by no mere personal ties between Laud and Chillingworth, and which find their parallel in the relations between Laud and Hales, of which no similar explanation can be given.

A happy man this Chillingworth-one might have thought who read history by snatches, and knew only that he had powerfully asserted the supremacy of the Bible, and had retained the friendship of Laud,-a happy man, with friends on the right hand and the left: unlovely, of course, to Papists, but dear to Puritans; not perhaps agreeing exactly with rigorous Calvinists and strict Presbyterians, but fighting powerfully on their side against Rome, and defending the charter of their spiritual freedom; an ally without the camp, if not a friend within it; a herald who could go from Geneva to Canterbury with a flag of truce, receiving honour in both places, and free from the fear of personal danger. His friendship with Laud might need accounting for; but who could wonder if the Presbyterians, disclaiming all tradition, and finding their own dear polity in the Bible, welcomed with all their heart this champion of universal Protestantism, and embraced him as a scriptural Christian? Poor Chillingworth! he had probably few hopes of this kind himself, knowing the Puritan temperament far too well. Certainly the history of his later days tells quite a different tale-a tragedy, in which there is real suffering, and much to offend the sensitive mind, and to which the perverse and fanatical intolerance of the principal actor gives, by its sheer intensity, a kind of unconscious humour.

Chillingworth, it seems, was of opinion that war was unlawful; and accordingly, with an inconsistency which may surprise us in so keen a logician, thought that he would do his best to put an end to it by a little ingenious fighting. He had been at the siege of Gloucester, though it is not quite certain in what capacity-whether as spectator, chaplain, or amateur engineer. Be that as it may, in December 1643 he accompanied Lord Hopton into Sussex, to make experiments with a military engine which he had invented, and which was to move so lightly as to be a breast work in all encounters and assaults in the field. We are not informed how this modern application of testudines cum pluteis succeeded against the enemy; but we know that the experimental trip was most disastrous in its consequences to Chillingworth. He fell ill on the expedition, and was left at Arundel Castle, which was retaken in January 1644 by the parliamentary forces under Sir William Waller. Clarendon tells us that he was most barbarously treated by the rebels, and died shortly after in prison. But this is only Clarendon's way of putting it. Chillingworth was, we suppose, liable to imprisonment by the laws of war; but, on account of his illness,

he was treated with more consideration than the other prisoners. They were sent to London, but Chillingworth was removed to the bishop's palace at Chichester, where he received much attention and kindness, as he acknowledged in a codicil to his

will.

But the poor sufferer met with a fate which was not the less cruel because inflicted by one who really meant to be kind. He was spared by the Presbyterian soldiers, but he was killed by a Presbyterian divine. What Horace prophesied jestingly of himself was gravely fulfilled in Chillingworth; he was literally talked to death. The garrulous person who slew him was Cheynell; a man of learning, probity, ability; a despiser of wealth, and given to hospitality; one who had himself suffered loss in these unhappy times; but also, as Chillingworth found to his cost, the most zealous of doctors, and the most orthodox of Presbyterians.

Cheynell was a member of the Assembly of Divines; he had lately published a work accusing Laud, Chillingworth, and their adherents of Socinianism; he was come on a preaching excursion into Sussex, when the current of war drifted him to Arundel Castle. When the castle fell, and Cheynell found Chillingworth within it, he interceded with Sir William Waller on his behalf. We may omit details, transport Chillingworth without further delay to Chichester, and bring Cheynell there to visit him in his illness. Happy indeed would it have been if the Christian had come to the sick man's bedside, leaving the controversialist behind.

The defect of Chillingworth's constitution, we learn from Clarendon, was "his sleeping too little and thinking too much, which sometimes threw him into violent fevers." It was abundance of sleep, and complete freedom from disturbance, that he needed on his sick-bed at Chichester; but these simple remedies were not granted him. Cheynell, on his first visit, thought that the patient might need repose, and therefore spared him for the time. But he soon returned; and after telling Chillingworth that he did not desire to take him at the lowest, when his spirits were flatted and his reason disturbed, asked him whether he was fit for discourse. He answered with a "yes" which even Cheynell perceived to be faint; and accordingly they went straight to an argument, of which we have only Cheynell's account, and which, as we rather sympathise with Chillingworth, we have no wish to inflict upon our readers. Indeed, times have changed; and the matter which then kept the invalid awake might now send the strong man to sleep.

To be brief, a long discussion followed, from which the sick man never fully rallied. Cheynell gave him many more visits;

but he seldom found him fit to discourse, because his disease grew stronger and stronger, and he weaker and weaker. Occasionally, however, Cheynell contrived to throw in a hard question; and Chillingworth, whenever it was possible, referred him for answer to his book. At last Chillingworth died, after suffering, to an uncertain extent, a torture like that which is inflicted in China on some criminals, who are never allowed to sleep. Then followed the grave question of his burial.

Was he to be buried as a Christian at all? As he had not answered Cheynell's questions satisfactorily, he was not supposed to have made a full and free confession of Christian religion. Besides, he had taken up arms against the Parliament, and was thought by some to have been guilty of his own death by his foolhardiness, and therefore to be felo de se. But Cheynell could not go all lengths with those who would have denied Chillingworth the semblance of a funeral; for, as we shall see presently, he wished a funeral to take place, and himself to perform some solemnities on the occasion. And yet he would not himself bury Chillingworth, as he avows in his account of the transaction, giving reasons to justify his conduct. He had never given Chillingworth the right hand of fellowship, but had freely and constantly protested against these damnable heresies, which he had cunningly subintroduced and vented in this kingdom. He knew that Chillingworth had once been a Papist, and he believed that his subsequent conversion was a pretence. He differed from him in fundamentals, and therefore did not feel himself a member of the same Church. He had a shrewd suspicion that prayer over the dead was likely to lead to praying for them. Besides, Chillingworth had expressed a wish to have some part of the Common Prayer-Book read over his grave; and Cheynell objected to the Prayer-Book in general, and to the Burial Service in particular. He believed that it was absurd and sinful to use the same form of words at the burial of all manner of persons, as insinuating that they were all elected, all rest in Christ, and that we have sure and certain hope of their salvation. In short, Cheynell wished to subject the dead, as well as the living, to the pure Presbyterian discipline; he could not understand that when the soul of a fellow-sinner had left the body, it was not for man to judge the departed, much less to pass sentence on him. He dared not express a hope on a subject on which no Christian has any right to despair. Not content with proclaiming God's eternal enmity to sin, he felt it his duty to act in a way which would convey the impression of his eternal enmity to the sinner. Thus armed with a harsh and unholy theory, he forbad his lips to utter those good and solemn words, which express so wonderfully the dim and mysterious

hope which rises naturally in the Christian heart at the sight of a corpse and a coffin. He refused to bury Chillingworth as he wished; but still he was to be buried, and the question remained, where.

Chillingworth, at the time of his death, was chancellor of the cathedral-church of Sarum, and held also the prebend of Bricklesworth, which is attached to that chancellorship. There is reason to think that this preferment was much more honourable than lucrative, but it had its pleasant associations. Hooker, for instance, had not many years before held a stall in the beautiful cathedral of Salisbury; and Bricklesworth is Brixworth in Northamptonshire, a place remarkable for the exceeding antiquity of its church, which appears to be really a fragment of a Roman basilica. But Cheynell had probably no eye for architecture (if he had been so blessed, could he ever have been a fellow of Merton College, and then have become the strictest of Puritans?); as a rigorous Presbyterian, he could not have cared much for Hooker; and he would probably have regarded the Roman bricks at Brixworth only as an additional mark of the beast. As to burying Chillingworth within the chancel of Chichester Cathedral, either because he was chancellor of another cathedral, or simply because he was a priest, he jeered at the very idea. "Being cancellarius," he says, "it was conceived that he should be buried intra cancellos, and rot under the altar, near the pot of incense, that the constant perfume of the incense might excuse the thrift of his executrix,-ossa inodora dedit..... But some more serious conceived that this desire of burying him intra cancellos was but the issue of a superstitious conceit that the chancel, or sanctum sanctorum, was more holy than other places, and the carcass of a priest as sacred as that holy ground; and it was their opinion that a modest and well-grounded denial of this request would be the most effectual confutation of that superstitious conceit." As these more serious persons had their way, it was arranged that Chillingworth should be buried in the cloisters; and there Cheynell met the corpse, which he refused to bury. The conclusion of his invective will suffice our readers. "I refuse"-this is his own report of his own words-" to bury him myself; yet let his friends and followers, who have attended his hearse to this Golgotha, know, that they are permitted, out of mere humanity, to bury their dead out of our sight. If they undertake the burial of his corpse, I shall undertake the burial of his errors, which are published in his so much admired yet unworthy book." Then follow some words of bitterness against Chillingworth, which we need not quote. Cheynell soon returns to the book in these words, suiting, of course, the action to the word: "Get thee

gone thence, thou cursed book, which has seduced so many precious souls; get thee gone, thou corrupt rotten book, earth to earth, and dust to dust; get thee gone into the place of rottenness, that thou mayst rot with thy author and see corruption. Touching the burial of his corpse," he continues, "I need say no more than this. It will be most proper for the men of his persuasion to commit the body of their deceased friend, brother, master, to the dust; and it will be most proper for me to hearken to that counsel of my Saviour, 'Let the dead bury their dead, but go thou and preach the kingdom of God."" And so he went from the grave to the pulpit, and preached on that text to the congregation.

It is hard to think that the kingdom of God which Cheynell preached was exactly righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. The malignants at least, whom he left standing by the grave when he went off to the pulpit, must have been of a very peculiar constitution, if the straitness of his zeal did not kindle in them the bitterness of aversion. They may have been royalists of a very common type, caring little for any form of religion; some of them may have been like that Sir Edmund Varney, whose sad, thoughtful face, thanks to Vandyke, we could see at the British Institution last summer,-the gallant standard-bearer who fought for his king because he had long eaten his bread, but owned privately to having no reverence for bishops. Yet for the nonce they must have become Episcopalians of the strictest sect, if they could gain that distinction by disgust at the Presbyterian brotherhood. To agree with Chillingworth was to distrust tradition, to insist on the supremacy of Scripture, to uphold reason and private judgment, to claim community with foreign Protestants, and to deny the divine right of any hierarchical system. These were far from the sentiments of Laud; yet they were, practically, further still from the school of Calvin. Compared with this tyranny of Geneva, even the rule of Rome would seem tolerable at a distance, and that of Canterbury would be embraced as absolute freedom.

But it may be thought that Cheynell was not a fair specimen of his class. He was a hot and violent man, and at one time of his life at least was not without a suspicion of madness. Be it so; he was an extreme man in one direction, as Laud was an extreme man in another. His conduct at the grave was about as characteristic as the conduct of Laud in the ecclesiastical courts and the Star-Chamber. But he had real Christian virtues, little as they showed themselves at the burial of Chillingworth; and far from being rejected by the Presbyterians as an unfair representative of their opinions, he was put forward by them as one of their leading men. In the previous year he