or feeling of my mind. Though I do not censure you for this language, believing it to proceed from your zeal, and the lively sense you have of God; yet this caution against it will not be amiss in the course of your life."

It were easy to add other instances of Mr. Bonnell's piety, and to enlarge upon these: but I must proceed to consider him with respect to the duties we owe to ourselves, and our neighbour, as well as those we owe to God.

How he per

duties we owe to ourselves.

As to the duties we owe to ourselves, I have shewed how he discharged some of formed the them, by what I have said of his humility and meekness, mortification and selfdenial. These being duties, which, in many instances of action, have an immediate reference to ourselves; as in others, they have to God and our neighbour. But the general duty which we are to perform to ourselves, and which comprehends all others under it, is a due regulation and government of our passions and affections; and none could keep a stricter watch over these than Mr. Bonnell did: he considered human nature with great application, and particularly, how our passions act within us, what feeds and inflames them; and how they are to be checked and subdued, made governable and calm. To this purpose he speaks in one place.

"Passions of the mind, are like a running gout; it is the same morbific matter that shews itself sometimes in the knee, then in the elbow; that causes giddiness in the head, sickness in the stomach, and colics in the bowels: it is the same morbific matter

in the soul, (irregular passions, and unmortified affections) that shews itself sometimes in love, sometimes in aversion; then in envy, then in ambition; sometimes it is love of esteem, sometimes of beauty; sometimes of riches and grandeur, and abundance of like variety. Seldom above one of these is predominant at a time, and then the party is free from others; and all commonly is as the bodily temper varies. These come and go by fits unaccountably; but while the root of the matter lives in our hearts, we are still under the power of the disease; which we nourish by things that are pleasing; as we do the gout or scurvy, by meats that please our palate. We seldom contract or increase these distempers by eating of rhubarb or aloes; but by high sauces and delicious meats. We indulge our pleasing passions, and they bring us under the smart of the more painful ones. 'Cease to desire,' says Seneca, and you will cease to fear. Who shall deliver us from the body of this death?' Thy cross, O blessed Saviour, is a sufficient remedy to all: for who can allow themselves to love, or be overmuch pleased with their fellow-creatures, who stand under the shadow of this direful tree? Had not the blessed Virgin, and the beloved Disciple, something else to think of while they stood there, than gratifying their minds in worldly amours? But we are not always to stand there; it is not required of us.' Yes, while we are in this world, in which our Lord suffered, we are always to be there more or less; because we are always to be free from the slavery of those affections, from which he died to set us free and to be most

there, when we find ourselves in most danger of being pleased. For if we keep ourselves from being pleased, God hath commanded nature to keep us from being displeased. If we mortify for his sake, those affections which are pleasing to us, he will certainly deliver us from those that only bring torment, And they that are Christ's, have crucified the flesh, with its affections and lusts.""

To the same purpose, in another place, he expresses himself thus:

"What a round do passions make in our miserable souls; we fight against a desultory enemy, which shifts and changes as often as we aggress it. As the humours of the body circulate about, so passions circulate with them. It is with us as with persons in a rheumatism, when the pain is in their shoulders, they prepare their applications; but before they can well apply them, the pain is moved down to their knees, and thence again to their hands. When we get free from lust, the humour settles in our heart, and turns to love; if we get respite from this, it flies into our head, and perplexes us with vanity, conceit of ourselves, and love of esteem of others. Perhaps thence it turns to pride and souring, with the mixture of other humours, becomes anger, peevishness, envy, revenge, or malice, till at last it comes back where it began. Thus while we seek to apply remedies to passion, the humour circulates, and the passion travels along with it, and starts up in a new place, and in a new guise.

“O Lord, who hast instructed us to strike at the root of all, by a true mortification of ourselves; help

me to watch the motions of this subtle enemy, and to declare war against it wherever it appears. Help me to give it no rest, as it gives me little. Strengthen my will, that it may be proof to its solicitations in every shape, faithful to thy love in all encounters, and victorious through thy grace under all oppositions.

"If I converse with politicians, and men of business, it makes me worldly; if with men of learning and wit, it makes me vain; if with fair persons, I am in danger of being sensual; if with great ones, of being proud. O my God, how many snares are scattered in all my ways? What need have I to take care of myself within, since it is impossible to prevent occasions of evil without? All these are the occasions of our warfare, but thou hast made thy grace sufficient for them all."

There are many other meditations among his writings, of the nature and power of our passions, and the methods of governing them; which show, that he kept so severe an eye over them, that he not only conquered his greater corruptions, but pursued his lesser failings with a most active zeal, and being never satisfied with his present attainments in religion, went on continually from one degree of piety to another, till all ended at last in glory.

The consequence of his victory over his passions and desires, his humility, and meekness, and deadness to the world, was thorough contentment of mind with his fortune and estate. He had too just sentiments of this world, not to be above the sordid sin of covetousness, which he knew only in notion; as I might prove from many

Free from the sin of covet

ousness.

of his meditations against it, of which I shall insert only two, which are as follow.

"Take heed and beware of covetousness: man liveth not by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.' Bread, the staff of life, will not sustain a man without God's blessing; much less will riches, which make themselves wings and fly away, Take heed, my soul, of saying, this gain, or that sum, will furnish thee with a competency, or subsistence. This is too like the foolish householder's calculation, Soul, thou hast goods laid up for many years.' Consider that riches avail nothing in themselves, to procure the end men hope for by them, being so easily lost or blasted; and that without a stock of these, God can make sufficient provision for thee from day to day: this thought will keep thee from being too intent on worldly advantages, and make thee more indifferent to gain, and by consequence, more disposed to charity.

"Take heed of thinking to lay in for a siege against Providence, and to fence thyself against him by abundance of outward provision: rather throw down thy walls, and cast thyself naked on his mercy: and he will be thy more sure defence, he will be to thee instead of walls and bulwarks.

"Observe thy good humours, take thyself in the fits of charity. Art thou disposed at any time to give largely? Do it out of hand, lest the grace of God withdraws, and thou growest cool in thy good purposes. No man ever repented of his charity, though it might seem to have been in excess. Be it never so large, assure thyself thou wilt rejoice in