As the productions of an able pen, these Meditations reflect lustre on the talents of their author, and give him as good a claim to be styled, as he has often been, the Christian Seneca, as a Latin father to be called the Christian Cicero. Each embodies some brief reflection, and closes with a practical resolution: in this last respect reminding us of perhaps the most instructive document in the life of that wise selfobserver, President Edwards. They are precious, as revealing thoughts which had long dwelt in a sanctified bosom, as recording the animadversions of one who was no less sagacious in reading the hearts of others than strict in watching his own, and as contributing wise directions to others advancing in the same heavenward journey. No reader need grudge a few extracts, should they bring him acquainted with a work never to be forgotten, but perhaps not sufficiently known in practical divinity: —

"As there is a foolish wisdom, so there is a wise ignorance, in not prying into God's ark, in not inquiring into things not revealed. I would fain know all that I need, and all that I may. I leave God's secrets to himself. It is happy for me that God makes me of his court, though not of his council."

"The devil himself devised that slander of early holiness, A young saint, an old devil. Sometimes young devils have proved old saints, never the contrary: but true saints in youth do always form angels in their age. I will strive to be ever good; but if I should not find myself best at last, I should fear I was never good at all."

"As we say, There would be no thieves, if there were no receivers; so would there not be so many open mouths to detract and slander, if there were not so many open ears to entertain them. If I cannot stop another man's mouth from speaking ill, I will either open my mouth to reprove it, or else I will stop mine ears from hearing it ; and let him see in my face that he hath no room in my heart."

"I am a stranger even at home: therefore if the dogs of the world bark at me, I neither care nor wonder."

"I care not for any companion, but such as may teach me somewhat, or learn somewhat of me; but these shall much pleasure me, neither know I whether more. For though it be an excellent thing to learn, yet I learn but to teach others."

"If I die, the world shall miss me but a little; I shall miss it less. Not it me because it hath such store of better men: not I it-because it hath so much ill, and I shall have so much happiness."

"I acknowledge no Master of Requests in heaven but one - Christ my Mediator. I know I cannot be so happy as not to need him; nor so miserable that he should contemn me. Good prayers never come weeping home: I am sure I shall either reIceive what I ask, or what I should ask."

"I never loved those salamanders that are never well but when they are in the fire of contention. I will rather suffer a thousand wrongs than offer one: I will suffer a hundred, rather than return one: I will suffer many ere I complain of one, and endeavour to right it by contending. I have ever found that to strive with my superior is furious; with my equal, doubtful; with my inferior, sordid and base; with any, full of unquietness."

"Sudden extremity is a notable trial of faith. The faithful, more quickly than any casualty, can lift up his heart to his stay in heaven: whereas the worldling stands amazed and distraught with the evil, because he hath no refuge to fly unto. When, therefore, some sudden stitch girds me in the side, like to be the messenger of death; or when the sword of my enemy, in an unexpected assault, threatens my body; I will seriously note how I am affected: so the suddenest evil, as it shall not come unlooked-for, shall not go away unthought of. If I find myself courageous and heavenlyminded, I will rejoice in the truth of God's grace in me; knowing that one drachm of tried faith is worth a whole pound of speculative; and that which once stood by me will never fail me. If dejected and heartless, herein I will acknowledge cause of humiliation, and with all care and diligence seek to store myself against the danger following

B

"I will be ever doing something, that either God when he cometh, or Satan when he tempteth, may find me busied."

"Each day is a new life, and an abridgment of the whole.

I will so live, as if I counted every day my first and my last; as if I began to live but then, and should live no more afterwards."

"Rareness causes wonder. If the sun should arise but once on the earth, I doubt every man would be a Persian, and fall down and worship it."

“The proud man hath no God; the envious man hath no neighbour; the angry man hath not himself."

"I observe three seasons wherein a wise man differs not from a fool: in his infancy, in sleep, and in silence; for in the two former we are all fools, and in silence all are wise. Surely, he is not a fool that hath unwise thoughts, but he that utters them. Even concealed folly is wisdom, and sometimes wisdom uttered is folly. While others care how to speak, my care shall be how to hold my peace.”

"Extremity distinguisheth friends. Worldly pleasures, like physicians, give us over when once we lie a-dying; and yet the deathbed had most need of comforts. Christ Jesus standeth by his in the pangs of death, and after death at the bar of judgment, not leaving them either in their bed or in their grave."

The living at Halsted was small, and, notwithstanding the moderate desires of the incumbent, so inadequate that he was forced "to write books to buy books." He applied to the patron for an augmentation of ten pounds per annum-a demand in itself not exorbitant, and only just, when it is remembered that Sir Robert Drury, by an abuse of power then frequent, was appropriating to his own uses a portion of the minister's emoluments. Sir Robert's refusal to comply with Mr. Hall's request, prepared him to accept any preferment that might be offered him. And he soon had more than he desired. For during a visit to London he was sought out by a friend, who came to tell him the high acceptance which his Meditations had obtained at the court of Prince Henry, and to urge him to embrace an opportunity of preaching before his Highness. Mr. Hall was then confined to his lodgings in Drury Lane by a severe cold. I strongly pleaded my indisposition of body, and my inpreparation for any such work, together with my bashful fears, and utter unfitness for such a presence. My averseness doubled his importunity; in fine, he left me not till he had my engagement to preach the Sunday following at Richmond. He made way for me to that awful pulpit, and encouraged me by the favour of his noble lord the Earl of Essex. I preached through the favour of my God, that sermon was not so well given as taken; insomuch as that sweet prince signified his desire to hear me again the Tuesday following; which done, that labour gave more contentment than the former, so as that prince both gave me his hand, and commanded me to his service. My patron seeing me, upon my return to London, looked after by some great persons, began to wish me at home, and told me that some or other would be snatching me up. I answered, it was in his power to prevent: Would he be pleased to make my maintenance but so competent as in right it should be, I would never stir from him. Instead of condescending, it pleased him to fall into an expostulation of the rate of competencies, affirming the variableness thereof according to our own estimation, and our either raising or moderating the causes of our expenses. I showed him the insufficiency of my means; but a harsh and unpleasing answer so disheartened me, that I resolved to embrace the first opportunity of my remove.

"Now whilst I was taken up with these anxious thoughts, a messenger came to me from my Lord Denny, my after most honourable patron, entreating me from his Lordship to speak with him. No sooner came I thither, than after a glad and noble welcome, I was entertained with the earnest offer of Waltham. The conditions were, like the mover of them, free and bountiful. I received them as from the munificent hand of my God; and returned full of the cheerful acknowledgments of a gracious pro

vidence over me. Too late now did my former noble patron relent, and offer me those terms which had before fastened me for ever. I returned home happy in a new master, and in a new patron; betwixt whom I divided myself and my labours, with much comfort, and no less acceptation.

"In the second year of mine attendance on his highness, when I came for my dismission from that monthly service, it pleased the prince to command me a longer stay; and at last upon mine allowed departure, by the mouth of Sir Thomas Challoner, his governor, to tender unto me a motion of more honour and favour than I was worthy of; which was, that it was his highness' pleasure and purpose to have me continually resident at the court as a constant attendant, whilst the rest held on their wonted vicissitudes; for which purpose his highness would obtain for me such preferments as should yield me full contentment. I returned my humblest thanks, and my readiness to sacrifice myself to the service of so gracious a master; but being conscious to myself of my unanswerableness to so great expectation, and loath to forsake so dear and noble a patron, who had placed much of his heart upon me, I did modestly put it off, and held close to my Waltham; where in a constant course I preached a long time (as I had done also at Halsted before) thrice in the week; yet never durst I climb into the pulpit to preach any sermon, whereof I had not before, in my poor and plain fashion, penned every word in the same order wherein I hoped to deliver it, although in the expression I listed not to be a slave to syllables."

His attendance at court did not long detain him from the undivided performance of his pastoral duties at Waltham; for the hopes of the nation were quickly prostrated by the death of the amiable prince, which occurred Nov. 6, 1612; and on the first day of the following year Mr. Hall discharged the last office of a love which had supplanted the deference of the courtier, by preaching a farewell sermon to the prince's household, then dissolved at St. James's. The discourse contains repeated testimonies of the grateful and affectionate admiration with which the chaplain cherished the memory of his illustrious patron - testimonies which royal station has seldom so justly merited. But history has recorded the engaging character of King James's eldest son so fully, as to supersede any extracts from this ardent eulogy. The closing sentences, however, possess a pathos and an appropriateness to the text (Rev. xxi. 3) which will justify their insertion here:-" But what if we shall meet here no more?-what if we shall no more see one another's face? Brethren, we shall once meet together above; we shall once see the glorious face of God, and never look off again. Let it not overgrieve us to leave these tabernacles of stone, since we must shortly lay down these tabernacles of clay, and enter into tabernacles not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. Till then, farewell, my dear brethren, farewell in the Lord. Go in peace, and live as those that have lost such a master, and as those that serve a Master whom they cannot lose. And the God of peace go with you, and prosper you in all your ways, and so fix this tabernacle in you upon earth, that you may be received into those tabernacles of the New Jerusalem, and dwell with him for ever in that glory which he hath provided for all that love him. Amen."

The sixteen years which Mr. Hall spent at Waltham were among the most pleasant of his life, for they were the least distracted. His circumstances freed him from worldly solicitudes; the national convulsions which agitated his old age, of which he was sometimes the sorrowful witness, and sometimes the unoffending victim, had not commenced; his home was the shining abode of that happiness, a beam of which occasionally brightens upon his pages; and in that home no apartment was more loved or frequented than his study. What Hall has already described, no other should attempt to tell; and we do not believe that any reader ever complained of the length of the following letter, which gives in brief the distribution of this good man's time for many years together. It will possess an additional value to those whose distinguished prerogative has placed them in situations of like advantage:

"Every day is a little life, and our whole life is but a day repeated: whence it is that old Jacob numbered his life by days, and Moses desired to be taught this point of holy arithmetic, to number not his years but his days. Those, therefore, that dare lose a day are dangerously prodigal, those that dare misspend it desperate. All days are his who gave time a beginning and continuance; yet some he hath made ours, not to command but to use. In none may we forget him: in some we must forget all besides him. First, therefore, I desire to awake at those hours, not when I will, but when I must: pleasure is not a fit rule for rest, but health; neither do I consult so much with the sun, as with mine own necessity, whether of body or in that of the mind. If this vassal could well serve me waking, it should never sleep; but now it must be pleased that it may be serviceable. Now, when sleep is rather driven away than leaves me, I would ever awake with God; my first thoughts are for Him who hath made the night for rest, and the day for travail; and as he gives, so blesses both. If my heart be early seasoned with his presence, it will savour of him all day after. While my body is dressing, not with an effeminate curiosity, nor yet with rude neglect, my mind addresses itself to her ensuing task, bethinking what is to be done, and in what order, and marshalling (as it may) my hours with my work. That done, after some while's meditation, I walk up to my masters and companions, my books; and sitting down amongst them with the best contentment, I dare not reach forth my hand to salute any of them, till I have first looked up to heaven, and craved favour of Him to whom all my studies are duly referred; without whom I can neither profit nor labour. After this, out of no great variety, I call forth those which may best fit my occasions, wherein I am not too scrupulous of age. Sometimes I put myself to school to one of those ancients whom the Church hath honoured with the name of Fathers, whose volumes I confess not to open without a secret reverence of their holiness and gravity; sometimes to those later Doctors, who want nothing but age to make them classical; always to God's book. That day is lost, whereof some hours are not improved in those divine monuments: others I turn over out of choice, these out of duty. Ere I can have sate unto weariness, my family, having now overcome all household distractions, invite me to our common devotions; not without some short preparation. These, heartily performed, send me up with a more strong and cheerful appetite to my former work, which I find made easy to me by intermission and variety. Now, therefore, can I deceive the hours with change of pleasures, that is, of labours. One while my eyes are busied, another while my hand, and sometimes my mind takes the burden from them both. One hour is spent in textual divinity, another in controversy; histories relieve them both. Now, when my mind is weary of others' labours, it begins to undertake its own: sometimes it meditates, and winds up for future use; sometimes it lays forth its conceits into present discourse, sometimes for itself, often for others. Neither know I whether it works or plays in these thoughts; I am sure no sport hath more pleasure, no work more use. Only the decay of a weak body makes me think these delights insensibly laborious. Thus could I all day (as ringers use) make myself music with changes, were it not that this faint monitor interrupts me still in the midst of my busy pleasures, and enforces me both to respite and repast. I must yield to both; while my body and mind are joined together in these unequal couples, the better must follow the weaker. Before my meals, therefore, and after, I let myself loose from all thoughts, and now would forget that I ever studied. A full mind takes away the body's appetite, no less than a full body makes a dull and unwieldy mind. Company, discourse, recreations, are now seasonable and welcome. These prepare me for a diet, not gluttonous but medicinal. The palate may not be pleased, but the stomach, nor that for its own sake; neither would I think any of these comforts worth respect in themselves, but in their use, in their end, so far as they may enable me to better things. If I see any dish to tempt my palate, fear a serpent in that apple, and would please myself by a wilful denial. I rise capable of

more, not desirous; not now immediately from my trencher to my book, but after some intermission. Moderate speed is a sure help to all proceedings; where those things which are prosecuted with violence of endeavour or desire, either succeed not, or continue not.

"After my later meal, my thoughts are slight: only my memory may be charged with her task of recalling what was committed to her custody in the day; and my heart is busy in examining my hands and mouth, and all other senses, of that day's behaviour. And now the evening is come, no tradesman doth more carefully take in his wares, clear his shop-board, and shut his windows, than I would shut up my thoughts and clear my mind. That student shall live miserably, who, like a camel, lies down under his burden. All this done, calling together my family, we end the day with God. How miserable is the condition of those men who spend the time as if it were given them, and not lent! as if hours were waste creatures, and such as should never be accounted for! as if God would take this for a good bill of reckoning, Item, spent upon my pleasures, 40 years!

"Such are my common days; but God's day calls for another respect. The same sun arises on this day, and enlightens it: yet, because the Sun of righteousness arose upon it, and gave a new life to the world in it, and drew the strength of God's moral precept unto it; therefore justly do we sing with the Psalmist, This is the day which the Lord hath made.' Now I forget the world, and in a sort myself; and deal with my wonted thoughts, as great men use, who at some times of their privacy, forbid the access of all suitors. Prayer, meditation, reading, hearing, preaching, singing, good conference, are the business of this day, which I dare not bestow on any work or pleasure, but heavenly. I hate superstition on the one side, and looseness on the other; but I find it hard to offend in too much devotion, easy in profaneness. The whole week is sanctified by this day; and according to my care of this day, is my blessing on the rest."

So intent was he on these beloved employments that, to secure leisure for study, he is said to have restricted himself at one time to a single meal in the day. He was not a solitary instance of the like abstinence among his contemporaries. But that he was not criminally negligent of his health may be inferred from various circumstances. He wisely imitated Isaac, "who went out in the evening to meditate." And not only did he from time to time indulge himself with " his other soul," music; but like many other worthies formed for patient contemplation, he occasionally took down the angle, and by the river side pursued the calling symbolical of his own. To the remonstrances of a considerate friend he answers - "Fear not my immoderate studies. I have a body that controls me enough in these courses; my friends need not. There is nothing whereof I could sooner surfeit, if I durst neglect my body to satisfy my mind; but while I affect knowledge, my weakness checks me, and says, 'Better a little learning, than no health.' I yield, and patiently abide myself debarred of my chosen felicity." The quiet tenor of his life at Waltham was thrice interrupted by a call from his Majesty, to bear a part in undertakings of public interest. The first was in 1616, when he went to France to grace the splendid retinue of the British ambassador, Viscount Doncaster. Had the festivities of that brilliant occasion possessed any attractions for our sober-minded theologian, he was effectually precluded from enjoying them by a dangerous sickness, which overtook him soon after his arrival, and lasted with his stay. When the time arrived for the return of the ambassador, he was kindly invited by the illustrious Du Moulin to reside with him till his recovery should be established. "I thanked him," says Dr. Hall," but resolved if I could but creep homewards to put myself upon the journey. A litter was provided, but of so little ease, that Simeon's penitential lodging, or a malefactor's stocks, had been less penal. I crawled down from my close chamber into that carriage, in which you seemed to me • Lloyd's Memoirs, p. 419. + Art of Divine Meditation, Chap. X.