William Chillingworth, who was two years younger than Charles I., was converted to Catholicism when a student at Oxford, but re-converted by Laud, who was his godfather. In 1637 Chillingworth dedicated to Charles I. a volume entitled "The Religion of Protestants a Safe Way to Salvation." It was written in answer to a book entitled "Mercy and Truth, or Charity maintained by Catholiques," the author of which had sought to prove Protestantism unsafe. Chillingworth maintained that those Protestants are right who take Scripture as the only rule of faith, and do not seek rest in the traditions of an infallible Church.1

THE APPEAL TO SCRIPTURE.

Yet when we say, The Scripture is the only Rule to judge all Controversies by; me-thinks you should easily conceive, that we would be understood, of all those that are possible to be judged by Scripture, and of those that arise among such as believe the Scripture. For, if I had a Controversie with an Atheist whether there were a God or no, I would not say, that the Scripture were a Rule to judge this by; feeling that, doubting whether there be a God or no, he must needs doubt whether the Scripture be the Word of God: or, if he does not, he grants the Question, and is not the man we speak of. So likewise, if I had a Controversie about the Truth of Christ with a Jew, it would be vainly done of me, should I press him with the Authority of the New Testament which he believes not, until out of some principles common to us both, I had perswaded him that it is the Word of God. The New Testament therefore, while he remains a Jew, would not be a fit Rule to decide this Controversie; in as much as that which is doubted of it self, is not fit to determine other doubts. So likewise, if there were any that believed Christian Religion, and yet believed not the Bible to be the Word of God, though they believed the matter of it to be true, (which is no impossible supposition; for I may believe a Book of S. Austin's to contain nothing but the Truth of God, and yet not to have been inspired by God himself,) against such men therefore there were no disputing out of the Bible; because nothing in question can be a proof to it self. When therefore we say, Scripture is a sufficient means to determine all Controversies, we say not this, either to Atheists, Jews, Turks, or such Christians (if there be any such) as believe not Scripture to be the Word of God. But among such men only, as are already agreed upon this, that the Scripture is the Word of God, we say, All Controversies that arise about Faith, are

1 This passage is given just as it was printed in 1637. It will be observed that it differs very little from the custom now established in spelling, but more in punctuation and in the use of capitals and italics. Nobody punctuated well before the Restoration,

either not at all decidable, and consequently not necessary to be believed one way or other; or they may be determined by Scripture. In a word, That all things necessary to be believed are evidently contained in Scripture, and what is not there evidently contained, cannot be necessary to be believed. And our reason hereof is convincing, because nothing can challenge our belief, but what hath descended to us from Christ by Original and Universal Tradition: Now nothing but Scripture hath thus descended to us, Therefore nothing but Scripture can challenge our belief. Now then to come up closer to you, and to answer to your Question, not as you put it, but as you should have put it: I say, That this Position, Scripture alone is the Rule whereby they which believe it to be God's Word, are to judge all Controversies in Faith, is no fundamental point, Though not for your Reasons: For, your first and strongest reason, you see, is plainly voided and cut off by my stating of the Question as I have done, and supposing in it, that the parties at variance, are agreed about this, That the Scripture is the Word of God; and consequently that this is none of their Controversies. To your second, That Controversies cannot be ended without some living Authority, We have said already, that Necessary Controversies may be and are decided. And, if they be not ended, this is not through defect of the Rule, but through the default of Men. And, for these that cannot thus be ended, it is not necessary they should be ended. For, if God did require the ending of them, he would have provided some certain means for the ending of them. And, to your Third, I say, that Your pretence of using these means, is but hypocritical; for you use them with prejudice, and with a setled resolution not to believe any thing which these means happily may suggest into you, if it any way cross your pre-conceived perswasion of your Churche's Infallibility. You give not your selves liberty of judgment in the use of them, nor suffer your selves to be led by them to the Truth, to which they would lead you, would you but be as willing to believe this Consequence, Our Church doth oppose Scripture, therefore it doth err, therefore it is not infallible; as you are resolute to believe this, The Church is infallible, therefore it doth not err, and therefore it doth not oppose Scripture, though it seem to do so never so plainly.

Joseph Hall, born in 1574 at Ashby-de-la-Zouch in Leicestershire, was the son of an officer who had the government of that town under the Earl of Huntingdon, then President of the North. He had a devout mother, and was from infancy intended for the Church. He graduated at Cambridge, became fellow of Emanuel College, and published in 1597 and 1598 a series of clever satires in English verse. He also wrote, as a young man, a very clever Latin prose satire on the greed, drunkenness, and folly of man, and on the virago type of woman, in the form of a description of an imaginary austral region, under the name of "The World other and the same" (Mundus Alter et Idem). He was about to become head-master of a school at Tiverton, when the rectory of Halsted in Suffolk was offered to him. How he then got rid of a hindrance and found a help he has thus told in an autobiographical sketch, entitled "Some Specialities in the Life of Joseph Hall:"

and abilities of discourse and behaviour, had so deeply insinuated himself into my patron, Sir Robert Drury, that there was small hopes (during his entireness) for me to work any good upon that noble patron of mine, who, by the suggestion of this wicked detractor, was set off from me before he knew me. Hereupon, I confess, finding the obdurateness and hopeless condition of that man, I bent my prayers against him, beseeching God daily, that he would be pleased to remove, by some means or other, that apparent hinderance of my faithful labours, who gave me an answer accordingly: for this malicious man going hastily to London to exasperate my patron against me, was then and there swept away by the pestilence, and never returned to do any farther mischief. Now the coast was clear before me, and I gained every day of the good opinion and favourable respects of that honourable gentleman and my worthy neighbours. Being now, therefore, settled in that sweet and civil country of Suffolk, near to St. Edmund's Bury, my first work was to build up my house, which was extremely ruinous; which done, the uncouth solitariness of my life, and the extreme incommodity of that single housekeeping, drew my thoughts, after two years, to condescend to the necessity of a married estate, which God no less strangely provided for me; for, walking from the church on Monday in the Whitsun week, with a grave and reverend minister, Mr. Grandidge, I saw a comely and modest gentlewoman standing at the door of that house where we were invited to a wedding dinner, and inquiring of that worthy friend whether he knew her. Yes (quoth he), I know her well, and have bespoken her for your wife. When I farther demanded an account of that answer, he told me, she was the daughter of a gentleman whom he much respected, Mr. George Winniff, of Bretenham; that out of an opinion had of the fitness of that match for me, he had already treated with her father about it, whom he found very apt to entertain it, advising me not to neglect the opportunity; and not concealing the just praises of modesty, piety, good disposition, and other virtues that were lodged in that seemly presence. I listened to the motion as sent from God, and at last, upon due prosecution, happily prevailed, enjoying the comfortable society of that meet help for the space of fortynine years."

From Halsted Joseph Hall passed to Waltham Holy Cross in Essex, which living he held for twoand-twenty years, having added to it a prebend in Wolverhampton Church, and in 1616 the Deanery of Worcester. He was one of the divines sent to the Synod of Dort. In 1624 he refused the Bishopric of Gloucester, but accepted that of Exeter in 1627, and in November, 1641, was translated to Norwich. In that year the chief argument before the nation was upon the subject of Episcopacy. Bishop Hall wrote a pamphlet upon it, which brought Milton into controversy with him. In December, 1641, the Parliament sent to the Tower Joseph Hall and other bishops who protested against their exclusion from the House of Lords. Six months afterwards he was released on bail, but stripped of his dignities, and he spent the last nine years of his life on a little farm at Heigham, near Norwich. Joseph Hall died in 1656, aged eighty-two.

Thomas Fuller wrote of Joseph Hall in his "Worthies,""He was commonly called our English Seneca, for the pureness, plainness, and fulness of his style; not unhappy at Controversies, better in his Sermons, best of all in his Meditations.""

HALL'S MEDITATIONS.

Upon the Sight of Gold melted.

This gold is both the fairest and most solid of all metals; yet is the soonest melted with the fire: others, as they are coarser, so more churlish, and hard to be wrought upon by a dissolution.

Thus a sound and good heart is most easily melted into sorrow and fear by the sense of God's judgments; whereas the carnal mind is stubborn and remorseless. All metals are but earth, yet some are of finer temper than others; all hearts are of flesh, yet some are, through the power of grace, more capable of spiritual apprehensions.

O God, we are such as thou wilt be pleased to make us. Give me a heart that may be' sound for the truth of grace, and melting at the terrors of thy law; I can be for no other than thy sanctuary on earth, or thy treasury of heaven.

Upon the sight of a Tree full blossomed.

Here is a tree overlaid with blossoms: it is not possible that all these should prosper; one of them must needs rob the other of moisture and growth. I do not love to see an infancy over-hopeful: in these pregnant beginnings one faculty starves another, and at last leaves the mind sapless and barren. As therefore we are wont to pull off some of the too frequent blossoms, that the rest may thrive; so it is good wisdom to moderate the early excess of the parts, or progress of over-forward childhood.

Neither is it otherwise in our Christian profession: a sudden and lavish ostentation of grace may fill the eye with wonder, and the mouth with talk, but will not at the last fl the lap with fruit. Let me not promise too much, nor rais too high expectations of my undertakings. I had rather met should complain of my small hopes, than of my short pe formances.

Upon occasion of a Red-breast coming into a Chamber, Pretty bird, how cheerfully dost thou sit and sing, and y knowest not where thou art, nor where thou shalt make t next meal, and at night must shroud thyself in a bush lodging: what a shame it is for me, that see before me liberal provisions of my God, and find myself set warm un my own roof, yet am ready to droop under a distrustful unthankful dulness! Had I so little certainty of my hart and purveyance, how heartless should I be, how care How little list should I have to make music to thee myself!

Surely thou camest not hither without a providence : sent thee, not so much to delight, as to shame me; but a conviction of my sullen unbelief, who under more appmeans am less cheerful and confident. Reason and faith not done so much in me, as in thee mere instinct of n Want of foresight makes thee more merry, if not happy, here, than the foresight of better things maketh O God, thy providence is not impaired by those I thou hast given me above these brute things: let n greater helps hinder me from an holy security and co able reliance upon thee.

Upon the Sight of a Dark Lanthorn.

There is light indeed, but so shut up as if it were n when the side is most open, there is light enough direction to him that bears it, none to others: he can another man by that light which is cast before E another man cannot discern him.

Right such is reserved knowledge; no man is the l

it but the owner. There is no outward difference betwixt concealed skill and ignorance: and when such hidden knowledge will look forth, it casts so sparing a light, as may only argue it to have an unprofitable being; to have ability, without will to good; power to censure, none to benefit. The suppression or ingrossing of those helps which God would have us to impart, is but a thieves' lanthorn in a true man's hand.

O God, as all our light is from Thee, the Father of Lights, so make me no niggard of that poor rush-candle thou hast lighted in my soul: make me more happy in giving light to others, than in receiving it into myself.

Upon the Singing of the Birds in a Spring Morning. How cheerfully do these little birds chirp and sing out of the natural joy they conceive at the approach of the sun and entrance of the spring; as if their life had departed, and returned with those glorious and comfortable beams!

No otherwise is the penitent and faithful soul affected to the true sun of righteousness, the Father of Lights. When He hides His face, it is troubled, and silently mourns away that sad winter of affliction: when He returns, in His presence is the fulness of joy; no song is cheerful enough to welcome Him.

O Thou who art the God of all consolation, make my heart sensible of the sweet comforts of Thy gracious presence; and let my mouth ever show forth Thy praise.

Upon the Sight of a Natural.

O God, why am not I thus? What hath this man done, that thou hast denied wit to him? or what have I done, that thou shouldest give a competency of it to me? What difference is there betwixt us but thy bounty, which hath bestowed upon me what I could not merit, and hath withheld from him what he could not challenge? All is, O God, in thy good pleasure, whether to give or deny.

Neither is it otherwise in matters of grace. The unregenerate man is a spiritual fool: no man is truly wise but the renewed. How is it that whilst I see another man besotted with the vanity and corruption of his nature, I have attained to know God and the great mystery of salvation, to abhor those sins which are pleasing to a wicked appetite? Who hath discerned me? Nothing but thy free mercy, O my God. Why else was I a man, not a brute beast? Why right shaped, not a monster? Why perfectly limbed, not a cripple? Why well-sensed, not a fool? Why well-affected, not graceless? Why a vessel of honour, not of wrath?

If aught be not ill in me, O Lord, it is Thine. O let Thine be the praise, and mine the thankfulness.

Upon the Loadstone and the Jet.

As there is a civil commerce amongst men for the preservation of human society, so there is a natural commerce which God hath set amongst the other creatures for the maintenance of their common being. There is scarce anything therefore in nature which hath not a power of attracting some other. The fire draws vapours to it, the sun draws the fire; plants draw moisture, the moon draws the sea; all purgative things draw their proper humours. A natural instinct draws all sensitive creatures to affect their own kind; and even in those things which are of imperfect mixtion we see this experimented. So as the senseless stones and metals are not void of this active virtue: the loadstone draws iron, and the jet, rather than nothing, draws up straws and dust. With what a force do both these stones work upon their several subjects! Is there any thing more heavy and unapt for motion than

iron or steel? Yet these do so run to their beloved loadstone, as if they had the sense of a desire and delight; and do so cling to the point of it, as if they had forgotten their weight for this adherence. Is there any thing more apt for dispersion than small straws and dust? Yet these gather to the jet, and so sensibly leap up to it, as if they had a kind of ambition to be so preferred.

Methinks I see in these two a mere emblem of the hearts of men and their spiritual attractives. The grace of God's spirit, like the true loadstone or adamant, draws up the iron heart of man to it, and holds it in a constant fixedness of holy purposes and good actions: the world, like the jet, draws up the sensual hearts of light and vain men, and holds them fast in the pleasures of sin.

I am Thine iron, O Lord; be Thou my loadstone. Draw Thou me, and I shall run after Thee. Knit my heart unto Thee, that I may fear Thy name.

Upon hearing of Music by Night.

How sweetly doth this music sound in this dead season! In the day-time it would not, it could not, so much affect the ear. All harmonious sounds are advanced by a silent darkness.

Thus it is with the glad tidings of salvation. The gospel never sounds so sweet as in the night of persecution or of our own private affliction. It is ever the same; the difference is in our disposition to receive it.

O God, whose praise it is to give songs in the night, make my prosperity conscionable, and my crosses cheerful.

Upon a Glow-worm.

What a cold candle is lighted up in the body of this sorry worm! There needs no other disproof of those that say there is no light at all without some heat. Yet sure an outward heat helps on this cool light. Never did I see any of these bright worms but in the hot months of summer. In cold seasons either they are not, or appear not, when the nights are both darkest and longest, and most uncomfortable.

Thus do false-hearted Christians in the warm and lightsome times of free and encouraged profession; none shine more than they. In hard and gloomy seasons of restraint and persecution all their formal light is either lost or hid, whereas true professors either like the sunshine ever alike, or, like the stars, shine fairest in the frostiest nights. The light of this worm is for some show, but of no use. Any light that is attended with heat can impart itself to others, though with the expense of that subject wherein it is; this doth not waste itself, nor help others. I had rather never to have light than not to have it always: I had rather not to have light than not to communicate it.

Upon a Spring-water.

How this spring smoketh, whilst other greater channels are frozen up! This water is living whilst they are dead. All experience teacheth us that well-waters arising from deep springs are hotter in winter than in summer. The outward cold doth keep in, and double their inward heat.

Such is a true Christian in the evil day. His life of grace gets more vigour by opposition; he had not been so gracious if the times had been better. I will not say he may thank his enemies, but I must say he may thank God for his enemies.

O God, what can put out that heat which is increased with cold? How happy shall I be if I may grow so much more in grace as the world in malice!

1 Mere, unmixed, pure.

Upon the Sound of a Cracked Bell.

What a harsh sound doth this bell make in every ear! The metal is good enough; it is the rift that makes it so unpleasingly jarring.

How like is this bell to a scandalous and ill-lived teacher! His calling is honourable, his noise is heard far enough; but the flaw which is noted in his life mars his doctrine, and offends those ears which else would take pleasure in his teaching. It is possible that such a one, even by that discordous noise, may ring in others into the triumphant church of heaven; but there is no remedy for himself but the fire, whether for his reforming, or judgment.

Upon the Sight of a Blind Man.

How much am I bound to God that hath given me eyes to see this man's want of eyes! With what suspicion and fear he walks! How doth his hand and staff examine his way! With what jealousy doth he receive every morsel, every draught, and yet meets with many a post, and stumbles at many a stone, and swallows many a fly! To him the world is as if it were not, or as if it were all rubs and snares, and downfalls; and if any man will lend him a hand, he must trust to his (however faithless) guide without all comfort save this, that he cannot see himself miscarry.

Many a one is thus spiritually blind, and because he is so, discerns it not, and not discerning, complains not of so woeful a condition. The god of this world hath blinded the eyes of the children of disobedience; they walk on in the ways of death, and yield themselves over to the guidance of him who seeks for nothing but their precipitation into hell. It is an addition to the misery of this inward blindness, that it is ever joined with a secure confidence in them whose trade and ambition it is to betray their souls.

Whatever become of these outward senses, which are common to me with the meanest and most despicable creatures, O Lord give me not over to that spiritual darkness, which is incident to none but those that live without thee, and must perish eternally, because they want thee.

Upon the Sight of a Marriage.

What a comfortable and feeling resemblance is here of Christ and his church! I regard not the persons, I regard the institution. Neither the husband nor the wife are now any more their own. They have either of them given over themselves to other not only the wife, which is the weaker vessel, hath yielded over herself to the stronger protection and participation of an abler head; but the husband hath resigned his right in himself over to his feebler consort; so as now her weakness is his, his strength is hers. Yea, their very flesh hath altered property; hers is his, his is hers. Yea, their very soul and spirit may no more be severed in respect of mutual affection, than from their own several bodies.

It is thus, O Saviour, with Thee and Thy Church. We are not our own, but thine, who hast married us to thyself in truth and righteousness. What powers, what endowments have we but from and in thee! And as our holy boldness dares interest ourselves in thy graces, so thy wonderfully compassionate mercy vouchsafes to interest thyself in our infirmities. Thy poor church suffers on earth, thou feelest in heaven, and, as complaining of our stripes canst say, Why persecutest thou me? Thou again art not so thine own, as that thou art not also ours; thy sufferings, thy merits, thy obedience, thy life, death, resurrection, ascension, intercession, glory, yea, thy blessed humanity, yea, thy glorious

deity, by virtue of our right, of our union, are so ours, as that we would not give our part in thee for ten thousand worlds. O gracious Saviour, as thou canst not but love and chen-h this poor and unworthy soul of mine which Thou hast mrcifully espoused to Thyself; so give me grace to honour and obey Thee, and forsaking all the base and sinful rivalty of the world, to hold me only unto Thee whilst I live here, that I may perfectly enjoy Thee hereafter.

Upon a Ring of Bells.

Whilst every bell keeps due time and order, what a sweet and harmonious sound they make! All the neighbour villages are cheered with that common music; but when once they jar and check each other, either jangling together, or striking preposterously, how harsh and unpleasing is that noise! So that as we testify our public rejoicing by an orderly and welltuned peal; so when we would signify that the town is on fire we ring confusedly.

It is thus in Church and Common-wealth. When every one knows and keeps their due ranks, there is a melodious consort of peace and contentment; but when distances and proportions of respects are not mutually observed, when either states or persons will be clashing with each other, the discord is grievous, and extremely prejudicial. Such confusion either notifieth a fire already kindled, or portendeth it.

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states may ring the changes with safety, but the monarchial government requires a constant and regular course of the st degrees of rule and inferiority, which cannot be violated without a sensible discontentment and danger.

For me, I do so love the peace of the Church and State, that I cannot but with the charitable apostle say, Would to G»d they were cut off that trouble them; and shall ever wish either no jars, or no clappers.

Upon a Penitent Malefactor.

I know not whether I should more admire the wisdom or the mercy of God in His proceedings with men. Had not this man sinned thus notoriously he had never been thus happy: whilst his courses were fair and civil, yet he was graceless. Now his miscarriage hath drawn him into a just affliction, his affliction hath humbled him. God hath taken this advantage of his humiliation for his conversion. Had not one fort slipped into the mouth of hell he had never been in this forwardness to heaven.

There is no man so weak or foolish as that he hath n strength or wit enough to sin, or to make ill use of his sin. It is only the goodness of an infinite God that can make our sin good to us, though evil in itself.

O God, it is no thanks to ourselves or to our sins that we are bettered with evil. The work is Thine; let Thine be the glory.

Upon the View of the World.

It is a good thing to see this material world; but it is a better thing to think of the intelligible world. This though is the sight of the soul, whereby it discerneth things Fie itself, spiritual and immortal, which are so much beyond the worth of these sensible objects, as a spirit is beyond a hair, a pure substance beyond a corruptible, an infinite God abes, a finite creature.

O God, how great a word is that which the Psalmist ema of Thee, that Thou abasest Thyself to behold the things both in heaven and earth! It is our glory to look up even to the meanest piece of heaven; it is an abasement to Thine inprehensible majesty to look down upon the best of hrvs Oh, what a transcendent glory must that needs be, that a

abased to behold the things of heaven! What a happiness shall it be to me, that mine eyes shall be exalted to see Thee, who art humbled to see the place and state of my blessedness! Yea, those very angels that see Thy face are so resplendently glorious, that we could not overlive the sight of one of their faces, who are fain to hide their faces from the sight of Thine. How many millions attend Thy throne above, and Thy footstool below, in the ministration to Thy saints! It is that Thine invisible world, the communion wherewith can make me truly blessed. O God, if my body have fellowship here amongst beasts, of whose earthly substance it participates, let my soul be united to Thee the God of Spirits, and be raised up to enjoy the insensible society of Thy blessed angels. Acquaint me beforehand with those citizens and affairs of Thine Heaven, and make me no stranger to my future glory.

Upon the Sting of a Wasp.

How small things may annoy the greatest! Even a mouse troubles an elephant, a gnat a lion; a very flea may disquiet a giant. What weapon can be nearer to nothing than the sting of this wasp? Yet what a painful wound hath it given me! That scarce visible point, how it envenoms, and rankles, and swells up the flesh! The tenderness of the part adds much to the grief.

And if I be thus vexed with the touch of an angry fly, Lord, how shall I be able to endure the sting of a tormenting conscience? As that part is both most active and most sensible, so that wound which it receives from itself is most intolerably grievous; there were more ease in a nest of hornets than under this one torture. O God, howsoever I speed abroad, give me peace at home, and whatever my flesh suffer, keep my soul free.

Thus pained, wherein do I find ease but in laying honey to the part infected? That medicine only abates the anguish. How near hath nature placed the remedy to the offence! Whensoever my heart is stung with the remorse for sin, only Thy sweet and precious merits, O blessed Saviour, can mitigate and heal the wound. They have virtue to cure me; give me grace to apply them. That sovereign receipt shall make my pain happy. I shall thus applaud my grief: It is good for me that I was thus afflicted.

Upon a Cancelled Bond.

Whilst this obligation was in force I was in servitude to my parchment; my bond was double, to a payment, to a penalty. Now that it is discharged, what is it better than a waste scroll; regarded for nothing but the witness of its own voidance and nullity?

No otherwise is it with the severe law of my Creator. Out of Christ it stands in full force, and binds me over either to perfect obedience, which I cannot possibly perform, or to exquisite torment and eternal death, which I am never able to endure; but now that my Saviour hath fastened it cancelled to His Cross (in respect of the rigour and malediction of it), I look upon it as the monument of my past danger and bondage; I know by it how much was owed by me, how much was paid for me. The direction of it is everlastingthe obligation by it unto death is frustrate. I am free from curse, who never can be free from obedience.

O Saviour, take Thou glory, and give me peace.

Jeremy Taylor was born in August, 1613, at Cambridge. He was the son of a barber, was sent at three years old to the free school then just founded by Dr. Stephen Perse, and in 1626, at thirteen, went

to Caius College as a sizar. John Milton, who went to Cambridge at seventeen, had entered at Christ's College in the preceding year. Jeremy Taylor was M.A. at the age of twenty-one, and then won the patronage of Laud by the charm of his personal beauty, ability, and pure devotion. He chanced to preach at St. Paul's, filling the pulpit in place of a college friend who was lecturer there, and made so great an impression that Laud heard of it and sent for him to preach another sermon at Lambeth. The Archbishop then became Jeremy Taylor's friend, told him that he was yet young for active life, and transferred. him for further study to Oxford, where he used pressure to get him a fellowship at All Souls' without previous residence in the University. Taylor also was made chaplain to Laud, and in 1637 rector of Uppingham in Rutlandshire. There he married, in 1639, and three years afterwards was left a widower with two infant boys; a third son had died not long before his mother. At this time troubles were rising between King and Commons. Jeremy Taylor joined the king's camp as one of his chaplains, and in October, 1642, added one to the number of the loyal clergy who were deprived of their livings. He wrote on behalf of Episcopacy, "Episcopacy Asserted," and was made D.D. for doing so, his age then being twenty. nine. He saw service as a chaplain with the army in Wales, was imprisoned for a time, married a Welsh lady, and set up a school near Grongar Hill, at Llanvihangel Aberbythyrch, in Carmarthenshire. The great house of the place was Golden Grove, where Lord and Lady Carbery were his warm friends; and here, in 1647, he urged tolerance on the contending factions, in a book upon the "Liberty of Prophesying," that is to say, of interpreting the Bible. Jeremy Taylor had as pure an aspiration as John Milton, but being born with a tendency of mind that caused him to dwell more upon authority, there is a characteristic difference between Taylor and Milton in their manner of suggesting the essentials of union among Christians.

Milton would require only that they who accepted the Bible as the word of God and ground-work of their faith should be fellow-Christians in spirit as in name; leaving each one free to draw from it whatever truths he found, or thought he found; that every Christian should join himself to that body of worshippers with which he most agreed in his interpretation of the Scriptures, unite with them in election of whatever pastor he believed most able to support and strengthen his religious life, and neither interfere with nor be interfered with by fellowworshippers who, through differences of interpretation or for other reasons, had formed themselves into other equally independent congregations. This was the principle maintained by the Independents, with whose theory of Christian union, through a freelyadmitted difference in the interpretation of the Book accepted by all congregations as the rule of faith, Milton was in perfect agreement.

Jeremy Taylor differed from Milton in suggesting, not the Bible itself, but the simplest and oldest doctrinal summary of it, the Apostles' Creed, as the ground of Church union. He desired that in each country the Church and State should have like boun