No More Learning

Botany was the study that
appeared to have taken possession of his inclination, as soon as the
bent of his genius could be discovered. A countryman, who supplied the
apothecaries of the place, was his first master, and was paid by him
for his instructions with the little money that he could procure, or
that which was given him to buy something to eat after dinner. Thus
abstinence and generosity discovered themselves with his passion for
botany, and the gratification of a desire indifferent in itself, was
procured by the exercise of two virtues.

He was soon master of all his instructer's knowledge, and was obliged
to enlarge his acquaintance with plants, by observing them himself in
the neighbourhood of Mans. Having finished his grammatical studies, he
was sent to learn philosophy at Paris, whither he travelled on foot
like a student in botany, and was careful not to lose such an
opportunity of improvement.

When his course of philosophy was completed, he was determined, by his
love of botany, to the profession of physick, and, from that time,
engaged in a course of life, which was never exceeded, either by the
ostentation of a philosopher, or the severity of an anchoret; for he
confined himself to bread and water, and, at most, allowed himself no
indulgence beyond fruits. By this method, he preserved a constant
freedom and serenity of spirits, always equally proper for study; for
his soul had no pretences to complain of being overwhelmed with
matter. This regimen, extraordinary as it was, had many advantages;
for it preserved his health, an advantage which very few sufficiently
regard; it gave him an authority to preach diet and abstinence to his
patients; and it made him rich without the assistance of fortune;
rich, not for himself, but for the poor, who were the only persons
benefited by that artificial affluence, which, of all others, is most
difficult to acquire. It is easy to imagine, that, while he practised
in the midst of Paris the severe temperance of a hermit, Paris
differed no otherwise, with regard to him, from a hermitage, than as
it supplied him with books and the conversation of learned men.

In 1662, he was admitted doctor of physick. About that time Dr. Fagon,
Dr. Longuet, and Dr. Galois, all eminent for their skill in botany,
were employed in drawing up a catalogue of the plants in the Royal
garden, which was published in 1665, under the name of Dr. Vallot,
then first physician: during the prosecution of this work, Dr. Morin
was often consulted, and from those conversations it was that Dr.
Fagon conceived a particular esteem of him, which he always continued
to retain.

After having practised physick some years, he was admitted
_expectant_ at the Hôtel-Dieu, where he was regularly to have
been made pensionary physician upon the first vacancy; but mere
unassisted merit advances slowly, if, what is not very common, it
advances at all. Morin had no acquaintance with the arts necessary to
carry on schemes of preferment; the moderation of his desires
preserved him from the necessity of studying them, and the privacy of
his life debarred him from any opportunity. At last, however, justice
was done him, in spite of artifice and partiality; but his advancement
added nothing to his condition, except the power of more extensive
charity; for all the money which he received, as a salary, he put into
the chest of the hospital, always, as he imagined, without being
observed. Not content with serving the poor for nothing, he paid them
for being served.

His reputation rose so high in Paris, that mademoiselle de Guise was
desirous to make him her physician; but it was not without difficulty
that he was prevailed upon by his friend, Dr. Dodart, to accept the
place. He was by this new advancement laid under the necessity of
keeping a chariot, an equipage very unsuitable to his temper; but
while he complied with those exterior appearances, which the publick
had a right to demand from him, he remitted nothing of his former
austerity, in the more private and essential parts of his life, which
he had always the power of regulating according to his own
disposition.

In two years and a half the princess fell sick, and was despaired of
by Morin, who was a great master of prognosticks. At the time when she
thought herself in no danger he pronounced her death inevitable; a
declaration to the highest degree disagreeable, but which was made
more easy to him than to any other, by his piety and artless
simplicity. Nor did his sincerity produce any ill consequences to
himself; for the princess, affected by his zeal, taking a ring from
her finger, gave it him, as the last pledge of her affection, and
rewarded him still more to his satisfaction, by preparing for death
with a true Christian piety. She left him, by will, a yearly pension
of two thousand livres, which was always regularly paid him.

No sooner was the princess dead, but he freed himself from the
encumbrance of his chariot, and retired to St. Victor, without a
servant; having, however, augmented his daily allowance with a little
rice, boiled in water. Dodart, who had undertaken the charge of being
ambitious on his account, procured him, at the restoration of the
academy, in 1699, to be nominated associate botanist; not knowing,
what he would doubtless have been pleased with the knowledge of, that
he introduced into that assembly the man that was to succeed him in
his place of _pensionary_.

Dr. Morin was not one who had upon his hands the labour of adapting
himself to the duties of his condition, but always found himself
naturally adapted to them. He had, therefore, no difficulty in being
constant at the assemblies of the academy, notwithstanding the
distance of places, while he had strength enough to support the
journey. But his regimen was not equally effectual to produce vigour
as to prevent distempers; and, being sixty-four years old at his
admission, he could not continue his assiduity more than a year after
the death of Dodart, whom he succeeded in 1707.

When Mr. Tournefort went to pursue his botanical inquiries in the
Levant, he desired Dr. Morin to supply his place of demonstrator of
the plants in the Royal garden, and rewarded him for the trouble, by
inscribing to him a new plant, which he brought from the east, by the
name of Morina orientalis, as he named others the Do-darto, the
Fagonne, the Bignonne, the Phelipée. These are compliments proper to
be made by the botanists, not only to those of their own rank, but to
the greatest persons; for a plant is a monument of a more durable
nature than a medal or an obelisk; and yet, as a proof that even these
vehicles are not always sufficient to transmit to futurity the name
conjoined with them, the Nicotiana is now scarcely known by any other
name than that of tobacco.

Dr. Morin, advancing far in age, was now forced to take a servant,
and, what was yet a more essential alteration, prevailed upon himself
to take an ounce of wine a day, which he measured with the same
exactness as a medicine bordering upon poison. He quitted, at the same
time, all his practice in the city, and confined it to the poor of his
neighbourhood, and his visits to the Hôtel-Dieu; but his weakness
increasing, he was forced to increase his quantity of wine, which yet
he always continued to adjust by weight [48].

At seventy-eight his legs could carry him no longer, and he scarcely
left his bed; but his intellects continued unimpaired, except in the
last six months of his life. He expired, or, to use a more proper
term, went out, on the 1st of March, 1714, at the age of eighty years,
without any distemper, and merely for want of strength, having
enjoyed, by the benefit of his regimen, a long and healthy life, and a
gentle and easy death.

This extraordinary regimen was but part of the daily regulation of his
life, of which all the offices were carried on with a regularity and
exactness nearly approaching to that of the planetary motions.

He went to bed at seven, and rose at two, throughout the year. He
spent, in the morning, three hours at his devotions, and went to the
Hôtel-Dieu, in the summer, between five and six, and, in the winter,
between six and seven, hearing mass, for the most part, at Notre Dame.
After his return he read the holy scripture, dined at eleven, and,
when it was fair weather, walked till two in the Royal garden, where
he examined the new plants, and gratified his earliest and strongest
passion. For the remaining part of the day, if he had no poor to
visit, he shut himself up, and read books of literature or physick,
but chiefly physick, as the duty of his profession required. This,
likewise, was the time he received visits, if any were paid him. He
often used this expression: "Those that come to see me, do me honour;
those that stay away, do me a favour. " It is easy to conceive, that a
man of this temper was not crowded with salutations: there was only
now and then an Antony that would pay Paul a visit.

Among his papers was found a Greek and Latin index to Hippocrates,
more copious and exact than that of Pini, which he had finished only a
year before his death. Such a work required the assiduity and patience
of a hermit [49]. There is, likewise, a journal of the weather, kept
without interruption, for more than forty years, in which he has
accurately set down the state of the barometer and thermometer, the
dryness and moisture of the air, the variations of the wind in the
course of the day, the rain, the thunders, and even the sudden storms,
in a very commodious and concise method, which exhibits, in a little
room, a great train of different observations. What numbers of such
remarks had escaped a man less uniform in his life, and whose
attention had been extended to common objects!

All the estate which he left is a collection of medals, another of
herbs, and a library rated at two thousand crowns; which make it
evident that he spent much more upon his mind than upon his body.




BURMAN [50].


Peter Burman was born at Utrecht, on the 26th day of June, 1668. The
family from which he descended has, for several generations, produced
men of great eminence for piety and learning; and his father, who was
professor of divinity in the university, and pastor of the city of
Utrech't, was equally celebrated for the strictness of his life, the
efficacy and orthodoxy of his sermons, and the learning and
perspicuity of his academical lectures.

From the assistance and instruction which such a father would
doubtless have been encouraged by the genius of this son not to have
omitted, he was unhappily cut off at eleven years of age, being at
that time, by his father's death, thrown entirely under the care of
his mother, by whose diligence, piety, and prudence, his education was
so regulated, that he had scarcely any reason, but filial tenderness,
to regret the loss of his father.

He was, about this time, sent to the publick school of Utrecht, to be
instructed in the learned languages; and it will convey no common idea
of his capacity and industry to relate, that he had passed through the
classes, and was admitted into the university in his thirteenth year.

This account of the rapidity of his progress in the first part of his
studies is so stupendous, that, though it is attested by his friend,
Dr. Osterdyke, of whom it cannot be reasonably suspected that he is
himself deceived, or that he can desire to deceive others, it must be
allowed far to exceed the limits of probability, if it be considered,
with regard to the methods of education practised in our country,
where it is not uncommon for the highest genius, and most
comprehensive capacity, to be entangled for ten years, in those thorny
paths of literature, which Burman is represented to have passed in
less than two; and we must, doubtless, confess the most skilful of our
masters much excelled by the address of the Dutch teachers, or the
abilities of our greatest scholars far surpassed by those of Burinan.

But, to reduce this narrative to credibility, it is necessary that
admiration should give place to inquiry, and that it be discovered
what proficiency in literature is expected from a student, requesting
to be admitted into a Dutch university. It is to be observed, that in
the universities of foreign countries, they have professors of
philology, or humanity, whose employment is to instruct the younger
classes in grammar, rhetorick, and languages; nor do they engage in
the study of philosophy, till they have passed through a course of
philological lectures and exercises, to which, in some places, two
years are commonly allotted.

The English scheme of education, which, with regard to academical
studies, is more rigorous, and sets literary honours at a higher price
than that of any other country, exacts from the youth, who are
initiated in our colleges, a degree of philological knowledge
sufficient to qualify them for lectures in philosophy, which are read
to them in Latin, and to enable them to proceed in other studies
without assistance; so that it may be conjectured, that Burman, at his
entrance into the university, had no such skill in languages, nor such
ability of composition, as are frequently to be met with in the higher
classes of an English school; nor was, perhaps, more than moderately
skilled in Latin, and taught the first rudiments of Greek.

In the university he was committed to the care of the learned Grævius,
whose regard for his father inclined him to superintend his studies
with more than common attention, which was soon confirmed and
increased by his discoveries of the genius of his pupil, and his
observation of his diligence.

One of the qualities which contributed eminently to qualify Grævius
for an instructor of youth, was the sagacity by which he readily
discovered the predominant faculty of each pupil, and the peculiar
designation by which nature had allotted him to any species of
literature, and by which he was soon able to determine, that Burman
was remarkably adapted to classical studies, and predict the great
advances that he would make, by industriously pursuing the direction
of his genius.

Animated by the encouragement of a tutor so celebrated, he continued
the vigour of his application, and, for several years, not only
attended the lectures of Grævius, but made use of every other
opportunity of improvement, with such diligence as might justly be
expected to produce an uncommon proficiency.

Having thus attained a sufficient degree of classical knowledge to
qualify him for inquiries into other sciences, he applied himself to
the study of the law, and published a dissertation, de Vicesima
Hæreditatum, which he publickly defended, under the professor Van
Muyden, with such learning and eloquence, as procured him great
applause.

Imagining, then, that the conversation of other men of learning might
be of use towards his further improvement, and rightly judging that
notions formed in any single seminary are, for the greatest part,
contracted and partial, he went to Leyden, where he studied philosophy
for a year, under M. de Volder, whose celebrity was so great, that the
schools assigned to the sciences, which it was his province to teach,
were not sufficient, though very spacious, to contain the audience
that crowded his lectures from all parts of Europe.

Yet he did not suffer himself to be engrossed by philosophical
disquisitions, to the neglect of those studies in which he was more
early engaged, and to which he was, perhaps, by nature better adapted;
for he attended at the same time Ryckius's explanations of Tacitus,
and James Gronovius's lectures on the Greek writers, and has often
been heard to acknowledge, at an advanced age, the assistance which he
received from them.

Having thus passed a year at Leyden with great advantage, he returned
to Utrecht, and once more applied himself to philological studies, by
the assistance of Grævius, whose early hopes of his genius were now
raised to a full confidence of that excellence, at which he afterwards
arrived.

At Utrecht, in March, 1688, in the twentieth year of his age, he was
advanced to the degree of doctor of laws; on which occasion he
published a learned dissertation, de Transactionibus, and defended it
with his usual eloquence, learning, and success.

The attainment of this honour was far from having upon Burman that
effect which has been too often observed to be produced in others,
who, having in their own opinion no higher object of ambition, have
relapsed into idleness and security, and spent the rest of their lives
in a lazy enjoyment of their academical dignities. Burman aspired to
further improvements, and, not satisfied with the opportunities of
literary conversation which Utrecht afforded, travelled into
Switzerland and Germany, where he gained an increase both of fame and
learning.

At his return from this excursion, he engaged in the practice of the
law, and pleaded several causes with such reputation, as might be
hoped by a man who had joined to his knowledge of the law, the
embellishments of polite literature, and the strict ratiocination of
true philosophy; and who was able to employ, on every occasion, the
graces of eloquence and the power of argumentation.

While Burman was hastening to high reputation in the courts of
justice, and to those riches and honours which always follow it, he
was summoned, in 1691, by the magistrates of Utrecht, to undertake the
charge of collector of the tenths, an office, in that place, of great
honour, and which he accepted, therefore, as a proof of their
confidence and esteem.

While he was engaged in this employment, he married Eve Clotterboke, a
young lady of a good family, and uncommon genius and beauty, by whom
he had ten children, of which eight died young; and only two sons,
Francis and Caspar, lived to console their mother for their father's
death.

Neither publick business nor domestick cares detained Burman from the
prosecution of his literary inquiries; by which he so much endeared
himself to Grævius, that he Was recommended by him to the regard of
the university of Utrecht, and, accordingly, in 1696, was chosen
professor of eloquence and history, to which was added, after some
time, the professorship of the Greek language, and afterwards that of
politicks; so various did they conceive his abilities, and so
extensive his knowledge.

At his entrance upon this new province, he pronounced an oration upon
eloquence and poetry.

Having now more frequent opportunities of displaying his learning, he
arose, in a short time, to a high reputation, of which the great
number of his auditors was a sufficient proof, and which the
proficiency of his pupils showed not to be accidental or undeserved.

In 1714, he formed a resolution of visiting Paris, not only for the
sake of conferring, in person, upon questions of literature, with the
learned men of that place, and of gratifying his curiosity with a more
familiar knowledge of those writers whose works he admired, but with a
view more important, of visiting the libraries, and making those
inquiries which might be of advantage to his darling study.

The vacation of the university allowed him to stay at Paris but six
weeks, which he employed with so much dexterity and industry, that he
had searched the principal libraries, collated a great number of
manuscripts and printed copies, and brought back a great treasure of
curious observations.

In this visit to Paris he contracted an acquaintance, among other
learned men, with the celebrated father Montfaucon; with whom he
conversed, at his first interview, with no other character but that of
a traveller; but, their discourse turning upon ancient learning, the
stranger soon gave such proofs of his attainments, that Montfaucon
declared him a very uncommon traveller, and confessed his curiosity to
know his name; which he no sooner heard, than he rose from his seat,
and, embracing him with the utmost ardour, expressed his satisfaction
at having seen the man whose productions of various kinds he had so
often praised; and, as a real proof of his regard, offered not only to
procure him an immediate admission to all the libraries of Paris, but
to those in remoter provinces, which are not generally open to
strangers, and undertook to ease the expenses of his journey, by
procuring him entertainment in all the monasteries of his order.

This favour Burman was hindered from accepting, by the necessity of
returning to Utrecht at the usual time of beginning a new course of
lectures, to which there was always so great a concourse of students,
as much increased the dignity and fame of the university in which he
taught.

He had already extended to distant parts his reputation for knowledge
of ancient history, by a treatise, de Vectigalibus Populi Romani, on
the revenues of the Romans; and for his skill in Greek learning, and
in ancient coins, by a tract called Jupiter Fulgurator; and after his
return from Paris, he published Plædrus, first with the notes of
various commentators, and afterwards with his own. He printed many
poems, made many orations upon different subjects, and procured an
impression of the epistles of Gudius and Sanavius.

While he was thus employed, the professorships of history, eloquence,
and the Greek language, became vacant at Leyden, by the death of
Perizonius, which Burman's reputation incited the curators of the
university to offer him upon very generous terms, and which, after
some struggles with his fondness for his native place, his friends,
and his colleagues, he was prevailed on to accept, finding the
solicitations from Leyden warm and urgent, and his friends at Utrecht,
though unwilling to be deprived of him, yet not zealous enough for the
honour and advantage of their university, to endeavour to detain him
by great liberality.

At his entrance upon this new professorship, which was conferred upon
him in 1715, he pronounced an oration upon the duty and office of a
professor of polite literature; de publici humanioris disciplinæ
professoris proprio officio et munere; and showed, by the usefulness
and perspicuity of his lectures, that he was not confined to
speculative notions on that subject, having a very happy method of
accommodating his instructions to the different abilities and
attainments of his pupils.

Nor did he suffer the publick duties of this station to hinder him
from promoting learning by labours of a different kind; for, besides
many poems and orations, which he recited on different occasions, he
wrote several prefaces to the works of others, and published many
useful editions of the best Latin writers, with large collections of
notes from various commentators.

He was twice rector, or chief governour of the university, and
discharged that important office with equal equity and ability, and
gained, by his conduct in every station, so much esteem, that when the
professorship of history of the United Provinces became vacant, it was
conferred on him, as an addition to his honours and revenues, which he
might justly claim; and afterwards, as a proof of the continuance of
their regard, and a testimony that his reputation was still
increasing, they made him chief librarian, an office which was the
more acceptable to him, as it united his business with his pleasure,
and gave him an opportunity, at the same time, of superintending the
library, and carrying on his studies.

Such was the course of his life, till, in his old age, leaving off his
practice of walking, and other exercises, he began to be afflicted
with the scurvy, which discovered itself by very tormenting symptoms
of various kinds; sometimes disturbing his head with vertigos,
sometimes causing faintness in his limbs, and sometimes attacking his
legs with anguish so excruciating, that all his vigour was destroyed,
and the power of walking entirely taken away, till, at length, his
left foot became motionless. The violence of his pain produced
irregular fevers, deprived him of rest, and entirely debilitated his
whole frame.

This tormenting disease he bore, though not without some degree of
impatience, yet without any unbecoming or irrational despondency, and
applied himself in the intermission of his pains to seek for comfort
in the duties of religion.

While he lay in this state of misery he received an account of the
promotion of two of his grandsons, and a catalogue of the king of
France's library, presented to him by the command of the king himself,
and expressed some satisfaction on all these occasions; but soon
diverted his thoughts to the more important consideration of his
eternal state, into which he passed on the 31st of March, 1741, in the
seventy-third year of his age.

He was a man of moderate stature, of great strength and activity,
which he preserved by temperate diet, without medical exactness, and
by allotting proportions of his time to relaxation and amusement, not
suffering his studies to exhaust his strength, but relieving them by
frequent intermissions; a practice consistent with the most exemplary
diligence, and which he that omits will find at last, that time may be
lost, like money, by unseasonable avarice.

In his hours of relaxation he was gay, and sometimes gave way so far
to his temper, naturally satirical, that he drew upon himself the
ill-will of those who had been unfortunately the subjects of his
mirth; but enemies so provoked, he thought it beneath him to regard or
to pacify; for he was fiery, but not malicious, disdained
dissimulation, and in his gay or serious hours, preserved a settled
detestation of falsehood. So that he was an open and undisguised
friend or enemy, entirely unacquainted with the artifices of
flatterers, but so judicious in the choice of friends, and so constant
in his affection to them, that those with whom he had contracted
familiarity in his youth, had, for the greatest part, his confidence
in his old age.

His abilities, which would probably have enabled him to have excelled
in any kind of learning, were chiefly employed, as his station
required, on polite literature, in which he arrived at very uncommon
knowledge; which, however, appears rather from judicious compilations,
than original productions. His style is lively and masculine, but not
without harshness and constraint, nor, perhaps, always polished to
that purity, which some writers have attained. He was at least
instrumental to the instruction of mankind, by the publication of many
valuable performances, which lay neglected by the greatest part of the
learned world; and, if reputation be estimated by usefulness, he may
claim a higher degree in the ranks of learning, than some others of
happier elocution, or more vigorous imagination.

The malice or suspicion of those who either did not know, or did not
love him, had given rise to some doubts about his religion, which he
took an opportunity of removing on his death-bed, by a voluntary
declaration of his faith, his hope of everlasting salvation from the
revealed promises of God, and his confidence in the merits of our
Redeemer, of the sincerity of which declaration his whole behaviour in
his long illness was an incontestable proof; and he concluded his
life, which had been illustrious for many virtues, by exhibiting an
example of true piety.

Of his works we have not been able to procure a complete catalogue: he
published, Quintilianus, 2 vols. 4to; Valerius Flaccus; Ovidius, 4
vols. 4to; Poetæ Latini Minores, 2 vols. 4to; cum notis variorum.
Buchanani Opera, 2 vols. 4to [51].




SYDENHAM [52].


Thomas Sydenham was born in the year 1624, at Windford Eagle, in
Dorsetshire, where his father, William Sydenham, esq. had a large
fortune. Under whose care he was educated, or in what manner he passed
his childhood, whether he made any early discoveries of a genius
peculiarly adapted to the study of nature, or gave any presages of his
future eminence in medicine, no information is to be obtained. We
must, therefore, repress that curiosity, which would naturally incline
us to watch the first attempts of so vigorous a mind, to pursue it in
its childish inquiries, and see it struggling with rustick prejudices,
breaking, on trifling occasions, the shackles of credulity, and giving
proofs, in its casual excursions, that it was formed to shake off the
yoke of prescription, and dispel the phantoms of hypothesis.

That the strength of Sydenham's understanding, the accuracy of his
discernment, and ardour of his curiosity, might have been remarked
from his infancy by a diligent observer, there is no reason to doubt;
for there is no instance of any man, whose history has been minutely
related, that did not, in every part of life, discover the same
proportion of intellectual vigour; but it has been the lot of the
greatest part of those who have excelled in science, to be known only
by their own writings, and to have left behind them no remembrance of
their domestick life, or private transactions, or only such memorials
of particular passages as are, on certain occasions, necessarily
recorded in publick registers.

From these it is discovered, that, at the age of eighteen, in 1642, he
commenced a commoner of Magdalen hall, in Oxford, where it is not
probable that he continued long; for he informs us himself, that he
was withheld from the university by the commencement of the war; nor
is it known in what state of life he engaged, or where he resided
during that long series of publick commotion. It is, indeed, reported,
that he had a commission in the king's army, but no particular account
is given of his military conduct; nor are we told what rank he
obtained, when he entered into the army, or when, or on what occasion,
he retired from it.

It is, however, certain, that if ever he took upon him the profession
of arms, he spent but few years in the camp; for, in 1648, he
obtained, at Oxford, the degree of bachelor of physick, for which, as
some medicinal knowledge is necessary, it may be imagined that he
spent some time in qualifying himself.

His application to the study of physick was, as he himself relates,
produced by an accidental acquaintance with Dr. Cox, a physician,
eminent at that time in London, who in some sickness prescribed to his
brother, and attending him frequently on that occasion, inquired of
him what profession he designed to follow. The young man answering
that he was undetermined, the doctor recommended physick to him, on
what account, or with what arguments, it is not related; but his
persuasions were so effectual, that Sydenham determined to follow his
advice, and retired to Oxford for leisure and opportunity to pursue
his studies.

It is evident that this conversation must have happened before his
promotion to any degree in physick, because he himself fixes it in the
interval of his absence from the university, a circumstance which will
enable us to confute many false reports relating to Dr. Sydenham,
which have been confidently inculcated, and implicitly believed. It is
the general opinion, that he was made a physician by accident and
necessity, and sir Richard Blackmore reports, in plain terms, [preface
to his Treatise on the Small Pox,] that he engaged in practice,
without any preparatory study, or previous knowledge, of the medicinal
sciences; and affirms, that when he was consulted by him what books he
should read to qualify him for the same profession, he recommended Don
Quixote.

That he recommended Don Quixote to Blackmore, we are not allowed to
doubt; but the relater is hindered by that self-love, which dazzles
all mankind, from discovering that he might intend a satire very
different from a general censure of all the ancient and modern writers
on medicine, since he might, perhaps, mean, either seriously or in
jest, to insinuate, that Blackmore was not adapted by nature to the
study of physick, and that, whether he should read Cervantes or
Hippocrates, he would be equally unqualified for practice, and equally
unsuccessful in it.

Whatsoever was his meaning, nothing is more evident, than that it was
a transient sally of an imagination warmed with gaiety, or the
negligent effusion of a mind intent upon some other employment, and in
haste to dismiss a troublesome intruder; for it is certain that
Sydenham did not think it impossible to write usefully on medicine,
because he has himself written upon it; and it is not probable that he
carried his vanity so far, as to imagine that no man had ever acquired
the same qualifications besides himself. He could not but know that he
rather restored, than invented most of his principles, and, therefore,
could not but acknowledge the value of those writers whose doctrines
he adopted and enforced.

That he engaged in the practice of physick without any acquaintance
with the theory, or knowledge of the opinions or precepts of former
writers, is undoubtedly false; for he declares, that, after he had, in
pursuance of his conversation with Dr. Cox, determined upon the
profession of physick, he "applied himself in earnest to it, and spent
several years in the university," (aliquot annos in academica
palæstra,) before he began to practise in London.

Nor was he satisfied with the opportunities of knowledge which Oxford
afforded, but travelled to Montpellier, as Désault relates,
[Dissertation on Consumptions,] in quest of further information;
Montpellier, being at that time, the most celebrated school of
physick: so far was Sydenham from any contempt of academical
institutions, and so far from thinking it reasonable to learn physick
by experiments alone, which must necessarily be made at the hazard of
life.

What can be demanded beyond this by the most zealous advocate for
regular education? What can be expected from the most cautious and
most industrious student, than that he should dedicate several years
to the rudiments of his art, and travel for further instructions from
one university to another?

It is likewise a common opinion, that Sydenham was thirty years old,
before he formed his resolution of studying physick, for which I can
discover no other foundation than one expression in his dedication to
Dr. Mapletoft, which seems to have given rise to it, by a gross
misinterpretation; for he only observes, that from his conversation
with Dr. Cox to the publication of that treatise, thirty years had
intervened.

Whatever may have produced this notion, or how long soever it may have
prevailed, it is now proved, beyond controversy, to be false; since it
appears that Sydenham, having been for some time absent from the
university, returned to it, in order to pursue his physical inquiries,
before he was twenty-four years old; for, in 1648, he was admitted to
the degree of bachelor of physick.

That such reports should be confidently spread, even among the
contemporaries of the author to whom they relate, and obtain, in a few
years, such credit as to require a regular confutation; that it should
be imagined that the greatest physician of the age arrived at so high
a degree of skill, without any assistance from his predecessors; and
that a man, eminent for integrity, practised medicine by chance, and
grew wise only by murder; is not to be considered without
astonishment.

But if it be, on the other part, remembered, how much this opinion
favours the laziness of some, and the pride of others; how readily
some men confide in natural sagacity; and how willingly most would
spare themselves the labour of accurate reading and tedious inquiry;
it will be easily discovered, how much the interest of multitudes was
engaged in the production and continuance of this opinion, and how
cheaply those, of whom it was known that they practised physick before
they studied it, might satisfy themselves and others with the example
of the illustrious Sydenham.

It is, therefore, in an uncommon degree useful to publish a true
account of this memorable man, that pride, temerity, and idleness, may
be deprived of that patronage which they have enjoyed too long; that
life may be secured from the dangerous experiments of the ignorant and
presumptuous; and that those, who shall, hereafter, assume the
important province of superintending the health of others, may learn,
from this great master of the art, that the only means of arriving at
eminence and success are labour and study.

From these false reports it is probable that another arose, to which,
though it cannot be with equal certainty confuted, it does not appear
that entire credit ought to be given. The acquisition of a Latin style
did not seem consistent with the manner of life imputed to him; nor
was it probable, that he, who had so diligently cultivated the
ornamental parts of general literature, would have neglected the
essential studies of his own profession. Those, therefore, who were
determined, at whatever price, to retain him in their own party, and
represent him equally ignorant and daring with themselves, denied him
the credit of writing his own works in the language in which they were
published, and asserted, but without proof, that they were composed by
him in English, and translated into Latin by Dr. Mapletoft.

Whether Dr. Mapletoft lived and was familiar with him, during the
whole time in which these several treatises were printed, treatises
written on particular occasions, and printed at periods considerably
distant from each other, we have had no opportunity of inquiring, and,
therefore, cannot demonstrate the falsehood of this report; but if it
be considered how unlikely it is, that any man should engage in a work
so laborious and so little necessary, only to advance the reputation
of another, or that he should have leisure to continue the same office
upon all following occasions; if it be remembered how seldom such
literary combinations are formed, and how soon they are, for the
greatest part, dissolved, there will appear no reason for not allowing
Dr. Sydenham the laurel of eloquence, as well as physick [53].

It is observable, that his Processus Integri, published after his
death, discovers alone more skill in the Latin language than is
commonly ascribed to him; and it surely will not be suspected, that
the officiousness of his friends was continued after his death, or
that he procured the book to be translated, only that, by leaving it
behind him, he might secure his claim to his other writings.

It is asserted by sir Hans Sloane, that Dr. Sydenham, with whom he was
familiarly acquainted, was particularly versed in the writings of the
great Roman orator and philosopher; and there is evidently such a
luxuriance in his style, as may discover the author which gave him
most pleasure, and most engaged his imitation.

About the same time that he became bachelor of physick, he obtained,
by the interest of a relation, a fellowship of All Souls' college,
having submitted, by the subscription required, to the authority of
the visitors appointed by the parliament, upon what principles, or how
consistently with his former conduct, it is now impossible to
discover.

When he thought himself qualified for practice, he fixed his residence
in Westminster, became doctor of physick at Cambridge, received a
license from the college of physicians, and lived in the first degree
of reputation, and the greatest affluence of practice, for many years,
without any other enemies than those which he raised by the superiour
merit of his conduct, the brighter lustre of his abilities, or his
improvements of his science, and his contempt of pernicious methods,
supported only by authority, in opposition to sound reason and
indubitable experience. These men are indebted to him for concealing
their names, when he records their malice, since they have, thereby,
escaped the contempt and detestation of posterity.

It is a melancholy reflection, that they who have obtained the highest
reputation, by preserving or restoring the health of others, have
often been hurried away before the natural decline of life, or have
passed many of their years under the torments of those distempers
which they profess to relieve. In this number was Sydenham, whose
health began to fail in the fifty-second year of his age, by the
frequent attacks of the gout, to which he was subject for a great part
of his life, and which was afterwards accompanied with the stone in
the kidneys, and, its natural consequence, bloody urine.

These were distempers which even the art of Sydenham could only
palliate, without hope of a perfect cure, but which, if he has not
been able by his precepts to instruct us to remove, he has, at least,
by his example, taught us to bear; for he never betrayed any indecent
impatience, or unmanly dejection, under his torments, but supported
himself by the reflections of philosophy, and the consolations of
religion; and in every interval of ease applied himself to the
assistance of others with his usual assiduity.

After a life thus usefully employed, he died at his house in
Pall-mall, on the 29th of December, 1689, and was buried in the aisle,
near the south door of the church of St. James, in Westminster.

What was his character, as a physician, appears from the treatises
which he has left, which it is not necessary to epitomise or
transcribe; and from them it may likewise be collected, that his skill
in physick was not his highest excellence; that his whole character
was amiable; that his chief view was the benefit of mankind, and the
chief motive of his actions, the will of God, whom he mentions with
reverence, well becoming the most enlightened and most penetrating
mind. He was benevolent, candid, and communicative, sincere, and
religious; qualities, which it were happy, if they could copy from
him, who emulate his knowledge, and imitate his methods.




CHEYNEL [54].


There is always this advantage in contending with illustrious
adversaries, that the combatant is equally immortalized by conquest or
defeat. He that dies by the sword of a hero will always be mentioned,
when the acts of his enemy are mentioned. The man, of whose life the
following account is offered to the publick, was, indeed, eminent
among his own party, and had qualities, which, employed in a good
cause, would have given him some claim to distinction; but no one is
now so much blinded with bigotry, as to imagine him equal either to
Hammond or Chillingworth; nor would his memory, perhaps, have been
preserved, had he not, by being conjoined with illustrious names,
become the object of publick curiosity.

Francis Cheynel was born in 1608, at Oxford [55], where his father,
Dr. John Cheynel, who had been fellow of Corpus Christi college,
practised physick with great reputation. He was educated in one of the
grammar schools of his native city, and, in the beginning of the year
1623, became a member of the university.

It is probable, that he lost his father when he was very young; for it
appears, that before 1629, his mother had married Dr. Abbot, bishop of
Salisbury, whom she had likewise buried. From this marriage he
received great advantage; for his mother, being now allied to Dr.
Brent, then warden of Merton college, exerted her interest so
vigorously, that he was admitted there a probationer, and afterwards
obtained a fellowship [56].

Having taken the degree of master of arts, he was admitted to orders,
according to the rites of the church of England, and held a curacy
near Oxford, together with his fellowship. He continued in his
college, till he was qualified, by his years of residence, for the
degree of bachelor of divinity, which he attempted to take in 1641,
but was denied his grace [57], for disputing concerning
predestination, contrary to the king's injunctions.

This refusal of his degree he mentions in his dedication to his
account of Mr. Chillingworth: "Do not conceive that I snatch up my pen
in an angry mood, that I might vent my dangerous wit, and ease my
overburdened spleen; no, no, I have almost forgotten the visitation of
Merton college, and the denial of my grace, the plundering of my
house, and little library: I know when, and where, and of whom, to
demand satisfaction for all these injuries and indignities. I have
learnt 'centum plagas Spartana nobilitate concoquere. ' I have not
learnt how to plunder others of goods, or living, and make myself
amends by force of arms. I will not take a living which belonged to
any civil, studious, learned delinquent; unless it be the
much-neglected _commendam_ of some lordly prelate, condemned by
the known laws of the land, and the highest court of the kingdom, for
some offence of the first magnitude. "

It is observable, that he declares himself to have almost forgot his
injuries and indignities, though he recounts them with an appearance
of acrimony, which is no proof that the impression is much weakened;
and insinuates his design of demanding, at a proper time, satisfaction
for them.

These vexations were the consequence rather of the abuse of learning,
than the want of it; no one that reads his works can doubt that he was
turbulent, obstinate, and petulant; and ready to instruct his
superiours, when he most needed instruction from them. Whatever he
believed (and the warmth of his imagination naturally made him
precipitate in forming his opinions) he thought himself obliged to
profess; and what he professed he was ready to defend, without that
modesty which is always prudent, and generally necessary, and which,
though it was not agreeable to Mr. Cheynel's temper, and, therefore,
readily condemned by him, is a very useful associate to truth, and
often introduces her, by degrees, where she never could have forced
her way by argument or declamation.

A temper of this kind is generally inconvenient and offensive in any
society, but in a place of education is least to be tolerated; for, as
authority is necessary to instruction, whoever endeavours to destroy
subordination, by weakening that reverence which is claimed by those
to whom the guardianship of youth is committed by their country,
defeats, at once, the institution; and may be justly driven from a
society, by which he thinks himself too wise to be governed, and in
which he is too young to teach, and too opinionative to learn.

This may be readily supposed to have been the case of Cheynel; and I
know not how those can be blamed for censuring his conduct, or
punishing his disobedience, who had a right to govern him, and who
might certainly act with equal sincerity, and with greater knowledge.

With regard to the visitation of Merton college, the account is
equally obscure. Visitors are well known to be generally called to
regulate the affairs of colleges, when the members disagree with their
head, or with one another; and the temper that Dr. Cheynel discovers
will easily incline his readers to suspect, that he could not long
live in any place, without finding some occasion for debate; nor
debate any question, without carrying opposition to such a length as
might make a moderator necessary. Whether this was his conduct at
Merton, or whether an appeal to the visiter's authority was made by
him, or his adversaries, or any other member of the college, is not to
be known; it appears only, that there was a visitation, that he
suffered by it, and resented his punishment.

He was afterwards presented to a living of great value, near Banbury,
where he had some dispute with archbishop Laud. Of this dispute I have
found no particular account. Calamy only says, he had a ruffle with
bishop Laud, while at his height.

Had Cheynel been equal to his adversary in greatness and learning, it
had not been easy to have found either a more proper opposite; for
they were both, to the last degree, zealous, active, and pertinacious,
and would have afforded mankind a spectacle of resolution and boldness
not often to be seen. But the amusement of beholding the struggle
would hardly have been without danger, as they were too fiery not to
have communicated their heat, though it should have produced a
conflagration of their country.

About the year 1641, when the whole nation was engaged in the
controversy about the rights of the church, and necessity of
episcopacy, he declared himself a presbyterian, and an enemy to
bishops, liturgies, ceremonies; and was considered, as one of the most
learned and acute of his party; for, having spent much of his life in
a college, it cannot be doubted that he had a considerable knowledge
of books, which the vehemence of his temper enabled him often to
display, when a more timorous man would have been silent, though in
learning not his inferiour.

When the war broke out, Mr. Cheynel, in consequence of his principles,
declared himself for the parliament; and, as he appears to have held
it as a first principle, that all great and noble spirits abhor
neutrality, there is no doubt but that he exerted himself to gain
proselytes, and to promote the interest of that party, which he had
thought it his duty to espouse. These endeavours were so much regarded
by the parliament, that, having taken the covenant, he was nominated
one of the assembly of divines, who were to meet at Westminster for
the settlement of the new discipline.

This distinction drew, necessarily, upon him the hatred of the
cavaliers; and his living being not far distant from the king's
head-quarters, he received a visit from some of the troops, who, as he
affirms, plundered his house, and drove him from it. His living, which
was, I suppose, considered as forfeited by his absence, though he was
not suffered to continue upon it, was given to a clergyman, of whom he
says, that he would become a stage better than a pulpit; a censure
which I can neither confute nor admit, because I have not discovered
who was his successour.
He then retired into Sussex, to exercise his
ministry among his friends, in a place where, as he observes, there
had been little of the power of religion either known or practised. As
no reason can be given why the inhabitants of Sussex should have less
knowledge or virtue than those of other places, it may be suspected
that he means nothing more than a place where the presbyterian
discipline or principles had never been received. We now observe, that
the methodists, where they scatter their opinions, represent
themselves, as preaching the gospel to unconverted nations; and
enthusiasts of all kinds have been inclined to disguise their
particular tenets with pompous appellations, and to imagine themselves
the great instruments of salvation; yet it must be confessed, that all
places are not equally enlightened; that in the most civilized nations
there are many corners which may be called barbarous, where neither
politeness, nor religion, nor the common arts of life, have yet been
cultivated; and it is likewise certain, that the inhabitants of Sussex
huve been sometimes mentioned as remarkable for brutality.

From Sussex he went often to London, where, in 1643, he preached three
times before the parliament; and, returning in November to Colchester,
to keep the monthly fast there, as was his custom, he obtained a
convoy of sixteen soldiers, whose bravery or good fortune was such,
that they faced, and put to flight, more than two hundred of the
king's forces.

In this journey he found Mr. Chillingworth in the hands of the
parliament's troops, of whose sickness and death he gave the account,
which has been sufficiently made known to the learned world by Mr.
Maizeaux, in his Life of Chillingworth.

With regard to this relation, it may be observed, that it is written
with an air of fearless veracity, and with the spirit of a man who
thinks his cause just, and his behaviour without reproach; nor does
there appear any reason for doubting that Cheynel spoke and acted as
he relates; for he does not publish an apology, but a challenge, and
writes not so much to obviate calumnies, as to gain from others that
applause which he seems to have bestowed very liberally upon himself,
for his behaviour on that occasion.

Since, therefore, this relation is credible, a great part of it being
supported by evidence which cannot be refuted, Mr. Maizeaux seems very
justly, in his Life of Mr. Chillingworth, to oppose the common report,
that his life was shortened by the inhumanity of those to whom he was
a prisoner; for Cheynel appears to have preserved, amidst all his
detestation of the opinions which he imputed to him, a great kindness
to his person, and veneration for his capacity; nor does he appear to
have been cruel to him, otherwise than by that incessant importunity
of disputation, to which he was doubtless incited by a sincere belief
of the danger of his soul, if he should die without renouncing some of
his opinions.

The same kindness which made him desirous to convert him before his
death, would incline him to preserve him from dying before he was
converted; and accordingly we find, that, when the castle was yielded,
he took care to procure him a commodious lodging; when he was to have
been unseasonably removed, he attempted to shorten his journey, which
he knew would be dangerous; when the physician was disgusted by
Chillingworth's distrust, he prevailed upon him, as the symptoms grew
more dangerous, to renew his visits; and when death left no other act
of kindness to be practised, procured him the rites of burial, which
some would have denied him.

Having done thus far justice to the humanity of Cheynel, it is proper
to inquire, how far he deserves blame. He appears to have extended
none of that kindness to the opinions of Chillingworth, which he
showed to his person; for he interprets every word in the worst sense,
and seems industrious to discover, in every line, heresies, which
might have escaped for ever any other apprehension: he appears always
suspicious of some latent malignity, and ready to persecute what he
only suspects, with the same violence, as if it had been openly
avowed: in all his procedure he shows himself sincere, but without
candour.

About this time Cheynel, in pursuance of his natural ardour, attended
the army under the command of the earl of Essex, and added the praise
of valour to that of learning; for he distinguished himself so much by
his personal bravery, and obtained so much skill in the science of
war, that his commands were obeyed by the colonels with as much
respect as those of the general. He seems, indeed, to have been born a
soldier; for he had an intrepidity which was never to be shaken by any
danger, and a spirit of enterprise not to be discouraged by
difficulty, which were supported by an unusual degree of bodily
strength. His services of all kinds were thought of so much importance
ty the parliament, that they bestowed upon him the living of Petworth,
in Sussex. This living was of the value of seven hundred pounds per
annum, from which they had ejected a man remarkable for his loyalty,
and, therefore, in their opinion, not worthy of such revenues. And it
may be inquired, whether, in accepting this preferment, Cheynel did
not violate the protestation which he makes in the passage already
recited, and whether he did not suffer his resolutions to be overborne
by the temptations of wealth.

In 1646, when Oxford was taken by the forces of the parliament, and
the reformation of the university was resolved, Mr. Cheynel was sent,
with six others, to prepare the way for a visitation; being authorized
by the parliament to preach in any of the churches, without regard to
the right of the members of the university, that their doctrine might
prepare their hearers for the changes which were intended.

When they arrived at Oxford, they began to execute their commission,
by possessing themselves of the pulpits; but, if the relation of Wood
[58] is to be regarded, were heard with very little veneration. Those
who had been accustomed to the preachers of Oxford, and the liturgy of
the church of England, were offended at the emptiness of their
discourses, which were noisy and unmeaning; at the unusual gestures,
the wild distortions, and the uncouth tone with which they were
delivered; at the coldness of their prayers for the king, and the
vehemence and exuberance of those which they did not fail to utter for
_the blessed councils_ and actions of the parliament and army;
and at, what was surely not to be remarked without indignation, their
omission of the Lord's prayer.

But power easily supplied the want of reverence, and they proceeded in
their plan of reformation; and thinking sermons not so efficacious to
conversion as private interrogatories and exhortations, they
established a weekly meeting for _freeing tender consciences from
scruple_, at a house that, from the business to which it was
appropriated, was called the _scruple-shop_.

With this project they were so well pleased, that they sent to the
parliament an account of it, which was afterwards printed, and is
ascribed, by Wood, to Mr. Cheynel. They continued for some weeks to
hold their meetings regularly, and to admit great numbers, whom
curiosity, or a desire of conviction, or a compliance with the
prevailing party, brought thither. But their tranquillity was quickly
disturbed by the turbulence of the independents, whose opinions then
prevailed among the soldiers, and were very industriously propagated
by the discourses of William Earbury, a preacher of great reputation
among them, who one day gathering a considerable number of his most
zealous followers, went to the house appointed for the resolution of
scruples, on a day which was set apart for the disquisition of the
dignity and office of a minister, and began to dispute, with great
vehemence, against the presbyterians, whom he denied to have any true
ministers among them, and whose assemblies he affirmed not to be the
true church. He was opposed with equal heat by the presbyterians, and,
at length, they agreed to examine the point another day, in a regular
disputation. Accordingly, they appointed the 12th of November for an
inquiry: "Whether, in the christian church, the office of minister is
committed to any particular persons? "

On the day fixed, the antagonists appeared, each attended by great
numbers; but, when the question was proposed, they began to wrangle,
not about the doctrine which they had engaged to examine, but about
the terms of the proposition, which the independents alleged to be
changed since their agreement; and, at length, the soldiers insisted
that the question should be, "Whether those who call themselves
ministers, have more right or power to preach the gospel, than any
other man that is a christian? " This question was debated, for some
time, with great vehemence and confusion, but without any prospect of
a conclusion. At length, one of the soldiers, who thought they had an
equal right with the rest to engage in the controversy, demanded of
the presbyterians, whence they themselves received their orders,
whether from bishops, or any other persons. This unexpected
interrogatory put them to great difficulties; for it happened that
they were all ordained by the bishops, which they durst not
acknowledge, for fear of exposing themselves to a general censure, and
being convicted from their own declarations, in which they had
frequently condemned episcopacy, as contrary to Christianity; nor
durst they deny it, because they might have been confuted, and must,
at once, have sunk into contempt. The soldiers, seeing their
perplexity, insulted them; and went away, boasting of their victory;
nor did the presbyterians, for some time, recover spirit enough to
renew their meetings, or to proceed in the work of easing consciences.

Earbury, exulting at the victory, which, not his own abilities, but
the subtlety of the soldier had procured him, began to vent his
notions of every kind, without scruple, and, at length, asserted, that
"the saints had an equal measure of the divine nature with our
Saviour, though not equally manifest. " At the same time he took upon
him the dignity of a prophet, and began to utter predictions relating
to the affairs of England and Ireland.

His prophecies were not much regarded, but his doctrine was censured
by the presbyterians in their pulpits; and Mr. Cheynel challenged him
to a disputation, to which he agreed, and, at his first appearance in
St. Mary's church, addressed his audience in the following manner:

"Christian friends, kind fellow-soldiers, and worthy students, I, the
humble servant of all mankind, am this day drawn, against my will, out
of my cell into this publick assembly, by the double chain of
accusation and a challenge from the pulpit. I have been charged with
heresy; I have been challenged to come hither, in a letter written by
Mr. Francis Cheynel. Here, then, I stand in defence of myself and my
doctrine, which I shall introduce with only this declaration, that I
claim not the office of a minister on account of any outward call,
though I formerly received ordination, nor do I boast of illumination,
or the knowledge of our Saviour, though I have been held in esteem by
others, and formerly by myself; for I now declare, that I know
nothing, and am nothing, nor would I be thought of otherwise than as
an inquirer and seeker. "

He then advanced his former position in stronger terms, and with
additions equally detestable, which Cheynel attacked with the
vehemence which, in so warm a temper, such horrid assertions might
naturally excite. The dispute, frequently interrupted by the clamours
of the audience, and tumults raised to disconcert Cheynel, who was
very unpopular, continued about four hours, and then both the
controvertists grew weary, and retired. The presbyterians afterwards
thought they should more speedily put an end to the heresies of
Earbury by power than by argument; and, by soliciting general Fairfax,
procured his removal.

Mr. Cheynel published an account of this dispute, under the title of,
Faith triumphing over Errour and Heresy, in a Revelation, &c. ; nor can
it be doubted but he had the victory, where his cause gave him so
great superiority.

Somewhat before this, his captious and petulant disposition engaged
him in a controversy, from which he could not expect to gain equal
reputation. Dr. Hammond had, not long before, published his Practical
Catechism, in which Mr. Cheynel, according to his custom, found many
errours implied, if not asserted; and, therefore, as it was much read,
thought it convenient to censure it in the pulpit. Of this Dr. Hammond
being informed, desired him, in a letter, to communicate his
objections; to which Mr. Cheynel returned an answer, written with his
usual temper, and, therefore, somewhat perverse. The controversy was
drawn out to a considerable length; and the papers, on both sides,
were afterwards made publick by Dr. Hammond.

In 1647, it was determined by parliament, that the reformation of
Oxford should be more vigorously carried on; and Mr. Cheynel was
nominated one of the visiters. The general process of the visitation,
the firmness and fidelity of the students, the address by which the
inquiry was delayed, and the steadiness with which it was opposed,
which are very particularly related by Wood, and after him by Walker,
it is not necessary to mention here, as they relate not more to Mr.
Cheynel's life than to those of his associates.

There is, indeed, some reason to believe that he was more active and
virulent than the rest, because he appears to have been charged, in a
particular manner, with some of their most unjustifiable measures. He
was accused of proposing, that the members of the university should be
denied the assistance of counsel, and was lampooned by name, as a
madman, in a satire written on the visitation.

One action, which shows the violence of his temper, and his disregard,
both of humanity and decency, when they came in competition with his
passions, must not be forgotten. The visiters, being offended at the
obstinacy of Dr. Fell, dean of Christchurch, and vicechancellor of the
university, having first deprived him of his vicechancellorship,
determined afterwards to dispossess him of his deanery; and, in the
course of their proceedings, thought it proper to seize upon his
chambers in the college. This was an act which most men would
willingly have referred to the officers to whom the law assigned it;
but Cheynel's fury prompted him to a different conduct. He, and three
more of the visiters, went and demanded admission; which, being
steadily refused them, they obtained by the assistance of a file of
soldiers, who forced the doors with pick-axes. Then entering, they saw
Mrs. Fell in the lodgings, Dr. Fell being in prison at London, and
ordered her to quit them, but found her not more obsequious than her
husband. They repeated their orders with menaces, but were not able to
prevail upon her to remove. They then retired, and left her exposed to
the brutality of the soldiers, whom they commanded to keep possession,
which Mrs. Fell, however, did not leave. About nine days afterwards,
she received another visit of the same kind from the new chancellor,
the earl of Pembroke; who having, like the others, ordered her to
depart without effect, treated her with reproachful language, and, at
last, commanded the soldiers to take her up in her chair, and carry
her out of doors. Her daughters, and some other gentlewomen that were
with her, were afterwards treated in the same manner; one of whom
predicted, without dejection, that she should enter the house again
with less difficulty, at some other time; nor was she mistaken in her
conjecture, for Dr. Fell lived to be restored to his deanery.

At the reception of the chancellor, Cheynel, as the most accomplished
of the visiters, had the province of presenting him with the ensigns
of his office, some of which were counterfeit, and addressing him with
a proper oration. Of this speech, which Wood has preserved, I shall
give some passages, by which a judgment may be made of his oratory.

Of the staves of the beadles he observes, that "some are stained with
double guilt, that some are pale with fear, and that others have been
made use of as crutches, for the support of bad causes and desperate
fortunes;" and he remarks of the book of statutes which he delivers,
that "the ignorant may, perhaps, admire the splendour of the cover,
but the learned know that the real treasure is within. " Of these two
sentences it is easily discovered, that the first is forced and
unnatural, and the second trivial and low.

Soon afterwards Mr. Cheynel was admitted to the degree of bachelor of
divinity, for which his grace had been denied him in 1641, and, as he
then suffered for an ill-timed assertion of the presbyterian
doctrines, he obtained that his degree should be dated from the time
at which he was refused it; an honour which, however, did not secure
him from being soon after publickly reproached as a madman.

But the vigour of Cheynel was thought, by his companions, to deserve
profit, as well as honour; and Dr. Bailey, the president of St. John's
college, being not more obedient to the authority of the parliament
than the rest, was deprived of his revenues and authority, with which
Mr. Cheynel was immediately invested; who, with his usual coolness and
modesty, took possession of the lodgings soon after by breaking open
the doors.

This preferment being not thought adequate to the deserts or abilities
of Mr. Cheynel, it was, therefore, desired, by the committee of
parliament, that the visiters would recommend him to the lectureship
of divinity, founded by the lady Margaret. To recommend him, and to
choose, was, at that time, the same; and he had now the pleasure of
propagating his darling doctrine of predestination, without
interruption, and without danger.

Being thus flushed with power and success, there is little reason for
doubting that he gave way to his natural vehemence, and indulged
himself in the utmost excesses of raging zeal, by which he was,
indeed, so much distinguished, that, in a satire mentioned by Wood, he
is dignified by the title of archvisiter; an appellation which he
seems to have been industrious to deserve by severity and
inflexibility; for, not contented with the commission which he and his
colleagues had already received, he procured six or seven of the
members of parliament to meet privately in Mr. Rouse's lodgings, and
assume the style and authority of a committee, and from them obtained
a more extensive and tyrannical power, by which the visitors were
enabled to force the _solemn league and covenant_, and the
_negative oath_ upon all the members of the university, and to
prosecute those for a contempt who did not appear to a citation, at
whatever distance they might be, and whatever reasons they might
assign for their absence.

By this method he easily drove great numbers from the university,
whose places he supplied with men of his own opinion, whom he was very
industrious to draw from other parts, with promises of making a
liberal provision for them out of the spoils of hereticks and
malignants.

Having, in time, almost extirpated those opinions which he found so
prevalent at his arrival, or, at least, obliged those, who would not
recant, to an appearance of conformity, he was at leisure for
employments which deserve to be recorded with greater commendation.
About this time, many socinian writers began to publish their notions
with great boldness, which the presbyterians, considering as heretical
and impious, thought it necessary to confute; and, therefore, Cheynel,
who had now obtained his doctor's degree, was desired, in 1649, to
write a vindication of the doctrine of the Trinity, which he
performed, and published the next year.

He drew up, likewise, a confutation of some socinian tenets advanced
by John Fry, a man who spent great part of his life in ranging from
one religion to another, and who sat as one of the judges on the king,
but was expelled afterwards from the house of commons, and disabled
from sitting in parliament. Dr. Cheynel is said to have shown himself
evidently superiour to him in the controversy, and was answered by him
only with an opprobrious book against the presbyterian clergy.

Of the remaining part of his life, there is found only an obscure and
confused account. He quitted the presidentship of St. John's, and the
professorship, in 1650, as Calamy relates, because he would not take
the engagement; and gave a proof that he could suffer, as well as act,
in a cause which he believed just. We have, indeed, no reason to
question his resolution, whatever occasion might be given to exert it;
nor is it probable that he feared affliction more than danger, or that
he would not have borne persecution himself for those opinions which
inclined him to persecute others.

He did not suffer much upon this occasion; for he retained the living
of Petworth, to which he, thenceforward, confined his labours, and
where he was very assiduous, and, as Calamy affirms, very successful
in the exercise of his ministry, it being his peculiar character to be
warm and zealous in all his undertakings.

This heat of his disposition, increased by the uncommon turbulence of
the times in which he lived, and by the opposition to which the
unpopular nature of some of his employments exposed him, was, at last,
heightened to distraction, so that he was, for some years, disordered
in his understanding, as both Wood and Calamy relate, but with such
difference as might be expected from their opposite principles. Wood
appears to think, that a tendency to madness was discoverable in a
great part of his life; Calamy, that it was only transient and
accidental, though, in his additions to his first narrative, he pleads
it, as an extenuation of that fury with which his kindest friends
confess him to have acted on some occasions. Wood declares, that he
died little better than distracted; Calamy, that he was perfectly
recovered to a sound mind, before the restoration, at which time he
retired to Preston, a small village in Sussex, being turned out of his
living at Petworth.

It does not appear that he kept his living till the general ejection
of the nonconformists; and it is not unlikely that the asperity of his
carriage, and the known virulence of his temper, might have raised him
enemies, who were willing to make him feel the effects of persecution,
which he had so furiously incited against others; but of this incident
of his life there is no particular account.

After his deprivation, he lived, till his death, which happened in
1665, at a small village near Chichester, upon a paternal estate, not
augmented by the large preferments wasted upon him in the triumphs of
his party; having been remarkable, throughout his life, for
hospitality and contempt of money.




CAVE [59].


The curiosity of the publick seems to demand the history of every man
who has, by whatever means, risen to eminence; and few lives would
have more readers than that of the compiler of the Gentleman's
Magazine, if all those who received improvement or entertainment from
him should retain so much kindness for their benefactor, as to inquire
after his conduct and character.

Edward Cave was born at Newton, in Warwickshire, Feb. 29, 1691. His
father (Joseph) was the younger son of Mr. Edward Cave, of
Cave's-in-the-Hole, a lone house, on the Street road, in the same
county, which took its name from the occupier; but having concurred
with his elder brother in cutting off the entail of a small hereditary
estate, by which act it was lost from the family, he was reduced to
follow, in Rugby, the trade of a shoemaker. He was a man of good
reputation in his narrow circle, and remarkable for strength and
rustick intrepidity. He lived to a great age, and was, in his latter
years, supported by his son.

It was fortunate for Edward Cave, that, having a disposition to
literary attainments, he was not cut off by the poverty of his parents
from opportunities of cultivating his faculties. The school of Rugby,
in which he had, by the rules of its foundation, a right to be
instructed, was then in high reputation under the reverend Mr.
Holyock, to whose care most of the neighbouring families, even of the
highest rank, intrusted their sons. He had judgment to discover, and,
for some time, generosity to encourage, the genius of young Cave; and
was so well pleased with his quick progress in the school, that he
declared his resolution to breed him for the university, and
recommended him, as a servitor, to some of his scholars of high rank.
But prosperity which depends upon the caprice of others, is of short
duration. Cave's superiority in literature exalted him to an invidious
familiarity with boys who were far above him in rank and expectations;
and, as in unequal associations it always happens, whatever unlucky
prank was played was imputed to Cave. When any mischief, great or
small, was done, though, perhaps, others boasted of the stratagem,
when it was successful, yet, upon detection, or miscarriage the fault
was sure to fall upon poor Cave.

At last, his mistress, by some invisible means, lost a favourite cock.
Cave was, with little examination, stigmatised as the thief and
murderer; not because he was more apparently criminal than others, but
because he was more easily reached by vindictive justice. From that
time, Mr. Holyock withdrew his kindness visibly from him, and treated
him with harshness, which the crime, in its utmost aggravation, could
scarcely deserve; and which, surely, he would have forborne, had he
considered how hardly the habitual influence of birth and fortune is
resisted; and how frequently men, not wholly without sense of virtue,
are betrayed to acts more atrocious than the robbery of a hen-roost,
by a desire of pleasing their superiours.

Those reflections his master never made, or made without effect; for,
under pretence that Cave obstructed the discipline of the school, by
selling clandestine assistance, and supplying exercises to idlers, he
was oppressed with unreasonable tasks, that there might be an
opportunity of quarrelling with his failure; and when his diligence
had surmounted them, no regard was paid to the performance. Cave bore
this persecution awhile, and then left the school, and the hope of a
literary education, to seek some other means of gaining a livelihood.

He was first placed with a collector of the excise. He used to
recount, with some pleasure, a journey or two which he rode with him
as his clerk, and relate the victories that he gained over the
excisemen in grammatical disputations. But the insolence of his
mistress, who employed him in servile drudgery, quickly disgusted him,
and he went up to London in quest of more suitable employment.

He was recommended to a timber-merchant at the Bankside, and, while he
was there on liking, is said to have given hopes of great mercantile
abilities; but this place he soon left, I know not for what reason,
and was bound apprentice to Mr. Collins, a printer of some reputation,
and deputy alderman.

This was a trade for which men were formerly qualified by a literary
education, and which was pleasing to Cave, because it furnished some
employment for his scholastick attainments. Here, therefore, he
resolved to settle, though his master and mistress lived in perpetual
discord, and their house was, therefore, no comfortable habitation.
From the inconveniencies of these domestick tumults he was soon
released, having, in only two years, attained so much skill in his
art, and gained so much the confidence of his master, that he was
sent, without any superintendant, to conduct a printing-office at
Norwich, and publish a weekly paper. In this undertaking he met with
some opposition, which produced a publick controversy, and procured
young Cave the reputation of a writer.

His master died before his apprenticeship was expired, and he was not
able to bear the perverseness of his mistress. He, therefore, quitted
her house upon a stipulated allowance, and married a young widow, with
whom he lived at Bow. When his apprenticeship was over, he worked, as
a journeyman, at the printing-house of Mr. Barber, a man much
distinguished, and employed by the tories, whose principles had, at
that time, so much prevalence with Cave, that he was, for some years,
a writer in Mist's Journal; which, though he afterwards obtained, by
his wife's interest, a small place in the post-office, he for some
time continued. But, as interest is powerful, and conversation,
however mean, in time persuasive, he, by degrees, inclined to another
party; in which, however, he was always moderate, though steady and
determined.

When he was admitted into the post-office, he still continued, at his
intervals of attendance, to exercise his trade, or to employ himself
with some typographical business. He corrected the Gradus ad
Parnassum; and was liberally rewarded by the company of stationers. He
wrote an account of the criminals, which had, for some time, a
considerable sale; and published many little pamphlets, that accident
brought into his hands, of which it would be very difficult to recover
the memory. By the correspondence which his place in the post-office
facilitated, he procured country newspapers, and sold their
intelligence to a journalist in London, for a guinea a week.

He was afterwards raised to the office of clerk of the franks, in
which he acted with great spirit and firmness; and often stopped
franks, which were given by members of parliament to their friends,
because he thought such extension of a peculiar right illegal. This
raised many complaints, and having stopped, among others, a frank
given to the old dutchess of Marlborough by Mr. Walter Plummer, he was
cited before the house, as for a breach of privilege, and accused, I
suppose very unjustly, of opening letters to detect them. He was
treated with great harshness and severity, but, declining their
questions, by pleading his oath of secrecy, was at last dismissed. And
it must be recorded to his honour, that, when he was ejected from his
office, he did not think himself discharged from his trust, but
continued to refuse, to his nearest friends, any information about the
management of the office.

By this constancy of diligence and diversification of employment, he
in time collected a sum sufficient for the purchase of a small
printing-office, and began the Gentleman's Magazine, a periodical
pamphlet, of which the scheme is known wherever the English language
is spoken. To this undertaking he owed the affluence in which he
passed the last twenty years of his life, and the fortune which he
left behind him, which, though large, had been yet larger, had he not
rashly and wantonly impaired it, by innumerable projects, of which I
know not that ever one succeeded.

The Gentleman's Magazine, which has now subsisted fifty years, and
still continues to enjoy the favour of the world [60], is one of the
most successful and lucrative pamphlets which literary history has
upon record, and therefore deserves, in this narrative, particular
notice.

Mr. Cave, when he formed the project, was far from expecting the
success which he found; and others had so little prospect of its
consequence, that though he had, for several years, talked of his plan
among printers and booksellers, none of them thought it worth the
trial. That they were not restrained by virtue from the execution of
another man's design, was sufficiently apparent, as soon as that
design began to be gainful; for, in a few years, a multitude of
magazines arose and perished: only the London Magazine, supported by a
powerful association of booksellers, and circulated with all the art
and all the cunning of trade, exempted itself from the general fate of
Cave's invaders, and obtained, though not an equal, yet a considerable
sale [61].

Cave now began to aspire to popularity; and being a greater lover of
poetry than any other art, he sometimes offered subjects for poems,
and proposed prizes for the best performers. The first prize was fifty
pounds, for which, being but newly acquainted with wealth, and
thinking the influence of fifty pounds extremely great, he expected
the first authors of the kingdom to appear as competitors; and offered
the allotment of the prize to the universities. But, when the time
came, no name was seen among the writers that had ever been seen
before; the universities and several private men rejected the province
of assigning the prize. At all this Mr. Cave wondered for awhile; but
his natural judgment, and a wider acquaintance with the world, soon
cured him of his astonishment, as of many other prejudices and
errours. Nor have many men been seen raised by accident or industry to
sudden riches, that retained less of the meanness of their former
state.

He continued to improve his magazine, and had the satisfaction of
seeing its success proportionate to his diligence, till, in 1751, his
wife died of an asthma. He seemed not at first much affected by her
death, but in a few days lost his sleep and his appetite, which he
never recovered; but, after having lingered about two years, with many
vicissitudes of amendment and relapse, fell, by drinking acid liquors,
into a diarrhoea, and afterwards into a kind of lethargick
insensibility, in which one of the last acts of reason, which he
exerted, was fondly to press the hand that is now writing this little
narrative. He died on the 10th of January, 1754, having just concluded
the twenty-third annual collection [62].

He was a man of a large stature, not only tall but bulky, and was,
when young, of remarkable strength and activity. He was, generally,
healthful, and capable of much labour and long application; but in the
latter years of his life was afflicted with the gout, which he
endeavoured to cure or alleviate by a total abstinence both from
strong liquors and animal food. From animal food he abstained about
four years, and from strong liquors much longer; but the gout
continued unconquered, perhaps unabated.

His resolution and perseverance were very uncommon; in whatever he
undertook, neither expense nor fatigue were able to repress him; but
his constancy was calm, and to those who did not know him appeared
faint and languid; but he always went forward, though he moved slowly.
The same chilness of mind was observable in his conversation; he was
watching the minutest accent of those

Assisted only by a classical education,
Which he received at the Grammar school
Of this Town,
Planned, executed, and established
A literary work, called
THE
GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE,
Whereby he acquired an ample fortune,
The whole of which devolved to his family,
Here also lies
The body of WILLIAM CAVE,
Second son of the said JOSEPH CAVE,
Who died May 2, 1757, aged 62 years;
And who, having survived his elder brother,
EDWARD CAVE,
Inherited from him a competent estate;
And, in gratitude to his benefactor,
Ordered this monument to perpetuate his memory.

He liv'd a patriarch in his numerous race,
And show'd in charity a Christian's grace:
Whate'er a friend or parent feels, he knew;
His hand was open, and his heart was true;
In what he gain'd and gave, he taught mankind,
A grateful always is a generous mind.
Here rest his clay! his soul must ever rest;
Who bless'd when living, dying must be blest.

whom he disgusted by seeming inattention; and his visitant was
surprised when he came a second time, by preparations to execute the
scheme which he supposed never to have been heard.

He was, consistently with this general tranquillity of mind, a
tenacious maintainer, though not a clamorous demander, of his right.
In his youth, having summoned his fellow-journeymen to concert
measures against the oppression of their masters, he mounted a kind of
rostrum, and harangued them so efficaciously, that they determined to
resist all future invasions; and when the stamp-offices demanded to
stamp the last half-sheet of the magazines, Mr. Cave alone defeated
their claim, to which the proprietors of the rival magazines would
meanly have submitted.

He was a friend rather easy and constant, than zealous an'd active;
yet many instances might be given, where both his money and his
diligence were employed liberally for others. His enmity was, in like
manner, cool and deliberate; but though cool, it was not insidious,
and though deliberate, not pertinacious.

His mental faculties were slow. He saw little at a time, but that
little he saw with great exactness. He was long in finding the right,
but seldom failed to find it at last. His affections were not easily
gained, and his opinions not quickly discovered. His reserve, as it
might hide his faults, concealed his virtues; but such he was, as they
who best knew him have most lamented.




KING OF PRUSSIA [63].


Charles Frederick, the present king of Prussia, whose actions and
designs now keep Europe in attention, is the eldest son of Frederick
William, by Sophia Dorothea, daughter of George the first, king of
England. He was born January 24, 1711-12. Of his early years nothing
remarkable has been transmitted to us. As he advanced towards manhood,
he became remarkable by his disagreement with his father.

The late king of Prussia was of a disposition violent and arbitrary,
of narrow views, and vehement passions, earnestly engaged in little
pursuits, or in schemes terminating in some speedy consequence,
without any plan of lasting advantage to himself or his subjects, or
any prospect of distant events. He was, therefore, always busy, though
no effects of his activity ever appeared, and always eager, though he
had nothing to gain. His behaviour was, to the last degree, rough and
savage. The least provocation, whether designed or accidental, was
returned by blows, which he did not always forbear to the queen and
princesses.

From such a king and such a father it was not any enormous violation
of duty in the immediate heir of a kingdom, sometimes to differ in
opinion, and to maintain that difference with decent pertinacity. A
prince of a quick sagacity and comprehensive knowledge, must find many
practices in the conduct of affairs which he could not approve, and
some which he could scarcely forbear to oppose.

The chief pride of the old king was to be master of the tallest
regiment in Europe. He, therefore, brought together, from all parts,
men above the common military standard. To exceed the height of six
feet, was a certain recommendation to notice, and to approach that of
seven, a claim to distinction.