No More Learning

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. Men will readily go where they are sure
to be caressed; and he had, therefore, such a collection of giants,
as, perhaps, was never seen in the world before.

To review this towering regiment was his daily pleasure, and to
perpetuate it was so much his care, that when he met a tall woman, he
immediately commanded one of his Titanian retinue to marry her, that
they might propagate procerity, and produce heirs to the father's
habiliments.

In all this there was apparent folly, but there was no crime. The tall
regiment made a fine show at an expense not much greater, when once it
was collected, than would have been bestowed upon common men. But the
king's military pastimes were sometimes more pernicious. He maintained
a numerous army, of which he made no other use than to review and to
talk of it; and when he, or perhaps his emissaries, saw a boy, whose
form and sprightliness promised a future soldier, he ordered a kind of
badge to be put about his neck, by which he was marked out for the
service, like the sons of Christian captives in Turkey; and his
parents were forbidden to destine him to any other mode of life.

This was sufficiently oppressive, but this was not the utmost of his
tyranny. He had learned, though otherwise perhaps no very great
politician, that to be rich was to be powerful; but that the riches of
a king ought to be seen in the opulence of his subjects, he wanted
either ability or benevolence to understand. He, therefore, raised
exorbitant taxes from every kind of commodity and possession, and
piled up the money in his treasury, from which it issued no more. How
the land which had paid taxes once, was to pay them a second time, how
imposts could be levied without commerce, or commerce continued
without money, it was not his custom to inquire. Eager to snatch at
money, and delighted to count it, he felt new joy at every receipt,
and thought himself enriched by the impoverishment of his dominions.

By which of these freaks of royalty the prince was offended, or
whether, as perhaps more frequently happens, the offences of which he
complains were of a domestick and personal kind, it is not easy to
discover. But his resentment, whatever was its cause, rose so high,
that he resolved not only to leave his father's court, but his
territories, and to seek a refuge among the neighbouring or kindred
princes. It is generally believed that his intention was to come to
England, and live under the protection of his uncle, till his father's
death, or change of conduct, should give him liberty to return.

His design, whatever it was, he concerted with an officer in the army,
whose name was Kat, a man in whom he placed great confidence, and
whom, having chosen him for the companion of his flight, he
necessarily trusted with the preparatory measures. A prince cannot
leave his country with the speed of a meaner fugitive. Something was
to be provided, and something to be adjusted. And, whether Kat found
the agency of others necessary, and, therefore, was constrained to
admit some partners of the secret; whether levity or vanity incited
him to disburden himself of a trust that swelled in his bosom, or to
show to a friend or mistress his own importance; or whether it be in
itself difficult for princes to transact any thing in secret; so it
was, that the king was informed of the intended flight, and the
prince, and his favourite, a little before the time settled for their
departure, were arrested, and confined in different places.

The life of princes is seldom in danger, the hazard of their
irregularities falls only on those whom ambition or affection combines
with them. The king, after an imprisonment of some time, set his son
at liberty; but poor Kat was ordered to be tried for a capital crime.
The court examined the cause, and acquitted him: the king remanded him
to a second trial, and obliged his judges to condemn him. In
consequence of the sentence thus tyrannically extorted, he was
publickly beheaded, leaving behind him some papers of reflections made
in the prison, which were afterwards printed, and among others an
admonition to the prince, for whose sake he suffered, not to foster in
himself the opinion of destiny, for that a providence is discoverable
in every thing round us.

This cruel prosecution of a man who had committed no crime, but by
compliance with influence not easily to be resisted, was not the only
act by which the old king irritated his son. A lady with whom the
prince was suspected of intimacy, perhaps more than virtue allowed,
was seized, I know not upon what accusation, and, by the king's order,
notwithstanding all the reasons of decency and tenderness that operate
in other countries, and other judicatures, was publickly whipped in
the streets of Berlin.

At last, that the prince might feel the power of a king and a father
in its utmost rigour, he was, in 1733, married against his will to the
princess Elizabetha Christina of Brunswick Luneburg Beveren. He
married her indeed at his father's command, but without professing for
her either esteem or affection, and considering the claim of parental
authority fully satisfied by the external ceremony, obstinately and
perpetually, during the life of his father, refrained from her bed.
The poor princess lived about seven years in the court of Berlin, in a
state which the world has not often seen, a wife without a husband,
married so far as to engage her person to a man who did not desire her
affection, and of whom it was doubtful, whether he thought himself
restrained from the power of repudiation by an act performed under
evident compulsion.

Thus he lived secluded from publick business, in contention with his
father, in alienation from his wife. This state of uneasiness he found
the only means of softening. He diverted his mind from the scenes
about him, by studies and liberal amusements. The studies of princes
seldom produce great effects, for princes draw with meaner mortals the
lot of understanding; and since of many students not more than one can
be hoped to advance far towards perfection, it is scarcely to be
expected that we should find that one a prince; that the desire of
science should overpower in any mind the love of pleasure, when it is
always present, or always within call; that laborious meditation
should be preferred in the days of youth to amusements and festivity;
or that perseverance should press forward in contempt of flattery; and
that he, in whom moderate acquisitions would be extolled as prodigies,
should exact from himself that excellence of which the whole world
conspires to spare him the necessity.

In every great performance, perhaps in every great character, part is
the gift of nature, part the contribution of accident, and part, very
often not the greatest part, the effect of voluntary election, and
regular design. The king of Prussia was undoubtedly born with more
than common abilities; but that he has cultivated them with more than
common diligence, was probably the effect of his peculiar condition,
of that which he then considered as cruelty and misfortune.

In this long interval of unhappiness and obscurity, he acquired skill
in the mathematical sciences, such as is said to have put him on the
level with those who have made them the business of their lives. This
is, probably, to say too much: the acquisitions of kings are always
magnified. His skill in poetry and in the French language has been
loudly praised by Voltaire, a judge without exception, if his honesty
were equal to his knowledge. Musick he not only understands, but
practises on the German flute, in the highest perfection; so that,
according to the regal censure of Philip of Macedon, he may be ashamed
to play so well.

He may be said to owe to the difficulties of his youth an advantage
less frequently obtained by princes than literature and mathematicks.
The necessity of passing his time without pomp, and of partaking of
the pleasures and labours of a lower station, made him acquainted with
the various forms of life, and with the genuine passions, interests,
desires, and distresses, of mankind. Kings, without this help from
temporary infelicity, see the world in a mist, which magnifies every
thing near them, and bounds their view to a narrow compass, which few
are able to extend by the mere force of curiosity. I have always
thought that what Cromwell had more than our lawful kings, he owed to
the private condition in which he first entered the world, and in
which he long continued: in that state he learned his art of secret
transaction, and the knowledge by which he was able to oppose zeal to
zeal, and make one enthusiast destroy another.

The king of Prussia gained the same arts, and, being born to fairer
opportunities of using them, brought to the throne the knowledge of a
private man, without the guilt of usurpation. Of this general
acquaintance with the world there may be found some traces in his
whole life. His conversation is like that of other men upon common
topicks, his letters have an air of familiar elegance, and his whole
conduct is that of a man who has to do with men, and who is not
ignorant what motives will prevail over friends or enemies.

In 1740, the old king fell sick, and spoke and acted in his illness
with his usual turbulence and roughness, reproaching his physicians,
in the grossest terms, with their unskilfulness and impotence, and
imputing to their ignorance or wickedness the pain which their
prescriptions failed to relieve. These insults they bore with the
submission which is commonly paid to despotick monarchs; till at last
the celebrated Hoffman was consulted, who failing, like the rest, to
give ease to his majesty, was, like the rest, treated with injurious
language. Hoffman, conscious of his own merit, replied, that he could
not bear reproaches which he did not deserve; that he had tried all
the remedies that art could supply, or nature could admit; that he
was, indeed, a professor by his majesty's bounty; but that, if his
abilities or integrity were doubted, he was willing to leave, not only
the university, but the kingdom; and that he could not be driven into
any place where the name of Hoffman would want respect. The king,
however unaccustomed to such returns, was struck with conviction of
his own indecency, told Hoffman, that he had spoken well, and
requested him to continue his attendance.

The king, finding his distemper gaining upon his strength, grew at
last sensible that his end was approaching, and, ordering the prince
to be called to his bed, laid several injunctions upon him, of which
one was to perpetuate the tall regiment by continual recruits, and
another, to receive his espoused wife. The prince gave him a
respectful answer, but wisely avoided to diminish his own right or
power by an absolute promise; and the king died uncertain of the fate
of the tall regiment.

The young king began his reign with great expectations, which he has
yet surpassed. His father's faults produced many advantages to the
first years of his reign. He had an army of seventy thousand men well
disciplined, without any imputation of severity to himself, and was
master of a vast treasure without the crime or reproach of raising it.
It was publickly said in our house of commons, that he had eight
millions sterling of our money; but, I believe, he that said it had
not considered how difficultly eight millions would be found in all
the Prussian dominions. Men judge of what they do not see by that
which they see. We are used to talk in England of millions with great
familiarity, and imagine that there is the same affluence of money in
other countries, in countries whose manufactures are few, and commerce
little.

Every man's first cares are necessarily domestick. The king, being now
no longer under influence, or its appearance, determined how to act
towards the unhappy lady who had possessed, for seven years, the empty
title of the princess of Prussia. The papers of those times exhibited
the conversation of their first interview; as if the king, who plans
campaigns in silence, would not accommodate a difference with his
wife, but with writers of news admitted as witnesses. It is certain
that he received her as queen, but whether he treats her as a wife is
yet in dispute.

In a few days his resolution was known with regard to the tall
regiment; for some recruits being offered him, he rejected them; and
this body of giants, by continued disregard, mouldered away.

He treated his mother with great respect, ordered that she should bear
the title of _queen mother_, and that, instead of addressing him
as _his majesty_, she should only call him _son_.

As he was passing soon after between Berlin and Potsdam, a thousand
boys, who had been marked out for military service, surrounded his
coach, and cried out: "merciful king! deliver us from our slavery. " He
promised them their liberty, and ordered, the next day, that the badge
should be taken off.

He still continued that correspondence with learned men which he began
when he was prince; and the eyes of all scholars, a race of mortals
formed for dependence, were upon him, as a man likely to renew the
times of patronage, and to emulate the bounties of Lewis the
fourteenth.

It soon appeared that he was resolved to govern with very little
ministerial assistance: he took cognizance of every thing with his own
eyes; declared, that in all contrarieties of interest between him and
his subjects, the publick good should have the preference; and, in one
of the first exertions of regal power, banished the prime minister and
favourite of his father, as one that had "betrayed his master, and
abused his trust. "

He then declared his resolution to grant a general toleration of
religion, and, among other liberalities of concession, allowed the
profession of free-masonry. It is the great taint of his character,
that he has given reason to doubt, whether this toleration is the
effect of charity or indifference, whether he means to support good
men of every religion, or considers all religions as equally good.
There had subsisted, for some time, in Prussia, an order called the
"order for favour," which, according to its denomination, had been
conferred with very little distinction. The king instituted the "order
for merit," with which he honoured those whom he considered as
deserving. There were some who thought their merit not sufficiently
recompensed by this new title; but he was not very ready to grant
pecuniary rewards. Those who were most in his favour he sometimes
presented with snuffboxes, on which was inscribed, "Amitié augmente le
prix. "

He was, however, charitable, if not liberal, for he ordered the
magistrates of the several districts to be very attentive to the
relief of the poor; and, if the funds established for that use were
not sufficient, permitted that the deficiency should be supplied out
of the revenues of the town.

One of his first cares was the advancement of learning. Immediately
upon his accession, he wrote to Rollin and Voltaire, that he desired
the continuance of their friendship; and sent for Mr. Maupertuis, the
principal of the French academicians, who passed a winter in Lapland,
to verify, by the mensuration of a degree near the pole, the Newtonian
doctrine of the form of the earth. He requested of Maupertuis to come
to Berlin, to settle an academy, in terms of great ardour and great
condescension.

At the same time, he showed the world that literary amusements were
not likely, as has more than once happened to royal students, to
withdraw him from the care of the kingdom, or make him forget his
interest. He began by reviving a claim to Herstal and Hermal, two
districts in the possession of the bishop of Liege. When he sent his
commissary to demand the homage of the inhabitants, they refused him
admission, declaring that they acknowledged no sovereign but the
bishop. The king then wrote a letter to the bishop, in which he
complained of the violation of his right, and the contempt of his
authority, charged the prelate with countenancing the late act of
disobedience, and required an answer in two days.

In three days the answer was sent, in which the bishop founds his
claim to the two lordships, upon a grant of Charles the fifth,
guaranteed by France and Spain; alleges that his predecessors had
enjoyed this grant above a century, and that he never intended to
infringe the rights of Prussia; but as the house of Brandenburgh had
always made some pretensions to that territory, he was willing to do
what other bishops had offered, to purchase that claim for a hundred
thousand crowns.

To every man that knows the state of the feudal countries, the
intricacy of their pedigrees, the confusion of their alliances, and
the different rules of inheritance that prevail in different places,
it will appear evident, that of reviving antiquated claims there can
be no end, and that the possession of a century is a better title than
can commonly be produced. So long a prescription supposes an
acquiescence in the other claimants; and that acquiescence supposes
also some reason, perhaps now unknown, for which the claim was
forborne. Whether this rule could be considered as valid in the
controversy between these sovereigns, may, however, be doubted, for
the bishop's answer seems to imply, that the title of the house of
Brandenburg had been kept alive by repeated claims, though the seizure
of the territory had been hitherto forborne.

The king did not suffer his claim to be subjected to any altercations,
but, having published a declaration, in which he charged the bishop
with violence and injustice, and remarked that the feudal laws allowed
every man, whose possession was withheld from him, to enter it with an
armed force, he immediately despatched two thousand soldiers into the
controverted countries, where they lived without control, exercising
every kind of military tyranny, till the cries of the inhabitants
forced the bishop to relinquish them to the quiet government of
Prussia.

This was but a petty acquisition; the time was now come when the king
of Prussia was to form and execute greater designs. On the 9th of
October, 1740, half Europe was thrown into confusion by the death of
Charles the sixth, emperour of Germany, by whose death all the
hereditary dominions of the house of Austria descended, according to
the pragmatick sanction, to his eldest daughter, who was married to
the duke of Lorrain, at the time of the emperour's death, duke of
Tuscany.

By how many securities the pragmatick sanction was fortified, and how
little it was regarded when those securities became necessary; how
many claimants started up at once to the several dominions of the
house of Austria; how vehemently their pretensions were enforced, and
how many invasions were threatened or attempted; the distresses of the
emperour's daughter, known for several years by the title only of the
queen of Hungary, because Hungary was the only country to which her
claim had not been disputed: the firmness with which she struggled
with her difficulties, and the good fortune by which she surmounted
them; the narrow plan of this essay will not suffer me to relate. Let
them be told by some other writer of more leisure and wider
intelligence.

Upon the emperour's death, many of the German princes fell upon the
Austrian territories, as upon a dead carcass, to be dismembered among
them without resistance. Among these, with whatever justice, certainly
with very little generosity, was the king of Prussia, who, having
assembled his troops, as was imagined, to support the pragmatick
sanction, on a sudden entered Silesia with thirty thousand men,
publishing a declaration, in which he disclaims any design of injuring
the rights of the house of Austria, but urges his claim to Silesia, as
rising "from ancient conventions of family and confraternity between
the house of Brandenburg and the princes of Silesia, and other
honourable titles. " He says, the fear of being defeated by other
pretenders to the Austrian dominions, obliged him to enter Silesia
without any previous expostulation with the queen, and that he shall
"strenuously espouse the interests of the house of Austria. "

Such a declaration was, I believe, in the opinion of all Europe,
nothing less than the aggravation of hostility by insult, and was
received by the Austrians with suitable indignation. The king pursued
his purpose, marched forward, and in the frontiers of Silesia made a
speech to his followers, in which he told them, that he considered
them rather "as friends than subjects, that the troops of Brandenburg
had been always eminent for their bravery, that they would always
fight in his presence, and that he would recompense those who should
distinguish themselves in his service, rather as a father than as a
king. "

The civilities of the great are never thrown away. The soldiers would
naturally follow such a leader with alacrity; especially because they
expected no opposition: but human expectations are frequently
deceived.

Entering thus suddenly into a country which he was supposed rather
likely to protect than to invade, he acted for some time with absolute
authority; but, supposing that this submission would not always last,
he endeavoured to persuade the queen to a cession of Silesia,
imagining that she would easily be persuaded to yield what was already
lost. He, therefore, ordered his minister to declare, at Vienna, "that
he was ready to guarantee all the German dominions of the house of
Austria; that he would conclude a treaty with Austria, Russia, and the
maritime powers; that he would endeavour that the duke of Lorrain
should be elected emperour, and believed that he could accomplish it;
that he would immediately advance to the queen two millions of
florins; that, in recompense for all this, he required Silesia to be
yielded to him. "

These seem not to be the offers of a prince very much convinced of his
own right. He afterwards moderated his claim, and ordered his minister
to hint at Vienna, that half of Silesia would content him.

The queen answered, that though the king alleged, as his reason for
entering Silesia, the danger of the Austrian territories from other
pretenders, and endeavoured to persuade her to give up part of her
possessions for the preservation of the rest, it was evident that he
was the first and only invader, and that, till he entered in a hostile
manner, all her estates were unmolested.

To his promises of assistance she replied, "that she set a high value
on the king of Prussia's friendship; but that he was already obliged
to assist her against her invaders, both by the golden bull, and the
pragmatick sanction, of which he was a guarantee, and that, if these
ties were of no force she knew not what to hope from other
engagements. "

Of his offers of alliances with Russia and the maritime powers, she
observed, that it could be never fit to alienate her dominions for the
consolidation of an alliance formed only to keep them entire.

With regard to his interest in the election of an emperour, she
expressed her gratitude in strong terms; but added, that the election
ought to be free, and that it must be necessarily embarrassed by
contentions thus raised in the heart of the empire. Of the pecuniary
assistance proposed, she remarks, that no prince ever made war to
oblige another to take money, and that the contributions already
levied in Silesia exceed the two millions, offered as its purchase.

She concluded, that as she values the king's friendship, she was
willing to purchase it by any compliance but the diminution of her
dominions, and exhorted him to perform his part in support of the
pragmatick sanction.

The king, finding negotiation thus ineffectual, pushed forward his
inroads, and now began to show how secretly he could take his
measures. When he called a council of war, he proposed the question in
a few words: all his generals wrote their opinions in his presence
upon separate papers, which he carried away, and, examining them in
private, formed his resolution, without imparting it otherwise than by
his orders.

He began not without policy, to seize first upon the estates of the
clergy, an order every where necessary, and every where envied. He
plundered the convents of their stores of provision; and told them,
that he never had heard of any magazines erected by the apostles.

This insult was mean, because it was unjust; but those who could not
resist were obliged to bear it. He proceeded in his expedition; and a
detachment of his troops took Jablunca, one of the strong places of
Silesia, which was soon after abandoned, for want of provisions, which
the Austrian hussars, who were now in motion, were busy to interrupt.

One of the most remarkable events of the Silesia war, was the conquest
of great Glogau, which was taken by an assault in the dark, headed by
prince Leopold of Anhalt Dessau. They arrived at the foot of the
fortifications about twelve at night, and in two hours were masters of
the place. In attempts of this kind many accidents happen which cannot
be heard without surprise. Four Prussian grenadiers, who had climbed
the ramparts, missing their own company, met an Austrian captain with
fifty-two men: they were at first frighted, and were about to retreat;
but, gathering courage, commanded the Austrians to lay down their
arms, and in the terrour of darkness and confusion were unexpectedly
obeyed.

At the same time a conspiracy to kill or carry away the king of
Prussia, was said to be discovered. The Prussians published a
memorial, in which the Austrian court was accused of employing
emissaries and assassins against the king; and it was alleged, in
direct terms, that one of them had confessed himself obliged, by oath,
to destroy him, which oath had been given him in an Aulick council, in
the presence of the duke of Lorrain.

To this the Austrians answered, "that the character of the queen and
duke was too well known not to destroy the force of such an
accusation; that the tale of the confession was an imposture, and that
no such attempt was ever made. "

Each party was now inflamed, and orders were given to the Austrian
general to hazard a battle. The two armies met at Molwitz, and parted
without a complete victory on either side. The Austrians quitted the
field in good order; and the king of Prussia rode away upon the first
disorder of his troops, without waiting for the last event.