true notion of drunkenness.

Moft forts of ⚫ pleasures do this, but particularly that which we take in the esteem of men. These unhappy words, I and Me, what a ferment do they raise in our blood! how troublesome, yet pleafing! how unquietly importunate! how fond are we to talk and tell ftories of ourfelves! and yet how fick does it make • our fouls! if we hear ourselves well spoken of, it may perhaps pass over, and we may, • recover our minds. Yet there is danger that even this will return again to our thoughts, and perhaps when we are better employed. But furely I had almost as willingly meet the devil (under God's chain) as thefe thoughts; that is, the devil in his ugly and frightful dress, as in this (for it is the devil ftill) tawdry, pleafing difguife. If then there be fo much danger, from a few words tranfiently fpoken; what fhall we fay, 'when we put forth all our strength for hours together in company, to fhew our parts, " our reason, our learning, or whatever elfe we please ourselves, or may please others What is this but to bathe ourselves in poifon, and let it foak into our blood, and fill all our veins! Lord, in the midft of what fnares do we walk! on what precipices do we stand! it is a miracle of thy Almighty goodness, that makes it poffible for creatures thus befet, to be ever able to get to heaven, Nothing less than thy mercy and power • could fave us out of them.' Agreeable

.in.

5

Agreeable to all these meditations, advices and prayers, was Mr. Bonnell's practice. A modeft unaffected humility appeared in his words, his actions, and very countenance: "Not" as he himself, in one place, defcribes this virtue," an affected humility, fuch as defires to be taken notice of;" but fuch a true humility, as makes us firft look upon ourfelves as nothing; and then, not so much as once reflect whether others take notice of us or no; fuch a true humility, that diffufes itself through the whole body and foul; that influences and impregnates every motion, thought, and word; that fhines in every gesture, and look, and all our deportment.

But this fpirit of humility did in a particular manner, direct and govern his devotions. He fometimes found, that ufing his voice in private prayer, was of great ufe to him, to quicken his zeal, and keep his thoughts attentive; and he always had his lodging fo contrived, that he might use his voice without being heard; and in his ficknefs he never (before his marriage) allowed any one to be conftantly in the room with him; because the prefence, even of a fervant, reftrained him from praying with his voice. And, after marriage, he was not pleased when any were prefent upon those occafions, but fhe alone, with whom he was free from thefe referves. Such deep impreffions had humility made in his foul, that no

fickness

fickness, no pain, could in the least get the

better of it.

His charity to the poor, though very great and extenfive for his fortune, (as will be afterwards fhewn) yet was always managed with the greatest fecrefy and modefty imaginable; it being his great endeavour to conceal it as much as poffible; of which we may be convinced by the following meditation, wherein he enquires, why, by doing our alms openly, we have no reward.

The end of alms, is not folely to relieve the poor; for what was the widow's mite ' (which yet was a great charity) to this purpofe? God needs not our alms for this end, no more than he did the facrifices of old, to enrich himself. "All the beafts of the 'forest are mine," faith God. In like man

ner, with one act of his will, he could enrich (if he thought fit) all the poor in the • world. But he requires our alms, as he did the facrifices of old, only as teftimonies, or fruits of the inward graces of our minds. A facrifice without contrition, was a vain. oblation; but the facrifices of God are a • broken heart. Again, the poor are as truly relieved by alms without charity, as with it; which fhews, that the relief of the poor is not primarily intended by God, but a • fincere defire of pleasing him. 'Tis then the inward graces of the mind that are rewarded by God; fuch as true humility, contempt of the world, reliance on God's F 6 " provi

providence, and fincere defire to please him; which graces cannot be in the mind of one that affects to do his alms openly. For what humility is there in one that is greedy of vain glory? what reliance on God's providence, in one that thinks to purchase favours from the world, by fhews of good• nefs? what contempt of the world, in one that trafficks with it, and hopes for rewards from it? what fincere defire to please God, in one that above all things feeks to please men? fo then, here being no graces to be rewarded, no reward is to be expected. In fum, outward acts have the outward rewards; which, by the established laws of God in Nature, arise from them, 6 as trees fpring from feeds; but the inward and fpiritual acts of the mind, have fpiritual and eternal rewards affigned them σ by God.

Vain-glory is oppofite, not only to one grace, but eats out the life of all graces in our fouls. We have great reason therefore · to watch againft this vice with all our care, efpecially in religious matters: "For if the light that is in us be darkness, how great is • that darkness?" If the good we do be prin⚫cipally defigned to please men, how void are < we of all goodnefs ?'

He used to wifh there were fome church in Dublin, wherein the holy Sacrament were administered every Lord's-day; "for going about from church to church," he said, "had

fomething

fomething of oftentation in it;" and it was with difficulty that he at laft conquered this fcruple. And when he went to churches, to which he was not accustomed, he generally chose the most private place, where he might be leaft obferved, and leaft difturbed; and when he was so happily placed, he always continued upon his knees, at his private devotions, till the public fervice began. But if he was forced to be fatisfied with a more public feat, and there were company about him, he shortened his private prayers, that he might not be taken notice of; for he avoided being fingular and remarkable in all his actions, much more in thofe of religion; in them he aimed at fomething greater than fame, more lafting and fubftantial than the vain applause of men; even those praises which are endless, and that honour which never can decay.

But his opinion of the fecrecy of religious actions and his practice too, the reader will best learn from himself, in the two following meditations; which are still farther inftances of his humility, and his great watchfulness against whatever had the leaft tendency to vanity.

My right hand,' fays he, is the grace of God: my left, my fpiritual friend. In acts of devotion, fafting and charity, I am 6 to be exceeding nice, how I let one of these • know what the other enables me to do. Tó

found a trumpet, and tell all the world