and solemn, yet withal discreet and cautious, expostulation from Mr. Coward's trustees.*

* Doddridge replied-"I shall always be ready to weigh whatever can be said against Mr. Whitfield as well as against any of the rest; and though I must have actual demonstration before I can admit him to be a dishonest man, and though I shall never be able to think all he has written, and all I have heard from him, nonsense, yet I am not so zealously attached to him, as to be disposed to celebrate him as one of the greatest men of the age, or to think that he is the pillar that bears up the whole interests of religion among us."-Correspondence, vol. iv. P. 292.

CHAPTER IV.

HIS SOCIAL RETIREMENT.

WE have seen what Doddridge did-we shall now see more fully what he was.

If ever there existed a heart fit for love to nestle in, 'twas his. He was sensitive, yet unsuspicious, candid, and tenderly kind, easy of access, and full of sympathy; abounding, also, in courtesy, which he felicitously terms the "outguard of humanity and friendship." His amiableness sometimes placed him in a false position; and even from a wish to live in peace with all, he occasionally involved himself in misunderstandings with some. Extremes meet, and Doddridge, in trying to be in every instance candid, was suspected of being, in certain instances, insincere. With great talents for conversation, "his discourse not unfrequently rising to the splendid," and with a love of letter-writing which could not be checked by his numerous official engagements, his company was courted, and his correspondence sought, among the richest social privileges. With no mean pretence, no vain parade, but from the abundance of his heart, he

declares, “The chief thing I value, next to the enjoyment and service of God, is the love and converse of

my dear friends." As a pictorial comment on this beautiful confession, one likes to follow him along that pleasant road from Northampton, to the parsonage-house at Weston Favel, with its brown stone halls, bay windows, and terraced garden,—to hear him there talking, with the freedom of an unbosomed friendship, with the kindred-hearted Hervey, perhaps wandering with him "among the tombs," or looking up with him at "the starry heavens." And then we approach the stately halls, as hospitable as they are romantic, of Ashby-dela-Zouch, and see Doddridge, with the dignity of a gentleman, and the earnestness of a Christian, conversing on the most important of all themes with the good Countess of Huntingdon, and the rest of the pious circle she has gathered round her noble hearth to meet the Doctor; or we accompany him to her Ladyship's town residence, where he preaches in the drawing-room, and the ladies entertain him with their voices and the harpsichord after dinner; and he hears of the blessing that has attended his books to people of "rank and figure," and the noble hostess tells him especially of one Mr. Knight, who has been converted by reading "Colonel Gardiner's Life." Next we travel with him down to Croydon, where Gilbert West meets him with his chariot, and carries him to his classic seat at Wickham,— redolent of the memory of Pitt and Lyttelton,-and

there the learned visitor and host spend their time chiefly in religious and philosophical discourse, in one or other of the elegant retreats in the garden; the result of which is, that their hearts are 66 very much twisted together, and they are truly sorry to part." During his London visits, he makes "multitudes of new and very obliging friends," so that he is "almost lost in the crowd of them" he is "feasted and regaled like a prince, from day to day," by people who quarrel for his company. Now he spends some hours with Sir Harry Houghton, who takes him in his chariot to see “a mathematical curiosity," and from thence to the Parliament House. Next he goes to Mr. Halford's, with whom, sitting out the fire, he chats till two or three o'clock in the morning; and another time we find him holding earnest conversation in Latin with four German divines, two of whom are devoted missionaries, and by their simple tales of holy love and labor, they win and carry home the heart of this devoted man. Not less pleasant is it to watch him expressing welcome and affording hospitality to guests at his own abode-hailing, for example, the rival of the brave and somewhat stern, yet love-fraught Gardiner, when he visits Northampton, and to listen to the experimental conversation between the Scotch colonel in his quaint northern dialect, and the English divine, who gives a rather vehement utterance to the softer speech of the south.*

* I cannot resist the temptation to insert here the following graphic

Perhaps the most remarkable of all is the friendship between Warburton and Doddridge. The man who in his books appears the proud Churchman, the intolerant

sketch of the Colonel:-" Amongst the visitors at their father's house, at first to the children more formidable than the Doctor (Dr. Stonhouse) and, by and by, the most revered of all, was a Scotch cavalry officer. With his Hessian boots, and their tremendous spurs, sustaining the grandeur of his scarlet coat and powdered queue, there was something to youthful imagination very awful in the tall and stately hussar; and that awe was nowise abated when they got courage to look on his high forehead, with overhung gray eyes, and weather-beaten cheeks, and when they marked his fine and dauntless air. And then it was terrible to think how many battles he had fought, and how in one of them a bullet had gone quite through his neck, and he had lain a whole night among the slain. But there was a deeper mystery still. He had been a very bad man once, it would appear, and now he was very good; and he had seen a vision; and altogether, with his strong Scotch voice, and his sword, and his wonderful story, the most solemn visitant was this grave and lofty soldier. But they saw how their father loved him, and how he loved their father. As he sat so erect in the square corner seat of the chapel, they could notice how his stern look would soften, and how his firm lip would quiver, and how a happy tear would roll down his deep-lined face; and they heard him, as he sung so joyfully the closing hymn, and they came to feel that the Colonel must indeed be very good. At last, after a long absence, he came to see their father, and stayed three days, and he was looking very sick and very old; and the last night, before he went away, their father preached a sermon in the house, and his text was, 'I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honor him.' And the Colonel went away, and their father went with him, and gave him a long convoy; and many letters went and came. But at last there was war in Scotland. There was a rebellion, and there were battles. And then the gloomy news arrived, there had been a battle close to the very house of Bankton, and the king's soldiers had run away, and the brave Colonel Gardiner would not run, but fought to the very last; and—alas for the Lady Francis!-he was stricken down and slain scarce a mile from his own mansion door."-North British Review, No. xxviii.