relics we look, as to some orient pearl which the ocean of time has deposited on its shores-the richest burden of the refluent surge. To us they have an illumination more glowing than that with which Persia or Hindustan beautifies her most precious manuscripts; and their homely binding of rusty brown, or wrinkled vellum, has more attractions than the splendid envelopes and silver hinges of Payne. To them we may apply Chesterfield's eulogy on Nollekens, that he alone was a statuary, the rest were stone-cutters," and say" These are biographers, the rest are fact-retailers." They are of nature's mint; and though they have been circulated for more than a century, their impression is yet fresh, and their inscription legible. To such an one we would now introduce our readers; but, before we advert more particularly to the work itself, we must occupy a few lines with an account of the author.

ISAAK, or, as he is commonly called, honest ISAAK WALTON, was born at Stafford, in 1593. The early part of his life was spent in London, where he kept a linenshop. His employment did not, however, occupy him so exclusively as to prevent the cultivation of his literary taste; as, in this uncongenial situation, we find him the author of several most interesting productions, and the intimate friend of many of the celebrated wits and authors of the day. His pieces have always been remarkable for a sprightliness of thought, and easy simplicity of diction, but rarely possessed even by the most felicitous genius. His "Angler" has enjoyed an uninterrupted popularity, from the date of its first appearance; a circumstance the more singular, as that the aquatic art is, to most persons, but a dry subject. But the genius and eloquence of Walton can invest even the fishing-rod with dignity,

and refute the sarcastic definition of Johnson, that it is " a rod with a fish at one end, and a fool at the other." With the exception of one unhappy feature, honest Walton was a model of good nature: he was universally benevolent, except towards Puritans and Nonconformists. He never hears of one of these unhappy separatists, without foaming at the mouth; and his pen, at such a juncture, becomes, for the first time, tinged with gall. We trust this arose from his misconception of their real character; and we charitably hope he now loves them better, and is more reconciled to them. He lived in an age when religious, as well as political, animosities were carried to an unhappy height, and he drank too deeply into the spirit of his hierarchical friends. It is not to be wondered at, that the biographer of Hooker should, in this respect, have imbibed the principles, and conformed to the rules of ecclesiastical polity. But we would not revile his memory, nor cast one bitter word of recrimination against those pages which have oft sweetened our toilsome studies, nor look with an unwonted frown on what has so long animated our face with smiles. Mr. Walton lived to a great age, and, in his ninetieth year, published a posthumous production of his friend Chalkill. Besides these works, he wrote the life of Bishop Sanderson, which, together with the lives contained in the present volume, has been recently republished by Dr. Zouch. To this last edition there is prefixed a memoir of honest Isaak.

The first article in the present collection, and perhaps the best, is the life of Dr. John Donne, of which the learned John Hales, of Eton, affirmed, "He had not seen a life written with more advantage to the subject, or more reputation to the writer." It commences in the following manner :

happy (which few are) as to satisfie and exceed their expectations: preaching the word so, as shewed his own heart was possest with those very thoughts and joyes that he labored to distill into others: a preacher in earnest, weeping sometimes for his auditory, sometimes with them: always preaching to himself, like an angel from a cloud, but in none; carrying some, as St. Paul says, to heaven in holy raptures, and enticing others by a sacred art and courtship to amend their lives; here picturing a vice, so as to make it ugly to those that practised it; and a virtue, so as to make it be beloved even by those that loved it not; and all this with a most particular grace, and an unexpressible addition of comeliness."

"Master John Donne was born in London of good and vertuous parents, and though his own learning and other multiplyed merits may justly appear sufficient to dignifie both himself and his posteritie; yet, the reader may be pleased to know, that his father was masculinely and lineally descended from a very ancient family in Wales, where many of his name now live, that deserve and have great reputation in that countrey. He had his first breeding in his father's house, where a private tutor had the care of him, until the ninth year of his age; and in his tenth year, he was sent to the University of Oxford, having at that time a good command both of the French and Latine tongue. This and some other of his remarkable abilities, made one give this censure of him, That this age had brought forth another Mirandula; of whom story says, That he was rather born, than made wise, by study.".

After an account of Mr. Donne's proficiency in his studies, and his conversion from popery to protestantism, the author proceeds,

"It hath been observed by wise and considering men, that wealth hath seldom been the portion, and never the mark to discover good people; but that Almighty God, who disposeth all things wisely, hath of his abundant goodness denied it (he onely knows why) to many, whose minds he hath enriched with the greater blessings of knowledge and virtue, as the fairer testimonies of his love to mankind; and this was the present condition of this man of so excellent erudition and endowments; whose necessary and daily expences were hardly reconcileable with his uncertain and narrow estate."

After resisting for some time the pressing solicitations of James to enter into holy orders, we at length find his conscientious scruples resolved. Of his debut in the sacerdotal office, the following account is preserved :

"Though his long familiarity with scholars, and persons of greatest quality was such as might have given some men boldness enough to have preached to any eminent auditory, yet his modesty in this employment was such, that he could not be persuaded to it, but went usually accompanied with some one friend, to preach privately in some village, not far from London his first sermon being preached at Paddington. This he did, till his Majesty sent and appointed him a day to preach to him at White-hall, and though much was expected from him, both by his Majesty and others, yet he was so

Dr. Donne's appointment to the last dignity he enjoyed, is thus related :

ner,

St. Paul's being vacant, the king sent to Dr. Donne, and appointed him to attend him at dinner the next day. When his Majesty was sate down, before he had eat any meat, he said after his pleasant manDr. Donne, I have invited you to dinner, and though you sit not down with me, yet I will carve to you of a dish that I know you love well; for knowing you love London, I do therefore make you dean of Paul's; and when I have dined, then do you take your beloved dish home to your study; say grace to your self, and much good may it do you."

We must confine ourselves to one or two more brief extracts from this portion of the volume, and then pass on to the remaining lives.

"The recreations of his youth were poetry, in which he was so happy, as if nature and all her varieties had been made

onely to exercise his sharp wit, and high fancy; and in those pieces, which were facetiously composed and carelessly scattered, (most of them being written before the twentieth year of his age,) it may appear by his choice metaphors, that both nature, and all the arts joyned to assist him with their utmost skill. The latter part of his life may be said to be a continued study; for as he usually preached once a week, if not oftener, so after his sermon he never gave his eyes rest, till he had chosen out a new text, and that night cast his sermon into a form, and his text into divisions; and the next day betook himself to consult the fathers, and so commit his meditations to his memory, which was excellent. But upon Saturday, he usually gave himself and his mind a rest from the weary burthen of his week's meditations, and usually spent that day in visitation of friends, or some other diversions of his thoughts; and would say, that he gave both his body and mind that refreshment, that

he might be enabled to do the work of the day following, not faintly, but with courage and cheerfulness. Nor was his age onely so industrious, but in the most unsettled dayes of his youth, his bed was not able to detain him beyond the hour of four in a morning; and it was no common business that drew him out of his chamber till past ten. All which time was employed in study, though he took great liberty after it : and if this seem strange, it may gain a belief by the visible fruits of his labours; some of which remain as testimonies of what is here written, for he left the resultance of 1400 authors, most of them abridged and analized with his own hand. He left also six-score of his sermons, all written with his own hand, also an exact and laborious treatise, concerning selfmurther, called Biathanatos, wherein all the laws violated by that Act are diligently surveyed, and judiciously censured, a treatise written in his younger days, which alone might declare him then not onely perfect in the civil and canon law, but in many other such studies and arguments, as enter not into the consideration of many that labour to be thought great clerks, and pretend to know all things."

We have recently given so copious an extract from the memoirs of Sir Henry Wotton, that we shall refrain, in the present instance, from any reference to that article; and, for the same reason, we shall avoid touching on the life of George Herbert. Our readers will meet with ample quotations from that work in our Magazine for 1823. - Richard Hooker was born near Exeter, in the year 1553. His biographer thus relates a few particulars of the early life of that great man:

"His complexion (if we may guess by him at the age of forty) was sanguine, with a mixture of choler; and yet, his motion was slow, even in his youth, and so was his speech, never expressing an earnestness in either of them, but a gravity suitable to the aged. And 'tis observed, (so far as inquiry is able to look back at this distance of time,) that, at his being a school-boy, he was an early questionist, quietly inquisitive, Why was this and that not to be remembered? Why this was granted, and that denied? This being mixed with a remarkable modesty, and a sweet serene quietness of nature, and with them a quick apprehension of many perplext parts of learning, imposed then upon him as a scholar, made his master and others

to believe him to have an inward blessed divine light, and therefore to consider him a little wonder. For in that, children were less pregnant, less confident, and more malleable, than in this wiser, but not better age. This meekness, and conjuncture of knowledge with modesty in his conversation, being observed by his schoolmaster, çaused him to persuade his parents (who intended him for an apprentice) to continue him at school, till he could find out some means, by persuading his rich uncle, or some other charitable person, to ease them of a part of their care and charge; assuring them, that their son was so enriched with the blessings of nature and grace, that God seemed to single him out as a special instrument of his glory. And the good man told them also, that he would double his diligence in instructing him, and would neither expect nor receive any other reward than the content of so hopeful and happy an employment. In the mean time, his parents and master laid a foundation for his future happiness, by instilling into his soul the seeds of piety, those conscientious principles of loving and fearing God, of an carly belief that he knows the very secrets of our souls; that he punisheth our vices, and rewards our innocence ; that we should be free from hypocrisie, and appear to man what we are to God, because, first or last, the crafty man is catch't in his own snare. These sceds of piety were so seasonably planted, and so continually watered, by the daily dew of God's blessed Spirit, that his infant virtues grew into such holy habits, as did make him grow daily into more and more favour both with God and man, which, with the great learning that he did attain to, hath made Richard Hooker honoured in this, and will continue him to be so to succeeding generations."

The following anecdote is extracted, on account of the pleasing view it presents of the manners of the times:

"He took a journey from Oxford to Exeter, to satisfy and see his good mother, being accompanied with a countryman and companion of his own colledge, and both on foot; which was then either more in fashion, or want of money, or their humility made it so. But on foot they went, and took Salisbury in their way, purposely to see the good Bishop (Jewell), who made Mr. Hooker and his companion dine with him at bis own table, which Mr. Hooker boasted of with much joy and gratitude when he saw his mother and friends; and, at the Bishop's parting with him, the Bishop gave him good counsel and his benediction, but forgot to give him mo

ney which when the Bishop had considered, he sent a servant in all haste to call Richard back to him; and at Richard's return, the Bishop said to him, Richard, I sent for you back to lend you a horse, which hath carried me many a mile, and, I thank God, with much ease; and presently delivered into his hands a walking-staff, with which he professed to have travelled through many parts of Germany; and he said, Richard, I do not give, but lend you my horse. Be sure you be honest, and bring my horse back to me at your return this way to Oxford. And I do now give you ten groats, to bear your charges to Exeter; and here is ten groats more, which I charge you to deliver to your mother, and tell her I send her a Bishop's benediction with it, and beg the continuance of her prayers for me. And if you bring my horse back to me, I will give you ten groats more, to carry you on foot to the colledge; and so God bless you, good Richard."

On taking orders, Mr. Hooker was appointed to preach at Paul's

cross.

"In order to which sermon, to London he came, and immediately to the Shunamite's house, which is a house so called, for that besides the stipend paid the preacher, there is provision made also for his lodging and diet, two days before, and one day after his sermon. This house was then kept by John Churchman, sometimes a draper of good note in Watling-street, upon whom poverty had at last come like an armed man, and brought him into a necessitous condition; which, though it be a punishment, is not always an argument of God's disfavour, for he was a virtuous man: I shall not yet give the like testimony of his wife, but leave the reader to judge by what follows. But to this house Mr. Hooker came so wet, so weary, and weather-beaten, that he was never known to express more passion than against a friend that dissuaded him from footing it to London, and for finding him no easier an horse: supposing the horse trotted when he did not: and at this time also, such a faintness and fear possest him, that he would not be persuaded two days' quietness, or any other means could be used to make him able to preach his Sunday's sermon; but a warm bed, and rest, and drink proper for a cold, given him by Mrs. Churchman, and her diligent attend ance added unto it, enabled him to perform the office of the day, which was in or about the year 1581.-The kindness of Mrs. Churchman's curing him of his iate distemper and cold was so gratefully apprehended by Mr. Hooker, that he thought himself

bound in conscience to believe all that she said; so that the good man came to be persuaded by her, that he was a man of a tender constitution; and that it was best for him to have a wife, that might prove a nurse to him, such an one as might both prolong his life, and make it more comfortable; and such an one she could and would provide for him, if he thought fit to marry. And be, not considering that the children of this world are wiser in their generation than the children of light; but, like a true Nathaniel, fearing no guile, because he meant none, did give her such a power as Eleazar was trusted with, when he was sent to choose a wife for Isaac; for even so he trusted her to choose for him, promising, upon a fair summons, to return to London, and accept of her choice, and he did so in that or the year following. Now the wife provided for him was her daughter Joan, who brought him neither beauty nor portion; and for her conditions, they were too like that wife's which is by Solomon compared to a dripping house, so that he had no reason to rejoice in the wife of his youth, but too just cause to say, with the holy prophet, Woe is me, that I am constrained to have my habitation in the tents of Keder."

Our extracts from this curious volume must conclude with the following description of Mr. Hooker's person and character:

He was a harmless man, a man in poor clothes, his loyns usually girt in a coarse gown, or canonical coat; of a mean stature, and stooping, and yet more lowly in the thoughts of his soul; his body worn out, not with age, but study and holy mortifications; his face full of heatpimples, begot by his unactivity and sedentary life. And to this true character of his person let me add this of his disposition and behaviour: God and nature blessed him with so blest a bashfulness, that, as in his younger days, his pupils might easily look him out of countenance; so neither then, nor in his age, did he ever willingly look any man in the face: and was of so mild and humble a nature, that his poor parish clerk and he did never talk but with both their hats on, or both off, at the same time. And to this may be added, that, though he was not purblind, yet he was short or weaksighted; and where he fixt his eyes at the beginning of his sermon, there they continued till it was ended; and the reader has a liberty to believe that his modesty and dim sight were some of the reasons why he trusted Mrs. Churchman to choose his wife."