Generally, by how much any thing is the more disputable, by so much it is the less conducible to the Christian life. God hath graciously provided that what we are to live by should not cost us so dear."

For profundity of thought, sublimity of sentiments, and depth of piety, the work which Howe now gave to the world has seldom been equalled, and never excelled. It established his reputation as a scholar and a theologian; while it showed how amiable and peaceful was his spirit, and how ardently he wished to promote the interests of true religion. The work met with an extensive sale, and brought him some seasonable pecuniary relief. This was however only temporary; and he still earnestly hoped that Providence would appear for him in some way, though there seemed but little prospect that such would be the case.

In the course of a few weeks, when his difficulties pressed heavily upon him, he received a pressing and very earnest invitation from a noble lord, to accompany him to Ireland, as his domestic chaplain; making him, at the same time, such generous offers as he could not but very gratefully accept. He accordingly embarked for Dublin early in the spring of 1672. A number of his friends accompanied him to Holyhead, to take their farewell of one to whom they were most affectionately attached. The wind becoming foul,

he was detained in the harbour over the ensuing Sunday. His friends now requested he would embrace this opportunity to favour them with another sermon, which he kindly promised to do, on their procuring a suitable place. There was in the village a large parish church, where prayers only were accustomed to be read. Howe's friends, while walking along the beach, in hope of meeting with a suitable spot, where to perform religious worship, met the parish clerk, then on his way to church. They enquired of him whether he could direct them to a house, or convenient place for the purpose, in the neighbourhood. He replied that he knew of none at all likely to be suitable; but, said he, "I have no doubt my master, the clergyman whom you see just before us, will lend the gentleman his pulpit, as he does not preach himself." Application was accordingly made to the clergyman, who very cheerfully consented, and Howe preached both parts of the day. Few were present in the morning, but in the afternoon a large congregation assembled. The discourses on both occasions were powerful and deeply affecting.

The wind remaining in the same quarter during the next week, detained Howe over the ensuing Sunday. The inhabitants observing that the vessel had not sailed, expected he would again preach; and on the clergyman's arrival he

found a more numerous congregation assembled than on the previous Sunday. He perceived that they expected a sermon, which he could not give them, having come totally unprepared. Unwilling to disappoint them, he dispatched a messenger to Howe, on board the vessel. Howe was in bed, and very unwell at the time; and it seemed probable, that if he consented to go, he should expose himself to a serious and dangerous illness. But after giving the subject a little consideration, he determined to accompany the messenger; not doubting that Providence, which had so plainly summoned him to the labour, would aid him to perform it, and protect him from every evil result. Arriving at the church just as the prayers were ended, he immediately entered the pulpit, and delivered, with great freedom and energy, an excellent discourse. The people listened with the deepest attention, and Howe was often heard to say, that he believed, if ever his preaching was the means of doing good, it was especially so on that occasion. He returned to the vessel much fatigued by the exertion; but happily no ill effects followed. The next day the wind became fair, and he had a pleasant passage to Dublin.

He now commenced, with his usual diligence, the discharge of his duties as chaplain to the Lord Massarene, in the parish of Antrim; and was shortly afterwards joined by Mrs. Howe and his family.

Howe was received here with the respect due to his character and talents. The station he now occupied, his solid and extensive learning, and his amiable spirit, procured him the esteem of both the bishop and archbishop. Liberty was given him to preach in the church every Sunday in the afternoon, without requiring from him any act of conformity. Such was the bishop's opinion of him, and so much did he admire his peaceable and Christian spirit, that he declared frankly, at a full meeting of the clergy, it was his wish that every pulpit over which he had any jurisdiction, should be open to him.

Howe had not been many months in Ireland, before tidings reached him of the melancholy and sudden death of his kinsman, John Upton, Esq. which happened under circumstances peculiarly distressing. Mr. Upton had been thirty years in Spain, where he had accumulated considerable property he was about to return to his native country, to spend the evening of his life in peaceful retirement. His friends all most anxiously anticipated his arrival, fondly hoping to derive much pleasure from his society; but these hopes were never realized. The vessel in which he embarked, instead of his animated body, brought only his lifeless corpse. He had been suddenly taken ill when near the end of the voyage, and snatched off by the violence of his disorder. So striking an instance of the frailty of life, and of

the vanity of all human expectations, Howe could not permit to pass unnoticed. He accordingly preached an eloquent sermon on the occasion, from Psalm lxxxix. 47, 48, which he afterwards published, at the earnest importunity of his friends in England, entitled "The Vanity of Man as

Mortal."

His design in this publication, as he states in his Dedicatory Epistle, was not to erect a monument to his deceased kinsman, but to induce those into whose hands it might fall, to consider the true end of their being; to examine thoroughly what it can be supposed such creatures were made and placed on this earth for; and that, when they have come to a settled apprehension of the important ends they are capable of attaining, and are evidently designed for, they may be seized with a noble disdain of living beneath themselves, and the bounty of their Creator. Never was there a discourse better adapted to answer this purpose; never were the topics of human instability and vanity more strikingly contrasted with the dignity of man's nature as an heir of immortality. The extreme absurdity, as well as guilt, of a merely sensual life, is demonstrated in a manner the most convincing. The end towards which intelligent beings like ourselves ought invariably to tend, is made clearly to appear, while the considerations by which we may be induced to keep it constantly in view, are