II

This was an Eirenicon which came from the victorious side, from the party in power, and in the hour of triumph. A still more remarkable and beautiful utterance of that spirit which is peaceable and pure came from the party that suffered persecution. Baxter's autobiography, one of the most interesting books of nonconformist literature, was not published until after the author's death, but the first part, which is not, as are the later parts, encumbered with a chaos of documents, was written about two. years after the disaster of Black Bartholomew day. Baxter was not then an old man; he was not quite fifty; but in experience he was old; and bodily infirmities, incessant labours, and the intensity of his zeal on behalf of others had worn him and brought on what he terms a præmatura senectus. No matter lay nearer to his heart, except the salvation of souls, than conciliation in the religion of Protestants; he gave his best endeavours, not always perhaps with wisdom in details, but always with entire and disinterested sincerity, towards attaining a "comprehension," which should reconcile and unite the moderate "Episcopal men" with the moderates among the Presbyterians and the Independents; and, though he succeeded for a time and measure in his own neighbourhood of Kidderminster, we know how completely his larger hopes and purposes were wrecked. prehension form a

in a

These efforts towards a comwell-known piece of English ecclesiastical history, and cannot be considered here. But there is a passage at the close of the first part

of the autobiography-" Reliquiæ Baxterianæ," as it was named by his colleague and editor, Matthew Sylvester which tells of the changes that came over his mind and temper and opinions with advancing years, and it is in these memorable pages that Baxter's best "Eirenicon" may be found.1

Baxter's autobiography has one quality which is among the rarest in books of its kind, and which gives it a value almost unique-it is written with absolute sincerity. He dresses up nothing; he does not project before his imagination any ideal self, and fit things to correspond with that ideal; he aims simply at telling what he knew or what he believed to be true. We can see that he often viewed public affairs too much from what we may call the ministerial stand-point, but that was natural, and the fact is neither obtruded nor disguised. We perceive how his scrupulosity of conscience, his habit of balancing all the reasons for and against a course of conduct in some degree disqualified him for doing justice to men of action, who grasped truth largely and roughly, and who knew that lack of promptitude might be a greater evil than many errors committed on the way to a great end. The animal basis for audacity which lies in a vigorous body and hearty spirits was with him wholly absent; he was almost constantly a sufferer from physical infirmities,

1 While preparing this chapter I noticed that admirable use was made of this passage from Baxter's autobiography in Jowett's "Sermons Biographical and Miscellaneous," pp. 73-78, and that he added a nineteenthcentury application and extension. Sir James Stephen, Essays in Ecclesiastical Biography," II., 60, spoke of the passage as "familiar to most students of English literature," which, I fear, was an amiable form of politeness to his readers.

with his acrimonious blood, his excoriated finger-ends, his rheumatic head, his flatulent stomach, his extreme chilliness without, his bleedings at the nose, his pearls in the eyes, his latent stones in the reins, and all else of which he has to tell his readers, because "the case of his body had a great operation on his soul." But he found that the best palliative for his ailments was incessant activity; there was much to be done; death stood always, as he thought, at hand; the spirit lodged in this crazy tenement of clay was aflame with love for the souls of men; and he toiled as if with the strength of ten. The union in Baxter of the indefatigable pastor and the inquisitive and restless schoolman of Protestant theology is perhaps his distinguishing characteristic. His intellect pursued logical distinctions and subtleties with an almost morbid curiosity; his heart was quick with a passion of charity, which did not expend itself in mere contemplation, but animated a life made up of methodical and industrious habits.

He belonged to no party; in each he saw some things to applaud and some things to condemn.1 He was neither Episcopal (in what he calls the diocesan sense) nor strictly a Presbyterian; he was too Arminian for the high Calvinists and too too Calvinistic for the Arminians. He thought kneeling at the Communion lawful, and made no scruple about the ring in marriage; he doubted of the surplice, and never could bring himself to use the Cross in baptism; he admitted that a form of prayer and liturgy is not in itself forbidden, but held that the English liturgy has much disorder and

1 See the opening of Part II. of "Reliquiæ Baxterianæ."

defectiveness in it. He had duly subscribed to the thirty-nine articles, but, in his maturer days, came to judge subscription unlawful. In each matter of conscience he tried, with the aids of Scripture and much study and prayer, to puzzle out for himself the right or the wrong.

"How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that publisheth peace." Baxter's feet were often upon those Delectable mountains of which Bunyan speaks, from whose heights the celestial city can be seen, but his work lay among the weavers of the streets of Kidderminster. Sermons, catechisings, visitings, the resolution of doubts, meetings for parish discipline, conferences and discussions with ministers, works of charity, the unpaid practice of physic, and, with all this, the incessant exercise of his pen, filled up fourteen years with what he calls sweet employment. "For ever

blessed be the God of mercies," he cries, "that in times of usurpation I had all this mercy and happy freedom, when under our rightful king and governor I and many hundreds more are silenced, and laid by as broken vessels, and vilified as scarce to be tolerated to live privately and quietly in the land!" Preaching to a people who had not been made sermon-proof-the word is Baxter's own-by an awakening ministry, he lit up a spirit of piety hitherto unknown in the town. Five galleries were added to the church; on the Lord's day there was no disorder to be seen, "but you might hear an hundred families singing psalms and repeating sermons as you passed through the streets." When Baxter preached at Worcester the poor nailers and other

labourers would not only crowd the church, but would hang upon the windows and the leads without. The preacher was not of an over sanguine temper-a man, indeed, "of a discouraged spirit"--but he believed that were it not for the faction of the prelatists on the one side, and the factions of the giddy and turbulent sectaries on the other, "England had been like, in a quarter of an age, to have become a land of saints and a pattern of holiness to all the world." He admits that new and strange sects, some of which he has described in a passage of great interest, arose; but though he was a lover of religious harmony, he called to remembrance "that sects have most abounded when the Gospel hath most prospered.” It is better, he thinks, that men should be purblind, and make the mistakes of the purblind, than that they should make no mistakes, being blind: "He that never regardeth the word of God is not like to err much about it; men will sooner fall out about gold or pearls than swine or asses will."

His books and pamphlets, most of which had some immediate work to do, and having done their work might well fall on sleep, were the outpourings of an eager intellect and a fervid heart. "Indeed, for the 'Saints' Rest,' I had four months' vacancy to write it (but in the midst of continual languishing and medicine); but for the rest I wrote them in the crowd of all my other employments, which would allow me no great leisure for polishing and exactness, or any ornament; so that I scarce ever wrote one sheet twice over, nor stayed to make any blots or interlinings, but was fain to let it go as it was first conceived; and when my