He distributed all he had in charities, choosing rather to have it go through other people's hands than his own; for I was his almoner in London. He had gathered a well-chosen library of curious as well as useful books, which he left to the diocese of Dumblane for the use of the clergy there, that country being ill provided with books. He lamented oft to me the stupidity that he observed among the commons of England, who seemed to be much more insensible in the matters of religion than the commons of Scotland were. He retained still a peculiar inclination to Scotland; and if he had seen any prospect of doing good there, he would have gone and lived and died among them. In the short time that the affairs of Scotland were in the Duke of Monmouth's hands, that duke had been possessed with such an opinion of him, that he moved the king to write to him, to go and at least live in Scotland, if he would not engage in a bishopric there. But that fell with that duke's credit. He was in his last years turned to a greater severity against Popery than I had imagined a man of his temper and of his largeness in point of opinion was capable of. He spoke of the corruptions, of the secular spirit, and of the cruelty that appeared in that Church, with an extraordinary concern; and lamented the shameful advances that we seemed to be making towards Popery. He did this with a tenderness and an edge that I did not expect from so recluse and mortified a man. He looked on the state the Church of England was in with very melancholy reflections, and was very uneasy at an expression then much used, that it was the best constituted Church in the world. He thought it was truly so with relation to the doctrine, the worship, and the main part of our government; but as to the administration, both with relation to the ecclesiastical courts and the pastoral care, he looked on it as one of the most corrupt he had ever seen. He thought we looked like a fair carcase of a

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He

body without a spirit, without that zeal, that strictness of life, and that laboriousness in the clergy, that became us. There were two remarkable circumstances in his death. used often to say, that if he were to choose a place to die in, it should be an inn; it looking like a pilgrim's going home, to whom this world was all as an inn, and who was weary of the noise and confusion in it. He added, that the officious tenderness and care of friends was an entanglement to a dying man; and that the unconcerned attendance of those that could be procured in such a place would give less disturbance. And he obtained what he desired, for he died at the Bell Inn in Warwick Lane. Another circumstance was, that while he was bishop in Scotland, he took what his tenants were pleased to pay him so that there was a great arrear due, which was raised slowly by one whom he left in trust with his affairs there. And the last payment that he could expect from thence was returned up to him about six weeks before his death. that his provision and journey failed both at once.

So

[In an earlier portion of his work, Burnet gives the following account of the saintliest name in the annals of Scottish Episcopacy]:

He had great quickness of parts, a lively apprehension, with a charming vivacity of thought and expression. He had the greatest command of the purest Latin that ever I knew in any man. He was a master both of Greek and Hebrew, and of the whole compass of theological learning, chiefly in the study of the Scriptures. But that which excelled all the rest was, he was possessed with the highest and noblest sense of divine things that I ever saw in any man. He had no regard to his person, unless it was to mortify it by a constant low diet, that was like a perpetual fast. He had a contempt both of wealth and reputation. He seemed to have the lowest thoughts of himself possible, and to desire that all other per

sons should think as meanly of him as he did himself.

He bore all sorts of ill-usage and reproach like a man that took pleasure in it. He had so subdued the natural heat of his temper, that in a great variety of accidents, and in a course of twenty-two years' intimate conversation with him, I never observed the least sign of passion but upon one single occasion. He brought himself into so composed a gravity, that I never saw him laugh, and but seldom smile. And he kept himself in such a constant recollection, that I do not remember that ever I heard him say one idle word. There was a visible tendency in all he said to raise his own mind, and those he conversed with, to serious reflections. He seemed to be in a perpetual meditation. And though the whole course of his life was strict and ascetical, yet he had nothing of the sourness of temper that generally possesses men of that sort. He was the freest from superstition, of censuring others, or of imposing his own methods on them, possible; so that he did not so much as recommend them to others. He said there was a diversity of tempers, and every man was to watch over his own, and to turn it in the best manner he could. His thoughts were lively, oft out of the way, and surprising, yet just and genuine. And he had laid together in his memory the greatest treasure of the best and wisest of all the ancient sayings of the heathens as well as Christians, that I have ever known any man master of; and he used them in the aptest manner possible. He had been bred up with the greatest aversion imaginable to the whole frame of the Church of England. From Scotland, his father sent him to travel. He spent some years in France, and spoke that language like one born there. He came afterwards and settled in Scotland, and had Presbyterian ordination; but he quickly broke through the prejudices of his education. His preaching had a sublimity both of thought and expression in it. The grace and gravity of his pronuncia

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tion was such, that few heard him without a very sensible emotion: I am sure I never did. His style was rather too fine; but there was a majesty and beauty in it that left so deep an impression, that I cannot yet forget the sermons I heard him preach thirty years ago and yet with this he seemed to look on himself as so ordinary a preacher, that while he had a cure, he was ready to employ all others; and when he was a bishop, he chose to preach to small auditories, and would never give notice beforehand: he had, indeed, a very low voice, and so could not be heard by a great crowd.

sons.

THE MILNERS.

The records of fraternal affection contain no example more beautiful and touching than the brotherly love of JOSEPH and ISAAC MILNER. Their father, who had once been a member of the Society of Friends, was a manufacturer in reduced circumstances in the town of Leeds. However, poor as he was, he strove to secure a good education for, at least, one of his Joseph was sent to the grammar-school, and afterwards to Catherine Hall, Cambridge. There he acquitted himself so well that he soon was appointed master of the grammar-school at Hull, and found himself in circumstances to aid his younger brother. He knew Isaac's love of learning, and grieved that the studious lad should consume his days in weaving broad cloth. He asked his friend the Rev. Mr Miles Atkinson to visit him, and test his classical attainments. Mr Atkinson found him seated at the loom, with Tacitus and some Greek author lying beside him. Notwithstanding his long absence from school, the young apprentice acquitted himself so well that Mr Atkinson went to his master and purchased a release from his indentures. "Isaac, lad, thou art off," was the worthy manufacturer's laconic announcement of the fact to the joyful Isaac, who immediately repaired to Hull and commenced as usher

in his brother's crowded school. From thence, at the age of twenty, through the same brother's generosity he was transferred to Queen's College, Cambridge. There he studied to such purpose that on taking his degree the ex-weaver came out senior wrangler, with the epithet "Incomparabilis," besides being first Smith's prizeman, and was soon after elected a fellow and tutor of his college, and commenced the career which ended in his being president of Queen's and Dean of Carlisle.

Joseph Milner was born Jan. 2, 1744. He died Vicar of Holy Trinity, Hull, Nov. 15, 1797.

Isaac Milner was born Jan. 11, 1750, and died April 1, 1820.

Before his death, Joseph had published three volumes of a "History of the Church of Christ." When he died he left some materials so far prepared, that the work was taken up and two volumes added by the surviving brother. That it has all the charms of a first-rate history, or that the portion which passed through Isaac's hands is altogether worthy of the fame of the mighty mathematician, it would be vain to assert; but it is not hazarding much to say that the work of the Milners is the best account of the Christian life of past ages which English readers yet possess, and that for the authenticity of its details, and the truthfulness of its representations, it far surpasses many of its more pretentious competitors.

Anselm.

That good men frequently appear to more advantage in private life than in public, is a remark which was perhaps never better exemplified-than in this prelate, of whom all that is known by the generality of readers is, that he was a strenuous supporter of the papal dominion in England. I can easily conceive that he might be influenced by the purest motives in