight days 
 past. There are most excellent persons amongst 
 them ; and, I will add, the truest churchmen in the 
 world. But this is not, perhaps, the prevalent cha¬ 
 racter. The great detriment is, that the majority of 
 them (I speak, you observe, of preachers,) have been 
 bred dissenters ; and are still too much so at heart: 
 but I am confident, that, if we are properly kind to 
 the well disposed part, they will carry it above the 
 other, though I fear more numerous part; for a good 
 cause is itself a counterpoise to number. They, I 
 hope, have behaved tolerably at their conference. I 
 will send you their minutes, to-morrow or next day. 
 
 In order to do some good, if I can, I am republish¬ 
 ing Mrs. Barbauld’s essay on sects and establishments. 
 I read part of it to rm cousin Averell to-day (he is 
 actually my relation); and he was so impressed with 
 it, as to satisfy me I was doing right. I think of pre¬ 
 fixing an address, and adding some notes. When it 
 comes out, I shall send two or three copies to you. 
 
 I began with the impression that I should be able 
 to write only a few lines. I must stop now; and am, 
 my dear Friend, 
 
 V 7 
 
 Always most faithfully yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
265 
 
 LETTER 38. 
 
 To the Rev. J. Jehh. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 X wished to have acknowledged your most gratifying 
 letter, by return of post: but I was obliged to write, 
 on the day I received it, to J. D.; and yesterday, I 
 was equally obliged to go out, at my letter-writing 
 hour, which is the interval between dinner and seven 
 o’clock. The reason of my going out was poor Mr. 
 Brooke’s # death ; who yesterday, at four o’clock, was 
 released from all his pains. 
 
 I will not say much to you at present: but I could 
 say a great deal; and every thing of a pleasant kind. 
 Yes, my good friend, I can venture to assure you, 
 that all the desagr6mens which you refer to in your¬ 
 self, are solely the result of corporeal indisposition; 
 in which the poor mind may be a fellow-sufferer, but 
 without deserving it. I trust, however, even this 
 will not long afflict you : but that the vis medicatrix 
 naturae, under the efficacious influence of a yet better 
 physician, will soon, that is in due time, get the de¬ 
 cided ascendency; and indemnify you for all your 
 foregoing sufferings, as I, thanks be to my great 
 Benefactor, am indemnified at this day. I doubt not 
 but, in the mean time, ‘ all things will work together 
 for good.’ 
 
 * Henry Brooke, Esq., nephew to the author of ‘ Gustavus Vasa ’, and ‘ The 
 Fool of Quality ’, and of kindred genius and goodness. It was the privilege of 
 the editor to witness almost the last hours of this eminent Christian . . t an 
 Israelite indeed, in whom there was no guile.’ 
 
266 
 
 Truly, all you say is pleasant to me, however you 
 may see very little matters magnified, through the 
 medium of a kind heart. Yet I will not, after ah, 
 call them little : for surely there was the stamp of 
 cordiality on the least of them. And this is what 
 you value. ‘ Better is a dinner of herbs, where love 
 is; than a stalled ox’.. I will not merely say with 
 the text, 4 and hatred therewith * . . but, where love is 
 wanting. 
 
 I am pleased with all you tell me ; and pleased 
 with your most interesting quotations. That is a 
 very ingenious, as well as very just distribution, of the 
 powers of the mind ; and it holds good, peculiarly, in 
 the instance to which he applies it. It agrees pretty 
 much with what Geo. Gainden says of Forbes. 
 
 LETTER XLII. 
 
 To A . Knox y Esq. 
 
 July 16 . 1806 . 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 My ailments still continuing to unfit me for busi¬ 
 ness, I thought it right to state fully to the Arch¬ 
 bishop, the manner in which I have been affected for 
 the last three months. He expressed himself on the 
 occasion, like a father and a friend. He thinks it my 
 bounden duty to take care of my health, in the first 
 instance; and his own bounden duty, not only to 
 sanction whatever may appear necessary, but to advise 
 me to it. And the result of our conference has been, 
 that I should request of you, who know my maladies 
 better than almost anybody else, to consult Dr. 
 
267 
 
 Perceval immediately for me, whether change of 
 scene, and relaxation of mind, would not be advis¬ 
 able ; and whether any, or what kind of regimen, 
 would be needful. 
 
 I need not tell you, who know so well, what my 
 general habits both of body and of life are: but it 
 may not be amiss to mention, that I awake every 
 morning with a parched mouth, and generally with a 
 headache, which continues through the day ; . . that 
 I am often low in spirits ; and that, for the last three 
 weeks, I have had a stoppage in my head, of a more 
 annoying and inveterate description, than what is 
 commonly called a cold in the head. 
 
 What I wish is, for a general opinion, what mode 
 would be best for me to pursue ; especially, such an 
 opinion as would enable me to arrange with the 
 Archbishop respecting my absence, if it be needful. 
 
 If you could conveniently see Dr. P,, on the receipt 
 of this, so as to answer by return of post, it would be 
 a great convenience ; as I wish to have both his opi¬ 
 nion, and yours, to lay before his Grace, previous to 
 his departure : or even, could you write on Saturday, 
 I might have your letter to show him on Sunday 
 night. He sets off early on Monday. 
 
 If a migration is recommended, I have thoughts 
 of first visiting J. D. ; then, B., if the family could 
 receive me without inconvenience ; then, my brother, 
 at Richmond, and the Heylands*, in the county of 
 Dublin. England, I do not think would be within 
 the reach of my purse this year. 
 
 Mr. M. is with me, so I must conclude. 
 
 Believe me, dear Sir, 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 * Rowley Heyland, Esq., the Bishop’s brother-in-law. 
 
268 
 
 LETTER XLIII. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Oct. 4. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 When I left your room on Wednesday, with a full 
 heart, much more rushed into my thoughts than I 
 could give utterance to ; and, as I passed along in 
 the carriage, I had many feelings, which, notwith¬ 
 standing the weakness that unavoidably mingled with 
 them, I should be sorry ever wholly to part with. 
 Time has since been given, for calm and sober 
 thought; and I am, therefore, now able to state, as 
 well from rational conviction, as from actual feeling, 
 that I never, till this last visit, had a full opportunity 
 of knowing the value of your friendship. Your wise 
 and good advice ; your calm forbearance, under vari¬ 
 ous impertinences, more I trust the result of malady, 
 than of any inveterate mental warp ; your minute 
 consideration for me, in many little points, which I 
 could not, or would not, consider for myself: these, 
 altogether, have cemented my regard for you into a 
 feeling, for which I cannot find a name; but, which I 
 know, I have not towards any other human being ; 
 and were this the only effect produced, it would, 
 surely, be very cheaply purchased, by a two months’ 
 absence from my duties at Cashel. But this is not 
 all. I do firmly believe, that I have got hold of your 
 whole system; so as, at once, to understand, and to 
 love it; but, indeed, can it be understood, without 
 being loved? Sed virtus conspiceretur oculis. The 
 
269 
 
 love of it, however, is not of the frothy, foaming 
 kind: if I at all know myself, it is sedate and steady ; 
 capable of rational explanation ; and, I trust, founded 
 on some incipient experience that our schemes are 
 not theoretical, but substantial, practical, and divinely 
 influential. The fact is, that our system addresses 
 itself to man’s real faculties, as distinct from those 
 shadowy, fictitious, imaginative powers, which too 
 many, indeed almost all, the theologians in the world, 
 are, one way or other, employing in the manufacture 
 of images, which they may fall down and worship. 
 Our objects, have their archetypes in nature; and 
 their correspondent analogies, in the whole system of 
 God’s providential, moral, physical, intellectual, and 
 spiritual government; whilst the objects of most others 
 are mere entia, (pavracriag , resembling nothing in 
 heaven above, or earth beneath; and which, conse¬ 
 quently, though they may afford matter to talk of, and 
 argue about, can neither be substantiated by sound 
 reasoning, nor illustrated by matter of fact. It is 
 curious to observe, how fond people are of disport¬ 
 ing themselves in a sort of moral moonshine; which 
 has just sufficient light to lead them astray, without 
 possessing either penetration, force, or vital warmth. 
 Happy it is that there is another kind of theological 
 system ; and most happy are they, who are led cor¬ 
 dially to embrace it. To them, God is not only a 
 shield,'but a sun ; and every object which they view, 
 is gilt by the rays of his divine benignity ; while they 
 feel within, a steady, and equable ardour of devotion, 
 which, of itself, evinces its heavenly origin. Occa¬ 
 sional obscurations, indeed, I do suppose, are the 
 inevitable lot of humanity ; but may it not be hoped, 
 that, as we advance, these will gradually become less 
 
270 
 
 frequent, and more transient, so as to resemble the 
 light clouds of a summer day ? 
 
 I find that I have run on, I fear almost into rhap¬ 
 sody ; but my pen has been seized with a fit of 
 fluency, which to me is a novelty ; and rather than 
 check it, I am willing to trust to a quality, which I 
 have already tried in you times without number, 
 namely, your patience. 
 
 And now, that I may, in some sort, endeavour 
 to indemnify you, I shall quote for you a passage 
 from a preface to a work, which I picked up in 
 town, and have been delighted with, since reach¬ 
 ing home . . Petri Poiret Bibliotheca Mysticorum . 
 He says, 4 Non semel monui atque explicui duorum 
 generum esse in nobis facilitates pro objectis qui- 
 busvis, sive spiritualibus, sive corporeis; facultates 
 videlicet reales, quae objectum ipsum ejusque veris- 
 sima influvia (ut sic dicam) reipsa suscipiunt. 
 Deinde facultates umbratiles, quae, absente objecto, 
 ejusque influviis remotis, ideas imaginesve horum sus¬ 
 cipiunt solas, imo et fabricant. Hanc facultatem 
 rationis humanae esse ostendi, quam et propterea 
 cum ejus actibus et exercitio, vocavi activam ; illas 
 vero passivas, utpote quae non efficiant objecta 
 sua eorumve influvia viva, sed patiantur ea ac re¬ 
 cipient ; quales vero facultates, pro spiritualibus 
 objectis sunt desiderium sive fames quaedam animae 
 intima, atque eadem immensa, item et intellectus 
 passionis, oculus animae spiritualis (in quibus fidei 
 sedes est), multique deinde spiritualiores in intimis 
 sensus a Deo, divinis eorumque effluentiis realiter, 
 vive, solide affici idonei: qnando contra , anima a 
 rationis ideis affecta superjiciarie , umbratiliter, 
 mortuo modo ac evanido prorsusque picto afficitur 
 
271 
 
 solum , siquidem ipscemet idea? picture duntaocat qua ?- 
 dam mortuce sunt ac steriles , et prorsus evanid^e.’ # 
 
 Does not this passage, and especially the part of it 
 that I have marked emphatically, furnish a wonderful 
 
 comment on what we witnessed at-? Have we 
 
 not here, totidem literis, our friend's pictures ? And 
 could there be a more faithful description of that 
 self-deceptious, rationalizing system, whose evil in¬ 
 fluences we so entirely agree in lamenting ? I can¬ 
 not resist my inclination to transcribe another portion 
 of this remarkable preface. 
 
 ‘ Male pergunt multi qui bene inceperant, at quanto 
 magis qui non satis bene inceperant. Non bene satis 
 inceperant qui pro scopo habent acquirere ideas ac 
 cognitiones rerum spiritualium, uti illas sciant, invo- 
 cato etiam ad hoc divino auxilio. Melius incipiunt, 
 qui pro scopo habent ipsum quasrere Deum, ejusque 
 operationes vivificas et reales, ut cum ipsis tandem 
 mirantur: qui tamen, cum infirmi sint adhuc, ac 
 captus crassioris, adhibent simul, uti subsidia qusedam, 
 
 * I have often taught and shown, that we possess two distinct sorts of facul¬ 
 ties, adapted to all kinds of objects, whether spiritual, or corporeal; namely, 
 real faculties, which actually receive the object itself, and its veritable effluences 
 (if I may be allowed the expression), and umbratile, or unreal faculties, which, 
 in the absence both of the object, and of its effluences, receive their ideas or images 
 only, and sometimes fabricate these images or ideas. I have shown it to be the 
 province of human reason to cultivate this latter faculty, which, therefore, toge¬ 
 ther with its acts and exercise, I have denominated active ; but the faculties of 
 the former class, passive, because they do not form, or give vitality to their proper 
 objects, or the effluences of those objects, but passively receive them ; — which 
 faculties, with reference to spiritual objects, are, appetency, or a certain inborn and 
 insatiable hunger of the soul, — passive intellect, the eye of the spiritual mind,—• 
 (in which two faculties is the proper seat of faith,) and, together with these, more¬ 
 over, many purely spiritual senses, the gifts of God to the inner man; and fitted 
 to be really, vividly, and solidly affected, by the divine effluences of their proper ob¬ 
 jects : while, on the contrary, the soul, when affected by those abstract ideas, which 
 are the offspring of mere reason, is affected only superficially, unreally, and in a 
 dead, evanescent, and, in a word, pictorial manner; since, after all, ideas them, 
 selves are nothing more/than certain dead, barren, and, moreover, fading pictures. 
 
272 
 
 non res tantummodo aliquas externas, sed et ipsius 
 rationis suae ideas atque industriam, occupando illam 
 quanto fieri potest circa spiritualia objecta sibi idea- 
 liter representanda, adjunctis simul desiderii sinceri ad 
 Deum precibus, uti realitatem ille ipsam, divinasque 
 sui effluentias non rationi modo, sed cordi, et intel- 
 lectui passivo, et totis intimis nostris benigne largiatur. 
 Quo vero in exercitio facultatum realium et umbra- 
 tilium simul, si se illi gerant ita ut potiores partes 
 tribuunt rationi, earn magis circa ideo per ratiocinia 
 exercendo, quam cor, intellectum, desideria intimaque 
 omnia, Deo ejusque operationibus ardentius et smpius 
 ofFerendo ; tunc, vel nil promovebunt omnino, vel 
 facilitate ideali activaque superiores partes tandem 
 obtinente, degenerabunt in ideales, superficiarios, &c. 
 
 « At si, in facultatibus realibus exercendis Deoque 
 offerendis sese magis ac magis exerceant, quam in 
 sonitandis, discutiendisque rerum divinarum activi- 
 tate rationis sum ideis ; si circa has, earumque partes, 
 casus, difficultates ratiocionibus examinandas atque 
 perpendendas se indies minus minusque occupent, 
 ut ex occasione eorum quae velut prmcipua iis reprrn- 
 sentantur, ad Deum elevent solidum ilium suum et 
 sincerum mentis, facultatumque realium etintimarum 
 fervidum (quern Petrus ry]v y fiiavoioiv nominat.. 
 
 2 Pet. iii. 1.) turn vero versantur tutius in recta pro- 
 ficiendi via, in qua, ubi Deus eorum sinceritatem ac 
 perseverantiam satis exploraverit, auxilium procul- 
 dubio mittet suum, lucis sum, sapientimque divinm 
 participationem aliquam, qum rationis activitatem 
 corruptam, ejusque imperfectas et umbratiles ideas 
 magis magisque supprimat, ipsa agentis dirigentisque 
 partes suscipiente et hominis animam prmparante ad 
 receptionem magni et adorandi Hospitis illius, qui 
 
dixit ipsemet, Ego et Pater, ad eum veniemus, et 
 mansionem cum eo faciemusd # 
 
 I am particularly pleased with his distinction, ot‘ 
 active, and passive intellect. Does not this latter 
 seem to identify with that child-like temper, or habit 
 of mind, which our Saviour has pronounced a neces¬ 
 sary qualification, for his spiritual kingdom ? And, 
 
 * Many go on ill, who had begun well; how much more, then, they, who 
 have not begun sufficiently well. They have not begun sufficiently well, who 
 aim only to acquire the ideas and convictions of things spiritual, to the end that 
 they may understand them ; even although they may invoke, with this view, the 
 divine aid. They begin better, who have for their aim, to seek after God himself, 
 and his real, and vivifying operations in the soul, to the end that they may be¬ 
 come, at length, captivated with these ; but who, notwithstanding, conscious 
 that they are but weak, and dull of apprehension, employ, at the same time, cer¬ 
 tain helps, drawn not only from external objects, but from the ideas and exercises 
 of their own reason, by occupying this, as much as possible, in the ideal repre¬ 
 sentation of spiritual objects; accompanying their efforts with earnest prayers to 
 Almighty God, that, of his benignity, he will abundantly grant his real pre¬ 
 sence, and divine effluences, not to the reasoning powers only, but to the heart 
 and passive intellect, and to the whole inner man. In which joint exercise of 
 the real, and the unreal faculties, if they are led to give the preference to reason, 
 by exercising it upon ratiocinative subjects, rather than by an ardent, and re¬ 
 peated tender of the heart, the understanding, and all the inmost desires to God, 
 and to his operations, — then, either they will profit nothing by their labour, or 
 eke, the ideal and active faculties gaining the ascendency over their higher na¬ 
 ture, they will degenerate into mere idealists, and builders of castles in the air. 
 
 On the other hand, if they exercise themselves, more and more, in the cultivation 
 of their real faculties, and in the surrender of themselves unto God, rather than 
 in high-sounding discussions about the abstract ideas of divine things, the growth 
 of an over-active exercise of their reason, — if they occupy themselves daily less 
 and less, about examining and weighing these ideas, their parts, casualties, com¬ 
 plexities, by the light of ratiocination, —in order that, taking occasion from those 
 faculties which are represented to them as their chief prerogatives, they may ele¬ 
 vate to the contemplation of God that solid, sincere, and fervid energy of the 
 mind, and of the real and interior faculties, which Saint Peter terms (II Pet. 
 iii. i.) ‘ a pure mind;’ — then, truly, do they become more safely conversant in 
 the right way of making proficiency in walking ; wherein, when God shall have 
 sufficiently scrutinized their sincerity and perseverance, he will doubtless vouch¬ 
 safe his aid, and some participation of his light, and of divine wisdom, — which 
 will, more and more, suppress the corrupt activity of reason, and its imperfect 
 and umbratile ideas, — assuming to itself the offices of agent and directress, and 
 preparing the soul of man for the meet reception of that great and adorable guest, 
 who himself hath said, ‘ I and my Father will come to him ; and we will make 
 our abode with him.’ 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 T 
 
if these things be as Poiret represents them, must we 
 not pronounce that divines are, too commonly, walk¬ 
 ing in a vain shadow, and disquieting themselves in 
 vain? Not, however, I am convinced, in vain, with 
 respect to the final developement of divine truth in 
 the world ; for truly, every erroneous system, and 
 even every erroneous system-monger, contributes a 
 quota towards that analogical, or comparative theo¬ 
 logy, which we are so fond of. And, besides, when 
 we consider the various ways, in which men may 
 and do go wrong, it is matter of deep and humble 
 thankfulness, that we have been led to views, which, 
 the more they are scrutinized, the more conformable 
 will they appear to scripture, to nature, and to im¬ 
 mutable fitness. 
 
 I have now only to request that you will give my 
 kindest compliments to Miss Fergusson. It will not 
 be easy to forget the good treatment I met with, 
 under her hospitable roof; or the unaffected, but 
 cordial attention, which she had the goodness to show 
 me. It was not without its share, in producing that 
 ease and quietness within me which I feel, in spite of 
 a cold contracted on the road ; and which gives me 
 cause to hope, that I shall be enabled to pursue my 
 reading and writing, this winter, with renewed ala¬ 
 crity. I rather feel a desire for sermon-making ; and 
 if health permits, I shall try to-morrow to make an 
 incision in the visitation discourse. 
 
 i 
 
 Recollect how much I love to hear from you, 
 
 And believe me, my dear Sir, 
 
 Your most grateful and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
LETTER XLIV. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Oct. 17. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I seize half an hour’s respite from the bustle of our 
 visitation (having been, as you may suppose, in a 
 crowd all yesterday, and having been levied, from 7 
 o’clock this morning, by various friends,) to let you 
 know, that my troubles have terminated, in a manner 
 far beyond my expectation. At the beginning of 
 last week, I was incapacitated from all exertion, by 
 attacks, half nervous, half bilious. On friday and 
 Saturday I was able to work to my satisfaction, though 
 the toothache reinforced the enemy ; but this last of 
 the confederates kept me awake, all Sunday night. 
 
 Monday I got the tooth drawn, and the effect of 
 the violent pain, coming along with feverishness from 
 want of rest, and biliousness, threw me into a fainting 
 fit. All that day I kept my bed, wonderfully weak 
 but pretty easy. Tuesday or Wednesday, though weak 
 with headaching, I was enabled to work with com¬ 
 fort ; and yesterday I got over matters, as I said, far 
 beyond my expectation. This journal, to another, 
 would become tiresome and impertinent; but I think 
 it will not be wholly without interest to you. 
 
 The Archbishop thanked me publicly, before the 
 clergy, for what he was pleased to call, ‘ the best 
 sermon he had ever heard, whether at a visitation, or 
 on any occasion whatsoever; and expressed his strong 
 wish, in which he was sure the clergy would join, 
 
that it should not be confined to those who heard it, 
 but that I should make it public.’ The clergy joined 
 in the request and . . Ecce iterum Crispinus! 
 
 How far the Archbishop was right, I cannot pre¬ 
 sume to judge. You will be able to draw your own 
 conclusion, when I send the sermon to you. I stand 
 amazed, however, at the general acceptance it has 
 met: the clergy unanimously and cordially approve ; 
 and yet it unequivocally puts forward, some of the 
 very deepest truths of our system. I am happy in 
 feeling that this has not been my own doing. Under 
 such illness, I could not have so written ; and I must, 
 therefore, be enthusiastic enough to conclude, that I 
 was borne through by a higher hand. I was even 
 enabled to deliver it above myself, as Forster* tells 
 me, who heard me preach for the orphans. My 
 feelings, on this matter, are such as I cannot describe. 
 I hope and trust, they are neither vain, nor selfish; 
 for I verily believe that the work is not mine; and I 
 rejoice more, in the success of our cause, than of 
 myself. I shall soon write, and send the sermon 
 prepared for the press; and shall beg of you to put 
 it into Watson’s hands, having first corrected it. 
 
 Believe me, your most affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 * The late Rev. George Forster, afterwards rector of Thurles. 
 
LETTER 39. 
 
 To the Rev . /. Jehh. 
 
 Oct. 20. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 John Torrens’ account of your sermon yesterday, 
 enlarged upon most satisfactorily in your letter of 
 to-day, has given me cordial gratification. I reckoned 
 on something good and comfortable : but, I own, 
 the event has exceeded my calculation. I believe 
 you view it exactly as you ought to do ; and I trust 
 it is but the first-fruits of a harvest of consolation. 
 I shall have real pleasure in attending to the pub¬ 
 lication ; and will do what I can to expedite it; 
 knowing, from experience, that printers are a species 
 of creatures that need the spur, as much, almost, as 
 an ill-conditioned horse. I shall be ready, however, 
 to retract my censure, if they go on jugiter with me, 
 on this approaching occasion. 
 
 Have you yet sat down to the oct. edit, of Cowper’s 
 Life ? if you have not, take to it; as I do think 
 Cowper’s letters, as far as I have gone, (which is as 
 yet but half way through the 2d vol.) are wonder¬ 
 fully interesting. The difference, between the letters 
 written to Mr. Newton, and to his friend Unwin, is 
 particularly striking. There is regard and estimation 
 in the one: there is friendship, genuine and vivid, in 
 the other. In fact, I suppose there are not in the 
 world, letters equal in merit, as compositions, to those 
 of Cowper to Unwin. When I read to you what I 
 
 t 3 
 
 / 
 
278 
 
 had written, in the commencement of my review, re¬ 
 specting Lady Austin and Mrs. Unwin, you thought 
 me rather severe on the former. My continuous 
 reading of Cowper’s life does not lead me to entertain 
 the idea. I rather have a severer idea of Lady A., 
 than I should wi&h to put into writing for publica¬ 
 tion. I almost suspect, she was a very artful woman. 
 But I need not enlarge. I wish you only to read 
 the book continuously, if you have not read it yet; 
 and tell me what occurs to you. 
 
 I should, probably, have been a little advanced in 
 that review, had I not been diverted to another sub¬ 
 ject. I have, this day, been copying a letter to the 
 Christian Observer; which, probably, will require 
 three days to transcribe. It contains remarks on 
 what is said in the paragraph that begins on the 2d 
 column of the 529th page: you will probably guess, 
 on reading, why I animadvert on it. 
 
 When you send me your sermon, put up with it 
 the one I gave you, on your going away: as I have 
 an inclination to read it over again. I know not how 
 it is, whether with, or without reason, but I am im¬ 
 pressed as if my faculty of writing were diminished. 
 I have nearly as much clearness and copiousness: 
 but I feel as if I had less energy. It will comfort 
 me against this, even were it to prove a reality, to 
 see you grow, as I decline. I could add many 
 things, but the post will not wait for me ; therefore, 
 I must be content to tell you, that I am 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 A. K, 
 
279 
 
 LETTER XLV. 
 
 To A . Knox , ivsy. 
 
 Cashel, Oct. 2.5. 1806. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I send you my little sermon, and your very good 
 one along with it: and believe me, while you can 
 write such, you need entertain no manner of appre¬ 
 hension, that your talent for composition is leaving 
 you. With respect to what you say of energy, any 
 apparent declension, may arise from the accidental 
 circumstances of ill health; or, very possibly, it may 
 proceed, from having the mind so full of matter, so 
 desirous of not letting any important truth escape, 
 that there is a comparative negligence, as to manner. 
 I believe, among writers in general, it will be found, 
 that the anxiety about mere style, is inversely as to 
 the quantum of solid, and substantial ideas, with 
 which the mind is stored. 
 
 The Archbishop has asked me two or three times, 
 with evident interest, whether it would be possible 
 to prevail on you to make a visit here. I heartily 
 wish it could; for good might be done. I am per¬ 
 suaded that-is in a happier frame of mind,' 
 
 than he ever was before in the whole course of his 
 life, tie has most happily gained ground, in resigna¬ 
 tion to the divine will; in quietness, under circum¬ 
 stances that could, once, have fretted and perplexed 
 him ; in a relish for domestic life, and a disrelish for 
 mixing much in the common society in the world; 
 
 t 4 
 
280 
 
 and in that which is the fountain and source of all the 
 rest, a spirit of prayer. These things being so, I do 
 think you have a call to come here, if, (which how 
 much I hope it, you will conceive,) your health per¬ 
 mits. -, too, would be delighted to see you. 
 
 # # # # # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 My judgment of the sermon I send, is, that it 
 has neither brilliancy, nor eloquence ; but that it 
 announces some very radical truths, with tolerable 
 clearness and succinctness; and in a manner not 
 likely to alarm the anti-fanatics. The arrangement, 
 X conceive to be good, and pretty well followed up; 
 and all the subordinate branches, pretty fairly traced 
 up to the root. You will perceive that I had in view, 
 your thoughts on analogical preaching; presenting, 
 as well as I could, some ramifications, not detached 
 from the parent stock. After all, I am very doubtful 
 whether it will please in the closet, as much as it did 
 from the pulpit; for, somehow or other, I was so 
 aided that day, as to be, at once, more solemn, and 
 more animated, than X was on any other occasion. 
 
 You will be so good as to tell Watson to employ 
 Graisberry; as he did the last little sermon complete 
 typographical justice. You will see two or three 
 little marginal references and quotations; these, 
 according to your own judgment, you will either 
 retain, or suppress. I own, in spite of Doctor Stop- 
 ford, I have a hankering after classical illustration; 
 and conceive that it may answer two useful purposes : 
 1 st, remove the idea of my being a mere religionist, 
 i. e. a fanatic; 2d, possibly induce young divines, to 
 
281 
 
 read the authors referred to. I know, a striking 
 quotation from the philosophers, or poets, wherever 
 I meet it, sends me to my book-shelves ; and seldom 
 have I cause to regret being thus led to the exem¬ 
 plar ia grasca. However, as I said before, suppress, 
 if it seem right to you to do so. 
 
 I propose sending the title page early in the week; 
 and along with it, a brief inscription to the Arch¬ 
 bishop and clergy ; which Mr. Graisberry can dress 
 up for me in the lapidary style. 
 
 The best mode of publishing it among the clergy 
 of these parts, would be, to send some copies to a 
 bookseller in each of the following towns : . . Cork, 
 Waterford, Limerick, Clonmel. 
 
 I must now conclude. It is 10 o’clock A. M., and 
 to-morrow’s sermon not begun. I have been ill this 
 changeable weather, and had much work in tran¬ 
 scription and emendation. 
 
 On the subject of your letter to the C. O., I cannot 
 help making a quotation from Nicole. His horror 
 against the mysticism of the quietists, led him to 
 adopt the very opinions you are combating. ‘La 
 r&gle la plus sure, que l’on puisse suivre, pour 6viter 
 les surprises, et a laquelle ceux meme qui ont, ou 
 qui s’imaginent avoir, quelque chose d’extraordinaire, 
 devroient s’attacher, est de ne juger de la vertu que 
 par les actions et les oeuvres, et non par tout ce qui 
 se passe dans 1’esprit.’* 
 
 I have a good deal to write to you, at a more con¬ 
 venient season, about the filiation of English plato¬ 
 nism ; especially, that branch of it, which leans 
 towards mysticism ; and a very noble quotation to 
 send you, from Cardinal Petrucci, whose work I had 
 
 * Preface de la priere. 
 
c 28 c 2 
 
 the good fortune to pick up at Archer’s. In some 
 parts, it must be confessed, he is, what I would join 
 with Dr. Magee in calling, transcendental; but, in 
 other places, he has the true philosophy of the Gos¬ 
 pel ; and, throughout, is wonderfully free from the 
 peculiar mischiefs of popery. Certainly, the mystics 
 are the most catholic of all popish writers. The 
 jansenists, excellent in other respects, are bigots com¬ 
 pared to them. 
 
 The mystics spiritualized so much, that they had 
 little relish for the anthropomorphisms of the church 
 of Rome. 
 
 Your most affectionate friend, 
 
 J. J. 
 
 LETTER 40. 
 To the Rev. J . Jebb . 
 
 Monday, Oct. 27. 1806’. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I am in possession of your manuscript, which I have 
 read over with sincere pleasure. It seems, really, as 
 if your mind had not flagged from beginning to end. 
 I will put it into the printer’s hands to-morrow ; and 
 I cannot think of suppressing one of your quotations. 
 I feel with you entirely on that subject. 
 
 I suppose Nicole meant to combat, something dif¬ 
 ferent from what I mean to maintain. The Roman 
 catholic pietism had a very methodistical turn ; look¬ 
 ing for raptures and illapses,. , gushes of joy which, 
 
283 
 
 possibly, could not be analyzed. I leave every thing 
 of this kind to itself: and contend merely for the 
 happiness of loving God, and of exercising that love 
 in devotional intercourse with him : happiness, not 
 merely in the good effects which these habits produce, 
 but in the sweet, rational, self-complacential, yea, 
 direct, disinterested, delight, which they involve. 
 To these sensations, I think religion owes its energy. 
 We are made to love pleasure : and it is in virtue of 
 a delectatio victrix, that Christianity makes us its own. 
 There may be sincere servants without this ; but, as 
 you show, it is love, which, alone, gives liberty and 
 power. These principles, the C. O., I conceive, does 
 not enough attend to ; and even Nicole’s language 
 overlooked them. I conceive they cannot be too 
 much dwelt upon, if they are dwelt upon soberly. 
 
 But to return a moment to your sermon. What 
 peculiarly gratifies me in it, is, progress. If you wrote 
 thus, under much morbid pressure, you will write 
 much better still, when that pressure is removed. In 
 fact, I am full of hope about you. 
 
 LETTER XLYI. 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq. 
 
 Oct. 31. 1806." 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I most cordially thank you, for your minute attention 
 to my sermon, and for your valuable criticisms. I 
 readily adopt them all, with the exception I stated in 
 my last letter, and another that I must now make. 
 
1 rather wish that the cancelled clause, ‘of gentle¬ 
 ness in manner, and firmness in act,’ should be re¬ 
 stored : for, I candidly own, the objections you urge, 
 fail to produce conviction in my mind. Possibly, 
 however, the objection which remains unstated may 
 be very strong ; and, then, I should not have so much 
 firmness and decision, as to oppose you ; though, 
 perhaps, I may forfeit the praise of prudence and 
 gentleness, by the battle I am making. I conceive 
 the obnoxious clause is by no means expletory, but 
 adds, substantially, to the idea of prudence and de¬ 
 cision ; gentleness, being more of a moral quality, 
 than prudence ; and firmness in act, not being, like 
 decision, confined to the scire and the velle, but, evi¬ 
 dently, including the posse. The clause, as you 
 justly observe, is obviously proverbial; but I do not 
 see that it is, therefore, necessarily quaint; and I am 
 rather glad to have an opportunity of naturalizing a 
 good aphorism; which I do not recollect having 
 ever met, in any other than a foreign garb. But I 
 have another reason for wishing to retain it, partly 
 rhythmical, and partly philological. The period, as 
 it stands in my MS., has a fulness, which it wants, 
 as abridged by you ; and I candidly own, that, in its 
 curtailed form, there appears to me a disagreeable 
 leanness and tameness. But, besides, the ‘ above 
 all/ in the next sentence, requires to be ushered in, 
 by a fuller enumeration of particulars than you would 
 leave; and I do not think I can well spare my 
 ‘ gentleness and firmness/ though they were to be 
 retained only as running footmen, to the more im¬ 
 portant personages that follow. Still, however, your 
 unpleaded reason may be strong. Yet, not even a 
 surmise that it is one, which has some personal bear¬ 
 ing as to myself, inclines me to give up the little 
 
28.5 
 
 clause: the upshot of the whole, therefore, is, that, 
 according to your judgment, you will act for the 
 best. It is very far from my wish to be pugnacious ; 
 all the rest of your criticisms I cordially approve ; 
 but, when I am not convinced, I think it right to say 
 the truth. 
 
 Omit, if your private reason is forcible, and I will 
 take it on trust. 
 
 The note about 4 Judgment to come,’ which I sent 
 in my last, was most hastily, and therefore, I fear, 
 lamely and incorrectly written. I have no copy of it 
 by me ; but have conned it over again in my mind, 
 and will give it in an improved form on the other side ; 
 so that you may, if you see no good reason to the 
 contrary, send it to the press. I own I think the 
 quotation ad rem ; and of a nature which one would 
 like to put forward in these times, when we should 
 accumulate every image, from every quarter, that 
 may, even remotely, tend to make that which is un¬ 
 seen, predominate over that which is seen. With 
 this view, I have added a translation for English rea¬ 
 ders ; the best I could make, but a very poor copy of 
 the noble original. 
 
 I hope you did not write by yesterday’s post, as 
 our mail was robbed to-night. Believe me your most 
 faithful and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 Suppress the note if you think proper. 
 
 Note. — It may, perhaps, appear, at first sight, that ‘ judgment 
 to come,’ is not strictly 4 a topic of natural religion and it must 
 be acknowledged, that both the terrors and mercies of that day are 
 adequately declared in the gospel alone. Still, however, we have 
 the united evidence of sages, lawgivers, and poets, to convince 
 us that, on this awful subject, wonderfully just and sublime views 
 
286 
 
 presented themselves to the heathen world. One specimen from 
 Diphilus, or Philemon, for the author is not fully ascertained *, 
 may prove not uninteresting. It is preserved by Clemens Alex- 
 andrinus . . Strom., lib. v. p. 721. Edit. Pott, by Justin Martyr, 
 also, Eusebius, and Theodoret. See the text revised, and metri¬ 
 cally arranged, in the Excerpta of Grotius. 
 
 Oiei xv t ovg ftoivovrag, a NivojpaTf, 
 
 TpvQyg aicocxrig [xETaXu^ovTag ev (3ut) 
 
 X\E(pvye.vou to Qeiov u'g XEXrjGoTag ; 
 
 E<xriV Siiojs otpBccXfxog og roc. iTtxvtf opa’ 
 
 K cci ya% xaG’ e A§»jv rgitovg vopu^ousv, 
 
 M lav fiiHouav, %’ ccTEpuv axE^ccv oSov. 
 
 E i yap 'biY.ouog k’ axE^Yj q e^ovxiv ev, 
 
 'H yr\ 5s KocXvipEt rovg Svo xa> xtavri Xpova, 
 
 AptcoC^ ocitEXOcov, vcXett, aftoaTEpEi, Yivna,’ 
 
 M^Sev 7rXayvj0vj^* extiv vtav *A5ov y.pixig 
 'HvT TEp YtQlY\XEl 0£Of, 0 TfaVT&V 'bEXTtOTYig, 
 
 C Ov T OVOfACX, cpo^EfOV) Ovh' CCV OVOjJLOXCUfjS EJU’ 
 
 ‘O t oiq dy.apTccvovxi, ntpoq [jt.YjY.og, fiiov 
 A iftaxi. 
 
 Thinkest thou, Niceratus, that the dead, who have partaken 
 every luxury in life, shall escape the Deity, as it were, by 
 stealth ? There is a just eye, that seeth all things. We believe, 
 also, that, in Hades, are two paths ; the way of the righteous, and 
 the way of the wicked. For, if the righteous and the wicked are 
 to inhabit a common abode, if the earth is to conceal them both 
 for ever, then go, plunder, steal, defraud, destroy. But be not 
 deceived. There is a judgment even in Hades, which God will 
 execute, the Lord of all, whose dreadful name I dare not utter; 
 who giveth to the trangressors a protracted life [[of misery.] 
 
 * Whoever be the author, the high antiquity of the passage is undoubted. 
 Philemon flourished about 300 years B. C.; and Diphilus was nearly his con¬ 
 temporary. 
 
<287 
 
 LETTER XLVII. 
 To A . Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Nov. 10. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Though I cannot fully enter into all you said, last 
 Sunday se’nnight, about abstraction, and metaphysic, 
 I cordially agree in your conclusion, that abstract 
 ratiocination might as well warm us, by bandying 
 about the idea of a fire, as make us good, by syllo¬ 
 gizing about goodness. And here, I conceive, lies 
 the main difference, between the aristotelic, and the 
 platonic philosophy : the former, frequently, going as 
 far, as precise definition, accurate discrimination, and 
 subtle reasoning, can go; while the latter has a cer¬ 
 tain nameless charm, which makes us feel, and love 
 virtue. The one has a genial warmth, which pene¬ 
 trates and melts our hearts ; while the other is ‘ cold 
 and clear,’ like Robinson’s sharp frosty night. 
 
 Dr. Gillies, Dr. Enfield, and the whole corps of 
 rationalizing utility men, are drawn up in battle array, 
 against the Alexandrine school of platonists; whom 
 they pelt with pebbles, stolen from the German ma¬ 
 gazine of Brucker, Mosheim, &c. For I am con¬ 
 vinced they have never read, the writings of the men 
 they vilify. In these days, it has been found very 
 easy, to procure a stock of second-hand learning ; 
 and dressing it up with some terseness and flippancy, 
 to exhibit it most ostentatiously, to the bepuzzlement 
 of the ignorant, and the bedazzlement of the supeiv 
 
288 
 
 ficial. If you wish for an exhibition of this nature, 
 you may find it in the dissertations, which accompany 
 Gillies’ Aristotle; who, because he had learning 
 enough to translate the Nicomachian Ethics, conceives 
 himself entitled to malign writers whom, as I said 
 before, I am sure he never read. If we are to be¬ 
 lieve his account, Plotinus was the veriest wronghead 
 that ever breathed; an arrogant, self-sufficient, fana¬ 
 tical declaimed Whether he deserves this character, 
 we may form a tolerable judgment, from the quota¬ 
 tions given by John Smith: but some continuous 
 reading of his own original work, has lately raised 
 him highly in my estimation. In parts, indeed, he 
 takes some transcendental flights ; but even when he 
 is least sound and sober, we discover a noble prin¬ 
 ciple at bottom ; which he that reads eclectically, is 
 able to separate, from the excesses to which it is 
 carried. In his greek, from an extreme density, and 
 a frequent use of platonic technicalities, he is often 
 ‘ obscurorum obscurissimus and his translator and 
 commentator, Ficinus, is himself so deeply initiated 
 in those Alexandrine mysteries, that he often adds 
 new perplexities, to those of the original. Still, how¬ 
 ever, I do not mean to be discouraged from digging 
 in that mine, which was explored to such noble pur¬ 
 pose, by Cudworth, Smith, and the rest of our beloved 
 latitudinarians. For, I verily think, making every 
 allowance for mysticism, obscurity, and an excess of 
 austere discipline, that Plotinus has more of the 
 QsostirjS vovg, than any of the heathens I have yet 
 looked into: and in this, he, assuredly, excels his 
 master, that he would turn with abhorrence, from the 
 impurities tolerated, in Plato’s fanciful Republic. 
 
 If you have Plotinus, I could be glad you would 
 direct your attention, to the second book of his first 
 
289 
 
 Ennead. He there divides, or rather distributes vir¬ 
 tue, into four stages of progression. 1 . The civil 
 or political. 2 . The purgative. 8 . The purified. 
 4. The exemplary. Beyond the first and lowest of 
 these stages, it appears to me, the aristotelic school, 
 with its offset, our utility men, Watson, Paley, 
 Search, &c., have seldom, if ever, advanced. Along 
 with this, which occupies only a few pages, should 
 be read, Macrobius in Somn. Scip., lib. i. cap. 8 . 
 This is a very brief, animated, and satisfactory abs¬ 
 tract, of Plotinus’ scheme ; I think you will join with 
 me in admiring it, as one of the noblest specimens 
 extant of eclectic philosophy: carried indeed to a 
 greater height, than mere philosophy ever could 
 arrive at, except theoretically ; but still, exhibiting 
 that, which should be the object of every Christian, 
 that which Christians are divinely enabled to attain. 
 Whether you look at Plotinus or not, do, by all 
 means, procure Macrobius. 
 
 I have been just reading, and with deep interest, 
 the 6 th book of Plotinus’ 1 st Ennead: it is a trea¬ 
 tise 7 rsgi xolXqu. It is not very long ; and many of 
 its views, wonderfully harmonize with your own. 
 Perhaps, a little specimen of it, not literally translated, 
 but, I believe, pretty fairly represented, may interest, 
 or at least amuse you. He resolves corporeal beauty, 
 into a communication of reason from the divine arti¬ 
 ficer : giving shape, order, and harmony, to that 
 matter, which would, otherwise, be shapeless and 
 deformed. To xcCKov yiyvsrou Xoyou otto Qeicov 
 
 e^QovTog xoivcovux. Of this beauty, we judge, by com¬ 
 paring the external object, with a certain innate 
 internal formula, which is the pattern of the beautiful: 
 as an architect judges of a building, by its conformity 
 to the plan in his own mind; or, as a good man is 
 
 VOL. i. u 
 
290 
 
 delighted with the rudiments of truth and goodness 
 in a promising youth, because they agree with the 
 archetypal picture of virtue in his own soul; or, as 
 sweet sounds, awaken latent harmonies within 11s, 
 and thus produce a vivid idea of the beautiful. 
 
 Moral beauty, can no more be relished by an im¬ 
 pure soul, than a man born blind, can conceive and 
 describe the beauty of colours. They, cannot do 
 justice to the brightness of virtue, who do not 
 internally perceive, how beautiful is the countenance 
 of righteousness and temperance, so that the evening 
 or morning is not so lovely ; and, who do not con¬ 
 template moral excellence, with an admiration such 
 as the beauties of nature excite, in the tasteful eye. 
 What, says he, is the nature of your feelings, respect¬ 
 ing things invisible, when you contemplate generous 
 studies, correct manners, chaste morals, virtuous 
 habits; in a word, the beauty of the soul ? What 
 emotions, what transports! How ardently do you 
 desire, to be freed from every bodily incumbrance, 
 to commune with your own spirit! It is thus that 
 true lovers are affected. And what is it, that excites 
 such marvellous affections? It is not form, nor 
 colour, nor magnitude : but it is the unembodied 
 soul, decked with no other ornaments, than simple 
 modesty, and the native brilliancy of virtue. It is, 
 when you behold, either in yourselves or in others, 
 magnanimity, firm principle, pure chastity; manliness 
 with undaunted countenance; seemliness and mo¬ 
 desty, with intrepid gait, and undisturbed tranquil¬ 
 lity ; and a deiform mind, shedding its lustre over 
 all these great qualities ; eiri rouroig rov S-sos/Stj 
 
 VOW ETTlKOLlKirOVTOL. 
 
 He had before stated, that the best mode of 
 arriving at the true nature of moral beauty, was, to 
 
291 
 
 lay down the nature of its opposite; and I think you 
 will join with me, that his description of a base, 
 degenerate soul, is masterly. 
 
 The base soul is intemperate, unjust, teeming with 
 desires, overwhelmed with fears, envious, grovelling, 
 mortal: the slave of impure pleasures ; hurried away 
 by the impulse of animal passions; accounting tur¬ 
 pitude, enjoyment , a turpitude, which insinuates 
 itself under the semblance of adventitious good; 
 which contaminates the soul; agglutinates it to evil; 
 deprives it of spiritual life, and pure perception; 
 mingles it with manifold death; precludes it from 
 seeing any longer, what the soul ought to see; forces 
 from it the privilege of self-possession ; ever dragging 
 it to outer and infernal darkness; tco sXxsaSou olsi 
 
 7 t 
 
 7Tp0g TO XOil TO TCOLTCOy 7COLI TO (TXOTEIVOV. 
 
 He, is not the unhappy man, who possesses not 
 those objects, which are beautiful to the external 
 senses; or who fails to obtain power, dominion, or 
 kingdom : but he, that is destitute of the sole, and 
 single possession, for which universal dominion, the 
 empire of earth, and sea, and heaven, might worthily 
 be rejected and contemned. But, by what dexterity 
 of contrivance, can we gain a sight of this inestimable 
 beauty; which remains enshrined, as it were, in a 
 holy sanctuary; and never comes forth, lest profane 
 eyes should behold it ? Whosoever can, let him enter, 
 and proceed to the inmost recess: leaving behind 
 him, his very sense of common vision; not casting a 
 look or a thought, on that corporeal beauty, which 
 before enthralled him; or, if he do meet corporeal 
 beauty, let him consider, that it is but the image, the 
 outline, the shadow of substantial good : and let him 
 fly to the (divine) reality. For, if he pursue any 
 object of the senses, as a real existence, his fate will 
 
 u 2 
 
<292 
 
 resemble that of the victim in the fable, who, reach¬ 
 ing after a beautiful shadow in the water, plunged 
 into the stream ; and disappeared for ever. It being 
 most certain that he, who devotes himself to mere 
 corporeal beauty, plunges, not his body, but his soul, 
 into dark and dismal depths; where he must blindly 
 wander, conversing only with shades, whether in 
 Hades, or in this present life. Here, then, any one 
 may cry, (with more truth and justice, than Ulysses 
 in the Odyssey,) ‘ Let us fly to our dear country,’ 
 Qsuycofjiev (piXrjv 7rarp/&a. But, how shall we 
 fly, how escape the magic of Circe, or Calypso ? 
 For this is the real meaning of the fable, which 
 represents Ulysses unwilling to remain, though soli¬ 
 cited by every thing, that could enchant his eyes, 
 or fascinate his senses. Our country, is that, from 
 whence we originally came; and there, we have a 
 Father. How, then, shall we escape? Where is 
 our fleet? It is not on foot we are to go; for our 
 feet could carry us only from one part of this earth 
 to another. We need prepare, neither chariots, nor 
 ships: by laying all these aside, and not looking, (to 
 any thing earthly) but as it were, closing our eyes, 
 we are to exercise another vision, and to awaken 
 higher senses; which all possess, but few employ. 
 
 But what does this interior eye behold? When it 
 is first awakened, it cannot behold objects of dazzling 
 lustre : the soul is therefore to be gradually advanced ; 
 first, we are to contemplate fair studies; then, good 
 works; then, the interior of those virtuous men, who 
 perform those good works. But, how are we to in¬ 
 spect the beauty of a holy soul? Retire within 
 thyself; examine thine own interior; and, if thou 
 dost not find it beautiful, imitate the statuary, who 
 pares off* this, planes that, renders one part smooth. 
 
293 
 
 another pure, till he, at length, produces a beautiful 
 countenance. Thus, do thou, remove whatever is 
 superfluous; rectify whatever is perverse ; purify 
 whatever is dark, till it gain lustre: and cease not 
 labouring thy statue, till the deiform splendour of 
 virtue, shine forth in thee; till thou seest a sound 
 mind enthroned in holy purity. If thou arrivest at 
 this state; if thou seest thyself thus, and inhabitest 
 thyself in purity, freed from every impediment to 
 becoming thus one : having nothing foreign, mingled 
 with thy internal essence, but being thyself entirely 
 one true light; not measured by size; not circum¬ 
 scribed by figure; not bounded, even, by immense 
 magnitude ; but altogether immeasurable, as being 
 greater than all magnitude, and fuller than all quan¬ 
 tity : if thou seest thyself arrived at this pitch of 
 good confidence, concerning thyself; and so far 
 advanced, that thou needest no longer a guide: here 
 steadfastly fix thy mental eye ; for it is such an eye 
 only, that beholdeth consummate beauty. But, if 
 thine eye be disordered by vice, or not purified, or 
 through cowardice, unable to behold exceeding 
 splendour, then it will be dark, and incapable of 
 viewing this glorious vision, even though it were 
 pointed out to thee. He that will see, must bring a 
 visive faculty, congenial, and similar, to the object 
 contemplated. Eye never yet beheld the sun, that 
 was not soliform; neither can a soul contemplate 
 beauty, except it be itself beautiful: and so, he must 
 become all deiform, and all beauty, who is to see 
 Grod, and (archetypal) beauty ; ysvefrSa) Srj irpcvTov 
 Qso&iSyg 7 rag, koli x<x\o$ 7r«£, si [xsT^si su<ra<r6ou ©sov rs 
 
 XCLl xcthov. 
 
294 
 
 1 have now brought my prolix transcript to an 
 end: it grew upon me, and amused me; and I could 
 not deny myself the pleasure of proceeding; though 
 perhaps, that which was interesting to me, with the 
 noble original before me, will to you appear very flat, 
 stale, and unprofitable, through the dusky medium in 
 which I have enveloped it. 
 
 My studies have, of late, been pretty vigorous; 
 which is, in a good measure, owing, to my being 
 better provided, than hitherto, with books that have 
 served as a sort of ecclesiastical heralds; especially, 
 so far as greek philosophy, and experimental religion, 
 are concerned. Poiret’s Bibliotheca Mysticorum, 
 Fabliaus’ Bibliotheca Grseca, and Buddeus’ Isa- 
 goge Historica Theologica, have answered, and ex¬ 
 celled my expectation: and with a few more such 
 indexes, and a tolerably ancient library at my com¬ 
 mand, if my health is spared, I do hope I may 
 become somewhat better qualified, for an under work¬ 
 man to you. At present, I think I can trace the 
 chrysostomian school, to Philo Judaeus; who was, 
 merely, the patriarch of later platonism, as it was 
 modified by the Alexandrine eclectics; but, I also 
 think, that, Ephrem Syrus, Macarius, and other 
 fathers of the desert, drank deeply of the same 
 fountain ; though their platonism assumed a more 
 mystical form, than that of Clemens Alexandrinus, 
 Chrysostom, or even Origen himself. The platonism 
 of the former, (Ephr. Mac. &c.) cannot be questioned, 
 on an inspection of their writings ; and, so far as 
 Macarius is concerned, it is well illustrated, in the 
 preface to the English translation you have. But 
 the gradations of mysticism are curious: in which, I 
 just find, I am borne out by Poiret. He yloes not 
 include either Clemens Alexand., or Chrysostom, in 
 
295 
 
 his catalogue of mystics. To Origen, he does assign a 
 place, styling him, ‘ illuminatus a Deo ;’ Macarius, he 
 characterizes, as 4 theodidactus, solidus, realissimus, 
 penetrans/ And Ephrem Syrus, he calls ‘ totus 
 affectiones, et viscera.’ The mixed character of pla¬ 
 tonism, and mysticism, is, perhaps, better exemplified 
 in Dr. H. More, than in any other modern. For, 
 while he was deeply read in Plato, Plotinus, &c., it is 
 remarkable, that the book to which he attributes his 
 deepest, and happiest views of religion, was the 
 Theologia Germanica; a work, which may be deemed 
 the parent source of German pietism; which was 
 edited, for the fourth or fifth time, by John Arndt; 
 having, long before, been re-edited, by Luther. 
 Poiret gives this character of the work : . . ‘ Antiquus, 
 Celebris, maxime radicalis, et exquisitissimus libellus ; 
 qui nil fere quam mera, Christianas maxime interioris, 
 et practice theologias, principia continet. Deum 
 esse omnia; hominem esse nihil; malum appro- 
 priationis; abnegatio sui, et reliquorum omnium: 
 turn discrimen veri et falsi luminis, verge et falsge 
 libertatis, puri et mercenarii amoris, constituunt 
 argumentum, de quo ibidem agitur, sine notabili 
 quidem methodo, attamen tali ratione, quas intimas 
 soliditatis, et ab anima a Deo illuminata profecta esse 
 sentitur.’ * 
 
 Now that I have got into the subject of mystics, I 
 
 * An ancient, celebrated, most profound, and exquisite little book; which con¬ 
 tains scarcely any thing but the pure elements of interior Christianity, and prac¬ 
 tical theology. That God is all in all; that man is nothing; the evil consequences 
 of selfish appropriation; the denial of one-self, and of all things belonging to 
 self; also, the discrimination of the true from false light, of the true from false 
 liberty, — these topics compose the argument which is there treated, without 
 exact method indeed, yet with such convincing reasoning, as you must at once 
 perceive to be of the most solid kind, and to be the offspring of a soul illuminated 
 by God. 
 
 VOL. I. # U 4 
 
296 
 
 feel disposed, to give you a specimen, which I pro¬ 
 mised you some time since, of Cardinal Petrucci. 
 
 ‘ It is certain, by the testimony of the Apostle, that 
 all who are predestinated, must be made conformable 
 to the image of the Son of God. It is, therefore, 
 equally certain, that it must be the chief care, and 
 principal endeavour, of one who earnestly desires to 
 be reckoned amongst the number of those, to keep 
 the eye of his soul closely fixed, on the most holy 
 original, Christ; to draw in himself, as resembling, 
 and perfect a copy of it, as possibly can be done, by 
 Divine grace. We have, then, thus far, foreseen the 
 conditions, that have embellished, and graced all the 
 works of Christ; and we must do what in us lies, to 
 adorn our own, with the like qualities. Christ was 
 the noblest of all agents; and the most perfect no¬ 
 bility of the soul, proceeds from his virtue and holi¬ 
 ness. Let, therefore, the inward purity and candour 
 of our conscience, be the fundamental condition of 
 our acting and working: . . ‘ And the Lord had respect 
 unto Abel and to his offerings; but unto Cain, and 
 his offering, he had not respect.’ Respect, from God, 
 is, his approbation and love; but he never approves, 
 or loves the gifts, unless he has first, in his mercy, 
 accepted the giver. Abel and his oblations, were 
 accepted by God ; and the cause of his being so, 
 came from his innocence ; and because he was up¬ 
 right. We should not have so great a regard to 
 what we do , as to what we truly are . For, were we 
 good in the inward man, our actions would be like¬ 
 wise good; and, if we were righteous at the bottom, 
 our actions would be so too. Many place holiness, 
 in good works; but never so much as dream, that it 
 consists, in being possessed of a principle of sanctity. 
 Let our works appear never so holy, yet they do not 
 
297 
 
 satisfy us, so far as they are works: but, in propor¬ 
 tion as we are godly; and as they spring from the 
 centre of a holy soul. It is a holy heart, which sanc¬ 
 tifies every thing we set about; and that man is holiest, 
 whose soul is best replenished, with the grace and 
 love of God ; and his works are still the better quali¬ 
 fied, the greater respect he has to the glory of God. 
 Our diligent endeavour, therefore, should be, to keep 
 this secret ground and centre of our soul, undefiled 
 and enlarged; seeing, without all question, man’s 
 essential happiness is rooted and placed in it. It is 
 the mind that is good, and well experienced in the 
 pure love of God, which makes our actions perfect 
 and accepted, in the sight of the Divine majesty. 
 What may be drawn from this heavenly doctrine, is 
 this, that, seeing the true godliness of human actions 
 does not consist, in the natural, or material goodness 
 of them only ; but, in that which is supernatural also, 
 proceeding from sanctifying grace, and from love ; 
 then, human actions shall be proportionably good, by 
 how much the more fervent love, and abundant grace, 
 they are advanced to the glory of God. Hence, it 
 comes to pass, thfat very oft, a poor, godly woman, 
 who receives the sacrament with earnestness of love 
 to God, deserves more than the Priest who conse¬ 
 crates it: and a poor, provided he be a devout 
 man, has a greater interest in reward, than many 
 great and learned doctors, who shine, by their preach¬ 
 ing and ingenious performances, like so many suns 
 in the church of God: and that, because the greater 
 measure of love, makes the action, that is meanest of 
 itself become the holier of the two : and, therefore, 
 the sanctity of the agent, is the root and foundation 
 of holy actions.’ 
 
 On reviewing what I have written, I entertain 
 
298 
 
 strong suspicions that this may fairly be styled, a very 
 pedantic letter. You will, however, take in good 
 part, and make candid allowance, for my prolusions. 
 When a person lives much alone ; and has far more 
 converse with the dead than the living; it is perhaps 
 impossible, not to catch somewhat of the manner of 
 his associates; and of course, to talk and write, when 
 he can do it freely, like those of ‘ olden time.’ It 
 would be a desirable faculty to be able to give, rather 
 the spirit, than the body, of these ancient gentry; to 
 imbibe their views, sentiments, and divine enthusiasm; 
 and, then, to pour it forth, in one’s own words. 
 This, I have not yet, even partially, attained ; but 
 may I not hope, that, when more fully charged, I 
 shall be enabled to appear less pedantic, and more 
 original ? You know what Horace says. 
 
 Rem tibi Socraticae poterunt ostendere chartae, 
 
 Verbaque, provisam rem, non invita sequuntur.* 
 
 Now, I am, at present, gleaning my rem , from philo¬ 
 sophy, and from the scriptures; and do trust, that, 
 through higher influences than Horace knew of, 
 words will follow. It is not, however, to be for¬ 
 gotten, that it is not the most diligent and laborious 
 study of the ancients, that will do : for you know, 
 
 . . . . ‘ who reads 
 
 Incessantly, and to his reading brings not 
 A spirit and judgment equal or superior, 
 
 Uncertain and unsettled still remains, 
 
 Deep versed in books, and shallow in himself.’ 
 
 The sapere must be the principium et fons: . . the 
 living principle, in comparison with which, all the 
 rest sink into mere mechanical instruments; which 
 
 * Fit matter, first, philosophy affords, 
 
 And, from fit matter, flow the willing words. 
 
299 
 
 are useless, and even dangerous, unless they be 
 guided by sound wisdom and discretion. 
 
 As this is a letter of quotation, I must give you 
 something to the present purpose, from the above 
 mentioned Theologia Germanica. 
 
 ‘ Quamvis bonum sit inquirere, aut explorare, atque 
 etiam cognoscere, quid boni sanctique viri scripserint, 
 aut passi fuerint; aut quomodo vixerint, quidve Deus 
 in eis, et per eos egerit et voluerit: tamen esset cen- 
 ties satius, ut homo exploraret, et cognosceret, quis, 
 quaiisve sit status vitse suae j et quid Deus, in eo, sit, 
 et velit, et agat; et ad quam rem Deus eo velit uti, 
 vel nolit. Itaque hoc quoque verum est, quod dici- 
 tur: Nunquam tarn bonum est exire, quin sit intus 
 manere melius.’ # 
 
 And now to descend to business. You must know, 
 that my authorship begins to look out for some tidings 
 of his sermon. Methinks, if the printer and publisher 
 were decently active, it might be out by this time: 
 whenever it is ready, I wish it to be properly adver¬ 
 tized, and, perhaps, it might be well to have some 
 copies sent to the other booksellers, Keene, Dugdale, 
 Archer, Mercier, and Mahon. It is only by seeing 
 them lying on a counter, that people will be led to 
 think of purchasing such light ephemeral things, as 
 my sermon: and yet, if it do contain any important 
 truth, it is desirable that it should be bought and 
 read. I shall, also, be glad to have copies sent to 
 
 * Although it may be desfrable to inquire, to investigate, yea even to ascertain 
 by actual study and research, what good and holy men have written or under¬ 
 gone ; what was their manner of life ; and what things God wrought, or willed, in 
 them, and by them: nevertheless, it would be a hundred-fold better for a man, to 
 examine into and ascertain his own actual state; what manner of life he is living ; 
 and what God may be, and will, and work in him; and for what purposes, God 
 may, or may not, be willing to make use of him. Therefore there is truth in 
 the saying; ‘ It is never so good for us to go abroad, but that it may be still 
 better for us to stay at home.’ 
 
300 
 
 the people in town, whom I shall specify in the 
 envelope ; and through the Castle, if it would not be 
 trespassing, to certain other people, whom I shall 
 likewise mention. I shall myself want 30 copies, 
 which you can probably send me by post. My friends 
 among the clergy must be presented with copies; and 
 the Archbishop wants to send one to the Bishop of 
 London, with a particular note accompanying it. 
 
 Besides, my friend-wishes to send copies to the 
 
 Bishops of Waterford, Cork, and Limerick. 
 
 I presume I have fairly tired you, so believe me, 
 
 dear Sir, 
 
 most cordially and gratefully yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 41. 
 
 To the Rev . J. Jebb. 
 
 Nov. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Short as it may be, I will say something to you this 
 afternoon, lest you should entertain one day’s doubt 
 of my entire pleasure, at being the depositary of your 
 interesting researches. Your extracts may, possibly, 
 have some qualities, which your own thoughts and 
 expressions would not have. But, though the latter 
 will always gratify the most, I think I may engage, 
 that what you transcribe, . . much more what you 
 translate, . . I shall always be glad to have. 
 
 I will look at Plotinus, and will get Macrobius. 
 Thinking, as I do, that platonism was prepared pro- 
 
301 
 
 videntially, not only as preliminary to Christian piety, 
 but as a kind of fermenting principle, to act occa¬ 
 sionally in reinvigorating it; I see much congruity, 
 in its latterly assuming such a form, as fitted it, more 
 than ever, for the use to which it was to be put. 
 The passage, of which you have given the substance, 
 is in as great readiness for being usefully applied to 
 Christian purpose, as any piece of heathen philosophy 
 could be. 
 
 Your observations on the mystic writers, are to 
 me highly interesting; and do not hesitate in com¬ 
 municating all that strikes you. I will carefully lay 
 by your letters ; and they will of course be, hereafter, 
 if it please God, for your use, as well as for mine. 
 It is most curious, and I own, to me, very satisfac¬ 
 tory, that such a line should be drawn between 
 fathers who were, and who were not, mystical. I 
 feel a sensation of pleasure, that such a line can be 
 clearly drawn. For, much as I value the use mystics 
 have been, I own, I no more relish them for myself, 
 on the one hand, than I do calvinists on the other. 
 We may use them with much information, and inno¬ 
 cent entertainment; though, now and then, with a 
 touch of regret: . . 
 
 ' The latent tracts, the giddy heights explore 
 Of those who blindly creep, or sightless soar 
 
 but we cannot but be pleased, to have it distinctly 
 made out, by unprejudiced arbiters, that we belong 
 to neither class ; neither creep with dogmatists, nor 
 soar with mystics. By the way, are not the predes- 
 tinarian class, the same transcendentalists, on the 
 philosophy of Aristotle, that the mystics are, in that 
 of Plato ? And have they not both, in their several 
 ways, been efficient out-guards, the one of truth, the 
 
other of love ? I wonder had mysticism any connec¬ 
 tion with the belief of transubstantiation ? 
 
 One would think it might have disposed minds to 
 receive such a system ; if it were only by its misty 
 indistinctness. 
 
 The tendency of the lutheran church to mysticism, 
 strengthens my idea of its being the successor of the 
 ancient greek church. But I must now say no 
 more; as our clock has just struck seven. How 
 excellent are Petrucci’s Remarks ; and also that 
 passage from the Theologia Germ. : si sic omnia ! I 
 will attend to all you say; and shall find some way, 
 Castle or otherwise, of forwarding your several pre¬ 
 sents. With your leave, I would only add Keene, 
 Dugdale, &c. to our own publisher; as, though I am 
 no bigot, I have no great relish for making such a 
 use of R. C. booksellers, except they were farther 
 from the characters in S. Matthew vii. 6., than either 
 
 -or-have ever appeared to me to be. But 
 
 this shall be just as you say in your next, after re¬ 
 ceiving this. 
 
 Reason acts too much without love, in dogmatists. 
 Love acts too much without reason, in mystics. 
 Happy, that, even in ancient days, there was a Chry¬ 
 sostom, in whom love and reason were blended and 
 attempered. I love Macarius ; and Ephrem Syrus, 
 as far as I know him : but I rejoice in Chrysostom; 
 and Poiret’s leaving him out, is to me highly grati- 
 tying- 
 
 Never talk about pedantry, when you are talking 
 to 
 
 Yours always most cordially, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
303 
 
 LETTER XLVIII. 
 
 To A . Knox , 
 
 Cashel, Nov. 17. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 The encouragement you have given me, emboldens 
 me to offer a few more observations ; which, after all, 
 are perhaps not worth being communicated. The 
 mystic, and scholastic theology, which flourished, 
 at the same period, in the Latin church, appear to 
 have served that very two-fold purpose, for which, 
 we have seen, so many providential provisions were 
 made. This is distinctly adverted to, by a most un¬ 
 prejudiced witness; Jac. Thomasius, (quoted by 
 Buddeus. Isagog. Hist. Theol. p. 687 .) He thus 
 writes, ‘ I)urn partes sunt Christianismi; vera tides, 
 pia vita. Ilia ad intellectum, hsec ad voluntatem 
 refertur ; ilii scholastica, huic mystica theologia sub¬ 
 venire conata est olim, sed ita, ut plurimum labis 
 adspergeretur. In utraque repurganda laboraverint 
 nostri, cum exemplo illis prgeivisset Lutherus. Huic 
 enim bella fuere, non cum scholasticis modo docto- 
 ribus, sed cum enthusiastis quoque, et fanaticis. Post 
 Lutherum, quasi partitis operis, alii scholasticam, alii 
 mysticam, magis magisque reformare sunt adgressi. 
 E quibus, Joannes Arndius maxime negotium sibi 
 sumpsit mysticse theologize refingendae in faciern 
 saniorem. ,# I have extended this quotation so far, 
 
 * Christianity consists of two parts; true faith and holy living: the former 
 relates to the understanding, the latter to the will. To the one, the scholastic, to 
 the other, the mystic theology, in former times lent their aid, but with great per- 
 
 VOL. I. # u 8 
 
304 
 
 because the latter part of it goes to show, that, even 
 in the Lutheran church, (though I agree with you in 
 deeming it, the succession of the ancient Greek 
 church) there was a provision for the two-fold func¬ 
 tion, of guarding truth, and exciting love. 
 
 Buddeus, following the opinion of many other 
 learned divines, (Isag. p. 681.) attributes the rise of 
 mystic theology in the Latin church, to the dominion 
 of the scholastic, which was, at last, felt to be op¬ 
 pressive. The dry, thorny disputations, and, often, 
 frivolous questions of the schools, were ill suited to 
 satisfy, the natural appetite of the human mind and 
 heart, for divine truth and love. They became dis¬ 
 gusted with the insipidity of this system ; and hence, 
 when food of another kind was provided, by the 
 translation of Dionysius the Areopagite, and the 
 writings of St. Bernard, it was received with avidity ; 
 and was soon digested into a system of mystic theo¬ 
 logy, which became a counterpoise to the subtleties 
 of the schools. A curious confirmation of which 
 fact, may be drawn from the circumstance, that the 
 great schoolmen of the 13th century, Bonaventura, 
 Albertus Magnus, and Thomas Aquinas, felt them¬ 
 selves obliged to call in mysticism to their aid ; a 
 union, which was afterwards more completely formed, 
 in the writings of the celebrated Gerson. Must we 
 not say, that, in this process, there evidently appears 
 at work, that principle of providential compensation, 
 
 version of the truth. Our divines have laboured to effect the purification of both 
 branches; Luther setting the example. For he embarked in controversy, not 
 with the scholastic doctors only, but also with the enthusiasts and fanatics. After 
 Luther’s time, a division of labour took place among the Lutheran divines; some 
 aiming at a gradual reformation of the scholastic, others, of the mystic theology. 
 Amongst whom, John Arndt, especially, undertook the task of re-modelling 
 mysticism into a sounder form. 
 
305 
 
 which so frequently by the collision, and sometimes 
 by the alliance, of opposite extremes, guards the 
 central truth, till circumstances are ripe, for its 
 being brought forward with safety and effect. That 
 mixture of scholasticism and mysticism, which 
 prevailed in the Latin church, for two centuries 
 prior to the Reformation we know was deformed by 
 grievous errors; but probably it was, on the whole, 
 the purest system, which the times could bear. On 
 this hypothesis, you will observe, that your idea of 
 the final cause of the Canticles, comes into play: 
 they being, as it were, a pleasure-ground, for mysti¬ 
 cism to disport in. 
 
 I know not whether the facts I have thus gleaned, 
 and the observations I have made upon them, will 
 appear to you to have any substantial value. But, I 
 confess, the impression on my own mind is, that there 
 appears in this place, a nice adjustment of weight and 
 power, of ballast and sails. Had there been only 
 mystic theology in the Latin church, the whole west 
 would have been out of its wits: had there been 
 only school divinity, it would have produced a mere 
 race of cold, yet disputatious quibblers, without an 
 ignitable particle in their composition; ifj indeed, we 
 except those angry passions, which commonly are in 
 pretty full force among logomachists. And, in either 
 case, what materials would there have been for the 
 Reformation, and for all the beneficial effects that 
 have followed ? Luther, it is probable, was as much 
 indebted, on the one hand, to the practical warmth 
 of the Theologia Germanica, as to the logical acumen 
 of Acquinas, on the other. 
 
 Am I fanciful in supposing, that one end of mys¬ 
 ticism was, to keep alive the idea of distinct stages, 
 and gradations of religion? It being chiefly occu- 
 
 vol. i. x 
 
 
306 
 
 pied about what was not cognizable by the senses, 
 about interior sentiments, and feelings of spiritual 
 religion, . . was of course led to make for itself some 
 variety, in this abstract sphere of operation ; and 
 those who cultivated it, must, necessarily, have been 
 anxious to determine, the degree of proficiency they 
 had attained. And, hence, distinct stages would be 
 marked out, which individuals might readily know 
 whether they had attained. A proceeding, not ne¬ 
 cessary among those, who were in the habit of de¬ 
 termining pretensions to Christian virtue, either by 
 external acts, or by doctrinal opinions. Certain it is, 
 that Philo Judaeus, Plotinus, and all the new platonic 
 school, Clemens Alexandrinus* St. Bernard, Cardinal 
 Bona, and all the mystics of the middle ages, and of 
 modern times, have enumerated distinct, and clearly 
 distinguishable, stages of internal religion. And yet, 
 
 I do not recollect that, among fathers or divines of 
 early date, who were not somewhat mystical, such 
 discriminative stages have been clearly marked. 
 Some moderns, such as Baxter, our platonists, John 
 Wesley, &c., do thus discriminate ; but may they not, 
 in this respect, have copied the mystics ? If all this 
 be not fanciful, then, we are indebted to mysticism 
 for comparative theology; for that branch of it, at 
 least, which follows up St. John’s idea, of little 
 children, young men, and fathers. 
 
 Could you propose to me a promising subject, for 
 four Advent and a Christmas-day sermon, in serie? 
 If you can do it, (and observe, I merely want the 
 general hint, and not the outline,) it would be of 
 great service to me. It will not be too late, any day 
 this week. I have not been well enough to do much 
 in the sermon way ; hardly any thing, in truth, since 
 the visitation. I could, indeed, both read and write ; 
 
307 
 
 but, then, it was necessary, not to lead, but to follow 
 the workings of my mind. When I attempted the 
 former, (for I have repeatedly attempted,) I was un¬ 
 successful : but I still live in hopes of doing better. 
 I think a continuous set of discourses, would be likely 
 to engage my mind, and keep it in activity, much 
 time being absolutely thrown away, in its present- 
 stage, of casting about for independent subjects, 
 which, one after another, I am obliged to relinquish. 
 
 I shall only hint, that, if it would not be intrench¬ 
 ing upon your time, I would always rather wait one 
 or two posts, than that you should hurry off short 
 letters, merely because the post is going out. I do 
 not, however, wish to interrupt the distribution of 
 time you are in the habit of making ; nor to do any 
 thing like prescribing the length, or manner, of those 
 communications, which are always most highly valued 
 by, my dear Sir, 
 
 Yours most gratefully and cordially, 
 
 John Jebb* 
 
 LETTER 42. 
 To the Rev. J. Jehh. 
 
 Nov. 21. 180G. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I thank you for yours of the 17th, all of which is 
 worth attending to, and some parts striking; particu¬ 
 larly your view of the connected effects of mysticism 
 and school divinity. The quotation from Thomasius 
 is very remarkable ; but I do not see clearly, that the 
 
 N 2 
 
308 
 
 conclusion proves a regard to truth, in the lutheran 
 church. I believe truth was provided for, by its 
 formularies; but I am not inclined to think, that 
 John Arndt was much concerned for any thing but 
 piety. What is said, ‘ Alii scholasticam reformare 
 sunt adgressi,’ I think, belonged rather to the dry 
 high church lutherans, than to any class of pious 
 men in that church ; which had its pharisees, while 
 the mystics were its essenes. Look at Mosheim’s 
 account of the rise of the pietists. However, pro¬ 
 bably you mean, just what I have been saying ; and 
 that I have taken what you say of the conclusion of 
 the quotation, too limitedly of the last few words. 
 I like much your researches; only, be cautious of 
 letting them have more of your time, than their just 
 proportion. Use every thing ; but do not let your¬ 
 self become fond of any thing. Go on, however, I 
 intreat you, to communicate to me your thoughts: 
 they are truly interesting, and I think they will be 
 more so. 
 
 I have sent you no gilt-edged sermon. Watson 
 thought it superfluous, as scarcely at all done; and, 
 I own I think the same ; so much as (though you 
 desired it) not to order them. As I sent them yester¬ 
 day, the character of their outside is 4 simplex mun- 
 ditiis.’ And when I think what is within, I own 1 
 think this most suitable ; excepting you were send¬ 
 ing one to the Viceroy, or to the King. 
 
 I wish I could aid you in the Advent business; 
 but I cannot tell you how difficult I should find it, to 
 conceive a continued subject; except such a thing 
 were to open on my mind of itself: which has hap¬ 
 pened. Were you much indisposed for composition, 
 you might obtain materials for four Advent sermons, 
 from Nicole on the four last things: Death, Judg- 
 
309 
 
 ment, Hell, and Heaven : and, then, you might write 
 a good Christmas sermon, on, ‘ For this purpose was 
 the Son of God manifested, that he might destroy 
 the works of the devil/ . . in which you might look 
 back on all you have been saying, during the week 
 preceding. 
 
 I feel that four connected, and yet sufficiently 
 pregnant subjects, would not easily present them¬ 
 selves. I do not know, but, considering Advent as 
 referring, prospectively, to the advent to come, even 
 more than that past, you might draw four good ser¬ 
 mons, from the %5th of St. Matthew; two, from the 
 parable of the virgins ; one, from the parable of the 
 talents; the last of the four, from the account of 
 the Day of Judgment, in the last verses. Then, for 
 Christmas-day, I think various good subjects would 
 present themselves; and, perhaps, none better than 
 S. J ohn i. 14. 
 
 The two parables, and the statement in S. Matthew 
 xxv., and particularly the 1st parable, are exceedingly 
 fine. Only, on reflection, I doubt whether that of 
 the virgins, could be fairly divided. If it could not, 
 a fourth excellent subject might be, the marriage 
 feast. Perimus licitis. In all this, however, I seem 
 as if I were saying what would not be of much use 
 to you; and it so happens, that I can do no better, 
 as my mind is thickened with morbidness, not at all 
 on my spirits, nor distressingly on my body, but still, 
 enough affecting the latter, to make the mind dull, 
 but not uncomfortable. And besides, I have my oc¬ 
 cupations too. I am writing a letter to Butterworth, 
 which has spread out with me. And this day, I was 
 obliged to write an address to the public, for the 
 charity sermon of the roman catholic Female Peni¬ 
 tentiary, in Townsend Street; which 1 visited yester- 
 
 X 3 
 
310 
 
 day morning, in company with two priests ; and was 
 so much pleased with what I saw and heard, that I 
 am their zealous advocate. Piety, is positively, to 
 appearance, more cultivated there, than it would be 
 likely to be, in any protestant place, of the same de¬ 
 scription, I know. 
 
 Tell the Archbishop, that I shall be so impudent, 
 as, without further communication to him, or any from 
 him, to mention him as a subscriber to Hayley’s 
 edition, of Cowper’s translation of Milton. You 
 know the case; you zealously urged me; and you 
 are to be named too. You can tell the Archbishop 
 that it will be two guineas ; but, being to aid an 
 orphan, the son of one of Cowper’s kindest friends, 
 poor Mr. Rose, he will think it well given. I need 
 not send my love to the Archbishop, for I do so in 
 stating the above; as I must truly love one I take 
 such a liberty with. 
 
 If you have within your reach, Boyle’s Advantages, 
 rather, Excellency of Theology, compared with Phi¬ 
 losophy, read carefully the first section; and particu¬ 
 larly from the 41st page of my edition, i. e. from the 
 paragraph beginning ‘ And on the occasion, the 
 greater reverence, &c.; ’ and tell me if you perceive 
 any thing striking in it. I wish you, also, to turn 
 over, with some attention, Dr. Clarke’s 1st theolo¬ 
 gical work, 3 essays on Baptism, Confirmation, and 
 Repentance. I will say more about this last, again ; 
 but, can now only say, that I am 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
311 
 
 LETTER XLIX. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Nov. 24. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 The Archbishop desires me to tell you, that he is 
 much obliged to you for putting him down as a sub¬ 
 scriber to Cowper’s posthumous work ; and wishes 
 to be named for three copies, as he would like to 
 give it to his daughters. You will, of course, name 
 me. 
 
 What you dignify with the title of researches, are 
 by no means entitled to such a name. It has been 
 to me very slight, and desultory reading; only, 
 perhaps, in books not easily procured, and therefore, 
 not much known. But I cordially thank you for 
 your kind and wise caution, about not letting it have 
 too much of my time. It will not be unpleasant to 
 you to hear, that all you could wish, on that head, 
 passed through my mind several days ago; and that 
 I feel tolerably conscious, that though I do, and pro¬ 
 bably ever shall, rather range from subject to subject, 
 than read very continuously, I am not run away with 
 by any particular hobby-horse, but am always ready, 
 so far as health and spirits will permit, to apply to the 
 proper business of the day and hour. Last week, I 
 was more than commonly unwell, and obliged to 
 keep the house through the whole of it. 
 
 You judged quite rightly about the sermons: those 
 sent first, were just as I could wish, except that the 
 marble paper dirties one’s hands, which, however, is 
 
 x 4 
 
312 
 
 but an accident. I have given up the notion of con¬ 
 tinuous Advent sermons, having made some way in 
 a discourse for next Sunday, on Ps. cxix. 165. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Sir, 
 
 Ever most cordially yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 P.S. I shall attend to what you wish me to read. 
 
 LETTER 43. 
 
 To the Rev . J. Jebb. 
 
 Nov. 28. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 X shall possibly give you this evening but little for 
 your money, but I will treat your pocket as I treat 
 my own ; that is, with very little of what the wise of 
 this world would call discretion. I have an inflamed 
 eye, which makes me somewhat economical in writ¬ 
 ing > and I have the review of Cowper’s Life put 
 afresh upon the stocks, which demands all I can at 
 present muster, of ocular, or intellectual ability. 
 
 In Clarke’s 3 essays, look particularly at Baptism, 
 chap. iii. sec. 5., and also chap. iv. secs. 5 and 6. 
 Mark, how, in the former of these sections, he enters 
 his strong testimony against all Taylorites. Alas! 
 
 for our friend at-! And observe, in the latter, 
 
 how he sides with us, against Drs. S-, M-, &c. 
 
 Look also at Confirmation, chap. i. sec. 1., and chap, 
 xiii. secs. 6 and 7* I suppose there are many other 
 passages worth attention ; but these are what have 
 
313 
 
 struck me : and I think you will agree with me, in 
 regarding them as very remarkable and valuable. 
 
 But the most painful thing is, that so little of the 
 same spirit should remain, in his other writings. 
 There may be many crudities in this early work ; but 
 it is animated, direct, cordial, and primitive. He 
 was yet unbiassed by any thing in the world; lived 
 in the family of an honest, worthy, Bishop j had in 
 his mind a strong germinating principle of piety; 
 and his studying the Fathers, placed him, for a time, 
 as in a hot-house. Under these circumstances, he 
 wrote what I am now referring to. What he wrote 
 afterwards, seems to imply other habits and feelings ; 
 as Whiston used to tell him, not better ones. I think 
 the comparison will be useful, and interesting to you. 
 Look, particularly, at his sermon on the Love of God; 
 
 my strictures on which, our friend at-, would 
 
 not wholly allow; indeed, if I remember, hardly 
 at all. 
 
 Yet, I am not sure, whether, even this man might 
 not be, in one respect, a greater aid to you, than 
 more evangelical sermon writers could be. What I 
 mean is, that some of his sermons might aid you 
 considerably, in composing yours; because he would 
 often give you a sensible, clear, well digested ske¬ 
 leton, while it would be a skeleton only. Look, for 
 instance, at the Discourse on Gen. xv. 6., and see 
 whether you could not put some flesh on those bones ; 
 as far as thought could proceed, without feeling, . . 
 the umbratile, without the real apprehension, . . few 
 men could out-do him. In some cases, however, 
 there might be the mould of truth so laid, as to 
 admit of and require, only the pouring in the melted 
 gold of love ; and this done, as I think you might 
 sometimes find no great difficulty in doing, might 
 
314 
 
 body forth a good sermon. This, however, is quite 
 an extemporaneous fancy, which I thought of’ within 
 this hour, and have not been able to consider with 
 any deliberation. 
 
 Dr. N. seems to go on well; and I think will be 
 a good preacher, when his mind is more fully regu¬ 
 lated, and his habits more established. Dr. W. gives 
 me a good deal of satisfaction ; and he and his 
 brother T., are getting into the best possible under¬ 
 standing with each other, about interior matters. 
 
 -is clearly set on being what he ought to be; 
 
 and Mrs.-, now at F-, has written to me 
 
 from thence a delightful letter. Having just time, I 
 will copy part of it: — 
 
 ‘ We are here a very large family party of twenty : 
 and I can be more retired, more given up to serious 
 thought, more collected, and I think I have enjoyed 
 more comfort, in my devotions this day, than I have 
 experienced for some time. I cannot but admire the 
 goodness of God to me in this ; that, in a situation 
 where there is every thing to distract, he should so 
 keep me, so guard me, and show such wonderful love 
 toward me, who have been so cold and faithless; in¬ 
 deed, so much so, that, of late, I have often feared I 
 was deserted, and have often wondered what pre¬ 
 vented my being in despair, from feeling myself so 
 lifeless, so heartless, so completely dead, unable to 
 form an ardent wish to be otherwise. In this situa¬ 
 tion, my only comfort, in examining myself, and, I 
 conceive, a very solid one in want of better, was, to 
 find myself equally inanimate to the things of this 
 world; and that I would gladly relinquish anything, 
 or every thing, for a more assured and experimental 
 love of God. I do not think I have so opened my¬ 
 self to you for some time; and yet I have not been 
 
315 
 
 without the desire frequently to do so ; and I know 
 not how I have been hindered; nor can I account 
 for it in any way, than by being in such a state as I 
 have now described.’ 
 
 How sober, how deep, how excellent, and if I may 
 add a less matter, how well written is this! You 
 know I had uneasiness ; and you see there was 
 apparent cause ; but this letter shows me, most satis¬ 
 factorily, that there was no real cause. I could not 
 withhold it from you ; you, of course, are at liberty 
 to show it to the Archbishop, with whom I have the 
 comfort of thinking I have no secrecy. 
 
 Farewell: most truly and always yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER 44. 
 To the Ret ;. <7. Jebb . 
 
 Nov. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Y ou never were more erroneous, than in supposing, 
 that my objecting to the suaviter in modo fortiter in 
 re, had any thing to do with you. Most truly such 
 an idea never presented itself. No, no, my thought 
 was of a very different kind, and possibly a very 
 groundless kind. Therefore, without requiring from 
 me any thing like a relinquishment of an opinion, or 
 exposing you to the suspicion of any thing like per¬ 
 tinacity, your expression will be retained. I am 
 sincerely glad the other observations have your con¬ 
 currence. The long greek quotation is a very fine 
 
316 
 
 one; and, on the whole, I think it deserves insertion. 
 You disregard little imputations of pedantry; and I 
 own I am not sorry to see greek quotations, in the 
 margin of a Hibernian visitation sermon. 
 
 Lancaster and his moorish friend, Ombark Boubi, 
 visited me yesterday. The quaker is a clever fellow, I 
 suppose with some excitement of brain: certainly, with 
 great capacity to talk about religion, as of every thing 
 else that he knows any thing of. Possibly, the me¬ 
 chanism of his system may be useful ; but of his plans 
 altogether, and especially as far as religion is con¬ 
 cerned, I greatly doubt. But not being called upon 
 to act, one way or other, I found it easy enough to 
 pass through my conversation with him; and shall 
 leave others to countenance him, or not, as they think 
 proper. 
 
 N. dined with me on Sunday; and spent six hours 
 and more with me : conversation did not flag. He 
 left me at ten, and professed he thought it had been 
 at eight. This was, to me, right pleasant, who would, 
 I assure you, ever wish to send off my guests with an 
 appetite. It was more, however, his sound state of 
 mind, than my management, which made him think 
 it an earlier hour; for I talked copiously, as I am, I 
 fear too often, over-disposed to. 
 
 One part of my talk was perfectly extempore; and, 
 therefore, I should like to mention it to you. It is 
 usual to apply the epithet of abstract, to what is me¬ 
 taphysical. In one sense it is just: metaphysical 
 entia are abstract from all matter. But, in another 
 sense, abstraction is not used in metaphysic, because, 
 in metaphysic, you think of what is strictly intellec¬ 
 tual ; which you find in its own simplicity, and have 
 not need to separate, from any thing in which it in¬ 
 heres. Not so in physics, or in mathematics : here, 
 
817 
 
 you strictly abstract; for you think of things specu¬ 
 latively, which are inherent in objects of sense, so as 
 to have no kind of existence out of them. Squares, 
 circles, angles, have no existence without matter; 
 therefore, you literally abstract, when you speak of 
 them. Again, in moral matters, something of the 
 same kind takes place ; for as, in physics, you speak 
 of objects of sense, or their inseparable properties, so, 
 you here speak of objects of interest or feeling ; and, 
 in merely thinking of them, you abstract the idea 
 from the sentiment, as in physical matters from the 
 sensation. The mere thinking faculty, therefore, can 
 exercise itself on physical sensation, or perception; 
 on moral sentiment; or on its own simple, indiffer¬ 
 ently applicable power. But, in this last instance, it 
 has nothing to exercise abstraction upon ; itself is its 
 object; but as it can act only abstractedly, in physical 
 matters, it can do no more, in moral matters. And, 
 therefore, mere abstract ratiocination might as well 
 warm one, by its shuffling about the idea of a fire, as 
 make one good, by the exercise of the same faculty 
 on goodness. 
 
 Yours most cordially, 
 
 A. K. 
 
LETTER L. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Dec. 2. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I must break in upon your more interesting pursuits, 
 though apprehensive that I have it not in my power 
 to indemnify you, for the minutes I may steal from 
 Cowper; not to speak of the sevenpence, which, I 
 presume, you have just sent out to the post-man : so 
 that, you see, you leave me far behind you in the ar¬ 
 ticle of discretion, as you do in every other desirable 
 article that I know of 
 
 I have read over with great pleasure, and shall 
 again read more carefully, the passages in Clarke. 
 They are, indeed, most remarkable, and every way 
 to our purpose ; especially compared with other parts 
 of his writings. I did not fail to look again, at his 
 sermon on the love of God; and must say, that I 
 still more fully acquiesce in your strictures at R—, 
 than I did at the time. Truly, his case appears to 
 me to be a lamentable one ; a man, certainly, with 
 prodigious powers, and I believe thorough honesty, 
 daily advancing in all knowledge, and, at the same 
 time, too visibly declining in love. That was, pro¬ 
 bably, an unfortunate day for him, that brought him 
 to London, to preach Boyle’s lectures, and acquire 
 reputation as an able metaphysical theologian. What 
 Hoadly says of his earliest works, the three Essays, 
 and Amyntor, is remarkable enough. ‘ I mention 
 them here, not to put them on a level with his other 
 
3 19 
 
 performances ; but only, as having upon them the 
 plain marks of a Christian frame of mind, &c.’ The 
 same Bishop Hoadly commends his wisdom, in not 
 attempting to move the passions, in his preaching ; 
 adding, that, ‘ if this was his defect, it was a defect 
 in his original frame and constitution.’ I think I 
 could prove the reverse, from different passages in 
 the three Essays. To my knowledge, one has drawn 
 tears from the eyes of young persons, in more than a 
 single instance. It is Confirmation, Chap. IX. § 6. 
 I rather fear, that Clarke’s e original frame and con¬ 
 stitution’, was not in fault; but that he had, some¬ 
 how or other, ‘ left his first love.’ 
 
 I look forward to using Clarke, in the way you re¬ 
 commend ; and this day looked out for his sermon on 
 Genesis xv. 6., but could not find it in the edition I 
 have, that in 5 vols. 8vo. I often feel the want of 
 solid matter, or rather topic, so thrown into skeleton, 
 as to set me a thinking; and thence, by further pro¬ 
 cess, to excite me to methodized feeling, if I may so 
 speak. This most severe weather has much over¬ 
 set me ; it has interfered with any thing like regular 
 study. However, I got through a sermon, last week, 
 on 4 Set thy house in order, for thou shalt die, &c.’ ; 
 for which, Nicole on Death, afforded some valuable 
 hints, and the rest came into my own mind. There 
 are, I believe, some good ideas in it; but there is a 
 defect in arrangement, and other defects too, which I 
 was conscious of at the time, but unable, from illness, 
 to remedy. What you call my researches, have been 
 much at a stand: they will, however, I trust, at a 
 more favourable season, be renewed in moderation. 
 Meantime, I strive to amuse and improve myself, as 
 far as morbidness will let me ; and have taken to the 
 plan of noting down my little reading in a diary ; 
 
320 
 
 r 
 
 which I find satisfactory, as it not only enables me to 
 look back on what I have been doing, but leads me 
 to note down observations, which would otherwise be 
 lost. 
 
 What a charming extract from our excellent friend’s 
 letter! She is, in very truth, one of the excellent 
 upon earth ; and, in reading what she says, I could 
 not help looking, with deep humiliation, into my own 
 bosom ; for the very best I can say of myself is, that, 
 for a long time, I have been suffering under a dead¬ 
 ness, and a religious torpor, I fear much worse than 
 her’s, without the consolation that I feel as deeply 
 sorry for it, as I ought to be. I am often doubtful 
 whether I do, or do not deceive myself, by laying it 
 too much to the account of morbidness, and bodily 
 malady. This much, however, I am, after all, willing 
 to believe, that, when well, there is nothing I so much 
 delight in, as the predominance of cordial religious 
 feeling; and that, when ill, I am not able to delight 
 in any thing. 
 
 I showed the passage to-, with which he was 
 
 highly gratified : but then told me smiling, that he 
 believed, if all were known, you have now the same 
 
 uneasiness about him, that you had about-; and 
 
 that he should be sorry for it, being conscious there 
 is no cause. I ventured to assure him, that you have 
 no such uneasiness ; and regretted afterwards, that I 
 had not thought of reading him what you say ; ‘ that 
 you have the comfort of thinking, that, with him, 
 you have no secrecy.’ The reason why I did not 
 show him this was, that it happens to be written at 
 the top of the last page, in immediate connection 
 with what you say about N. 
 
 I wrote, last week, to-requesting information 
 
 about-charities ; for we wish to do something of 
 
321 
 
 that kind here. This night I have had an answer ; 
 but I should just tell you, that I had slightly men¬ 
 tioned my studies, but, I rather believe, without 
 naming the books ; at least, without naming Plotinus ; 
 and, now, I wish to give an extract or two, which I 
 think somewhat curious. 
 
 ‘ I was particularly glad that our good Archbishop 
 is setting you at work in a way (the charity schemes), 
 that must often draw you off from that sublime gen¬ 
 tleman, Plotinus ; who would soon make you soar out 
 of sight of us dull mortals.’ Again, at the close : . . 
 
 ‘ I have been looking impatiently for your sermon ; 
 which, I assure you, touched the weather-beaten 
 
 feelings of the veteran Dr. A—-, whose praise 
 
 as much bespeaks the powers of the charmer, as 
 when 
 
 4 Fell Charybdis murmured hoarse applause.’ 
 
 Your studies are likely to make you a sublime and 
 persuasive preacher; but do not think it presumptuous 
 in me to say, take care that these philosophers don’t 
 make you in love with fairy land; and, with their 
 heroics, make you look down on the humble, contrite 
 spirit, with which God delights to dwell. However, 
 in saying this, it is under the full conviction, that 
 whatever be your studies, they have made you mani¬ 
 festly useful; and I often wish you could infuse some 
 of your rich thoughts into a friend. I think, at the 
 same time, these platonists have a strong tincture of 
 enthusiasm ; as, indeed, it must be impossible for un¬ 
 inspired man, to discuss such themes, without running 
 a little wild.’ 
 
 In this, there are very handsome compliments, 
 more than I merit, much more : but such as his good- 
 natured friendship leads him to make: but there is 
 
 VOL. I. Y 
 
322 
 
 also an evident persuasion, that I am on the high 
 road to the wildest enthusiasm, and to a romantic and 
 proud abstraction, ill-suited to the condition of man. 
 This does not, I confess, make me uneasy, on my own 
 account; because I trust I occupy no fairy regions, 
 but the terra firma of plain good sense; and because 
 I never, perhaps, in my life, was led to estimate 
 more meanly, my own talents, and acquirements. 
 I feel that, for my time of life, I am rather an 
 ignorant man; and I am too repeatedly visited by 
 the hand of God incapacitating me, I doubt not for 
 my good, to be vain of my powers of writing. In 
 truth, they are not worth being thought of. But I 
 do feel uneasy about our friend: for, I think I see, 
 in this letter, deeper evidence than ever of a rooted 
 anti-fanaticism. 
 
 I forgot to tell you, that, in my friend M——, 
 I continue to find a most pleasant and satisfactory 
 companion. He, Torrens, and I, meet in my room, 
 every Wednesday evening, to read the New Testa¬ 
 ment. We began, only last week, with St. Mat- 
 thew; but are to begin harmonizing the Gospels 
 to-morrow. We refer to the greek text, and to such 
 commentators as I have. This we keep entirely to 
 ourselves; as, from one quarter at least, this would 
 be liable to misrepresentation, and might get us a 
 name. 
 
 Not having the key of the Library, I have not yet 
 looked at Boyle; but hope soon to do so. 
 
 Yours most entirely, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
828 
 
 LETTER 45. 
 To the Rev . /. Jebh . 
 
 Dec. 10. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 1 ou may begin to wonder, why I have been so long 
 
 in acknowledging your last letter. The truth is, I 
 
 have been unfitted for writing or reading, by an 
 
 unusual complaint in my eyes. 
 ####*# 
 
 Your letter found me just able to read it; and 
 I read every part of it with interest, I believe I 
 may say, with fellow-feeling. Your way of thinking 
 and speaking is a great comfort to me: not because 
 you agree with me; that would be a wretched, 
 miserable satisfaction. But because I believe you 
 agree with immutable truth; and are brought, by 
 the good hand of God, within the harmonies of the 
 universe. I soberly rejoice in witnessing such a 
 fact: for, if there be joy in the presence of the 
 angels of God, over one sinner that repenteth, I 
 cannot but think, that there is exceeding great joy, 
 when a mind is attracted by the magnetism of divine 
 grace, that has been previously fitted, by nature, for 
 imbibing the influence (and for communicating it 
 too) 4 with the spirit, and with the understanding 
 also.’ 
 
 I have just been able to look over the two 
 Reviews; which, I believe, we both take, the 
 Eclectic, and the Christian Observer. I am pleased 
 with many things in the Eel. Rev. There is a 
 
 y 2 
 
324 
 
 good deal of sound sense, and wonderful liberality. 
 Mark, particularly, the Review of Thornton Abbey, 
 and of Gordon’s Hist, of Ireland. That Temple 
 of Truth, must be a great book. The writer may 
 be now isolated ; but he was not always so: as such 
 opinions as he conveys, I imagine, are seldom, if 
 ever, the indigenous growth, of the Ttj a^ro^arri of 
 the human mind. There must have been some 
 seed, if not some scyon, from a calvinist nursery, 
 in order to produce these fruits: but what I mean 
 to observe is, that the reviewer makes some good 
 observations. The quotations, however, contain some 
 things, that make me wish to see the volume itself. 
 
 The C. O. goes on in a strange way: cautious, 
 almost to tepidity, in what concerns feeling; and 
 stiff, to a scholastic nicety, in what concerns doc¬ 
 trines. And, in reviewing books, strangely praising, 
 where I think little praise is due; and dwelling on 
 supposed doctrinal defects, with so exclusive an 
 anxiety, as to imply a sort of opiniative pharisaism. 
 I wish they could dwell more on the weightier mat¬ 
 ters of the law; and talk in less technical language. 
 
 I think I have not omitted any particular, in 
 either your directions, or wishes, about sending the 
 sermon, Mr. Greathead, and Hannah More excepted; 
 to both of whom I must write with it, and, as yet, 
 my eyes have disabled me. I gave one to M., 
 telling him I was sure you would wish it. I gave 
 one, also, to Dr. Perceval, 
 
 I am glad the Archbishop is soon coming to town. 
 I have several things to talk to him about: and I 
 love to talk to him, because he is uncommonly right; 
 a rara avis, both in head and heart. 
 
 I must only add, that I am, always, most 
 
 truly and affectionately, yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
mo 
 
 LETTER LI. 
 
 To A . Knooc , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Dec. 15. 1806. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 That unpleasant complaint in your eyes would 
 make me sincerely uneasy for you, if I did not think 
 I could account for it, by the almost unexampled 
 harshness of the season. Every one that is delicate, 
 or ailing, has suffered in some shape; and I trust 
 that your suffering is at its close. I have been, 
 myself, far from well: some days, worse, perhaps, 
 than you have ever seen me ; though that is saying 
 a bold word. But I am thankful that I now feel 
 convalescent; and, if there should be a continuance 
 of such bracing mornings as this, I trust we invalids 
 may look forward to a speedy restoration. 
 
 By last night’s post, I received a present of Dr. 
 Graves’s consecration sermon. I like the spirit it 
 displays in many parts; especially the truly catholic 
 compliments to Doddridge, pp. 14. and 29. The 
 historical sketch of God’s providential dispensations 
 (p. 20. 25.) appears to me neat, and, in some places, 
 eloquent; and the concluding passage of the whole, 
 is, at once, serious, animated, and pathetic. Yet, 
 my general impression is, that the world must be 
 easily pleased, if this production adds much to our 
 friend’s fame. There is no lucidus ordo; the topics 
 are almost uniformly common-place; and neither 
 enforced with energy, nor made attractive by 
 graceful composition. There is, evidently, good 
 
 y 3 
 
326 
 
 and pious intention in what he says (p. 38 . . 41.), 
 about the practical effects, which a sincere reception 
 of Christian doctrines should produce ; but is it not 
 talking about the matter, and about it, in a crude, 
 unphilosophic, uninfluential way, without tracing the 
 connection between principle and practice, and es¬ 
 pecially, without insisting upon the necessity, and 
 divine efficacy, of that master principle of love ? It 
 is not, merely, the bare reception of truth, however 
 sincerely it may be received, that is adequate to 
 produce genuine Christian tempers; yea, or even 
 consistent outward practice. To this mode of talk, 
 I am the less friendly, because I think it tends to 
 keep up in the world, an indistinct, and cloudy view 
 of Christianity; which is, perhaps, one of the most 
 operative hindrances, to a progress towards perfec¬ 
 tion. Throughout, there appear to me, evident 
 marks of haste ; and I much doubt, whether, in a 
 single sermon, so long a transcript as that from 
 Doddridge, is admissible. I think I can trace your 
 correcting hand, in what is said about episcopacy; 
 especially in p. 18. But in p. 17 * it strikes me, there 
 is an inaccuracy, in saying 4 the protestant church, 
 &c.’; inasmuch as a very large portion of the pro¬ 
 testant church, is positively chargeable with 4 the 
 anarchy of indiscriminate equality.’ I was pleased 
 with the introduction, of rationalizing semi-christians, 
 into the borrowed passage from Doddridge, p. 30.; 
 naturally enough, as the same sentiment is given in 
 my own little discourse. 
 
 **###=*# 
 
 I had lately a most cordial letter from Dr. Hales, 
 from which I will extract for you, the commendation 
 of my sermon : considering the quarter it comes 
 from, I think you will be gratified ; and you under- 
 
327 
 
 stand my motives too thoroughly, to impute my 
 sending it to vanity. ‘ I have read,’ says he, 4 with 
 great pleasure, and I trust some profit, your excel¬ 
 lent visitation sermon 5 which reflects equal credit 
 to the head and the heart of the composer ; who 
 must have deeply felt himselfi what he so forcibly 
 and pathetically, and I will add, elegantly as well 
 as learnedly inculcates, without unnecessary dilation. 
 I wish the public was more frequently edified by such 
 compositions, on such occasions y which are generally 
 considered as the order of the day, and an opus 
 operatum on the part of the preachers. The barren¬ 
 ness of the press here, in the important article of ser¬ 
 mons, is truly deplorable; and tends much to the 
 decay of religion and learning among the priesthood : 
 and I commend the Archbishop, and your clerical 
 brethren, for engaging you to print your discourse. 
 While you are thus usefully employed, for yourself \ 
 and the public, you cannot fail to attract the notice 
 of the public, and strengthen the esteem of your 
 friends/ This, I chiefly value, as affording a testi¬ 
 mony to our ways of thinking, from a person, whose 
 views are certainly very different, and who is too 
 honest to say more than he feels. 
 
 I coincide with your remarks on the Reviews. 
 But I must observe, that in the C. O., there every 
 now and then appears, something very ably written : 
 for instance, in two of the late numbers, are some 
 masterly strictures on the Edinb. Rev. : though 
 doubtless there is something strangely romantic in 
 the supposition, that, without some next to mira¬ 
 culous conversion, the Edinburgh reviewers could 
 become powerful advocates of Christianity. The 
 Eclectic is evidently gaining ground, and manifests 
 an excellent spirit; some things, however, do not 
 
 y 4 
 
3°28 
 
 please me. In the last two numbers is contained a 
 review of Carr’s Stranger in Ireland; which seems 
 to proceed from some very sour sectary ; from one, 
 too, who harps in with the general cry about the 
 state of Ireland, without well knowing what he says. 
 His general censure on the clergy of our establish¬ 
 ment, with the exception, I suppose, of the Ossorian 
 clergy, is far from liberal; and there are, in the first 
 part of his review, some not very good-natured 
 observations, on the charity of a lady in the county 
 
 of-, whom I strongly suspect to be our friend; 
 
 nor do I think it becomes a Christian, and a strict 
 one too, to pronounce so unqualified an eulogium on 
 Mr. Curran. 
 
 I have been much struck, much gratified, and set 
 not a little a thinking, by a reperusal of Foster’s Es¬ 
 says. That man is, surely, of a very peculiar mental 
 frame. See what he says, in his fourth essay, about 
 Lucan’s Episode of Vulteius, (I have not the book 
 now by me, to refer to the page) and then turn to 
 the passage, in the sixth book of the Pharsalia. It 
 is, indeed, tremendously sublime : but, then, what 
 must be the temperament of that soul, which could, 
 even for a moment, sympathize with such sentiments, 
 as are there expressed ? For instance, a thousand 
 men, about to devote themselves to death, and to 
 become mutually the executioners of each other, 
 wishing that their parents and children were added 
 to the sacrifice, in order to strike a deeper terror 
 into the foe: and this savage heroism, the result of 
 a mistaken principle of honour, which disdained 
 captivity. If Mr. F. could feel all this, it is not 
 wonderful, that he expatiates on the anti-christian 
 tendency of classical literature. But I am much 
 mistaken, if, not merely the decided Christian, but 
 
even the generous young student, who has not yet 
 begun to think of religion, however enthusiastic his 
 admiration of sublime poetry, would not soberly con¬ 
 gratulate himself, on reading this terrific passage, 
 that he lives in an age, when sounder views prevail, 
 even amidst the horrors of war. . . 
 
 ( Unfinished .) 
 
 LETTER LII. 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq . 
 
 Cashel, April 10. 1807. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 # # * * * # # 
 
 # # # # * # # 
 
 I have been reading some of Macarius’ homilies, and 
 think them truly wonderful for his day and circum¬ 
 stances. The manner is not always judicious, and 
 there is perhaps too great a fondness for allegorizing: 
 still, however, the introspection, the spirituality, and, 
 if we may so speak, the heavenward views which one 
 meets with in every page, make me esteem it a trea¬ 
 sure. Its very defects have had to me their use, for 
 every failure I observe in his allegorical illustra¬ 
 tions, made me more deeply sensible of that divine 
 wisdom which contrived the parables of the new 
 testament, with such matchless aptitude, at once, to 
 individual cases, and to the condition of the Christian 
 church. 
 
 I learned, two days ago by the newspaper, that the 
 
330 
 
 day is fixed for the sermon. Your omission I can 
 very readily excuse, and indeed feel that I did not 
 deserve to be thought of, as I should myself have 
 written before to you. The truth is, I was not very 
 well, and when in that state, you know, I cannot exert 
 myself. 
 
 Notes and ideas have somewhat increased for the 
 sermon, but I have not yet begun its composition. I 
 fear I shall do hurt in the cause, and discredit to my¬ 
 self ; both which I should deeply regret, on other 
 than selfish grounds. However, I shall endeavour to 
 proceed to do my best, with a calm reliance on aid 
 from a higher source. I purpose leaving this for 
 town on Monday se’nnight; not liking to leave my 
 journey to the week before, lest I should get cold, 
 which I generally find travelling gives me, and not 
 have time to recruit before the dreaded day. I hope 
 to bring up my sermon quite finished, or nearly so. 
 Pray do write me an early account of the proceedings 
 of this day, and I should not be sorry to know what 
 has been the opinion, of those whose judgment I 
 would respect, as to my little sermon. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Sir, 
 
 Ever your most grateful 
 
 and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
831 
 
 LETTER LIII. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Dublin, April 20. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I hope you have escaped the fit of illness, that you 
 apprehended j though certainly the state of the 
 weather, makes me fear the reverse. I have come in 
 for my full share of depressing influences; but I am 
 beginning to look up ; and hopeful, that on my re¬ 
 turn to Cashel, which I now rather look to with plea¬ 
 sure, I shall be able to pursue my interrupted studies 
 with new relish; and to write you something like, 
 ‘Extraits raisonn6s de mes lectures/ There is, as¬ 
 suredly, much of what is ‘ flat, stale, and unprofit¬ 
 able’, in a lounginglife ; yet such a life, have I been 
 lately, constrained, I hope by malady, rather than 
 reduced by inclination, to lead. Your removal to 
 
 B-, has made this fact stare me in the face; for 
 
 I must say, that, without you, Dublin appears a blank 
 to me ; and hence, I have been made to feel the 
 necessity of deeper, and more internal sources of 
 present enjoyment, than illness has often left in my 
 power, of late weeks, I may almost say, months. 
 
 The most desirable effect of returning health, I 
 take to be, the power of having the faculties gently 
 exercised, and the affections happily employed, even 
 under the pressure of malady ? if it were once thus 
 with me, I should feel myself transported, as it were, 
 into a new element; and may I not hope, that this 
 will be the result of prayer, and of a patient course of 
 
33<2 
 
 dependence on him who careth for me ?* I do hope, 
 my good friend, that it will: and so hoping, I am 
 disposed, rather, to look forward cheerfully to the 
 future, than with despondency to the past. At this 
 moment, indeed, I feel cause for encouragement. 
 My bodily frame is far from well, yet I am writing 
 a letter to you ; an exertion, I am sensible I could 
 not have made, at any time in the last six weeks. 
 You know how I was distressed, in writing sermons 
 which were indispensable; but the voluntary exer¬ 
 tion, necessary in writing a letter, was more than I 
 could have commanded: but what is now happily 
 begun, I trust will gradually improve. 
 
 Of course you will offer my best and warmest 
 remembrances to Mr. and Mrs. L. I felt, at leav¬ 
 ing B., far more than I could express ; and, though 
 sensible that something should be said by me, the 
 power of utterance was almost taken away. You, 
 however, know the extent of my feelings; and on 
 you I depend for saying that, which I trust some¬ 
 thing better than awkwardness, disqualified me from 
 expressing. Might I hope for a few lines, in the 
 course of this week ? Early in the next, I think of 
 taking my departure for Cashel. 
 
 Yours always most affectionately, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 • The last seven years of the Bishop’s life, serve as a delightful comment on 
 this passage. Never was the prayer of ‘ an honest and good heart ’ more signally 
 answered. . . Ed. 
 
333 
 
 LETTER 46. 
 
 To the Rev . J . Jebh . 
 
 BellevQe, April 28. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Your letter gave me heartfelt pleasure. I enter 
 into your feelings, perhaps, as much as any one 
 human being, can enter into the feelings of another; 
 and while I cannot but feel sympathetic pain, on 
 some accounts, I do assure you, I am more than in¬ 
 demnified by pleasure, on other accounts. You and 
 I, pleasantly for ourselves, have certainly an uncom¬ 
 mon agreement of mind, for two such independent 
 thinkers. I actually anticipated some of your lead¬ 
 ing observations, respecting yourself; and I parted 
 from you with less abatement of satisfaction, because 
 I thought it likely your comparative solitude, might 
 lead you to useful reflections. We all need the in¬ 
 structions of Providence; and may we not believe, 
 that it is particularly grateful to divine goodness, 
 that we should receive, with such readiness, the mere 
 intimations of Providence, as to leave no necessity 
 for resorting to severity with us? I do rejoice, that 
 I see, in you, the very disposition 1 speak of; and 
 the more, because I conceive no surer mark could 
 be, of ‘ all things working together for good.* Yes, 
 my good friend, there is no hope you entertain, in 
 which you are not, as it appears to me, most justly, 
 I would almost say, irrefragably founded. Indeed, I 
 believe the sun is not more surely fixed in the centre, 
 than you are warranted in the matter and substance, 
 
334 
 
 of all your consolatory anticipations. I trust you 
 will be made great use of, in this world; but the 
 nobler the purpose any instrument is destined to, the 
 more elaborate must be the preparation. The uses 
 you are to serve, may require, not only a discipline 
 for your heart, which I do think, you are happily 
 advanced in (though neither you, nor I, nor any one, 
 can ever so advance, as to have any less urgent mo¬ 
 tive for advancing, farther and farther) ; but a disci¬ 
 pline for your mind, for the purpose of giving you, 
 what, perhaps, you naturally most need, a certain 
 suppleness in your mental powers, by virtue of which, 
 they will bend to all occasions and subjects, with an 
 ease and readiness, beyond what you have yet ex¬ 
 perienced. In my humble opinion, this is what, 
 hitherto, you have most wanted ; but, at the same 
 time, what you have already a comparative portion 
 of. You will, however, I conceive, have much more : 
 and the possession of it, will richly remunerate you, 
 both in self enjoyment, and in increased usefulness, 
 for all you suffer, during the season of training. 
 
 What you say of our common acquaintance, I fear 
 I must subscribe to. But it is a subject for, I would 
 say for want of a better word, curious inquiry, how 
 he will go on; for his look shows an unsettled, and 
 dissatisfied mind. He has had feelings, which from 
 the motives that made Demas forsake St. Paul, I fear 
 he has not yielded to. But, after such feelings, no 
 man is exactly the same thing. ‘ If the light that 
 is in you be darkness, how great is that darkness!’ 
 I cannot but think, that the strictness of the plan, 
 which you and I think the right one, has disposed 
 him to listen to doctrinal objections to it, which, had 
 * his eye been single ’, as our Saviour expresses it, he 
 would have seen to be foundationless, as, ‘ a dream 
 
when one awaketh !! 4 And you that will sleep on ’, 
 
 Archbishop Leighton, says, 4 may ; but sure I am, 
 when you come to your death-bed, if possibly you 
 awake then, then shall you look back with sad regret, 
 upon whatever you most esteemed, and gloried in, 
 under the sun. As that luxurious king caused to 
 paint on his tomb, two fingers, as sounding, one 
 upon another, with that word. All is not worth so 
 much , 4 Non tanti est.’ I know not how men make 
 shift to satisfy themselves; but take a sober, and 
 awakened Christian, and set him in the midst of the 
 best of all things that are here; . . his heart would 
 burst with despair of satisfaction, were it not for a 
 hope, that he hath, beyond all that this poor world 
 either attains, or is seeking for! ’ How infinitely 
 true! and, therefore, how emphatically miserable is 
 he, that has felt any of the dawning of this day-spring 
 from on high in his heart, and, from some baseness 
 of soul, yielded to, instead of being instantly sup¬ 
 pressed, shrinks back from the light, and strives to 
 shroud himself in darkness ! I suppose it is a case so 
 deeply dreadful, supposing the fact, which in the par¬ 
 ticular instance I presume not to affirm, that few are 
 capable of fathoming it. Where we have any reason 
 to think it does occur, we may observe and examine 
 without any undue judging; and may exercise our 
 reason as on any other fact, without the least unkind¬ 
 ness to the party; but with solid instruction to our¬ 
 selves, and, perhaps, benefit to others. 
 
 Now think, and tell me candidly, without hesi¬ 
 tating to say one word of all that shall be in your 
 heart; would you prefer going to England, by 
 yourself, and so being without clog or hindrance, 
 which way soever you might chuse to turn ? or would 
 you, in preference, wish me to think seriously, on 
 
336 
 
 what I was talking of. Before I set myself to weigh 
 the question of convenience, which I suppose I may 
 manage some way or other, I desire, first, to fix the 
 previous question, . . eligibility. And, therefore, I 
 Wish you to consult all your feelings; and answer 
 without fear, favour, or affection. Most cordially do 
 I wish you thus to determine it. 
 
 Believe me, always, 
 
 most faithfully and affectionately yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER LIV. 
 To A . Knox , Esq . 
 
 Cashel, June 13. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 You may, by this time, be somewhat curious to 
 know, what is become of your pupil; and perhaps, 
 not a little apprehensive, that his old complaints have 
 stopped his hand, by overwhelming his mind. I am, 
 however, thankful, that there has been no unusual 
 cause for complaint, rather, indeed, the reverse ; as, 
 notwithstanding some very searching changes in the 
 weather, I think I have more than maintained, the 
 ground I had gained wdien I left town. 
 
 My studies and pursuits have hardly been resumed. 
 I have yet done little more, than dilate my first litur¬ 
 gical sermon, into two. The introduction was given 
 last Sunday ; and I find, was better understood and 
 relished, than I had any expectation of. To-morrow, 
 I am to give a general view of the liturgy; and I am 
 
337 
 
 doubtful whether to give two, or four discourses 
 more; it may be best to decide by the reception I 
 meet with, in the attempt of to-morrow. 
 
 I have turned over in my mind, and with some 
 care and thought, the question of visiting England, 
 this year. If it were clearly necessary for my health, 
 all counter-considerations ought certainly to yield ; 
 but, as I trust this is not the case, I must think it 
 right, to relinquish, for the present, what would be 
 doubtless a high gratification. Whitty’s settlement 
 in Cashel, will not only give me pleasant society, but 
 relieve me from an anxious oppression of mind, about 
 a weekly duty ; and who knows, but that the removal 
 of this weight, may enable me to preach every Sun¬ 
 day? At all events, should I now occasionally feel 
 unwell, I may, with ease and satisfaction of mind, 
 consult my health, and change the scene for a few 
 days. Now, things being so, after an absence of 
 between four and five months, I think it will gratify 
 the Archbishop that I should remain till next win¬ 
 ter, on the spot of duty: and I, too, shall feel, 
 
 ‘ mihi carior/ while among my books; and endea¬ 
 vouring to pursue with regularity, a course of mode¬ 
 rate mental exercise, in which the exercise of the 
 body shall not be neglected. 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
 z 
 
338 
 
 LETTER 4,7- 
 To the Rev. J. Jehh. 
 
 Dublin, June 19. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I wished to have replied sooner to your most accept¬ 
 able letter; but I have been variously impeded : in 
 
 the first instance, by its following me to B-, after 
 
 I had left it; and since, by avocations not easily to 
 have been surmounted. 
 
 As to the deanery, I most entirely accord with 
 your own thoughts, on the subject. I think that, 
 unless something were to come along with it, it is 
 not for you. As to the Archbishop’s wish, no one 
 could respect it more than I, but he would not in¬ 
 tentionally wish your discomfort, and should he un¬ 
 intentionally do so, his radical disposition will be best 
 consulted, by your declining the overture. 
 
 I am sincerely glad that your health is in such a 
 state, as to make Cashel the place of your preference 
 for the summer. This being so, I most entirely ap¬ 
 prove of the motives on which you pronounce your¬ 
 self stationary; only, if I should go to D., which he 
 kindly wishes, and all things occurring favourably, I 
 will not unkindly refuse, and he should, which is 
 morally certain, wish you to meet me there, you must 
 not derange that plan. The other, I own to you, I 
 had so deranged myself, as to have resolved that you 
 only, or some other unforeseen, and greatly strong 
 consideration, should take me to England. 
 
 --sets out on tuesday. I cannot help saying, ‘ I 
 
339 
 
 put him under your wing.’ He is, if I do not greatly 
 mistake, worthy your notice and attention; and as 
 he will be c a stranger in a strange land’, he will 
 need it in a variety of instances. He is an innocent, 
 good youth, with excellent sense; solid judgment; 
 true teachableness; and, I trust, sincere piety. I 
 rejoice that the Archbishop is his patron, 
 
 I thank you sincerely, for the reference to Nicole. 
 I had got Priestly, the day before I received yours; 
 and I, too, turned to those sermons. I began with 
 the second, and have read it. What surprizes me, is, 
 that, with respect to devotion, the right frame of 
 mind, self-conquest, &c. &c. he seems to me, to talk 
 much better, than the whole school of unspiritual 
 orthodoxy. The truth is, I think that Priestly, in 
 his youth, had something experimental; from which 
 he afterwards departed, erroneously, not wickedly. 
 He, therefore, only dimmed, (greatly, to be sure,) 
 but did not, I am inclined to think, extinguish the 
 fire which had [once burnt]. To this, specially, I 
 attribute that raciness, which [he must] have felt; 
 and which, with good reason, suggested your re¬ 
 marks, on the blessing implied in revealed religion. 
 
 # # * # # # 
 
 Most truly yours, at all times, 
 
 A. K. 
 
340 
 
 LETTER LV. 
 
 To A . Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, June 21. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Though this is Sunday morning, yet, as I mean to 
 write nothing unserious , and do not know when I 
 shall have time to write again, I must break through 
 an ordinary rule, to reply to your letter. It gives 
 me great pleasure, that you coincide with me. I 
 was wavering, through something which came from 
 
 -; but I had determined, that nothing should be 
 
 said upon it by me. 
 
 My health, thank God, is obviously, and most 
 comfortably mending. I feel a returning relish for 
 composition, such as I do not recollect to have ex¬ 
 perienced, for a great length of time. The Liturgy 
 has already swelled in my hands, to four sermons ; 
 and will, I think, afford two more.* When you see 
 what has been done, I know not whether you will 
 agree with me, that division, and expansion, have 
 much improved the original stock. What is most 
 comfortable, is, that I am now actually a sermon 
 before-hand, having last night finished one for next 
 Sunday: this is the first time in my life, I had so 
 much to say. Next Sunday’s sermon is on the bap¬ 
 tismal service; and is almost entirely new. The 
 Archbishop told me, that last Sunday’s sermon, 
 4 was the best he had ever heard.’ It was little 
 
 * These Sermons on the Liturgy, have been since published by Bishop Jebb, 
 in ‘ Practical Theology,’ having received his final revision. . . Ed. 
 
341 
 
 more than the second half of my first Dublin dis¬ 
 course, with a peroration added. All that I have 
 now been saying, would, to any other than yourself, 
 be rank impertinence ; but I know how you will 
 receive, and feel it. The truth is, I am full of grati¬ 
 tude to a good and gracious God, for these glimpses 
 of restoration; at the same time, that I do not wish 
 to be over-sanguine: if he sees fit, he doubtless may 
 suffer me to be again afflicted, and that soon. But I 
 trust he will, also, enable me to endure with patience 
 and cheerfulness, in that case, as I hope he is now 
 enabling me to rejoice with moderation. 
 
 I shall have great pleasure in a trip to R., if all 
 
 matters answer. -engaged me to pay him a 
 
 visit, some time in the summer; and, of course, he 
 would wish that time to coincide with your visit. As 
 matters are now arranged in the cathedral, I shall 
 have no scruple. I shall be most happy to serve and 
 
 cherish-; on my own account, this will be an 
 
 advantage; for I do believe he is truly estimable. 
 As a young man for whom you are interested, I must 
 feel him to be a kind of brother; and I myself have 
 been ‘ a stranger in a strange land.’ I have many 
 things to say to you ; but I do not like needlessly to 
 secularize this day. My reason for writing now, is, 
 that I expect to be fully occupied the next four days, 
 by preparing a course, in which to examine the can¬ 
 didates for orders. 
 
 Farewell, my dear friend, 
 
 Most truly and affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
342 
 
 LETTER LVI. 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, June 25. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 You are, possibly, somewhat anxious to hear from 
 me: I mean, at this present writing; for I presume 
 that the appearance of this letter, can leave little 
 room for anxiety on that score. The fact is, my 
 health and spirits have not been such as to qualify 
 me for correspondence ; though I have not been con¬ 
 fined, even for a single day. I have, however, to¬ 
 wards the close of this week, experienced something 
 of revival; and have been enabled to read with 
 alacrity: upon this, you know, writing is an ad¬ 
 vance ; and my pen turns, as it were instinctively, to 
 you. 
 
 The duties of Cashel, I have found somewhat op* 
 pressive. A cold disabled Mr. W. from affording 
 aid, either in, or out of church. The service of the 
 cathedral, is more than my strength is equal to, and 
 the regiment quartered here, is, in itself, a parish. 
 
 I do not, however, wish, that W- should know I 
 
 have suffered any inconvenience. It was absolutely 
 his duty to follow Dr. Perceval’s advice ; and of all 
 persons, I, surely, should be the last to complain of 
 any little additional burthen, who have myself been 
 obliged, from a similar cause, to throw so much duty 
 on my friend Whitty. You may conclude that I 
 have been unable to compose sermons. I have been 
 repeating some of a year old; but such as I think 
 
343 
 
 not only bear, but require repetition. The sermon 
 on Trinity Sunday, so far as I can collect, gave 
 great satisfaction. 
 
 Do you remember P-*’s question, about St. 
 
 John xiv. 28., in the garden at B-; and your dis¬ 
 
 satisfaction with my answer, .. that the inferiority was 
 in the human nature merely; and my apprehension 
 that, in your resolution of the difficulty, you ap¬ 
 proached too nearly the camp of the arians? All 
 this lately so came into my thoughts, as to put me 
 upon inquiries, which I trust are making me a still 
 more decided athanasian than ever; and on far 
 more solid grounds. I have seen enough to con¬ 
 vince me, that your mode of explaining the supe¬ 
 riority of the Father, is the true and catholic mode: 
 and that my answer, sanctioned though it be by 
 great names, and, among the rest, by John Wesley, 
 would 1. expose our Saviour to the charge of egregi¬ 
 ous trifling; for, could it, for a moment, be doubted, 
 that God the Father is greater than the man Christ ? 
 To say that the expression, greater , says Gregory 
 Nazianzen, «is to be understood with respect to the 
 human nature, would be true, indeed, but trivial. 
 For what wonder, if God be greater than man?’ 
 2. My mode of interpretation, would deprive us of 
 the power of overthrowing the socinians, on their 
 own ground. ( Christ,’ say they, ‘ is not God ; for 
 none can be greater than God.’ To this, we answer, 
 * Christ could not here speak of himself, as man 
 only: for who can doubt that God is greater than 
 man ?’ 3. To say that Christ speaks merely of his 
 
 human nature, in this passage, would, I conceive, 
 savour of the nestorian heresy. For, would it not 
 militate against the article of the Athanasian Creed, 
 ‘ He is not two , but one Christ.’ « The Father is 
 
 z 4 
 
344 
 
 greater than 1 : 9 that is, evidently, 4 than I, the one 
 Christ . . God and man, ®sa.vQ$a)7rog. 9 He could, to 
 use the illustration afforded in our Athanasian Creed, 
 no more reasonably say, 4 than I, the man Christ/ 
 than a man could say, such a being is greater than I, 
 that is, 4 than my flesh/ not 4 than my reasonable 
 soul/ If the illustration of our creed be fair, when 
 Christ speaks of himself he must mean the ©savfyso)- 
 7 rog: just as a man, speaking of himself means 4 the 
 reasonable soul and flesh.’ This last argument, I 
 have not met in any author; and am, therefore, dif¬ 
 fident about it. But, so far as I can judge, from 
 what I have thought and read on the subject, the in¬ 
 feriority of the Son to the Father, is twofold. 1 . As 
 being Son : that is, as having a derived, though eter¬ 
 nal existence : whereas the Father has an underived 
 existence. The one is, A uroQsog : the other, Qeog sx 
 0£ou. 2. K olt 9 oixovofAioiv. That is, as sent by the 
 
 Father ; as having assumed the mediatorial office, as 
 having humbled himself. Each of these grounds of 
 inferiority, is maintained by the most orthodox fathers, 
 ante and post Nicene : probably, however, the second 
 is only a consequence of the first. 
 
 As to the equality, which we both zealously assert, 
 it is an equality of essence, a co-eternity. 
 
 I have derived much satisfaction, from these in¬ 
 quiries. In feeling, I was, before, an orthodox, 
 catholic Christian; but, perhaps, I was ill established, 
 in the reasons of my athanasian faith. I trust that, 
 through the Divine blessing on my studies, I shall 
 soon be able to render a better answer, than hereto¬ 
 fore. One point, I view with complacency; namely, 
 that I trust my researches begin at the right end, . . 
 with plain texts of Scripture, and with the ancient 
 catholic worthies: not with wire-drawn, metaphysical 
 
345 
 
 reasonings; nor with the Clarkes, the Lockes, and 
 the Ben Mordecais. 
 
 A few evenings ago, I was amusing myself with 
 the Thyestes of Seneca, and was struck by what is, 
 perhaps, after all, but a fanciful resemblance, to the 
 parallels of Hebrew poetry; and what, at all events, 
 can have arisen only from the affectation of anti¬ 
 thesis, for which that author, the poet, no less than 
 the philosopher, is proverbial. Does the following 
 passage, in one of the choruses, distribute itself 
 into two triplets, and two couplets, as I have marked 
 them ? 
 
 Vos, quibus rector maris atque terrae 
 Jus dedit magnum necis atque vitae, 
 Ponite inflatos, tumidosque vultus. 
 Quicquid a vobis minor extimescit, 
 Major hoc vobis dominus minatur, 
 Omne, sub regno graviore, regnum est. 
 Quern dies vidit veniens superbum, 
 Hunc dies vidit fugiens jacentem. 
 Nemo confidat nimium secundis, 
 
 Nemo desperet meliora, lapsis.* 
 
 } 
 
 } 
 
 } 
 
 } 
 
 Whether the resemblance be a mere fancy, or not, 
 the lines are worth transcribing. The second triplet, 
 especially, contains a very deep philosophy. 
 
 * Ye, whom the Lord of all things here beneath, 
 
 Hath placed high arbiters of life and death,^ 
 
 Lay haughty thoughts, and lofty looks aside, 
 
 With all the panoply of human pride : 
 
 What, from your wrath, the subject nations dread, 
 
 A mightier master threatens o’er your head; 
 
 And every hand that earthly sceptre sways, 
 
 The King of kings, and Lord of lords, obeys ! 
 
 Whom the day’s dawn saluted lord of all, 
 
 The evening shades have seen that tyrant fall: 
 
 In prosperous fortune, then, let no man trust; 
 
 Let none despair, though prostrate in the dust. 
 
346 
 
 I had a beautiful, and most kind letter from 
 Mrs. L.; for which I beg you will have the good¬ 
 ness, along with my affectionate remembrances, to 
 present my most grateful thanks. I rejoice in the 
 thought of so soon seeing our incomparable Arch¬ 
 bishop. By the way, if you have a fair opening, 
 when you see him in Dublin, I should be very glad, if 
 you would feel no objection to sounding his Grace, 
 on the subject of my brother-in-law, M c Cormick.* 
 Independently of my very earnest wishes, for the 
 advantage of poor M c Cormick, and his large family, 
 I must honestly own, that selfish motives do operate. 
 In a land of strangers, in sickness, and in nervous¬ 
 ness, I should be wondrously revived, by the sweets 
 of family intercourse. I should not, however, look 
 for any advantage for my friend and relation, or any 
 gratification to myself, at the expense of that great 
 cause, which should be paramount. But, I soberly 
 think, and can conscientiously declare my opinion, 
 that, as a clergyman and a gentleman, Mr. M c Cor- 
 mick would prove an acquisition to the diocese ; I 
 am even sanguine enough to believe, that he would 
 greatly improve, by being transplanted, to what, I 
 humbly trust, is a flourishing ecclesiastical nursery. 
 
 For myself, I have now to tell you, that my 
 illnesses, and weaknesses, have been making me 
 better acquainted, with the domestic enemies I have 
 to expel. ‘ Yet not I.’ How often have I been 
 sinking under supposed unkindness in another, where 
 all the fault was in my own sick brain! I trust the 
 habitual recollection of these past discoveries, may 
 be the means of assisting me to chase away future 
 
 * The late Rev. Joseph M c Cormick, rector of Loogh Brickland in the diocese 
 of Dromore. . , Ed. 
 
347 
 
 phantoms. Pray do comfort me, with a letter; 
 and, if you can, suggest a text, that may suggest a 
 sermon. 
 
 Yours ever, most gratefully 
 
 and affectionately, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 48. 
 To the Rev . J, Jebb, 
 
 August, 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 What a strange laziness has, hitherto, withheld 
 me from telling you, how much I was gratified by 
 your last letter. If I had done justice to my own 
 feelings, I should, most certainly, not have delayed 
 a single post. But, if I mistake not, your letter 
 found me in bed. At any rate, I was seduced into 
 postponement \ and, when I once postpone, I need 
 only add, ‘ facilis descensus Averni. 5 
 
 Yet it has not been wholly laziness; it has rather 
 been the embarrassment of rival avocations. I had 
 to write to Major W.; I had to write to J. D. \ and 
 it so happened, that neither letter was to be confined 
 within one or two sheets. I can only say, that, 
 whatever produced the too long silence, inattention 
 to you had no share. I can truly say, that I have 
 not often in my life been more gratified, than by the 
 letter, which I have appeared to overlook. 
 
318 
 
 The last matter which has occupied my attention, 
 has been the methodist conference, with its adjuncts. 
 I was five times at methodist symposiums ; one din¬ 
 ner, and four breakfasts. They and I put it up 
 well together. If all was as well throughout the 
 kingdom, as it appeared to me, there would be little 
 to complain of. The preachers, certainly, are not 
 losing ground in their adherence, (I wish I could 
 say attachment,) to the establishment; and Dr. C. 
 is very reasonable and proper. When, on his tour 
 through the north, he was on a Sunday at Armagh, 
 his wife’s indisposition prevailed against his in¬ 
 clination to go to church. The preachers there, 
 went, and brought back intelligence to him, that the 
 Primate had preached, and administered the sacra¬ 
 ment, and gave a good account of the sermon. 
 Dr. C. immediately began to regret, that any con¬ 
 sideration had prevented his going. He sat down, 
 and wrote an apologetic letter to the Primate; 
 stating the cause of his absence, and declaring his 
 attachment, and that of the methodists, to the esta¬ 
 blishment. The measure was romantic enough, but 
 it took the Primate, who showed the letter with 
 satisfaction, to S. O., and he told the story to Dr. 
 W., and Dr. W. to me. He also told it to Arthur 
 Keene # , and he to Dr. C. ; and Dr. C. spoke of it 
 to me with much pleasure. 
 
 If I do not much rely on the zeal of the metho¬ 
 dists, respecting the establishment, I certainly have 
 no doubt of their capability of being attached to it. 
 A little carefulness, in officiating, and preaching; a 
 little kindness, and blameless moral conduct, would 
 
 * The late Arthur Keene, Esq. of Dublin ; a personal friend of Mr. Wesley, 
 and well known for his attachment to the established church. . . Ed. 
 
349 
 
 soon draw their affection ; and, I cannot but think, 
 overcome tendencies, which, here and there, too 
 plainly show themselves. I fear, too, they must 
 show themselves, while matters remain as they are. 
 The methodist temper is too active, to be neutral; 
 and his mind too narrow, to see things on a great 
 scale. He must be drawn to the establishment; or 
 he must be reckoned on, as, in some measure, its 
 enemy. 
 
 I must mention, particularly, that I saw and talked 
 much to G. O., the Irish missionary; and I must 
 say, I have found much more reasonable ideas in 
 him, than I expected. He, most certainly, chooses 
 for himself a very original kind of movement; 
 but, still, I found him wonderfully sensible and ju¬ 
 dicious. Drs. W. and Graves, met here, last night, 
 at tea; the former, had dined with me. G. O. 
 came by my appointment, and I do not know, that 
 I ever saw any one more struck than Graves. He 
 considered Mr. O.’s narrative, altogether, as pecu¬ 
 liarly interesting; and was cordially disposed to 
 wish well to his endeavours. Dr. C. talked with 
 me, yesterday, on the steps necessary to be taken, 
 in order to make the Irish missionary system, un¬ 
 exceptionable. I never expect to make Dr. C. 
 think as I do. But I was glad to observe, that 
 he spoke more reasonably, than I had thought pro¬ 
 bable. He is a very worthy man; and, I believe, 
 would willingly increase, instead of diminishing, the 
 church interest amongst the methodists. At the 
 same time, I must allow, that he is apt to be run 
 away with, by his own prejudices and preconceptions. 
 
 On the whole, while I do not give credit to the 
 methodists, for all the professions they make, I do 
 assuredly think, that they are capable of being bene- 
 
360 
 
 ficially managed; and that the best of all managers 
 for them, would be, clergymen, who should feel 
 toward them as you do. 
 
 So far, I wrote a full fortnight ago; but was then 
 unable to go on, as I intended. I then got into a 
 long answer to a letter of Mr. Butterworth’s, # out of 
 which, I have not emerged, and yet with which, my 
 head has been occupied, because it has required 
 labour to make myself intelligible, to a plain, though 
 very sensible man. And, in spite of myself, almost 
 daily, my thread of thought has been either broken, 
 or suspended, by one interruption or another. 
 
 Having a little disburdened my mind, about not 
 writing to you, let me now say, that I do not feel 
 wholly at ease, that you have let me be silent so long. 
 I know I did not deserve a letter from you, when I 
 did not acknowledge the receipt of your excellent 
 and pleasant one. But, then, you do not go by that 
 rule, and you do not judge of me by appearances. 
 In fact, I am uneasy, lest you should not have been 
 well. For, if you were rightly well, I think you 
 would have some matter in your thoughts, which it 
 would be a pleasure to you to communicate. My 
 friend, ease me of this doubt as soon as you can. 
 
 Do you often see-? I shall be glad to know 
 
 what you think of him ; as I cannot but suspect, 
 that, with all possible rectitude of heart, he has not 
 a plain-sailing mind. In family matters, there are 
 faults on both sides. Indeed my own observation 
 
 satisfies me, that - and -, are not without 
 
 their oddities, and, perhaps, are liable to mistake 
 those oddities, for matters of conscience. When 
 this is the case, there can be but little good under- 
 
 * The late Joseph Butterworth, Esq. M. P. 
 
35 1 
 
 standing, even between the nearest natural con¬ 
 nections. 
 
 Something,-lately said, leads me to think, 
 
 that both may possibly have doubts, even about me ; 
 that is, may suspect me to be too much a compro- 
 mizer with the world. I have thought a little about 
 this; and, on the whole, I do not think it wonderful. 
 There are some people, whose senses must be im¬ 
 pressed with a thing, before they can conceive it to 
 exist; and who, even then, measure all its energies, 
 by the sounds which it emits, or the appearances 
 which it exhibits. To such persons, an inward separ¬ 
 ation from the world, is nearly unintelligible; it must 
 be palpable, and tangible, or they cannot take cogni¬ 
 zance of it. The positive marks of piety, too, must 
 be ostensible and striking. If they are confined to 
 the closet, and to the retired walk, they are held pro¬ 
 blematical. It will, probably, be said, 4 how can 
 such a person be so very religious, as some say he is, 
 when he acts and speaks so much like other people; 
 and so little resists the customs, and practices of the 
 world?’ It is not censoriousness, nor want of cha¬ 
 rity, but it is want of voug ; it is, that, in the combin¬ 
 ation of animal and spirit, or of body and mind, the 
 material part, got a kind of ascendancy, which dis¬ 
 poses to a grosser, and indisposes for a more abstract, 
 mode of apprehending things. To such, persons of a 
 decidedly opposite construction, will be necessarily 
 unintelligible. I feel, I am so, to all of that class; 
 and I might be sometimes disheartened by it, lest it 
 should arise from some worse cause, were it not, that 
 the first of incarnate Beings, being eminently formed 
 on the predominantly intellectual plan, nay, most 
 probably, standing at the very head of that class, has 
 not only given a preference to the unostensible course, 
 
352 
 
 in his conduct and maxims, but was himself censured, 
 for not being sufficiently rigid and recluse. 
 
 Certainly, hitherto, the intellectual are the very 
 few ; and the sensitive are the many. The conde¬ 
 scending goodness of God, therefore, has, ever since 
 the day of Pentecost, but especially since the death 
 of the apostles, permitted his holy religion, variously 
 to embody itself, and also to assume various secta¬ 
 rian forms. The visible church, has obviously owed 
 its magnitude, to the former means; and the invisible 
 church, could not, I suppose, have been kept up, 
 without the latter. Yet, followers of the pure spirit 
 of Christianity, never have been wanting; and they 
 who are such, must feel, and be grateful for, their 
 invaluable advantage. But they must also, patiently 
 and kindly, bear with those, who belong to that lower, 
 and yet necessary order. For my own part, I trust, 
 I feel disposed to do so; yet I think it right to do all 
 that can be done, to diffuse a better, and higher 
 spirit; though still, with caution, and all gentleness, 
 to those who cannot understand such a design. I 
 think you feel completely with me, in all these matters; 
 and I assure you a day seldom passes, in which I do 
 not, however weakly, yet sincerely and earnestly, 
 pray to God, to give you such health and spirits, as 
 will enable you to act effectually, in that high and 
 happy department, to which, in a more public way 
 than myself, it has pleased divine Providence to call 
 you. I humbly trust we do not err, in supposing 
 that way, at which we aim, to be, in a more peculiar 
 manner, the way marked out by our blessed Lord 
 himself, while sojourning in this lower world. 
 
 S., I fear, grows more odd. I have had two let¬ 
 ters from him, previously to his leaving town, to 
 go to the north of Ireland. In the first, he tells me 
 
353 
 
 his thoughts of my deluded and dangerous condi¬ 
 tion ; and prays earnestly, that I may awaken out 
 of my dream. To this, I wrote a short and kind 
 answer; just saying a few words to undeceive him, 
 as to the idea of my thinking myself clear from trans¬ 
 gression : the second letter, was in reply to this ; 
 very kind and tender, but written in the very spirit 
 of a religionized Werter. I am too certain, that he 
 will take some extraordinary step ; there being an 
 obvious progress, from one degree of peculiarity to 
 another. In his last letter, he positively tells me, 
 that he cannot have any more intercourse with me 
 on earth ; but earnestly prays, that he may meet me 
 hereafter, in the bands of an eternal friendship ; and 
 that he may see me, among the flock whom the Lamb 
 shall lead to fountains of living water; adding, ‘ if, 
 by any means, I may arrive at these mansions of 
 peace, such a sight, will, I am sure, add to the bliss 
 of heaven/ 
 
 I am not ready to weep ; but his letter, so odd, 
 so melancholy, and yet so gentle and kind, filled my 
 eyes. Forgive me, my dear friend, for my long 
 omission, and believe me, most faithfully yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 vol. i. 
 
 A A 
 
354 
 
 LETTER LVIL 
 
 To A . K?iox, Esq . 
 
 Cashel, Aug. 2. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Why should you think of apologizing to me for si¬ 
 lence ? Assuredly, a suspicion never presented itself, 
 for a single moment, that you were neglectful, or 
 unkind; and a day has seldom passed, without self- 
 accusation on my own part. I was, indeed, very 
 desirous to write, from an apprehension, especially, 
 that all was not well with you. Three or four letters 
 I did actually begin, but I could not get on beyond 
 two or three pages, which did not please me : the 
 fact is, I have not been well; but there has been no¬ 
 thing particularly alarming in my ailments; nothing 
 more than, perhaps, naturally and necessarily arose 
 from the state of the air, which has certainly been 
 very trying. Your most acceptable letter relieved 
 me from no little uneasiness about you. I feared you 
 were suffering more than appears to be the case; and, 
 considering all things, I am happy that you are able 
 to give so tolerable an account of yourself. 
 
 Your time has been fully employed. What you say 
 about the methodists, gives me peculiar satisfaction. 
 Should it ever fall in my way to come in contact with 
 any of their preachers, I hope I shall not be wanting 
 in effort, wisely to conciliate ; you and I, are, I be¬ 
 lieve, fully agreed, that, unless the management be 
 judicious, such efforts will do more harm than good. 
 How much do I wish that my clerical brethren were 
 
355 
 
 more disposed, to conciliate without effort; that is, 
 without any direct intention of conciliating, by living 
 up to the sacred character they have taken upon 
 themselves : of this, I am well convinced, there is 
 more, than there was some years ago ; still, however, 
 there is much, very much wanting, as far as my ob¬ 
 servation goes. Good intention is gaining ground, 
 more than positive qualifications ; we are, for the most 
 part, a deplorably ignorant body; and, till our uni¬ 
 versity improves very strikingly, how can matters well 
 be otherwise? 
 
 Indisposition has sadly interfered with my writing 
 sermons: I need not tell you, that this was a serious 
 disappointment; but I am thankful that I was en¬ 
 abled to succumb with cheerfulness : though con¬ 
 tinuous and consecutive writing was out of my 
 power, (and on this point I was not uneasy, as I had 
 Whitty to preach,) I was enabled, with a good deal 
 of comfort, to disport myself among the books, and 
 have made a pretty large body of references and ex¬ 
 tracts, on the subject of the Liturgy. Matter has 
 grown on me from books ; and some new light has 
 arisen on my own mind ; so that I am in hopes I 
 might be able, perhaps at no very distant period, so 
 to alter, arrange, and revise, the five sermons I have 
 already made, with the addition of a sixth, and a col¬ 
 lection of notes, as to produce a volume that may do 
 some service. On this point, however, I do not wish 
 to be sanguine, as I know there is true practical wis¬ 
 dom in the old proverb, f Festina lentef Laurence 
 has, to my conviction, satisfactorily proved, that our 
 church is rather lutheran, than calvinistic; but I 
 should be glad, if I undertook such a work as I have 
 been speaking of, to prove, that we are melanc- 
 thonian, rather than lutheran. You are well ac- 
 
 A a 2 
 
quainted, doubtless, with all that Mosheim says, on 
 the schisms in the lutheran church. I have looked 
 into other books on the point, and cannot help think¬ 
 ing, that our church comes nearer the party, that 
 formed themselves on Melancthon’s system, or rather 
 nearer to Melancthon himself, than to the writings 
 of any modern, out of its own pale. I have turned 
 a good deal over Melancthon himself; and found, 
 that you had been there before me : indeed, I recol¬ 
 lected that you had ; but your marks pointed out 
 your footsteps. I have made extracts, not only from 
 the passages you were reading, but from others, 
 where there is a wonderful parallelism, with some of 
 the least dogmatic views of our church ; and an espe¬ 
 cial harmony with that little body of Articles, drawn 
 up under Henry VIII. in 1541. Laurence, you may 
 recollect, quotes it; but he does not, by any means, 
 quote the most striking and important passages of it. 
 Neither do I recollect to have seen, either it, or them, 
 adverted to, by any other writer. I have found some 
 very striking and noble testimonies, in favour of our 
 liturgy, by foreign protestants ; especially by Grotius, 
 Isaac Casaubon, and, above all, by the famous Dre- 
 lincourt; who actually predicts, that the Church-of- 
 England service, will one day become, a light to 
 lighten the rest of the Reformation. It is a circum¬ 
 stance perhaps worthy of observation, that the church 
 of Neufchatel, has actually taken, almost literally, 
 some of our most spiritual collects, and embodied 
 them in her occasional offices. What proves that she 
 took from us, and not from a common source, the 
 missals for instance, is, that some of the collects she 
 has chosen, are from among those added in the re¬ 
 view of 1662 . The edition of the Neufchatel liturgy, 
 which I possess, is the second, anno 1737 . This fact 
 
is not adverted to, by any liturgical writer I have 
 hitherto been able to consult. The American, and 
 Scotch episcopalians, it is generally known, have 
 adopted our liturgy. The present state of the lu- 
 theran and calvinistic churches, I am very desirous 
 to know something of. Though Mosheim thinks 
 otherwise, I conceive it may be proved, that the 
 Greek church has a far greater leaning to us, than to 
 any other : her deep antipathy to the church of Rome 
 is very remarkable : but it is, perhaps, not less re¬ 
 markable, that, wdiile that church fruitlessly tried 
 every thing, that chicane and bribery could do, to 
 gain her to their side, there came unbought and vo¬ 
 luntary testimonies, from very respectable quarters in 
 the Greek church, to the merit of our Anglican system, 
 both of worship and doctrine. These matters are 
 chiefly of a preliminary nature ; but I have, here and 
 there, gleaned a good deal, that perhaps may tend to 
 illustrate the practical, and spiritual views of our 
 liturgy itself; and I think I know where to look, for 
 more of the same nature. In the ancient Greek 
 liturgy, there is some matter: but I am rather at a 
 loss for the greek collection of Renaudot, and the 
 gallican collection of Mabillon : if you could find any 
 one that would accommodate me with the loan of 
 these books, I should esteem it a particular favour, 
 and would take the utmost care of them. Jewel and 
 Hooker give their share of materials ; and I have hit 
 upon some very beautiful parallelisms with our ser¬ 
 vice, in our favourite, Bernard. Within the last two 
 days, and, indeed, this morning, I composed my fifth 
 sermon on the communion service : there are faults 
 in the composition ; it is not so well arranged, so con¬ 
 secutive, or so philosophic, as I could wish. Still, 
 however, there are some things, which, I believe, you 
 
 a a 3 
 
358 
 
 will not dislike. My object was, to state strongly, 
 but guardedly, the doctrine of perfection, from the 
 text, Heb. vi. 1. I know not how it has taken ; but 
 as I should like to have your opinion, I will try, if 
 possible, this next week, to transcribe it for you. An 
 idea has occurred to me, that an interesting conclu¬ 
 sion to the course, might be written on the text, ‘ By 
 their fruits ye shall know them/ The discourse to 
 be biographic, illustrating the practical tendency of 
 Church-of-England theology, or of theology of a 
 kindred spirit. For this purpose, I would take two 
 Church-of-England men, George Herbert, suppose, 
 and Bishop Ken ; two foreign divines, of congenial 
 sentiments ; and two dissenters, who have most har¬ 
 monized with our establishment, suppose, Baxter 
 and Doddridge. It would require some dexterity in 
 the handling ; but might not this plan enable me 
 to throw out a little useful comparative theology, in 
 the notes to this last sermon ? I have been thus 
 diffuse, and I fear tedious, not so much from think¬ 
 ing that these things are, in themselves, interesting, 
 as to show you, that, in spite of ailment, I have not 
 been quite idle. One result of my late studies has 
 been, a tendency to believe, that truly good men, 
 that is, that men who have had no secret warp to¬ 
 wards self-indulgence, nor any headstrong qualities in 
 their nature, are more substantially agreed, than we 
 would at first suppose, on the subject of perfection. 
 Some talk of sin, when others speak of infirmity; 
 but, surely, there is very little difference between the 
 doctrine, as laid down in John Wesley’s sermon, and 
 as it is implicitly conveyed, in those passages of Me- 
 lancthon, where he states the distinction of mortal 
 and venial sin. I conceive the judicious way of pro¬ 
 cedure, in giving any thing to the world on this 
 
359 
 
 tender topic, would be, to tight behind the shield of 
 great authorities ; authorities, as remote from the 
 suspicion of fanaticism, as might be: if my sermon 
 were to be printed, I would fortify it with notes from 
 Saint Augustin, (and I do know a passage or two 
 strongly in our favour,) from Melancthon, from 
 Hooker, &c. Here, the Magdeburgh centuriators, 
 as well as Du Pin, might aid. By the way, now we 
 are talking of perfection, have you not Poiret’s Di¬ 
 vine CEconomy ? It is a strange book; but it has 
 some invaluable passages on this subject. The 9th 
 chap, of the 6th vol. abounds in excellent matter. 
 He especially expounds the 7th chap, to the Romans, 
 verbatim et literatim, as you do : such an exposi¬ 
 tion of it, I never saw in any other book: but I had 
 actually retailed it to many, before I read it there; 
 having previously laid it in, by wholesale, from you : 
 of course, Poiret could not be quoted with prudence. 
 
 I have only seen-- once: but am, please God, 
 
 to meet him to-morrow at-’s. I do trust your 
 
 surmises are not, to any extent, well founded. He 
 appeared to me very wise, sound, and rational. He 
 asked my advice how he should act, with respect to 
 the advances of civility he had met in the neighbour¬ 
 hood. I recommended that he should meet them 
 cordially, and accept of them moderately. With this 
 idea, he told me his own views entirely accorded; 
 and he fully coincided in opinion, that singularity 
 was to be avoided; that, when we must differ so 
 much from the world, in so many essential matters, 
 there should be as few merely circumstantial differ¬ 
 ences as possible. I shall be better able to judge, 
 after the interview that is just at hand ; but I own, I 
 strongly believe, that you stand as high as ever in 
 his estimation. I know his views about the world, 
 
 A A 4t 
 
360 
 
 were once extremely rigid and harsh ; but they have 
 unquestionably improved. He is, on the whole, a 
 deeply pious person ; one of those, that seem to me 
 to come nearest, in his present sentiments and feelings, 
 to the class whose piety is of the intellectual kind. 
 What you said, in your last, about Priestley, now 
 reverts to my mind : there is a very curious coinci¬ 
 dence, between your remarks on the influence of his 
 early religious feelings, and some observations of 
 the Edinburgh reviewers, in the 17 th No., which I 
 intended to extract for you, but find I have lent the 
 book. They are sarcastic upon Priestley’s piety; 
 and attribute it to early puritanism, which adhered to 
 him, in spite of philosophy. 
 
 What you say of S- grieves me, but it does 
 
 not surprize. Poor fellow ! there is assuredly hap¬ 
 piness in store for him ; but I fear he is not to enjoy 
 any of it in this life. Pie has a mind, that must worry 
 itself \ and the most amiable qualities that he possesses, 
 are often, to him, sources of disgust, and, perhaps, 
 of deep suffering. I am fully prepared to hear of 
 some very extraordinary measure. It is, however, a 
 comfort to consider, that, though his intellect is very 
 odd, his heart is truly sincere and pious. Have you 
 
 heard lately from-? Since we all met at B-, 
 
 I have heard nothing of or from him. His intel¬ 
 lectual, and internal movements, are to me a matter 
 of no common interest, independent of the real re¬ 
 gard I have for him. I look, with deep concern, to 
 the effect he is calculated to produce, on a great part 
 of the public mind. If his views continue as they 
 were (which, indeed, I think hardly possible), he can 
 do little service to the world; if they grow decidedly 
 worse, he may do much mischief: at the same time, 
 if it is the intention of Divine Providence, that we are 
 
361 
 
 to do any service, however small, in our generation, 
 it may be well that we should be kept on the alert by 
 opposition. 
 
 The good people that I meet here, are rather 
 sensitive, than intellectual; and considering that, I 
 
 get on wonderfully well with them. - is one of 
 
 that class : but we agree very well indeed. I have 
 not been able yet to go over and see his namesake. 
 He is ten miles distant, but he came in to see me one 
 day ; luckily F. and his wife came into Cashel the 
 same day, and dined with me ; therefore I kept our 
 young friend to dinner, and introduced him to their 
 acquaintance. I think him a very promising young 
 man : he is grave beyond his years; but does not 
 want either animation, or good sense : and his piety, 
 I am sure, is cteep. I take it that the trials which he 
 has passed through, with respect to doctrinal entangle^ 
 ments, have been very serviceable to him ; they pre¬ 
 disposed him to drink in with delight, the views that 
 you presented to him. If he has the power of giving 
 out, what he knows, and feels, he may be a signally 
 useful clergyman. As to personal comfort and ac¬ 
 commodation, I hope he will do well. He has got 
 under one of the kindest, and most amiable gentle¬ 
 men, I ever knew ; one of the very best of the old 
 school. I hope to ride out about the middle of the 
 week, and see how he is accommodated. 
 
 I wish you could procure me information, about 
 the present state of the lutheran, and calvinistic 
 churches. What liturgies they use, what is the state 
 of religion, &c. &c. Any thing about the state of 
 the Greek church, too, would be of use. I feel a 
 great want of Melchior Adam’s lives of the German 
 divines; if you could either get this from Vallance, 
 or borrow it for me, it would do me no small service. 
 
362 
 
 I regret you do not go to England, for it would 
 have been good for you. May there be any chance 
 of our going together next year ? I am very strongly 
 recommended to drink the Ballispelian water for a 
 fortnight; and do not know but I shall follow Evans’* 
 advice. I am about changing my lodgings, for a 
 more private house ; in which I am to have two very 
 good sitting rooms, one of which I mean to tit up as 
 a study. 
 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER LVIII. 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, August 4. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I have had, this day, much and satisfactory con¬ 
 versation with-. He entirely coincides with us 
 
 in opinion, that a man’s principal business is within 
 his own heart and conscience; and the happiest, as 
 well as highest department, is the intellectual, as 
 contra-distinguished from the sensitive. He sees, 
 that, whilst external props may be highly serviceable 
 to minds of a weaker texture, that mind, which is 
 divinely enabled to support itself, is in a far safer, as 
 well as more progressive state. I suggested, and he 
 cordially coincided with the remark, that the person 
 who lays his great stress, upon overt-acts of an osten- 
 
 * The late Dr. Thomas Evans, an eminent physician settled at Cashel, and an 
 
 attached friend of Bishop Jebb, who had contributed much to fix his religious 
 opinions. . . Ed. 
 
363 
 
 sible and palpable nature, will probably, in proportion 
 to his sincerity, fall into enthusiastic excess ; since 
 to remain stationary, is impossible; and, if there be 
 progress, it must consist in a multiplication of acts, 
 which will widen the separation between such a per¬ 
 son and the world. While the progress of a person, 
 whose tastes are more spiritual and philosophic, being 
 of an interior nature, will be evidenced to the world, 
 only in improved tempers ; yea, and I may add, in 
 sound practical wisdom. On referring to some old 
 
 discussions of ours about the world,-- said, that 
 
 he had been quite wrong; that he had been rigid to 
 an extreme, and that to express the revolution his 
 sentiments had undergone, in a few words, 4 he 
 then thought it was the devil’s world, but now, that 
 it is God’s world.’ He mentioned, that he has, 
 of late, formed an opinion, that ratiocination, is by 
 no means the highest act of the mind, or the most 
 effectual way of coming at the best knowledge. 
 This, I replied, was also a favourite idea of mine : 
 for I conceived, that middle terms, and the whole 
 apparatus of logical induction, were but accommo¬ 
 dations to defective mental powers; and substitutes 
 for a more compendious way of coming at truth, viz. 
 intuition. This, I thought, was a higher faculty than 
 reasoning: the ourr^rj(rig of the apostle, Phil. i. 9-, or 
 that spiritual discernment, spoken of, 1 Cor. ii. 14. 
 A further idea occurred to me, which I know not 
 
 whether it be not fanciful. -made some allusion 
 
 to our now seeing through a glass darkly, but then 
 face to face. Now, we are told, that ‘ knowledge 
 shall pass away’, and the sight which is now, appears 
 to be the same in kind, though very inferior in de¬ 
 gree, to the sight hereafter. May not then this sight 
 be the Trvzu^ctTixri anr$7jcn£, that spiritual perception. 
 
364 
 
 which is superior to mere yvwo-ig, ratiocinative know¬ 
 ledge ? This notion seems to derive some counte- 
 
 O 
 
 nance from 1 Cor. xiii. 11. tog vr)7riog to 
 
 which may be opposed, in the next verse, 
 yoio afi, we now see : this is something of a higher 
 nature than mere knowledge : but it is only through 
 a glass darkly; that is, we have now the faculty of 
 spiritual discernment, but it is impeded by the nebu¬ 
 lous atmosphere, with which we are surrounded : we 
 are in a body, we are more or less involved in sensible 
 things, which do not give free scope to the visual 
 faculty of our souls : but, hereafter, we shall see face 
 to face, in that pure and perfect medium, which is 
 best adapted to our organs 'of spiritual discernment. 
 And the whole may be thus illustrated. . . An expert 
 diver can see under water, but it must be cloudily, 
 on account of the grossness of the medium ; whereas, 
 when he rises from the water, he can see perfectly, 
 his eyes being free to act, in their proper medium, 
 the air. Just so, when the soul emerges from the 
 opacities of this mortal life, it will have a clear, dis¬ 
 tinct, and luminous view, of what it now incompletely 
 discerns. But as, in the one case, the sub-marine 
 vision of the diver, is far preferable, to the ratiocin¬ 
 ation of the blind man, who conceived scarlet to be 
 like the sound of the trumpet; so the 7rusv[xocrix7} 
 oucrQrjO'ig, of the spiritual man, however affected by 
 the refractory medium of mortality, is infinitely above 
 the sublimest efforts of the more discursive faculty. 
 I did not, I believe, so much evolve this train of 
 thought this morning, as I have done now; but 
 perhaps, after all, it is only a conceit; it has, how¬ 
 ever amused me, and, if it can, in any degree, have 
 the same effect with you, I shall be more than satis- 
 
865 
 
 fied. But it is now approaching midnight, and pru¬ 
 dence warns me to bed. 
 
 P. S. If I rightly understood the Archbishop, it 
 appeared to be his wish, that I should consult the 
 state of my health, and ability for exertion, with 
 regard to preaching, now that there is a curate, 
 whom we need not be afraid to trust in the pulpit. 
 It is on the supposition of having been permitted 
 this latitude, that I have acted, since my friend 
 Whitty’s establishment here; and I must say, that 
 I have found very pleasant, and happy effects, from 
 so doing. My ostensible labours have, in conse¬ 
 quence, been less; but I question whether, in any 
 other equal period of time, I have gained so much 
 intellectual ground, as since I left Dublin last. I 
 have, I conceive, made one important discovery, that 
 almost in my worst times as to health, I can actually 
 employ myself, by not endeavouring to force myself 
 to an exertion that I am unfit for; but quietly fol¬ 
 lowing such a clue of study, as circumstances and 
 inclination furnish me with. I have had leisure to 
 make observation, on what I may call, the interior 
 phenomena of my mind; and find that, when too 
 unwell to attempt composition, I can, both pleasantly 
 and usefully, employ myself, in searching various 
 authors for information on some subject, that I pro¬ 
 pose, when well, to work upon. After these occa¬ 
 sional abstinences from writing, I find that I return 
 with a renewed appetite for composition; that both 
 connected thought, and regular arrangement, present 
 themselves to me, without elaborate effort; and that, 
 often, words come faster, than I can well put them 
 on paper. I know not whether I deceive myself, but 
 
366 
 
 I cannot help fancying, that the sermon which I have 
 begun to copy out for you, and which I hope will 
 accompany this, approaches nearer, than perhaps any 
 thing else I have written, to an easy unpremeditated 
 fluency, of thought, and of expression. I have, 
 indeed, some reason to imagine, that one or two ill- 
 natured people have thrown out an insinuation, that 
 my absence coincides with the Archbishop’s ; and 
 that, when he is away, I exert myself less than 
 during his presence. Against such misrepresent¬ 
 ations, I should wish, as far as I wisely can, to guard 
 myself; but I own, that, as I am conscious to my¬ 
 self of nothing, I am not made at all uneasy. In 
 this world, it is perhaps impossible, that, when any 
 man sets himself, however weakly, yet sincerely, to 
 do good, he shall not be liable to have his good evil 
 spoken of. I hope I say it with deep humility, but 
 I cannot help reflecting, that the pattern of all perfec¬ 
 tion, did not escape misrepresentation and reproach ; 
 and the reflection to me is full of comfort. There¬ 
 fore, in the present case, if I were assured that I 
 have the Archbishop’s kind permission to act accord¬ 
 ing to circumstances, I should not scruple to pursue 
 the course, which I find most conducive to my bodily 
 and mental health ; and I do feel a strong hope, that 
 the result would, in due time, be found to make 
 amends for the subtraction of present ostensible 
 effort. I say ostensible, because that, consistently 
 with my own tastes and habits, idleness cannot form 
 a part of my system. ‘ Semper te Diabolus inveniat 
 occupatum,’ said Jerome to Nepotian. For, might 
 there not be a prospect, that if my nerves were, by 
 due attention, to recover their tone; and if) in the 
 interim, by reading and thinking, and by still deeper 
 and more interior exercises, I were enabled to lay in 
 
367 
 
 a fund of materials, I should then be enabled to write 
 off a sermon, almost as easily and rapidly, as I write 
 this letter. I throw out these matters, for your cool 
 consideration, and candid opinion. One thing, in¬ 
 deed, I had forgotten to mention, that the Arch¬ 
 bishop’s wise and good plan of appointing a lecturer, 
 would still more leave me at liberty, to do no more 
 than I can do comfortably. By the way, you would 
 do :an essential service, if you could recommend a 
 clergyman, well qualified for the lectureship ; very 
 brilliant talents, I do not conceive would be neces¬ 
 sary ; but a competent power of popular address, 
 with views, at least, not abhorrent from ours, would 
 be highly desirable, if not absolutely indispensable. 
 
 I shall endeavour, as soon as possible, to finish 
 the transcription of my sermon ; and if any thing 
 occurs in the mean time, I can easily add another 
 half sheet to this epistle ; which, perhaps, is already 
 too long. 
 
 Believe me, yours most truly, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 P. S. On reviewing this, I only feel, that I have 
 not done proper justice to W-’s part in the con¬ 
 
 versation. He was original, ingenious, deeply pious, 
 and I think, truly philosophic. 
 
368 
 
 LETTER 49. 
 To the Rev. J. Jehh. 
 
 Dawson Street, Monday afternoon, Aug. 17. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Let me say ever so little, I will, please God, write 
 to you by this evening’s mail. I have wished to 
 write sooner ; but my time and mind are not at my 
 command. My long letter to Mr. Butterworth is 
 yet unfinished, having been interrupted by sickness, 
 and other avocations. My head is full of it; but I 
 obey my heart, in turning from it, to say a few words 
 
 to you. 
 
 I sincerely and gratefully thank you, for tran¬ 
 scribing your sermon for me. I agree with you as 
 to the fluency of idea and expression; and I felt 
 cordial pleasure in your expansion of the first collect, 
 and your remarks on the response to the command¬ 
 ments. I also wholly agreed in your explanation of 
 perfection ; yet, I am not sure, that 1 would so di¬ 
 rectly have brought this last topic forward. Such 
 is my prudence about my favourite sentiment. ‘ We 
 speak wisdom among them that are perfect’; and 
 < no man putteth new wine into old bottles.’ But I 
 liked it notwithstanding. I read it, and what else 
 was new to me, even with a degree of emotion ; but 
 to account for this, I read it out. As to parts not 
 quite new to me, I would say, that I should rather 
 have liked the last paragraph, (I have it not before 
 me, so that I am in danger of talking at random, . . 
 I mean, what you say of the threefold benefit) not to 
 
have been where it is, but In a place suitable to its 
 place in the service. 
 
 I now proceed to thank you, which I do heartily, 
 for your letters. All you say in the former, and in 
 
 that received to-day, of- is most gratifying to 
 
 me. I showed that received to-day, indeed both, 
 to the Archbishop. He was in town this forenoon, 
 and he could not be more gratified. He enters into 
 the probable improvement produced by your con¬ 
 versation, as in part his own work ; and feels an 
 honest interest, and a no less honest gratification. 
 As to you, Jehonadab, the son of Rechab, who 
 was a right honest man in his day, could not have 
 answered Jehu’s famous question with less embarrass¬ 
 ment, than his Grace of Cashel could answer to any 
 question, that concerned your happiness. 
 
 Your remarks about ai<rQr)(ris, I quite agree in, 
 and approve. You have observed how a common 
 mirror, so throws the solar light on you, as to warm 
 you ; nay, how a concave mirror, so throws it on 
 an object, as to produce ignition. Our feeling of 
 warmth, in this indirect way, experience and com¬ 
 parison tell us to be the same in substance, as to us, 
 with what arises from our direct perception of the 
 sun. Similarly, the J$X£7ro[xsv apri &*’ £vo7TTpou ev 
 aiviy[xoLTi, of St. Paul, implies, substantially, the ejus- 
 dem generis feeling, with what will be hereafter. 
 
 You will observe, I am not at all sanguine, about 
 any improvement in the methodists. All I mean, 
 is, they are certainly not more, perhaps less dis¬ 
 posed, to fall out with us; and I would treat them 
 accordingly. As to caressing them, or moving one 
 step to meet them, or any of them, I should fear 
 the consequences. Any of them, may be too strong; 
 but who could know, whom he was moving toward ? 
 
 VOL. I. B B 
 
370 
 
 I am, at present, a good deal amused, in reading 
 a work, which I recommend to you to get: Mrs. 
 Hutchinson’s life of her husband.* The publication 
 of that book, appears to me one of the signs of the 
 times. It lets one into the arcana of sectarianism; 
 and sets one down amidst scenes, than which, few 
 in history, are, or can be, more interesting, in a 
 moral and philosophical view. When Mrs. H. is 
 assigning reasons, why her husband did not wish 
 an extension of his power, she says, ‘ thirdly, the 
 religiousest, and best people were so pragmaticall, 
 that no act, nor scarcely word, could passe, with¬ 
 out being strictly arraigned, and judg’d at the barre 
 of every common souldier’s discretion ; and there¬ 
 after censur’d and exclaim’d at. Lastly, the few 
 good men were so easily blowne up, into causelesse 
 suspicions, and jealousies; and there were so many 
 malignant whispers, dayly spread abroad, of every 
 one in office, that it was impossible for any man, so 
 worthily to demeane himself, but that a jealous 
 misconstruction of some inconsiderable trifle, was 
 enough to blaste the esteeme of all his actions, 
 though never so pious and deserving.’ Are not 
 sectaries ever substantially the same ? I mean, are 
 not the tendencies here described, the properties of 
 sectarianism? Yet, as God uses them, so would I, 
 in prudence, respect them, and, in measure, acknow¬ 
 ledge them, as a part of his great plan. 
 #*#### 
 
 My friend, will you come up and preach one of 
 your Dublin charity sermons, with a little matter of 
 fact additions, for D-? You will oblige your 
 
 * Colonel Hutchinson, the regicide. . . Ed. 
 
371 
 
 friends at B. greatly; it will be some time next 
 month. 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 A. K, 
 
 LETTER LIX. 
 
 To A . Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Aug. 20. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 # # # # # # 
 
 I am much obliged by your observations on my 
 sermon; and doubt not they are substantially just. 
 Wise caution is certainly of great value ; and im¬ 
 provement in this respect, is, perhaps, no bad cri¬ 
 terion of spiritual improvement. I feel how much 
 I am still wanting, in this important particular; yet 
 I hope that, on the whole, I am rather advancing. 
 It was not altogether without forethought and de¬ 
 liberation, that I ventured to bring forward the topic 
 of perfection: had I been to preach before a critical, 
 and theological audience, it is probable that I should 
 have been more guarded; but, in fact, I was well 
 
 aware that of controversies, the C-- audience knows 
 
 nothing; and I read to M. and Whitty, what I had 
 written, previous to its delivery: requesting their 
 opinion, whether I went too far. They cordially 
 agreed with my entire statement; and I hope were 
 somewhat confirmed by it, in just views, and in a 
 determination to press forward. As to the congre¬ 
 gation at large, I thought that service might be done, 
 
 BBS 
 
372 
 
 by raising their views to an elevated mark. The 
 wisdom of not putting ‘ new wine into old bottles’, I 
 deeply feel: but here, I think the thing chiefly to be 
 avoided, is, laying down strict rules, which will be 
 considered harsh, overstrained, and impracticable. 
 When a high state is held up, as attainable, and when 
 that state, is manifestly a happy one, then, I conceive, 
 encouragement is held out, to prayer, and to self¬ 
 watchfulness. And, in this view of the subject, I 
 do not know, whether guardedly, and with wise 
 limitations, to state the doctrine of perfection, may 
 not be serviceable to those who are in a low state, 
 and who can but indistinctly apprehend it. If, in¬ 
 deed, there be captious critics, professed formalists, 
 or polemical religionists to deal with, I should then 
 abstain, most deliberately, from every phrase and 
 term, that would be likely to give alarm. But, in 
 the present case, I believe, no harm has been done 
 to the many, and some good to a few. 
 
 The last paragraph I put where it was, because I 
 thought it the climax of the whole communion service; 
 and because it contained most weighty and important 
 sentiments, with which, rather than any others, I 
 wished to dismiss my communicants to the Lord’s 
 table. It occurs, indeed, early in the service; but 
 then, as being the statement of benefit resulting from 
 a worthy participation, it points out the end of the 
 institution ; that, which of course should be upper¬ 
 most in the thoughts, when we actually approach the 
 holy table. 
 
 I return you many thanks for the morality of 
 St. Austin. This Abbe Le Grou, seems to have 
 anatomized the human mind, beyond most writers, 
 even of his own communion ; he is admirable, too, for 
 the depth, and distinctness, with which he attributes 
 
373 
 
 every thing good, to divine grace. I wish protestant 
 polemics, would give a fair reading to such books ; 
 they would furnish weapons of the best temper, for 
 opposing erroneous sentiments of human merit. 
 Clear I am, that we never shall succeed, till we play 
 off the church of Rome against itself; counteracting 
 what is bad, by that which is good, in writers of their 
 own communion. But in truth, this is only giving 
 you back an opinion, I have often heard from your 
 own lips. All I can say is, the opinion appears to 
 derive fresh strength, from the little book you sent me. 
 By the way, I employed half an hour, tuesday night, 
 in advocating the cause of R. C. divinity, against 
 
 -, who appeared to conceive very slightingly of it. 
 
 I adverted to a distinction, which should, in fairness, 
 be made, between the religious views of the church, 
 and the practical enormities of the court of Rome. 
 After one or two favourite quotations from Kempis, 
 I stated the advantage they derived, from their copious 
 use of the fathers; adducing, by way of contrast, 
 what Burnet complains of, after Mr. Charteris, re¬ 
 specting the mere controversial use, which protestants 
 
 make of the fathers. W- admitted, that the 
 
 R. C-s had an advantage in this ; but urged 
 
 that their advantage, here, was not as papists, but 
 as followers of primitive piety. He pressed me, 
 therefore, to show any good result, from what was 
 clearly popish; for which purpose, I quoted J. J. 
 
 D-’s fine observation, about their having given 
 
 their heads in safe-keeping to the church ; and dwelt 
 a little, on the useful bias given towards the contem¬ 
 plative life, by monastic institutions. 
 
 Your quotation from Mrs. Hutchinson interests me 
 so, that I long to read the book. Could you procure 
 it for me ? If so, I will thankfully repay you; or 
 
 b b 3 
 
374 . 
 
 Mr. Keene, if he has it, can place it to my account; 
 arid the Archbishop, I am sure, would kindly under¬ 
 take the conveyance of it. 
 
 How truly concerned I am, that I cannot go up to 
 
 preach for D-. I am ordered, positively ordered 
 
 to Ballyspellan by Dr. Evans; and this will interfere 
 with it inevitably; and indeed, besides, other reasons 
 would make locomotion impracticable, till after 
 Christmas. 
 
 I recollect having read, several years ago, the 
 production of Benjamin Heath Malkin, which I think 
 he entitled, ‘ Essays on subjects connected with 
 civilization and improvement .' 9 Among many para¬ 
 doxes, filled out of the stagnant pools of modem 
 philosophy, this gentleman thought proper to intro¬ 
 duce a confident assertion, that our British consti¬ 
 tution, is no constitution, because, forsooth, it did not 
 spring up at once like a mushroom, or like Minerva. 
 For my own part, I cannot help attributing much of 
 the excellence of our constitution, to the very circum¬ 
 stance, which Mr. M -complains of; its gradual, 
 
 and seemingly fortuitous production. I conceive 
 that its tardy evolution, bespeaks something fitter to 
 endure; as the oak of the forest, is the slow, but 
 majestic growth of ages. I think, too, that its suc¬ 
 cessive, and unpremeditated adoption of ingredients, 
 from every form of government; its wise, yet inar¬ 
 tificial provisions against contingencies, which expe¬ 
 rience, alone, could anticipate: and especially, the 
 involved and intricate course of preparative events, 
 and predisposing causes, which Dr. Miller * is so 
 ably developing, that these, altogether prove the work 
 
 * I he Rev. George Miller, D.D., the learned author of ‘ The Philosophy of 
 Modern History.’ . . Ed. 
 
to be something more than human ; and give us 
 reason to trust, that these countries have been, and 
 will be, specially preserved, for the discharge of some 
 mighty function; connected with the happiness of 
 mankind, and with the advancement of the Messiah’s 
 Kingdom. 
 
 But it is not about the constitution, that I mean to 
 trouble you any further, than as, by analogy, it has 
 suggested a train of thought, respecting our beloved 
 liturgy. This latter is not the work of one man ; of 
 one society; or of one age: it is, like the British 
 constitution, a precious result of accumulative, and 
 collective wisdom. Its materials were gradually 
 formed, and safely deposited, among the records of 
 various churches, eastern, and western, more and less 
 ancient, more and less pure; and when time was ripe 
 for its formation, its compilers were led, I verily be¬ 
 lieve, by a wisdom not their own, to proceed on the 
 principle, of rejecting whatever was peculiar, to any 
 sect or party, to any age or nation; and retaining 
 that sacred depositum, which had the common sanc¬ 
 tion of all. So that, in addition to the touchstone of 
 sacred Scripture, we have the ‘ semper et ubique ’ of 
 the catholic church, to satisfy us, that this, our 
 national commentary, is framed according to the 
 analogy of faith. 
 
 The question, as it has usually been put, is between 
 our catholic liturgy, and a liturgy framed by one in¬ 
 dividual, or by one church. But may we not venture 
 to rest the merits of the case, on a far broader, and 
 to our adversaries, a much more favourable suppos¬ 
 ition ? Let us, for instance, imagine, that, instead of 
 our present public service, we could substitute a 
 liturgy entirely composed, at the period of the re- 
 
 b b 4 , 
 
376 
 
 formation, by a select committee of the wisest, the 
 most pious, and the least prejudiced members, of all 
 the protestant churches. It is evident, that this 
 would give us merely the speculative and practical 
 views of a single period; and that, with the express 
 exclusion of one integral, though erroneous member, 
 of Christ’s church, the Roman catholic. I should, 
 indeed, havO said two: for the Greek church has not 
 been included in our supposition. But we well know, 
 that, in human science, each period of the world has 
 had its favourite theory. This is notoriously the case, 
 in physics, in astronomy, in jurisprudence, and in 
 morals ; and why not, also, in theology ? From 
 analogy, then, it is probable, that divinity has had its 
 fashions; that there has commonly, been, if I may 
 use so homely an expression, a run upon some pecu¬ 
 liar opinion, which, for the time, has given the tone 
 to theological sentiment. But I conceive that the 
 testimony of ecclesiastical history, establishes the 
 fact beyond question or appeal. It requires no great 
 depth of investigation to discover, that matters have, 
 almost uniformly, been so regulated by divine Pro¬ 
 vidence, as, in every period of Christianity, to turn 
 the catholic current, towards some extreme; for the 
 purpose of counteracting an opposite and more dan¬ 
 gerous tendency, in some heretical branch, that 
 threatened to overflow its safe channels, and to con¬ 
 vey along with it the true catholic doctrine. And I 
 think it may be proved, that, at the era of the re¬ 
 formation, there was, in the protestant church, a 
 spring-tide, in favour of forensic justification ; which, 
 perhaps, was the only counter-active then attain¬ 
 able, to the popish exaggerations of human merit: 
 but which, it must be admitted, threatened to over¬ 
 whelm the pure, and holy principles, of communicated 
 
377 
 
 righteousness, and spiritual regeneration. Hence, 
 then, it appears, that the prevalent theology of no 
 given period, could be hopefully trusted with the 
 formation of a liturgy, calculated purely and per¬ 
 manently to exhibit true Christianity, in its just pro¬ 
 portions, without deficiency, and without excess: 
 
 \ and that, for very important reasons, the theology of 
 the reformation was peculiarly ill suited, for this dif¬ 
 ficult and delicate office. The fact is, that a catholic 
 liturgy, must be formed on a catholic plan; that is, 
 from a harmony of those dispersed and vital truths, 
 which, in different ages, different countries, and dif¬ 
 ferent churches, were popularly, and effectually em¬ 
 bodied, in established liturgies. And must we not 
 account it a wonderful interposition of providential 
 wisdom, that, at a period when our reformers, if they 
 had themselves undertaken to compose a new liturgy, 
 or had called in foreign aid to assist them, must 
 almost inevitably, have fallen into doctrinal excess ; 
 that, at such a period, these men, wise, indeed, and 
 good, but fallible, and not exempt from the prejudices 
 of their day, should be led to proceed, on the very 
 plan just pointed out ? On the very plan, I say; for 
 we find, that our liturgy is compiled, from almost 
 every form of prayer, then extant; from the ancient 
 greek and roman liturgies; from the sacramentary of 
 Gregory; from the missal of Sarum; and, where 
 ancient liturgies seemed to fail of appropriate matter, 
 from lutheran, and even from calvinistic formularies: 
 in these latter instances, indeed, we observe, that 
 certain doctrinal asperities are mitigated, by the same 
 mild spirit, which pervades the rest of the service. 
 Thus 7ravra;£7j ryv oLhrfiziav, is the motto of our church ; 
 and if my theory be not fanciful, it is in virtue of 
 this ubiquitarian principle that she has attained the 
 
378 
 
 true temperament, both of doctrinal, and spiritual 
 religion. 
 
 It is, perhaps, not wholly improbable, that, at an 
 earlier period than the reformation, there had not 
 been a sufficiency of deviation from speculative and 
 practical rectitude, to excite a keen regard for that 
 truth and good, which was in danger ; that there 
 had not been perfect specimens of all the errors, 
 which were to be guarded against for the future ; 
 may we not add, that there had not been a church, 
 in all respects so well and happily circumstanced, as 
 the anglican, for making a selection, at once, rational 
 and spiritual; moderate, though fervent; undogma- 
 tic, and yet theologically sound ? And, I conceive, 
 it would not be difficult to prove, that, from the 
 theological disputes, which have ever since, more or 
 less, subsisted in England, as well as in foreign pro- 
 testant churches, no period subsequent to the reform¬ 
 ation, would have been equally favourable, to the 
 compilation of this truly wonderful book. 
 
 In the sermon which you saw and heard, I re¬ 
 marked that the style of our liturgy, considering 
 the period of its composition, is in itself, a kind of 
 literary miracle ; and, that this form of sound words, 
 whilst it can never become antiquated whilst the 
 English language retains its strength and purity, 
 will always excite an emotion of mingled awe and 
 admiration, by the venerable simplicity of former 
 times. On this topic, a further idea has occurred to 
 me; namely, that, if our liturgy, like most other 
 productions of the same day, had not only abounded 
 with uncouth phraseology, but been cast, as it were, 
 in a vulgar mould; subsequent alterations, not only 
 verbal, but radical, would have been indispensable; 
 and in the case of such alterations, much as we 
 
379 
 
 should have had cause to lament the impracticability, 
 of attaining that impressive dignity, which is the fruit 
 of a green, and graceful old age, there would be a 
 circumstance of far deeper moment, because it would 
 strike at the very root of our true Church-of-England 
 divinity. Let us only ask ourselves, at what period, 
 since the establishment of Edward’s second book, 
 would it have been safe to trust our leading divines, 
 with a radical alteration of our liturgy? We know 
 the temper and spirit of the calvinists, in Elizabeth’s 
 reign ; of the high churchmen, under the Stewarts ; 
 of Tillotson’s party, on the one hand, and Atterbury’s 
 and South’s, on the other, in the subsequent reigns; 
 . . and, with respect to the prevailing divinity of the 
 eighteenth century, 4 silence in mercy.’ A detailed 
 view of particulars would surely authorize the con¬ 
 clusion, that at no assignable period, would the ruling 
 party have been satisfied, with a mere improvement 
 of the style ; and the doctrine and the spirit would 
 have undergone a dreadful mutilation ; that we 
 should in vain have had to look for that primitive 
 piety, that deep experimental feeling, and, I cannot 
 help adding, that sublime Christian philosophy, which, 
 at present, so justly excite our admiration, and warm 
 our hearts. The style, then, of our liturgy, has been 
 the safeguard of its spirit. 
 
 Farewell, my dear friend. 
 
 «J i J • 
 
380 
 
 * » » • t *» / 
 
 LETTER 50. 
 
 • ' • t 1 ' 
 
 1« V I « . - • * *■ * 
 
 To Mo Rev. J. Jebb. 
 
 i> . . * 
 
 Dawson Street, Oct. 10. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I returned home yesterday, after my fortnight’s 
 ramble. During the course of it, I could have 
 wished to have written to you; but I was so occu¬ 
 pied, and so much in motion, that I actually wrote 
 nothing, except one or two very short letters. At 
 
 D-’s we were very comfortable ; except that 
 
 C-seemed to think it incumbent on him, to give 
 
 a full-length display of Calvinism, to Mrs. L-; 
 
 and therefore, while he was present, all was polemical. 
 
 In fact, poor C-appeared to worse advantage, 
 
 than on any former occasion : but, when the thoughts 
 were in his mind, I was glad they came forth ; as it 
 exemplified to our worthy friend, what I had so long 
 been telling her about. 
 
 In other respects, things went on very pleasantly, 
 though not in any manner implying a change of sen¬ 
 timent in our friend. It is his wish, I am sure, to 
 feel with us, as much as is consistent with his specu¬ 
 lative differences from us; and therefore, nothing 
 could be less pugnacious, than his whole conduct; 
 yet he said once or twice, what I heard with regret, 
 as letting me know, that his mind was still too much 
 entangled in his old subtilties. After all, he is an 
 uncommon man ; and his excellencies are such, as to 
 make him be loved, and almost delighted in, in spite 
 of whatever innocent errors, for innocent, in him, I 
 
381 
 
 must believe them, though, as far as I understand 
 them, they are the very antipodes almost, of what I 
 think and believe on those subjects. ; 
 
 Mrs.-and Miss-, seem to me, to grow in 
 
 goodness. I do not know two better women. Mrs. 
 
 -’s sister, is also one of the best disposed women, 
 
 that can be; encouraging, and delighting in, the 
 most directly good conversation. And there was, 
 
 also, a calvinist young lady there, a Miss D-; 
 
 who, 1 believe, was not a little revolted, by the 
 strong manner in which I thought it right to address 
 
 myself to C-; but was afterwards conciliated by 
 
 what I said, when he was absent, of him and his 
 opinions ; and also respecting the indispensable ne¬ 
 cessity of divine grace, and the distinctness of its 
 results ; a topic, on which I seldom fail to please 
 honest calvinists, by merely stating my own simple 
 ideas; and, I own, 1 am always gratified by our 
 agreement. When I can, therefore, I keep on this 
 line, in talking to them; advancing as far as I can 
 upon it, but not deviating from it. But the tho¬ 
 roughly pious calvinists only, will go on with me in 
 this way. The dogmatists will try you on points of 
 difference; and, after you are obliged to dissent, will 
 be too apt to hear all you say afterward, with some 
 jealousy, at least with coldness and reserve. So did 
 
 not Miss D- ; nor I think would even C-, 
 
 had we been alone. 
 
 - has written me a good, plain, well con¬ 
 ceived letter; and says he was going to Cashel to see 
 you. Your opinion of him will be interesting to me. 
 He speaks of you with great warmth ; and I am sure 
 he speaks from his heart. 
 
 Observe what is said of the methodist conference, 
 in the 617th page of the Christian Observer and, 
 
particularly, at the bottom of the last column. The 
 remarks made on their proceedings, are temperate 
 and judicious: but there is no remark, on what 
 strikes me most; that is, the necessity which they 
 obviously feel, for fencing themselves against doc¬ 
 trinal innovation. This proclaims their danger, much 
 more than it provides for their security. Were we 
 to see them taking the ground of sound sense, and 
 maintaining it soberly, and intelligently, then, much 
 might be expected. But, when they build their wall, 
 with such materials as are here produced, I cannot 
 build on its permanency. 4 Total depravity of human 
 nature’, is, at once, exceptionable, and ambiguous. 
 * The human mind’, says Archbishop Leighton, 
 c however stunned and weakened by so dreadful a 
 fall, still retains some faint idea, some confused and 
 obscure notions, of the good it has lost ; and some 
 remaining seeds of its heavenly original : Cognata 
 semina coeli.’ Who was sounder than this divine ? 
 yet, clearly, what he describes, is not total depravity. 
 Total captivity, or total impotency, may fairly be 
 allowed; but total depravity, is too crude an idea, to 
 be made a standard expression. 
 
 I fear, however, the witness of the spirit, is a 
 still more ominous sort of test. They are evidently 
 anxious to stand high, without sufficiently examining 
 whether they stand firm. They scarcely attempt to 
 define, what they are here making a term of commu¬ 
 nion. And, therefore, I conceive, they are only es¬ 
 tablishing, what will be so much the sooner rescinded 
 and rejected. It is, I suspect, a mound of shifting 
 sand, against a rising tide. 
 
 Is not the first article in the Eclectic, a lively kind 
 of thing? I take it to be Foster. But, if so, how 
 curious is it to observe his tenderness to Southey 5 
 
383 
 
 as if there was a latent congeniality, between their 
 minds and views. Read what is said of the same 
 thing, in the B. C., and mark the difference. My 
 friend, I own I fear that a time will yet come, when 
 the now multiplied dissenters, will act as odd a part, 
 as any that have gone before them. I almost think 
 that the mystery of iniquity already worketh. 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 A.K. 
 
 LETTER LX. 
 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 Cashel, Oct. 13. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Majch of your account of-has afforded me sin¬ 
 
 cere gratification. Any radical change of sentiment 
 in our friend, I did not expect; but what you say of 
 his disposition to feel as much as he can with you, is 
 very pleasant: then, it is delightful, that the females 
 are so happily progressive. Matters in this diocese, 
 I think are rapidly improving. W-has had asto¬ 
 
 nishing success, for the short time he has been set¬ 
 tled at G-. His poor protestant parishioners, who 
 
 were a miserable, disheartened set of people, when he 
 came among them, are now beginning to look up ; 
 to stand erect; to go with pleasure, and even with a 
 degree of honest pride # , to church; from which, it 
 
 * At a later period, the Bishop would not have used this phrase. Pride, he 
 regarded as so 'dangerous an enemy, that the very word could not be used, 
 safely, in any but an unchristian sense. . . En. 
 
384 
 
 is to be feared, they formerly absented themselves, 
 through a shame of their numerous roman catholic 
 neighbours. For all this, I was in a good measure 
 prepared; but I was not prepared, for his becoming 
 popular with the surrounding gentry. This, how¬ 
 ever, is actually the case. People of most respect¬ 
 able rank and property in the county, to the distance 
 of seven or eight miles, have turned to him, and 
 almost thrown themselves upon him, as a serious and 
 pious clergyman. One gentleman comes, every sun- 
 day, a distance of eight miles to his church, from a 
 neglected parish in the diocese of Killaloe; who is 
 earnestly in pursuit of inward religion, has established 
 family prayer in his house, and, in every particular, 
 gives promise of proving a truly exemplary character. 
 It should be observed, that he has a very large for¬ 
 tune, an extensive influence, and is one of the best 
 magistrates, and most active country gentlemen, that 
 the county affords. The turn for seriousness, and 
 even for deep piety, which begins to show itself in 
 
 that quarter, astonishes W-. He has absolutely 
 
 taken no steps to bring it about, olutoixoltyi yJ yr) xolqtto- 
 . . and he is fully disposed to proceed in the 
 quietest, the least obtrusive, the most rational, and 
 the most regular manner; forcing nothing, but 
 giving every wise, and honest encouragement, to the 
 progress of what is good. I own, I look upon his 
 transplantation, as a blessing to the district he is 
 placed in: and as one of the most valuable acquisi¬ 
 tions, which this diocese ever has received. The 
 good Archbishop, with whom I had much convers¬ 
 ation yesterday, is, I trust, disposed to view these 
 matters, in no very different light from myself. I 
 hope these two excellent men will come closer toge¬ 
 ther ; as I think they may be of mutual service to 
 
385 
 
 each other; and as I conceive, it is of great import¬ 
 ance, that W-’s merits, should be duly felt. As 
 
 to the Archbishop, you would every day delight in 
 him more and more. He is, I believe, as pure a 
 man as upon earth; and continually growing, in all 
 that is wise and good. Indeed, my dear friend, if it 
 please God that you should come here, there is be¬ 
 fore you a greater field for usefulness, than perhaps 
 any where else. The Archbishop longs for you. 
 
 W-too, looks out most earnestly ; he is prepared 
 
 to drink in, and imbibe deeply, and to pour forth 
 wisely, the very views and sentiments, that you love 
 to communicate. And I soberly think, that, from 
 the enlarged sphere which is opening to him, he may 
 be God’s instrument, for leavening a large, and most 
 respectably inhabited, district of country. But to 
 the Archbishop himself, you will be of very great 
 service. I do not say how much I myself wish for 
 your counsel: you ought to know, that, under God, 
 I am indebted to you, for whatever I know, or feel, 
 that is right; and you may, therefore, judge how I 
 have been affected, by the prospect of seeing you. 
 
 I thank you for Walker’s pamphlet. It presents 
 to my view, something approaching very dismally to 
 cheerless atheism ; but it is, I think, very curious, in 
 another respect; as showing, that, to act consist¬ 
 ently, all the advocates of unmixed, or of selective 
 communion, must proceed to the wildest extreme of 
 his own extravagant system. 
 
 I had paid some attention, before your letter 
 reached me, to the minutes of the methodist confer¬ 
 ence ; and was particularly struck with the mention 
 of ‘ total depravity’, I need not say, that my train 
 of thought was coincident with yours; but it is 
 curious, that, just as your letter came in, I was talk- 
 
 vol. i. c c 
 
386 
 
 ing to Mr. M-, of seeds of good in human 
 
 nature: I read him the passage you quote, from 
 Archbishop Leighton, in confirmation ; and the al¬ 
 most literal agreement, at once surprized, and de¬ 
 lighted him. Things surely must be in a most 
 disjointed state, among the English methodists. Is 
 it not pretty clear, from the mounds they are striving 
 to raise, that pelagianism, socinianism, rationalism, 
 and antinomianism, are gaining ground among them ? 
 So, at least, it appears to me; and, that the evil is 
 spreading widely, I infer from the fact, that they 
 exclude only from official situation, those who hold 
 opinions contrary to the divinity of Christ! Surely, 
 in the better days of methodism, an innovator of this 
 leaven, would have been expelled from the society 
 with horror. The fact, I believe, is, that methodism, 
 originally, was the salt of our establishment; and 
 that, when it had communicated a new spirit to a 
 portion of that establishment, it speedily lost its savour. 
 I trust the influence it has had, and the effect it has 
 produced over its own body, will not soon decay. 
 How far it may now be in a state of progress towards 
 infidelity, in order to be God’s providential instru¬ 
 ment for purifying by persecution, the establishment 
 which it has heretofore renovated by an infusion of 
 piety, time alone can discover : but I own I look 
 forward to a reign of irreligion, which will be the 
 means of rendering more intense, the Christianity of 
 a Small remnant. If we live to see these days, may 
 we be divinely enabled to be true and faithful, in the 
 midst of apostasy. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Friend, 
 
 Yours always most faithfully, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 P.S. I shall be very desirous to hear from you. 
 
387 
 
 LETTER LXI. 
 To A. Knox , Esq . 
 
 Cashel, Oct. 29. 1807. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 X have just learned from the Archbishop, that the 
 present state of the country has, in some measure, 
 shaken your intention of visiting us. I believe he 
 intends writing himself, by this post; lest however, 
 he should not, I cannot avoid assuring you, that the 
 roads are perfectly safe in the day time; and that, 
 in this our city, you may be as quiet, as peaceable, 
 and as free from outrage, as in the midst of Dublin 
 itself. Your failing to come among us, would be a 
 most grievous disappointment; for which we are by 
 no means prepared, after having so long been feast¬ 
 ing on the very thought of seeing you ; therefore, if 
 you wish for our perfection, do not put us to the 
 trial of having our minds overset by your change of 
 plan. 
 
 Two nights ago, I received Col. Blackader*, for 
 which I return you my hearty thanks. It is very in¬ 
 teresting and instructive, so far as I have gone; and, 
 I dare say, will prove at least equally so, throughout. 
 It reached me, when I was engaged with Sir W. 
 Forbes’s Life of Beattie, which I could by no means 
 desert. This last is surely a work of great interest. 
 I am particularly struck with the light it throws upon 
 Scotch metaphysics; and am confirmed in what I 
 
 * The Life of Colonel Blackader. . . Ed, 
 C C 2 
 
388 
 
 before suspected, that the Edinburgh reviewers felt 
 they were fighting their own battle, in attacking this 
 work so bitterly. They evidently hate Beattie, and 
 Beattie’s letters ; because the one successfully op¬ 
 posed, and the others no less satisfactorily exhibit, 
 that mystery of iniquity, in which the said reviewers 
 are deeply involved. 
 
 4 A cav’ling, cold, pert, disputatious train.’ 
 
 It delights me that such marked predilection 
 should be shown for our establishment, our liturgy, 
 and even our ecclesiastical constitution, by a presby- 
 terian, a stranger, and a man of letters. His fond¬ 
 ness, too, for classical literature ; his undogmatic 
 views of religion ; his taste for the scriptures; his 
 cordial detestation of metaphysical entanglements; 
 all endear him to me. His religious sentiments, 
 doubtless, were often superficial, and indistinct; but 
 then, I cannot help thinking he would have been a 
 fit, and grateful recipient of better ways, both of 
 thinking, and feeling, had they been thrown in his 
 wav. After all, divine Providence has different in- 
 struments, in different departments. He was a very 
 useful one, in his way; and had he never written 
 more than even the minstrel, he would still have 
 been no common benefactor: for, in this world, ail 
 innocent and elegant amusement, which may, into 
 the bargain, improve both the taste and the affec¬ 
 tions, is no small addition to our common stock. 
 
 I lately wrote a sermon, in which are some toler¬ 
 ably good thoughts; some allowable plagiarism from 
 Chrysostom ; two lines and a half, from your letter 
 on frames and feelings; about as much from John 
 Smith; about as much from the morality of St. 
 Augustin; about as much from Plutarch: and the 
 
389 
 
 rest, I hope made my own; and receiving its shape 
 and colour, from having passed though my mind and 
 Heart; but, assuredly, in the first instance, imbibed 
 from you. Therefore, you, in fact, mounted the 
 pulpit; and you are answerable for the doctrine I 
 delivered. Next Sunday, I hope to preach on the 
 subject of the day, it being the festival of All Saints. 
 A heavy cold has impeded me hitherto: but I ex¬ 
 pect, this evening, to begin in earnest; and, for that 
 purpose, have declined dining with the Archbishop. 
 I know not whether I told you, that I had lately 
 talked with J. F.; and think him a very important 
 acquisition. In truth, from that young man, I ex¬ 
 pect extraordinary things; and he seems as prudent, 
 as he is good. 
 
 You will gratify and oblige me by bringing down 
 Hutchinson, and anything new that you may think 
 it right for me to have. And, in addition, could 
 you procure for me the transactions of the Parisian 
 Sanhedrim; Bonaparte’s catechism ; and Parson’s 
 Christian directory, translated by Stanhope. There 
 is a London edition, I think, at Dugdale’s. This 
 seems to me one of the R. C. books, which has im¬ 
 bibed and retained the true primitive spirit: much 
 from the fathers, especially St. Chrysostom and St. 
 Augustin. 
 
 Farewell my dear Friend, 
 
 Yours ever most gratefully, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 c c 3 
 
390 
 
 LETTER LXII. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Tuesday, Jan. 19. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I have this morning had two visits ; of which, while 
 the impression is fresh upon my mind, I wish to 
 give you some account: this must apologize for my 
 so prematurely congratulating you, on (I trust) your 
 safe arrival at home; and your happy meeting with a 
 friend, who must have been anxious to see you. # 
 
 Just as I had finished my breakfast, -came in. 
 
 He told me that he had felt a severe pang, at learn¬ 
 ing that you had left Cashel. He had no idea of 
 your going so soon; and was truly grieved, that he 
 had not an opportunity of taking his leave, and I 
 suspect, also, of disburthening his mind. For, not 
 being in any measure reconciled to himself, he con¬ 
 cluded that he must have sunk in your estimation. 
 So perfectly right are all his views and feelings, 
 respecting the occurrence of last week, that my 
 office was rather consolatorv, than corroborative. The 
 fact is, his mind was so wounded, that it needed 
 the balm which my friendship could afford. Among 
 other things, he declared, that had he actually gone 
 to that place, he could not remain in Cashel: that so 
 soon as his place here could be filled, he would have 
 betaken himself to his parish ; from a feeling, that 
 his usefulness here had been destroyed. Even as it 
 is, he thinks that his mind and powers are not ade¬ 
 quate to the situation he fills; that it oversets him, 
 intellectually and morally; and that, though he will 
 
 * Miss Fergusson. . . Ed. 
 
391 
 
 certainly do nothing rashly, he cannot help regard¬ 
 ing it as a providential indication, that Cashel is not 
 to be his destination; that he has, repeatedly and 
 remarkably, been prevented from establishing him¬ 
 self in a settled residence here, when on the very 
 eve of completing his purpose. He threw out, also, 
 an idea, that, under the circumstances which have 
 lately occurred, a change of officers might be essen¬ 
 tial to the success of the scheme, that seems to be 
 providentially set on foot amongst us. It has oc¬ 
 curred to me, that, as you had no opportunity of 
 personal communication with him, a short letter, 
 confirming him in those views, which he not only 
 holds, but I do think loves, and tending to restore 
 him in his own estimation, might have a serviceable 
 effect: he is, in truth, a most guileless, warm¬ 
 hearted, and unworldly man. 
 
 Just as —- went out, Whitty came in. He im¬ 
 
 mediately proceeded to unburthen himself; and that, 
 in such a manner, as to raise him very considerably 
 in my esteem and regard. He was affected even to 
 tears; and what I was gratified with was, that his 
 sensibility had been keenly wounded by the manner 
 of your reproof. He, most cordially and unreserv¬ 
 edly, admits, and feels, the force of all your argu¬ 
 ments ; and declares, that his veneration for you 
 is such, as he cannot find words to express. He 
 shrunk from the idea of stating to you all that he 
 had to state, not in the way of justification, but to 
 account for the step he had taken. Strange as it 
 may seem, he actually went against his will, and all 
 his relishes, on, what he most erroneously conceived 
 to be, a point of duty. In forming this decision, he 
 was strengthened by what he could not bring him¬ 
 self to mention to you,-’s having gone, two years 
 
 c c 4 
 
392 
 
 ago, to Lady -’s ball. He now clearly sees, 
 
 that the thing was most decidedly wrong; and that, 
 consequently, it could not be justified by the prac¬ 
 tice of an individual, however reputable. He also 
 
 fully feels, that, within these two years,-’s views 
 
 and feelings, have undergone essential alteration; 
 and that that admirable, and truly evangelic man, is 
 daily growing in unmixed goodness. On the whole, 
 the conversation I had with Whitty, has left on my 
 mind a very pleasant impression. I seem to perceive 
 that he has got some principles, from the discourse 
 you pronounced to him, which will be of general 
 application: and certainly, sensibilities have been 
 called forth in him, by this occasion, which I had 
 not known were in his nature. I leave it in your 
 judgment, whether a letter to him, might not be a 
 kind, and useful thing.* 
 
 I saw you pass this morning, with a pang which I 
 could not repress, though I hope so soon to have the 
 happiness of meeting you. Through the course of 
 the day I have been low; and, at this moment, I 
 feel a degree of regret, which a rigid censor would 
 call weakness. I hope it is something better; and I 
 pray that it may be kept in due bounds. You your¬ 
 self, my dear Sir, felt it when we parted, and I 
 cannot be ashamed to feel with you. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Friend, and may God bless you ! 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 * The conversations quoted in this letter, took place, in consequence of Mr. 
 Knox having strongly remonstrated with the excellent clergyman alluded to, 
 on a subject, soon afterwards, more fully treated by Mr. Jebb, in ‘ A Letter to 
 a Young Clergyman on the Subject of Fashionable Amusements.’ Private 
 impression. Dublin: 1808. Reprinted. London: 1830. See * Practical Theology,’ 
 vol. ii. p. 267. . . Ed. 
 
393 
 
 LETTER 51. 
 
 To the Rev . J, Jebb . 
 
 Jan. 22. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Y our letter gratified me much ; and I mean to 
 follow your advice, whenever I can get myself in 
 proper tune for doing, what would be, in my line, 
 rather a new thing; new, I mean, as to accidental 
 habit, I having never had occasion to write exactly 
 under the same circumstances before. I was pro¬ 
 sperous in my journey; I had the moon, coming out, 
 on Wednesday morning, and I had the sun, coming 
 in; his setting beams, were flaming on all the win¬ 
 dows about the circular road, as I passed it. Poor 
 
 S-is more reasonable; he called on me, tues- 
 
 day; and I thought I could not do better than pro¬ 
 duce, what had entertained a man ill in body, to 
 one who, I feared, was but sick in mind. I, accord¬ 
 ingly, showed him your 107 th Psalm * ; and after¬ 
 wards, when I saw fitting, the sermon on the mount, 
 with which he was greatly delighted. Poor fellow! 
 I will do my best to keep him, now I have got him 
 (a little) again. I have to say a word or two to the 
 Archbishop; and therefore, must say only to you, 
 that I am, 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 * See the Christian Observer for January, 1810; in which the paper here 
 referred to, was afterwards inserted inadvertently, by a friend, without the 
 Bishop’s knowledge, and consequently without having received his final correc¬ 
 tion. . . Ed. 
 
394 
 
 LETTER 52. 
 
 To the Rev . J. Jebb. 
 
 Jan. 23. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 In sending you a packet of Methodist Magazines, I 
 wish just to say a word or two. 
 
 Observe the extracts from Paley. Are they not 
 wonderful? At first, I imagined they must be 
 some remains of early writings; but, from what is 
 said in the remarks on Dr. Gray’s dialogue, I should 
 rather infer, that they have been written by him 
 in his latest years. I am, therefore, anxious to see 
 the newly published volume of his sermons ; but 
 they have not yet come to Ireland. 
 
 Within this hour, I have a letter from-, 
 
 enclosing a specimen of his arrangement of the 
 sermon on the mount. His intention is to follow 
 you ; and he has, so far, generally done so ; but I 
 perceive some variety in the divisions, and I think 
 it will be interesting, to compare the whole of his, 
 with yours. I shall, of course, urge him to go on 
 with it; but, at all events, it is no trifling sanction 
 of the general idea, that such a mind as his should 
 take to it so cordially. 
 
 Poor Stopford visited me, in a kind way, yester¬ 
 day. I put your 107 th Psalm first, and then the 
 sermon on the mount*, into his hands. I was glad 
 to have such a matter to converse with him upon, 
 
 * The Bishop’s distribution of it, according to the laws of hebrew paral¬ 
 lelism: See Sacred Literature, Sect, xxiii. p. 429. . . Ed. 
 
395 
 
 it being peculiarly suitable to him; he having 
 both taste, and critical acumen : he was greatly 
 pleased, and wondered it should not have been 
 discovered before. I recommend to you to read 
 particularly, Lowth’s 4th, 18th, 19th, and 20th 
 prelections; as I conceive they contain many 
 observations, strictly applicable to the sermon on 
 the mount: as to the reality of the poetical charac¬ 
 ter in this, even the following words, alone, appear 
 to me conclusive :. . 
 
 Yoco Didacticum, versibus eleganter et acute 
 concinnatis prsecepta includens, et comparationibus, 
 sive apertis sive occultis, saspe illustratum. 
 
 Sententiosum . . dicendi genus primum statuo 
 Hebraeorum styli poetici charactera, ut qui om¬ 
 nium maxime est insignis et latissime patet. Sunt 
 etiam nonnulla , neque ea sane inelegantia Poemata, 
 quae nihil fere aliud habent poeticum prseter numeros 
 (what these are, or whether they are any thing, he 
 pretends not to say) atque earn ex qua ipsa nume- 
 rorum suavitas magna ex parte constat, sententiarum 
 concinnitatem. . . Prael. iv. 
 
 This last observation, which is self-evidently just, 
 settles the point respecting the sermon on the 
 mount. 
 
 Observe, that our Saviour himself describes his 
 own method of teaching to have been, sv 7roipoi^ioLig. 
 
 Lowth has opened the way, much rather than 
 exhausted the work : as an instance of his omission, 
 I would point out, his dwelling, wholly on the 
 short sentences in the Proverbs; and not giving so 
 much as one instance of that longer species of 
 proverb, which is so very beautiful; and which 
 occurs, for example, at the end of two successive 
 chapters, the 23d and 24th. I 
 
396 
 
 - is in the drawing-room waiting for me; 
 
 therefore, for the present adieu. 
 
 Most faithfully and cordially yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 LETTER LXIII. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Jan. 25 . 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I cannot but make an effort to thank you for your 
 letters ; and for your thoughtfulness in sending me 
 the magazines, into which I have not yet had time 
 to look. Ever since you left this, I have been close 
 prisoner to the house. I ventured too far, in going 
 to church, and felt the effects of so doing; but I 
 am getting better. What I most regret is, the loss 
 of the Archbishop’s society. Kind and excellent 
 man! He sent me as a present his Biographical 
 Dictionary, in fifteen volumes; and with it a note, 
 which makes the present such an one, as will 
 gladden me as long as I live. You shall see it when 
 we meet, always with the reserve of the providential 
 proviso. 
 
 I rejoice that your journey was so prosperous, and 
 the after effects of so very mild a nature. I rejoice, 
 not only for you and your friends, but for Cashel; 
 for may we not hope, now the communication 
 to and fro is so pleasantly open, that your visits 
 will be frequent; annual, at least. 
 
 I thank you for your references, to which I will 
 
397 
 
 attend. Just at present, as the Psalms are a more 
 immediate object with me than the sermon on the 
 mount, I have been engaged more with the lyric, 
 than the sententious poetry, of the Hebrews : with 
 this view, I have attempted a translation and ar¬ 
 rangement of Moses’ song, which I enclose for 
 your perusal. It is doubtless faulty, in the detail; 
 but I could be glad to have your opinion of the 
 disposition, as a whole ; and, especially, of the dis¬ 
 tribution among different interlocutors. When the 
 language of my version may appear most poetical, 
 it is most literal : e. g. ‘ I will whet the lightning of 
 my sword.’ There are two or three line instances of 
 the alternate stanza. In the last of them, the beauty 
 is entirely destroyed, by the version in common use. 
 My rendering there, £ From the naked head of the 
 enemy,’ is strictly literal. 
 
 I am more and more adverse to pursuing the 
 latin version any further. In order to give the 
 spirit and manner of the hebrew, it must be so 
 solecistical and unclassical, that it would shock 
 readers of taste; especially those, who have been 
 well instructed at great public schools. This may 
 be, in some measure, avoided, by a person who 
 unites, with a relish for hebrew poetry, a true 
 classical taste, and a profound acquaintance with the 
 best latin authors; as did Bishop Lowth. But, 
 even here, in order to be classical, somewhat must 
 be detracted from the primitive air. I, therefore, 
 feel disposed to stick to the language I am best 
 acquainted with ; and hope, that, by some pains, 
 and by diligent application to hebrew, and to the 
 most approved biblical critics, I may be enabled to 
 give the Psalms in a better english dress, than they 
 at present appear in. 
 
398 
 
 I perfectly agree with you, that a wide field re¬ 
 mains unexplored, especially in the department of 
 the sententious poetry. Lowth’s taste confined him, 
 for the most part, to the sublimer order; to the 
 ode, the elegy, the idyllium, &c. If he had pos¬ 
 sessed more philosophy, he would have penetrated 
 deeper into the nature, the uses, and the elegance 
 of the sententious. I look to deriving much light, 
 from a close inspection of the continuous proverb, 
 as exhibited in the instances you refer to, as well 
 as in many of the other parts of the Old Testament. 
 These contain, assuredly, the rough draft, of what 
 was brought to its utmost perfection, in the sermon 
 on the mount. And I conceive, it will be easy to 
 show, that a happier, and more appropriate vehicle 
 for deep philosophy, could not have been imagined. 
 
 I purpose giving deep attention to the lectures 
 of Lowth, whicli you recommend. Your extracts 
 abundantly establish the poetical character of the 
 sermon on the mount; and I am right glad that 
 there is such testimony, also, as Stopford and Major 
 
 -. The opposite characters of the witnesses, is 
 
 surely corroborative. 
 
 The Archbishop has just called; and sat with me 
 for an hour. To be sure, it is impossible not to 
 love him. £ Nemo ilium venerabilem, qui non simul 
 amabilem diceret.’ I have reversed Seneca’s epi¬ 
 thets ; but I am sure, in this instance, I have made 
 him speak truth. Our invaluable friend, is more 
 and more impressed with the hebrew poetry. He 
 agrees in thinking it my duty to study the language; 
 and will do the same himself. One thing he has 
 suggested, which I will leave it to your judgment to 
 pronounce upon; namely, that, till something is in 
 a mature, and producible state, it may be well not 
 
399 
 
 to say much of this matter; lest the idea should be 
 caught, and clumsily, or imperfectly, put forward, 
 so as to throw discredit on the whole system. I 
 own, had this been sooner suggested, I should be 
 
 more cautious how I write to-. To him, I 
 
 spoke about the psalms, and the psalms only ; add¬ 
 ing, however, that Bishop Lowth had not pursued 
 his own system far enough ; that his synonymous 
 parallelisms are, in fact, climacterical; and that there 
 is a more regular distribution into stanza, than he 
 is aware of. I gave, as specimens, the two stanzas 
 from Isaiah xxvii., and that from Psalm Ixxxiv. 
 Not a word did I say of the sermon on the mount. 
 
 Yours most faithfully and affectionately, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 53. 
 
 To the Rev. J. Jebb. 
 
 Jan. 27. 1803. 
 
 Mr dear Friend, 
 
 J thank you much for your letter, and as much for 
 the valuable and interesting enclosure. In its present 
 state, I will not consider it as more than the first 
 draft; and viewing it so, I am deeply pleased with 
 it. But its effect on myself is as nothing, compared 
 with what I have this moment been observing, in my 
 sensible and tasteful friend, Miss Fergusson. Imme¬ 
 diately after dinner, I put it into her hands; and I 
 assure you, she was delighted almost to ecstasy : she 
 positively wiped her eyes, to enable her to read it. 
 
400 
 
 In fact, it was most gratifying to mark the impres¬ 
 sion thus made by it, on a plain, right, strong, unso¬ 
 phisticated mind. It is much above the test afforded 
 by Moliere’s old woman. 
 
 As to what you say of latin and english, I sub¬ 
 scribe with both my hands. I acquiesce in it sym¬ 
 pathetically ; nothing can be more true. I also 
 cordially approve of your giving yourself, in the first 
 instance, to the Psalms. I consider them, as the 
 most important part of the Old Testament; because 
 they so prevalently refer to the interior; and also, be¬ 
 cause they are so exquisitely fitted to catch the mind 
 of youth. This last remark was made to me, within 
 this hour, by Miss F. ; but I feel it to be the fact, 
 from thorough experience. 
 
 As to the Archbishop’s idea, much as I respect 
 every thing that comes from him, I do not accede to 
 it, on the one hand, nor wholly dissent from it, on 
 the other. Caution is good in every way; but, in 
 this particular, scrupulous caution is needless. I 
 should think it right to be cautious, even to scrupu¬ 
 losity, in speaking of some things which occur to my 
 mind, because they require ripeness of mind to re¬ 
 ceive them. But your ideas of hebrew poetry are 
 open to investigation ; and the more they are investi¬ 
 gated, they will be the more approved of. I should 
 not speak thus, if I thought the subject, in any ma¬ 
 terial part, admitted of a shadow of doubt; but it does 
 not: evidently for this reason ; those who have ex¬ 
 plored it before you, go all your length in principle ; 
 but they do not follow up their own principles, in 
 practice. This last is so much the case, that I won¬ 
 der at it: for instance, Lowth says, in his 23d Prael., 
 speaking of elegiac verse, ‘ Tales versus ’ (that is, such 
 as are in the first four chapters of the Lamentations) 
 
401 
 
 ‘ sunt, in toto psalmo, undeviginti; extra sttco^v quae 
 duobis ejusmodi versibus longiusculis constat, et 
 uno insuper breviori, quaeque bis ponitur.’ Now it 
 seems plain to me, that there are in that Psalm, first, 
 four couplets of the constructive kind, though, per¬ 
 haps, not wholly so : then two triplets ; then, I con¬ 
 ceive, and not before, four elegiac couplets, or eight 
 elegiac verses, implying however, a couplet relation 
 among themselves, but proceeding by pairs ; then, a 
 connecting verse (the 11th), in which something of 
 the length of the elegiac, and something of the brevity 
 of the common couplet, mingling together ; the next, 
 is a pure couplet, like those at the commencement; 
 then, as I take it (verse 13th), a very beautiful qua¬ 
 train : and then, a concluding triplet. I have not 
 your copy to refer to ; but I should suppose it does 
 not much differ from what I have just laid down; 
 and, if we are right, the Bishop is wrong. 
 
 I have sincere pleasure in mentioning, for I am 
 more solicitous that we should be right , than that 
 we should be original , that we are not the first dis¬ 
 coverers of the climax. However it may have escaped 
 Lowth, it was not overlooked by a less ingenious 
 man, Primate Newcome, in his preliminary discourse 
 to his translation of Ezekiel. When he is proceeding 
 to give specimens of the various parallelisms, he says, 
 ‘ This subject is largely and ably discussed, in Bishop 
 Lowth’s excellent treatise on the hebrew poetry ; 
 and in the very instructive dissertation, prefixed to 
 his comment on Isaiah. From the various examples 
 of ornament and elegance, which might be produced, 
 I shall select a very few, and those, of that particular 
 class, where the following clauses so diversify the pre¬ 
 ceding ones , as to rise above them* 
 
 Now, my friend, do you not feel it of great mo- 
 
 VOL. I. D D 
 
402 
 
 ment, that this fact should have been felt and recog¬ 
 nized, by such a genius as Primate Newcome ? it is 
 no fajicy, when it struck him as a fact . I surely 
 know no one, except Jean Le Clerc himself, whose 
 testimony I should so value, in such a matter; and 
 Primate Newcome, is to us both, better far than J. 
 Le Clerc, or any one we could think of. 
 
 The hour presses, otherwise I might call your ob¬ 
 servation to part of the Psalm just referred to ; and 
 beg you to consider, whether, ‘ converting the soul ’ 
 is not, 7 rveupa or apsrr), and ‘ making wise the simple ’ 
 (( ro<pi£ou(rcc vr)7ria, the lxx.)is not and similarly, 
 
 in the next verse, whether eutppouvovrot xotfiiav, and 
 (pcort^oiKToc ocpOaXpLove, do not come under the same 
 rule ? 
 
 I wished to add something about the 13th verse, 
 which I take to be an alternate quatrain ; but I have 
 not, perhaps, many moments to make free with. I 
 only say, therefore, compare ‘presumptuous,’ in the 
 iirst number, with ‘ upright,’ in the third ; and have 
 ‘ dominion over me,’ in the second, with ‘ innocent 
 from the great transgression,’ in the last. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 LETTER 54. 
 
 To the Rev . J. Jehh. 
 
 Dawson St., Jan. 30. 18OS. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Knowing as I do that you like to hear from me, 
 let me say little or much, I will talk to you this af- 
 
403 
 
 ternoon. I wished to give you some more particular 
 remarks, on your song of Moses ; but I have not 
 been able, from avocations that I could not ward off. 
 
 One of these was a pleasant business: yesterday 
 evening, I was at Stopford’s; and to-day Mrs. S. 
 has told me, that he was highly pleased, and said 
 that he had never spent so completely comfortable an 
 evening with me. Our chief talk was about he- 
 brew poetry. He takes to our idea astonishingly ; 
 and says, ‘ How wonderful is it, that this thing should 
 be just now coming out, after having so long lain 
 concealed.’ 
 
 I would say something about the Song of Moses, 
 were it not that I have gone through it in part only, 
 in the manner I wish to do ; I shall, therefore, make 
 it the subject of a distinct and future letter. 
 
 Since I came to town, I have been looking into 
 Street’s version of the Psalms, which I happen to 
 have ; and I clearly see, that if his work be the best 
 of the kind, which probably it is, much is left for 
 others to do: as to the stanzas, he knows nothing 
 about them; and these I conceive to be essential, to 
 any perfect rendering, of any Hebrew poem. For 
 what are those stanzas, but the various shapes of va¬ 
 rious voYjfjLara,? Consequently, that graceful preci¬ 
 sion, (two words which could seldom be fairly put 
 together,) which forms the chief charm of the sacra 
 poesis, cannot be made apparent, if the stanzas are 
 overlooked. 
 
 i 
 
 My looking into Street, confirms me in an idea I 
 threw out to you ; that, to do justice to the spirit of 
 the Old Testament poetry, our own aboriginal words 
 are to be preferred, to any imported from greek, or 
 latin dialects. For example, does he gain any 
 thing in the 10th and 21st verses of the 119th Psalm, 
 
 d d 2 
 
404 
 
 by using the word deviate ? Is not the wander , 
 and the err , of our bible translation, a great deal 
 more suitable ? There is an additional reason for at¬ 
 tending to this: that the quantity of our aboriginal 
 words, and those of the original text of the Old Testa¬ 
 ment, are more likely to agree: quantity , I mean, 
 in a plain, not technical sense; for the length, not 
 the accentuation of words. 
 
 I wish you to look at the third chapter of the 
 Lamentations of Jeremiah, and observe, whether 
 sameness of idea does not, in the general, accompany 
 sameness of letter? It is certainly not alike strict, 
 throughout that chapter of sixty-six verses; but I 
 think you will find it so obviously prevalent, as to put 
 the intention beyond doubt; and perhaps, to excite a 
 doubt, whether, where it does not appear, the over¬ 
 sight of transcribers, or error of translators, may not 
 be, most probably, in fault But, if the fact I speak 
 of be made out in substance, it is a great point 
 gained ; for these alphabetical pieces of poetry, are 
 our strong-hold. They put the general principles of 
 the system beyond doubt; and what they give wit¬ 
 ness to, respecting precision and regularity, can 
 scarcely be disputed, because of the regularity of 
 their own character. I think you will see there is 
 ground for those remarks, when you consider the 
 chapter referred to. 
 
 I own I have a doubt whether Lowth may be 
 right, in the view he has given of the elegiac verses 
 of the Hebrews. I mean, whether what he takes to 
 be a lengthened verse, is not rather a couplet, with 
 the second member much shorter than the first; and 
 of consequence whether 
 
 Diffugere nives redeunt jam gramina campis, 
 
 Arboribusque comae, 
 
4 
 
 405 
 
 be not as near a likeness, as any other we could pitch 
 upon. I see there is a variety, even in that most 
 distinctly marked chapter ; but I do not see, that it 
 actually contradicts the idea I am now giving ; for 
 I conceive it is evident, that a bimembral character 
 prevails, throughout the majority of the verses. 
 
 For example, 
 
 4. My flesh and my skin hath he made old, 
 
 He hath broken my bones ; 
 
 5. He hath builded against me, 
 
 And compassed with gall and travail. 
 
 6. He hath set me in dark places, 
 
 As the dead of old : 
 
 7- He hath hedged me about, that I cannot get out; 
 
 He hath made my chain heavy. 
 
 8. And, when I cry and shout, 
 
 He shutteth out my prayer; 
 
 9. He hath enclosed my ways with hewn stone, 
 
 He hath made my paths crooked. 
 
 I like this the better, for this reason, because real 
 grief is abrupt, rather than long-winded ; and I doubt, 
 too, whether, when this, or some similar measure, 
 is used didactically, the same disposition would not 
 be an improvement, as giving relief to the struc¬ 
 ture ; for instance. 
 
 The law of Jehovah is perfect, 
 
 Converting the soul; 
 
 The testimony of Jehovah is sure, 
 
 Making wise the simple. 
 
 Lest I should be too late, I must only add, that I am 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 D D 3 
 
406 
 
 LETTER 55. 
 
 To the Rev. J. Jebb. 
 
 Bellevue, April II. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Your acceptable letter reached me on Saturday, in 
 the midst of my movements; I could, therefore, do 
 nothing but read the mere letter *, and put the papers 
 in my pocket. I have since read the letter with 
 care; and I think it is exactly what I formed the 
 idea of, when we last talked it over. There is, 
 therefore, one passage only, about which I am yet in 
 doubt. It is, ‘ Few of our profession, I willingly con¬ 
 cede, are called to this high and holy department; 
 but they, &cf Now, I own I have my apprehen¬ 
 sions, lest this should be misunderstood, partly as a fa¬ 
 natical, and partly as an arrogant idea: we well know, 
 it is sound sense, and simple truth; but we know its 
 bearing, in value of various praecognita, with which 
 many, into whose hands it may fall, are wholly un¬ 
 furnished- I think something like this might be 
 substituted : .. ‘ Those of our profession, who know 
 nothing of this high and holy department, will conse¬ 
 quently feel no need of that strictness, which essen. 
 tially belongs to it; and their taking such liberties, 
 may, possibly, not make themselves any worse ; nor, 
 are any objects they pursue, likely to be marred by 
 it; but they, &c.’ I give you the hint, to turn in 
 your mind ; and think it best to postpone putting the 
 
 * The Bishop’s ‘ Letter to a young Clergyman, on the Subject of Amuse¬ 
 ments.’ . Ed. \ 
 
407 
 
 manuscript into the printer’s hands, until I have your 
 reply. Campbell is so expeditious, that it would 
 answer no end to give it to him, until he can pursue 
 it to the end. 
 
 I greatly rejoice in all you tell me about——. I 
 did not like the composition, nor arrangement, of the 
 lecture on friday: but other persons were very well 
 satisfied, and that set me at rest. There was not, 
 so far as I recollect, any thing we could except 
 against, as to matter ; and there were favourite points 
 of ours, put forth boldly, but I should think, to his 
 hearers, very obscurely. However, what could we 
 have in reason expected, beyond what has taken 
 place ? and then, the prospect of what twelve months 
 may effect in his mental habits, is as cheering as any 
 thing of the kind can be. 
 
 All you say of your conversations with ——, I cor¬ 
 dially adopt; with this difference, that, what you 
 describe, as the effect of being more on a level of 
 mind with ——-, I would resolve into a simpler, and 
 surer fact: ‘ In the mouth of two witnesses, shall 
 every word be established.’ What one, only, talks 
 about, may be delusion; however respectable his 
 mental pretensions may be, in other instances: but 
 when another clear, strong-minded person, comes 
 forward, and gives the same view of things, a differ¬ 
 ence of feeling will take place in a candid mind, from 
 the agreement of both, which no individual explan¬ 
 ations, or assurances, could have produced. Such, I 
 take it, along with a happy opportuneness of circum¬ 
 stances, has been the case between you and- ; 
 
 and I must add to this, that in your hands, the matter 
 in question might bear a soberer aspect, than in 
 mine. I become effervescent, while you remain 
 equable $ I am, therefore, often declamatory, while 
 
 d d 4 
 
408 
 
 you are always logical; I can only say, on the whole, 
 that I am the better satisfied with what God has 
 given me, when I see that, which possibly I could not 
 have, consistently with the whole of my destination, 
 or of my nature, so wonderfully and happily supplied, 
 by the apt arrangement of pure Providence. I re¬ 
 member John Wesley remarking in his journal, on 
 Mr. Fletcher’s coming opportunely to aid him at the 
 sacrament, Mr. F. having, just the minute or two 
 before, come from the church where he had been 
 priested : ‘ When my strength was nearly exhausted, 
 how astonishingly has God sent me help ; and such 
 help, from the mountains of Swisserland ! 9 Little did 
 Mr. W. then know, what an eventual help he, and 
 the truth he maintained, and was appointed to trans¬ 
 mit, should receive from this mysteriously far-fetched 
 auxiliary. And now, I cannot but feel a thought 
 rising, about ends of Providence, respecting which, I 
 certainly would not dare to make distinct calcula¬ 
 tions ; but toward which, my imagination turns in¬ 
 stinctively, though, I hope, humbly and modestly.* 
 By the way, finding but one set of Fletcher’s works 
 at White Friar’s, I desired it to be set apart for you ; 
 being fully confident you ought to have them. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 * Mr. Knox seems here to allude to his similar connection with his friend, 
 so early and unexpectedly brought in his way, at Derry. . . Ed. 
 
409 
 
 LETTER LXIV. 
 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 Glebe House, Loughbrickland, 
 April 12. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I cannot let the mail coach pass, as it will in a few 
 hours, without conveying my thanks, for your prompt 
 and pleasant letter; and for your judicious observ¬ 
 ations, on that passage of the MS. It is curious, that 
 precisely the same apprehension of probable miscon¬ 
 ception arose in my mind. I suppressed it, however, 
 partly because you had dropped no such hint, but es¬ 
 pecially, because I knew, if the paragraph were really 
 questionable, you would not let it pass, in your final 
 revision. The suggestion, then, is no more than I 
 am prepared for; and it gratifies me, as affording 
 another of those clearly independent coincidences, 
 which I rejoice to discover, between your judgment, 
 and my own. Your alteration, I feel disposed fully 
 to adopt, in sense and spirit; and so, I should, in 
 words too, did I not feel the necessity of making 
 the passage square with my cubical mode of compo¬ 
 sition. The following substitution, you will have the 
 goodness to modify as you please, and then interline 
 it, as amended in the MS. ‘But they, &c.’ 
 
 I should be glad to know, whether you received 
 my note about the poor woman; and whether you 
 have been able to take any step in her favour. I 
 find that I miscalculated as to time ; and must 
 close in order to catch the post. You will (not, of 
 course, but as you know it is felt, and can, therefore, 
 
410 
 
 conscientiously undertake the commission,) be pleased 
 to present my affectionate compliments, to Mr. and 
 
 Mrs. L-. Though I suppose you are at B-, 
 
 I direct for the better security to Dublin. I hope to 
 be there in time for the clerical*, and, of course, for 
 
 D-’s penitentiary sermon ; which, as an honorary 
 
 governor, I feel myself bound to attend. 
 
 Yours most faithfully, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 Carrick on Suir, Thurs. 8^ o’clock P. M. 1808. 
 
 My dear Mr. Knox, 
 
 About an hour ago, I arrived here, after having 
 been again nearly baffled at Waterford ; not a post 
 carriage was to be had there, till, at length, after 
 three hours’ delay, I was fortunate enough to procure 
 a return chaise from this place. Of course, I cannot 
 reach Cashel, in time for to-morrow’s catechizing; 
 for, though I might, possibly, make a forced march, 
 by rising at four o’clock in the morning ; this would 
 be too hazardous an attempt, in the present state of 
 my health. 
 
 I was employing myself on the road, in retracing 
 the delight and instruction I derived, from your con¬ 
 versation, during the last ten weeks : and, though I 
 could not but feel some unpleasant drawbacks, from 
 my own mental, and bodily indispositions, the retro¬ 
 spect, on the whole, was satisfactory and cheerful. 
 Whatever partial obscurations my views have under¬ 
 gone, I feel a sober conviction, that they are more 
 clear and vivid, than before your visit to Cashel. I 
 have had an experimental proof, that views of no 
 
 A meeting of clerical friends in Dublin, elsewhere alluded to in the corre¬ 
 spondence. . . Ed. 
 
411 
 
 other nature, would suit the turn of my mind and 
 dispositions. Calvinism, I believe, would make me 
 mad; and any doing system, would be altogether 
 inadequate, to cure my moral and intellectual mala¬ 
 dies. However trying the discipline was, I rejoice 
 in the doubts and difficulties of the last three days. 
 They have discovered, what I had before an inade¬ 
 quate conception of,. . the weakness of my mental 
 powers; and clear I am, that the discovery of weak¬ 
 ness is an indispensable pre-requisite, towards attain¬ 
 ing the wisdom from above. My only fear is, that I 
 annoyed you, (not personally, but through the kind 
 interest you take in me,) by wrongnesses of manner 
 and expression : for such errors, I know I have your 
 pardon; and, on reflection, it is not amiss, that you 
 should be in tolerable possession of my failings; in 
 order, that, like a wise physician, you may prescribe 
 such alteratives, as may produce a good effect, in 
 subserving to what I am convinced is the grand al¬ 
 terative, heart devotion : prayer, is, undoubtedly, the 
 life and soul of spirituality. I cannot now recall 
 particular passages of scripture on the point, being 
 rather fatigued ; but I can safely say, that so many 
 presented themselves to my mind to-day, as to give 
 an impression, that the whole scope and tenor of 
 both Testaments, is in your favour ; while all that is 
 solidly practical, is effectually secured, by the ‘ Quis 
 legem dat amantibus?’ 
 
 Mr.-’s letter is altogether an unique : there is, 
 
 however, sincerity in it; and a simplicity, bordering 
 on weakness. How happily is it ordered, that reli¬ 
 gion should not primarily reside, in the intellect, 
 and reasoning faculties: if things were so, what 
 would become of weak, well-meaning, pious people, 
 like Mr. —— . 
 
412 
 
 I thought to-day about the ten virgins : if I am 
 well, on my return, I have hopes of making an inter¬ 
 esting, and instructive discourse, for Sunday. If it 
 pleases God that I should be otherwise, then I 
 will only do my best, in the way of modified trans¬ 
 cription. 
 
 Remember me, most kindly and affectionately, to 
 the good, and truly amiable family you are with. I 
 cannot easily forget their kindness ; and metaphysics 
 being excluded, I should be very happy in becoming 
 their debtor for more kindnesses. I believe you may 
 trust me; for, assuredly, I have received a clinical and 
 anatomical lecture, on my own case, by which, I 
 trust, I shall ultimately profit. My eyes are becoming 
 heavy, and lest I should fall into a trick, which, you 
 know, I am sometimes prone to,.. writing nonsense, 
 I must conclude myself, 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged and affectionate Friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER LXV. 
 To A. Knox, Esq . 
 
 Cashel, June 1. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I cannot let this large packet go to you, unaccom¬ 
 panied by a few lines ; though from a rheumatico- 
 bilious attack, I feel unable to write as I could wish, 
 either in matter, manner, or length. 
 
 My journey was safe, but not prosperous : bad 
 
413 
 
 roads, and worse carriages, detained me ; so that I 
 was obliged to sleep a second night on the road. On 
 reaching Cashel, however, I felt myself quite indem¬ 
 nified, by finding my friends well; and by being 
 cordially received; and by learning, that all matters 
 are in good train: and especially, by perceiving, that 
 home was not irksome, even after the matchless 
 scenes, and the beloved friends, I had left behind. 
 My first employment has been, to transcribe for Mrs. 
 
 L-, the sermon which she began to copy; in 
 
 which, you will perceive, that I have paid some at¬ 
 tention to your suggested alterations. To it, I have 
 added the next sermon, as a suitable accompaniment; 
 and I shall be much obliged by your conveying 
 them, together with the enclosed note. 
 
 I have had yet no opportunity of judging, whether 
 I am improved by my absence. All that I can pre¬ 
 dicate of myself, is, that I am enabled to bear up with 
 tolerable complacency, under a debilitating, and inca¬ 
 pacitating frame of body; and, that I feel an earnest 
 desire, when it shall please God to remove the in¬ 
 ability, to be employed in his service. 
 
 I can, at present, only promise to write a letter, 
 when in a better frame of body. Meantime, a few 
 lines from you would rejoice 
 
 Your most obliged, 
 
 and affectionate Friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
414 
 
 LETTER 56. 
 
 To the Rev . J. Jehb. 
 
 - Dublin, June 6. 1808. Whitsun-Monday. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 On coming to town this day, I received yours; and 
 it relieved me from anxiety. I was afraid you were 
 unwell. I find I was not altogether wrong; but I 
 am happy to find, that it is only such an indispos¬ 
 ition, as the state of the weather is sufficient to ex¬ 
 plain. Since I arrived, I saw Mrs. L-, and handed 
 
 her your note, and its accompaniment. She desired 
 me to assure you of her gratitude; and I feel myself 
 more safe in doing so, than most persons are in a 
 diplomatique trust. 
 
 I sympathize with you in the kindly feelings, that 
 your meeting with your Cashel friends has excited; 
 
 and I beg to be remembered to Messrs.- and 
 
 -, with sincere cordiality. I do hope and trust, 
 
 you will be more and more happy; and, conse¬ 
 quently, be fitted to lead others to happiness. In 
 fact, I am as sure of it, as a creature conscious of 
 shortsightedness of mind (far beyond the same 
 creature’s bodily shortsightedness) can be. 
 
 I had the pleasure of a letter from the invaluable 
 Archbishop, the same time with yours; who says, 
 ‘ Remember me to Jebb, to whom I have behaved 
 with shameful neglect, though not, in reality, so ill, 
 as it must appear to him ; for I executed his com¬ 
 mission, and sent the books to meet Major- at 
 
415 
 
 Holyhead; where I conclude they now are, he not 
 having yet reached that place.’ 
 
 The Archbishop encloses me a warm-hearted 
 letter, written to him by Wilberforce, in conse¬ 
 quence of a note from me. They have not yet met, 
 but I think they will meet; and I am authorized to 
 anticipate a right pleasant meeting; both being a 
 
 little heretical about the R-- C-’s. They may 
 
 compare notes, while I meditate my schemes of 
 revenge against both ; against Mr. W., more than the 
 Archbishop; for his Grace, to his honour be it 
 spoken, was silent. 
 
 I was not a little struck, a day or two ago, with 
 what I well remembered to have read before, . . the 
 following passage in a quotation from Farrer’s ser¬ 
 mons, at the Bampton Lecture, on the Beatitudes. 
 Eclec. Rev. for Aug. 1805. 
 
 ‘ It deserves our attention, that, as they are 
 formed on the model of certain introductory sen¬ 
 tences in the psalms, which pronounce a blessing on 
 various dispositions; so, they are delivered, in the 
 same sententious and proverbial style. Thence, they 
 bear the complexion of the poetry of the Hebrews ; 
 which, in its prevailing character, is combined of 
 parallel sentences; clauses, wherein proposition cor¬ 
 responds with proposition, and term is answerable 
 to term. Thus, every sentence, in this series, is 
 composed of two clauses ; of which the former pro¬ 
 nounces a certain disposition blessed; as the latter 
 states, wherein this blessedness consists.’ This is a 
 curious coincidence. 
 
 Farewell, and believe me, ever yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
41G 
 
 LETTER 57. 
 
 „ ( j f..v< ft ... 4 f 
 
 To Mo Rev, J, Jebb, 
 
 4 > H 
 
 Dublin, June 29. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Your letter has given me sincere pleasure, as it 
 contains as good an account, as I could have reason¬ 
 ably expected. You say about poor Whitty, exactly 
 what fits you to say: at the same time, the load of 
 labour on you, is to be regretted. I hope it will not 
 actually hurt you ; and if it does not, it may do you 
 good, though not consciously, while you are doing 
 it. Whitty stays so long from Cashel, with great re¬ 
 luctance ; and the moment he can venture to return, 
 he will; all which you know. 
 
 I am glad you have taken that disporting walk, 
 through the paths of the ancients. Your own idea, 
 founded on the article in the Athanasian creed, I 
 conceive very just: and I suppose, a particular atten¬ 
 tion to our Lord’s manner of speaking respecting 
 himself, would add still more and more strength to 
 it. His language being, I imagine, always ©sav^pco- 
 7T07Tp£7T7j£, except when he meant to conceal his real 
 nature. If you have Nelson’s Life of Bull, you will 
 find the whole matter in debate largely expatiated 
 on (Sect. lvii. &c.) in the account of the Fidei Nicenae 
 Defensio; and, what is curious, Calvin appears to be 
 the great antagonist of the ancient doctrine : what a 
 universal innovator, that man was! and yet, it seems, 
 that his zeal against the subordination, did not imply 
 equal zeal for sameness of nature. See Orton’s Let- 
 
417 
 
 ters to Dissenting Ministers, pages 189. and 196. 
 (By the way, I could wish to see that tract of 
 Fawcett’s.) Thus, you see, the apparently highest 
 ground, is not always the safest. But how natural 
 was it, in Calvin, to take the ground, that excluded 
 from his faith, what he so strongly rejected in prac¬ 
 tice ; personally, no less than ecclesiastically. In 
 fact, subordination , was not a term in John Calvin’s 
 vocabulary. But the worst of it was, that, by not 
 allowing such an order in the Divine Essence, as 
 would safely explain certain texts, which seem to 
 exclude strict co-ordinateness, he created a necessity 
 for himself, and his followers, to explain them, when 
 accidentally occurring, in a manner, not strictly con¬ 
 sistent with the co-essentiality: all which, however, 
 evinces more and more, that Calvinism, altogether, is 
 a temporary scaffolding ; which has so little firm work 
 in it, as to need time, and its own weight only, at 
 length to bring it down. 
 
 A new work, which has pleased the Archbishop 
 
 much, which G- brought, and has left with me, 
 
 and which you will see, as soon as the Archbishop 
 reaches you, would convince me of the truth of this 
 last position; if I wanted any fresh conviction. It 
 is called 4 Zeal without Innovation ’; * and is meant 
 as an apology for evangelical ministers and preaching. 
 It is the work of a fair, good, ingenious, and liberal, 
 mind. It concedes so much, as to the excesses and 
 anomalies of those pleaded for, that I suspect they 
 will give small thanks to their advocate \ and yet it 
 maintains enough of Calvinism, to make it sure of 
 having no effect, in conciliating one of the opponents. 
 I do not believe the writer is a predestinarian, though 
 
 * By the late Reverend and excellent James Bean, afterwards a valued friend 
 of the Bishop of Limerick : he died ‘ the death of the righteous’, in 1826...En. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 E E 
 
418 
 
 not clear from puzzle even about that; but his Cal¬ 
 vinism lies in his notions about justification by faith ; 
 concerning which, he talks with superior incongruity, 
 from the wish to make it palatable. More, in this 
 way, than he has done, cannot be done: yet, I con¬ 
 ceive, the attempt is only the more abortive. No¬ 
 thing, therefore, that I ever saw, proves more to me 
 the present increasing necessity, for some new, and 
 sounder system. In describing the dilapidation of 
 the establishment, (which he honestly loves, though 
 imperfectly understood by him) he gives a strong, 
 and deplorably just picture; but he offers nothing, 
 which any but his own side, and but a very few of 
 the more moderate of those, will deem a remedy. I 
 need say no more of it, till you see it; except this 
 only, that since filling the foregoing pages, I have 
 read a section, with this title, ‘ of their (the evan¬ 
 gelical ministers) insisting on the necessity of a 
 change of heart’: in which, there is, at once, actual ex¬ 
 cellence, and obvious defect: on the whole, it seems 
 to be a link in a chain, no doubt well fitted to its place ; 
 and, compared with all I have seen before from the 
 same quarter, wonderfully interesting and valuable. 
 
 Two editions of Law’s Theory, the 4th and 7th, 
 lie, at this moment, before me. At the 1 Gist page 
 of the 4th, and at the 178th page of the 7th, there 
 is a note, which, by this double direction, you will 
 easily find, that seems to me highly curious. The 
 part I refer to, is a quotation from Jeffery on the 
 Philippians ; followed by Law’s own abbreviation of 
 Jeffery’s view: the whole of which, together, gives a 
 progressive view, remarkably according, in all parts 
 but the first and last, with our notion ; and partially 
 falling in with Villers in his sketch. The first period, 
 he extends, you will see, from the commencement. 
 
419 
 
 to Saint Augustin; which he calls the period of 
 simplicity: but neither our Lord, nor his apostles, 
 were simple, in his sense; see beginning of the quo¬ 
 tation ; nor, after such simplicity had commenced, 
 did it continue more than two generations; Clemens 
 Alexandrinus, clearly introducing a new system, as 
 Villers has seen and stated. The second period, 
 is pretty accurately described; the third, with some 
 justness, but indiscriminately, and over severely; the 
 fourth, the most accurate of all; the fifth, a speci¬ 
 men of sutor ultra crepidam ; yet still adding to the 
 interest of the whole. But mark the still farther 
 contraction : for, however erroneous, it is neat and 
 ingenious. 1. Virtue and piety, &c. 2. Nature and 
 
 grace, &c. 3. Church and sacrament, &c. 4. Christ 
 and faith, &c. being a refinement upon the doctrine 
 of the second period: well guessed; a modification, 
 surely, but not a refinement. Even here, 4 the old 
 is better.’ The concluding words about the fifth 
 period, contain as ill-defined, and cloudy a hope, as 
 could easily be expressed: and yet, there is a truth 
 in it, though not as he understood it. 
 
 A thought struck me last night, which brought 
 some new light with it. Compare carefully, Gal. iii. 
 19. with Deut. v. 5., and both, with Heb. viii. 1, 2. 
 &c. especially 6., and then judge, whether Christ’s 
 mediatorship and priesthood, are not strictly dis¬ 
 tinguished from each other. Moses, being exclu¬ 
 sively the type of the former; and Aaron, and his 
 successors, of the latter; and the excellency of the 
 service, which he performs as true A siTouqyog, arising 
 from the excellency of the covenant, of which he is 
 M soriT^s : clearly, then, according to the obvious 
 parallelism, it is as A sirov^-yog, like the high priest 
 within the sanctuary, that he acts on our behalf with 
 
 e e 2 
 
4 SO 
 
 God; and as clearly it is, as Mscrirrjg, like Moses, 
 that he is stated to act, on God's great business with 
 us: that is, ‘He stands between the Lord and us, to 
 show us', most substantially and sublimely, c the 
 word of the Lord'; inasmuch as human nature must 
 still be afraid, ‘ by reason of the fire 9 ; and could 
 not go ‘ up unto the mount'. Now, for the strictest, 
 most apposite, and most beautiful expansion of 
 K psirrovog $i<xQr)xr)g [xscrirrjg stti xqeittociv S7rayysT^ioug, 
 read closely the third, and to the sixth verse inclu¬ 
 sive, of fourth of II Corinthians. In my judgment, 
 nothing could harmonize more exquisitely, than 
 these different passages. 
 
 I thank you for the quotation. It is clearly as 
 you say. The danger, in that kind of composition, 
 is quaintness ; of which Seneca is proof. How won¬ 
 derful, then, that it should have been so largely, and 
 so artfully practised, without falling into quaintness. 
 That the Hebrew poetry is not quaint, is clear, from 
 the fact of its poetic character being so generally un¬ 
 discovered. It pleases, without its being known how. 
 
 I will endeavour speedily to do your bidding about 
 
 Mr.-. I will send you Shaw’s Emmanuel, from 
 
 Keen’s, by Whitty, who goes on Friday. Dr. P. 
 thinks he should stay longer at Lucan. I advise 
 him to go to Cashel, and see how he will be, and 
 return if necessary; as that course, at all events, will 
 make things easiest to his mind. 
 
 Yours most cordially, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 P.S. The MS. is too near my heart, to be for¬ 
 gotten or postponed. 
 
 Miss Fergusson begs to be kindly remembered 
 to you. 
 
421 
 
 LETTER LXVI. 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, July 22. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 "When I look at the date of your last letter, I am 
 truly ashamed ; and yet, if I had not matter furnished 
 me, by something that I regard more complacently, 
 than the idola specus, I believe I should be obliged 
 still to continue a defaulter. But our visitation, yes¬ 
 terday, afforded me very sincere gratification; of 
 which I feel desirous that you should be a partaker. 
 Wednesday evening, the modest Archbishop showed 
 me the beginning of a charge, he had been pre¬ 
 paring ; and yesterday morning, at an early hour, he 
 showed me nearly the remainder. You well know 
 his unaffected diffidence, in his own very sound judg¬ 
 ment, and respectable talents. It will not, therefore, 
 surprize you, that he felt dissatisfied with what he 
 had done; and, in his condescending humility, wished 
 to avail himself; even of my opinion. It was not 
 without difficulty, that I could diminish his appre¬ 
 hension of addressing the clergy ; and just before he 
 began, he whispered me from the throne, 4 Now, 
 Jebb, if this should turn out ill, remember the bur¬ 
 then rests on your shoulders/ Any apprehension I 
 might have felt, under this responsibility, was soon 
 put an end to. He was listened to with marked 
 attention, and the most visible satisfaction ; and he 
 delivered a very neat, simple charge, in his own 
 meek, cordial, and impressive manner. He concisely 
 
 e e 3 
 
stated the charges, which, of late, have been publicly 
 brought against our establishment; on the ground of 
 incorporations of parishes ; want of churches, and 
 glebe houses; and consequent non-residence of the 
 clergy. That these blemishes had existed, to a cer¬ 
 tain degree, he did not deny ; though, certainly, they 
 had been much exaggerated: but he proved, that 
 they naturally and necessarily resulted, from the cir¬ 
 cumstances of this country; and that, by the volun¬ 
 tary exertions of the clergy, and out of their own 
 scanty, and precariously collected incomes, they had 
 been, for a long course of years, in a state of gradu¬ 
 ally progressive diminution. He next adverted to 
 what had been done for our Irish establishments, in 
 the last session of parliament; especially, with respect 
 to facilitating the accommodation of the clergy with 
 suitable residences: he then explained the nature of 
 the late residence act; and concluded with most im¬ 
 pressively recommending, and enforcing on us, that 
 strict attention to residence, and all other duties, 
 which is so imperiously required of us, by the libe¬ 
 rality evinced in our favour; by the interest which 
 parliament manifested, and, with unprecedented una¬ 
 nimity, takes, in our welfare and respectability: and 
 by the importance which is now universally attached 
 to our exertions, for the civilization, and improve¬ 
 ment of this country. He paid some very handsome, 
 and I do think, very merited compliments, to the 
 clergy of this diocese. In truth, it was a beautiful, 
 and delightful exhibition. He was like a true apo¬ 
 stolic father, addressing children that he loved. I 
 question, whether there was equal simplicity and 
 purity often to be met, in the primitive ages of the 
 church : at least, what I read of their councils, and 
 other clerical meetings, inclines me to form a com- 
 
423 
 
 parison, not by any means discreditable to our Cashel 
 brethren; and, above all, to our Cashel visitor. 
 
 But I have more pleasant intelligence. W-ab¬ 
 
 solutely astonished me, by an admirable visitation 
 sermon. I was well aware, both of his talents, and 
 of his having deeply and radically embraced our 
 ways of thinking; but I had no suspicion, that, in 
 so short a time, his talents for the composition, and 
 delivery of a sermon, could have ripened into such 
 excellence. You may recollect that, about two years 
 ago, his style was no very agreeable imitation, of 
 honest Matthew Henry. He has actually emerged 
 from all that quaintness. He has attained a ready 
 flow of expression ; and he pours forth most philo¬ 
 sophical sentiments, with an ease, which I apprehend 
 a certain friend of yours will never acquire. We 
 have requested the publication of the sermon. The 
 Archbishop was delighted, and declares he never 
 heard a better. I own, I was so forcibly struck, that 
 I could not avoid stepping from the reading desk to 
 the throne, and asking the archbishop, in an under 
 tone of voice, 6 Will you not ask him to publish ?’ My 
 idea is, that it was admirably prepared for delivery; 
 but that it will require some little modifications, to 
 fit it for the press. There may possibly be a little 
 redundant scripture phraseology, to be pruned ; a 
 too frequent recurrence of the text to be moderated ; 
 and joints, or hinges, to be added to the several divi¬ 
 sions. But I need not tell all these matters to you, 
 
 as W-proceeds for Dublin on tuesday; and will 
 
 submit the discourse to your inspection. He is not 
 so committed, but that he may creditably recede, if 
 you recommend suppression. I hope, however, you 
 may see cause to judge favourably, as it is surely of 
 importance, that it should be shown to the British 
 
 e e 4 
 
424 
 
 and Irish public, that our church is not dumb; and 
 specially desirable, that our ways of thinking, should 
 be not only fully imbibed, but intelligently put for¬ 
 ward, by a man who evidently possesses a very strong 
 
 mind. On this last ground, I am desirous that W- 
 
 should preach in Dublin, the Sunday he will be there, 
 the 31st instant. He has acquiesced in my proposal, 
 if the Asylum pulpit should be vacant for him; and 
 this matter you can easily arrange with N-. 
 
 It affords me deep, and cordial gratification, that 
 W-should thus increase, whilst I cannot but ap¬ 
 
 prehend, that I am rapidly decreasing. Providence 
 arranges matters wonderfully. If it be the Divine 
 will, that I should intellectually sink, it is truly con¬ 
 solatory, that, at the same time, a chosen friend 
 should come forward, with such promise of being 
 eminently useful; and of giving efficient support, to 
 precisely that very system, which the world seems 
 to want at this day. Surely, if this prime truth and 
 good be advancing upon earth, it is comparatively a 
 trifling matter, who are the instrumental agents. 
 
 I had been aware of, and made use of, Nelson’s 
 Life, as well as Bishop Bull’s Defensio Fidei Nicenae. 
 The passage of Law, I well recollected having viewed 
 just as you do; and, on referring to the book, I was 
 glad that we quite coincide. Your thought about 
 Mscrirris is important. I read the passages carefully; 
 but determined on a still more special examination of 
 them, at a more convenient, and healthful season. 
 That has not yet arrived. Faxit. D. O. M.! 
 
 W-will probably disclose to you, and his sermon, 
 
 indeed, will evince, that he is not, just now, so evan¬ 
 gelic in his mode of preaching, as he could wish. 
 This, I tell him, will arrive, at no distant day. If 
 you are out of town, I am sure you will hasten thither 
 
425 
 
 to meet him. He goes to bring his sister to G., 
 and can be absent from home but one Sunday. Let 
 me also hint in your ear, that, though I do not 
 deserve such kindness, you cannot at present, in 
 the whole sphere of your correspondence, write a 
 letter to a person, who more requires to be cheered 
 by one than I do. 
 
 I request my kindest regards to Miss Fergusson. 
 
 Your most obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 58. 
 To the Rev . J . Jebb . 
 
 Dublin, July 30. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 # # # # # # 
 
 All you tell me about the visitation is highly pleas¬ 
 ing ; and even the minuter circumstances, served 
 to heighten the effect; to you, at least, who had 
 before your mind what others had not. What you 
 say of the sermon delights me, except the drawback 
 at the top of your last page, though I join in your 
 hope of the ‘ no distant day.’ 
 
 But before I sav another word, I must come to 
 yourself, my good friend! Is it the writer of such 
 a letter, that talks of decreasing, or of being spell¬ 
 bound ? But I know your feeling well; and I assure 
 you, have had my share of it. I do not know when 
 I was in worse writing trim, than for the last three 
 weeks. I wished to say something by way of dis- 
 
426 
 
 sertation, on the fulness of time spoken of by St. 
 Paul in Galatians; but the third attempt to make a 
 beginning, is yet imperfect; and there must be a 
 fourth attempt, or relinquishment; which latter, I 
 being pertinacious, have not yet consented to. I 
 cannot but think there has been more than usual 
 oppressiveness in the weather. My head has been 
 so affected, as to give an unusual aridity to all my 
 mental movements ; so that, were I not acquainted 
 with my own fluctuations, I might form uncomfort¬ 
 able inductions. But I do not; for my experience 
 corrects, what my present sensations might seem to 
 indicate. 
 
 The attempts at innovation, which I apprehended 
 this year among the methodists, passed wholly off. 
 Adam Clarke has got other employment; which will 
 keep his hands, as well as head, busy, for much of the 
 remainder of his life. And another whom I looked 
 
 for, a Mr. R--, was prevented from coming, by 
 
 the indisposition of his brother-in-law, A.G.; so that 
 the methodists are exactly where they were ; and I 
 now think, this late cloud being thus dissipated, 
 they are likely enough to remain so, until some new 
 movement shall take place, from causes not yet ap¬ 
 parent. 
 
 I therefore feel disposed to continue all my former 
 friendly endeavours, where an opportunity shall offer; 
 as I conceive wesleyan methodists, not dissenterized, 
 are, comparatively with all others, our next of kin. 
 I conversed at large, with one only, during the con¬ 
 ference ; but that one, is a sensible, shrewd man ; 
 and has great influence. I found him not quite im¬ 
 penetrable to our wavs of thinking, about church 
 matters; and I should not despair, were these op¬ 
 portunities to occur, of so far introducing our views, 
 
427 
 
 into the minds of the best description of methodist 
 preachers, as to give them a steadiness, which, as 
 yet, they have not; and a feeling toward the esta¬ 
 blished church, which, hitherto, they have had upon 
 their tongues, far more than in their hearts. 
 
 I acted on the plan I speak of, last monday, at 
 
 B-. A methodist preacher, who had preached 
 
 in D--, the evening before, came to the chapel 
 
 in the morning. I desired to tell him, that I should 
 be glad to walk about with him after breakfast. I 
 did so; and got into very reasonable talk with him. 
 I told him, that my grand exception to methodism 
 v/as, that, though capital for giving first impressions, 
 it did not promote maturity. I owned it afforded 
 examples of maturity; but even they appeared to me 
 not to have the faculty, of diffusing what they pos¬ 
 sessed. This sounded strange to him; so I led him 
 to St. Paul’s twofold figure of vegetation, and build¬ 
 ing ; pointing out the difference, between the com¬ 
 parative passiveness implied in the first, and the 
 indispensable exertion requisite in the second; which 
 exertion, again, requires profounder skill than the 
 first business, in the proportion of, six to one I was 
 going to say, but the true statement is, that the first 
 business requires no skill, for ‘ other foundation can 
 no man lay’ ; but the second demands choice within 
 choice ; the materials being generically perishable, 
 and imperishable specifically ; more or less precious, 
 and more or less vile. This, I further illustrated, by 
 referring to Hebrews, end of v. and beginning of vi. 
 and begged him to consider, whether the methodists 
 had any idea of what it was to leave first principles ? 
 I showed him how accurately these first principles are 
 classified, and enumerated. 
 
 I. As things to be taught. 1. Repentance. 2. 
 
428 
 
 Faith. 3. Baptism. 4. Laying on of hands. 5. Re¬ 
 surrection. 6. Eternal judgment. II. As things to 
 be experimentally felt. 1. Illumination. 2. Tasting 
 of the heavenly gift. 3. Being made partakers of the 
 Holy Ghost. 4. Tasting the good word of God. 5. 
 Powers of the world to come. All which, however, 
 are but first principles, as the connection shows, and 
 as is seen by contrasting the highest of these mere 
 sensations, with the ‘ senses being exercised, by rea¬ 
 son of use, to discern both good and evil 5 : that is, 
 good, from evil; and more excellent, from less ex¬ 
 cellent. I must not add another word, as I am sum¬ 
 moned to attend my friends. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 LETTER 39. 
 
 To the Rev . J. Jehb. 
 
 Dublin, Aug. 20. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Yesterday, I arrived here, after our expedition to 
 
 R-, and I must say that, from first to last, it was a 
 
 pleasant business. Our intercourse was never so com¬ 
 fortable before, as on this late occasion. Every thing 
 I saw and heard, tended to confirm me in my idea, of 
 J. D.’s having been placed there by the hand of Provi¬ 
 dence, in order to his being, for the present, a shelter 
 to the inferior plan of usefulness, in which G. C. is 
 employed; and, also, to his own preparedness for su- 
 
429 
 
 perior usefulness, in the event. Of the first of these 
 suppositions, no man can more feel the justness and 
 weight than G. C. himself. It is most gratifying to 
 hear all he says of J. D. ‘ He is leaving us all be¬ 
 hind ’, said he. ‘ He is the first instance I ever knew, 
 of a man’s life so wonderfully rising above his faith.’ 
 In fact, neither word, nor thought can go higher, 
 than G. C.’s estimate of J.D.; and what is addition¬ 
 ally delightful, they mutually deem each other’s 
 preaching improved. I think, with justest reason: 
 G. being softened and liberalized; and J. being spi¬ 
 ritualized and sublimated. After all, there were 
 points of palpable difference, between the latter and 
 me; though neither was disposed to dwell on them. 
 I conceive the greatest dissonance now is, mysticism. 
 J. D. is persuaded, that, in the great ameliorative 
 process, the grand reliance here below, is on suffer¬ 
 ing. This makes him still start back from the idea, 
 of even predominant religious happiness ; as well as 
 disposes him overmuch to asceticism. Yet he has 
 somewhat given way. He came the length of allow¬ 
 ing, that my view was probably a safe one for me ; 
 but he doubted much if it would be safe for him. 
 There is progress, however, in this thought: and if 
 there be no retrogression, we may indulge strong 
 hope. Besides, he is in the very best school imagin¬ 
 able for being trained aright, in this very particular: 
 for G. C., with lower, and less philosophical views, is 
 obviously happy, and yet obviously safe. Why, then, 
 should not J. D. be as happy, and as safe, as the 
 other ? 
 
 This, I think, he will feel more and more; and 
 learn wisdom from it. I trust he will also improve, 
 in accurate knowledge of the Scripture ; and find in 
 that, what assuredly it contains, the true antidote 
 
430 
 
 against all* excesses. G. C. preached on Sunday 
 morning ; and J. D. in the evening. The sermon of 
 the latter was of course a good deal, indeed wholly, 
 in his own way; but it was, notwithstanding, solidly 
 good and useful. Mrs. P. L. was much pleased with 
 it; yet not more than there was good ground for. 
 The evening sermon was explicitly, and without 
 compromise, pious and strict. The subject was c Inas¬ 
 much as ye have done it, &c.’ St. Matt. 25.; and most 
 clearly, and to G. C.’s delight, he showed, that it was 
 not mere beneficence which was referred to, but pre¬ 
 dilection for the true disciples and brethren of our 
 Saviour; adducing as proof^ his own words, ‘ Who is 
 my mother, and who are my brethren, &c.’ On the 
 whole, nothing could have been looked for more 
 pleasant, than our intercourse throughout; and no¬ 
 thing could be more cordial than the pleasure he ex¬ 
 pressed, at what he had heard men of the bar say 
 about your preaching. 
 
 I began this letter in Dublin, on Saturday ; intend¬ 
 ing it for that night’s post. Monday is now come, 
 
 and I writing in the reading room of B-. I must, 
 
 however, say no more; in order to catch an oppor¬ 
 tunity, which, even now, is hazardous. When you 
 can write, I shall be most happy to hear from you, 
 being most cordially yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
431 
 
 LETTER LXVII. 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 Cashel, Aug, 31. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 How deeply am I in your debt, and how unable to 
 repay! But I must say something, though it were 
 only to put in an impudent claim for further credit: 
 though, be your patience what it may, I can hardly 
 promise that I shall ever repay you all. Your letter 
 did not reach me, or rather I did not reach it, till 
 monday last. I had been the whole of the preceding 
 
 week at G-; from whence W-accompanied 
 
 me to Cashel. I communicated what you say about 
 his sermon ; and he is perfectly satisfied to acquiesce, 
 in whatever you may finally think expedient; being 
 convinced that, in such matters, there need be no 
 appeal from your judgment. 
 
 On every account, your report of the expedition 
 rejoices me. I think I can enter fully into the whole 
 business; and, surely, few things could be more truly 
 delightful, than to see fierce polemicals thus charmed 
 away, by the bland and kindly influences of affection 
 and good will. There can be little doubt, that G. C., 
 and G. C.’s system, will assume a character, very far 
 surpassing ordinary Calvinism. Who can tell, but 
 that in it, there may be a remote preparation, for the 
 future reception and diffusion of a more excellent 
 scheme? At all events, it is a great matter, that 
 practical goodness, without dogmatical theology, can 
 excite such cordial affection : and here, even our 
 
432 
 
 amiable friend’s mysticism and asceticism may do 
 essential service. Is it not probable, that these gene¬ 
 rate a kind of goodness, most likely to attract people 
 ofG. C.’s school; and that, on the other hand, they 
 produce in J. D., a greater degree of tenderness, for 
 
 the wilderness piety of his II-- friends, than could 
 
 have arisen, merely from the kindly feelings of his 
 own mind, and tolerant nature ? I own I am disposed 
 to view the very dissonances from our way of think¬ 
 ing, as part of the providential apparatus, which fits 
 J. D. for exercising a most beneficial influence on the 
 other plan of usefulness ; and perhaps, when that 
 is able to subsist alone, he may be brought to throw 
 off’ these exuviae, and move unfettered, and range at 
 large, in the wider field, and purer air, of our system. 
 He would, in truth, be an invaluable acquisition: not 
 that I expect he will ever become thoroughly solid 
 and consecutive ; but I soberly think, that, if he were 
 cordially to embrace our ways of thinking, he would 
 produce greater popular effect, than any other indivi¬ 
 dual in the community would be capable of doing ; 
 and that this very want of compactness and arrange¬ 
 ment, would, in no small degree, conduce to his 
 popularity. 
 
 If you could but suggest a text and subject, in my 
 way, it would be a wondrous stimulus and aid to. 
 Your most obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
4 S3 
 
 LETTER LXVIII. 
 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 Cashel, Sept. 10. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 The near prospect of seeing you at Cashel, has been 
 absolutely reviving to my spirits ; and you will readily 
 believe, that it afforded no small gratification to our 
 friends at the palace. 
 
 I must say, that I have been wofully disappointed 
 in Paley’s sermons. There are, to be sure, some 
 choice passages ; very few, however, besides those, 
 which we had previously selected for us, in different 
 Reviews. And even here, I suspect he often uses 
 a more spiritual phraseology, than his sentiments 
 entitle him to. He talks of the absolute necessity of 
 divine grace ; but we discover, in other places, that, 
 by grace, he means nothing more than favour. He 
 describes, most nobly, the habit of devotion; but, 
 when he comes to specify the subject-matter of devo¬ 
 tion, as sermon viii. 142., does he not betray won¬ 
 derful tameness ? There is, assuredly, nothing of 
 Chrysostomian fervour; no wing; no tendency to 
 soar. His notions of love to God, are absolutely 
 grovelling. See p. 42., sermon ii. &c. : ‘ Towards 
 the author of an obligation which is infinite, thank¬ 
 fulness is the only species of love which can exist!’ 
 In sermon xviii. p. 288., and sermon xxii. p. 341., 
 does he not speak the language of most unqualified 
 arianism ? So, at least, it appears to me ; for I think 
 none but an arian can maintain, that the eternal 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
 F F 
 
434 
 
 Aoyog is now advanced to a higher state, than what 
 he possessed before his incarnation ; and that none 
 but an arian could speak of 6 Him who came down 
 from heaven’, merely as being ‘ united with the 
 Deity, as no other person is united.’ This, surely, is 
 ranker arianism than Dr. Clarke’s. Add, that, in no 
 part of his sermons, is Christ explicitly termed, God. 
 After all, this work may do good. In many points, 
 Paley seems to have advanced on himself, and on all 
 of his school. Some important principles are laid 
 down ; and some valuable concessions are made : and 
 he affords not a few happy instances, of what may be 
 done, in the way of familiarizing deep truth, by di¬ 
 vesting it of technical phraseology. 
 
 Last night, I got my reviews. They seem, so far 
 as I have looked into them, more interesting than 
 usual. Is there not, however, too much effort at 
 fine writing, and at originality of expression, in the 
 Eclectic ? I felt particularly disposed to ask myself 
 this question, in reading the article upon Cowper’s 
 Milton ; which also sins against just taste, and en¬ 
 lightened piety. 
 
 Do you not like the article in the Christ. Obs., on 
 Miss Smith’s fragments ? There is a liberality in it, 
 which I have seldom seen exhibited in that work. 
 The writer, whatever may be his theological senti¬ 
 ments, is evidently not afraid to move without doc¬ 
 trinal shackles; and I was gratified to find him 
 quoting, in terms of high commendation, some pas¬ 
 sages with which I myself had been particularly 
 pleased, in reading the work at large. This was, 
 assuredly, a prodigy of a young woman. Such ma¬ 
 ture, such just and deep reflections, at such an age, 
 and with so little opportunity of sound religious in¬ 
 struction, astonish me. What she says of humility 
 
435 
 
 is admirable ; and the passage beginning, c Great 
 actions, &c.’ C. O. p. 518, 2 . is wonderfully solid 
 and practical. These sayings are worthy of Howe.* 
 What might this self-taught young person have be¬ 
 come, had her religious friends been of a higher 
 school, than Mrs. B-, and Dr. It-! 
 
 I am sure the passage you recommend for a text, 
 is pregnant; but I cannot, at present, draw a mental 
 sketch of a sermon from it. With the aid of hints, I 
 might. You know, that from hints I always work 
 best: therefore, if you can, do write about a page on 
 the subject. I long to be set at work, but I am not 
 automatous. I need to be wound up. 
 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 60. 
 
 To the Rev . J. Jebb* 
 
 Dawson Street, Sept. 12. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I must not attempt to give hints about the text, as 
 (the bell-man, I was going to say, is in this street. . 
 but that is past,) a friend has come in ; and I must 
 merely add, that I thank you for your pleasant and 
 interesting letter : your superscription, ever refresh¬ 
 ing me 5 and your contents, never disappointing me. 
 I agree in all your remarks ; and do assure you, I 
 thought of Howe, while I read the fragments. Mark 
 that! I must only lodge an exception, about the 
 
 * The author of the * Meditations.’ . • Ed. 
 
 F F 2 
 
436 
 
 remarks in the C. O. ; as some recollection hovers 
 over me, of my being struck with some dissentient, 
 or jealous ideas. Whatever they were, if they were 
 just, you will agree with me when I explicate them. 
 In the mean time, believe me, 
 
 Ever, most cordially yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER 61. 
 To the Rev. J. Jehb. 
 
 Sept. 21. 1808. After dinner. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I shall have little time, and can of course say little ; 
 but little or much, you shall have till the last minute. 
 
 Poor-has lost his daughter, and has had his 
 
 wife in a dangerous fever. I received a letter from 
 him, yesterday morning, acquainting me with the 
 latter fact; and expressing hope, that the worst is 
 
 over. I trust he is right. One way or other, - - 
 
 will be c brought to the haven, where he should be/ 
 I was gratified by his writing to me, in a way above 
 all selfishness. I was glad on his own account; for 
 there is so much, in the things I say, to revolt his na¬ 
 tural feelings, that his kindliness towards me, is, I 
 cannot but think, a symptom of advanced, and ad¬ 
 vancing self-subjugation. 
 
 I have lately read a beautiful kind of thing; the 
 Life and Remains of Henry Kirke White. Perhaps 
 I have already mentioned it to you. Could I catch 
 it in paper, I would send it by post. H. K. W. was 
 
437 
 
 a prodigy; too much marked with precocity, cer¬ 
 tainly, to afford hope of continuity ; but a wonderful 
 creature he was, undoubtedly, both for talent, and 
 piety. The latter cordial; but, as it should seem, 
 not sufficiently steady. Perhaps this circumstance, 
 which the initiated only can understand, accounts 
 best for an otherwise inscrutable arrangement. 
 
 I have had some pleasant talk with methodists, on 
 two occasions, this week. In both instances, I have 
 been profoundly gratified. A wonderful willingness 
 appeared to drink in what I said; and the approba¬ 
 tion given to it, was so discriminatively, and so taste¬ 
 fully expressed, that my satisfaction was as deep as it 
 has ever been; two or three special instances, always 
 excepted. The cordiality of reception was such, 
 that it has really given hope of doing some good, 
 through the blessing of God, to my old friends. 
 Severed more and more as they are, from their 
 brethren in England, they may be disposed to listen 
 to primitive doctrine from us (qualescunque sumus) ; 
 and, if so, what might not this lead to ? The metho¬ 
 dists, without any outward alteration, that any one 
 could discover but ourselves, might positively, in my 
 judgment, become the most efficient friends to the 
 established church simply by their being brought to 
 breathe the same spirit with itself, 
 
 I may appear over sanguine, but a short letter 
 cannot explain all my grounds. 
 
 Believe me, ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 S’ F S 
 
438 
 
 LETTER LXIX. 
 
 To A. Knox , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Oct. 20. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 About a month ago, I wrote you a very prolix 
 letter; which, I fear, has frightened you out of all 
 correspondence with me. I am now about to write 
 a very short one; and in the first place, let me men¬ 
 tion, that the Archbishop intends setting off, to-mor¬ 
 row, for town: so that, of course, you will see him, 
 either on Saturday, or Sunday. 
 
 It will give you pleasure to hear, that a living of 
 6001. falls to my worthy friend, Geo. Forster. He is 
 to be succeeded in the Archbishop’s cure, by J. 
 Forster *, who is to come and reside in Cashel. 
 
 I wish to know, whether you would have any ob¬ 
 jection to present a memorial from me, to the com¬ 
 missioners of the revenue, through your friend Mr. H. 
 It is on the subject of quit rent ; and may possibly 
 be the means of saving me 12/., which, you know', 
 would buy twelve quartos. If you can do me this 
 good office, with perfect ease to your own feelings, 
 
 * The Rev. James William Forster, LL.D., Vicar General of Limerick, 
 and for more than six years, Commissary of the united dioceses. The addresses 
 unanimously presented to Dr. Forster, on the close of his delegated admini¬ 
 stration, by the assembled clergy of Limerick and Ardfert, grateful as they 
 naturally were to the feelings of his attached brother, have a still higher value, 
 as testimonies to the wisdom with which, absent or present, in sickness no less 
 than in health, the presiding mind of Bishop Jebb guided and governed the por¬ 
 tion of Christ’s Church committed to his charge. . . Ed. 
 
439 
 
 I know you will not hesitate; and, on no other terms, 
 should I wish to engage you in this, or any other 
 concern, of 
 
 Your very faithful and affectionate friend, 
 
 John Jebb4 
 
 LETTER 62. 
 To the Rev. J. Jebh. 
 
 Bellevue, Oct. 24. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Nothing on this earth could be more unfounded, 
 than your suspicion about the prolixity of your letter. 
 When I receive a letter from you, my first matter of 
 inquiry is, whether it is full; my certainty of the 
 quality, ever making quantity, alone, my point of 
 solicitude. No, my friend. Every particle of your 
 letter was interesting to me. 
 
 I am very glad, as far as I can judge, of what you 
 tell me concerning the two Forsters. The greater 
 arrangement is clearly right; the latter consequent 
 one, I hope will be the source of advantage to J. F.: 
 and then it will not fail to give pleasure to you. 
 
 I could say many things, but I wish this letter to 
 go to you by to-night’s post; and I look forward to 
 another mode of communication. I am sure your 
 arrangement of St. James, is founded in fact; but, I 
 am inclined to think, the same conformation, with 
 more or less exactness, is every now and then occur* 
 ring, in all the apostolic writings; and, I imagine, 
 
 f f 4 
 
440 
 
 an attention to this particular might often be found 
 of use, in ascertaining the sense of obscure passages. 
 
 Your collection from the philosophers and poets, 
 I greatly like; and I conceive, it might be highly 
 useful to keep the plan open for continual increase, 
 in the way of, not a common, but a special place- 
 book. I am sure it is a method of enriching one’s 
 own mind and memory, with materials applicable to 
 the noblest purposes. Had not Leighton followed 
 that method, his Prelections would not have been 
 the elegant things they are; nor would any of his 
 writings have had that depth and richness of thought, 
 which all writers, that understand and feel him, agree 
 in acknowledging. 
 
 My movements will be regulated by those of the 
 Archbishop, from whom I have not lately heard, but 
 shall probably see to-morrow, (when I mean to be in 
 town) or Wednesday, at farthest. I had, some time 
 since, the kindest possible letter from him ; but I do 
 not know what new arrangements he may have made, 
 since. Therefore, till I see him, I can say nothing 
 positively, except that, when I go, I must go round 
 by Newtown Barry; where, however, I shall stay 
 only a very few days. 
 
 Write to me, when you can, and as largely as you 
 can. Be assured, I can never cease to value what 
 you say to me; and shall never be wilfully negligent 
 in replying. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 A. K. 
 
441 
 
 LETTER LXX. 
 To A . K?iox, Esq . 
 
 Cashel, Oct. 27. 1808* 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Your very kind letter has set my mind at ease. For 
 the truth is, I was not inapprehensive, that my late 
 pursuits might have appeared to you, either trifling 
 in themselves, or too eagerly followed; or, perhaps 
 even followed to the neglect of other, and weightier 
 matters : and under this misapprehension, I could 
 not help often construing your silence, into a tacit 
 rebuke. To most people, say what I might, this 
 feeling would yield incontrovertible proof of con¬ 
 sciousness. But you know how to appreciate more 
 tenderly, the weaknesses of a sensitively nervous 
 man. I am happy to say, that, in the present in¬ 
 stance, I do not condemn myself. It is my anxious 
 wish and effort, that I may not be carried away by 
 any hobby-horse; and I know that, at any moment, 
 I would with joy put aside all the poets, philosophers, 
 and fathers, for even the remote prospect of being 
 able to compose a sermon. But, ‘ Quod possumus, 
 non quod volumus.’ Two years ago, you gave me 
 a very sound and seasonable piece of advice: ‘ Use 
 every thing, but do not let yourself become fond of 
 any thing/ This, I hope, I never shall forget. 
 
 I am glad that you like the plan of my little philo¬ 
 sophical collections ; and, I have, in intention, anti¬ 
 cipated your suggestion of keeping it open for further 
 
442 
 
 increase, as choice materials might present them- 
 selves. At a future day, when I have the proper 
 books in my own possession, for it is uncomfortable to 
 be dragging the folios of the library to my own apart¬ 
 ments, I hope to collect, in a similar manner, from 
 the fathers. Such a plan, I should conceive, is pecu¬ 
 liarly proper for me. For whether it be from the 
 natural temperament of my mind, or from whatever 
 cause, my small literary movements differ from those 
 of most men. All my little acquisitions, are made 
 by short, but somewhat vigorous incursions. I am 
 not able to carry on a regular siege; much less, to 
 establish myself, in the territory I have invaded ; and 
 therefore, whenever I have gained a little booty, I 
 am glad to retire with it into my fastnesses, and wait 
 my opportunity for a fresh sally. Now, whatever is 
 acquired in this predatory manner, is very difficult to 
 retain; and, hence, there is an absolute necessity, of 
 providing magazines, for the safe custody of one’s 
 spoil; lest the fruits of one incursion be lost, while 
 we are out upon another. This allegory has grown 
 into greater length, and I fear into more perplexity 
 than I had dreamt of; but you need not be told what 
 it means. It is my object to secure the power of re¬ 
 taining, and applying those materials, which, from 
 their miscellaneous nature, and the detached, not to 
 say the desultory mode of their acquisition, would 
 otherwise escape the memory, or fail of being appli¬ 
 cable to any useful purpose. 
 
 I am thinking, at present, of composing a dis¬ 
 course, on that text of Saint Peter, 4 The end of all 
 things is at hand, be ye therefore sober, and watch 
 unto prayer.’ If I can succeed, I intend it for next 
 Sunday sennight. When I look back upon the whole 
 time that has passed, since we parted at B-, it is 
 
443 
 
 enough to dispirit me sadly, that I have absolutely 
 written but one sermon ; and that, not at all to my 
 mind. In this dearth, I have been reduced to draw, a 
 very little, on Whitty; and, chiefly, on my old stock, 
 for I cannot transcribe. All, however, is, I trust, 
 for the best. I cannot charge myself with idleness. 
 There has been an effort to lay up, ‘ quod mox de- 
 promere possum.’ And I hope the obvious lesson, of 
 diffidence in myself, has not been wholly neglected. 
 Meanwhile, there have been, and are, feelings of a 
 hopeful, and perhaps, even of a complacent nature. 
 I think I have been gaining clearer views than I 
 ever had, how the instrumental powers should be 
 made use of; and, with the aid of Cicero and 
 Quinctilian, I hope to find my way, to a more easy 
 and graceful, as well as forcible management of 
 language. To get rid of stiffness and elaborateness, 
 and to attain simplicity and freedom, is, I believe, 
 an elaborate process j but I feel it a duty to labour 
 in this department. For, I do verily believe, that 
 I have little or nothing of an originative mind; but 
 that, if they are duly cultivated, there are capacities 
 in me, for giving to truth, however I may come at 
 it, some of the graces of diction. This, I feel a 
 presentiment, is to be my department: and for this, 
 I am desirous to prepare. One object which I wish 
 to keep in view, is, such an arrangement and dis¬ 
 position, both of words and sentences, as may appear 
 the most natural, and even fortuitous; and, at the 
 same time, may gratify the ear with a certain sweet¬ 
 ness and harmony, that can be better felt, than 
 described. Some one has remarked, that, in listen¬ 
 ing to an innumerous, and unharmonious discourse, 
 people feel wearied and irksome, they do not know 
 why ; and that, let the matter be ever so excellent. 
 
444 
 
 This, I am sure, is an observation perfectly founded 
 in truth and nature. For all men have ears. ‘ Unum 
 est, et simplex aurium judicium, et promiscue ac 
 communiter, stultis ac sapientibus, a natura datum % 
 says Cicero ; and says Quinctilian, ‘ Docti rationem 
 componendi intelligunt ; indocti voluptatem.* So 
 that in this respect, we are debtors, not only to the 
 Greeks, but also to the Barbarians. 
 
 ( Unfinished.') 
 
 LETTER 63. 
 To the Rev . J. Jebb. 
 
 Dawson St., Nov. 3. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 ####*# 
 
 You know, before this, that my visit to you is 
 postponed. I love home so entirely, as to make it 
 somewhat of an effort in me to move. But those I 
 love elsewhere, have too strong a hold upon my 
 heart, not to draw me easily to them* There was, 
 therefore, the prospect of real pleasure, in going; 
 and there is a sensation of pleasure, in staying. My 
 mind was perfectly ready for the one, and is as per¬ 
 fectly acquiescent in the other. 
 
 Your text is probably, ere this, disposed of; but, 
 at all events, you are interested, in all that can be 
 said about it. It was probably spoken, under a 
 
445 
 
 strong feeling of the approaching judgments, on 
 Judea, and Jerusalem; which, perhaps, were then 
 confounded, by most Christian Jews, with ‘ the end of 
 all things in its fullest sense. There is, certainly, 
 no reason to suppose, that foresight was the peculiar 
 of St. Peter, and a purpose of divine Providence 
 might be answered, in his unfounded apprehension. 
 It might lead him to express more strongly, what 
 ought to be felt, than a juster view of the fact would 
 have suggested. 
 
 But how true is it, respecting us, individually, that 
 the end of all things is at hand ! ‘ In the midst of 
 
 life, we are in death 9 : or, as St. Peter himself won¬ 
 derfully expresses it, T outcov ouv n tclvtcdv 
 7roTa.7roug $ei v7roi^siu v[Aa.g sv ocyioug avourTpofycug xou 
 svtrsSsiotig.* Casimir’s thought occurs to me: 
 
 Te, licet multo pretiosus auro 
 Gemmea vestem moderere zona 
 Et super collo Tyriasamicet 
 Fibula lanas, 
 
 Jure Phcenissis vaga penna cristis 
 Stare labenti dubitat galero ; 
 
 Jure, quo fulgis timidum refigi 
 Palluit aurum.f 
 
 This> you see, is 7tolvtcdv Xdo[xsvo)v, .. because ‘ these 
 things perish in the using.’ They have no solidity 
 
 * II Pet. iii. 11. 
 
 t Though, gorgeous with resplendent gold, 
 
 The jewelled zone thy vest infold ; 
 
 Thy Tyrian cloak, with curious grasp, 
 Though graceful holds the studded clasp ; . . 
 Yet justly thy Phoenician crest 
 Waves its plumed pride, and fears to rest 
 Upon the tottering helmet’s height, » . 
 Justly, upon thy raiment bright, 
 
 Too conscious of its failing hold, 
 
 Quivers with dread the pallid gold. 
 
446 
 
 in themselves. They are phantoms of bliss ; except 
 they are used exactly as they should be; that is, as 
 St. Paul explains, 1 Cor. vii. 29, &c. 
 
 The direction, founded on the approach of the 
 end of all things, strikes me as remarkably just. Be 
 ye, therefore, sober: this refers to ‘all things’: ‘and 
 watch unto prayer’ : this refers to ‘ the end.’ Be¬ 
 cause every thing is transient, evanescent, . . use 
 every thing soberly; and because the end is coming, 
 be watchful. It is, literally, ‘ take time, from your 
 sleep, for devotion.’ Though the finest interpreta¬ 
 tion, is that of our Lord, ‘ Let your loins be girded, 
 and your lamps burning, and ye yourselves, like those 
 who wait for their Lord; that, when he cometh and 
 knocketh, ye may open unto him immediately.’ 
 
 Still, however, the sobriety lies, in the manner of 
 using what is present; and the watchfulness, in being 
 prepared for what is to come. The shade thrown 
 into the picture, by placing it in the night, is excel¬ 
 lent ; and it leaves room for the delightful beaming 
 in, of a special and peculiar day : ‘Ye, brethren, are 
 not in darkness, that, that day should overtake you 
 as a thief’, &c. Observe, how exactly historical facts 
 are so arranged, as to accord with spiritual things. 
 We are told in Exodus, that, when God sent, upon 
 the Egyptians, darkness that might be felt, though 
 the Egyptians ‘ saw not one another, neither rose any 
 from his place for three days’, yet ‘ all the children 
 of Israel had light in their dwellings.’ Thus, even 
 the night of the Christian, is better than this world’s 
 day. Even their sobriety, has infinitely more hilarity 
 in it, than the utmost gaiety of those, who live in 
 pleasure; and their watchfulness, is that of those, 
 
 ‘ who look for the morning.’ 
 
 I greatly like your quotation from iElian. Dr. 
 
447 
 
 Nash* was to have been employed yesterday evening, 
 in tracing the meaning of a^ySeva) : but what the re¬ 
 sult has been, I cannot yet tell. But I can tell, that 
 he was much pleased with your letter to him. My 
 only objection to iElian’s quotation, is, that it inverts 
 the order; Hierocles’ order Apery and Axrfieiot, ac¬ 
 cords accurately with the method pursued, by him, 
 whom he explains; the exoteric first, then the eso¬ 
 teric. But Horace, who, I conceive, had exactly the 
 same thought in his view, may be charged with the 
 same inversion. 
 
 Quid verum atque decens euro et rogo, et omnis in hoc sum.f 
 
 On another occasion, however, he hits more strictly 
 on the right order. 
 
 Curvo dignoscere rectum , 
 
 Atque inter sylvas Academi quaerere verum.\ 
 
 In these quotations, I may be fanciful; but, be¬ 
 yond all doubt, the Apery and A TiyQeia of Hierocles 
 correspond, to the exoteric, and esoteric, of Pytha¬ 
 goras. And let Dr. M-say what he may, there 
 
 is a wonderful agreement between this gradation, and 
 what is every where presenting itself in the gospel. 
 
 Farewell. Most cordially yours always, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 * Richard Herbert Nash, D.D., formerly senior Fellow of Trinity College, 
 Dublin, now rector of Ardstraw, diocese of Derry. A scholar and divine, who 
 deservedly possessed, and justly appreciates, the friendship of Bishop Jebb. . . Ed. 
 
 t ‘ Truth and propriety I seek to know, 
 
 And all my cares on this research bestow.’ 
 
 j ‘ The curved line from the straight, skilled to discern, 
 
 And truth ’midst Academus’ groves to learn.’ 
 
448 
 
 4 
 
 LETTER LXXI. 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Sunday, Nov. 6. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Instead of being this day at church, I have been 
 confined to my room ; having sprained my back early 
 last week. For the first two or three days, the pain 
 was intense ; but it is now much abated ; and I hope 
 very soon to be a foot again. At present, I wish to 
 enjoy the pleasure of conversing with you, on a sub¬ 
 ject not unsuitable to the day. 
 
 Your hints on 1 Peter iv. 7* which, from my late 
 accident, have arrived quite in time, were truly ac¬ 
 ceptable ; and I hope to profit by them. I doubt, 
 however, whether the apostle intended a night scene ; 
 and I will tell you my reasons. 
 
 1. After carefully examining more than twenty 
 passages, where watchfulness is inculcated, I find 
 that, wherever it is manifestly opposed to sleep, or 
 connected with the idea of night, whether literally or 
 spiritually, one or other of the verbs, ygyyogsa), and 
 ccygi>7rv£cu, is uniformly employed. 
 
 2. The verb, which, in this passage, we translate 
 ‘watch’, is vr)<pco : for both the literal, and figurative 
 meaning of which, see Schleusner and Parkhurst. It 
 could not here be rendered, ‘be sober’; that transla¬ 
 tion being pre-occupied by the verb, <rco<p%ovri(raTs ; and 
 perhaps the present version gives the meaning, with as 
 much precision, as the nature of the case will admit: 
 1 Thess. V. 6. and 8. aXAa ygrjyogcofJLSV, xcu vr)<pa)fj.si/ 9 
 
449 
 
 and r^sig 8s y/xs^oLg ovrsg vyfycopsv. In the former of 
 these verses, vycpco being added to yg^yogeco, must 
 mean something distinct from mere wakefulness, and, 
 therefore, we render it, 4 be sober’, and in the latter, 
 this duty, whatever it be, is made a duty of the day. 
 2 Tim. iv. 5, cu 8s vr}<ps sv ttolo-i. Here, I am dis¬ 
 posed to think, our translators give a wrong render¬ 
 ing ; it being, I conceive, the apostle’s meaning, that 
 St. Timothy should oppose the soberness ryg otXrjGsiag, 
 to the [xvGoi , spoken of in the preceding verse. 
 1 Pet. i. 13. Our version renders vrjtpovrsg, 4 be sober.’ 
 1 Pet. v. 8 . Here, again, we have the two verbs 
 vrjtpa), and y^yo^sco, and am I fanciful in thinking 
 there is, in this passage, a peculiar beauty and pro¬ 
 priety ? Our adversary the devil goes about, day 
 and night; therefore, at each season, we should be 
 upon our guard. By day, vyypars, be sober; and 
 by night, ygrjyogyo-oLTs, be wakeful. 
 
 3. Your idea, 4 take time from your sleep for devo¬ 
 tion’, is no less scriptural, than it is both beautiful 
 and important. What fine practical illustrations of 
 it are in the Psalms ; and, in the New Testament, 
 we have it clearly, St. Matt. xxvi. 41. ygyyogsiTs, koli 
 7r$oG-su%s(r6s» And St. Mark xiii. 33. aypu7rvsiTs, koli 
 7 r$oo-su%s6-Qs. And more expressly. Col. iv. l 2. ry 
 
 7T^0(rsi)^ry 7 tqo(Tkolqtsqsits 9 ypyyoqouvTsg SV OLOTy, sv su%ol- 
 
 qktticl. And most beautiful of all, Eph. vi. 18. 8ia 
 TroLO-yg 7T^o(rsv^rjg koli 8sr)(rsa)g ttqocew^o^svoi sv ttolvti 
 kouqco ev Y1 vsu[j.olti, koli sig oloto tovto OLyQU7rvovVTsg, sv 
 7T0L(Ty 7Tg0<rKCLgTSgr)0-Sl 9 KOLI 8sr\(TSly &c., but I doubt it 
 
 does not apply to 1 Pet. iv. 7* I feel as if the text 
 could be best managed, by reversing the order. This, 
 Archbishop Leighton has done aliquatenus ; prayer, 
 is manifestly the terminus ad quern, the end of the 
 
 VOL. I. G G 
 
450 
 
 exhortation ; watchfulness the habitual attention, to 
 every thing within and without, which is essential to 
 right devotion ; (raxpgoo-uvr j, the state of mind and 
 heart, which is to produce this habitual attention ; 
 and the conviction, that the end of all things is at 
 hand, is the grand motive ; the weight, which is to 
 set all in motion. In this arrangement, you will ob¬ 
 serve, that I have aimed at being more systematic 
 and consecutive than Leighton ; but very probably 
 I may, after all, be wrong. 
 
 Taking it, however, in this view, I would, I. enter 
 at once, on the subject of prayer; its usefulness, its 
 excellence, its happiness. Such being the value and 
 pleasure of devotion, would we not imagine that all 
 must abound in prayer? The fact, however, is di¬ 
 rectly the reverse: various impediments, within and 
 without; hence, the necessity of II. watching unto 
 prayer ; that is, of vigilantly guarding against what¬ 
 ever is unfriendly to devotion ; of viewing every 
 thing, with a reference to the effect it is likely to 
 have on our prayers. This watchfulness respecting, 
 not merely things wrong in themselves, but things 
 innocent, useful, laudable ; perilous licitis. What was 
 it that kept the guests, in the parable, from the supper ? 
 aypov riyofOLfru, %<=uyr) fiocuv 7]yo^a.(ra 7tsvts, yuvaixoL syr}[Aa. 
 What then is the remedy ? Are we to renounce these 
 things? By no means, but, 
 
 O l i^ovriq yvva.iY.at;, aq py t^ovreq u<ri, 
 
 Kai ol vCkaiovitq, a; pr) YAaiovrsq, 
 
 Kai ol y^aioovTtq, a; [Ay ^aioovTEq, 
 
 Kat ol ayopa^ovTEq, dcq juv; xaT£%ov req, 
 
 Kat ol xoajjLEVoi ra Yocry.a tout®, wq \x'i j YaTaxpufXEvoi.* 
 
 * I Cor. vii. 29, 30, 31. 
 
451 
 
 III. This is the remedy ; and this is, precisely, the 
 (raxppovrjo-oLTs of the text; that is, a sound judgment, 
 a sober estimate of all things, not merely in the head, 
 but in the heart. And what practical conviction 
 will most effectually produce this judgment and esti¬ 
 mate ? The text tells us, IV. ‘ The end of all things, 
 is at hand.’ You know what can be said in this 
 branch ; and it seems peculiarly favourable for a 
 peroration, that may apply, and enforce, the whole of 
 what has been said, throughout the entire sermon. 
 
 I am far from being sure that my arguments, 
 against the text being a night-piece, are valid. But 
 the truth is, I shrink from taking that view of the 
 subject; having already given it in two or three ser¬ 
 mons, all preached, more than once, in Cashel. And 
 I wish, if possible, to break new ground. I shall be 
 very glad to have your thoughts, on the proposed 
 plan. Do not fear to object, for I shall have time 
 to act on your suggestions, as the Archbishop intends 
 holding a confirmation next Sunday; a sermon for 
 which must, in the first instance, be prepared; and 
 the present subject must lie over, at least, till to¬ 
 morrow sennight. 
 
 Monday morning, 
 
 P.S. I thank you for your beautiful quotation from 
 Casimir: let me try to repay you with another, from 
 the same poet. 
 
 .... Cinis sequat omnes, 
 
 Et urna, quae nos colligit, omnium 
 Mensura rerum est; demitte sarcinas, 
 
 Grandemque fortunam lacerto, et 
 Solliciti grave pondus auri, 
 
 G G 2 
 
452 
 
 Dum nonoiiustus, sed moriar mens: 
 
 Jam nunc perennes divitias mihi 
 Nil concupiscendo paravi, 
 
 Nil nimium metuendo, pacem.* 
 
 Is not this something very nearly approaching to 
 (rco(ppo(njvr) ? It is, indeed, infinitely less poetical, 
 than your exquisite passage ; but it is surely rich in 
 moral sentiment. I dare say, the whole of this ode, 
 the xvith, 2d book, may be much more familiar to 
 you, than it is to me. But our taste must differ 
 more widely, than I am willing to imagine, if, on 
 taking down your little Casimir, and giving the en¬ 
 tire poem a re-perusal, you will think your time mis¬ 
 employed. Some stanzas remind me, at once, of 
 Horace’s ‘Otium Divos ’, and of that beautiful chorus 
 in Seneca’s Thyestes, the close of which, you know. 
 Sir M. Hale, and Andrew Marvel have imitated. A 
 propos, have you seen Seneca the tragedian ? If not, 
 I have an Elzivir edition of him entirely at your 
 service ; by accepting which you will oblige me. 
 
 The postponement of your visit is a sad disappoint¬ 
 ment. We had all been anticipating it with delight. 
 But I am well convinced, that these matters are or¬ 
 dered for us, far better than we could order them 
 
 * * The dust, in which we all must lie, 
 Shall bring us to equality 
 And all things earthly hold : 
 
 Then lay thine anxious load aside, 
 
 The world’s Vain pomp, ambition’s pride, 
 And that dead weight of gold. 
 
 Unclogged, unladen, I would die, 
 
 Like spirit born to scale the sky : 
 
 And, till my life shall cease. 
 
 Safe in a well-contented mind, 
 
 By seeking nothing, rest I find ; 
 
 By fearing nothing, peace.* 
 
453 
 
 ourselves; and therefore, I, too, am cheerfully ac¬ 
 quiescent. Major——, who came here on Saturday, 
 and sat with me an hour last night, is a sharer in our 
 regret ; as he had hoped to have seen you at N. B. 
 
 and in K-. What a deep, sound, and efficient 
 
 man is this! What weight must he have, and what 
 good must he do, in a regiment, every officer of 
 which, but two, he was able to keep entirely aloofi 
 
 from all the dissipation of K-! This appears 
 
 to me a new thing in the earth ; and I must honestly 
 own, that had I been in his situation, 1 should neither 
 have had enterprize, nor energy, nor discretion 
 enough, to effect such a revolution among a body of 
 officers. The major gives a very pleasing account of 
 
 -. He is wonderfully tolerant and catholic for a 
 
 calvinist; and by no means anxious to force or in¬ 
 trude his own opinions, upon other people, not so 
 
 -. He has been very zealous in his efforts to 
 
 make converts from our diocese ; having fruitlessly 
 
 attempted both-and-. He told the latter, 
 
 that you are ruining and perverting the diocese of 
 Cashel. I am happy to say, that every one of our 
 clergy, hope and trust you will continue the infec¬ 
 tion. 
 
 I was much obliged, and gratified by the books. 
 When they arrived, I was keeping my bed. Imme¬ 
 diately I entered upon the life of Winter, which I 
 soon read through. What a contrast to the piece of 
 biography you brought me, this time twelvemonth. 
 Yet this man and Robinson, began their career, under 
 the same auspices. Assuredly, Winter was amongst 
 the most amiable, the most pious, the most catholic, 
 and the least pragmatical, of calvinists. The leaves 
 that were folded down, did not afford me the least 
 gratification, (I have caught myself in an ambiguous 
 
 g g 3 
 
454 
 
 phrase, but you will know how to interpret it;) and 
 I was pleased, especially, and I hope instructed, by 
 some sensible observations on preaching and compo¬ 
 sition. My back now warns me to conclude. 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 64. 
 To the Rev . J. Jebb . 
 
 Dawson St., Nov. 9. 1808. 6 P.M. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 J received your much valued letter this day, and 
 will attend to the memorial. 
 
 I quite agree with your remarks on vrj^ars: and 
 the truth is I forgot, though, for a reason I could show 
 you, I ought to have remembered that that was the 
 word. I talked on the supposition of its being 
 ypyyopEiTE, or aypu7rvetTE. To what you say, therefore, 
 on this point, I wholly accord. 
 
 But I own to you, I do not subscribe equally to 
 the inversion ; as it does not strike me to be the 
 order of nature. What is ultimate, comes first. 
 This, most surely is, fi the end of all things/ There 
 must be something to make us sober, some fact 
 naturally impressive. Such is, the end of all things ; 
 accordingly, St. Peter says, ‘ be ye therefore sober ’, 
 or, as you say it, ‘ the end, &c. is the grand motive, 
 the weight of which is to set all in motion*; or as 
 Gale quotes from Plato, ocp^iTsxrovixou rsT^og rcov ovtcov, 
 I, therefore, would certain]v not reverse the order. 
 
 1/ 
 
4>55 
 
 ( The end of all things’, in addition to all these autho¬ 
 rities, being far more directly intelligible, than prayer; 
 and some good portion of a-ayfypocruvrj, being necessary, 
 to make persons understand what would be said on 
 the subject of prayer. This, then, I conceive, is not 
 so properly the terminus ad quern, though, of vy\po its 
 specially, it may be, as it is itself a means ; the illative 
 force of the therefore , extending to this, as really, as 
 to any thing before it. The natural order, therefore, 
 seems to be, 1. The impressive announcement, or 
 rather urging and illustrating of the incontestable 
 fact. 2. The immediate induction ‘ be ye therefore 
 sober.’ 3. The reducing this general feeling to 
 proper practice, 4 watch unto prayer’, which is, in a 
 word, devotional seriousness; an habitual commerce 
 with divine, and eternal objects; never losing sight 
 of them ; often spontaneously turning the thoughts 
 to them; and, at every due season, rising into direct 
 contemplation of', and converse with, God. I must 
 stop here, as I have more to say, and little time 
 remaining. 
 
 I thank you for the passage from Casimir; it is 
 fully what you state. If the major be still with you, 
 my most cordial love to him. 
 
 I like, your liking the good Winter. The truth 
 is, the church bell, which he had listened to in his 
 childhood, was never wholly out of his ears. 
 
 I trust (confidently indeed) that —— will not be 
 
 too fond of any-man. I am sure-is a 
 
 good-minded pious Christian ; but their errors are 
 ever, and in all circumstances, a comparative blight, 
 to the mind that imbibes them. They are, to rightly 
 informed Christians, what salted meat is to fresh. 
 Putrefication is escaped, but the native flavour is 
 
 gone. 
 
 g g 4 
 
456 
 
 Mr.-, says of me, what, on his principles, I 
 
 most fully deserve; therefore I have no ground for 
 the shadow of displeasure. 
 
 Ever vours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 LETTER LXXII. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Nov. 30. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I do not wish to let this month close, without offer¬ 
 ing some answer to your last kind and valuable 
 letter. What you said on the text, was to me con¬ 
 clusive : but alas, indisposition prevented me from 
 acting upon it. Meanwhile, I have not been wholly 
 precluded from employment, of an interesting, and I 
 hope, not unimproving nature. My * special place- 
 book’, has been enriched with many passages, illustra¬ 
 tive of our Christian philosophy; and I have been 
 much gratified by reading Gregory Nazianzen and 
 St. Basil. The former is far more of a platonist than 
 I had imagined; and though from many things, it 
 appears, that he had not his naturally ardent temper 
 under the best regulation, his aspirings, still, were 
 truly sublime : whilst he felt, at heart, a deep humility; 
 or, that I may borrow from his own panegyric on St. 
 Athanasius, he was t/\pr)7iog [xsv roig spyoig, ronreivog $e 
 no ovr)[ molt i. As to S. Basil, I have it in actual con¬ 
 templation to make a sermon out of one of his dis¬ 
 courses. This, I think, is to be done, partly, by free 
 
457 
 
 translation, with considerable omissions; partly, by 
 exfoliating ideas, that are like rose-buds ; and partly, 
 by following any tolerable train of thought, that may 
 be suggested to my own mind. On many accounts, 
 a close version would not suit our pulpits : but, if I 
 succeed in this attempt, I know not whether it may 
 not open to me a new, a pleasant, and a useful field 
 of exertion. 
 
 Many thanks for your good care of me, as to 
 books. The assortment reached me in perfectly 
 good condition, and a high treat it is. At leisure 
 hours, I have read, with singular interest and de¬ 
 light, the first vol. of H. K. White. I have also 
 read the Life, prefixed to Robinson’s miscellaneous 
 works. What a turbulent, restless, I had almost 
 said, terrific spirit, has got among these general 
 baptists I We live in strange times; and may see 
 stranger things than we have yet seen. 
 
 The more I reflect on the modes of reading and 
 thinking, and the kind, also, of business, into which 
 I have been gradually, and without any plan of my 
 own, led forward; as well as the very trying incapa¬ 
 citations, to which I have been made subject; the 
 more soberly, I think, that mine is to be rather a 
 non-descript function, than any ostensible routine of 
 duty. My brother clergy come to me for inform¬ 
 ation, and I lecture them; arrangements are desire- 
 able, and I sometimes plan them; and, besides, I 
 am engaged in a sort of study and research, which, 
 weak as I am, I may venture to say, no clergyman 
 in the province, besides, can pursue. If it pleases 
 God to spare my life, then my little avocations may 
 come to tell; but they cannot be followed, unless 
 there be a stated preacher here; and if his appoint¬ 
 ment do not take place, I fear that I must give up,. 
 
458 
 
 what I see proceeding satisfactorily, without effecting 
 the object of this relinquishment: for I am per¬ 
 suaded, that neither my health, nor my powers, 
 qualify me for a stated working preacher; whilst I 
 feel, that, by preaching to my brother clergy, in my 
 own room, I may be made the instrument of good to 
 many parishes. The other matter which I had to 
 mention, is comparatively of slight importance; and 
 may, therefore, well stand over. If I talk unreason¬ 
 ably, set me right. If otherwise, I know you will be 
 disposed to help me. By thus speaking what I feel, 
 4 liberavi animam meanT ; and whatever may be the 
 result, I am sure it will be most kindly and wisely 
 ordered, by the kindest and wisest of Beings, 
 
 I have found two passages in Aristotle’s Nicoma- 
 chian Ethics, and one in Ephrem Syrus, which throw 
 a light on aXrjBeusiv. No lexicographer or comment¬ 
 ator, to whom I have access, has noticed them: at 
 a future day, if you wish it, I will send them, with 
 a few observations. Excuse incoherences, for I have 
 written fast, my first thoughts, in the first words that 
 presented themselves. Without making excuses. 
 Your most obliged and affectionate, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 P. S. My kindest regards to Miss Fergusson. 
 
459 
 
 LETTER 65. 
 To the Rev . J. Jehh . 
 
 Dawson St., Dec. 3. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I received your most acceptable letter this morn¬ 
 ing ; and it gives me sincere pleasure, that my random 
 dispatch of books was not unpleasant to you. I think 
 it necessary to be well acquainted with the very worst 
 that can be said, of the ground we take ; and beyond 
 Robinson, we need not go. His memoir of Saurin, 
 and of Claude, are, in my mind, interesting; espe¬ 
 cially the latter. Do you observe, how studiously 
 he calls the French roman catholics, episcopal; as if 
 to identify us with them. I only say, be it so, 4 Hoc 
 juvat, et melli est/ I am conscious of as real reformed 
 feelings, as any one; but, most deliberately, I prize 
 what the church of Rome possesses, so deeply, as to 
 make me prefer their religion to sectarianism, in 
 whatever plausible form the latter may appear. 
 
 You and I greatly agree about St. Basil. I was 
 amused at reading what you said, just after having 
 spent an hour, in finishing the reading of his homily 
 on humility; and having felt, while I read, a wish to 
 translate that discourse into English. I cordially 
 agree with all you say; and do think such a study, 
 as you speak of, most likely to be useful. I have 
 little doubt, but that, among other causes of the ro¬ 
 man catholic religion being kept up, one grand one 
 is, the reverence they (perhaps too devotedly) feel, 
 for the character and writings of the ancient fathers. 
 
460 
 
 What modern protestants, except odd geniuses, like 
 yourself and myself, think of the fathers ? Neither 
 you nor I would bow down to the fathers; but to de¬ 
 preciate and vilify them, as certain protestants have 
 done, is a very infatuated course. For, if we are 
 built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, 
 we are also built on the intermediate ranges ; and, 
 though the foundation should be ever so sure, that 
 would not stand us in stead, if bad materials came in 
 between us and the foundation; for the dissolution 
 of these, would be our downfall. 
 
 I beg you to observe, in the passage just referred 
 to, how appositely our Saviour calls himself, ‘ the chief 
 corner stone. 5 Thus, you perceive, the building is to 
 have two fronts ; what are these, but the literal, and 
 the typical ? 
 
 I hope I have made no gross mistake, for I cannot 
 read my letter. I can only add, I am ever yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER LXXIII. 
 
 To A, Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Dec. 3. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 How could I possibly suspect you of negligence? 
 Assuredly, I had been accusing myself as the de¬ 
 faulter; and nothing, short of indisposition, could 
 have kept me so long silent. That still continues; 
 for I have not been once out of doors, since last sun- 
 
461 
 
 -'Wt 
 
 day ; but, though not either very able, or willing, 
 just at present, to hold converse with the old gentle¬ 
 men in folio, it is a cordial to talk awhile with you. 
 
 The subject that engages you, is very important; 
 and such remarks as you would make, must be sea¬ 
 sonable, and may prove signally useful. When such 
 wild opinions are abroad, and, I fear, rapidly diffusing 
 themselves, it is surely most desirable to put people 
 on their guard; and to provide them with such de¬ 
 fensive weapons, as reason, philosophy, and Scripture 
 will supply. I therefore most cordially wish you 
 good speed. Your matter, as I am sure it always 
 does, will both please and instruct me ; and, as to the 
 composition, I am not apprehensive. Only write as 
 you did to Walker, and you may set criticism at 
 defiance. The main point is, perspicuity; this, I 
 have sometimes thought you a little lost sight of, in 
 your anxiety for discriminative precision. The latter, 
 I would by no means sacrifice, in a single instance ; 
 but I would wish always to effect it, salva perspi- 
 cuitate. And to this point, I think all, or almost all 
 the critical, perhaps too often, hypercritical observ¬ 
 ations of mine, which you have had the indulgent 
 patience to tolerate, were especially directed. Invo¬ 
 lution of periods, and a multitude of particles, are, I 
 conceive, to be guarded against; but any thing like 
 scrupulous solicitude, I cannot wish for. I have been 
 too great a sufferer by it, in my own small efforts. 
 On the whole, there can be no doubt, that, if you 
 proceed in the way most natural and easy to your¬ 
 self, you will produce a valuable publication. 
 
 I have already thanked you for the books; and I 
 see no cause to retract. Robinson is peculiarly such 
 a work, as I ought not to be without. As to Crabbe, 
 your decision was critically right. He is, indeed, 
 
462 
 
 sometimes very offensive; especially in the third part 
 of his ‘Parish Register’ ; and, as he professes to have 
 yielded such implicit obedience, one cannot help re¬ 
 gretting, that he did not make choice of some purer 
 censor, than Charles James Fox; who, in two glaring 
 passages of his historical fragment, has recorded for 
 posterity the looseness of his sentiments. Crabbe is, 
 however, on the whole, well worth having ; he is so 
 far removed from the sentimental singsong, and the 
 inflated bombast of the day. That singularly wild 
 production, Sir Eustace Grey, is wrought up to a 
 wondrous pitch of the <r$o8gov tcoli svQovo-iomttixov 7raQog t 
 
 Yesterday, I had a visit from-, and his brother, 
 
 a young officer of marines, entirely self-taught, and 
 evidently possessing an ingenious and reflecting mind. 
 But he has no less evidently injured himself, by a 
 turn for metaphysical paradox ; for that sort of acute¬ 
 ness, which loves to disport itself in the regions of 
 unintelligibility. Feeling myself by no means well, 
 I waved all merely abstract reasoning ; but still 
 thought it right to engage in such talk, as gave me a 
 headache, and produced no slight degree of nervous 
 agitation ; after he left me, my whole frame was in a 
 state of tremulousness, the pure effect of exertion ; 
 for no conversation could be less impassioned. I am 
 repaid, however, for any temporary uneasiness; for 
 he listened with attention, and replied with candour, 
 while I placed before him some novel considerations ; 
 and I have since learned from his brother, that he 
 was greatly interested, and declares, that he never 
 heard religion put in such a light before. 
 
 Amongst other matters, I recommended a pro¬ 
 cedure, which had never before occurred to him. 
 First, by a few solid arguments, to establish his belief 
 in the genuineness and authenticity of the Scriptures 5 
 
463 
 
 and, till this should be effected, not to puzzle him¬ 
 self with difficulties; afterwards, when difficulties do 
 occur, to recollect, that he has already proved the 
 Scripture, to be the word of God : and to be cautious 
 of investigating those difficulties, in the way of ab¬ 
 stract reasoning; it being generally indispensable, to 
 have reference to the wants, the feelings, the circum¬ 
 stances, and the history of human nature. I strongly 
 protested against examining in the abstract, and 
 a priori, any recorded fact of God’s providential deal¬ 
 ings, or principle of his divine administration ; it 
 being ever necessary, to consider the subjects to be 
 acted upon, to inquire, not what would be best in 
 theory, but best, as suited to the condition of man¬ 
 kind. I suggested, that probably, in many cases, 
 there may have been a reference, in the Divine mind, 
 to other intelligences, invisibly, but really, connected 
 with our system. I said, that, for my own part, were 
 a difficulty to occur to me, I should give it a proper 
 share of consideration ; and, if unsuccessfully, I 
 should then quietly turn my mind to something else; 
 satisfied, if it be matter of fact, that what God does, 
 must be right: if of doctrine,.. that nothing, which is 
 really the doctrine of Scripture, can be in opposition 
 to the real character of God : that difficulties have 
 been left, for the wise and gracious purpose, of sharp¬ 
 ening human industry, and rewarding human exertion; 
 that the solution of that, or this, express difficulty, 
 may be reserved for some future period ; it being the 
 divine plan, in revelation, as in the providential course 
 of things in the physical and scientific world, not to 
 discover all, at once ; but to assign, to each age, its 
 proper discovery, which shall be most nicely adjusted 
 to the existing state of things; and most happily sub¬ 
 servient to the progress, in the one case, of civil so- 
 
464 
 
 ciety, in the other, of divine truth. Lastly, that the 
 knot which I cannot even cut, others may untie with 
 ease; and that there are ultimate truths, far above 
 human ken, concerning which, wise men have said, 
 that to be willingly ignorant, is the highest wisdom. 
 Here I had in view, a fine epigram of Grotius, and 
 some noble lines from Scaliger ; neither of which will 
 be burthensome to me to transcribe, nor to you, I 
 trust, to read. And first for Grotius. 
 
 Qui curiosus postulat totum suae 
 Patere menti, ferre qui non sufficit 
 Mediocritatis conscientiam suae, 
 
 Judex iniquus, aestimator est malus, 
 
 Suique, naturaeque ; nam rerum parens, 
 
 Libanda tantum quae venit mortalibus, 
 
 Nos scire pauca, multa mirari jubet. 
 
 Nec primus error est pejoribus : 
 
 Nam qui fateri nil potest incognitum, 
 
 Falso, necesse est, placet ignorantiam. 
 
 Magis quiescet animus, errabit minus, 
 
 Contentus eruditione parabili; 
 
 Nec quaesit illam, si qua quaerentum pigit; 
 
 NeSCIRE QUiEDAM, MAGNA PARS SAPIENTIiE EST.* 
 
 * ‘ The man who, curious, seeks to know 
 What mortal minds must still forego, 
 Who cannot bear to feel and see 
 His conscious mediocrity, . . 
 
 With erring thought, and earthly skill. 
 Himself and nature judges ill: 
 
 For mortal minds may only taste 
 The mysteries beyond them placed ; 
 
 And it is nature’s great command 
 To wonder more than understand. 
 
 Nor the mistake in order first, 
 
 Or gravest is, or ’mongst the worst: 
 
 He to whom nothing seems unknown, 
 May hail blind ignorance his own; 
 While minds content with knowing less, 
 Best knowledge, and most peace possess ; 
 
465 
 
 And now for Scaliger. 
 
 Ne curiosus, quaere causas omnium 
 Quaecunque libris vis prophetarum indidit 
 Adflata ccelo, plena veraci Deo ; 
 
 Nec operta sacra supparo silentii 
 Irrumpere aude, sed prudenter praeteri: 
 
 Nescire velle, quae Magister optimus 
 Docere non vult, erudita inscitia est.* * 
 
 Thus say Grotius and Scaliger; and, assuredly, 
 neither of them were enemies to free inquiry. 
 
 In the course of our conversation, Capt.-hap¬ 
 
 pened to observe, that the Unitarian views on the sub¬ 
 ject of atonement, appeared to him more consistent 
 with divine benevolence, than the orthodox opinion. 
 This naturally led to a statement of our way of think¬ 
 ing : embracing the consideration, both of God’s 
 moral government, as providing for the well-being of 
 innumerable orders of intelligencies; and, of his gra¬ 
 cious accommodation of the great scheme, to the 
 wants and weaknesses of man. My mode of talking 
 on this latter topic, I wish to submit to you; for the 
 purpose of knowing, whether it accords with what I 
 have heard, and, I would hope, imbibed from you. 
 
 I laid it down as a principle, that, wherever the 
 
 4 Seeking to know what pleases known, 
 
 What irks, they wisely let alone : 
 
 Rest then content, convinced within thine heart, 
 Not to know all, is wisdom’s greatest part.’ 
 
 * 4 Seek not the cause, for ’tis not in thy reach, 
 
 Of all the truths prophetic volumes teach ; 
 Those * secret things’ imparted from on high, 
 Which speak, at once, and veil the Deity; 
 
 Pass on: nor rash explore the depths that lie 
 Divinely hid in sacred mystery : 
 
 Where God is silent, man may well dispense 
 With knowledge.. this is learned ignorance.’ 
 
 H H 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
466 
 
 good God adopts, or permits, a mode of procedure 
 that may, at first view, seem productive of evil, it is 
 for the purpose of keeping out some worse evil. This 
 being premised, I argued, from a variety of circum¬ 
 stances, but, especially, from the universal prevalence 
 of sacrifice, and the frequent occurrence of human 
 sacrifice, that there exists in human nature, a deep 
 principle, or feeling of superstition; a perturbed 
 dread of some superior, powerful, and most vindictive 
 being : no matter whence this feeling, at first, derived 
 its origin, it clearly is in man. This being the case, 
 was it not worthy of the supreme wisdom, of a su¬ 
 premely benignant Being, to make provision for the 
 ultimate extirpation of this superstitious horror; as 
 well as for giving it the least injurious direction pos¬ 
 sible, till things were ripe for the great remedy ? And 
 what can be conceived more adapted to this twofold 
 purpose, than the fact of the atonement; and the pre¬ 
 parative institution of sacrifice ? 
 
 Sacrifice, among the patriarchs, was of divine ap¬ 
 pointment. In after times, it passed, at the great 
 dispersion, from the patriarchal posterity, to the dif¬ 
 ferent nations. And whilst, among the Jews, it 
 received peculiar modifications, from the law of God 
 himself; we find, that, among the more civilized 
 gentiles, animal sacrifice afforded the great vent, or 
 outlet, to that superstition, which would, otherwise, 
 have internally preyed upon individuals, and pro¬ 
 duced horrors, from the very imagination of which, 
 the heart recoils. Among people less civilized, or 
 rather more savage, the frightful malignity of the su¬ 
 perstitious principle was evinced, by human sacrifice ; 
 by the most unnatural, and atrocious of all human 
 sacrifices, ‘ the fruit of their bodies, for the sin of their 
 souls. , And by this we are given to see, what super¬ 
 stition might, nay probably what it must have led to, 
 
467 
 
 not merely in exempt cases, but in a most numerous 
 class of minds, had it not been for the divine expe¬ 
 dient of animal sacrifice. 
 
 But not to speak of typical purposes, this further 
 end was answered ; that the fears of men, . . of Gen¬ 
 tiles, no less than Jews, .. having been taught to move 
 in this direction ; to vent themselves, if I may so 
 speak, through the channel of sacrifice ; the world 
 was thus prepared for the reception of that great 
 fact, the sacrifice of our Lord Jesus Christ: a fact, 
 which was, from the first, designed to be the great 
 remedy for superstition ; the ultimate exterminator 
 of all such horrors as shock us, in the volumes of 
 Csesar, the annals of Mexico, and the living manners 
 of Hindostan. A fact, which, wherever its belief 
 has obtained, has not failed of producing this blessed 
 effect; and which, in the nature of things, must be 
 universal in its operation, inasmuch as it is, ‘ one full, 
 perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfac¬ 
 tion, for the sins of the whole world.’ 
 
 By thus putting the case, I conceive, one objec¬ 
 tion is anticipated. It might have been urged, 
 c You say, the atonement has prevented a recurrence 
 to human sacrifice. But, did not human sacrifice 
 arise out of animal sacrifice ; which your most ortho¬ 
 dox divines, not only admit, but argue to have been 
 of divine appointment?’ To this I reply, granted. 
 But, besides that human sacrifice is the abuse of an 
 institution, originally merciful, it serves only to show, 
 in their utmost deformity, the deep malignity, and 
 the atrocious effects of superstition. That is, in 
 other words, it lets us see, to what enormities the 
 whole class of superstitious men, .. assuredly, a very 
 large proportion of the human race, . . would have 
 resorted, for their relief from a state of most per- 
 
 h h 2 
 
468 
 
 turbed anxiety, had not some expedient been de¬ 
 vised : whilst the wise choice, and the happy success, 
 of the expedient actually employed, are abundantly 
 evinced, by the great prevalence of animal sacrifice, 
 not only among Jews, but among Gentiles : and whilst 
 we cannot but admire the fitness of this system, to 
 prepare the feelings of mankind for the reception of 
 that grand fact, which will finally cut up superstition 
 by the roots. It remains only to notice the wonderful 
 fitness of the fact itself to counteract the evil at its 
 utmost height. For, if men thought it needful ‘ to 
 sacrifice their sons and daughters’, ‘God, also, has 
 spared not his [own son.’] 
 
 ( Unfinished .) 
 
 LETTER 66. 
 To the Rev . J . Jehh . 
 
 Bellevfte, Dec. 14. 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 My moving hither, and being ill since, have made 
 me appear to verify your apprehension of overwhelm¬ 
 ing me with letters. But believe me, no thought could 
 be conceived with less reason: at all times, and on 
 every subject, I am gratified by hearing from you; 
 and I particularly wish that you should, on every 
 occasion, do as you did in your last letter; that is, 
 open your heart to me; and, as far as lies in you, 
 disburthen it of whatever does not add to its comfort. 
 I must be interested deeply, by whatever interests 
 
469 
 
 you; and, where feeling is concerned, I have enough 
 of experience, to make me as sympathetica!, as any 
 honest heart can wish. 
 
 * Haud ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.’ * 
 
 You have given me, in your late letters, several 
 interesting things to advert to; but I must touch 
 but briefly on any of them. I like all you say, about 
 atonement and sacrifices; in fact, it is all what I 
 think; except, merely, that I feel myself at a loss, as 
 to the manner of their appointment, (i.e. of sacrifices). 
 That some intimation gave rise to them, I am sure ; 
 but what degree of distinctness was in that inti¬ 
 mation, I do not know. For example, I know not 
 that Cain’s offering would have had any fault in it, 
 if he had done well: that is, I know not, that the 
 bloodlessness, was any defect. It strikes me, as 
 possible, that man might have conceived the first 
 thought of sacrifices ; and that divine condescension 
 might have recognized and sanctioned the practice, 
 in the upright; while the devil perverted, and 
 abused it, in the evil. I cannot think, that any mere 
 appointment, could account for a universal custom. 
 It must be natural, I conceive, if universal. I own, 
 however, that its being natural, no more contradicts 
 its being appointed, than the fifth commandment 
 contradicts the reality of natural gratification. But, 
 in that case, the appointment is rather like our de¬ 
 claratory laws, than a positive institution. (I am 
 using unnecessary words, but I hope you will catch 
 at my meaning.) In short, I think it possible, that 
 perturbation of conscience took a kind of natural vent, 
 
 * Misfortune’s child myself, to sorrows heir, — 
 
 Misfortune’s children well become my care. 
 
 H H 3 
 
470 
 
 in that way ; and that hence came the appointment, 
 as well as the universal usage ; instead of the uni¬ 
 versal usage, coming from the appointment. One 
 thing, amongst others, which leads me to this sup¬ 
 position, is, the depreciating language, in which God 
 speaks of sacrifices, on various occasions : though I 
 own, at this instant, an answer occurs to this remark ; 
 to wit, that new moons and sabbaths, clearly positive 
 institutions, are spoken of with like depreciation. 
 Therefore, it follows, that, if the external act be not 
 accompanied by the internal disposition, the former 
 may be alike depreciated ; whether spontaneous, or 
 instituted. Still, my chief reason holds good; the 
 insufficiency of mere institution, to account for uni¬ 
 versal practice ; at the same time, I pretend not to 
 be positive as to the actual origination. 
 
 The passages from Philo are very beautiful; and 
 they strike me the more, because I have actually 
 urged the different materials of the two altars, as an 
 argument against those, who made atonement all in 
 all. But I think vou ask with reason, Do not the 
 two altars mean more, than Philo was aware of? I 
 believe they mean much more. But I a little vary 
 from your idea. I do not conceive the two altars to 
 represent, Aixouoo-uvr) and 'Ayia.o-[xos ; I rather sup¬ 
 pose these represented, by the two divisions of the 
 tabernacle, the holy place, and the Holy of Holies ; 
 while the altar of burnt-offering, standing before, in 
 the open court, gave encouragement, by the expi¬ 
 ations continually made, to all Israel to draw near; 
 and, by the purifying application of the blood shed 
 thereon, fitted the priests, in particular, for actual 
 entrance into the tabernacle. (The purifying, ex¬ 
 tended to all ; but, in a special manner, belonged to 
 the priests.) Here, then, I think the parallel holds 
 
471 
 
 good, between what our Lord did once, for all; and 
 what was done on the brazen altar. This great act, 
 giving, as you strictly state, encouragement against 
 their guilty terrors, to all; and also, I am convinced, 
 producing a general moral effect, as far as it is 
 known and thought of, which nothing else could 
 have effected. But, to those who wish to enter the 
 tabernacle, its effect is of a special kind. The mind 
 applied to it, according to the purpose of divine 
 wisdom, actually experiences, the xaSaporig sig 
 \cltqeoeiv ©£o> %covti 9 spoken ofj in Heb. ix. 14. 
 
 And observe, now, whether I am right: but it 
 strikes me, from this and other passages, that spi¬ 
 ritual Christians, are on a level with Jewish priests. 
 They are not only a ysuog sxKextov, but also a 3a<r/Xe/ov 
 UpoLTsofjLoc ; and that perfect Christians, are on a level 
 with the Jewish high priest, syovTsg 7rapprj(riocu sig 
 rrju ekto^oi/ rcov ocyicov, sv rco ol\[xolti I tjcoo. Or, in 
 another view, the Holy Place, is the emblem of the 
 heart of the spiritual Christian; in which, there is 
 wisdom from above, (the candlestick); devotion, or 
 predominant religion, (the golden altar) ; and charity, 
 represented by the table of show bread; and the 
 Holy of Holies, the emblem of the heart of the per¬ 
 fect Christian : in fulfilment of that promise, Afioug 
 
 VOfJLQUg [JLOrj E7TI XOLpfilOLg GtUTCOV, XOLl E7TI TCOU hlOLVOlCOV 
 
 aurcov E7riypot^(o auToug* But I must stop. 
 
 I will think of all you say; and will myself say 
 more again. I thank you for all your greek, but 
 can now only add, that Ephr. Syrus’s poetry is very 
 curious. f 
 
 Most truly and cordially yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox, 
 
 h h 4 
 
4J2 
 
 LETTER LXXIV* 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq . 
 
 Cashel, Dec. 3. 1803. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I have always particularly admired that beautiful 
 passage of the son of Sirach, which so naturally oc¬ 
 curs, when I take up the pen to write to you. 
 
 7r<o-T o<; ipapfJia,Y.ov 
 
 K at oi (pofiovy-evoi Kvpiov iv^crov<riv avrov. * 
 
 Truly, truly, it is no common blessing, to have a 
 friend, to whom one can ‘ open his heart, and dis¬ 
 burden it of whatever does not add to its comfort/ 
 Ever since I last wrote to you, but especially since 
 receiving your last welcome letter, I have been 
 lighter and happier. 
 
 Whitty has been lately in town, and was sadly dis¬ 
 appointed at not meeting you. He is really a most 
 amiable creature, and what is pleasant, he has been 
 greatly growing in wisdom. There does not seem 
 to remain in him a single doctrine nodosity. The 
 truth is, he seems like a man, that had been closely 
 watching a set of most satisfactory experiments, cor¬ 
 roborative of the principles laid down by you, last 
 winter; and, from time to time, enforced, and illus¬ 
 trated, to the best of my poor ability. I own, all this 
 deeply gratifies me ; for one conclusion that a man 
 draws for himself, is worth volumes of mere commu¬ 
 nicated wisdom. 
 
 * A faithful friend is the medicine of life; 
 
 And they who fear the Lord shall find him. 
 
473 
 
 What you say about sacrifice, is well worthy of 
 being thought upon. I have not yet wholly made 
 up my mind ; but I certainly neither have, nor had, 
 any notion, that mere appointment, was sufficient to 
 account for universal usage. And here, I conceive, 
 is the wisdom of the appointment; that, when the 
 precedent was once set, it was readily followed, be¬ 
 cause it had a suitableness to what was in man. By 
 the way, is it not true, that many errors have arisen 
 in the theological world, by taking up terms without 
 examination, and making them the foundation-stones 
 of a system; whilst frequently, they have no cor¬ 
 respondent reality in the nature of things ? I more 
 than doubt whether there be, throughout the whole 
 compass of revealed religion, a single appointment, 
 that can, with strict propriety, be termed a positive 
 institution. The sabbath, circumcision, the passover, 
 baptism, the Lord’s supper, not to mention vari¬ 
 ous other rites of religion, have all the most per¬ 
 ceptible fitness; the most assignable tendency, to 
 some useful end; or the happiest congruity, to some 
 principle, or feeling, of the human heart. They are 
 not, then, positive; neither, I believe, was sacrifice. 
 The notion of positive institutions, seems closely 
 connected with a pre-conceived arbitrariousness, in 
 the Divine nature. 
 
 As to the meaning of the two altars, I am happy 
 to be set right. I like much what you say of the 
 Holy Place, and Holy of Holies; only I doubt the 
 parity, between the high priest, and the perfect 
 Christian. Christ himself, being the high priest of 
 the Christian dispensation. I have noted several pas¬ 
 sages, which I accidentally hit upon, in which aXTj- 
 Qsusiu, occurs. We shall soon have a sufficient number 
 pro and con, from whence to form our induction 
 
47 4 
 
 as to the meaning of the word. Ephrem Syrus, it 
 seems, from the testimony of Theodoret, and other 
 ecclesiastical historians, wrote many poems in the 
 syriac language. The two, of which I sent you spe¬ 
 cimens, were probably selected and translated, by the 
 ancient greek interpreter. And I begin to think 
 they may, after all, be prosodical. The Tioyog hrra- 
 (tmKk a&o£, resembles the Anacreontic measure. 
 
 Take, for a specimen, the first four lines of Ana¬ 
 creon’s first ode. 
 
 ©eX« XeyEiv At psi’dat;, 
 
 SeXu $£ K CcftfAOV a$Eiv 
 ‘A $e xogdoai; 
 
 EpwTa [xovvov w%ei. * 
 
 The affair of Christ Church, I have heard a 
 rumour, is disposed of. It is not surprising that 
 
 they should wish to keep M- out; but surely 
 
 the means are most unworthy; yet perhaps they 
 congratulate themselves on their address. But a 
 higher hand directs these things, as Pindar might 
 teach them. Pyth. od. viii. 
 
 -E< yap rn; euXcc TCEirocrai 
 
 %vv jjLav.pa> nova), iroXXotg aoipoc; 
 
 A ox.ei nEcla,(ppovwv, 
 
 BiOJ/ KOpvO-<TE[AEV Op6o€oXoi- 
 
 <ri [a 7j % cl v a i ra S’ ovx e tt’ cc v§ p a <t i xnrai' 
 
 A aiuuv Se ita,pi(7x il 
 
 AAAOT’ a XX o v v tt e p 6 s /3 ocXX w v. 
 
 * Of Atreus’ sons I fain would sing ; 
 
 Of Cadmus, Thebes’ great founder-king : 
 
 In vain o’er all its chords I rove, 
 
 My lyre still answers only .. Love ! 
 
 f Alluding to the contemplated introduction of the son of a late dignitary, 
 into the chapter of Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin, of which the] father was 
 himself a member. . . Ed, 
 
4? 5 
 
 If the aptness of this pun, does not qualify the 
 pedantry of greek quotation, I hope that the weight¬ 
 iness of the moral sentiment, will atone for the levity 
 of my pun ; which, after all, Dr. Allot himself might 
 smile at. But seriously, I am sorry, truly sorry for 
 poor G-. My hope is, that this secular disap¬ 
 
 pointment may be over-ruled to his advantage, in far 
 more important things. Let us recollect the morality 
 of that ancient tale, so beautifully versified by Parnel, 
 in his Hermit. 
 
 I forgot to mention, that I am engaged in a plea¬ 
 sant correspondence with-. He sought it; and 
 
 professes himself, at once, interested, and benefitted 
 by it. He puts queries, as to the clerical society, 
 which evidently come from a mind, at once, inge¬ 
 nious and investigating. My last was perhaps too 
 much of a dry catalogue, of liturgical references, to 
 various authors ; but he bespoke something of the 
 kind, to help for his projected course of lectures. I 
 have not yet had an answer. If this correspondence 
 proceeds, as.it has commenced, good may come out 
 of it; for --fills a very important post. I am hope¬ 
 
 ful, but, for fear of disappointment, guard against 
 being sanguine. You can say, and perhaps no other 
 individual could, just what I wish, and all that I w T ish, 
 in my behalf, to the invaluable friends with whom 
 you are at present. No ordinary compliments would 
 serve my purpose ; for what has the heart to do with 
 compliments ? 
 
 Your most affectionate, 
 
 J • J EBB. 
 
476 
 
 LETTER LXXV. 
 
 To A. Knox , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, December the last, 1808. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I wish not to let this year close, without replying to 
 your last kind and acceptable letter. 
 
 I am glad to tell you that I have Watts, and the 
 same edition I think with yours, . . Baines’, at Leeds. 
 Any references, therefore, that you may have the 
 goodness to send, illustrative of your interesting re¬ 
 marks, I can immediately turn to. Am I wrong in 
 conjecturing, from the table of contents, that the 
 third volume will furnish much to our purpose ? 
 
 I have had by last post, a very long, very pleasant, 
 
 and very affectionate letter from-. He appears 
 
 to take to correspondence with me ; and to receive 
 gladly all my references and hints, on liturgical sub¬ 
 jects. I am disposed to believe, that he is prepared 
 to communicate with great freedom, and somewhat 
 of reliance on my judgment. I know how weak I 
 am, in myself; but it would truly rejoice my heart, 
 if I could be made instrumental in giving just views 
 to one, who fills so very important a post in society, 
 and especially in the college ; for I know from 
 various quarters, that he is greatly, and I think de¬ 
 servedly, looked up to by the young men, and espe¬ 
 cially by the candidates for orders. 
 
 Am I romantic in supposing, that this correspond¬ 
 ence with - may be a providential commence¬ 
 
 ment, of my own little labours, in my own small 
 
477 
 
 way ? The < secretum iter 5 , I do believe, is to be 
 my path. I have not that in me, which could ever 
 attract crowds of auditors ; and I flatter myself it is 
 no mawkishness, (I want a better word, familiar to 
 us both, but which I cannot now recal to mind,) that 
 disposes me to rejoice in my exemption from the 
 dangers attendant on popularity. So far as it may 
 be safe to conjecture the nature of one’s probable 
 sphere, I am inclined to think, that, by keeping my¬ 
 self in the back ground, I may be employed to the 
 best advantage, in supplying hints for those to work 
 upon, who possess more both of popular talent, and 
 public opportunity, than myself. It is pleasant to 
 work for others, because self is so much out of ques¬ 
 tion : and, therefore, it delights me, when people 
 such as ——, ask questions, that I can answer not 
 altogether unsatisfactorily. This is the line, in which 
 you have been mostly, and most effectually employed, 
 on a great scale. 
 
 ‘ Say, shall my little bark attendant sail, 
 
 Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale ? ’ 
 
 I have been passing three or four days with my 
 friend ——, in whom 1 have found much additional 
 proof of solid worth, in his own way. Your own 
 knowledge of character has long since told you, that 
 such a man is not to be drawn out of his estab¬ 
 lished habits, both of thinking and feeling: but he is 
 a very useful auxiliary; and I have rarely, if ever, 
 met a man not spiritual, with whom we have so 
 many sentiments in common. And it is not an un¬ 
 pleasing reflection, that this man abounds in good 
 sense, and has about him great right mindedness. 
 He talks in the highest terms, and without any qua- 
 
478 
 
 lification, of you ; and he requests that I will give 
 him a book, or a letter, or any commission, which 
 may give him an ostensible cause for visiting you 
 when he goes to town, which will be very soon. He 
 declares, that he never met a man, from whose con¬ 
 versation he derived equal pleasure and instruction ; 
 and that all his fear is, to betray his own ignorance, 
 when speaking to one so universally informed on all 
 manner of subjects. This is to me most pleasant, 
 on many accounts ; but, especially, as a testimony to 
 our ways of thinking ; for assuredly, independent of 
 them, you would not be a very extraordinary person. 
 How many good people would think some parts of 
 this letter insufferably full of incense to an enfant 
 gdtd. But they know nothing of that invaluable 
 secret, which enables a man to stand out from him¬ 
 self ; and consequently to view himself, as he would 
 view another. If I did not know a little of it, I 
 could not write as I do ; and, if I were not sure that 
 you know a great deal of it, I should not write thus 
 to you. 
 
 Have you heard any thing about my memorial to 
 the commissioners of excise? The remission of 12/. 
 would not be unpleasant to my finances. 
 
 I must have done. Your most affectionate, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
479 
 
 LETTER LXXVI. 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Jan. 27. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I never admit the thought, neither indeed does it 
 knock for admission, that you are a negligent corre¬ 
 spondent. Of all men living, I, surely, have least 
 reason for any such misgiving; and, as to not valuing 
 my letters, I am no stranger to your kindly tolerance 
 of my ineptiae, and your disposition to overrate any 
 of my less unhappy thoughts. It does, indeed, 
 greatly delight me to hear from you, when your 
 time, thoughts, and pen, are fairly disposable; but, 
 be assured, that dearly as I prize and cherish every 
 letter of yours, I should feel uneasy at receiving one, 
 that broke a single link of your theologico-philo- 
 sophical chain; for I well know, that such chains 
 are not easily reparable. 
 
 Many thanks for your striking reference to Watts; 
 and especially for your accompanying remarks. Need 
 I mention my cordial acquiescence ? I think I need 
 not: for, though more and more convinced of my 
 very bounded originative faculty, I more and more 
 feel that my mind is so moulded, as almost entirely 
 to accord with those thoughts of yours, which, in the 
 first instance, I never could have myself originated. 
 Therefore, it may be assumed, with a tolerable degree 
 of moral certainty, that whatever you throw out, 
 on any point of consequence, will obtain my ready 
 assent. 
 
480 
 
 There are many things connected with the subject 
 of your last, which I would gladly say, but they must 
 needs be postponed, till a season of more clear¬ 
 headedness ; for, just at present, a severe defluxion, 
 with its attendant stupor, warns me to shun ‘ quid 
 humeri ferre recusent’ ; that is, in plain English, to 
 avoid any thing which calls for thought or investi¬ 
 gation. 
 
 I had hopes of seeing you, and my friends in town, 
 next month ; but I have almost, if not altogether, 
 relinquished every thought of moving thither this 
 year. The fact is, I have ordered from London 
 several books of Lackington’s catalogue. Among the 
 rest, the Benedictine Chrysostom, and Augustine, 
 John Wesley’s Works and Christian Library, com¬ 
 plete, &c. &c., and I have also dispatched an order to 
 Jones for several works in his catalogue. Now, it is 
 needless to say, that this cannot be done, by a person 
 in my circumstances, without self-denial and sacri¬ 
 fice ; and I know not whether I may ever hereafter 
 be so situated, as, with equal fitness, to relinquish 
 that annual visit, which is certainly one great enjoy¬ 
 ment of my life. My health and spirits seem better 
 able to dispense with it, than heretofore. Were I to 
 go to town, I should, on my return, have only the 
 recollection of many pleasant days with my friends, 
 without having been of any professional use; whilst, 
 by remaining quietly at home, and by strictly econo¬ 
 mizing for this year, I hope to furnish myself with 
 literary treasures, that may be a comfort during 
 my whole life. And, if my health improves, as I 
 trust it may, I shall endeavour to make provision for 
 a pleasant and useful excursion, next year. I own, 
 if I did not look forward to seeing you, in the course 
 of next summer, in the south, I should ill brook the 
 
481 
 
 relinquishment of my customary trip. Come but 
 among us, and I shall feel amply compensated. 
 
 My kindest remembrances to Miss Fergusson. 
 
 Ever most affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 P. S. In one of the discourses by Sylvester, I have 
 happened on a curious little paragraph. 4 Heart¬ 
 awakening, and love-quickening truths, are to be 
 duly and intimately considered. And this is indeed, 
 in part, to truthify in love, if I may make an English 
 word to express the valor of the Greek word, oChr\- 
 Qsuovt&s ctyoLTryj . 9 
 
 LETTER 67 . 
 To the Rev . J . Jebb. 
 
 Dublin, Jan. 31. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 It looks as if I did not value yours of the last of 
 December, to be only acknowledging it now. But 
 that was far from my feeling: the reverse of the 
 fact. But various things, indisposition, moving, many 
 visits since, together with a little chain of thought, 
 all concurred to make me thus comparatively negli¬ 
 gent. Could thought have reached you, you would 
 have heard from me often : and did I not love and 
 value you, you would not hear from me now; for 
 the same chain is still coiled round me; and its 
 links would seem to multiply, as I attempt to ad¬ 
 vance on it. 
 
 i i 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
482 
 
 A passage in Watts, which I wish you to look at, 
 is in the third of the essays, annexed by way of ap¬ 
 pendix to ‘ the ruin and recovery’, &c.: Works, 
 vol. iii. p. 542.; second paragraph of the essay. To 
 me, these few lines, seem to contain much important 
 matter. Observe first, the account of the real evil of 
 sin. It is well called, real evil, for if this were gone, 
 what could harm? If this be not gone, what can 
 benefit? In a word, I think the statement a right 
 sound one ; the result of a good moral taste, and a 
 distinctive mind. But observe, further, how he de¬ 
 fines the relative evil of sin : its chief matter, ac¬ 
 tions, rather than principles; (though stated to be 
 so, rather than in contradiction to the immediately 
 preceding sentence;) its opposite, not God’s nature, 
 but God’s law; and its consequences, not natural, 
 but positive inflictions. I cannot give the doctor 
 the same credit for distinctness, here. But, when 
 persons leave what is natural, and betake themselves 
 to what is positive, where they can have no aid from 
 analogy, no clue, but figurative, and consequently, 
 vague language, what can they do? 
 
 I do not mean to deny, that the general ideas 
 maybe substantively just: and take it altogether, I 
 think it a fair definition, as far as definition can be 
 relied on in the case: and it especially serves a 
 useful purpose, associated with the foregoing defini¬ 
 tion. For, on laying them together, is it not clear, 
 that the real evil of sin, is intrinsical as to our nature : 
 and the relative evil of sin, extrinsical; and that, 
 therefore, the former, alone, is strictly moral; and 
 the latter, merely political. Yet, you observe, it is 
 respecting the relative evil, that he makes the atone¬ 
 ment efficacious; while he ascribes the removal of 
 the real evil, exclusively to sanctification by the 
 Holy Spirit. 
 
483 
 
 Now, in this view, what is there in the removal of 
 the relative evil of sin, which we cannot conceive 
 done once for all, by the propitiatory interference of 
 our Redeemer, as really and consistently, as for each 
 individual penitent ? Nay, set aside only particular 
 redemption ; grant once, that our Saviour died for 
 all; and does it not follow, that the relative evil is as 
 much removed from them collectively as it can be, 
 until the real evil is removed individually ? Is not 
 the offer of mercy, or, more clearly, is not the 
 visible operation and progress of a morally melior¬ 
 ative plan in the world, a direct and irrefragable 
 evidence, that mankind is collectively delivered from 
 the gripe of a punitive law; and that another state 
 of things, irrepulsive, gracious, infinitely attractive, 
 now prevails ? 
 
 Only take the black bar of Calvinism out of the 
 way, and this"seems to me to follow from Dr. Watts’s 
 statement, by inevitable consequence. For law must 
 not be departed from, but on principle. Rut it is 
 departed from, (supposing his notion of it just,) 
 respecting the whole human race. For 4 God was 
 in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not 
 imputing unto them their trespasses.’ Nay, it is more 
 than departed from; for a plan opposite to that of 
 punishment, a remedial and sanative plan, is steadily 
 going forward, to the present happiness of individuals, 
 and in sure and certain hope respecting the mass: 
 therefore, Christ’s sacrifice is, here, fully available; 
 it has done all it could do; and consequently, resist¬ 
 ance to, and deliverance from, the real evil of sin, is 
 now the one thing needful. 
 
 Unfortunate is he, whose trust in the other [deliver¬ 
 ance from the relative evil of sin] leads him to over¬ 
 look [the deliverance from its real evil] ; and pitiable 
 
 i i 2 
 
484 
 
 is he, whose concentrated attention to this, is dis¬ 
 turbed by speculative anxieties about the other. 
 
 1 dispute not but that the other may have in it 
 real fact. The universe is wide ; and has, probably, 
 a permanent nursery department. Here, law may 
 be the indispensable instrument of manuduction. 
 Hooker’s view, which I admired (before I knew 
 better) without bound, may have some foundation. 
 But it is something better than law, whose voice is 
 the harmony of the world. Yet where law speaks, it 
 must not be gainsaid ; and nothing must be suffered 
 absolutely discordant with its tones. I find no dif¬ 
 ficulty, therefore, in believing, that our Saviour pro¬ 
 vided against every possible embarrassment of this 
 nature; and in believing this, I conceive I subscribe 
 to the substance of Watts’s notion, respecting relative 
 evil; though, perhaps, in a more intelligible way, 
 than he might have done himself. Is this topic then 
 to be dwelt upon ? In one case, I think it is; where 
 a person doubts whether God will hear him. If there 
 be such doubt, I humbly conceive the less it is dwelt 
 upon the better; inasmuch as it is a fact, which our 
 thinking of’ can make no surer ; and which was really 
 done, that we might not think of it primarily, but of 
 the end for which it was done. When we have 
 thought of this latter to purpose, we shall know better 
 how to think about the other. 
 
 W-has been here, quite to my liking. He read 
 
 me an excellent sermon, which he preached in the 
 
 Asylum. -did not like it. He thought it too 
 
 high, and that it rolled over the people’s heads: 
 this might be partly true, as I think it was over 
 poetical, too lubricous. Still, I should rather roll over 
 people’s heads, than under them. 
 
485 
 
 LETTER LXXVII. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 ,j jt.-‘ -■ t. * vv: •• •«- i ^ 
 
 — _ Feb. I. 1809, 6 o’clock evening* 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 By some of the usual mismanagements of our post, I 
 have but just received your acceptable letter$ and 
 wish to say a few words in acknowledgment of it, 
 and that which preceded it. 
 
 The state of the weather, and of my head, for the 
 last two or three days, has been such, that I could 
 not pay the attention I wished, to the investigandayou 
 suggested. Your quotation from Primate Newcome 
 is extremely pleasant. It is certainly very well, that 
 such a person should have seen, and pointed out the 
 climax. But indeed I conceive that point to be 
 so self-evident, that no reasonable person can with¬ 
 hold assent, when it is once fairly stated. The divi¬ 
 sion of the 119th psalm laid down by you, I entirely 
 accord with, down to the 12th v. There, as I at present 
 feel, I would propose an arrangement somewhat dif¬ 
 ferent. But I have not, hitherto, been able to in¬ 
 vestigate the matter so deeply as I could wish: I am 
 well convinced, that, for the most part, I mean with 
 very raie exceptions, aboriginal words are to be pre- 
 fened $ always, when the sense can be exactly given 
 by them, and when it cannot, the most naturalized 
 foreigners should be resorted to. 
 
 I will attend to what you say, about sameness of 
 idea, and sameness of letter; especially, as I 
 
 1 1 3 
 
 cor- 
 
486 
 
 dially concur in thinking we must make our sally, 
 from the alphabetical poems. Of their importance, 
 Bishop Lowth was aware; it is on them he bot¬ 
 toms his system : but he did not, probably, discern a 
 tenth part of the use, that may be hereafter made of 
 them. As to sameness of idea throughout a stanza ; 
 I had been led to remark on the short quotations at 
 the end of Ps. cvii., that the topics respectively close, 
 with the close of each stanza : now, if this take place 
 in the alphabetical stanzas, it will be a most important 
 confirmation of my arrangement. By the way, I have 
 drawn up, by way of specimen, an introductory 
 analysis of the 107th psalm, with notes, both on the 
 beauties, and proprieties, which flow from the struc¬ 
 ture of the poetry; and on the comparative excel¬ 
 lence of its finest passages, and parallel ones from the 
 ancients. In a word, I have attempted to edit it, as 
 a sacred classic, that you and others may judge, how 
 far it might be desirable to proceed with other psalms, 
 in a similar way. 
 
 To your observations on the elegiac versification, 
 I cannot at present accede. I grant you, that grief is 
 abrupt, rather than long-winded : but, surely, abrupt¬ 
 ness of sentiment, may very well coincide with length 
 of line. The object of the elegy, is, to excite solemn 
 thoughts, and melancholy feelings ; and this, surely, 
 is best effected by a long line. The elegiac measure, 
 both of Greeks and Latins, is longer than the usual 
 lyric measures; and our English elegiac measure, is, 
 also, as long as our heroic. That the hebrew Elegiac 
 line has a bimembral form, I readily admit; but so, 
 also, had the metres used by Chapman, and those 
 used by Drayton ; and the division of them into 
 shorter lines, was a modern invention. Nor do I 
 
487 
 
 think there can be produced, either from the greek, 
 latin, or English language, an elegiac poem, written 
 in short verse. For instance, 8th and 6th, in English, 
 
 But what I wish you particularly to advert to, is 
 Rabbi Azarias’s system, as given by Bishop Lowth. 
 This, I apprehend, will throw much light on the point. 
 I have, I conceive, discovered a strong confirmation of 
 his plan, by simplyputting two circumstances together. 
 Josephus speaks in the following terms, of Moses* 
 
 song : . . YaTTEITCL 7TQl7}(riV E^OtfJLETQQV CLUT0l£ avsyvw, V)V 
 
 HarocXeT^onrsv sv TtofiiShico rw U%co, 7rgoppr)0-iv e^oiktolv tcov 
 £(TQ(XEvauv, xa$’ tJv ysyovs ttocvtol, kcli yiverou, [ArjOev sxeivou 
 $ir)[AOL%Tr)xoTO£ Trjg Antiq. lib. iv.cap. 8. § 44. 
 
 And Bishop Patrick tells us, that the Jews reckon 
 this song to consist of seventy verses ; each of which, 
 contains two distinct and entire sentences. On 
 reading the above two passages, I naturally took up 
 my attempt at an arrangement of the song; when, 
 to my great surprise and gratification, I found, that I 
 had actually divided it into 140 lines, coinciding with 
 the bimembral parts of the 70 lines, marked out 
 by the Jews. Hence, I went to the Polyglot; and 
 found, in a great majority of instances, that each of 
 my lines, contained three hebrew words; of course, 
 six hebrew words, coinciding with Josephus’s account 
 of the poem having been written in hexametres. 
 
 From hence, then, I am disposed to think, that, 
 whenever a pure hebrew text can be established, it 
 will go to confirm Rabbi Azarias’s scheme; and that 
 the verses will then appear to be hexametres, penta- 
 
 * Then he recited to them a poem, in hexametre verse, which he has inserted 
 in the Pentateuch, containing a prediction of things future; conformably with 
 which all subsequent events have come, and still come to pass; neither has 
 Moses erred one tittle from the truth. 
 
 i i 4 
 
488 
 
 metres, tetrametres, &c. &c.; and hence, too, I can¬ 
 not bring myself to reject the long lines, whilst we 
 have such authority for them as that of Josephus, 
 backed by the tradition of the Jews themselves.* 
 
 The more I have considered these matters, the 
 more I am disposed to think, that the precise 
 number of hebrew words must be taken into ac¬ 
 count, in order to determine the precise nature of 
 the verses. Open Lowth’s preliminary dissertation to 
 Isaiah, p. 29. He there gives eight lines from the 19 th 
 psalm ; all of which, he classes in the same order of 
 versification. Now, it occurred to me, that the last 
 couplet was shorter than the other three ; and, on 
 looking at the hebrew, I find, that, whilst the first 
 three couplets are uniformly pentametres, the last 
 couplet is a tetrametre; that is, in the first six lines, 
 each has five words, while the last two, have each but 
 four. 
 
 This, it occurs to me, may be no unfair mode of 
 trying your projected division of the elegiac line; I 
 shall therefore copy two or three of them, from the 
 specimen in the original. 
 
 mvi neo nSs. 
 
 'mow lit? 
 nb 
 
 3 2 1 
 
 nK^m ppn 
 
 Again, the remainder of your quotation, exhibits 
 the following number of hebrew words in each line, 
 which I have not time to transcribe. 
 
 * The theory of a metrical character in hebrew poetry, was afterwards com¬ 
 pletely disproved by the Bishop himself; who has fully shown, in his ‘ Sacred 
 Literature,’ that it was a poetry, not of words, but of thoughts. . . Ed. 
 
489 
 
 3 2 1 
 
 2 1 
 
 4 3 2 1 
 
 2 1 
 
 4 3 2 1 
 
 2 1 
 
 3 2 1 
 
 2 1 
 
 I own I prefer the longer verse; and I beg of you 
 to consider, whether, by dividing them, you do not 
 militate against the scheme of the writer, who has 
 acrostically commenced every longer line: if he had 
 arranged after your plan, why not begin the long and 
 short line acrostically ? I have scarcely time to read 
 over, much less to revize; so that I fear you will 
 have many crudities to make allowance for. 
 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 
 J» JEBBi 
 
 LETTER LXXVIII. 
 To A . Knox , Esq. 
 
 Feb. 7. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 For some time past, I have been wishing to write to 
 you; but you will not wonder that the execution of 
 my wish has been suspended per force, when I tell 
 you, that it will have been precisely one fortnight to¬ 
 morrow, since I have stirred out of doors. It is one of 
 my old attacks; and, after I had thought myself quite 
 recruited, I incautiously brought on a relapse last 
 
490 
 
 week, by over-exertion in conversation. When quite 
 recovered, which is not yet the case, I trust that this 
 illness will have proved serviceable. 
 
 Last Saturday I suffered extremely, under the most 
 dispiriting languor, and the most alarming apprehen¬ 
 sion that all intellectual power was forsaking me. In 
 this frame, I took up my pen in search of relief and 
 wrote the lines, which you will read in the opposite 
 page ; it is needless to say that they do not claim the 
 title of poetry. 
 
 O Thou, whose all enlivening ray 
 Can turn my darkness into day, 
 
 Disperse, great God, my mental gloom, 
 
 And with thyself my soul illume. 
 
 Though gathering sorrows swell my breast, 
 
 Speak but the word, and peace and rest 
 Shall set my troubled spirit free, 
 
 In sweet communion, Lord, with thee. 
 
 What though, in this heart-searching hour, 
 
 Thou dim’st my intellectual power; 
 
 The gracious discipline I own, 
 
 And wisdom seek at thy blest throne : 
 
 A wisdom, not of earthly mould, 
 
 Not such as learned volumes hold, 
 
 Not selfish, arrogant, and vain, 
 
 That chills the heart, and fires the brain: 
 
 But Father of eternal light, 
 
 In fixt and changeless glory bright, 
 
 I seek the wisdom from above, 
 
 Pure, peaceful, gentle, fervent love ! 
 
 Let love divine my bosom sway. 
 
 And then my darkness will be day; 
 
 No doubts, no fears, shall heave my breast, 
 
 For God himself will be my rest! 
 
 j. j. 
 
 Yours ever. 
 
491 
 
 LETTER 68. 
 
 To the Rev . J . Jebb. 
 
 Feb. 13. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I wrote the enclosed on Saturday, but it was too 
 late for the post; I therefore, to make up for that, 
 add something more. 
 
 My thoughts grow; new lights seem, every now 
 and then, to open upon me; and to show some fresh 
 object of admiration, in the great temple of truth ; I 
 cannot put on paper even a slight outline, of what 
 has occurred to me within the last three months. 
 What seems to me, is, that the New Testament con¬ 
 tains a great deal more, respecting a hierarchical 
 church, than any one I know of, has yet imagined; 
 and that a more express, and circumstantial transfer 
 of hierarchical privileges, from the jewish nation to 
 the gentiles, may be traced, than, at first view, could 
 be thought likely. On the most general supposition 
 of such a plan, choice of place in which to begin the 
 system, so as to ensure imitation, and connected ex¬ 
 tension, would be a first object: and what place so 
 thoroughly fitting, as Ephesus, the capital of Asia 
 Proconsular, consequently of Asia Minor; of Asia 
 unlimitedly, says Chrysostom, in his short, but re¬ 
 markable preface, to his comment on that epistle. 
 The next thing to be expected, would be some pe¬ 
 culiar impressiveness of commencing circumstances. 
 For this, turn to the 19th chapter of the Acts; and 
 observe the unparalleled combination. The first 
 persons addressed, 4 John’s disciples.’ The number 
 
492 
 
 about twelve, . . then fully christianized, by baptism in 
 the name of Christ, and by imposition of hands, fol¬ 
 lowed, as at first, with speaking with tongues, and pro¬ 
 phesying. Then, a schism with the synagogue, and a 
 decided turning to the school, xoctf $ia.7^syofAEvos 
 
 sv rr) (r%o7,r) T vpoLvvou nvog, Then, a signal authenti¬ 
 cation of all this, from heaven, St. Paul, at Ephesus, 
 being equalled only by St. Peter, at Jerusalem. Com¬ 
 pare the 11th and 12th verses of this chapter, with 
 chap. v. 12. . . 16 . I must not leave out of the detail 
 the devil’s repeating, as nearly as was possible, at 
 Ephesus, what he had done at Jerusalem : the state¬ 
 ment, A VOLCTOLS 6 CLp^lSpEUg, XCLl 7T0tVTEg Of (Tl)V OCUTCO 
 (tJ ovcra alpE(Tig rcov Sa^ou^a/cov), E7r7i7)G’$r)(rav %r)\ou, 
 and the account of Demetrius and the shrine-makers 
 at Ephesus, being curiously similar. But let me not 
 overlook the still more curious difference, between 
 the apostles St. Peter and St. John being liberated 
 by an angel, and St. Paul befriended by the Asiarchs, 
 and brought off by the town clerk. In the first case, 
 divine power, alone; in the other, secular instru¬ 
 mentality. The one, befitting the plan for merely 
 forming the leaven ; the other, no less suitable to 
 that, which was to transfuse the leaven through the 
 meal. 
 
 So much for the matters in Acts xix.; but how 
 strictly correspondent, are following events. The 
 commencement, (as far as relates to the gentile 
 church,) of regular episcopacy there, in the appoint¬ 
 ment of Timothy; a well chosen first bishop of a 
 system, which was to be, transferred, enlarged, sub¬ 
 limated, analogical, judaism; he being maternally 
 Jewish, and paternally Grecian ; and of a system, 
 which was to operate, chiefly, in an hereditary way ; 
 the faith, which he had, being derived from his grand- 
 
493 
 
 mother, and mother ; and (need I add?) of a system, 
 which was to act through education, he having known 
 the scripture from his youth. 
 
 The epistle to the Ephesians comes in with strictest 
 harmony. In other epistles, the [xaprupiov is the 
 ruling subject, in general, the only one. Here, it is 
 eminently, almost wholly, the [Auo-Trjpiov . This dis¬ 
 tinction may be new to you. But compare 1 Cor. 
 ii. 1. with the 7th and following verses of the same 
 chapter; and with Ephesians passim; and then judge, 
 whether the [xotpru^ov is not the object of ; the 
 
 [jiucrTri^iou, of £7riyva)(ri $: the first, of course, to be 
 communicated to all; the latter, to the perfect only. 
 I could say something, in this connection, of our 
 Lord’s distinction, between the world believing, and 
 the world knowing: St. John xvii.: but I hasten 
 onward. 
 
 The superior depth of this epistle, has been ac¬ 
 knowledged by all. Ignatius, quoted by Michaelis, 
 and lying now before me, says to the Ephesians, 
 Se nauAou (tu pipu (ttou 6(tts riyiao’psvov.* St. 
 Chrysostom, in the above-quoted preface, states it as 
 a received opinion, that St. Paul made special com¬ 
 munications to the Ephesians. I have not that 
 volume of the greek; but the latin translation of 
 Musculus, is, ‘ Dicitur et illis, tanquam jam imbutis, 
 profundiora spiritualium sensuum concredidisse.t I 
 think, ‘ dicitur ’, implies what I say. St. Chrysostom 
 then adds, as his own judgment, 4 Est autem haec 
 epistola sublimibus reperta sensibus et dogmatibus ’ : 
 and again, 4 abundat vehementer sublimibus et excel- 
 lentibus sensibus. Nam quse fere nusquam locutus est, 
 
 * Ye are fellow-adepts of the holy Paul. 
 
 f He is said to have entrusted to them, as if already initiated, the profounder 
 mysteries of the spiritual senses. 
 
494 
 
 hie loquitur ; utpote cum dicit, ut nota fiat principa- 
 tibus, ac potestatibus coelestibus, per ecclesiam, mul¬ 
 tiformis sapientia Dei.’ * I add to this ancient testi¬ 
 mony, Grotius’s more modern, but wonderfully strong 
 one ; 4 Paulus jam vetus in apostolico munere, et ob 
 evangelium Romm vinctus, ostendit illis, quanta sit 
 vis evangelii prae doctrinis omnibus; quomodo omnia 
 Dei consilia, ab omni aevo, eo tetenderint; quam ad- 
 miranda sit in eo Dei efhcacia: rerum sublimitatem 
 adaequans verbis sublimioribus, quam ulla unquam 
 habuit lingua humana.’ t 
 
 What, then, does St. Paul communicate to the 
 Ephesians, to bear out all these strong plaudits ? 
 This, I conceive, . . that Christianity was to be an 
 analogical judaism ; acting on all human society, in 
 proportion as God should extend it, as the jewish 
 dispensation acted, on that single nation : that thus, 
 the Christian church was, on a grand scale, to take 
 the place of judaism ; was to be, in a sublimer way, 
 or for a nobler purpose, a similar apparatus ; was, 
 consequently, to be as appositely fitted to its great 
 end ; and, on the whole, was to be the sphere, in 
 which, as well as the organ, by which, all the magni¬ 
 ficent prophecies of the Old Testament were to have 
 their final fulfilment. 
 
 The secrecy, on this subject, to others, throws ad- 
 
 * But this epistle is replete with sublime sentiments and doctrines : (and again) 
 it superabounds with sublime and excellent sentiments. For he delivers, here, 
 truths, which he has hardly touched on elsewhere; as, for example, when he 
 says,-—‘ To the end that, unto principalities, and heavenly powers, might be 
 made known, by the church, the manifold wisdom of God.’ 
 
 t Paul, at the time when this epistle was written, a veteran in the apostle’s 
 office, and a prisoner at Rome for the sake of the Gospel, shows the Ephesians, 
 how unspeakably the efficacy of the Gospel transcends all other systems; 
 how all the counsels of God, in all ages, tended toward this goal; how the great 
 power of God is to be admired in it: clothing his sublime subject in sublimer 
 language than ever before fell from the lips of man. 
 
495 
 
 ditional light on what has been said to the Ephesians. 
 But the most remarkable concealment is, that, in the 
 epistle to the Colossians; wrote, as we have ground 
 to think, at the same time; and curiously touching 
 on the same topics. This has deceived many into a 
 belief, that they really treated on the same points ; 
 but with an adroitness, not almost to be imagined, St. 
 Paul does not, in any single instance, drop a word to 
 the Colossians, which could light the train of thought 
 he pursues, in writing to the Ephesians. In fact, he 
 seems to do something amazingly of the same kind, 
 but yet not of the same kind. For, to the Colossians, 
 the mystery is 4 Christ in you the hope of glory’; 
 whereas, to the Ephesians, it is the AvaxsQotXoucoo-is 
 rcov 7 ravrcou ev Xp/CTm. . sig oixovo^iolv Tr'kr^co^aTog rcov 
 xoupcov. As a farther illustration, compare Colos¬ 
 sians i. 21, 22, 23. with Ephesians ii. 11, 12, &c. &c. 
 This last-quoted passage, I should observe, is that on 
 which I found an analogical Judaism. 
 
 Now, even to name this to the Colossians, would 
 have been dangerous ; as a tendency to gross judaism, 
 was the epidemic of the day ; and to have talked of 
 an analogical judaism to nine out of ten, would have 
 been thought to sanction gross judaism. Another 
 cause was, that they only, who could use this world 
 without abusing it, could understand how the church 
 could make the world its own ; and to speak to others, 
 of the church mingling with the world, might be 
 tempting the weak to commixture inconsistent with 
 all safety. On the contrary, the Ephesians having, 
 more than any other church, risen above worldly 
 temptations, (mark Acts xix. 19.,) might be trusted 
 above any church, with the whole truth. I can but 
 just add, that the epistles to St. Timothy, wonderfully 
 accord with that to the Ephesians themselves. The 
 
496 
 
 church is, in 1 Tim., the house of God, <rryAoy xou 
 £$%cua)[Aot of the truth: mark, <rryAo£, visibility, and 
 sfyoucopoc establishment: in 2 Tim. ii. 20. a great 
 house, in which must be various vessels; some to 
 honour, some to dishonour. But its being the pillar 
 and ground of truth, is wonderful! A house, a 
 great house, is the commencement often of a city ; it 
 was to be so here. Our Lord spoke of both a house 
 and a city ; St. Matt. v. 14, 15.: but first, of a can¬ 
 dlestick and candle. And observe, the Apocalypse 
 has them all. By that time, wisdom had budded her 
 house, and hewn out her seven pillars. But Ephesus 
 is the first of them all. 4 1 will remove thy candle¬ 
 stick ’, seems to be 4 1 will take away thy primacy \ 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 LETTER 69. 
 
 To the Rev. J. Jehb . 
 
 Feb. 22. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I assure you, had you sent me your sermon, with¬ 
 out assigning any reason, I should have thanked you 
 for it cordially. In some respects, I like it better, 
 than any I have yet read, or heard, of yours. I find 
 no sentiment in it, which my head and heart do not 
 accord with ; and the peroration, I have read with the 
 sincerest pleasure, as being exquisitely what it should 
 be. What I most admire in the whole, is an unla- 
 
497 
 
 boured fluency, which, I think, rises higher, than in 
 any former instance. 
 
 Yet I must say, with this, that a firmer foundation 
 might have been laid for this noble superstructure. 
 The part where I think this might have been done, 
 lies, in great measure, between the reference to Sim¬ 
 plicius, and that to Paley. If I am to define the 
 want here, I would say, that more of analogy might 
 have been useful. The ground of loving God for his 
 own sake, needs to be well, and clearly laid. When 
 understood, it is self-evident; but it needs elucida¬ 
 tion, though not demonstration. The next head, in 
 which the reference to Paley occurs, is also a deli¬ 
 cate business. What you say on it, is as indisputable 
 to me, as the meridian sun; but I doubt, if many in 
 your audience could understand it; I doubt if any, 
 but yourself, and any pious methodist who happened 
 to be there. 
 
 On what ground our friend might not have relished 
 it, I cannot conceive. If his judgment comparatively, 
 and quoad modum, dissented from what I have now 
 been in a degree censuring ; I should not blame him, 
 nor would you. But I should be sorry for his own 
 sake, more than on any other account, that his heart 
 should have disrelished what he heard. I say, on his 
 own account; for his place in God’s great scheme, 
 would not be, some way or other, unsupplied; but 
 the loss to himself, what could make up ? 
 
 But I persuade myself this cannot be. I know, 
 and you know, that the mechanical part of our friend’s 
 mind is not strong; and I can deeply sympathize 
 with one, to whose weakness, a little deficiency, 
 might appear a great aberration. I can truly say, 
 I have been frightened, at my own dread of hearing 
 
 VOL. I. K K 
 
498 
 
 from you, in the Asylum, or College Chapel, an over¬ 
 strong expression. 
 
 On the whole, you have much cause to thank God 
 on your own account; for the day will soon come, 
 when it will have been better to have written that 
 sermon, than to have had the fee-simple of the solar 
 system. And I do believe, you need not be unsatis¬ 
 fied, on the other ground; for, if even there should 
 be a wrong warp, it will not remain. There are 
 minds, that will not go wrong; there are others, 
 who may go wrong, but will not remain so. 
 
 J. F. takes some matters to you. One is a light 
 work, which I thought worth having, the memoirs 
 of an American lady; the other, of my sending, is a 
 wonderful treat, I mean the introduction. How, ex¬ 
 cept in this way, could what I venture to anticipate, 
 make its commencement ? The first movements must 
 be of a mixed quality ; how could they be of a milder 
 nature, than those manifested in this volume ? 
 
 I greatly like-. I think he will be a comfort 
 
 to you and me ; and I hope no one else will be a dis¬ 
 comfort to either of ns. But we neither of us build 
 our happiness on frail man ; therefore, sure I am, 
 that, even in frail man, we shall be less likely to be 
 disappointed. In as much, as, through God’s grace, 
 we shall not contribute to the occurrence of any such 
 calamity. 
 
 Yours ever, in much hope and little fear, 
 
 A. K. 
 
499 
 
 LETTER LXXIX. 
 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Feb. 23. 1809. 
 
 ITour most valuable letter I could not read till this 
 morning; and I cannot postpone for two days, to¬ 
 morrow not being a post day, expressing hastily the 
 great delight it has given me : nothing can be clearer 
 and plainer; and I see at once, that your point wilt 
 be luminously made out; but I long to see the whole 
 exfoliated. 
 
 As to the fitness of Ephesus, as a place, I have 
 just found a very striking passage, too long for pre¬ 
 sent quotation, in Castalio’s comment: which, at 
 another time, I will send. 
 
 Not only the depth, but the obscurity of this epistle 
 has been remarked. 
 
 Erasmus says, ‘ Idem in hac epistola Pauli fervor, 
 eadem profunditas, idem omnino spiritus, et pectus. 
 Verum, non alibi sermo, hyperbatis, antapodotis, aliis- 
 que incommoditatibus molestior, sive id interpretis 
 fait, quo fuit usus in hac, sive sensuum sublimitatem 
 sermonis facultas non est assecuta. Certe stylus 
 tantum dissonat a caeteris Pauli epistolis, ut alienus 
 videri possit, nisi pectus atque indoles Paulinas mentis 
 hanc prorsus illi vindicaret/ # For this obscurity, 
 
 * This epistle possesses all the characteristic qualities of Saint Paul’s other writ¬ 
 ings j — the same fervor, the same depth, and altogether the same tone and spirit. 
 But, in none of his epistles, is the style more incumbered by inversions, trans¬ 
 positions, and other perplexities; whether through the fault of the amanuensis 
 
 K K 2 
 
500 
 
 Michaelis (p. 151.) does not even attempt to assign a 
 cause. Erasmus, you see, has done so aliquatenus ; 
 but may we not add, that the obscurity was possibly 
 designed, to prevent St. Paul’s esotericks from being 
 knowable to the uninitiated ? You must certainly re¬ 
 collect, (I cannot now turn to books,) that, when 
 Alexander complained to Aristotle, that he had done 
 ill to give the world his esotericks, the philosopher 
 replied : ‘ I have published them, and I have not 
 published them ; for none but the initiated will un¬ 
 derstand me.’ 
 
 One thing more; have you remarked the quota¬ 
 tion from St. Basil, in Michaelis, p. 143. ; with his 
 observations ? The whole appears to me very strik¬ 
 ing; and very important, in a way, that no German 
 critic ever could have dreamed of. In my next, I 
 shall have something to say about myself. This is 
 not worth postage; but I cannot deny myself the 
 pleasure of telling you, that you have poured in a 
 flood of new light upon me, and I had it so many 
 days shut up in a dark lanthorn ! i. e. in my writing- 
 box. There’s a metaphor! 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 * JF. JEBB. 
 
 whom he used on this occasion, or the impossibility of finding words adequate to 
 sustain the sublimity of the thoughts. However this may be, thus much is cer¬ 
 tain, the style differs so completely from that of Saint Paul’s other epistles, that 
 this epistle might be thought to have been from a different hand, did not the pe¬ 
 culiar character and genius of Saint Paul’s mind come in to vindicate his 
 claim to the authorship. 
 
SOI 
 
 LETTER LXXX. 
 To A . Knox , 
 
 Cashel, Feb. 27. 1809. , 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 It is curious and pleasant, that your criticisms on 
 my sermon, harmonize exactly with my own. Not 
 an observation did not pass through my mind, even 
 before the sermon was preached. When the season 
 comes for correction, your suggestions shall be care¬ 
 fully kept in view. All you say of our friend, is 
 most just. And I am willing to hope that all will 
 
 yet be right. -and —— are here, and both of 
 
 them exactly what could be wished. 
 
 I mentioned what Castalio says about the Ephe¬ 
 sians, or rather, about Ephesus. It is, perhaps, 
 nothing to your purpose, but such as it is, I will 
 transcribe it. c Ephesus fuit civitas mercatoria, 
 admodum frequens ac opulenta, et sicut Plinius, 
 lib. v., inquit, ‘ alterum lumen Minoris Asiae.’ In 
 ea convertenda, Apostolus diu multumque, et cum 
 ingenti periculo, sudavit, duabus potissimum causis, 
 sicut et Corinthi, ita spiritu Dei eum regente motus, 
 nempe quod cum ob mercaturam et magnitudinem, 
 turn ob navigationis commoditatem, maxima ibi 
 semper erat hominum frequentia, ut et ibi multos 
 docere et convertere, et per illos conversos porro 
 late per orbem terrarum spargere evangelium potu- 
 erit. Situ enim est in extremo littore Asise Minoris 
 versus occasum, et ferme etiam meridiem, ut illic 
 transeundum fuerit navigantibus ex Syria aut 
 
 k k 3 
 
502 
 
 iEgypto, in Grseciam, Macedonian]/ et Pontum, ac 
 contra; at item ex Asia minore Romam, et vicissim. 
 Sicut et ipse Apostolus saepe proficiscens in Macedo¬ 
 nian! aut Grseciam, et iterum rediens, illic transivit. 
 Eisdem commoditatibus, ac occasionibus, verisimile 
 est ipsum quoque Johannem Evangelistam motum, 
 ut ibi diutissime, sicut omnes sacri historici scribunt, 
 docuerit, atque adeo etiam ibidem consenuerit, mortu- 
 usque sit/ * 
 
 It strikes me, that some particulars in the above 
 may be better accounted for, than Sebastian Castalio 
 knew any thing about. On your hypothesis, there is 
 a great cause for St. Paul's long, laborious, perilous 
 labours ; and for St. John’s latest exertions, his old 
 age, and his death, at the place, which was the 
 metropolis of sublime, and pure, philosophical Chris¬ 
 tianity. 
 
 Yours ever most affectionately, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 * Ephesus was a commercial city, exceedingly populous and wealthy, inso¬ 
 much that it is styled by Pliny, ‘ the second metropolis of Asia Minor. ’ Here, 
 as at Corinth, the Apostle, moved by the Spirit of God, laboured long, assidu¬ 
 ously, and with imminent risk to himself, for the conversion of its inhabit¬ 
 ants : chiefly on the two following accounts : because, as well by reason of the 
 magnitude and mercantile character of the place, as of the facilities which it 
 afforded of ready access by sea, such multitudes resorted thither from all quar¬ 
 ters, that it was in his power both to teach and convert numbers "on the spot, 
 and, also, by the instrumentality of these converts, to propagate the Gospel far 
 and wide through the world. For Ephesus is seated at the extremity of the 
 western coast of Asia Minor, trending towards the south; so that, on the one 
 hand, voyagers to and fro, between Syria or Egypt, and Greece, Macedon, and 
 Pontus, necessarily touched there; while, on the other hand, this port was the 
 grand point of inter-communication between Asia Minor and Rome. Accord¬ 
 ingly, we find the Apostle himself, in his frequent passages back and forward 
 between Asia Minor, and Macedonia, or Greece, generally taking Ephesus in his 
 way. It was most probably, too, the same local causes and circumstances, 
 which induced Saint John the Evangelist (according to the universal consent of 
 ecclesiastical history) not only to reside at Ephesus for so long a period, but 
 even to protract his residence to extreme old age, and to close his life in that 
 city. 
 
LETTER 70. 
 
 To the Rev, J, Jehh, 
 
 March 8. 1809, 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I say a word, in reply to your last, less expeditiously 
 than I could have wished. 
 
 I have two additional observations to make on the 
 sermon. I am not clear, that to speak of ‘ loving 
 God for his own sake ; and not primarily, on account 
 of any benefits that we have received, that we do 
 receive, or that we hope hereafter to receive, at his 
 hands’, &c. is, on the whole, an eligible, or even 
 strictly tenable way, of exhibiting the truth on this 
 great subject. I am well aware of the sanction of 
 great names, and good hearts, which it has. But I 
 see it has been greatly abused ; and that, as I con¬ 
 ceive, not by distorting it, but by pressing its libe¬ 
 rality. I think every valuable end would be safely 
 answered, by showing, that our love is not genuine, 
 if it be on account of any earthly benefit; or even 
 any supposed eternal benefit, which is not of a moral, 
 or spiritual nature. This strikes me as the safest, 
 and truest line; since, to delight in any thing, is, 
 radically and essentially, to feel conscious benefit in 
 it; the apprehension that it is good in itself, im¬ 
 plying, I conceive, that it is, if not individually, 
 generally good to us. I simply think, that the sense 
 of good is fundamental to the apprehension of good ; 
 
 K K 4< 
 
504 
 
 there must be the aio-Qrjo-ig, before there can be the 
 vo7}[xa. Abstract truth has nothing to do with feeling. 
 Good can no more exist, without being felt, than 
 light, without being seen, or sound, without being 
 heard. But to feel good, is essentially to feel good 
 for me, 4 As reason’, says Bishop Butler, 4 tends to, 
 and rests in the discernment of truth, so the very 
 nature of affection, consists in tending towards, and 
 resting on its objects, as an end’, &c. ; as he adds 
 soon after, 4 being gratified in the same way, as the 
 appetite of hunger is satisfied with food’, and there¬ 
 fore, says he farther, 4 it is absurd to ask, in this 
 case, what advantage a man hath in such a course ? 
 The advantage consists in the delight itself, which 
 arises from such a faculty’s having its object.’ On 
 this ground, then, it is evident, that there can be no 
 idea formed of love, which does not contain the idea 
 of benefit to him that loves. The delight of love, 
 being the very wing on which it rises; and to be 
 delightful, being, in moral intelligences, identically 
 the same as to be lovely. 
 
 I know you did not mean to controvert one tittle 
 of all this : knowing this, therefore, I submit to you, 
 whether it would not always be, both sounder in 
 itself, and more intelligible to those that hear, to 
 show the purity and sublimity of the benefit, in this 
 case looked for and prized ; than to throw benefit, 
 even ‘primarily’, out of view. I like to hear Jona¬ 
 than Edwards speak in this way to calvinists ; because 
 their extreme, needs another extreme, to produce a 
 temperament: but, though it may be, occasionally 
 and relatively, useful in controversy; I do not think 
 it good for unsophisticated nature. This is taught, 
 by all its instinctive, as well as reflective movements. 
 
505 
 
 to unite benefit and loveliness, in an indissoluble 
 band. And, after all that the good mystics have 
 done, to counteract nature, in this instance, the pro¬ 
 found Butler comes, and, as I take it, silences them, 
 and seals the indissolubility. 
 
 In fact, I know not a more practically pernicious 
 error, (I enlarge, not because you need it, but because 
 I like the subject;) I say, I know not any more per¬ 
 nicious practical error, (I have misplaced my two 
 words, it does not signify,) than unconditional pulling 
 down of selfishness. The more I consider human 
 nature, and the sphere of action in which it is 
 placed, the more convinced I am, that we cannot 
 be too selfish, if we are selfish in a right way. We 
 cannot, I conceive, desire that which is supremely 
 beneficial, with any excess of intensity; nor too 
 much regard it, as beneficial. In this bright and 
 blessed centre, lines, elsewhere remote, and more 
 and more diverging as that is receded from, so es¬ 
 sentially unite, that to seek such benefit, is to seek 
 excellence; and to be infinitely selfish, is to be ex¬ 
 quisitely pure and virtuous. I know well, how poor 
 self-love has been stigmatized and execrated. But, if 
 she were fairly heard plead in arrest of judgment, I 
 think she would yet come off in triumph. It could 
 be shown, that the evils did not arise from self being 
 over loved, but from the love of external things 
 being misplaced ; from the narrow and scanty mat¬ 
 ters, being loved; so narrow and scanty, that he who 
 solely possessed them, would be wretched, ^Estuat 
 infelix, &c., consequently, when claimed by many, 
 what could they produce but wars and fightings 
 among them ? 
 
506 
 
 Fluctuat, heu, miser 
 Alternaque potentum 
 
 Mundus diripitur manu. 
 
 Punctum est sors avidis quod secat ensibus 
 
 Inter tot populos.* Casimir. 
 
 This is the fact. Savages fight about their hunt¬ 
 ing grounds; but never about air or sunshine. Thus 
 the supreme and infinite good, cures all the ills 
 ascribed to selfishness; not by abating its force, nor 
 by contracting its range, but by satisfying it to the 
 extent, and without a possibility of any jarring inter¬ 
 est ; there being infinitely enough for all, through 
 boundless eternity. 
 
 The observation which I made about analogy, and 
 was gratified by your approving, comes in here. 
 There can be no analogy, as I conceive, between 
 any common love on earth, and a strictly unselfish 
 love of God ; from which cause, mystics seldom con¬ 
 vey a clear meaning, to the uninitiated. But there is 
 a most intelligible analogy, between seeking a lower, 
 and a higher happiness ; between the gratification of 
 our animal, and that of our spiritual nature ; between 
 endeavouring, in vain, to find satisfaction in the 
 world, and the enjoying it, in its fulness, in God. In 
 all this, while there would be impressive contrast, 
 there would be, also, instructive parallelism; the 
 benefit of which is lost, as it strikes me, when the 
 idea of strict disinterestedness is presented. 
 
 I am sure you will understand, that I am not com¬ 
 bating any sentiment of yours; for you imply all I 
 contend for, when you speak of delighting ourselves in 
 
 * This wretched world, a fluctuating prize, . . 
 
 Sport of blind fortune, with the strongest lies: . . 
 
 A viewless point, which fate, with greedy sword. 
 
 Parts ’mong the nations at ambition’s word. 
 
50 ? 
 
 God, as the synonyme of loving him for his own sake. 
 But, because I so well know your sentiments, I remark 
 upon your language ; in the persuasion, that, on a re¬ 
 view of the passage, you will not greatly differ from me. 
 
 For instance, do you not think that there is some 
 jar between these words, ‘ If, indeed, our love be 
 no better than a refined selfishness, than a fond com¬ 
 placency in favours, heaped on us’, and those which 
 follow in the same paragraph: « But, if we are 
 
 brought to delight in God, chiefly, and supremely, 
 for the moral goodness of his nature, then, nothing 
 will satisfy us, but a participation of that goodness V 
 I allow, ‘no better than’ and ‘fond 5 , have a recon¬ 
 ciling tendency; but still, to delight, I imagine, has 
 self, essentially, in it; and ‘ not to be satisfied but 
 with a participation ’, is selfishness downright: ‘ re¬ 
 fined selfishness ’, I grant; nobly and blessedly re¬ 
 fined ; but still, selfishness, the quintessence of sel¬ 
 fishness ; and yet, without wrong to any fellow-being 
 in the universe : a soul-exalting selfishness; which, as 
 it gives glory to God in the highest, teems with peace 
 upon earth, good will amongst men. 
 
 When Young says, in his Night Thoughts, 
 
 1 My soul, which flies to thee, her trust, her treasure, 
 
 As misers to their gold, while others rest,’ 
 
 does he not speak the strictest language of nature ? 
 And when our Redeemer speaks of treasure in the 
 heavens, of being rich toward God, of a pearl of 
 great price, of one thing needful, of rest, of a well of 
 water, &c., does he not adopt a like analogy, and 
 build on the same basis of nature , that is, on sel¬ 
 fishness, not weakened, much less extinguished, but 
 
508 
 
 refined and sublimated, by a transfer, from baseness 
 to excellence, from the imprisonment of the carnal 
 mind, to the immensity of uncreated good. Surely, 
 not to be satisfied without a participation of this, is a 
 thirsting ejusdem generis with any loan-taker’s appe¬ 
 tite for wealth, or with any opposition-man’s rabies 
 for power ; with the difference, only, of a lower, and 
 higher appetite; a degrading, and an exalting ob¬ 
 ject, equally, in both cases: but <ppovr)[jL<x 
 
 rye voLpxog, in the one: (^povr^ot rou 7 tvsi>[j.oltos, in the 
 other. 
 
 Now this I take to be in strict congruity with the 
 analogical system. And it is accordingly remarkable, 
 that the great discoverer of this system, is also the 
 detecter of the mistakes about selfishness; that is, he 
 shows, that selfishness has exactly as great a place, 
 in the exercise of love to God, and benevolence to 
 man, as it has in our love to, or pursuit of, any other 
 external object; and conversely, may have as little 
 room in our pursuit of a common external object, as 
 in our love of God, or of our neighbour. ‘There 
 have been persons’, says he, ‘in all ages, who have 
 professed, that they found satisfaction in the pursuit 
 of what is just, and right, and good, as the general 
 bent of their mind, and end of their life ; and that 
 doing an action of baseness or cruelty, would be as 
 great violence to their self, as much breaking in on 
 their nature, as any external force.’ 
 
 The selfishness, therefore, which you protest against, 
 
 I do not take to be ‘ refined selfishness ’; for, on 
 Butler’s principles, I conceive this a radical ingredient, 
 in all that is interesting, or exalting: but a self-de- 
 ceptious substitution of a lower, and indeed, imaginary 
 good, in the place of the highest, and all perfect good; 
 
509 
 
 in the mistaking an animal complacency in the one, 
 for spiritual delight in the other. 
 
 If, in reading these remarks, you should find any¬ 
 thing that startles you, or seems to jar with any moral 
 truth; remember, I am not describing what is ac¬ 
 tually felt, but I am attempting to analyze the meta¬ 
 physical matter of the feeling. If selfishness were to 
 be as much in view, as it is in existence and oper¬ 
 ation, it would defeat its own instinctive object. 
 There could be no love of any thing; all would be 
 cold calculation. ‘ ’T is not because we love our¬ 
 selves says Butler, ‘ that we find delight in such 
 and such objects ; but because we have particular 
 affections towards them. Take away these affections, 
 and you leave self-love absolutely nothing at all to 
 employ itself about; no end, or object for it to pursue, 
 excepting only, that of avoiding pain.’ Reflective 
 self-love, then, would be absolutely self-obstructive, 
 if not self-destructive. On the other hand, rightly 
 directed self-love, is regulative. In a word, my 
 notion is, not that the evil you guard against, (of an 
 imaginary love of God, on low and sordid accounts) 
 is not a real case, as well as real evil; but that it may 
 be better corrected, by exposing the falseness of the 
 object, than by condemning the nature of the feeling. 
 In the former, the mind would be set right, if it 
 could be set right. In the latter way, it will be, in 
 all probability, taken out of its depth ; and, to a moral 
 certainty, not benefitted ; for, in whatever mind, it 
 is subtle thought which is thus excited, rather than 
 sound feeling. When I say, ‘by exposing the false¬ 
 ness of the object 5 , I mean, ‘exposure by contrast, 
 as well as by direct detection.’ 
 
 I hope I am not tiring, nor teazing you, by, per¬ 
 haps, going out of my own depths, and pretending 
 
510 
 
 to draw the bow of Ulysses ; but I own I am excited 
 
 on this subject by-’s last charity sermon. I forget 
 
 whether I told you of it, but.I think I did. With him, 
 selfishness was, in such a manner, all vice, and affec¬ 
 tion to our kind, all virtue, as, apparently, to leave 
 things in possible good condition, though there were 
 but our own coterie in the universe. Atheism is a 
 terrible thought; and, therefore, I do not like to 
 throw on any man’s theory, so foul an imputation; 
 especially, when, in fact, far from that man’s 
 thoughts. But, in the talk I refer to, there was no 
 explicit pointing to God, on the one hand; nor any 
 direct, and decided reprobation of that embodying 
 and embruting of the soul, which is the true anti¬ 
 pode to pure and undefiled religion, on the other: 
 but such a crude condemnation of selfish feelings, as 
 to bring even devotional pleasure into suspicion; and 
 such an exaltation of benevolence, as to make it not 
 only the sole heaven upon earth, but the very heaven 
 of heaven. 
 
 And why all this ? c Because ’, said he to me a 
 day or two after, ‘ I do think, I exercise more reli¬ 
 gion in kissing my child, than in all the fine feelings 
 you talk about: for, if I even feel these in my closet, 
 I am not three minutes in the world, till they are 
 
 dissipated.’ So then because-finds no difficulty 
 
 in kissing his child, but a great difficulty in retaining 
 devotional feeling; the latter is to be voted down, 
 and the former to take its place. If this were not so 
 easily detected, I should be ready to call it one of 
 
 the depths of Satan. How-will emerge, I know 
 
 not, or what resting place he will find; but I suspect 
 his long visit to Dublin, and living with his old 
 friends, unbraced the habits he had seemed to ac¬ 
 quire at-. This ought, eventually, to do him 
 
511 
 
 good, if he could be brought to see his real defici¬ 
 ency. ‘ Who is he that overcometh the world, but 
 he that believeth that Jesus Christ is the Son of 
 God?’ On which, how well says Basil, f S2g [aev ouu 
 utog, (pv(nxcog xexty]tcli rot tod iroLT^og' fAovoysvyg, oXa 
 £%si sv EoevTip cnAAa(oW, ouSsuog xarci/j,Egi£o[jis>ou 7 rpog 
 
 ETEQOV, st* OLOTTjg TOIVUV TYjg mOV 7TpOCTr)yOQtOig $$Ol(nCO[JLE6oL, 
 on rrjg cpvfrsmg e(tti xoivcovog' ou 7r^o(rrayfJioiTi XTior^sig, 
 aXX* sx T7]g oua’iag sxTiOt^ctg ol$ iolct rear cog .* I believe it 
 ever has been, and ever will be made good: on the 
 one hand, c He that gathereth not with me, scat- 
 tereth 5 ; and on the other, ‘ I am the door; by me, 
 if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go 
 in and out, and find pasture 5 : Kou ekte7^e\j(tetou, 
 xoLi s^e’Ksvg’stcu, xcu vofj.7)v EvpY](TEi. What a depth 
 of meaning there is in these words! What a pleni¬ 
 tude of liberty, and certainty of provision! The 
 two symphonious words clearly mean, what no merely 
 conscientious person, nor even, I should think, a sec¬ 
 tarian religionist, can understand; for the merely 
 conscientious Christian, does not go in ; and the sec¬ 
 tarian religionist, does not come out. To find pas¬ 
 ture, seems to me to signify, (what is perfectly 
 accordant) that such a one is not, like the merely 
 conscientious, at a loss for pasture, without finding 
 it, or understanding the want: nor, like the sectarian, 
 dependent upon place and person for being fed; but 
 he finds pasture for himselfi and finds it, more or less, 
 every where. 
 
 * As Son, therefore, he possesses by nature the things of his Father: but, 
 as only-begotten Son, he rightfully monopolizes, in his own person, the whole 
 patrimony ; dividing no part of the inheritance with any other. From this very 
 appellation of Son, consequently, we learn, that he is a partaker of the divine 
 nature ; not called into being by creation, but shining forth, indivisibly, from the 
 substance of the Godhead. 
 
512 
 
 ‘ Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 
 Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.’ 
 
 Bat in whom was this ever verified, but in a catholic 
 Christian ? 
 
 I must, however, trouble you a little farther, on 
 selfishness. I am, not only now especially, but, at 
 all times, habitually on the alert, against the unana- 
 logical view; because 1 see, that it has served an evil 
 purpose among one class, as effectually, as the gross¬ 
 est antinomian Calvinism has done in another. Even 
 in the hands of the amiable Eenelon, what anodynes 
 does it not enable him to give, to slothful, self-indul¬ 
 gent, I would almost say, semi-christians ? I mean 
 not to judge, what I can only conjecture ; and I do 
 not mean to question, that, in Fenelon, there are fine 
 observations, proceeding from noble feelings, every 
 where occurring; but, when I hear him say, in one 
 letter, 4 Vous savez qu’il faut porter la croix, et la 
 porter en pleines t6n£bres. Le parfait amour, ne 
 cherche, ni a voir, ni a sentir. II est content de 
 souffrir, sans savoir s’il souffre bien; et d’aimer, sans 
 savoir s’il aime. O que Pabandon, sans aucun retour, 
 ni repli cache, est pur, et digne de Dieu! 11 est lui 
 
 seul plus d6truisant, que mille et mille vertus aust&res, 
 et soutenues, d’une r6gularit6 apei^ue. 
 
 4 Soyez simple et petit enfant. C’est dans l’enfance 
 qu’habite la paix inalterable, et a toute epreuve. 
 Toutes les r6gularit6s ou Pon poss&de sa vertu, sont 
 sujettes a Pillusion, et au m6compte. 11 n’y a que 
 les ames desappropri6es par Pabnegation evangeiique, 
 qui n’ont plus rien a perdre. II n’y a que ceux, qui 
 ne cherchent aucune lumifere, qui ne se trompent 
 point. II n’y a que les petits enfans, qui trouvent 
 
513 
 
 en Dieu la sagesse, qui n’est point dans les grands et 
 les sages qu’on admire.’ 
 
 I say, when I read this very amazing talk in one 
 letter; and in another, 4 Cherchez a vous amuser a 
 toutes les choses qui peuvent adoucir votre solitude, 
 et vous garantir de 1’ennui, sans vous passioner, ni 
 dissiper, par le gout du monde.’, Or, as elsewhere, 
 c II ne faut pourtant pas tellement se taire, que vous 
 manquiez d’ouverture et de complaisance dans les 
 recreations, mais alors il ne faut parler que de choses 
 a-peu-prhs indifF6rentes, et supprimer tout ce qui 
 peut avoir quelque consequence. II faut, dans ces 
 recr6ations, ce que St. Francois de Sales appelle, joy- 
 eusete; c’est a dire se rejouir, et rejouir les autres, 
 en disant des riens.’ Without putting any severity 
 of construction on these latter passages, I seem to 
 myself to see, nay am confident I do see, a depth of 
 self-deception, and serpentine seduction: for ob¬ 
 serve, the tastes of our higher nature must be all 
 rooted up; while the tastes of our lower nature are 
 still suffered, in a certain degree, to grow. No plea¬ 
 sure must be sought in piety; because, to be content 
 to love, without knowing that one loves, is the height 
 of perfection; and because, c c’est dans l’oubli du 
 moi, qu’habite la paix’j but, at the same time, plea¬ 
 sure may be taken, and very frivolous pleasure, (en 
 disant des riens!) in things of the world, because 
 this is needful for human weakness, and ‘ pour vous 
 garantir de l’ennui.’ From this, then, what can 
 follow, according to every law of nature, but radi¬ 
 cally growing heart-attachment, to what does give 
 actual pleasure; and more radically growing heart- 
 detachment, from that which gives none ? 
 
 After hearing such things, how refreshing that 
 right and sound sentiment of Saurin. e Heureux le 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
 L L 
 
5 14 
 
 fiddle, qui dans les combats que lui livrent Ies enne- 
 mis de son salut, peut opposer plaisirs a plaisirs, 
 delices a delices; les plaisirs de la priere, et de la 
 meditation, aux plaisirs du monde ; les d61ices du 
 silence, et de la retraite, a celles des cercles, des 
 dissipations, des spectacles ! Un tel homme est jeune 
 dans ses devoirs, meme parcequ’il est homme ; et 
 qu’il ne depend pas d’un homme, de ne pas aimer, 
 ce qui lui ouvre des sources de joie: un tel homme, 
 s’attache, a la religion, par des motifs semblables k 
 ceux, qui portent les gens du monde a s’attacher aux 
 objets de leurs passions; parcequ’elles leur pro- 
 curent des plaisirs ineffables. Un tel homme, ne 
 peut jamais succomber entierement, sous les tenta- 
 tions; parceque, selon l’6nergique expression d’un 
 apotre, la paix de Dieu, qui est au-dessus de tout 
 entendement, garde, c’est a dire, preserve les sens, 
 et empeche, par les delectations dont elles Pinonde, 
 qu’ils ne l’entrainent dans le crime.’ 
 
 I must return to F6nelon ; that I may mention 
 something, perhaps not unconnected with those 
 strange quotations. 
 
 Voltaire concludes his chapter on quietism, in his 
 Si&cle de Louis XIV., with the following curious 
 statement. 
 
 ‘ Aprks avoir ete vaincu sur des disputes de l’ecole, 
 il eut 6t6 peut-etre plus convenable, qu’il ne se melat 
 point des querelles du jansenisme; cependant il y 
 entra. Le Cardinal de Noailles avoit pris contre lui, 
 autrefois, le parti du plus fort. L’Arch6v&que de 
 Cambrai en usa de meme. Il esp6ra qu’il revien- 
 drait a la cour, et qu’il y seroit consulte: tant l’6sprit 
 humain a de peine a se detacher des affaires, quand 
 une fois elles ont servi d’aliment a son inquietude. 
 Ses d6sirs, cependant, etoient mod6r6s comme ses 
 
515 
 
 Merits; et meme sur la fin cle sa vie, il m^prisa enfin 
 toutes les disputes ; semblable, en cela seul, a l’ev&- 
 que d’Avranches, Huet, l’un des plus savans homines 
 de PEurope; qui, sur la fin de ses jours, reconnut la 
 vanite de la plupart des sciences, et celles de l’6sprit 
 humain. L’Arch6veque de Cambrai (qui le croiroit!) 
 parodie ainsi un air de Lulli: 
 
 4 Jeune, j’etois trop sage, 
 
 Et voulois trop savoir ; 
 
 Je ne veux en partage, 
 
 Que badinage, 
 
 Et touclie au dernier age, 
 
 Sans rien prevoir.’ 
 
 4 II fit ces vers en presence de son neveu, le Mar* 
 quis de Fenelon, depuis ambassadeur k la Haie. C’esfc 
 de lui que je les tiens. Je garantie la certitude de 
 ce fait. II seroit peu important par lui-m&me, s’il 
 ne prouvoit a quel point nous voions souvent avec 
 des regards differens, dans la triste tranquillity de la 
 vieillesse, ce qui nous parut si grand, et si interessant, 
 dans Page oii l’esprit plus actif est le jouet de ses 
 d^sirs, et de ses illusions/ 
 
 Did the crafty wiliness of this son of the Serpent, 
 ever more cordially disport itself, than in recording 
 this pen important anecdote ? 
 
 Mark how every sentence, and almost every word, 
 is made to tell in favour of his infernal purpose. I 
 have seen this little poem disputed by some one; on 
 the ground of its being incredible, that such a thing 
 could have been written by Fenelon. It is incre¬ 
 dible, that he should have written any thing, with 
 such a meaning, as Voltaire would attribute to this; 
 and as the words seem to warrant, if interpreted au 
 pied de la lettre. But, that he might have written 
 these lines on some occasion, at a less considerate 
 
 l l 2 
 
<516 
 
 moment, would appear probable, from their strange 
 agreement with some of the sentiments quoted above. 
 For example, with the first two lines: 4 II n’y a que 
 ceux qui ne cherchent aucune lumibre, qui ne se 
 trompent point’; with the next two, 4 Se r^jouir, et 
 r6jouir les autres, en disant des riens’ : and with the 
 last two, 4 II est content d’aimer, sans savoir s’il aime ’; 
 therefore, necessarily, * sans rien pr6voir.’ Is not 
 this very curious ? 
 
 I do not know whether William Law, may not be 
 thought to have outdone Fenelon, in depth of spi¬ 
 ritual apathy. His little work on regeneration, (that 
 is, against Mr. Wesley’s view of regeneration) con¬ 
 tains most extraordinary protests, against seeking for 
 any thing in religion, but implicit abandonment of 
 every thing. 
 
 4 The sacrifices’, says he, 4 which we make of 
 worldly goods, honours, or pleasures, are but small 
 matters; compared to that sacrifice, and destruction 
 of all selfishness, as well spiritual as natural, that 
 must be made, before our regeneration hath its per¬ 
 fect work. 
 
 4 There is a denial of our own will, and certain 
 degrees even of self-denying virtues, which yet give 
 no disturbance to this selfishness. To be humble, 
 mortified, devout, patient, to a certain degree ; and 
 to be persecuted for our virtues, are no hurt to this 
 selfishness; nay, spiritual self, must have all these 
 virtues to subsist upon; and his life consists, in see¬ 
 ing, knowing, and feeling, the bulk, strength, and 
 reality of them. But still, in all this show, and 
 glitter of virtue, there is an unpurified bottom on 
 which they stand; there is a selfishness, which can 
 no more enter into the kingdom of heaven, than the 
 grossness of flesh and blood can enter into it. 
 
517 
 
 * To know no more, and to seek to know no more 
 of our salvation, than we can know by an implicit 
 faith, and absolute resignation of ourselves to God, 
 in Christ Jesus, is the true saving knowledge of 
 Christ; and such as keeps us in the highest degree 
 of fitness, to receive our perfect salvation. 
 
 < I believe that, to repentance and faith in Christ, 
 salvation is made as secure, and as absolutely assured, 
 as paradise was made sure to the dying thief. I be¬ 
 lieve that my own sins, were they greater, and more, 
 than the sins of the whole world, would be wholly 
 expiated, and taken away, by my faith in the blood 
 and life of my blessed Saviour. 
 
 ‘ But, if I now want to add something of my own 
 to this faith ; if this great and glorious faith is de¬ 
 fective, and saves me not, till I can add my own 
 sense, and my own feeling to it, at such a time, and 
 in such a manner; is not this saying, in the plainest 
 manner, that faith, alone, cannot justify me ? Is not 
 this making this faith in the blood of Christ defective, 
 and insufficient to my salvation, till a self-satisfaction, 
 an own pleasure, an own taste, are joined with it? 
 Might it not better be said, that faith could not 
 justify me, till it had works; than that it cannot jus¬ 
 tify me, without these inward workings, feelings, 
 witnessings, of my own mind, sense, imagination ? 
 Is there not likely to be a more hurtful self-trust, a 
 more dangerous self-deceit, in making faith to de¬ 
 pend upon these inward workings and feelings, than 
 in making it depend upon outward good works of 
 our own ?’ 
 
 In this last passage, you will observe some things 
 objected to, or implied to be objected to, in Mr. 
 Wesley’s system, which, doubtless, admitted of ani¬ 
 madversion : but, into what a wonderfully opposite 
 
 l l 3 
 
518 
 
 extreme does he run ? And how completely is the 
 whole tenour of Scripture lost sight of? Assuredly, 
 if these doctrines be true, our Redeemer, and his 
 apostles, taught a far lower kind of religion, than 
 that discovered, and taught, by Mr. Law. In truth, 
 there are no teachers, on whom Mr. Law’s denounce¬ 
 ments would fall more heavily, than on those who 
 teach us in the Bible. 
 
 What is curious, is, that thus, Law and Walker 
 come to speak, substantially, in unison. After seve¬ 
 rally circum-ambulating the globe, they meet at 
 length, and take their stand on the same meridian. 
 
 4 Believing on him’, (the Lord Jesus Christ) says 
 Mr. Walker, 4 with the heart trusting in him, as he is 
 exhibited in the Gospel, the Saviour of his people 
 from their sins, the Scriptures warrant me to trust in 
 him, with the fullest confidence ; to trust in him, as 
 my righteousness and strength, and to know, that 
 eternal life is mine, as the gift of God in him ; and 
 this, without any supplementary revelation, or new 
 voice from heaven, to announce to me that I am 
 justified. A voice, indeed, there is, but it is in the 
 word of God; which, through all its sacred pages, in 
 the Old Testament and in the New, gives the divine 
 testimony to the Son of God and man, as the only, 
 the all-sufficient, the faithful Saviour of all, who be¬ 
 lieve upon his name. By that precious faith of him, 
 the Christian is called to walk ; not by sight, not by 
 sense, not by feeling.’ 
 
 In another place, Mr. W. says, (no less in unison) 
 
 4 In every religious system which has self for its 
 fundamental principle, the world can find something 
 to approve, and something which it understands. 
 But the Gospel, which proposes a foundation for the 
 sinner’s hope, altogether out qf himself, is, on this 
 
519 
 
 account, peculiarly offensive to the world, and pecu¬ 
 liarly unintelligible.’ 
 
 I add no more in the way of quotation ; as this 
 last one states the case for the whole genus, fairly 
 and well. And to what, finally, does it come, but to 
 this; that common sense, is felt to be the common 
 enemy of all such transcendentalists ; and that, whe¬ 
 ther they feel it or not, in attacking common sense, 
 they attack all substantial, solid virtue ; all that can 
 make Holy Scripture intelligible, principles steady, 
 life regular, reflection useful and comfortable ; all, in 
 a word, which either elicits, or feeds those thoughts, 
 a few of which, as Burnet so well tells us, ‘ spread 
 strength into the mind, by which it is made capable 
 of doing, or suffering, the hardest things ; through 
 that life which they give, and that calm which they 
 bring.’ 
 
 I have said quite enough on one point; I now 
 briefly touch on another. You say, it is a remark¬ 
 able circumstance, that there is not any stated, pe¬ 
 riodical time appointed, in the New Testament, for 
 private prayer, and you assign an, apparently, pro¬ 
 bable reason for the omission. That such a reason 
 had no share, is what I will not affirm. But there 
 certainly was another reason, of a different kind, 
 namely, that the habit of private prayer, had already 
 ample precedents, to direct and regulate it. Into 
 this reason, we have to resolve several other omis¬ 
 sions , and, on the whole, we see it a general rule, 
 that things of the same nature were to go on, under 
 the Christian, as they had gone on, under the jewish 
 dispensation. Now, we know David, or the psalmist, 
 says, ‘In the evening, and morning, and at noon¬ 
 day, will I pray.’ And, if possible, still more de¬ 
 cisively, are we told of Daniel, that he ‘ kneeled upon 
 
 l l 4 
 
520 
 
 his knees three times a day; and prayed, and gave 
 thanks before his God, as he did aforetime.’ What 
 these hours were, is matter of mere curiosity ; but 
 one of the three, (the middle one of course) is fixed, 
 by St. Peter going up to the house-top to pray, at 
 the sixth hour. Most probably, the other two times, 
 had corresponded to the morning and evening sacri¬ 
 fice. In Daniel’s case, we cannot doubt it; for the 
 same motive, which led him to have his window open 
 toward Jerusalem, would, self-evidently, lead him, as 
 it led Elijah on Mount Carmel, to recognize those 
 justly interesting seasons. And, to this keeping time 
 with the sacrifices, we cannot hesitate to refer, Cor¬ 
 nelius’s praying in his house, (an expression imply¬ 
 ing statedness,) at the third hour. We find, however, 
 from St. Luke i. 10. that it was the incense, rather 
 than the sacrifice, with which the act of prayer was 
 connected ; and it is a curious circumstance, that 
 the moment of offering the incense within, was no¬ 
 tified to those without, by the tinkling of a little 
 bell, just as is still done in the service of the mass. 
 But it is more interesting to observe, that the con¬ 
 nection between prayer and the incense, is sublimely 
 alluded to in Apoc. viii. 3, 4. The sacrifice was no 
 doubt, also kept in view, though less immediately, 
 in those stated devotional acts ; for David connects 
 both, in his elegant simile, 4 Let my prayer be set 
 forth in thy sight, as the incense ; and let the lifting 
 up of my hands, be as the evening sacrifice.’ Mean¬ 
 ing, as I conceive, to refer to his morning devotion, 
 in the first member of the couplet; and to his even¬ 
 ing devotion, in the latter : and to introduce the two 
 great public acts connected with devotion, so as to 
 intimate, that, though there was a connection with 
 both, it was closer with the one than with the other. 
 
5%1 
 
 Somewhat in this way, our establishment expresses 
 its connection, with both the great divisions of the 
 Christian church, at large, by using collects from 
 both, in its morning and evening prayer ; but in¬ 
 timating a closer connection with the Greek, than 
 with the Latin church, by giving precedence to the 
 Greek in the morning, and, yet, to do equal justice, 
 giving like precedence to the Latin church, in the 
 evening. And when David describes the public ser¬ 
 vice, by the incense, in the morning, and by the 
 sacrifice, in the evening ; he, too, gives a preference, 
 but without doing any injustice. 
 
 The practice of praying at the time of incense, 
 in the private, though public manner, which that 
 verse in St. Luke intimates, and writers on jewish 
 usages describe, (the deep silence then prevailing 
 through the courts, being particularly noticed by 
 them) would naturally form a habit of praying at 
 the same time, when at a distance; and the facts 
 already referred to, advance this supposition into 
 matter of certainty. The New Testament dispensa¬ 
 tion would take away the motive for being thus 
 regular, as to the morning and evening hour; and 
 yet, I think it likely, that, in adjusting the times of 
 daily public worship, the jewish hours would not be 
 wholly out of view. But, whatever might be the 
 attention, or inattention, paid to this circumstance, 
 the practice of praying thrice a day, after the ex¬ 
 ample of David and Daniel, would hardly be over¬ 
 looked, by those who were taught to find lessons of 
 piety, no less in the Old Testament, than in the 
 New ; and particularly to consider the Psalms, as 
 formularies for the Christian church, no less than for 
 the jewish. 
 
 I think I will stop here : though I had one or 
 
522 
 
 two remarks (not a bit connected with the sermon, 
 but a little with some of these latter observations) to 
 have added. But if I do not pause now, I cannot 
 send this to-day. And the matters I had in my 
 thoughts, will do just as well for another occasion. 
 
 On the whole, a very little matter indeed, and 
 that too, in expression, rather than in any thing 
 else, has occasioned a longer letter from me, than 
 you have had for a long time. I fear it may be 
 rather ill-connected, for I have been interrupted 
 continually. But my object has been to give you, 
 at once, not merely my objection, but the whole of 
 my grounds for it; that you might have before you 
 all that was in my thoughts. The truth is, I so 
 much rejoice in our peculiar property, (given to us 
 by him who gives all) of reducing every thing to 
 principles of common sense, (and yet not with injury 
 to, but thorough confirmation of, every catholic 
 verity) that I own myself jealous of every inch of 
 our 4 fair ground, and goodly heritage. 5 And will you 
 wonder, that, where you are concerned, or where 
 there can be a question respecting your plan of pro¬ 
 ceedings, involving, ever so slightly, a better, and 
 a less good method, I should be on the alert to assist 
 you in fixing your eye, on whatever shall deserve to 
 be considered as the more excellent way? 
 
 Farewell, my dear Friend, and 
 
 believe me ever, cordially yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
5<23 
 
 LETTER LXXXL 
 
 To A. Knox , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, March 10. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I most cordially thank you for your valuable ob¬ 
 servations ; especially for your ample illustrations of 
 mystical absurdity, and your very curious and satis¬ 
 factory proofs that mysticism and Calvinism, after 
 ‘ many a long-long wandering’, meet at last. As to 
 the passages in my sermon, they certainly require 
 modification: the expressions were not sufficiently 
 guarded; and some of them were by no means lite¬ 
 rally tenable. Calvinism, low Christianity, (which, 
 though people do not suspect it, is, in fact, low Cal¬ 
 vinism,) and especially Dr. Faley, (see for example 
 his second sermon,) were chiefly in my view. And 
 I did not, at the time, sufficiently advert to the op¬ 
 posite errors of mysticism; which, you will readily 
 believe, is, and was, most abhorrent, both from my 
 thoughts and feelings. But this, you will admit, 
 was somewhat natural: as the latter errors rarely 
 meet me; while the former perpetually stare me 
 in the face. I cannot but add, that, however low 
 and mercenary Christianity may revolt me, it has 
 some reference to real existence; to what is actually 
 in man’s constitution ; whilst mysticism is at open 
 war, with all natural feeling, all substantial good, and 
 all common sense : it is in the clouds. 
 
 Not a syllable in your letter has ‘tired’, or ‘teazed’, 
 or ‘startled’ me $ or ‘appeared to jar with moral 
 
,524 
 
 truth . 9 Most completely the reverse. I do soberly 
 think, that self-love necessarily enters into the com¬ 
 position, of every thing great, and good, and admir¬ 
 able in man; that, in self-love, there never can be 
 excess; that, without self-love, there can be no ra¬ 
 tional, or deep love of God j and that self-love is 
 intrinsically more noble and excellent, than benevo¬ 
 lence itself. If this last be not the case, why should 
 the best and wisest of all teachers, make self-love, the 
 measure of love to our neighbour? The measure, 
 surely, always gives the idea of something more per¬ 
 fect than the thing measured; the archetype, than 
 the resemblance. We are to be perfect, as God is 
 perfect; we are to love our neighbour, as ourselves ; 
 the perfection of God, is not more absolutely made 
 the rule of our perfection, than the love of ourselves, 
 is made the rule of our love to our neighbours : there¬ 
 fore, the love of ourselves, has both the priority, as 
 to existence, and the supremacy, as to value, over 
 the love of our neighbour. 
 
 Still, however, I must beg leave to doubt the pro¬ 
 priety of your expressions, c that we cannot be too 
 selfish, if we are selfish in a right way’; that, ‘ to be 
 infinitely selfish, is to be exquisitely pure and vir¬ 
 tuous’ ; that there is ‘ a soul-exalting selfishness’, &c. 
 Observe, that I cannot discover in myself £ the 
 shadow of the shade’ of dissent, from your principle ; 
 that I most deeply concur in believing and feeling 
 ‘ that we cannot desire that which is supremely be¬ 
 neficial, with any excess of intensity; nor regard it 
 too much, as beneficial.’ I am disposed to except 
 against your expressions, in what appears to me a de¬ 
 ficiency of philological, and, by easy inference, both 
 of philosophical, and practical precision. 
 
 My notion is, that the words, selfish, and selfish- 
 
525 
 
 ness, should never be used in a good sense. I must 
 endeavour to give my reasons. It is universally al¬ 
 lowed, that the Saxon word ISH, [lpc] when joined 
 to an adjective, denotes diminution, a small degree, 
 an incipient state of any quality: ‘ When to sub¬ 
 stantives’, says Johnson, ‘it imports similitude, or 
 tendency to a character.’ (Observe, not the very 
 nature of that character, for I do believe it never de¬ 
 notes any thing higher than approximation. Hence, 
 the obvious difference between brutzs/z, and brutal; 
 sluggish, and sluggard or sluggardly, &c. &c.) But 
 my chief observation, and which seems wholly to 
 have escaped Johnson, is this, that all words, (pa- 
 tronymicks excepted, such as Irish, English, Spanish, 
 &c.) into whose composition the ISH enters, invari¬ 
 ably give us the idea of something mean, trifling, 
 contemptible, unworthy, or hateful. I cannot find a 
 single exception, (can you point one out?) whilst 
 corroborative examples are most abundant. Child- 
 ish-ness ; foolish-ness ; thievish-ness ; mawkish-ness ; 
 garish-ness ; clownish-ness ; sluttish-ness ; sluggish¬ 
 ness ; waspish-ness; peevish-ness ; snappish-ness; 
 bearish-ness; lavish-ness; sheepish-ness ; boorish¬ 
 ness ; churlish-ness; &c. &c. &c. This universal 
 usage can, I conceive, be accounted for, only by the 
 irreversible meaning of the word or particle, ISH, 
 limiting it to a bad sense. Whilst the other ter- 
 minative particles, al, ive, ful, ous, eons, ly, &c., are 
 of common use, being of common meaning, e. g. 
 we say hateful, and graceful; full signifying reple¬ 
 tion, and a repletion of good or bad, being equally 
 possible j not so, with the termination ISH; which, 
 according to my hypothesis, must mean something- 
 diminutive, contemptible, defective. Now, if there 
 be any justice in all this, why should the words self- 
 
526 
 
 ish, and selfishness, make any exception to the general 
 rule? I wish I could ascertain from Skinner, Wallis, 
 or Junius, the precise meaning of qx. For a precise 
 meaning, it surely must have. 
 
 Thus much is certain, that it is the general prac¬ 
 tice, in accordance, as I conceive, with strict philolo¬ 
 gical propriety, to annex a bad meaning to the words 
 selfish, and selfishness ; and I should be loth to run 
 counter to the current, from an almost certain convic¬ 
 tion, that I should be overwhelmed by the prejudices, 
 misapprehensions, and alarms, of by far the greater 
 part of those, with whom I might have occasion to 
 talk. To speak of a right selfishness, and a wrong 
 selfishness, a noble selfishness, and a base selfishness, 
 is, in my humble apprehension, to talk obscurely. I 
 would say, that all self-love is right; all selfishness, 
 wrong: that all self-love is noble; all selfishness, 
 base: and that selfishness is not more decidedly 
 opposed to the love of God, and the love of our 
 neighbour, than it is to the love of ourselves. My 
 great caution and guardedness, on this point, would 
 be, never to use either term, without letting it be 
 clearly seen, what is my precise meaning. This, I 
 conceive, would be to speak luminously, and without 
 leaving any probable room for misapprehension. Let 
 a person use the terms, self-love, and selfishness, pro¬ 
 miscuously ; and, though his own sentiments and 
 conceptions be ever so just and clear, it is an hun¬ 
 dred to one, that he will send away his auditor, with 
 a perplexed, unsatisfied, and fluctuating mind. Let 
 the same person, with precisely the same opinions, 
 use the terms distinctively; and I can hardly ques¬ 
 tion his giving complete satisfaction, to any hearer of 
 candour, and of decent apprehension. 
 
 So far, then, as self-love is concerned, I cordially 
 
agree with you, 4 that the evil of an imaginary love of 
 God, on low and mercenary accounts, may be better 
 corrected, by exposing the falseness of the object, 
 than by condemning the nature of the feeling’. That 
 is, I would, in no case soever, condemn the feeling of 
 self-love; but expose the universal odiousness of self¬ 
 ishness, by exposing the uniform falseness of its 
 object. But what need I seek for expressions to 
 convey my thoughts, when you have yourself most 
 exquisitely expressed them? ‘ I know well’, you say, 
 ‘how poor self-love has been stigmatized and ex¬ 
 ecrated ; but, if she were fairly heard plead in arrest 
 of judgment, I think she would yet come off with 
 triumph.’ It could be shown, that the evil did not 
 arise from self being loved, but from the love of 
 external things being misplaced ; from too narrow 
 and scanty matters being loved; so narrow and scanty, 
 that he who solely possessed them, would be wretched. 
 
 ‘ ^Estuat infelix’, &c. &c. It appears to me, that 
 your very words might admirably serve for a defini¬ 
 tion of selfishness. It may be called, ‘ a misplaced 
 love of external things, from which we expect to de¬ 
 rive pleasure or advantage; an inordinate love of 
 matters too scanty’, &c. &c. 
 
 The objects of selfishness admit of competition, of 
 jarring interests, of exhaustion, of decay. Those 
 of self-love, to use your own ideas, are like ‘ the air 
 or sunshine’, &c. But I differ from you so far, that I 
 conceive it most desirable, ‘ to abate the force, and 
 contract the range of selfishness.’ Whilst I again 
 agree with you, ‘ that the supreme and intimate good, 
 satisfies, not selfishness, but self-love, to the extent, 
 and without a possibility of jarring interest; there 
 being infinitely enough for all, through boundless 
 eternity.’ 
 
528 
 
 The distinction, between self-love, and selfishness, 
 which I have here, perhaps crudely and unsatisfac¬ 
 torily, endeavoured to unfold, I certainly had in view, 
 when I wrote my sermon ; and this led me to use the 
 words, ‘refined selfishness’,* ‘fond complacency in 
 favours 5 , &c. &c. too unguardedly, I grant, but still, 
 on my principles, not jarringly with my subsequent 
 expressions ; ‘ nothing less will satisfy us, than a par¬ 
 ticipation,’ &c. It never having been my intention 
 to exclude self-love ; and self-love necessarily seeking 
 its own satisfaction. But, is not this mere talk about 
 words ? I humbly conceive not; inasmuch as, when 
 there is a right, and a wrong, it is of essential im¬ 
 portance to have a definite term for each. I clearly 
 perceive, that I was too abstract, too unqualified, too 
 little illustrative. Still, I think I had some advan¬ 
 tage, not in what I wrote, but in what, with a hint 
 from you, I might have written, by having a distinct, 
 and opposite meaning, for the terms in question. 
 This, I am in great hopes, you will not dissent from. 
 The distinction, once well laid down, may save many 
 a troublesome periphrasis, and perplexing obscurity 
 of words. And I am the more anxious to recom¬ 
 mend it, because I soberly believe, that selfishness is 
 the very antipode of self-love. 
 
 Poor-! I entirely disapprove, I truly lament, 
 
 but I do not greatly wonder at his wanderings. It is 
 impossible, almost, to conjecture where they will end. 
 I would far rather burn all the sermons I ever wrote, 
 than that, through the means of any one of them, I 
 should, in any measure, sanction or promote, even 
 so far as my poor influence could go, errors such as 
 pervaded that sermon, which you did not mention 
 
 * On my principle, though all selfishness is wrong; it may admit the distinc¬ 
 tion of gross and refined, as we talk of gross and refined sensuality. 
 
529 
 
 to me before. God has been gracious and merciful 
 to me, by placing in my way a religion of common 
 sense ; and by giving me a friend to watch over every 
 tendency to aberration, from that good and plain 
 path ; a path too, abundantly strewed with flowers, 
 as well as supplied with every suitable provision, and 
 necessary accommodation. 
 
 A few words, as to the omission of any positive in¬ 
 stitution, in the New Testament, of special times for 
 private prayer. Every syllable that you mention, 
 about David, Daniel, St. Peter, the Apocalypse, in¬ 
 cense, &c. &c., and Jewish habits of private devotion, 
 was completely in my view, when I wrote the sermon. 
 (This is to me a pleasant coincidence, and will not 
 be displeasing to you.) Why, then, did I not men¬ 
 tion them, in the sermon ? Because I had not room 
 within its limits; I therefore discarded my prepared 
 thoughts, and some written notes too; and was com¬ 
 pelled to substitute what I say, about stated hours of 
 prayer having been ‘ uniformly resorted to, by all 
 pious and spiritual members of the jewish, and the 
 Christian church’; of which, I added, ‘ scripture ex¬ 
 amples were numerous and striking’, &c. Now, when 
 I wrote these words, what I had in my mind’s eye, 
 was precisely what you have thrown out in your 
 letter. 
 
 As to want of authoritative appointment, I do not 
 think, however, that your reason will do ; inasmuch as- 
 it only throws back the crux, from the New Testament 
 to the Old. Why were there no positive appointments 
 of stated times, under the earlier dispensation ? Why 
 were good men left to establish precedents ? Clearly, 
 I conceive, for the reasons assigned by me. Autho¬ 
 ritative appointments would have chilled the spirit 
 of devotion; while elective imitation of good men, 
 
 VOL. I. M M 
 
530 
 
 whose choice of hours, again, was guided by an asso¬ 
 ciation with all that was grand, affecting, and lovely, 
 in the public service of God, infused a charm and 
 a gracefulness into the private devotions, of both 
 jewish, and Christian churches, that at once excites 
 my admiration, and wins my heart. 
 
 My chief employment, for the last eight days, has 
 been a little poetical excursus. You told me, more 
 than a year ago, that I had a narrow escape of being 
 a poet; and little did I then imagine, that I should 
 ever again have scribbled verses. But so it happened, 
 that I was excited unawares ; and, as my constitution 
 seems to require recreation, sometimes for days to¬ 
 gether, I did not choose to tie on a bandage. I had 
 been reading Cowper’s translation of the Epitaphium 
 Damonis ; and it appeared, in many instances, abso¬ 
 lutely erroneous, and, in most, miserably defective; in¬ 
 somuch, that I believe Cowper could not have WTitten 
 even his first draught, con amore; and could never 
 afterwards have retouched it, with his masterly hand. 
 Almost insensibly, I was led to make an effort myself; 
 and yesterday I found myself advanced more than 
 twenty lines, not despicably executed ; and, unless I 
 am a gross miscalculator, in some respects preferable, 
 either to Langhorne, or Cowper. When finished, I 
 will send you a copy, if you think it worth your 
 while to read idle verse. Towards the evening of 
 yesterday, I was beginning to ask, 4 Do you take 
 sufficient care, my good sir, not to let your poetic 
 jade run away with you, and fling you?’ Happily, 
 your letter relieved my doubts; for I have employed 
 myself, ever since the receipt of it, in matters remote 
 from the muses, and employed myself right pleasantly. 
 The fact is, I have come recreated to my business. 
 This, I hope, is no bad test. Was I wrong in ac- 
 
53 1 
 
 counting my small poetic interlude, a sort of pro¬ 
 vidential remuneration, for having given up, (I am 
 persuaded on just grounds,) my trip to town ? 1 
 
 stated to you, chiefly, things prudential. Some other, 
 and perhaps higher motives, concurred in fixing the 
 relinquishment. Pray, have you ever looked into 
 Benson on the Epistles ? This man appears to me 
 to have more heart, than any of his arian brethren ; 
 and sometimes beautifully, as well as ingeniously, il¬ 
 lustrates, both the manner, and the spirit of St. Paul. 
 In particular, his comment on the Epistle to Philemon, 
 is one of the neatest specimens of sacred criticism, 
 and most cordial testimonies to St. Paul’s great qua¬ 
 lities both of head and heart, that I ever read. I wish 
 you would borrow the book, and judge for yourself. 
 I think you will be much gratified. 
 
 It occurred to me last night, that there might be 
 a most useful essay written, on the characters and 
 teaching of St. Paul, St. Peter, St. John, and St. James. 
 It should proceed, however, from a person, with views 
 such as ours; and who would prepare himself fully 
 with matter, both from the New Testament, and other 
 sources. The natural temperament and character of 
 each should be first deduced, from an induction of 
 facts; and from such imitations whether direct or 
 indirect, as occur in their writings, as well as from 
 the general complexion of their style. The correc¬ 
 tion, modification, and new direction, should be next 
 illustrated, in the same manner. And, lastly, their 
 mode of teaching, should be considered with refer¬ 
 ence, not only to their own peculiar habits of think¬ 
 ing and feeling, but, also, to the special occasions on 
 which they wrote, and the specific exigencies, which 
 required a specific remedy. 
 
 There would be, in such a work, a noble op- 
 
 m m c 2 
 
532 
 
 portunity of adverting to different species of work¬ 
 men, or witnesses; to the foundation of grace, and 
 the superstructure of holiness. And, at the same time, 
 the prevailing tendency of insisting on some peculiar 
 mode, might be directly, but powerfully counteracted. 
 At present, it is notoriously evident, that one party 
 as pertinaciously requires an imitation of St. James’s 
 manner, as another party does of St. Paul’s. While 
 few, or none, advert to the natural distinctions of 
 character in the two Apostles, and to the emergencies 
 which gave rise to their several epistolary writings. 
 
 Many less observable particulars, also, might be 
 pointed out. For instance, the suitableness of the 
 means used for St. Paul’s conversion; a spirit so 
 vehement and daring, could not, probably, have been 
 subdued, by a milder process. Again, St. Paul and 
 St. Peter, both, betray a little wrongness; which is 
 recorded, probably amongst other reasons, to incul¬ 
 cate the salutary lesson, 4 that we should not be high- 
 minded, but fear’: they go wrong in different ways, 
 conformable to their different characters : the former 
 being hurried into a momentary ebullition of passion ; 
 and the latter betrayed into a timid compromise : 
 just as we might have expected, in the one case, from 
 him who had been a violent persecutor; and in the 
 other, from him who denied his Divine Master. Is 
 it not a peculiar instance of fitness, that St. John, who 
 was of an aspiring temper, and wished to attain the 
 highest dignity in the Messiah’s temporal kingdom, 
 should be the advocate of Christian perfection ? And, 
 again, that St. Peter, who had himself so deeply ex¬ 
 perienced the mischief of pride, and the efficacy of 
 humble repentance, should be the person to exhort 
 Christians to be 4 clothed with humility’, because 
 4 God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the 
 
533 
 
 humble ? 5 Is it not a striking exemplification, too, 
 of the transforming energy of divine grace, that the 
 apostle chosen, or, at least, providentially excited, to 
 inspire his brethren with fortitude under persecution, 
 should be that very St. Peter, who, through fear of 
 persecution, had denied Christ ? 
 
 These thoughts have been thrown on paper rapidly, 
 and almost at random ; they may either be trite and 
 obvious, or fanciful and visionary, for aught that I 
 can tell. With some slight exception, I do not 
 recollect having met with them elsewhere ; but of 
 this I am well assured, that your mind is stored with 
 valuable ideas, which would far better illustrate the 
 subject; and what I wish, is, that you would un¬ 
 dertake an essay, or essays, such as I have been 
 rudely and imperfectly sketching the outline of. It 
 would be a most seasonable work ; and I soberly 
 think, that in few ways could the views we love be 
 put forward, with better prospect of attracting the 
 notice, and perhaps conciliating the good will of the 
 religious public. In pursuing such a plan, it w T ould 
 be easy to support our opinions, in a popular and 
 uncontroversial style, from the example, the feelings, 
 and the reasonings of the apostles : whilst the bio¬ 
 graphic form, would give an interest, and intelli¬ 
 gibility, to all that might be said, which could not, 
 perhaps, be so readily attained, in any other mode. 
 If you would engage in this undertaking, you might 
 reckon upon me as an under workman, in making 
 any researches, or in any branch that you could 
 employ me. But should you decline it, I myself 
 would willingly endeavour to turn my thoughts and 
 studies this way ; provided you would furnish me 
 with hints to be enlarged upon ; and lead me to 
 such sources of information, as I am not acquainted 
 
 M M 3 
 
534 
 
 with. Some sources, not very commonly explored, 
 I have within my reach, and would gladly resort to; 
 others, I have already applied to, not without satis¬ 
 faction ; and above all, by communication with you, 
 I got hold of a clue, which I have hitherto found a 
 satisfactory guide through labyrinths, in which multi¬ 
 tudes are bewildered. My first wish, however, would 
 be, that you should write. 
 
 If you think the plan a wild, or unpromising one, 
 do not hesitate to give your opinion freely; it is a 
 child but of a day’s growth; and has not yet so 
 entwined itself about my affections, as to prevent my 
 resigning it with perfect composure. Or if, think¬ 
 ing the work might be serviceable, you question the 
 expediency of my engaging in it, be equally candid. 
 My illnesses have, at least, this good effect ; that 
 they keep me, I trust, diffident of my powers ; and 
 ready to be dissuaded from any disproportionate un¬ 
 dertaking, by those who know better than myselff 
 
 .... quid ferre recusent, 
 
 Quid valeant humeri. 
 
 At the same time, I honestly own a feeling, that 
 some continuous work in prospect, would give a 
 stimulus, and zest, and unity to my studies ; and 
 would, I think, aid me in the composition of sermons, 
 by suggesting trains of thought, which might be 
 worked up into discourses. If I had matter, (and 
 that is, perhaps, not out of my reach,) and if my 
 health should be spared, I see no reason, why 1 might 
 not hope to clothe my ideas in language, at least 
 equal to that of my visitation sermon. 
 
 When your eyes permit, I shall be most happy to 
 hear from you ; but do not think of writing, till you 
 
535 
 
 can do it with safety ; I hope I have not now tired or 
 injured you, and am, dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged 
 
 and affectionate Friend, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER LXXXIL 
 To A . Knox, Esq « 
 
 March, 1809. 
 
 * ft # # *■ # # 
 
 I must now return, for a moment, to the subject of 
 selfishness. Dr. Johnson defines it, c attention to 
 one’s own interest, without any regard to others; self- 
 love.’ To the last word of this definition, of course, 
 I greatly object. But this is not the only fault I 
 have to find. For whilst I hold, that attention to 
 ourselves, to the exclusion of others, enters deeply 
 into the essence of selfishness, I am far from think¬ 
 ing that all such attention, even though amounting 
 to the utmost pitch of exclusiveness, should be stig¬ 
 matized as selfishness. For instance, if I am placed 
 within reach of a plank, on a stormy sea, along with 
 a fellow-sufferer, who has been washed overboard ; 
 and, if that plank can receive but one person; 
 surely, here, to preserve myself, is but a fair exercise 
 of self-love. I should rather describe selfishness, as 
 £ an undue and excessive pursuit of earthly, and un¬ 
 spiritual objects, in which we hope to find advantage 
 or enjoyment ; and in pursuit of which, we are re- 
 
 m m 4 
 
536 
 
 gardless of others.’ This is my unblocked thought: 
 it might, doubtless, receive a far better shape ; but, 
 when finished off, it might possibly answer the pur¬ 
 pose. 
 
 The reason why I wish to have selfishness always 
 considered as a wrong passion, is this ; that numbers 
 of good people, have stigmatized it, and do what we 
 may, will stigmatize it, to the end of the chapter. 
 But they rarely do it on right grounds; rarely 
 without involving poor self-love in the censure and 
 disgrace. Now, I can conceive no such effectual 
 mode, of cutting up their error by the roots, as at 
 once admitting selfishness to be wrong; then, fully 
 defining, illustrating, and describing, what it really 
 is; and then, claiming those fair, and just honours 
 for self-love, of which it has been long most iniquit- 
 ously deprived. This seems to me to accord with 
 truth. And as to expediency, can it be doubted, 
 that to use the same term, sometimes in a good, 
 sometimes in a bad sense, must inevitably leave occa¬ 
 sion for eternal misconceptions, misrepresentations, 
 nebulosities, and logomachies? Or, on the other 
 hand, can it be questioned, that a steady use of definite 
 terms, adequately exfoliated and expanded, must, in 
 due time, produce, at least a great approximation and 
 unity of sentiment? 
 
 Now, as to the point from whence all this discus¬ 
 sion started ; I am disposed to think, that the pure 
 love of God may be very satisfactorily, and perhaps 
 most satisfactorily explained, without directly advert¬ 
 ing to selfishness at all. The more we simplify, the 
 less we implicate with foreign matter, the more 
 thoroughly shall we be understood. When fair, and 
 needful occasions arise, I would talk in my own way, 
 of self-love, and selfishness; but I believe occasions 
 
537 
 
 should not be created ; and far less should we go an 
 inch out of our way, to create them. 
 
 And now I may venture to tell you, that even my 
 poetical interlude, has had another little interlude 
 enclosed within it. On Sunday night as I lay in bed, 
 half awake, and half dreaming, a thought arose, that 
 it would be right to show some little mark, at once of 
 
 my respect and feeling, on the occasion of Miss-’s 
 
 marriage. And what should this mark be ? A copy 
 of Cowper’s poems, with a little inscription on a 
 blank leaf. To work my mind immediately went, 
 even in its morphean state ; and I produced a stanza ; 
 and the next morning I completed my inscription \ 
 and then I wrote to Archer, for a copy of Cowper ; 
 and last night I received the said copy ; and just now 
 I have finished my transcription j and you may read 
 my lines on the next page. 
 
 VERSES 
 
 WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF COWPER’s POEMS, 
 PRESENTED, ON HER MARRIAGE, 
 
 TO MARY, VISCOUNTESS BERNARD. 
 
 Lady, were Cowper’s spirit here, 
 
 That sainted spirit sure would breathe, 
 
 A fervent wish, a vow sincere, 
 
 And twine them with thy bridal wreath. 
 
 He would not of thy goodness tell, 
 
 For purest virtue courts the shade; 
 
 He would not on thy features dwell, 
 
 For beauty’s short-lived flower must fade. 
 
538 
 
 No, lady; cease thy modest fears, 
 
 More pleased his artless muse would feel, 
 To consecrate the filial tears, 
 
 Which from thy trembling eyelids steal: 
 
 To cherish, on this joyful day, 
 
 The glistening tribute of thy heart, 
 
 For years, of mild paternal sway, 
 
 For cares, that made thee, what thou art ! 
 
 Then would he pray, that white-robed truth, 
 And purest peace, and joy serene, 
 
 (Blest guardians of thy vernal youth,) 
 
 Might shield thee thro’ life’s various scene. 
 
 But Cowper lives in realms of light 
 Where kindred seraphs ceaseless sing 
 Far other hands this wreath unite, 
 
 Far other hands this offering bring ! 
 
 Yet, lady, wilt thou kindly deign 
 
 (’T is all the unpractised muse can give,) 
 Accept this rudely warbled strain, 
 
 And let it, bound with Cowper’s, live ? 
 
 These volumes too, I fondly ween, 
 
 May for their author’s sake, be prized, 
 When thine own hearth shall match the scene, 
 By Weston’s bard immortalized. 
 
 For sure, thou lov’st domestic joys, 
 
 And hours of intimate delight, 
 
 And days retired from vulgar noise. 
 
 And converse bland that cheats the night. 
 
 Suuc joys be thine, be his ! and still, 
 
 In heart united, as in hands, 
 
 Blessing and blest, may each fulfil, 
 
 The glorious task your place demands. 
 
 Lights of the world, may each dispense 
 New lustre through your ample sphere, 
 
 And, very late, be summon’d hence, 
 
 To shine thro’ heaven’s eternal year. 
 
539 
 
 P. S. Perhaps it may be fair to say, that, whatever 
 is for the real good of a person, is to him the legiti¬ 
 mate object of self-love : whatever is not really good 
 for him, the object of selfishness. 
 
 LETTER 71 . 
 
 To the Rev . J . Jebb. 
 
 My dear Friend. 
 
 I cannot say more than a word or two; but I know 
 you will wish for a prompt acknowledgment of your 
 last communication. 
 
 I believe I may say, unreservedly, that I subscribe 
 to every word you have said ; your philological re¬ 
 marks are conclusive. In short, as usual, we are in 
 unison. But I must, at the same time, fairly confess 
 my ignorance, and acknowledge, that the indubitable 
 force of ish, if it had ever been before me, was not 
 present to my mind. * Terminatio ish , adjectivis 
 praecipue addita (et non raro substantivis) diminu - 
 tionem innuit.’. . Wallis. 
 
 How capital a grammarian, and how indifferent a 
 divine ! 
 
 I assure you, while I was writing about times of 
 prayer, I was questioning whether I might not be 
 uselessly employed; on the ground of your certainly 
 knowing, all I could say on the subject. 
 
 But let me call your attention to one thing ; I was 
 not supporting the legitimacy of the term, selfishness. 
 At least, I meant no such thing; I was certainly not 
 
540 
 
 aware of the clearly depreciating meaning, which the 
 justest etymology stamps upon it. But neither did 
 I desire, that it should be honourably mentioned. I 
 observed, that I was not describing feelings, but 
 analyzing them; and in pure ignorance, I used the 
 term selfishness, not from regard to the term, but 
 merely because it was explicit. Still, I think, true 
 and strict as the etymology is, what you say in your 
 concluding paragraph on the subject, is not more 
 just, than important; that the ‘pure love of God, 
 may be very satisfactorily, and perhaps, most satis¬ 
 factorily explained, without directly adverting to 
 selfishness at all ; and, that the more we simplify, 
 the less we implicate with foreign matter, the more 
 thoroughly shall we be understood.’ 
 
 You will just advert to my sentiment, that to be 
 reflectively selfish, is to be incapable of love. This, 
 I conceive, is as accordant with all you say, as it can 
 be ; for, on your very clear principles, self-love is 
 the just and fair sensation ; but selfishness is that 
 reflective movement, with which no extrinsic love 
 is compatible ; and indeed, by consequence, no com¬ 
 fort, no pleasure. 
 
 If any end was necessary to be answered by my 
 remarks, it is answered most completely. 
 
 Your Epithalamium is very beautiful; so thinks 
 
 Dr. M-also, to whom I read it. I should be 
 
 more surprized at the poetic vein beginning to flow 
 fresh, after so long a stagnation, were I not accus¬ 
 tomed to wonderful things. It has just struck 
 seven*, and therefore I cannot explain : but you will 
 make no bad conjecture at my meaning. 
 
 Hannah More’s new book, Coelebs, an odd sort of 
 
 * The post -hour. , . Ed- 
 
541 
 
 redivived religious courtship, is not exactly what it 
 ought to be. I have it from the author; and am t 
 puzzled how to speak about it. It is as low as it 
 well can be. The thing you might suppose from the 
 high praise of-. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 LETTER 72. 
 To the Rev . J. Jehh. 
 
 Dawson St., March 17*. 1809. 
 
 My dear Frtend, 
 
 X long to hear some remarks from you, on the 
 introduction to the Cath. Apol., which I sent by 
 J. F. 
 
 Easter being now at hand, it is natural to think 
 about it Will you, therefore, turn to the 7th verse 
 of the 5th chapter of 1st Corinthians, in your greek 
 Testament; and judge, whether there is not as ex¬ 
 press a recognition of the Christian Pasch, there, as 
 could be conveyed in language. Judge, also, whether 
 our translation does any justice to, or even makes 
 sound sense of the passage. There are various rea¬ 
 sons, from internal evidence, to conclude, that the 
 Apostle wrote in, or about, the paschal season. He 
 takes occasion, therefore, from the exactness of the 
 Jews in ceremonial matters, to urge upon the Co¬ 
 rinthians a like attention to moral expurgation. 
 And, as an apposite motive, he says, Kai yap to 
 
 * Mr. Knox’s birth-day. . . Ed. 
 
542 
 
 7r dcyoL rj[Aci)v inrsp r^puov sMtj XpiFTog, toVrs sopra^copisv, 
 &c. What is this, but 4 For our Passover, also, 
 was sacrificed for us, even Christ; therefore let us 
 keep the feast?’ That is, let us be as spiritually 
 diligent, as they are, ceremonially: for we have our 
 Passover, as really as they. As to the construction, 
 compare St. John iv. 45., last words of the verse. 
 
 I must say no more, but that I am ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 LETTER 73. 
 
 To the Rev . J. Jebb. 
 
 Bellevtie, April 24. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I sent you meo jpericulo , by J. F., the four pub¬ 
 lished volumes of Edwards’s works. You say no¬ 
 thing of them, but I cannot doubt your liking to 
 have them; and, if you were of somewhat another 
 mind, I could soon reason you out of it: Jonathan 
 Edwards being really one of the grandest of our 
 allies. He doubtless pushes his voyages of disco¬ 
 very, up into the antarctic ice of metaphysic; but 
 his own heart had a warmth, that no intellectual 
 climate could chill; and therefore, he not only 
 lives, but glows, where any weaker moral vitality 
 would have been frost-bitten. 
 
 What for the present I wish to point your atten¬ 
 tion to, are those parts, which seem eminently fitted 
 to meet existing errors. For instance, vol. iii. 296, 
 7, 8. 497- . . 502. 541, 2, 3, 4, 5. 549, 50, 1, 2. I 
 also think the following 4 Reflection (iv.) ’ is worth 
 
543 
 
 reading; as giving Jonathan Edwards’s ideas of Cal¬ 
 vinism. Had he been better read in ecclesiastical 
 antiquity, he would have adopted another appella¬ 
 tion ; his plan being really, not Calvinism, but augus- 
 tinism; and his leading principle, (p. 550.) ‘that 
 the grace, or virtue, of truly good men, not only dif¬ 
 fers from the virtue of others, in degree, but even in 
 nature and kind’; being, not even augustinism, but 
 the sentiment of Basil and Macarius, and, I am sure 
 I might say, of all the catholic fathers, as really, as 
 of Augustin. Probably he would have refused to 
 admit, what I conceive those referred to, hold; 
 that the lower goodness predisposed, or might at 
 least predispose, for the higher. But, as for the 
 thing itself, it seems to be no more than St. Paul’s 
 distinction, of the righteousness of the law, and the 
 righteousness of faith. 
 
 But, in the parts of the volume I am bidding 
 you turn over, will you not find something also, 
 tending to show, that the sublimest truths, need to 
 be cautiously, . . circumferentially guarded ? Look, 
 for instance, at what Brainard says, in the 501st 
 page, and at what Edwards himself says, in the 1st 
 paragraph of the 3d section of the Reflections, 
 (p. 539.) and judge, whether there is not a verging 
 towards mysticism ? Brainard slightly; but Ed¬ 
 wards, I conceive, more decidedly. In fact, Brainard 
 learned it from Edwards ; being, at the same time, 
 peculiarly predisposed to it, both by the virtues, and 
 the defects of his mind. 
 
 You will observe, I am not censuring these sen¬ 
 timents, in the connection in which I now find 
 them : because I think it morally impossible, that 
 thorough-bred calvinists, could have become the ade¬ 
 quate correctors of their native errors, without pass- 
 
544 
 
 ing into this species of extreme. But still, especially 
 as Edwards expresses it, an extreme I must hold it 
 to be; and an extreme terminating (as shown in the 
 parallelism between Law and Walker) in an error of 
 the very sort, which Edwards is anxious to extirpate. 
 
 < His joy’, says he, p. 539. ‘ was joy in God, and not 
 in himself; not so much the consideration of the sure 
 grounds he had, to think that his state was good, but 
 the sweet meditations, and entertaining views, he had 
 of divine things, without himself.’ Now, in Brainard 
 and Edwards (and in Richard Baxter, who, in his ac¬ 
 count of his own later feelings, talks in the same way) 
 this might be, and was, perfectly safe. But let the 
 truth of this principle be generally admitted, and 
 what room may it leave for minds of an equally sub¬ 
 tile, but less delicately moral cast, to let the ground 
 of their hearts run wild, while they themselves were 
 occupied in transcendental contemplations? I humbly 
 hope, both you and I possess an advantage above 
 Edwards, Brainard, Leighton, and many others; 
 namely, that we have no original incongruities. 
 This is the point. He that has been the captive of 
 any one error, during the former part of life, can 
 hardly avoid making alliance with some opposite 
 error, when the dangers, attendant on his first un¬ 
 mixed theory, present themselves to his view. Yet 
 this, no doubt, has its use, beyond the individual; 
 it appears to be necessary for the more extended ex¬ 
 pelling of the error. The fact of Brainard and 
 Edwards running, from the abuses of their own 
 system, into almost an opposite abuse, being evi¬ 
 dently more impressive, than all our temperament of 
 truth. 1 believe I have a peculiar jealousy of every 
 thing, that can, in any respect, imply sickliness of 
 mind. I feel so deeply, that revealed religion is 
 
545 
 
 adapted to the full organ of our inner man, that I 
 dread the idea of a single stop being out of order. 
 And I believe, that, if there be a mind on this earth, 
 which rivals mine in this feeling, it is your own ; 
 for which reason, when any occasion suggests such 
 thoughts, as I have been now expressing, they na¬ 
 turally, and almost necessarily, take vent to you. 
 
 Did I desire you to read Chrysostom’s exposition 
 of the 9th verse of the 10th chap, of St. John ? 
 What he says on going in and out, is very remark¬ 
 able. 
 
 You know from-, that I got your little poem 
 
 printed. Shall I send you some copies ? I do not 
 think it would have been quite the thing for yourself 
 to have done ; but when a friend did it ex mero 
 motu, you might give a copy to one that might wish 
 to have it, and state the simple fact. 
 
 Mrs. Forster (James F.’s mother,) got a copy from 
 
 me to send to-. The reply was, * I thank you 
 
 1000 times for the pretty lines on-. I am sure 
 
 she is a sweet creature ; and I trust the good advice 
 and wishes, contained in the few last lines, will be 
 granted,’ 
 
 # * * # # # # 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 vol. i. 
 
 N N 
 
546 
 
 LETTER 7L 
 To the Rev . J . Jebb. 
 
 May 29. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I was gratified at your so fully agreeing with me, 
 respecting those passages in Edwards. But the most 
 important work of that extraordinary man, has not 
 yet come forward in this edition. I mean, his His¬ 
 tory of Redemption. I consider that work to be 
 one of the most valuable, that have come from an 
 uninspired human pen. Though I really think, that, 
 in such works, there is a secondary inspiration : such 
 as the later Jews used to call, Bath col . ‘The 
 daughter of a voice’, I think, they translate it. 
 
 Two reformations were necessary : one in the 
 individual view, in opposition to unphilosophical 
 dogmatism ; the other, in the collective view, in op¬ 
 position to sectarianism. The book on the affections, 
 wonderfully provides for the one ; that on redemp¬ 
 tion, as wonderfully makes way, and furnishes means, 
 for the other. I own it amazes me, to find a cal- 
 vinistic champion, famous in the congregation, and 
 one of renown, so affording materials for demolishing 
 the system, of which he himself seemed to make a 
 part, and by the individuals of which, he is virtually 
 canonized. 
 
 A propos to canonized. This day I was at a book- 
 auction of a deceased priest; and there was such a 
 phalanx of sacrifical bidders, as, in one or two in¬ 
 stances, to distance poor me. For instance, I wished 
 
to have 4 Nicole sur l’Unit6 de l’Eglise’, a duode¬ 
 cimo volume ; and it went off against me, at ten 
 shillings. In truth, there was a great zeal amongst 
 them, to catch what they liked. But, when a large 
 paper Elzevir Colloquia Erasmi, came forward, I got 
 it at a third of its value; not one of them having a 
 word to say on that subject. This was very know¬ 
 ing, and very proper, provided they were not afraid 
 of one another ; but the silence, in the midst of such 
 eagerness, was amusing. 
 
 Mercier remarked to me on their zeal to purchase ; 
 and so did Jones ; therefore, it is no fancy of mine. 
 But it is a great confirmation of my fancies ; for, if 
 they will read, they will think ; and if they think, in 
 this reformed land, light will come in upon them, in 
 spite of themselves. I grow in all my notions, . . 
 
 Parva metu primo, vires acquirit eundo,* 
 
 Who can doubt, that a reading and thinking R. C. 
 clergy, will, at length, come to 4 the unity’!; of 
 which, I humbly conceive, we are the first fruits. 
 
 It is wonderful what provision is made for disabus¬ 
 ing them, as soon as they shall be capable of think¬ 
 ing. I was led to examine St. Cyprian, a few days 
 ago, on the points between us, and the Church of 
 Rome : and what I found there, exceeds my expect¬ 
 ation. I have always thought, there were just two 
 points of real difficulty : the supremacy of the pope, 
 and transubstantiation. On both, St. Cyprian gives 
 deep satisfaction. Respecting the first, read Epist. 
 Ixviii., in Fell’s edition. Mark, particularly, the 2d 
 paragraph, 4 Iccirco enim, &c.’; and observe, also, 
 that remarkable expression, in the last paragraph, 
 
 * With tim’rous steps essay my infant pace, 
 
 Gain strength by going, and speed on the race, 
 t Ephes. iv. 13. . . Ed. 
 
 N N 2 
 
548 
 
 * Etsi pastores multi, unum tamen gregem pascimus* * * § , 
 kc.’ ; and above all, lower down, speaking of the 
 heretical Gallic Bishop Marcianus, ‘ Nec sic agat, 
 quasi ipse judicaverit de collegio sacerdotum, quando 
 ipse sit ab universis sacerdotibus judicatus.’f I can¬ 
 not but deem this last, a brain-blow ; if a second is 
 necessary, we have it in the end of the lxxii. letter 
 (to Brother Stephen, also). 4 Qua in re, nec nos vim 
 iniquam facimus, aut legem damus, cum habeat in 
 ecclesise administratione voluntatis suae arbitrium 
 liberum unusquisque praepositus, rationem actus sui 
 domino redditurus.’t 
 
 As to the other point, I only say, read carefully 
 the lxiii. Epist. to Cecilia; and weigh, especially, the 
 4th and 5th paragraphs. 
 
 If things be practicable, I shall like the English 
 expedition much§, and, in the mean time, am 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 * Although we be many shepherds, we feed but the one flock, 
 
 f Neither let him so bear himself, as if he were entitled to pass judgment on 
 the college of priests, when he himself stands judged by the priesthood. 
 
 | In which thing, we neither employ unjust compulsion, nor give the law, 
 since every bishop is at liberty to use his free will in the administration of the 
 church, being about hereafter to render account of his administration to the Lord. 
 
 § A long-contemplated joint visit to England, (see Letter LXXXV.) which 
 took place this year. . . Ed. 
 
5M) 
 
 LETTER LXXXIIL 
 To A. Knoi\ Esq. 
 
 Cashel, May 31. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 1 wo or three lines, to thank you for your letter, 
 and for thinking about me, at the book auction. I 
 should be glad to have any decent copy of' St. Basil 
 secured. To get the best editions of the fathers, is, 
 I fear, hopeless.* Are there any other books that I 
 should have, in the collection of the deceased priest? 
 If so, I would thank you to tell Jones to secure 
 them for me. I see, from the papers, that Mrs. Col¬ 
 bert is to publish, to-morrow, a priced catalogue. 
 Could you get it, and send it me by post; and 
 indeed, if, on looking it over, there appears any 
 thing in my way, would you have the goodness to 
 order it ? 
 
 I shall go to the Library, for the purpose of read¬ 
 ing the passages of St. Cyprian that you quote. 
 Meanwhile, I cordially agree, that Cyprian, and men 
 like Cyprian, have been canonized to good purpose; 
 for I have not the shadow of doubt, that they will 
 yet, by their writings, serve to catholicize the ro- 
 manists, when they come to think ; after having had 
 sufficient training in the way of study. Unquestion¬ 
 ably this is, with them, the age of reading. It is 
 
 * A few years after, the Bishop, when rector of Abington, made nearly a 
 complete collection of the Benedictine editions, which he lived to perfect. . . Ed. 
 
 N N 3 
 
550 
 
 astonishing, how much they publish, and re-publish. 
 The day before yesterday, I bought, in Clonmel, 
 4 Hawarden’s Church of Christ’; first printed in 
 London, 1714. Now reprinted, Dubl. by Coyne, 
 3 vols. 8vo., with 158 ecclesiastical, and 128 lay 
 subscribers, nine of whom have subscribed, for 210 
 copies; so that here are 486 copies of this work, dis¬ 
 posed of by subscription, besides all that may be sold 
 to non-subscribers. For my own part, I am pleased 
 to see works printed and read in Ireland, though 
 against protestantism ; or even what I love far better 
 than protestantism, the catholic Church of England. 
 
 Hawarden is well read in the protestant divines ; 
 and in his third volume, is a treatise against Dr. 
 Clarke and the arians. Probably you have the work 
 already ; if not, I conceive you should send for it 
 forthwith. 
 
 I have this morning been reading the preface to 
 the tract on the Invocation of Saints, in the second 
 volume ; and was much struck by what is said § viii. 
 Does not this give a glimpse of the manner, in which 
 they will ultimately come to the unity ? In the tract 
 itself, p. 311, § v. 4 Jure matris impera filio’, was as 
 hyperbolical, as that the blessed Virgin is 4 the mo¬ 
 ther of the whole Trinity.’ And if such expressions 
 as these, had ever been approved by the whole 
 church, and used dogmatically (neither of which is 
 true,) the reformation would have been commendable . 
 § vi. 4 But we say ten Ave Marias for one Pater¬ 
 noster. Is this required by the terms of our com¬ 
 munion ? If not, you may say ten, or if you please, 
 ten thousand Paternosters, either for one Ave Maria, 
 or for none at all. And, if ever the controversies, 
 between the two churches, be reduced to this, all 
 good men will easily join, in a common petition to 
 
55 1 
 
 their pastors, that there may be no hyperboles, in 
 any church office.’ 
 
 I soberly think a trip to England, or at least an 
 excursion somewhere, greatly expedient for me. My 
 mind is sodden, by a full twelve month’s absence of 
 any thing, that can be fairly called society; save 
 
 and except a few days with-. But things may 
 
 not be practicable ; therefore I shall, I trust, make 
 up my mind, if not cheerfully, at least with full ac¬ 
 quiescence, to disappointment ; and rest assured, that 
 even present inconvenience will work for my per¬ 
 manent advantage. This has been the case hitherto ; 
 and I humbly hope, will be so to the end. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 J. J. 
 
 LETTER 75 . 
 
 To the Rev . J . Jebh . 
 
 Dublin, June 3. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 My present letter must be brief indeed, as I am on 
 
 the wing returning to B-with my friends, who 
 
 go in an hour. 
 
 As to England, if you clearly make up your own 
 mind to it, I am at your service. It is quite in my 
 power; and, though I have no wish, abstractedly, to 
 move, (though I dare say, I, too, am not out of the 
 need of it,) yet I could not really form to myself an 
 idea of doing any thing more pleasant, than taking 
 such a jaunt with you. 
 
 N N 4 
 
I have a very decent Basil for you ; and I shall 
 beg your acceptance of my Fleury; having got a 
 complete set at this late auction. I think you will 
 easily get the supplementary volumes, from the same 
 Frenchman; Dulau, I think, his name is. 
 
 I send you a curious pamphlet, which I got a day 
 or two ago from London. 
 
 But I have to add, what I had almost forgot, that 
 I am struck, within this day or two, with a motive 
 for not going to Cashel, as soon as I had intended. 
 It is this ; the methodist conference takes place, the 
 first week in July. Ought I to be out of town, at 
 that time ? I soberly think, I am gaining deeply on 
 some leading methodist preachers. One, here in 
 Dublin, is a perfect admirer of our view T s ; so, I may 
 say, is another ; if this could be made to grow, what 
 might not follow ! I own this impresses me ; and 
 makes me fear I should leave a providential oppor¬ 
 tunity behind me ; if I should go, till that is over. 
 At all events, let me have your thoughts. Thanks 
 for all communications. I could talk of myself, but 
 must say only, that I am, ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 LETTER LXXXIV. 
 
 To A. Knoi\ Esq . 
 
 Cashel, June 5. 1809- 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 X am deeply gratified, at the prospect of our taking 
 together, our long-projected jaunt to England ; which, 
 you may recollect, was in agitation precisely ten years 
 
553 
 
 ago. After close calculation, I believe I may venture 
 on it, without any thing that properly deserves the 
 name of imprudence ; and, where health, and espe¬ 
 cially the mens sana, is at all in question, I conceive 
 that a little additional expense is not to be started 
 from. This morning, therefore, I have ‘ clearly made 
 up my own mind’ ; and having done so, I stated my 
 purpose to the Archbishop, and asked his permission, 
 and received his most ready consent. Along with 
 this affair, I coupled your notice for delay ; which I 
 think you will not disapprove of. The fact is, the 
 Archbishop had mentioned, two or three days ago, his 
 having some thoughts of giving Ballispellan water a 
 trial; but the time, he said, must depend on your 
 plans, for the summer campaign; also, he told me, 
 that he must, very shortly, pass a couple of days at 
 Sir W. Barker’s. This led me to ask his Grace, 
 whether your coming this week, or somewhat later, 
 might be most convenient; and he was disposed to 
 think the latter. I then produced your letters, and 
 read about the conference; and he decidedly agrees 
 with me, in thinking your presence may be of im¬ 
 portance. Then, I suggested the notion of outgoing 
 to England, immediately after conference, and re¬ 
 turning by way of Waterford; so as that your visit 
 might be paid, after his Grace’s return from B. Spel- 
 lan; an arrangement, with which he seemed per¬ 
 fectly satisfied, as most desirable and convenient for 
 all parties : giving us the finest part of the year in 
 England, and leaving him the prospect of uninter¬ 
 ruptedly enjoying you at Cashel, towards the close 
 of summer. I conclude, therefore, that you will 
 postpone your journey hither. The Archbishop will 
 go next week to Sir W. B.’s; the week after, on 
 the 22d instant, will be the visitation; and should 
 
554 
 
 nothing intervene, on monday the 25th, if you do not 
 forbid me, I meet you in Dublin ; and we can settle 
 matters for sailing, immediately after conference. 
 This is a dull, heavy, prosing statement, full of ‘ said 
 he’s’, and ‘ said IV ; for which a confused aching 
 head must be my excuse. It will abundantly answer 
 my purpose, however, if it conveys my meaning ; 
 but especially, if you do not disapprove of the 
 manner, in which I have arranged matters with the 
 Archbishop. 
 
 I have but a moment to thank you, for your most 
 kind and invaluable gift of Fleury, as well as for 
 securing me Basil. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 J. J. 
 
 LETTER 76 . 
 To the Rev . J. Jehb. 
 
 June 13. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I must be very brief; but I do not wish to let an 
 opportunity pass, of giving you all the fixedness of 
 feeling I can, relative to our movements. I like all 
 you say, except the return by Waterford. That, I 
 own, I revolt from ; but shall be ready to hear your 
 answers to my objections. One, however, may not 
 be possible to answer; I feel myself bound, by your 
 going, to give Miss Fergusson the gratification of 
 being of the party. I need not tell you, that it will 
 
555 
 
 make it much more pleasant to us; and, to her, it 
 will be, please Providence, one of the highest recrea¬ 
 tions a human creature could enjoy. Hers is just 
 the mind, for drinking in such a pleasure; now I 
 need say nothing more, to explain the difficulty. It 
 will be plain I must reconduct Miss F. home, before 
 I can go any where. I should not be sorry, I own, 
 to see her at Cashel, but that would not become me 
 to intimate; and, in fact, I never wish to be promo¬ 
 vent in any thing. The 26th, I purpose being in 
 Dublin. 
 
 It is curious, how active the R. C.s are in pub¬ 
 lishing. It seems as if they wanted to bring forward 
 all their force; in order to that force being brought 
 to a final trial. There are interesting, and important 
 things in Hawarden. He was far from illiberal, 
 considering his belief What a noble saying that is, 
 at the end of the first paragraph, Vol. I. Preface, 
 page xi. 
 
 But oh! how much is to be settled on all sides! 
 among protestants, no less than among R. C.s! I 
 own to you, I seem to myself to be continually rising 
 on that fair hill, which Providence has set me upon, 
 and given me the ambition to scale. And I almost 
 think, that, as I rise, the horizon grows wider, and, 
 in some degree, more luminous. 
 
 I must say not one word more; as Mrs. B., who 
 carries this to town, has summoned me. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
556 
 
 LETTER LXXXV. 
 
 To A. Knox , Esq . 
 
 Cashel, June 16. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 This night, I received your short, but most pleasant 
 and acceptable letter. I rejoice in the acquisition to 
 our party. Our pleasure will be greatly heightened; 
 and not least, I trust, by being witnesses, and to the 
 best of our power, promoters of Miss Fergusson’s en¬ 
 joyment, in, I believe, her first visit to England. As 
 to Waterford, it is very far from essential to the 
 scheme, on any ground that I know of; that, and all 
 other matters of detail, we can settle when we meet. 
 All I wish to be laid down, is, that we return to Cashel 
 together; and I hope that the whole party will be 
 united, in the finale of the jaunt. If there be no 
 providential impediment, I hope to leave this on 
 tuesday, the 27 th instant. 
 
 I have had a kindly letter from worthy Mr. Kerr, 
 of the methodist book-room. Take care that your 
 kindness has not made you relinquish in my favour, 
 what you ought to retain for yourself. You may 
 guess that I gladly send a request, that the invaluable 
 ‘ Christian Library’, might be reserved for me. But, 
 remember, if you wish it, that you are the rightful 
 owner. I procured from London, 32 vols. of Wes¬ 
 ley’s works; and also 7> of psalms, hymns, and sacred 
 poems. The Christian Library, to my no small dis- 
 
557 
 
 I y 
 
 appointment, had been sold, before I wrote to Lack- 
 ington. 
 
 Farewell, my dearest Friend, 
 
 J» J. 
 
 LETTER 77* 
 
 To the Rev . J . Jebb . 
 
 Bellevue, June 20. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Y our letter, which had lain a day or two in Dublin, 
 
 reached me here last night. While I was reading 
 
 it, I had pleasure in thinking, that, before that time, 
 
 you had mine in your hands. 
 
 # # * # * # 
 
 I presume you will, about this time, be in pos¬ 
 session of the Edinburgh Review. What a set of 
 rough riders they are! And yet how much substantial 
 truth do they throw out. I laughed over the critique 
 on Mr. John Stiles, as much as 1 have done in reading 
 any thing. The attack on Coelebs is coarse and 
 indiscriminative ; bespeaks gross ignorance of facts, 
 and unkindly feelings to all religious strictness, how¬ 
 ever wisely adopted, or philosophically justifiable. 
 Still, there is truth spoken. They do catch the secret 
 of methodism, in every page of the work ; and the 
 antipathy which is thereby called forth, is not wholly 
 and solely, enmity against goodness, let the aggrieved 
 parties think as they may. The ground of the dis¬ 
 like is fully laid open, in the philippic against Mr. 
 John Stiles ; and who, that can judge, will say, that 
 
05 8 
 
 the vulnerable parts are not adroitly hit; or that the 
 inductions are not, in several deeply important in¬ 
 stances, as irresistible, as they are revolting. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 P. S. Will you have the goodness to look for, and 
 bring with you, my letter to you, containing the out¬ 
 line of the New Testament hierarchical establishment; 
 the Ephesian business, you know : I succeeded pretty 
 well in putting down my thoughts compendiously ; 
 and I wish to copy, what I then wrote. 
 
 LETTER 78. 
 
 To the Rev . J. Jebb. 
 
 Bellevue, June 21. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I write a single line to say, that you ought to put 
 up, when you are coming off, as many sermons as 
 you can conveniently stow; that is, about half a 
 dozen: not that you would have a call for such a 
 number; but that you might have choice, if you 
 should any where be called upon. 
 
 Mark that curious commencement of the article 
 on Morehead’s discourses. I am not disposed to 
 give the Edinburgh Reviewers, a bit more credit 
 than they deserve; but still, when they speak truth, 
 they deserve to be listened to; and when they ac¬ 
 cord with us, we have some reason to wonder, as 
 well as be gratified. In the paragraphs I refer to, 
 
559 
 
 however, there are awful, as well as important truths. 
 And the remedy for the evil, which they point out, is 
 astonishingly hit off; though they are far, from either 
 understanding, or loving, the substance of that sys¬ 
 tem, which they endeavour to bring into notice. Of 
 this, their mode of talking, generally, would be a 
 sufficient proof; but they directly evince it, by sup¬ 
 pressing some of Burnet’s strong expressions. And 
 an additional evidence arises, from their critique of 
 Taylor’s Plato. Their views of the later platonists, 
 are, I dare say, not wholly unjust; but their repre¬ 
 sentation of Plato himself, is clearly erroneous. He 
 does put forth positive principles; and does put 
 them into the mouth of Socrates. For instance, in 
 the Phsedo. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER LXXXVI. 
 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 Cashel, June 23. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 ###### 
 
 As to the success of certain ways of thinking, no one 
 can feel more thoroughly than I do, that it must be 
 altogether oupotvoQsv. Providence, it is true, may, and 
 doubtless will, raise instruments to promote what is 
 true and good. But what mortal can presume to de- 
 
560 
 
 cide, upon what is the chosen instrumentality? Here, 
 the utmost in our power, is, to speculate with mo¬ 
 desty, on present probable co-agency : and to do so, 
 not only with great sobriety, but no more than is ne¬ 
 cessary for our own immediate guidance, I feel to be, 
 if not an absolute duty, at least the more prudent, 
 safe, and comfortable course. Man, or men, can in 
 truth do nothing ; nothing of themselves. But it is 
 the grand consolation, that, whatever of important 
 truth has, hitherto, been apprehended, will never be 
 suffered to perish. Attributing, as from my heart you 
 know I do, great wisdom and rightness to certain 
 favourite principles, I have the firmest conviction, 
 that, if you, and all who in any measure think and 
 feel with you, were to be this moment swept from 
 the face of the earth; the same principles, the same 
 sentiments, the same feelings, would, at the properest 
 time, be committed, by Him who best knows how to 
 promote his own cause, to the most suitable instru¬ 
 ments and agents ; by them to be improved, matured, 
 systematized, promulgated, and finally made trium¬ 
 phant over the face of the whole earth. With this 
 c tuvtsT^sioc ravj oucovmv in view, how can we be, with 
 any justice, uneasy, about the intermediate process? 
 What though 4 shadows, clouds, and darkness’, were, 
 in a great measure, to obscure the intervening space ; 
 it is surely, a great thing, to behold the sun-gilt emi¬ 
 nence, in our horizon, distinctly marked, and exhi¬ 
 biting, at once, the boldest, and the loveliest features: 
 and, it is still greater, humbly to trust, that we are, 
 individually, in progress towards that holy mountain, 
 where none shall hurt nor destroy. If indeed, we may 
 hope, that we are to be employed, in any degree, 
 in promoting the great consummation, it is surely 
 cause of unspeakable thankfulness and joy. But 
 
561 
 
 even if we should clearly be set aside, there would be 
 no just ground to repine, or even strongly to regret; 
 for our own individual rightness being secured, 
 (which, after all, is our great business, the rest flowing 
 out of this,) it surely matters little, whether the great 
 scheme be materially advanced, now, or fifty, or a 
 hundred years hence. The end will set all right. 
 
 I know not whether all I have said, may be clearly 
 intelligible : but, so far as I can understand myself, 
 it is not only my deliberate judgment, but my settled 
 practical feeling. Doubtless, from bodily, or mental 
 malady, this train of thought and sentiment is fre¬ 
 quently diverted; but, on the calmest reflection, I 
 am happy to think, that, whenever I am myself, it 
 returns ; and I seem even to perceive, that it returns 
 with considerable addition of strength, flowing from 
 the temporary diversion ; as when a deviating branch 
 returns to its parent river, recruited by fresh streams. 
 Discipline, is the nurse, if not the mother of wisdom. 
 
 Yours entirely, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 Hnfcq 'i 
 
 P.S. I have just received your short letter; and 
 shall attend to your direction about sermons. I have 
 not seen a No. of the Edin. Rev. since the 25th, and 
 am, therefore, at least two Nos. in arrear ; but it is 
 curious, that, even from former Nos., H. W. and I 
 have been disposed to view them as allies; irregular 
 skirmishers, to be sure, and with an odd war-whoop 
 of their own, but still allies. One strong example is, 
 what they said, some Nos. since, about missions. It 
 is a pleasant thing, for the congruities to be brought 
 out, between good sense without religion, and good 
 sense with religion ; inasmuch as this may give us a 
 purchase, by which we may gain over people, from 
 vol. i. • o o 
 
5G C 2 
 
 irreligion, to religion. This observation, I made this 
 evening to the Archbishop, before receiving your 
 last. He instantly accorded. ‘ Yes \ said he, ‘ it is a 
 £ 0 £ 7 rou (tto) :’ — was not this well ? 
 
 LETTER 79. 
 To the Rev . J. Jebb . 
 
 Dawson St., Dec. 6. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I am looking particularly at L —*s Bampton Lec¬ 
 tures ; in the notes to which, there is a great deal 
 of interesting matter. The point is clearly made out, 
 that Cranmer had the lutheran confession of faith in 
 his view; and adhered to it, whenever moderation 
 did not require that it should be dropped for a time. 
 
 But L- does not enough see, that our reformers 
 
 were not founders of a church. He does not enough 
 see, that, in recognizing the right of the church to 
 decide in controversies of faith, there was an alle¬ 
 giance to the church catholic, acknowledged by our 
 church ; which reduces all that was done about 
 articles and homilies, to such a municipal rank, as to 
 make it, of necessity, but subordinately and condi¬ 
 tionally obligatory, even on subscribers. In such a 
 subscription, the rights of the church catholic were 
 self-evidently saved, by the simultaneous acknow¬ 
 ledgment of those rights : it being, not the church 
 of England merely, but, a fortiori at least, the 
 church universal, which ought to be listened to. If, 
 therefore, the church of England, has unwittingly 
 
563 
 
 attested any thing, contrary to the voice of the church 
 catholic, she has placed herself under correction, by 
 the paramount principle which she has acknowledged; 
 and all her specific propositions are, of course, to be 
 limited, by her primary concession. 
 
 Yours unalterably, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 P. S. How near was I forgetting, what I ought not 
 to forget. You are to know, that an early day is a 
 great object, at the Asylum, for the charity sermons ; 
 accordingly, with difficulty, the third Sunday in Fe¬ 
 bruary has been taken possession of. I do not know 
 how this will suit you ; but I venture to say, that the 
 day cannot be well altered. I therefore tell you in 
 time ; that you may think, and act accordingly. 
 
 LETTER LXXXVII. 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, Dec. 6. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 You may naturally begin to wonder at me; and, in 
 truth, I wonder at myself. I have not, however, 
 been so negligent as I must appear; for I have now 
 on my table, a letter written to you, dated the 22d 
 November; which, by some oversight, I neglected 
 sending to the post that day, and afterwards intended 
 to replace, by something fuller. Since my return, a 
 smart cold has kept me pretty closely confined to the 
 house. Some time was necessarily given to unpack- 
 
 o o 2 
 
564 
 
 ing, more to arranging, and most of all, to looking 
 over my books, so as to form an acquaintance with 
 them. They have all arrived in high preservation. 
 The expences of them, from London, somewhat ex¬ 
 ceeded 10/. I took one liberty, which I know not 
 whether you will think justifiable ; namely, with very 
 slight alterations, I preached your Whitsunday ser¬ 
 mon, which improved on me, as I became better 
 acquainted with it. What I chiefly admire is, that it 
 familiarizes a subject, which is too seldom familiarly 
 treated; and gives definite and rationally intelligible 
 views, instead of vague and rapturous declamation. 
 Last Sunday, I preached a sermon, which I wrote in 
 the preceding week : if it be not one of my best, (and 
 I think it is not,) neither is it, by any means, one of 
 my worst. There is some flow in it; and to have 
 done any thing, is rather encouraging. 
 
 You will be pleased to hear, that I rather enjoy my 
 nest; that the bird’s wings do not begin to flutter for 
 another flight. Naturam expellas furca tamen usque, 
 &c.; before I was sixteen, I scribbled verses in praise 
 of solitude; and, even then, occasional seclusion was 
 my best medicine, when any thing wrong within, 
 ruffled my mind, or depressed my spirits. It is, there¬ 
 fore, not wonderftd, that, after having been near five 
 months in uninterrupted society, retirement should 
 be felt to have some charms, and, I trust, some ad¬ 
 vantages. I have been taking a full, and certainly 
 not a morbid retrospect of my deportment, during 
 our never-to-be-forgotten journey; and I must take 
 shame to myself, for having too often indulged a ca¬ 
 villing, disputatious spirit, when it should much rather 
 have been my delight to listen and improve, and 
 thankfully avail myself of the uncommon advantages 
 with which I was blest. This, I say soberly, deli- 
 
565 
 
 berately, and after making every fair allowance for 
 the state of my health. You well know, that ‘ bad 
 nerves, bad health, and naturally bad spirits’, were 
 insufficient to disturb the sweet benignity of Benson. 
 And I, too, though far from the ‘ templa serena ’, 
 which this good man had happily reached, might have 
 borne up better, if I had more diligently sought the 
 best aid, and improved the means of self-discipline, 
 that were within my power. I am now most conscious, 
 that, in almost every instance, where we differed in 
 opinion, I was wrong; particularly, on different oc¬ 
 casions at Mr. Stock’s* ; at B-, when we talked 
 
 of Cowper’s imitation of Horace; and in the con¬ 
 versation about Hannah More, the last day I dined 
 with you. Your patience and forbearance, now sur¬ 
 prize me; and I have recalled to my mind many in¬ 
 stances, in which you took the kindest pains to save 
 me from little uneasinesses, though I am sure many 
 more such instances, will never be known to me, at 
 least in this life. If I were sure that what has passed, 
 may not have lowered me, both in your esteem and 
 affection, I should not greatly regret it. The tend¬ 
 ency and temper were manifestly in me ; and was it 
 not, on the whole, desirable, that they should show 
 themselves ? It is hard to combat with a hidden foe ; 
 and an unsuspected ambuscade, is next to inevitable. 
 I now know the quarter on which I am exposed, as 
 well as the enemy I have to guard against. I shall, 
 however, make no professions ; for professions are 
 dangerous things. Let me simply add, that, even if 
 truth had been on my side, I too often expressed my- 
 
 * Thomas Stock, Esq., of Bristol; whose friendship Bishop Jebb ever 
 esteemed, as among the most valued blessings of his life. In justice to the 
 Bishop’s memory, the editor cannot omit this name, and must only throw himself 
 on his excellent friend’s indulgence for thus inserting it. 
 
 o o 3 
 
566 
 
 self in a manner, not to say in terms, that truth itself 
 could by no means justify. Francis de Sales has fur¬ 
 nished me with two maxims, which I wish never to 
 forget, and which I have placed like a motto, fully 
 intelligible only to myself, in the very front of my 
 scrap book.* 
 
 ‘ 11 faut mieux taire une verity que de la dire de mauvaise 
 grace : 
 
 Le silence judicieux, est toujours meilleur, qu’une verite non 
 charitable.’ 
 
 As I was finishing the last sentence, your most 
 welcome letter was brought in to me ; the subscrip¬ 
 tion of it, ‘ yours unalterably’, was peculiarly con¬ 
 soling to me, amidst fears, which I could not help 
 entertaining, that I had given but too much cause for 
 alteration. I shall now be more disposed to hope, 
 that all may yet be well. By the way, tell my kind 
 friend Miss Fergusson, with my best regards, that I 
 feel it an act of justice, not more to the memory of 
 Francis de Sales, than to my own poor judgment, to 
 retract, as I now do most fully, whatever of a depre¬ 
 ciating nature I may have said, of that bien-heureux. 
 He was not only one of the best, but most judicious 
 of human beings ; and I rejoice in having so much of 
 his remains. I wish you, very particularly, to look 
 at Saint Augustine de doctrina Christiana; Lib. iv. 
 cap. 20.; and to begin with the words, ‘ in illis autem 
 apostolicis verbis, dictio temperata est, &c.’ ; and to 
 end ‘ haec inde non transtulit.’ There is something, 
 in all this, wonderfully accordant with our views of 
 hebrew poetry. If you think with me, and would 
 like something of the same stamp, I will transcribe, in 
 my next, some very remarkable passages of Erasmus. 
 
 * The Bishop’s scrap-books, of which he left several, were all formed in the 
 spirit of this motto. . . Ed. 
 
56 7 
 
 I had been anxious to hear about your health. I 
 rejoice in having an account, on the whole, so favour¬ 
 able. The weather has been, indeed, trying. I have 
 had my own share of indisposition ; and I trust a 
 change will do us both good. I believe we should 
 both do well to walk, but you have more induce¬ 
 ments. 
 
 Farewell, and believe me ever, 
 
 Your most cordially attached, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 P. S. I happened on a little sentence or two, in 
 Clemens Alexandrinus, that pleased me mightily. 
 A yocSog [x ev o Qsog §/’ eowtov, Oixuiog %s rfis 8/' y[X 0 Lg, xott 
 toutq on ayotQog.* And again, ttqiv yap xt/o'ttjv ysvEcr- 
 6a/, ©£ 0 £ 7)V f oLyctSog r)V c xou S/a touto, xcli <bjpt/ougy og, 
 xou Trarrjg 7}&E7ir)G'EV.t Tom. i. ix. p. 150. 
 
 I make a little use of my books. St Augustine 
 will have his share of my attention and regard. What 
 think you of what follows ? I take it from my scrap¬ 
 book. 4 Festinemus itaque ad illud bonum, quod 
 neque locis grassatur, nec tempore volvitur ; et unde 
 speciem formamque accipiunt omnes locales, tempo- 
 ralesque naturae. Ad quod videndum, mundemus 
 cor, per fidem domini nostri, Jesu Christi; qui ait, 
 Beati mundi corde, quoniam ipsi videbunt Deum. 
 Non autem eos oculos ad illud bonum cernendum 
 praeparari oportet, quibus cernitur lux ista diffusa per 
 locos, et non ubique integra, sed aliam partem hie 
 habens, alibi aliam. Verum ilium aspectum aciemque 
 purgemus, quo cernitur, quantum in hac vita licet, 
 
 * God is good, for his own sake, but just, on our account; and he is just, 
 because he is good. 
 
 f Before he became Creator, he was God, he was goodness ; and because he 
 was God and goodness, therefore he willed to become, both our Creator, and 
 our Father; 
 
 O O 4 
 
568 
 
 quid sit justum, quid pium, quid sit sapiential pulchri- 
 tudo. . quge, quisquis cernit, praeponit longe omnium 
 localium spaciorum plenitudini; et sentit, ut ista 
 cernat, non per locorum spacia diffundi aciem mentis 
 sua?, sed incorporea potentia stabiliri.’*—.Lib. Cont. 
 Epist. Manich. cap. xli. 
 
 LETTER 80. 
 To the Rev. J. Jehh. 
 
 Dawson St., Dec. 9. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Though I can say but little by this post, I must say 
 something. Words cannot express, how much I have 
 your well-being at heart: therefore, I rejoice with all 
 my soul, in every sentiment of yours, whether fully 
 warranted by past facts, or not, which implies energy 
 in the mental ‘vis medicatrix naturae’. You more 
 than do justice to my movements toward you; and 
 you are, at least, not a bit indulgent to yourself. 
 But severity to one’s self, is a good side to err upon : 
 
 * Let us hasten towards that good, which is neither measured by space, nor 
 circumscribed by time ; and from which all local, and temporal existences, derive 
 their figure and fashion. For the better discernment of which good, let us 
 cleanse our hearts, by faith in our Lord Jesus Christ; who saith, ‘ Blessed are the 
 pure in heart, for they shall see God.’ If, however, we would discern that good, 
 we must make use of very different eyes, from those by which that local, and 
 broken light, of which one part is here, another there, is to be discerned. But 
 let us purge that eye-sight, by which we may perceive, so far as our present im¬ 
 perfect state will allow, what is just, what pious, and what the beauty of wisdom : 
 which things, whosoever can discern, he far prefers them to the fulness of uni¬ 
 versal space ; and feels, that, in order to discern these things, his mind’s eye must 
 not be diffused over local space, but fixed steadily upon its object by incorporeal 
 power. 
 
569 
 
 I must, therefore, say, I never did receive a letter 
 from you, which gave me such deep comfort and 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Your being able to write a sermon for last Sunday, 
 and the account you gave of it, are highly gratifying 
 to me. 
 
 As a subject [for the Asylum sermon] I have 
 thoughts of ‘ Neither do I condemn thee ; go and sin 
 no more. 5 * The first words teach us, how we 
 should feel, towards sinners through ignorance, .. 
 misguidedness, . . unhappy combination of circum¬ 
 stances. The latter words show, how such objects 
 of commiseration are to feel, when once favoured with 
 sufficient light, and bettered circumstances. How 
 you could expand these topics, I cannot pronounce. 
 I would say, that this voice of our Saviour was in 
 wonderful unison, with his own scheme of providence; 
 in which he beareth with the wicked daily : a fact 
 which is astonishing, considering how much is daily 
 done to provoke God. But why does he thus for¬ 
 bear ? Evidently, because ‘ he is gracious, and his 
 mercy endureth for ever.’ He looketh over all the 
 earth; and he sees, that the majority of sinners, al¬ 
 lowing full atrocity to be in their sins, are really ob¬ 
 jects of compassion ; because, in the majority, there is 
 ignorance, misguidedness, and, very often, infelicity of 
 circumstances. This, the more the case is impartially 
 looked into, will be found to be the truth. But is 
 it not a dangerous truth ? No : for it is thus limited. 
 He that, from knowing it, can apply it to his own ill- 
 
 * See 1 Sermons on Subjects chiefly practical’ ; Sermon X. : the most highly 
 wrought of all the Bishop’s discourses. The editor possesses the original 
 draughts of the exordium; which was transcribed, if his recollection serves, at 
 least thirty times, before his friend felt satisfied with the effect; it being his ob¬ 
 ject to make this discourse a model for himself, and a specimen of the capabili¬ 
 ties of the English language, for rhythmical composition. . . Ed. 
 
570 
 
 founded comfort, has no right whatever to make the 
 application. That ignorance, which constitutes the 
 apology, ceases, the moment that light enough, to 
 reason upon the case, has entered the mind. This, 
 then, is the beauty of our Saviour’s gracious lan¬ 
 guage, that, while it teaches us to make the most 
 extensive allowance for others, it gives us no war¬ 
 rant to make flattering inferences for ourselves. He 
 knew all that moved within the bosom; therefore, 
 he could safely acquit; we do not know what moves 
 within the bosom ; therefore, we cannot safely con¬ 
 demn. Probably, we are ignorant of other men’s 
 minds, that we may not be severe upon them. Cer¬ 
 tainly, we know ourselves, in order that we may ex¬ 
 ercise, on ourselves, salutary severity. 
 
 But it was not mere suavity of nature, that made 
 our Lord speak. He did not condemn, because he 
 came to save. He hated the sin, but he loved the 
 sinner; and therefore, all he said, and did, was 
 pointed to one end, . . the making mankind better, 
 individually and collectively. Why, then, did he 
 say, ‘ neither do I condemn thee?’ Was it, that he 
 did not reprobate the deed done ? By no means; 
 but that he might win this soul to himself, by the 
 attraction of kindness. He saw this to be possible; 
 and he teaches us, by this proceeding, that it is still 
 equally possible, in similar cases. He gives us his 
 divine example, too, as to manner. He instructs us, 
 that, even in the most desperate cases, gentleness 
 and tenderness are to be used, so long as they can 
 be used. That even gross vice, is not, in the first 
 instance, to be encountered with menaces and ful- 
 minations ; but that a fair trial is to be made, whether, 
 under the most unpromising appearances, there may 
 not be some latent spark of virtuous sensibility, 
 
571 
 
 which may be roused and enkindled, by the soft 
 breath of charity ; while the opposite method, may 
 not only 4 break the bruised reed’, but 4 quench the 
 smoking flax/ 
 
 But, as was said, all this applies to us, in our 
 conduct toward others. The only part that an indi¬ 
 vidual can apply to himself, is, 4 go and sin no more/ 
 Here, the gentleness passes into inexpressible awful¬ 
 ness : Go, that is, forthwith: commence a new 
 course, and let that course be uniform. You have 
 now escaped, because Divine goodness saw something 
 to excuse. But that is over : you cannot now sin, 
 as you did once, through ignorance, or inadvertency. 
 Your future crimes, if you are guilty of crimes, will 
 be sins against light, against experience, against tried 
 and tasted mercy; therefore, sin no more; lest, if 
 the unclean spirit should enter again, he might take 
 with him seven devils more wicked than himself. 
 
 Who that hears, may not stand in this danger? 
 It might be wished, to confine such a warning, to 
 atrocious instances. But it may not be. He said to 
 that paralytic, against whom no charge was made, 
 4 Sin no more, lest a worse thing come upon thee’; 
 that is, he spoke to him, even more alarmingly, than 
 he did to the adulteress. God judgeth not of faults, 
 as man judgeth; therefore, who can tell, how oft he 
 oflendeth ? Uniform, unremitting vigilance, over 
 every part of conduct, inward and outward, is the 
 only sure way to avert this menace of infinite good¬ 
 ness. We can, then only, be assured, that we are 
 safe from sinning no more, when we are growing in 
 grace, and in the knowledge, &c. 
 
 The institution embraces both parts of our Lord’s 
 gracious dealing. It does not condemn ; but it does 
 say, 4 sin no more/ How glorious the example ! how 
 
benignant the object! This is an emulating of angels, 
 because it is an imitating of Christ. 
 
 You were as welcome to my sermon as you could 
 be. I am sincerely gratified by your liking it. Send 
 me all manner of scraps. Miss Fergusson sends her 
 love. 
 
 Most cordially yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 LETTER 81. 
 
 1 A v.,, ?>C3 , yt ki*.^ 4-^. ° ^ ^ 
 
 •^5* sJ ^ f 
 
 To the Rev . J . Jehb. 
 
 Bellevue, Dec. 27. 1809. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 # # * # # # # 
 
 # # # # * # # 
 
 Pray have you Dr. Watts’s works? If you have 
 not, I think you will do well to have them. They 
 contain more to our purpose, than I once thought 
 likely. In fact, they exhibit a very singular spectacle, 
 of a mind, partly free, and partly fettered. And, 
 though the incongruity, arising from this inward 
 variance, is striking, yet, so many just remarks are 
 made, so many important concessions occur, and 
 so many useful lessons are to be deduced from the 
 entire case; that I cannot but consider Watts, as oc¬ 
 cupying a place of moment, in the concatenated 
 scheme. At an earlier stage, I consider Baxter and 
 Owen, as opposite inter se. Baxter drawing off all 
 that was sentimentally and philosophically pious, into 
 one reservoir; and Owen, all that was dogmatically 
 doctrinal, into another. Now, it seems to me, that 
 
57 3 
 
 this very distinction is carried on, with an eye to 
 refined usefulness, in Doddridge and Watts. 
 
 In Doddridge, Baxter is filtrated, and in a manner 
 sublimated. I do not mean as to thought, but as to 
 pure piety. In Watts, Owen is subtilized, exfoliated, 
 and untwisted. But with not the very effect, I think, 
 that the latter worthy theological chemist intended. 
 It seems he hoped, with no small confidence, that 
 something would be made of Calvinism, which would 
 quadrate with improved intellect, and enlarged phi¬ 
 losophy : for, most surely, his own intellect sought 
 improvement; and he wished to unite Christianity 
 with philosophy. But I conceive, that, in exact 
 proportion to the respectability of his own thinking 
 and reasoning faculty, he evinces the utter impos¬ 
 sibility of accomplishing what he aimed at. If the 
 theory of Christianity could not be made out, in some 
 better manner than he has exemplified, it would stand 
 in perilous circumstances ; and the Christian would 
 be much to be pitied, when he had to plead his cause 
 at the bar of unsophisticated reason. All this ap¬ 
 pears the more, as Watts was a clear and candid 
 reasoner. Not strong, not succinct, not luminous, 
 most certainly ; yet, on the whole, one would think, 
 highly capable of having done every thing better, if 
 his views had been more just. But, then, he would 
 not have shown, what he shows now, the intrinsic 
 impossibility of Calvinism being reconciled, with the 
 least movement of unfettered thought. 
 
 Farewell, my dear friend; for it is past one, and I 
 grow sleepy. Every blessing to which this blessed 
 season leads the thoughts, I wish to you, 
 
 And am, most cordially yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox, 
 
574 
 
 P. S. When I say Watts was not luminous, I mean 
 strictly to distinguish that word from lucid ; for this, 
 I think he was. I see his meaning ever ; but it is, 
 in great measure, a moonlight meaning, though the 
 heart of the good man was far from cold. 
 
 LETTER 82. 
 
 To the Rev . J. Jebb, 
 
 Dawson St., April. 6. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Little or much, I will say a word to you, to tell you 
 that the Bristol box has made its appearance, and all 
 your books are safe. 
 
 # # # * # # # 
 
 # # # # # # # 
 
 Miller was brilliantly attended yesterday.* The 
 Chancellor, Archbishops of Dublin and Tuam, Chief 
 Justice, Commander of the Forces, various Bishops, 
 some Lords, Attorney-General, and Sir Edward Lit- 
 tlehales ; two military generals, besides Lord Harring¬ 
 ton ; Ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer, Isaac Corry: 
 and had ladies been admissible, there would have 
 been the two Duchessest, cum multisaliis. For, had 
 their Graces led, who would not have followed ? It 
 was a good lecture ; but too recapitulatory to be 
 particularly striking to those, who had been constant 
 auditors. 
 
 I have discovered a queer little fact; that my old 
 
 * On the delivery of the conclusion of a course of lectures, upon the philo¬ 
 sophy of modern history. . . Ed. 
 
 t The Duchesses of Richmond and Gordon, 
 
575 
 
 friend, Maclaine, has, in various instances, without 
 I suppose intending it, misrepresented Mosheim’s 
 meaning ; by giving his own idea of the fact, instead 
 of literally adhering to the purport of the original. 
 
 For example ; Maclaine says what follows, respect¬ 
 ing the settlement of the church of England by Eli¬ 
 zabeth : ‘ Thus was that form of religion established 
 in Britain, which separated the English, equally, 
 from the church of Rome on the one side, and from 
 the other churches, which had renounced popery, on 
 the other.’ But Mosheim’s own words are, ‘ Hac 
 ration e, ilia quidem veteris religionis correction quse 
 Britannos, seque a pontihciis, atque a reliquis familiis, 
 quae pontificiis dominationi renunciarunt, sejungit, 
 firmata et stabilita.’ Again, Maclaine says, ‘ If we 
 consider the genius, and spirit of the church of 
 England, during that period, we shall plainly see, 
 that the doctrine of the gomarists, concerning grace 
 and predestination, could not meet, there, with a 
 favourable reception; since the leading doctors of 
 that church, were zealous in modelling its doctrine 
 and discipline, after the sentiments and institutions, 
 that were received in the primitive times ; and since 
 those early fathers, whom they followed with a pro¬ 
 found submission, had never presumed, before Au¬ 
 gustine, to set limits to the extent of the divine grace 
 and mercy.’ 
 
 What a paraphrase is this, and something more 
 than a paraphrase, of the following sentence ? 
 
 ‘ Atque hoc, ut acciderit, necesse poene fuit, quum 
 Angli ecclesiam suam, ad primorum seculorum insti- 
 tuta, sententias, et leges, componi velint. Patres 
 autem, quos nominant, ante Augustinum, a decretis 
 Dordracenis plane abhorruerint.’ 
 
 These, I consider as a fair specimen of the Doc- 
 
576 
 
 tor’s manner of rendering his original. I need not 
 call your observation, to the entire leaving out of 
 ‘ ilia veteris religionis correction in the first pas¬ 
 sage ; that being too palpable not to manifest itself: 
 but I would point out to you the curious interpola¬ 
 tion, in the second, of ‘ during that period.’ You 
 see, clearly, that Mosheim does not single out that 
 period; but speaks of the Anglican church, in its 
 rooted character. The wish to keep it primitive, not 
 being the peculiar temper of that age, but the uni¬ 
 form spirit and feeling of all the Anglican divines; 
 yet Maclaine would seem to wish to put the An¬ 
 glican church on irresponsible ground. He ap¬ 
 pears to insinuate, that the English church has no 
 fixt belief, but is, what the prevalent party may 
 choose to make it. But is this the idea of Mosheim ? 
 
 I must end. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Friend, and believe me 
 ever most affectionately yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER LXXXVIII. 
 To A . Knox, Esq . 
 
 April 11. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 From a mistake of my servant, I did not receive 
 your most acceptable letter till yesterday; to which 
 I cannot now say more than a few words in reply. 
 My health has, on the whole, been not such as I 
 have reason to complain of; but the fluctuations 
 
of the weather, and the easterly wind of the last few 
 days, have affected me. I trust it may blow over. 
 
 The Archbishop desires me to say, that he will 
 hold an ordination for Mr. Jellett* and Mr. Torrens, 
 either on the Sunday before Easter, or on the 
 tuesday immediately succeeding ; therefore Mr. J. 
 had better manage matters so, as to be here in the 
 course of Easter week. My examination, in this 
 case, will be to me only a pleasant morning’s con¬ 
 versation. 
 
 I took the opportunity of reminding the Arch¬ 
 bishop, of my letter written last year, as to the 
 appointment of a preacher ; and I suggested Jellett 
 for the situation. More and more do I feel, that 
 this is not a fit sphere, or a congenial scene for me. 
 I am damped and paralyzed, by the pressure of 
 duties, which I cannot discharge, and from the 
 absence of opportunities and stimuli, which I cannot 
 create. However, for the present, I must only 
 acquiesce in what is the will of Providence. Shall 
 I just now urge the appointment of a preacher, and 
 of Jellett as the man? There might easily be made 
 a salary of 75/. The Chapter give 50/., I would 
 readily give 25/. myself 
 
 Two persons are talking beside me ; and have 
 been so, as I wrote this scrawl, which I am writing 
 against time. 
 
 May I hope for a line by return of post ? 
 
 Believe me, my dear Friend, 
 
 Ever most affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 * The late Rev. Morgan Jellett, M. A. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 P P 
 
578 
 
 LETTER LXXXIX. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 > •* Cashel, April 11. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 The very hurried letter that I wrote this morning, 
 under a great pressure as to time, and with much of 
 nervousness about me, must, I am conscious, not 
 add to your comfort: could I, at this moment, 
 recal it, I would gladly do so ; but ‘ volat irrevo¬ 
 cable.’ The only expedient left, therefore, is, that 
 I should immediately follow it, by something less 
 incoherent. That there are certain uneasinesses and 
 awkwardnesses, attached to my present situation, I 
 cannot, indeed, but feel; that situation, is, how¬ 
 ever, I am well assured, a wholesome discipline: 
 and I am hopeful, that the day may arrive, when I 
 shall far more distinctly perceive its providential 
 bearings, and more unmixedly feel its beneficial 
 results. As it is, it gives scope for those interior 
 vicissitudes, which, perhaps beyond all other circum¬ 
 stances, give us a measure of self-acquaintance, and 
 self-management: 
 
 ‘ The lights and shades, whose well accorded strife 
 Give all the strength and colour of our life/ 
 
 In the quiet of my little book-room, which Pro¬ 
 vidence has enabled me to furnish so richly, and 
 especially at this hour of the night, I often ex¬ 
 perience a species of enjoyment, which would be 
 ill exchanged, for all that mere change of external 
 circumstances could afford; though that change 
 were to place me, in the most enlarged intellectual 
 
579 
 
 sphere. And who can tell, whether, in such a 
 sphere, I could enjoy my books and my fireside, as 
 I sometimes do? Might I not be too much exterio- 
 rated? Might I not live too much upon the plea¬ 
 sures of society ? Might I not be led to put myself 
 forth, in premature, and consequently, in abortive 
 efforts? The world has great allurement, and I am 
 conscious of great weakness. It is therefore, I dare 
 venture to conclude, both most wisely, and most 
 kindly ordered, that I should be kept back, till I 
 have attained greater strength. 
 
 Many thanks for the interesting matter from 
 Mosheim. It came opportunely; for I shall, I trust, 
 avail myself of it in an ordination sermon, now 
 rolling in my thoughts. I rejoice in Miller’s cele¬ 
 brity ; putting out of the question love of the 
 system, and kindly feeling towards him, it is truly 
 pleasant to see solid ability working its way, by mere 
 weight of metal. 
 
 Ever most affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER XC. 
 
 To A . Knox , Esq . 
 
 April 14. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I write a few hasty lines, to accompany a little 
 
 paper of-’s, of which, if you think as I think, 
 
 you will forward it to the editor of the Christ. Obs. 
 I wish particularly that this may be done, because 
 
 p p 2 
 
580 
 
 this little matter, that grew out of a conversation, 
 evinces, to me at least, a capacity of writing with 
 ease, on practical subjects ; and of passing, with a 
 very happy facility, from obvious matter of fact con¬ 
 siderations, to deep metaphysical, and philosophical 
 
 truths, which-*, by all means, ought to cultivate ; 
 
 and which he might be deterred from cultivating, 
 if this effort were nipped in the bud. A propos, 
 have you yet seen the No. of the C. O. for January ? 
 You may remember, it did not reach you in due 
 course. On opening it, I was not a little surprised 
 to see, in the front of it, my cviith Psalm. I sup¬ 
 pose Mr. --thought I had empowered him to use 
 
 it as he saw fit. Had I known his intention, I 
 should have begged to make, at least, two cor¬ 
 rections. One, of the mistake as to the two semi¬ 
 choruses. N’importe. Both will pass muster. 
 
 I have another letter to write, and the post soon 
 goes out. Therefore, I can only say, that I am ever, 
 most affectionately yours, 
 
 J. Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 83. 
 
 To the Rev . J . Jehb. 
 
 Dawson St., April 16. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Lest you should misconstrue my silence, I say 
 something, however brief. 
 
 I need say no more I believe, for the present, about 
 *-> than I said on fridav. Your feelings, and 
 
581 
 
 wishes, must ever be too interesting to me, to imply 
 the shadow of a shade of teazing. To whom should 
 you tell your whole mind, but to me ? And should 
 I be annoyed by your communication, I should de¬ 
 serve neither eyes to see with, nor ears to hear with. 
 What you say, will ever be felt and weighed; and 
 my head will give its best service to my heart, in fur¬ 
 nishing an answer. What you yourself so well and 
 wisely say, added to thoughts of my own, makes me 
 look up, in all this, to a higher hand. You and I are 
 both machines of a construction, not certain to go on 
 well, with common treatment. Deeply do I feel, 
 that circumstances have been exquisitely adjusted, to 
 my peculiar case. And I doubt not but time will 
 show, that a like management has been used in 
 yours. 
 
 You wished me to mark authorities, corroborative 
 of Joseph Mede’s notion of the primitive spirit of 
 our church. In reading the original passages from 
 Mosheim, I meant to do something of the kind, as 
 well as to communicate a curious fact. I now wish 
 to point out another still more powerful authority, 
 which I need only refer to, if I were sure that you 
 had Limborch’s Epistolae Virorum Illustrium et 
 Eruditorum. The passage I am going to give you, 
 occurs in a letter from Bishop Overal to Hugo 
 Grotius ; in which the following remark is made, 
 respecting a new publication of the latter. 
 
 « Credo pauca esse, in libro tuo, quae Eliensi, aliisque 
 ex doctioribus nostrum, non piobentur, nisi forte in 
 illis haereant, quae judicium de rebus fidei definitivum 
 laicis potestatibus tribuere, et potestatem ac jurisdic- 
 tionem veram pastorum Ecclesiae negare, et episco- 
 patum in non necessariis ponere videntur. Tenent 
 enim nostri judicium de rebus fidei definiendi Sy- 
 
 p p 3 
 
582 
 
 nodis episcoporum, aliorumque doctorum ministro- 
 rum Ecclesise, ad hoc delectorum et convocatorum, 
 deferendum esse ; secundum consuetudinem veteris 
 ecclesim, ex sacris Uteris , per consensum veteris 
 ecclesije, non privatum spiritual neotericum, expli- 
 catis , terminandum V * There is more to the same 
 purpose, but this is the most material. Should you 
 have the book, the page is, 486. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER XCI. 
 To A. Knox , Esq . 
 
 Cashel, April 16. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I am greatly pleased with what you tell me of the 
 Archbishop of Dublin. That he should criticize my 
 sermon, and object to particular passages, or even 
 to my view of the text, I do not at all wonder; 
 but, though I should be gratified by his approving, 
 I really think the sermon a minor consideration. 
 
 * I believe there are but few things in your book, which do not approve them¬ 
 selves to the Bishop of Ely, and other of our learned men; unless, perhaps, they 
 stick at those parts, which seem to ascribe the right of definitive judgment, in 
 matters of faith, to the lay authorities, to deny the true power and jurisdiction of 
 the pastors of the church, and to rank episcopacy among mere conventional ordi¬ 
 nances. For our divines hold, that the right of definitive judgment, in matters 
 of faith, resides exclusively in synods of bishops, and of other doctors and 
 ministers of the church, specially elected, and assembled in convocation, for 
 this end ; and that, conformably with the usage of the ancient church, this judg¬ 
 ment is to be pronounced on the authority of holy Scripture, explained by the 
 consent of Christian antiquity, not by a private and neoteric spirit. 
 
583 
 
 What I like, is, his copying the letter. This is to 
 have done business; his object, indeed, may be, 
 only to have the facts there stated ; but he will also 
 have the principles before him : and who can tell, 
 what effect they may ultimately produce ? At all 
 events, it is no trivial matter, that his Grace should 
 be under the impression, that a sober, broad, and 
 intelligent view of things, can be taken in our 
 school. If I am hereafter to grow better in health, 
 and more ready with my pen, does it not look as if 
 I were permitted and enabled, (as they do in legal 
 cases, when they are not fully prepared for a trial,) 
 from time to time to put in an appearance, by way 
 of keeping the cause alive ? There has been rolling 
 in my mind, for the last ten days, the scheme of an 
 ordination sermon. I have not been sufficiently 
 well to write a word as yet. One thing I have done, 
 indeed, which at least is gratifying as a recreation. 
 I have collected some very decided, and very beau¬ 
 tiful testimonies, that our church reverences Chris¬ 
 tian antiquity, next to the sacred Scripture. 
 
 I wish you would look into your Griesbach (I 
 cannot revert to him, having made a present of my 
 copy to the Archbishop,) at Ephesians, v. 9. There 
 is a various reading, 6 yap xaqirog rou (pcorog, which 
 I believe is the true reading. Wetstein quotes 
 numerous authorities. The Alexandrine, Beza’s, 
 and three more uncial MSS. Three other MSS. of 
 good note. Colindus’ edit. The Vulgate, Syriac, 
 Coptic, and Ethiopic versions. Gregory Thauma- 
 turgus, Lucifer, Hilary, Jerome, Pelagius, Augus¬ 
 tine, Castalio, Erasmus, Grotius, Mill and Bengeh 
 To which testimonies, I would add, Ambrose, The- 
 ophylact, Marcellinus, Antherus, Zezenus, Thomas 
 Gale, Hammond, Matthew Poole. Probably Griesbach 
 
 p p 4 
 
584 
 
 may furnish still more. The internal evidence, I 
 conceive, is strongly in favour of (pcoTog , not only 
 from the preceding verse . . 8; but, also, from the 
 antithetical clause, v. 11., Toig epyoig roig ocxa.p7roig 
 too G-xoToog, finely opposed to the xapirog too (fitorog, 
 not at all to the vulgar reading. Observe, too, how 
 the idea of light is adverted to, v. 13. and 14. In Ga¬ 
 latians, v. 22., we have, indeed, xapwog too irvEo^acTog, 
 but then it is opposed to spya. 9 (not as in Ephesians, 
 too (rxoToog ,) T7]g Gocpxog. By the way, how exquisite 
 the propriety of expression in both epistles! 
 
 TOO 7rVEOU.Ct.TOg 
 
 xocpirog \ - 1 
 
 r I TOO (pCOTOg 
 
 T7]g Gapxog 
 
 TOO (TXOTOOg 
 
 xa.pi rog 9 on the good side; spyct. axapirot, on the bad. 
 
 Doddridge, with his usual love of indistinctness 
 and ambiguity, says, 4 The sense is the same; but 
 the number of varying manuscripts, seems not suf¬ 
 ficient to confirm that reading (QcoTog), Yet I have 
 had some regard to it in the paraphrase, as in some 
 other instances of a like nature.’ I humbly con¬ 
 ceive, that the sense is very different Some, we 
 are told, bring forth fruit thirty, some sixty, some an 
 hundred fold ; now, is it not probable, and is it not 
 perfectly accordant with the schemes, respectively, 
 of the two epistles, and the condition of the two 
 churches, that the passage in the Galatians, should 
 relate to Sixouoo-ovr ); that, in Ephesians, to 6cyia.G-fj.og ; 
 the former to apsrrj, the latter to a^yGeia .; the 
 former to inchoate, the latter to perfect Christianity ? 
 But, after all, I fear it is impertinent, or at best 
 supererogatory, to throw out these criticisms to you, 
 who have made yourself a master of the epistle to 
 the Ephesians. 
 
 I regret that you should have so much trouble 
 
585 
 
 about my books; but I presume that it would be 
 the best plan, to get them back from the lodging 
 house, at which they were left. If Keene or Mer- 
 cier have got any thing that I ought to have, or if 
 the 30th No. of the Edin. Rev. be out, I would 
 thank you to send them by Mr. Jellett; also to get me 
 a 12mo. paper book, bound in red morocco, of the 
 best yellow-wove paper, and send it, also, by the 
 same opportunity. My scrap-book is almost tilled, 
 and I wish to have another to succeed it. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Friend, 
 
 And believe me ever, 
 
 most affectionately yours, 
 
 John J ebb. 
 
 LETTER 84. 
 
 2b the Rev. J. Jehh. 
 
 Dawson St., April 18. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Whatever I can put upon this paper, between 
 the present moment and the latest post hour, you 
 shall have, though it cost me three pence sterling. 
 
 I give you the fac-simile of Griesbach . 
 
 6 yap xap7 rog too h <f>«To$ si/ Traeryj aya^axroj/v) xou ^ixaiocnjvf) 
 xou OLhrfeia.. 
 
 h 7TV£U[J.aT0£< 
 
 h ABD*EFG 6. 10. 17. 4*7. 67.**Barb. 1 Syr. Erp. Copt. Sahid. 
 Aeth. Arm. Vulg. II. Greg. Thaumat. Lucif. Ambest. Auct. de sin¬ 
 gular. Cleric. Hier. Aug. Pel. Tmt^aro? (pug. 71. ap. Birch, 
 
586 
 
 If you can make out his meaning, I shall be glad; 
 but I am incompetent, not having studied his scheme. 
 But I guess he is with you; though the small letters 
 in the text, and the large in the margin, would 
 seem to imply that the alteration was hesitatingly 
 made. For many reasons, I deem the Vulgate, 
 strong authority. It is, to my mind, equivalent, to 
 undisturbed possession for so many years; which 
 is a good title, until a better can be opposed to it. 
 
 I have time only to add, that, from full examin¬ 
 ation of Collier’s Eccles. Hist., I have determined 
 to secure one, in the present sale, for you, it being 
 a work you ought to have; and to mention a saying 
 of Ridley, in one of his very latest letters, which, 
 probably, you are already possessed of. In speaking 
 of Knox’s opposition (at Frankfort) to private bap¬ 
 tism, he asks, ‘ What would he, in that case, should 
 be done? Peradventure, he will say, it is better, 
 then, to let them die without. For this, his better , 
 what word hath he in Scripture? And if he have 
 none, why will he not rather follow that, which the 
 sentence of the ancient writers does more allow? 
 From whom to dissent, without warrant of God’s 
 word, I cannot think it any godly wisdom.’ 
 
 There was a golden saying! That is the right 
 principle, the safe path, as well expressed as it could 
 be in human language. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
58 7 
 
 LETTER XC1I. 
 To A . Knox, Esq. 
 
 Cashel, April 18. 1810 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I must write a few lines to say, that though, from 
 the severe weather, far from comfortable in body, I 
 could not have been, at present, so sickly in mind, 
 as to misinterpret, or misconceive your silence. 
 Your letter, however, has been most acceptable; 
 as, indeed, it always is a cordial to me, to read your 
 hand-writing on a superscription. 
 
 Many thanks for your interesting quotation. It 
 just falls in with some of my late inquiries ; and 
 shall be added to my collections. 1 have just read 
 the letter at large. Pray, are you aware, that in 
 the year 1571? in full convocation, and with the 
 sanction of Elizabeth, the following canon was passed, 
 ‘ De concionatoribus’? 
 
 ‘ Imprimis vero videbunt, lie quid unquam doceant 
 pro concione quod a populo religiose teneri et credi 
 velint, nisi quod consentaneum sit doctrinse Veteris 
 aut Novi Testamenti; quodque ex ilia ipsa doctrina, 
 catholici patres et veteres episcopi collegerint.’* This 
 is one of my strongest authorities; but I have others, 
 too, very curious. 
 
 Do you know, too, that, in giving the college 
 
 * Concerning preachers. — Above all, they must beware lest, at any time, 
 they teach any thing; in the face of the congregation, which they desire to be i-eli- 
 giously held and believed by the people, unless what is clearly consentaneous to 
 the teaching of the Old, or of the New, Testament; and what the catholic 
 fathers, and ancient bishops, have drawn from that teaching. 
 
588 
 
 library the original Rambler, you give it a very 
 valuable document. Mr. Chalmers, in his late 
 preface, having stated, that there are no less than 
 6000 corrections, chiefly in point of style, made 
 in the work, as afterwards collected into volumes. 
 Mr. C. has given an entire paper, as it stands in 
 the original; and I have been amusing myself, this 
 morning, by collating it. The alterations, are just 
 such, as I should have myself been likely to wish 
 for. Compare, e. g. the following passage of No. 
 180., as it originally stood, with the present copy. 
 ‘ Such, however, is the state of the world, that the 
 most obsequious of the slaves of pride, the most 
 rapturous of the gazers upon wealth, the most of¬ 
 ficious whisperers of greatness, are to be collected 
 from these seminaries, which are appropriated to the 
 study of wisdom, and the contemplation of virtue ; 
 in which it was intended, that appetite should learn 
 to be content with little, and hope to aspire to 
 honours, which no human power can give or take 
 away/ 
 
 Could you tell Mr. Jellett to get me, at Keene’s, 
 Adam Clarke’s Succession of Sacred Literature, and 
 bring it with him. I gave mine to. H. Woodward. 
 I must have done. 
 
 Ever most affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
58 9 
 
 LETTER XCIII. 
 
 To A. Knox, Esq . 
 
 Cashel, April 24. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I have barely time to say, that I am now about to 
 enclose your character of Jellett to the Archbishop; 
 not being sufficiently at leisure to call with it myself. 
 I have prepared the way, by telling the Archbishop ; 
 and I believe there will be no objection to taking 
 J. on trial, though he is, for the present, to know 
 nothing of such an intention. 
 
 I enclose you a half note for 50/.; and, when 
 this is acknowledged, shall send the other. I hope 
 that you have not been inconvenienced by the loan ; 
 could I have replaced it, you should not have been 
 so long unpaid. 
 
 My sermon occupies my mind fully; especially, 
 as I have transferred not quite a page to paper. A 
 train of thought and inquiry has been opened by it, 
 which, however I may fail, for the immediate object 
 of this ordination, I should like to pursue for some 
 months, if I were left completely my own master; 
 and to lay the result before the public. 
 
 Yours ever, my dear Friend, 
 
 * most affectionately, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
590 
 
 LETTER 85. 
 To the Rev. J. Jebb. 
 
 Bellevue, April 27. 1810- 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I have time only to tell you, that I received yours, 
 here, yesterday. 
 
 I am very glad things are in such train about 
 J. ; but still more glad, that there is a prospect of 
 your being relieved from a burthen, in which I have 
 most truly sympathized j understanding, well and 
 thoroughly, what it could not but imply. 
 
 I came here on tuesday, and must return on 
 monday ; so that you may direct to Dublin. I shall 
 be curious to know the nature of your train of 
 thought. 
 
 I did not tell you how very much I admire H.W.’s 
 paper. There is a style of thinking in it, which to 
 me appears masterly ; and which, I hope and trust, 
 will be exercised with equal strength, on ampler, and 
 more momentous subjects. If so, he may absolutely 
 do great things. 
 
 Farewell, my dear friend ; your health, and com¬ 
 fort, and studies, and thoughts, will ever be most 
 interesting to him, who is, 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
59 1 
 
 LETTER XCIV. 
 
 To A. Knox , Esq. 
 
 Cashel, May 21. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 The business of the ordination &c. being over, I 
 can now write you a few lines. And first, let me 
 say, what I know you will be rejoiced to hear; the 
 Archbishop authorized _me, last night, to acquaint 
 Jellett with his appointment, as assistant preacher : I 
 have done so this morning; and, after giving him 
 next Sunday’s law, he is to proceed. I like him 
 greatly. In examining him, I could not help think¬ 
 ing, that, he was perfectly qualified to discharge the 
 same office towards me. I got him to write a little 
 paper for me ; which was drawn up with great neat¬ 
 ness, elegance, and perspicuity \ condensing much 
 important thought, and pious feeling, into a very 
 narrow compass. He has opened to me greatly in 
 conversation, both as to his opinions, and as to him¬ 
 self ; having given me a most interesting little sketch 
 of his life. I am sure he will be a great acquisition ; 
 and the Archbishop, I believe, thinks so too. I 
 showed his Grace your letter, which gave him full 
 satisfaction. 
 
 I am in too great a state of mental exhaustion, to 
 form any sound judgment upon my sermon. It may 
 be positively bad, as a sermon ; and it may, for 
 ought I know, be more than tolerably good. The 
 range has been so wide, and so much matter has 
 been brought together, that I cannot attempt giving 
 
592 
 
 a sketch of my plan ; bat I hope, next week, to copy 
 and send it to you. There will be little or nothing 
 new to you : yet it cost me a prodigious deal of 
 laborious thinking : not, thinking, to originate argu¬ 
 ment, but to arrange, to methodize, to give condens¬ 
 ation, consecutiveness, and if possible, unity, to a 
 mass of materials. The Archbishop has asked to 
 borrow it, but passed no manner of opinion. By the 
 way, has the Archbishop of D. made any further 
 observations? If so, no matter how unfavourable, 
 I should like to hear them: at any fair opportunity, 
 you might tell his Grace, that I feel both the words 
 he has objected to are incorrect; and that I should 
 alter them, were the sermon to be preached over 
 again. I love to have special objections made. 
 General disapprobation, often mortifies, without ever 
 conferring benefit. But there seldom is a definite 
 objection made, that, whether founded/ or un¬ 
 founded, does not lead one to discover something 
 wrong; some nicer shade of expression, that might 
 be improved; some word, that might be retrenched ; 
 or something explanatory, that might be added. 
 
 I am delighted at your high approbation of H. W.’s 
 paper ; and I hope you have sent it forward. Have 
 you secured the Collier, and what have you paid for 
 the Chrysostom ? My letter must now be closed, 
 but I hope to write at length, this week, or the 
 next. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Friend, 
 
 and believe me ever, 
 most faithfully and affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
593 
 
 LETTER XCV. 
 To A . Knox , 
 
 Cashel, May 14. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 The harsh easterly winds effectually prevented me, 
 from having, long since, dispatched a large packet to 
 you. I have been able to transcribe a very small 
 portion of my sermon : which, together with certain 
 literary projects that it has given birth to, I greatly 
 wish to submit to your judgment; intending to con¬ 
 duct myself implicitly, as you recommend. J-’s 
 
 appointment leaves me, as I conceive, at liberty to 
 pursue my own plans ; and assuredly, it is very 
 remote from my wishes, to eat the bread of idleness. 
 At the same time, I have little doubt, that my plans 
 would not be quite to the mind of our excellent 
 friend. He would like to have me at details, to 
 which I am incompetent; but, if I had the sanction 
 of your judgment, I should not suffer myself, on 
 that account, to be prevented from taking a wider 
 range, more suited to my taste, and at least, not 
 more disproportioned to my powers. Before this 
 week closes, I hope to lay the whole before you. 
 By the way, I have just been highly gratified, by 
 reading your review. It is, in all respects, what I 
 could wish : and, if you could, now and then, en¬ 
 deavour to indoctrinate the more hopeful of the 
 semi-evangelicals, through the Chris. Obs., by simi¬ 
 lar productions, you might do a great service ; rather, 
 
 VOL. I. QQ 
 
594 
 
 indeed, if you would engage in publishing a volume 
 
 of essays. 
 
 Jellett, I greatly like; and, what is of more con¬ 
 sequence, he has greatly pleased the Archbishop. 
 He entered on his duties yesterday se’nnight, with 
 an excellent sermon, on ‘ faith which worketh by 
 love/ You have seen it, as it originally stood; but 
 he made very considerable alterations, before he 
 submitted it to my inspection. As he preached it, I 
 question whether there ever came from the pulpit, 
 so fully matured a first essay. The subject matter, 
 omni exceptione major ; the illustrations happy; the 
 language peculiarly well chosen ; and the style ex¬ 
 quisitely chaste and simple. He has a fine voice, 
 too; and, with great modesty, was perfectly at home 
 in the pulpit. The Archbishop was delighted ; and 
 I am sure thought Jellett’s mode of preaching, the 
 very thing he had been wishing for. I am sure he is 
 qualified to do, what I never could effect: to branch 
 out important principles into detail; and to pursue 
 them through their consequences and results; thus 
 or thus —<5 : my power is of the opposite kind, 
 to combine, and to trace ramifications to their root 
 and principle ; thus or thus Each mode 
 
 is useful in its way : but I believe the Archbishop 
 has no relish for the latter. I preached an old 
 sermon yesterday, that I might give J. a little law. 
 He has been hard at work; and desires me to 
 mention this, as his apology for not having written 
 to you. Indeed, at this moment, he is composing a 
 sermon in my other room. 
 
 The books have safely reached this. When I 
 asked, could you distinguish our several properties, 
 I had a view to strict distributive justice, against 
 which, I must inform you, you have erred; inas- 
 
595 
 
 much as, I have no title to the three following 
 articles; viz. c Winder’s Hist, of Knowledge,’ ‘ Spar¬ 
 row’s Rationale of the Common Prayer,’ and ‘ Drexe- 
 lius de Vitiis Linguae’ 
 
 I had an application by letter, from Mr. Stewart, 
 the methodist preacher of this district, through the 
 master of the Charter School, for aid for the fund of 
 decayed preachers ; so I called this morning on the 
 latter, and gave him two guineas : at the same time, 
 declining to become an annual subscriber; and tell¬ 
 ing my mind fully, about the dissenting overt-act 
 of the last conference. This was new to Mr. Watts, 
 who is a thorough churchman. He took in excel¬ 
 lent part all that I said ; and I went pretty much at 
 large into the evils of dissenterism. Was I wrong in 
 all this? 
 
 Farewell, my dear Friend, 
 
 Ever your most attached and affectionate, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 86. 
 
 To the Rev. J. Jebb. 
 
 May 14. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I could wish to write a long letter to you, but it 
 must be a short one. Your last gave me the most 
 heartfelt pleasure ; and I have been looking out for 
 the sermon, which has not yet arrived, with avidity ; 
 yet I do not wish you should make the transcript 
 more expeditiously, than will be completely com¬ 
 fortable. 
 
 qq2 
 
596 
 
 Alas! I could not get the Collier: for the Arch¬ 
 bishop of C. was your rival. I think Ottridge could 
 get it for you at once. It went off at forty shillings. 
 
 I got the Chrysostom this day, at seventeen guineas 
 and a half. An order from London rose to seventeen 
 guineas ; and I was obliged to give the halfi to prove 
 that all was fair. 
 
 I have very much to put on paper, in writing to 
 you ; but I am occupied. How, you shall know ere 
 it be long. 
 
 Wilberforce’s speech, against receiving the petition 
 
 from the-, delights me. I am very glad of his 
 
 taking such a part ; and what he has done, he appears 
 to have done ably. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Friend, ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 P, S. I got Lightfoot, in good order, for 11. 5s. 
 Strype’s Annals for Henry, Edward, Mary, 59s. and 
 A little Aquinas, the date 1497> Ms. 4 \d. Baronius’s 
 Annals, 31. 12s., and St. Cyril of Jerusalem, 11. 4s. 
 
 LETTER XCVI. 
 To A. Knox, Esq. 
 
 May 17. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 The accompanying sermon has been transcribed, 
 under the influence of an easterly wind ; and, I con¬ 
 sequently fear, much may be illegible. 
 
597 
 
 You will observe that the close is huddled up. I 
 had neither time, nor space, to complete my plan. 
 It had been my intention to show, both the light, 
 and the shade, of our Church of England, as those 
 of the church at large : and to specify, that, analogous 
 to heresies which uncatholicized, were popery, on the 
 one hand, and dissenterism, on the other; by a con¬ 
 flict with which, our church had its character formed, 
 from the Reformation, till the Revolution : that, from 
 that period, the foes were more of the household, 
 analogous to errors, which did not uncatholicize ; the 
 dread of popery being removed, by the expulsion of 
 the Stuarts, and the fierceness of dissenterism miti¬ 
 gated, by the act of toleration. Thence, within the 
 pale of the Church of England, her true sons kept 
 the mean, between rationalizing Christianity, on the 
 one hand, and dogmatizing doctrinality, on the other. 
 The former, the offspring of Hales, Chillingworth, 
 and the remonstrants; the latter, the genuine de¬ 
 scendants of those doctrinal puritans, who, after the 
 Marian persecution, did not separate from the church; 
 and who, before the revolution, had been employed 
 against the common enemy, .. the dissenters and the 
 papists. And I should have attempted to suggest the 
 beneficial results to our church, of these collisions. 
 
 The plan which I now have in view, is to divide 
 the sermon, as it now stands, into two parts. The 
 first, before ; the second, after the Reformation ; and 
 into the second part, to introduce the above train of 
 thought. These two sermons, I should like to preach 
 in the College Chapel, next year; and, in the interim, 
 to prepare materials for, and even enter on the com¬ 
 position of dissertations, which would grow out of 
 the discourses; and which, with them, might form a 
 not unsystematic volume. 
 
 q q 3 
 
598 
 
 I am anxious not to eat the bread of idleness ; and 
 think that this work may be particularly suited to 
 my habits and relishes. It may, indeed, be too great 
 for my powers. But consisting of dissertations, each 
 of which is to be a whole, I might make short stages 
 on my journey. I wish for your opinion, whether 
 to give myself* to this pursuit, or to relinquish it. 
 Premising, that, if this be relinquished, I intreat you 
 will point out some line of occupation ; for my trains 
 of thinking, and my habits of mental movement, are 
 altogether alien, from sermon-making for a common 
 congregation. I shall be happy to have your thoughts, 
 and to abide by your decision. But, as I am writing 
 against time, I can now only subjoin the titles of such 
 subjects as have occurred to me j for every one of 
 which, you will see there is, or may be, a hook pro¬ 
 vided in the discourse. 
 
 1. On the commission of our Lord to the apostles, as recorded by 
 
 the four Evangelists. 
 
 2. On the plan of individual conversion. 
 
 3. On miraculous power in the first three centuries; with reference 
 
 to Middleton, Farmer, and to the whole sadducean system. 
 
 4. On the persecutions : with reference to Dodwell’s scheme ; and 
 
 to Gibbon. 
 
 5. On national Christianity, as a continuation and expansion of 
 
 judaism. 
 
 6. On the character of ecclesiastical historians ; and on the best 
 
 manner of extracting from them, a just view of Christian doc¬ 
 trine and practice, in the different ages of the church. 
 
 7. On the influence and bearing of special events, upon the general 
 
 system. 
 
 8. On the uses of heresies. 
 
 9* On the principle of our English reformation. Quod semper, 
 quod ubique, quod ab omnibus; illustrated b} T our Articles, 
 Homilies, Liturgy, by the canon of Queen Elizabeth, by Rid- 
 
599 
 
 ley, Sir D. Carlton, Overal, Grotius, Casaubon, Jewel, Mede, 
 Hammond, Beveridge, Bull, Leslie, Mosheim, &c. &c. &c., 
 with an analysis and defence of Vincentius against Lardner. 
 
 10. Same subject, with reference to the works of Barbeyrac, 
 
 Daille, and Whitby, against the fathers. On the right use of 
 the fathers. 
 
 11. Difference of the Church of England, from other branches of 
 
 the Reformation. 
 
 12. On the Liturgy. 
 
 13. On the spirit of our church, as an establishment. 
 
 14. On the balance of parties in the Church of England. 
 
 15. On dogmatical doctrinality. 
 
 16. On rationalism. 
 
 17. On methodism. 
 
 18. On the characters of our chief Divines, in the church of 
 
 England. 
 
 19. On the present state of the church. 
 
 20. On the studies of clergymen, and particularly on the philoso¬ 
 
 phical character of Scripture ; with a view of heb. poetry, 
 in the New Testament. 
 
 21. On the best mode, in which clergymen of our church may 
 
 co-operate with the great providential system. 
 
 These, my dear Friend, have been thrown down 
 with the utmost rapidity; but I hope they may put 
 you tolerably in possession of my meaning. You 
 may either encourage me to proceed, or place an 
 extinguisher. 
 
 I shall be greatly gratified to know, when you 
 have leisure, how you have been occupied. No 
 person living, perhaps, takes such an interest in your 
 
 occupations. --said to me, ‘ Mr. Jebb, did you 
 
 ever read any thing more beautiful than the review 
 of Taylor?’ I replied, that I liked it exceedingly, 
 but that I had read what pleased me as much. I 
 had no time for further explanation, but shall recal 
 the subject to-day. You know my cordial, and de- 
 
 q Q 4 
 
600 
 
 cided opinion of the review. But we are both fond 
 of being appropriately discriminative in our approba¬ 
 tion. I think I shall satisfy •-; but I hope to see, 
 
 from you, many papers equally good, and some more 
 beautiful than the review; which, be it observed, I 
 think better executed, than either of your former 
 articles in the Eclectic. 
 
 I felicitate you on all your good bargains; but 
 St. Chrysostom above all. Farewell, my dear Friend, 
 
 Ever, most affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER 87 . 
 
 To the Rev. J . Jebb. 
 
 May 17. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Be it much or little, I must write to you, in reply to 
 yours received yesterday. 
 
 I suppose-’s essay will most certainly appear 
 
 in the next C. O. Governor M-note, of May 
 
 7th, is as follows : — 
 
 ‘ I was much gratified, a few days since, by receiv¬ 
 ing a note from you, accompanying a very useful, and 
 well written paper, on the subject, &c. &c., which is 
 now in the hands of the printer of the Chris. Obs. 
 # # # I assure you, sir, I, and the members of the 
 circle in which I usually move, retain a very lively 
 recollection of the pleasure which we derived, from 
 your society, and that of Mr. Jebb; and as we are 
 separated by so envious a distance, we should be glad 
 
601 
 
 to receive, occasionally, some proof, both of your re¬ 
 membrance of us, and of your wish to contribute to 
 our enjoyment and edification.’ 
 
 I am gratified by your unqualified liking of the re¬ 
 view; I must give you an extract from Parken’s* letter 
 to me. 
 
 c It is impossible I should speak of the remarks on 
 Taylor in terms, that would not expose me to the 
 suspicion of flattery. The beauty of the critical opi¬ 
 nions, the elegance of the style, the unquestionable 
 accuracy, as well as depth, of many observations, will 
 probably protect the passages which bear hard upon 
 the systematic theologians, from any great severity of 
 censure. Hitherto, I have heard nothing but appro¬ 
 bation expressed. But I cannot doubt, that many 
 zealous, good men, who preach the primary truths of 
 religion, and deal in controversy, will give me their 
 opinions in a different tone. In deference to them, 
 as well as from a wish to print nothing I thought ca¬ 
 pable of injurious misrepresentation, I have presumed 
 to qualify one phrase; which is the only instance of 
 alteration, I believe, in the whole article. Instead of 
 ‘ those who had never wandered,’ it reads, ‘ those 
 who, in some sense, had never wandered’.’ 
 
 I will not fall out with him, for that single quali¬ 
 fication. 
 
 Butterworth has sent me my letter of 105 pages, 
 written in 1807 ? and, along with other kind things, 
 he says, 
 
 ‘ I have frequent reason to advert to your senti- 
 
 * In 1809 (when they met in London,) this gentleman drew a description of 
 Mr. Knox’s person and manner, together with the character of his eloquence in 
 conversation ; the fidelity of which, will at once be recognized, by all who knew 
 him: it possesses, in truth, the realizing properties of portrait-painting. This 
 felicitous sketch will be found, in the Introduction to Bishop Jebb’s edition of 
 Burnet’s Lives. . . Ed. 
 
602 
 
 ments; and I think substantial benefit has been de¬ 
 rived from them. My son (who is, at this moment I 
 am now writing, gone to church for confirmation, 
 after much previous thought, prayer, and counsel) 
 has been reading your letter with deep attention, and 
 much pleasure. It is, my dear sir, a matter of no 
 small consolation, that a boy of seventeen, is directing 
 his thoughts to these subjects.’ 
 
 I fear, I shall be too late. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 A. K. 
 
 LETTER 88. 
 
 To the Rev , J, Jebb. 
 
 May 29. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I am this afternoon at liberty to say something to 
 you ; every hour which I could command, being em¬ 
 ployed, till now, on the object of which I gave you 
 a vague hint. The truth is, I was not easy, till I had 
 completed my plan. I was not uneasy; on the con¬ 
 trary, my work was highly pleasant to me ; but I 
 could not be at ease, in going to any thing else. This 
 day, the last of my manuscript went to the book¬ 
 seller ; and therefore I can, at this moment, follow 
 my inclination. 
 
 I have, in short, now lying before me, forty printed 
 pages of a defence of the R. C.s against Dr.Duigenan’s 
 two positions, of constitutional incapacitation, and 
 moral unfitness ; the one, founded on the articles of 
 
603 
 
 union with Scotland; the other, on the doctrine of 
 exclusive salvation. I have replied to both; and I 
 cannot but hope, that you will approve of the course 
 I have taken. I found a necessity for notes. I have 
 allowed myself to be so copious in them, that I sup¬ 
 pose the different size of the type will alone prevent 
 the hinder parts of the periwig, preponderating against 
 its front. 
 
 Possibly, by to-morrow’s post, I may send you the 
 body of the pamphlet; its eleven satellites must be 
 waited for ; for so many are my notes, and some of 
 them little essays. I do not know how I shall be 
 read; but I do know, I have wrought pleasantly 5 
 and I never sent any thing to the press, with more 
 harmonic concurrence of my head and heart. 
 
 Time for me, now, to thank you for your ordination 
 sermon.* Every thing, (I believe I may have marked 
 some little matter, to be taken ad referendum, but 
 substantially every thing,) I approved of; and the 
 latter part, greatly and deeply liked. Vires acquirit 
 eundo. You walked with a strong, but very distinct 
 step, through the former part; but, toward the close, 
 you stretch your wings, and fly. I cannot but like 
 your plan of enlargement. Every point in it, we have 
 passed through together, either conjointly, or sympa¬ 
 thetically. The latter curiously, in the case of Vin- 
 centius Lirinensis, and Lardner. I assure you, within 
 this month, I read, with much motion of my spirit 
 within me, what Lardner so densely and dully says, 
 against the quod ubique, quod semper, quod ab 
 omnibus. 
 
 I must stop, for my labour (Kempis says ‘ easy 
 businesses are hard to the weak’) has tired me. Tell 
 
 * See ‘ Practical Theology’, Vol. I. Discourse vii. . . Ed. 
 
604> 
 
 Miss-, my next thought will be to write to her. 
 
 But that will probably not be, till I have witnessed 
 
 the establishment of—— in D-. If I am 
 
 able, I go there on friday. He is not yet come ; but 
 I reckon on his being here on thursday. Tell the 
 Archbishop, when you see him, that he is never long 
 out of my thoughts. Many times, I am sure, I think 
 of him, every day of my life. Tell Jellett, and Jas. 
 Forster, I remember them. In truth, I forget nobody 
 that loves me. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Alex. Knox. 
 
 LETTER XCVII. 
 To A . Knooc , Esq . 
 
 Glankeen, June 2. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I had been in hopes of hearing from you before I 
 left Cashel, at the beginning of this week; and on 
 coming here, gave directions, that any letter of yours 
 might be forwarded to me by a special messenger. I 
 am well convinced, that there is no voluntary omis¬ 
 sion in the case. Your mind may, most probably, 
 have been fully engaged about other matters ; and, 
 whenever it is so engaged, ‘ in commoda publica 
 peccenT, if I should wish, for a moment, to divert 
 your thoughts. But let me say, I am not without 
 apprehensions, that not approving either my sermon, 
 or the scheme founded upon it, or both one and the 
 other, you have felt somewhat at a loss what reply to 
 
605 
 
 give. If this be so, it is my most cordial wish to free 
 you from any difficulty, which kindness and delicacy 
 may have imposed. In laying my thoughts before 
 you, I wished, simply, as I said, to be implicitly 
 guided by your opinion. The sermon may, very pos¬ 
 sibly, have been ill judged; and the plan founded on 
 it, may, perhaps, be still more objectionable. I must 
 cordially confess my incapacity of judging; but, I 
 may safely say, that I never was more deeply per¬ 
 suaded of the expediency of keeping myself quiet. 
 Prematurity of effort, is, in all matters, to be depre¬ 
 cated; but, most of all, in enunciating any part of 
 our system. Besides, it would remain t(T be con¬ 
 sidered, whether, at any time, I should be likely to 
 produce those opinions with effect. I am perfectly 
 willing to remain in the back ground, so long as that 
 appears, to your judgment, my proper destination; 
 and even should it never be my lot to emerge, I trust 
 I should be enabled to acquiesce, with cheerfulness 
 and complacency. That I have hitherto been ham¬ 
 pered by impediments, both internal and external, is 
 to me a manifest, and most beneficial appointment of 
 Providence ; and, if a similar discipline be continued, 
 I question not, the day will come, when it will ap¬ 
 pear to have been yet more gracious and salutary. 
 The truth is, that, however remarkable my course of 
 discipline may be, it is a far less severe one, than 
 many others have found it their happiness to un¬ 
 dergo ; and, whether the progress is to become more, 
 or less, of a trying nature, I feel, I trust, an unpre- 
 sumptuous confidence, that the result will not be 
 grievous, but joyous; and a sure conviction, that the 
 intermediate stages will present no trials, but such as 
 shall be strictly oLvSpco7rivoc. 
 
 I could say much to you, about many matters, did 
 
606 
 
 time, or the circumstances in which I now am, admit 
 of it. Tell Miss F., with my best regards, that I 
 have, after a shameful delay, finished the little Itine¬ 
 rary*, and shall take an early opportunity of sending it. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Friend, 
 
 Ever, most affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 LETTER XCVIII. 
 To A. Knox, Esq . 
 
 June 5. 1810. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Many thanks for your letter and parcel, which I 
 found on my return from Glankeen. The former, 
 far outgoes my expectation; I had looked for a 
 far different judgment, both of my sermon, and my 
 essay plan. As to your pamphlet, I have not been 
 able yet, to gratify myself with a single page. The 
 Archbishop evidently wished for a first reading of it, 
 and I have but just got it back. I keep it for a bonne 
 bouche in the evening, having many letters to di¬ 
 spatch by post. I am truly delighted at your having 
 
 * Of the excursion to England, in the summer of the preceding year (1809.), 
 in which Mr. Knox and the Bishop had been accompanied by the excellent 
 person here alluded to, and so frequently mentioned throughout the Correspond¬ 
 ence. For a still longer term of years, Miss Fergusson had been to Mr. Knox, 
 all that Mrs. Unwin had been to Cowper. It will hereafter appear, that the 
 Itinerary of their English tour, drawn up on a sheet of letter-paper by Mr. Jebb, 
 at the request of this lady, was by her carefully preserved till her death, in 
 1828-9. Shortly before, she had shown it to Mr. Knox, as a memorial of 
 former days. The beautiful MS. was returned to the Bishop, on his friend’s 
 death; and is now in the editor’s possession. 
 
607 
 
 taken up this subject; and can venture to predict, 
 that I shall thoroughly approve. The truth is, I ex¬ 
 pect both an infusion of new ideas, and an establish¬ 
 ment (that I may change the metaphor) of old. 
 
 The Archbishop probably told you of the living of 
 Abington being now mine. It is worth, I believe, 
 1000/. per ann., with an incomparable house, &c. 
 (for which I must pay smartly.) But what delights 
 me, is the situation. It is sufficiently near Cashel, 
 (twenty-four miles) to admit of occasional visits, for 
 a few days at a time ; and sufficiently remote, to leave 
 me a free-agent. It sends me to act in a new sphere ; 
 when, perhaps, my occupation was almost gone in 
 the present. It constitutes me a sort of centre to 
 the diocese of Emly ; and it places me within nine 
 miles of Limerick. Who can tell, but that some 
 providential purpose may be answered, by my being 
 brought into the sphere of a great city ; already the 
 theatre of theological disputes ; where Calvinism is 
 incipient; and where the opponents of Calvinism, 
 may possibly receive some indoctrination ? I wish not 
 to be sanguine, but odd presentiments have occurred 
 to me; and I know not whether I should, with 
 equal satisfaction, view my advancement, to any other 
 preferment in his Grace’s gift. 
 
 To Whitty he has given Kiltinane; and to poor 
 J. Torrens, Whitty’s living, worth 160/. per ann., to 
 help out his school. Is not this well ? 
 
 I hope you will come amongst us. You are most 
 
 earnestly wished for at the palace. -’s heart is 
 
 set upon your coming: I need not say what I feel. 
 In 1805, you immediately succeeded my appoint¬ 
 ment to Kiltinane : may I not, in 1810, hope for 
 your benediction, on my movement to Abington ? I 
 shall hereafter have room enough for my friends. It 
 
608 
 
 would be my happiness, to have one apartment de¬ 
 nominated yours; and entitled to the denomination, 
 by your occasional occupancy of it: and you must 
 also know, that your visits would be deemed by me 
 lame and incomplete, without the accompaniment of 
 my kind and valued fellow-traveller. In truth, my 
 dear friend, it would rob my settlement of one of its 
 principal charms, if you were to deny me the pro¬ 
 spect of having you and Miss F. under my roof. Be 
 so good as to purchase for me, and bring along with 
 you, for I look upon your visit to Cashel as settled, 
 Miss Smith’s Job, and Duigenan’s work, which I 
 have not read ; also, for Whitty, Cowper’s transla¬ 
 tion of Madame Guion’s hymns. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Friend, 
 
 Ever most affectionately yours, 
 
 John Jebb. 
 
 P. S. I wish you could come before the visitation. 
 It would be a scene that would please you; and I 
 also should be gratified, by your witnessing the deco¬ 
 rum and moderation of a Cashel visitation dinner. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London: 
 
 Printed by A. Sfottiswoode, 
 N e\v- Street- Squ are. 
 

HOWHoemn