world, and art another. In brief, all things are artificial, for nature is the art of God.1

2. OBLIVION, THE CONDITION OF LIFE.

(FROM "HYDRIOTAPHIA (URN BURIAL)," PUBLISHED IN 1658.) DARKNESS and light divide the course of time, and oblivion shares with memory a great part even of our living beings; we slightly remember our felicities, and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but short smart upon us. Sense endureth no extremities (i.e. has a limit to its power of endurance), and sorrows destroy us or themselves. To weep into stones are fables.2 Afflictions induce callosities (i.e. harden the heart), miseries are slippery, or fall like snow upon us, which, notwithstanding, is no unhappy stupidity. To be ignorant of evils to come, and forgetful of evils past, is a merciful provision in nature, whereby we digest the mixture of our few and evil days, and our delivered senses3 not relapsing into cutting remembrances, our sorrows are not kept raw by the edge of repetitions. A great part of antiquity contented their hopes of subsistency (continuing to live, immortality) with a transmigration of their souls, a good way to continue their memories; while having the advantage of plural successions, they could not but act something remarkable in such variety of beings, and enjoying the fame of their past selves, make accumulation of glory unto their last durations. Others, rather than be lost in the uncomfortable night of nothing, were content to recede into the common being, and make one particle of the public soul of all things, which was no more than to return into their unknown and divine original again. Egyptian ingenuity was more unsatisfied, contriving their bodies in sweet consistencies (contriving to preserve the bodies by embalming) to attend the return of their

4

(1) Art of God. Hobbes begins his "Leviathan" in these words:-" Nature, the art whereby God hath made and governs the world," &c.

(2) To weep, &c. Referring to the fable of Niobe.

(3) Delivered senses, &c. The meaning seems to be :-Our senses being soon relieved from the severe strain upon them, the impressions left behind are not very deep; and, therefore, our sorrows are not kept fresh-like a raw wound-by the renewal of the irritating cause.

(4) Others, rather than be lost, &c. This is something like Buddhism, according to which the soul of each man is absorbed, at death, into the soul of the universe a system of Paitheism.

N

souls. But all was vanity, feeding the wind, and folly. The Egyptian mummies, which Cambyses or time hath spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy is become merchandise, Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams.

There is nothing strictly immortal but immortality. Whatever hath no beginning may be confident of no end;-which is the peculiar (property) of that necessary essence that cannot destroy itself; and the highest strain (pitch) of Omnipotency [is] to be so powerfully constituted, as not to suffer even from the power of itself: all others have a dependent being, and [are] within the reach of destruction. But the sufficiency of Christian immortality frustrates all earthly glory and the quality of either state after death, makes a folly of posthumous memory. God, who can only (alone can) destroy our souls, and hath assured our resurrection, either of our bodies or names hath directly promised no duration. Wherein there is so much of chance that the boldest expectants have found unhappy frustration; and to hold long subsistence, seems but a scape in oblivion.1 But man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave, solemnizing nativities and deaths with equal lustre, nor omitting ceremonies of bravery2 (gorgeous ceremonies) in the infamy 3 (even what constitutes the ignominy) of his nature.

(1) Oblivion. The meaning of this verbose and obscure sentence is, perhaps, this:-In regard to the duration, whether of our bodies or our fame, there is so much uncertainty, that those who had most confidently reckoned on it have been disappointed; and even the enjoyment of what we call long duration, seems no more than a mere escape from oblivion.

(2) Bravery, fr. Fr. braver, "to vaunt or make a show." In Isaiah iii. 18, we have "the bravery of their tinkling ornaments;" and in Bacon ("Essays "), "the bravery of their liveries." See note 3, p. 95.

(3) Infamy of his nature. The word infamy here has not without reason— puzzled most readers. To speak of the "infamy" of the nature of a "noble animal" seems self-contradictory. Southey, in his "Colloquies," has suggested "infimy' as an emendation of the text. There is, however, little doubt that "infamy" is the correct reading. The infamy of man's nature consists in his humiliating subjection to death; such, however, is his ambition or nobleness, that he invests even the grave with "ceremonies of bravery."

RICHARD BAXTER.'

THE EVERLASTING REST OF HEAVEN.

(FROM "THE SAINTS' EVERLASTING REST," PUBLISHED IN 1649.)

REST! how sweet a word is this to mine ears! Methinks the sound doth turn to substance, and having entered at the ear, doth possess my brain, and thence descendeth down to my very heart. Methinks I feel it stir and work, and that through all my parts (faculties) and powers; but with a various work (effect) upon my various parts. To my wearied senses and languid spirits, it seems a quieting, powerful opiate; to my dulled powers it is spirit and life; to my dark (beclouded) eyes it is both eye-salve and a prospective 2 (telescope); to my taste it is sweetness; to mine ears it is melody; to my hands and feet it is strength and nimbleness. Methinks I feel it digest as it proceeds, and increase my native heat and moisture, and lying as a reviving cordial at my heart, from thence doth send forth lively spirits, which beat through all the pulses of my soul. Rest! not as the stone that rests on the earth, nor as these clods of flesh shall rest in the grave;-so our beast must rest as well as we:-nor is it the satisfying of our fleshly lusts, nor such a rest as the carnal world desireth; no, no, we have another kind of rest than these. Rest we shall from all our labours, which were but the way and means to rest, but yet

(1) The merits of Baxter as a writer of English have been scantily recognised. He has a style of his own, and one redolent of those graces which so well repay the investigation of the lovers of pure, natural beauty. There is a wonderful unction -no other word expresses it so well-in his manner; the persuasive tone and style of address which draws the hearer or reader as "with the cords of a man." The ease with which he does this may, at a casual glance, be mistaken for weakness, but will be found, on nearer view, the finest evidence of strength; the strength of a man not only possessing his subject in his mind, but possessed by it in his heart. The result is seen in the natural movement of the whole man towards the end in view, and in the copious, flowing, idiomatic, manly, and, at the same time, graceful, style with which he works out his purposes. The above passage alone will fully bear out these remarks, which are to be considered as made from a literary, not a theological, point of view.

(2) Prospective, called also, by some writers of the day, perspective. Both words are used for "telescope;" even after the introduction of this latter word, Whitlock ("Zootomia") speaks of looking through "Faith's perspective."

that is the smallest part. O blessed Rest, where we shall never rest day or night, crying "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Sabbaths," when we shall rest from sin, but not from worship! from suffering and sorrow, but not from solace (happiness)! O blessed day, when I shall rest with God! when I shall rest in the arms and bosom of my Lord! when I shall rest in knowing, loving, rejoicing, and praising! when my perfect soul and body together, shall in these perfect actings (actions of knowing, &c.) perfectly enjoy the most perfect God! when God also, who is love itself, shall perfectly love me! yea, and rest in his love to me, as I shall rest in my love to Him! and rejoice over me with joy and singing, as I shall rejoice in him.

This is that joy which was procured by sorrow: this is that crown which was procured by the cross; my Lord did weep, that now my tears might be wiped away; he did bleed that I might now rejoice; he was forsaken, that I might not now be forsaken; he did then die that I might now live. This weeping, wounded Lord shall I behold; this bleeding Saviour shall I see, and live in him that died for me. O free mercy that can exalt so vile a wretch! free to me though dear1 (costly) to Christ! Free grace that has chosen me, when thousands were forsaken. O comfortable meeting of my old acquaintance, with whom I prayed, and wept, and suffered; with whom I spake of this day and place! I see the grave could not contain (retain) you; the sea and earth must give up their dead; the same love hath redeemed and saved you also.

This is not like our cottages of clay, nor like our prisons, or earthly dwellings. This voice of joy is not like our old complainings, our groans, our sighs, our impatient moans; nor this melodious praise like our scorns and revilings, nor like threats and curses which we heard on earth. This body is not like the body we had, nor this soul like the soul we had, nor this life like the life that then we lived. We have changed our place, we have changed our state, our clothes, our thoughts, our looks, our language; we have changed our company for the greater

(1) Dear, fr A.S. deóre, dyre, beloved, precious, costly, has the same double sense as the A.S. Shakspere has (" Julius Cæsar ") "a heart dearer than Plutus' mine;" and also " any dear friend of Cæsar's." So above, mercy is spoken of as "free (costing nothing) to me, though dear (costing much) to Christ." It is a somewhat singular phenomenon in language, that this same word seems also to bear an opposite meaning; as Shakspere ("Macbeth") has, "Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven;" and ("As You Like It "), "My father hated his father dearly;" in both of which the idea of value or cost seems to be put for intense emotion in general. See Craik's " English of Shakspere," p. 205.

part, and the rest of our company is changed itself.1 Before, a saint was weak and despised, so full of pride and peevishness and other sins, that we could scarce ofttimes discern their (has) graces. But now how glorious a thing is a saint! where is now their (his) body of sin, which wearied themselves (himself) and those about them (him)? Where are now our different judgments? our reproachful titles (the disparaging names we gave each other)? our divided spirits?` our exasperated passions? our strange (estranged) looks? our uncharitable censures ? 2 Now are we all of one judgment, of one name, of one heart, of one house, and of one glory. O sweet reconcilement! O happy union, which makes us first to be one with Christ, and then to be one among ourselves!

O what a blessed change is this! Farewell sin and suffering for ever; farewell my hard and rocky heart; farewell my proud and unbelieving heart; farewell atheistical, idolatrous, worldly heart; farewell my sensual, carnal heart. And now welcome, most holy, heavenly nature; which, as it must be employed in beholding the face of God, so is it full of God alone, and delighted in nothing else but him. O who can question the love he doth so freely taste? or doubt of that which with such joy he feeleth? Farewell repentance, confession, and supplication; farewell the most of hope and faith, and welcome love and joy and praise.

I shall now have my harvest without ploughing or sowing; my wine without the labour of the vintage; my joy without a preacher or a promise: even all from the face of God Himself. That's the sight that's worth the seeing; that's the book that's worth the reading. Whatever mixture is in the streams, there is nothing but pure joy in the fountain. Here shall I be encircled with eternity, and come forth no more: here shall I live, and ever live, and ever, ever, ever praise my Lord. My face will not wrinkle, nor my hair be grey; for this corruptible shall have put on incorruption; and this mortal immortality; and death shall be swallowed up in victory. "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory ?" The date of my lease will no more expire, nor shall I trouble myself with thoughts of death, nor lose my joys through fear of losing them. When millions of ages are past, my glory is but begin

(1) I.e. we have changed our company, who on earth were both good and evil, and the rest of our company, the good who are here, is changed itself from what it was there.

(2) Censures. See note 3, p. 142.