Читать книгу Dæmonologia Sacra; or, A Treatise of Satan's Temptations - Richard Gilpin - Страница 4

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In pursuing our investigations for our Memoir of Richard Sibbes, we found and noted, that his name—in every one of its odd variations of spelling, numerous as those of Shakespeare and Raleigh—had quite died out at once of his native county and country, being traceable nowhere for fully a century of years—the stream which rose at Cony-Weston, Norfolk, in 1524, lapsing in a ‘Richard Sibbes, clerk, rector of Gedding, aged 93, February 2, 1737;’ and the blood thenceforward flowing in the female line.1

Very different is it with the name of Gilpin, now before us. From family-muniments and genealogies intrusted to us by various representatives, of nearer and remoter kin, it were easy to go back many generations before the earliest-noticed Sibbes; while at the present day, in nearly all gradations of circumstance, at home and abroad—from the original Cumberland and Westmoreland, to ‘the gray metropolis of the North:’ from the Castle of Scaleby, to ‘huts, where poor men lie;’ and from Wyoming of Pennsylvania to Acadie of Evangeline and ‘distant Ind’—Gilpins, descending from our Worthy, and proud of the descent—sustain the ancient renown of goodness and brain-power. As I sit down to put my collections into shape, I am called to place therein the statesman-like Speech on a great public question of our age, of Charles Gilpin, in the House of Commons—words destined to re-echo again and again, and determine legislation—so grave, wise, patriotic, Christian are they; and now the Libraries are being besieged for the ‘New America’ of William Hepworth Dixon, wherein I was gladdened with a splendid, yet penetrative and measured, eulogy of the Founder of Colorado, William Gilpin;2 both, as I am informed, as do nearly all of the name—in this resembling the Rogerses of the United States, who all claim descent from John Rogers, proto-martyr of England—counting from Bernard Gilpin, the apostle of the North, the venerable and holy St Bernard of Protestantism; and so, as we shall see, from our Richard.

I place in an Appendix3 such genealogical-antiquarian details as some readers may look for in a Memoir of a Gilpin; and summarise here that the author of ‘Dæmonologia Sacra’ was sprung of a race such as old Dan Chaucer would have cited in teaching ‘who is worthy to be called gentill’ as we may judge by a few of his golden lines:—

‘The first stocke was full of rightwisnes,

Trewe of his worde, sober, pitous, and free.

Clene of his goste; and loved besinesse,

Against the vice of slouth, in honeste:

And but his heire love vertue as did he,

He is not gentill, though he rich seme,

All weare he miter, crowne, or diademe.’4

Turning now to Dr Richard Gilpin—whose remarkable book is in the present volume faithfully reprinted; he was grandson of Richard, a younger brother of the illustrious Bernard, his father being an Isaac Gilpin. We get a glimpse of both grandfather and father in the county History as follows:—‘In a small manuscript by one Isaac Gilpin,—whose father [Richard Gilpin, as before] had been steward of several manors within the barony of Kendal, and died about the year 1630, at the age of 92 years,—he says he had heard of his father, and observed the same himself, that by general custom within the said barony, if a woman hath an estate, and married, hereby the estate is so far vested in the husband, that he may sell it in his life-time; but if in his life-time he doth not alter the property, then it shall continue to her and her heirs.’5 This little record takes us to ‘the barony of Kendal,’ the ‘Land’ of Bernard Gilpin; and thither accordingly, we turned our search. There was a vague traditionary understanding that our Richard Gilpin was born, as of the same family, so in the same region of ‘Kentmere;’ but nothing definite had hitherto been known. The Kentmere ‘Registers’ do not commence until A.D. 1700; and thus we were baffled there. But Kentmere being a chapelry in the old Parish of Kendal, a hope was indulged that in the parent-parish the wished-for facts should be discovered; nor were we disappointed, for in the Baptism-Register, under date ‘October 23, 1625,’ there is this entry:—

‘Richard, son of Isaac Gilpin, of Strickland Kettle,’

which is our Worthy, as after-dates will shew.6 He might be born a week more or less previously, according to the then ‘use and wont’ of infant baptism. The same Register furnishes another earlier entry, which—if we are correct in surmising that the Isaac Gilpin of Strickland Kettle in 1625, was the same with the Isaac of it—informs us Richard was a younger son:—

‘1623, May 3, Henry, y^e soun of Mr Isaacke Gilpin of Helsington.’

Elsewhere he is named ‘of Gilthroton, co. Westmoreland;’ and seems to have been the same who was clerk to the Standing Committee of county Durham in 1645.7 That Isaac Gilpin was ‘steward of several manors’ probably covers the different local designations. There are so many Gilpins, and so many of the same Christian name, that it is hard to decide on given personalities; but, after considerable comparison and sifting, such appears to us to be the parentage paternally of Dr Gilpin. Maternally I have come on nothing; for an Elizabeth Gilpin, widow of Isaac Gilpin, merchant, Newcastle, though of the same stock, was not his mother. This ‘widow’ was buried in All Saints, 7th November, 1694.8 Archdeacon Cooper, of Kendal, in transmitting these data, remarks: ‘The mode of writing, and the insertion of Mr, indicates a person of some importance.’ But with reference to ‘Mr,’ I suspect it is rather accidental, as it is inserted in the one, and left out in the other; and moreover, is frequently omitted when, from other sources, we know the family was of importance. Little Richard must have been just beginning to toddle about when his venerable grandfather’s snow-white head [‘aged 92’] was laid in the old Church-yard. One delights to picture the aged Simeon, before his serene departure, ‘blessing’ by prayer his dear little grandchild, after the manner of such ancient Puritans as were the Gilpins in every branch.

Strickland-Ketel, not Kettle, as in the Register and vulgarly,9—now settled to have been the birth-place of Dr Gilpin,—was a most fitting nest for one destined to serve the master-Shepherd so well. It is an English Bethlehem—a rich, kine-fragrant, pleasant, breezy tract of pasture-land, sloping from the west down to the river Kent, its eastern boundary, which river, issuing out of a fair ‘mere,’ or lake, gives its name to Kentmere Hall, the seat of the elder house of the Gilpins. The hamlet of Ketel itself is on the road from Kendal to the Ferry on Windermere; and thus partakes of the glory of Wordsworth’s poetry, as of Scott’s, who in Rokeby celebrates a local incident of the Cromwellian time.10 It is somewhat noticeable that within the space of an ordinarily-sized farm should have been born Bernard Gilpin and Henry Airay,11 and later, Richard Gilpin.

Of the childhood of our Richard, we can tell nothing directly. But with the famous ‘School’ founded by his honoured ancestor available, we are safe in assuming that he entered it. It is of this School that the later biographer of Bernard Gilpin,—himself a Gilpin,—thus writes: ‘The effects of his endowment were very quickly seen. His school was no sooner opened than it began to flourish, and to afford the agreeable prospect of a succeeding generation rising above the ignorance and errors of their forefathers.’ ... ‘That such might be its effects, no care on his part was wanting. He not only placed able masters in his school, whom he procured from Oxford, but he likewise constantly inspected it himself.’12 The saintly Apostle was long gone to his rest before the advent of Master Richard; but as bearing the name, and being of the blood of the Founder, he could not fail to be welcomed to all its privileges. The more’s the pity that no memorial seems to have been kept of the scholars of this celebrated Institution. Before proceeding to Houghton, he was probably initiated into learning at the nearer Kendal, then all astir with the enterprise of the Flemings. So I gather from family communications made to me; and thus we have to think of the ‘little lad’ trotting down the quiet rural roads among the sunny hills, much as another Richard earlier, from Packenham to Thurston,13

... ‘with his satchel

And shining morning face,’

not, we may be sure,

... ‘creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school.’14

There is a tradition,—reported by various descendants,—that our Gilpin went from ‘School’ to Queen’s College, Oxford. This, it will be remembered, was Bernard Gilpin’s own College, and whither he sent his favourite scholars, as Airay, Carleton, Ironside, and others. So that if Richard went to Oxford at all, Queen’s would most naturally be selected. No mention of him, however, occurs in any of the College Registers. Therefore he cannot at any rate have graduated.15 I place in Appendix incidental valuable data concerning other related Gilpins gleaned in Oxford.16

In lack of the facts of the case, it is impossible to explain why one so well-born and well-introduced did not, apparently, follow out a full University career. That the circumstances of his own Family and kindred were adequate thereto—apart from the Gilpin ‘endowments,’ which were open to him specially—and that they were of the right stamp to appreciate a sound, liberal education, is certain from numerous notices of the house that occur in old records.17

Another floating tradition,—also brought before me by descendants, is, that our Gilpin studied at the University of Glasgow; which so far receives confirmation from the statement of his bosom-friend Alderman Barnes of Newcastle—of whose MS. ‘Memoirs’ I have already spoken—that ‘he was educated in Scotland;’ but neither there does his name occur.18

Equally uncertain is it,—advancing further,—when or by whom Dr Gilpin was ‘licensed’ or ‘ordained’ as a Preacher of the Gospel or Clergyman. Barnes again says that he ‘administered the Lord’s Supper to a small congregation in Durham;’19 and Calamy, that ‘he had been [i.e., before Greystoke] a Preacher in Lambeth, at the Savoy—where he was assistant to Dr Wilkins—and at Durham.’20 Of all of these, the memorial has perished. Neither under ‘Lambeth,’ nor ‘Savoy’, nor ‘Wilkins’—afterwards Bishop of Chester21—nor ‘Gilpin,’ does Newcourt’s Repertorium22 mention him; nor, after considerable investigation in each place, has any trace of him been found beyond the above statements. So that his presentation to the Living of Greystoke in Cumberland is really the first definite fact we have, after his now ascertained birth-place, baptism-date, and family connexion. The Rector of Greystoke had been ‘sequestered’23 by Sir Arthur Haselrigge and the Parliamentary Commissioners for the Propagation of the Gospel in the four northern counties; which sentence having been appealed against, was confirmed by the Committee for (as they were called) Plundered Ministers. The Rector was William Moreland, M.A., ‘bred,’ according to Walker of the ‘Sufferings,’ folio, ‘at Jesus College, Cambridge.’24 This ‘ejection’ took place in 1649-50. He was succeeded by ‘one West, who died in about two years’ time.’25 Such is all Walker says of West; but from another overlooked authority, we learn a little more of him. In the ‘Postscript’ concerning ‘Mr John Noble,’ added to Audland’s funeral sermon on that notable man, it is said, after mentioning the ‘laying aside’ of Mr Moreland, ‘certain Commissioners appointed others, in his room, to supply the Parish, when John Noble was little turned of twenty years of age;’ and then, ‘In the year 1650, Mr West was sent, a zealous Preacher, and one mighty in prayer, but sickly; and he soon died of a consumption. His doctrine being exemplified in his own life, was very effectual on many in that Parish, and particularly on John Noble, who received lively convictions of Divine truth and the world to come, and so began earnestly to inquire about the life and power of godliness.’26 Gilpin immediately succeeded Mr West, and thus must have entered on his duties in 1652 or 1653, when he was in his twenty-eighth or twenty-ninth year.

What influence procured our Worthy the ‘presentation’ to this (comparatively) rich benefice,—for it was then worth £300 per annum, now nearly trebled, being from £700 to £800, we do not know; but among the neighbouring gentry there were intermarriages with the Gilpins, e.g., the Laytons and Whartons—the former the ancient owners of Dalemain in Dacre, the next parish to Greystoke. The Living was held by the family of Arundel—with a branch of whom it remains—but was subject no doubt to the Commissioners of Parliament during the Commonwealth.

We have Richard Gilpin, then in 1652-53 installed as the ‘parish priest’ of Greystoke; and save him of Bemerton, none ever brought a finer spirit, or a more entire consecration, or a more ‘ingenuous’ activity, to the service of the one great Master.

Visiting Greystoke recently, I found it a quaint-visaged, gray, long, low-roofed church, venerable and time-stained still, though ‘restored’—tenderly—in 1848. It is dedicated to St Andrew. It nestles in a ‘bit’ of woodland such as—flushed with autumnal tints of green and gold equal to the glories of a New England Indian summer among the maples and elms—would have burdened and kindled the eyes of a Ruysdael or Gainsborough, aye and until the ‘studies’ were transferred to imperishable canvas; and the whole surrounding district, sweet, soft, and tranquil enough for the Valley of Rip Van Winkle’s long dreamless sleep—much more so indeed than Irving’s own, behind the shaggy bluffs of the Hudson. It is a genuinely English ‘parish.’ When Gilpin came to it, the ‘common people’ were intelligent and godly after the antique type of the mid-Reformation period, having a spice of sturdy originality of character and speech that is not altogether gone even now. For ‘leisure hours,’ if the cultured Rector wished it, there were in the country Seats—embracing ducal Castle and historic family mansion—men and ‘faire ladyes’ of rare force and worth. There are ‘Sunny Memories’ still—treasured in dim old manuscripts—of the full ‘gatherings’ from far and near, from hall and hut, from plain and fell, of the ‘gentle and simple’ over a wide area—to hang on the lips of the ‘good Parson,’—as everywhere he came to be named. We have a fine ‘testimony’ to the integrity and devotedness of the Rector in the ‘Postscript’ of John Noble’s Funeral Sermon, previously quoted: ‘Graistock parish was large, had a fair glebe and liberal revenue. It had four chapels: the nearest three miles distant from the Church. Mr Gilpin provided worthy, preaching ministers for those, and allowed generously for their support; himself residing at Graistock, where he had a society of communicants prepared by the foregoing efficacy of the word on their minds and hearts, and manifested in a new life,’ (page 41.)

Altogether Greystoke could not be other than a most congenial portion of the great ‘Vineyard’ for one like Richard Gilpin, who breathed the very spirit of saintly George Herbert, and had little taste for the controversies in which some of his contemporaries were engaged.

Not very long after his settlement at Greystoke, viz., in 1654-5, a sad disaster befell the parent or ‘Kentmere’ house of the Gilpins, springing out of the ‘confusions’ of the Commonwealth. I shall let the good Prebendary tell it,—preliminary remarks and all, from the manuscript already quoted,—reserving comment: ‘In the year 1655, says he, ‘Cromwell dissolved his refractory parliament, and the members of the House retiring to their several counties, spread everywhere such new matter of discontent that measures were no longer observed. Men were levied in many places against the usurper, and a general rising was expected. But Cromwell, who had his eyes in all places, soon dispersed every insurrection as it made its appearance. It was at that time he sent his major-generals throughout the kingdom to punish with fines and proscriptions all delinquents. Among the families ruined by the severity of these military magistrates was Mr Gilpin of Kentmere Hall, near Kendal, in Westmoreland. He was the head of the family, and lived respectably on an estate which had been in the hands of his ancestors from the days of King John. It seems probable he had taken an active part against Cromwell in the kings life-time; but his affairs being composed, he lived quietly till these new disturbances broke out on Cromwell’s violent measures with the parliament. Having joined an unsuccessful insurrection, he became a marked man, and was obliged to provide for his safety as he could. To avoid a sequestration he gave up his estate in a kind of trust-mortgage to a friend, and went abroad. There he died; but in a time of quiet, his heir not being able to get hold of the proper deeds to recover the estate, it was totally lost to the family. In the meantime Dr Gilpin lived quietly at Greystoke, concerning himself only with his own parish, and lamenting those public evils, which he could not remove.’27 One can smile at this time of day at the name ‘Usurper’ applied to England’s mighty Protector; can understand the inevitable royalism of a dignitary of the Church, that holds for ‘the king’ as against ‘the kingdom,’ can leave the admissions of former freedom to ‘live quietly,’ and of an active part ‘against Cromwell,’ to justify any enforced flight, without either refuting allegations or exposing prejudices. But as matter of fact, while Dr Gilpin, in common with many of his Presbyterian brethren, condemned the execution of Charles, and while the shadow that fell on Kentmere doubtless darkened the rectory of Greystoke, he yet unreservedly accepted the government of Cromwell, and in every way sought to carry out the measures devised by the Parliament. Moreover, far from ‘living quietly at Greystoke,’ and ‘concerning himself only with his own parish,’ it is the very opposite of the facts. Instead of retiring in the timid, nerveless fashion suggested, he took a foremost part in organising that modification of Church government which the abolition of Episcopacy demanded. The evidence of this, spite of the wreck and loss of contemporary ‘records,’ is abundant; and it is the next landmark in the Life we are telling.

It needeth not that in a necessarily brief Memoir such as this we should enter on the merits of the national change of Church ‘Polity’ which gave supremacy for the time to Presbytery over Prelacy. The materials for judgment lie in fulness in every worthy Ecclesiastical History of England; and the whole story has just been re-written with fine candour and attractiveness by Mr Stoughton.28 Presbyterianism in England during the Commonwealth can hold its own,—lustrous as it is with the names of Edmund Calamy and Bates and Manton, Richard Baxter and William Jenkyn and Thomas Watson, Samuel Clark and Thomas Wilson of Maidstone, and Thomas Hall of King’s Norton,—selecting a few, urban and rural, almost at random.

Suffice it to recall that, outside of the more ambitious organisation of London,—whose unpublished ‘Memorial’ lies all but unknown in Sion College Library,29—there were various voluntary Associations which took a semi-Presbyterian mould, in the counties of Chester, Cumberland, Westmoreland, Dorset, Wilts, Worcestershire, and others. These Associations embraced the ‘clergymen,’ and ‘ministers’ or ‘pastors,’ and laymen belonging to the Episcopalians, the Presbyterians, and the Independents, and sought to combine the presidency of the first with the union and co-operation of the second, and the freedom of the third; in short, a federated rather than organic oneness. Subordinating everything else, was an intense yearning after nearness to all who loved the one Lord Jesus, and heroic as devout endeavours for ‘discipline,’ so as to vitalise and Christianise ‘the masses.’ It is pathetic to read of the days and nights of these good men’s Fasting and Prayer ‘unto the breaking of the light,’ for one another’s Parishes and Charges. Their ideal was lofty, their own practice beautiful, their success marked in changing the face of erewhile godless and heathen-dark communities. What Richard Baxter was in Worcestershire, Richard Gilpin was in Cumberland and Westmoreland; and as the author of ‘The Saint’s Everlasting Rest’ was chosen to draw up the ‘Agreement’ for his county, so the author of ‘Dæmonologia Sacra’ was selected to execute the same office for Cumberland and Westmoreland. The ‘Agreement,’—of which the title-page will be found in the list at the close of our Memoir, must be studied by all who would master the problems of the period. It is comprehensive, without being general or vague; decisive in dogma, but not uncharitable; high in aim, but most practical; earnest, but not fanatic; stern to offences, but hopeful and tender toward offenders; richly scriptural, but also, and because of it, most human, all a-glow with wide sympathies, and unutterably wistful in its appeals for oblivion on all lesser matters, so as to set a firm front to the evils and passions, the divisions and heart-burnings, the rivalries and recriminations, of the time. The whole is perfumed, so to speak, with prayer. If it was a Utopia, it was a grander and more celestial one than ever More or Bacon imagined; nor while it lasted was it a mere paper Agreement. For years through all the Counties enumerated the ‘good men and true’ made their ‘gatherings’ so many centres of light and love; and their Parishes were as spiritual Goshens amid the national formalism and barrenness.

Seeing that the extent to which ‘Dæmonologia Sacra’ has gone prevents our reprinting the minor writings of Gilpin, as we had desired, we shall here give a few brief extracts from the ‘Agreement,’ to illustrate its aims, tone, and style. Thus he struck the key-note: ‘When we compare the present miseries and distempers with our former confident expectations of unity and reformation, our hearts bleed and melt within us. We are become a byword to our adversaries; they clap their hands at us, saying, “Is this the city that men call the perfection of beauty?” Piety is generally decayed, most men placing their religion in “doting about questions” which they understand not; profaneness thrives through want of discipline; error, blasphemy domineers; jealousies, divisions, unmerciful revilings and censurings, are fomented among brethren of the same household of faith; the weak ones are discouraged and distracted by the multitude of opinions and fierce opposition of each party, and that which is worst of all, God’s honour suffers deeply, and the credit of religion is brought very low. “Is this nothing to you, all ye that pass by?”’ But having lamented, as with Jeremiah, he assumes a more hopeful and encouraging attitude, thus: ‘Though these things can never be sufficiently lamented, yet seeing it is not sufficient barely to lament them, without endeavouring to heal them, and considering that it is a duty incumbent upon all Christians, according to their several places and abilities, to promote the welfare of Zion, especially when we have tasted so much of the bitterness of our divisions, and because a brotherly Union hath so much of God in it, and consequently gives so much hope that God will take that course in establishing his Church when he shall arise to build Jerusalem, and seeing it is an unjustifiable pettishness and peevishness of spirit to be averse from joining together in anything because we cannot join in all things, therefore we resolve, [“the associated ministers,”] setting aside all carnal interests, and casting ourselves, with all our concernments, at the Lord’s feet, to walk together as far as we can for the present, not resting here, nor tying ourselves from further progress in union, as the Lord shall give light and satisfaction, much less binding ourselves from a submission to and compliance with a more general accommodation, if any such thing should hereafter be agreed on, which might be more suitable and fitted for the composure of the different principles of brethren throughout the nation.’—(Pp. 1-3.) Hereupon follows the ‘Basis’ of the ‘Agreement,’ which was very much the same with Baxter’s in Worcestershire, and that of Essex, &c., &c. ‘In order,’ he proceeds, ‘to the carrying on of this great work, we lay down and assent unto these general rules as the Basis and Foundation which must support and bear up our following Agreement:—

‘1. That in the exercise of discipline it is not only the most safe course, but also the most conducing to brotherly union and satisfaction, that particular churches carry on as much of their work with joint and mutual assistance as they can with conveniency and edification, and as little as may be, in their actings, to stand, distinctly by themselves and apart from each other.

‘2. That in matters of church discipline those things which belong only ad melius esse, ought to be laid aside, both in respect of publication and practice, rather than that the Church’s peace should be hindered.

‘3. That where different principles lead to the same practice, we may join together in that practice, reserving to each of us our own principles.

‘4. That where we can neither agree in principle nor in practice, we are to bear with one another’s differences that are of a less and disputable nature, without making them a ground of division amongst us. Yet notwithstanding we do not hereby bind up ourselves from endeavouring to inform one another in those things wherein we differ, so that it be done with a spirit of love and meekness, and with resolutions to continue our brotherly amity and association, though in those particulars our differences should remain uncomposed,’ (pp. 3, 4.)

Further, all pledge themselves to be true and faithful ambassadors, stewards, workmen, and overseers, and ‘to this end we resolve in the course of our ministry to observe the temper, disposition, and capacity of the generality of the people, and to suit ourselves not only in our matter to the people’s condition, but also in our expressions to the people’s apprehension, that so our sermons may be plain, piercing, seasonable, and profitable,’ (p. 4.) Speaking next of ‘catechising’ from the Assembly’s ‘Larger and Shorter’ Catechisms, and of ‘inspection,’ there are these wise counsels, that there be tender dealing in consideration of ‘first, unacquaintedness with the terms and words of the question; or, secondly, from bashfulness or shamefacedness,’ (p. 11.) And in regard to ‘supervision,’ to be cautious ‘lest brotherly inspection degenerate into an unbrotherly prying,’ (p. 15.) And there is this pronouncement on a questio vexata of the period: ‘We agree not to press a declaration of the time and manner of the work of grace upon the people as a necessary proof of their actual present right to the Lord’s Supper, nor to exclude persons merely for want of that; yet will we accept it if any will be pleased to offer it freely,’ (p. 16); and onwards there is encouraged a ‘holy modesty and bashfulness’ in speaking of the ‘passage and transaction ‘twixt God and our soul,’ (p. 39.) Finally, the Confession of Faith consists of the Creed paraphrased, and confirmed by texts, (pp. 23-25.)

Another incident proved with equal unmistakableness that Richard Gilpin regarded Oliver as no ‘usurper,’ but the rightful governor of the nation. I must leave the reader to consult the authorities on the history of the establishment of the University of Durham. Every one who knows anything of ‘the times’ knows that the efforts to found a University there—which the death of Cromwell delayed, and the Restoration quashed—is one of the ‘boasts’ of the Protector’s reign.30 In honoured association with Sir Thomas Widdrington, Lords Fairfax, Grey, Wharton, and Falconbridge, Sir Henry Vane, and Sir Arthur Haselrigge, and other well-known names, Gilpin was appointed one of the ‘Visitors.’31 He had entered into the scheme with enthusiasm and hope. It is difficult to estimate what was lost herein by the death of Cromwell. If we may conjecture from the ‘Model’ of the learned and pious Matthew Pool—issued in 1657-58, while the grand jury were addressing Richard to complete what his father had begun—it is all but certain that a more strictly theological training would have been inaugurated than any of the great Universities even to this day supplies.32

To shew that Dr Gilpin still adhered to his former action in Church matters, it must here be stated that in 1658 he preached a ‘Sermon’ before the ‘associated ministers of Cumberland’ at Keswick. By the request of the ‘General Meeting’ he published it. The title-page will be found in our list of his writings at close of this Memoir. It was with reluctance the good man consented to give his sermon ‘to print,’ as he intimated in the ‘Epistle Dedicatory.’ ‘What your commands,’ says he, ‘have wrested from me—for of that force and prevalency with me are your desires—I now lay at your feet. If I could have prevailed with you to have altered your vote, or after you had passed it, durst have resisted—this had gone no further than your own hearing. But when you would not be persuaded, I endeavoured to conform myself to those Christians in Acts xxi. 14, and took up with that which put a stop to their entreaties. “The will of the Lord be done,”’ (pp. 1, 2.) The Text of this sermon—which is no common one—is Zech. vi. 13, ‘Even He shall build the Temple of the Lord,’ &c., and hence its title, ‘The Temple Rebuilt.’ I select a few of the more easily detached sentences. First of all, concerning ‘Controversy,’ he says admirably: ‘Disputings, though they have their fruits, yet are they like trees growing upon a rocky precipice, where the fruit cannot be gathered by all, and not by any without difficulty and hazard,’ (p. 3.) Again, on the office of the ministry, he exclaims: ‘Dream not of ease in an employment of this nature. God, angels, and men have their eyes upon you to see how you will bestir yourselves: it is your duty, and not a matter of unnecessary courtesy which you may give or hold back at your pleasure. He that hath commanded you ἐν τόυτοις εἰναι, (1 Tim. iv. 15,) to “give yourselves up wholly to these things,” will not take himself to be beholden to you when you have done your best: neither is it any disparagement to you to become even servants to any: so that you may but gain them and forward Christ’s work. They that think it below them to trouble themselves so much with catechising, reproof, admonition, and are of Ptolemæus his mind, who changed the title of Heraclides his book, from πονου ἐγκωμιον to ὄνου ἐγκωμιον: as if laboriousness were nothing but an ass-like dulness, making a man crouch under every burden; but God having made the ox which treadeth out the corn to be the hieroglyphic of your employment, he doth thereby teach you that labour and patience are so far from being a disgrace to you, that they are necessary qualifications for the calling of the ministry,’ (pp. 3, 4.) Lastly—for we may not linger—take a burning and fearless reproof of the lukewarm: ‘How cowardly and sinfully shamefaced,’ he observes, kindling as he advances, ‘are many when they should plead for God and truth, as if their own hearts did secretly question the reality of religion! How strangely do many of the gentry spend their time! What irreligious, prayerless families do some of them keep, when they should shew better example to the meaner sort; and yet how confidently can they censure others for hypocrites—sometime unjustly concluding against the strictness of God’s ways from the liberty of some professors—not considering what their own carriage and vanity do testify against themselves! How do we needlessly multiply our controversies and disputes! and with what bitterness do we manage them, even when the strife is merely about words and method! and, generally, how is the name of God and religion abused to serve the designs of men! What strange religious people have we! Some must needs be religious by taking up a singular conceit and opinion, though a man may easily see their hearts through their lives: others have all their religion on their tongue’s-end: they can have good discourses, and yet be unconscionable in their callings, shops, and trading,’ (pp. 33, 34.)

Thus taking a conspicuous part in all that belonged to the interests of the Church of Christ, our Worthy behind these went out and in before his flock a ‘master-builder,’ from Sabbath to Sabbath preaching the very gospel of Jesus Christ, with unequalled power, pungency, and pathos combined, while he drew all hearts to himself; for he acted on the maxim—

‘All worldly joys go less

To the one joy of doing kindnesses.’33

He was a large-hearted and open-handed man, as well as a faithful ‘preacher’—his life an exemplification of his teaching. He was, says the ‘Noble’ memorial, ‘a gentleman and a Christian indeed; one of singular gravity, temper, learning, and all valuable qualifications for a minister; of a good family too, and an eligible estate; a witness and an honour to the good cause of a further Reformation,’ (p. 38.) And so he pursued the ‘even tenor of his way’ in his tranquil sphere. He had married shortly after coming to Greystoke; but, curiously enough, the lady’s name has not been preserved in any of the numerous family papers put into my hands. The Greystoke ‘Registers’ record the baptism of two of his children, William and Susannah. The ‘entries’ may be given here:—

‘1657. September. Borne the 5th Day in ye afternoune, and ye 23d day Baptized, William, the Soune of Mr Richard Gilpin, p’son, [= parson], of Graistock.

‘1659. Susanna, ye Daughter of Mr Gilpin, p’son, of Graistocke, was borne ye 17th day of October, And Baptized ye 7th of December, 1659.’34

I have described the parish of Greystoke as tranquil; but even into it there swept—as the sea-swell sweeps into the smallest nook of shore—the ruffle of that agitation which pervaded the nation in religious matters; and, inasmuch as it gives colour and tone to not a few passages of the ‘Dæmonologia Sacra,’—his difficulty with the Quakers—to which I have made reference—falls now to be chronicled. We shall have an after-occasion to notice subsequent interviews with the pre-eminently good, though provoking, Quaker missionary-preacher, Thomas Story. Here I glean my information from the ‘Memoir’ of a ‘Greystoke’ celebrity, Henry Winder, D.D.35 The following, then, is the narrative, omitting irrelevant portions:—

‘The Reverend Richard Gilpin, M.D., was the parish minister of Graystock before the Restoration.... Some time before the Restoration Quakerism began to spread in Cumberland and Westmoreland. Among other things remarkable in their behaviour, the Quakers would go into the parish church of Graystock, and disturb Dr Gilpin in the pulpit during divine worship. And such were their novel phrases and cross questions and answers, that the Doctor seemed sometimes at a loss what to say to them. Upon that, some of his parishioners were stumbled, withdrew from their former communion, and defended the cause of the Quakers. Among others Henry Winder was seduced, to the no small grief of good Dr Gilpin and his friends. A day of humiliation and prayer was appointed, in which Dr Gilpin, and some of the neighbouring ministers, as well as some of the laity of that parish, took such proper methods as to recover some that had fallen, and to confirm and establish those that were wavering, though, before that, the infection had spread far and wide. Then was Henry Winder secretly resolved to comply with the desire of Dr Gilpin and his church, and make some public recantation. But these convictions did not last long. For notwithstanding several conferences with him, Henry Winder openly joined with the Quakers, and continued among them some years.... Henry Winder and his [second] wife [finally] left the Quakers, returning to Dr Gilpin’s church, in which they afterwards continued.’36

All this goes far to explain the unusual severity of the ‘Dæmonologia Sacra’ against Quakers and Quakerism—as also the ‘Agreement’—and the grave classification of ‘double meanings,’ and ‘light within,’ &c., &c., among evident ‘devices’ of the Devil. At this later day we willingly forget the eccentricities and vulgarities and blunders of the early followers of George Fox, and in the spirit of the ‘Quakers’ Meeting’ of winsome Elia, reverence the service of this once powerful and still honoured and altogether inoffensive section of God’s people.

With these minor ‘troubles’ now and again annoying him,—for they ended in the setting up of Quaker ‘tabernacles’ in the district, remains of which survive until now,—the Rector of Greystoke fulfilled his ‘labour of love,’ as a good servant of Jesus Christ, until the Restoration. That event found him with a mind made up and ‘ready’ for all loss and sacrifice. Unable to accept the notorious ‘Act’ of Uniformity, he anticipated the memorable ‘Ejection’ of 1662 by withdrawing from Greystoke; whereupon the former ‘sequestered Rector Morland re-entered on possession.’

We turn to the Family-Manuscript,37 formerly quoted, for the circumstances of the resignation. ‘After the Restoration,’ observes Prebendary Gilpin, ‘when Episcopacy again took the lead, the Presbyterian party made what stand they were able. But the Act of Uniformity passed, and was executed with rigour. Dr Gilpin, notwithstanding his moderation, could not subscribe it in all its parts, and therefore resigned his benefice, trusting God for the maintenance of himself and family, which consisted of a wife and five children.’38

The good Rector was not without a home when he thus left his beloved Greystoke—which was turned into a Bochim when his ‘parishioners’ looked their last upon him. During his incumbency he had invested what ‘monies’ he had at his disposal in the purchase from the Musgraves, of the Castle and small estate of Scaleby near Carlisle—filling up the amount of the purchase-money by a mortgage. Thither accordingly he retired into privacy; but holding with the old Nonconformists the indefeasibility of his office as a preacher of the gospel by an ordination more sure than that from quasi-apostolic hands, he was wont to assemble his employés and neighbours in a ‘great room’ of the old Castle—originally a Border-fortalice erected against the Scots—and there ‘preach’ to them on the Sabbaths.39 Moreover, he resumed his previous medical studies and practice, to the great advantage more especially of the poor. ‘How acceptable,’ says our Manuscript, ‘his services were among the poor people of those parts, and how much they revered him for wisdom and sanctity, appears from the superstitious respect they paid him. During many years after his death, it was believed among them that he had “laid the devil,” as they phrased it, in a morass not far from his house.’40 Besides these semi-professional duties, he set about improving the somewhat dilapidated castle, and the lands, more particularly planted trees extensively; the result of which was an entire change of the appearance of the estate, and now the fine woodland within which venerable Scaleby lifts its gray towers, still worthily held by a descendant through the female line.41

Richard Gilpin was too eminent and potential a man to be allowed to withdraw thus from the stage of public events. He had not been long in his retreat when a ‘tempting’ offer was made him of a Bishopric, as Bernard Gilpin had been ‘tempted’ before him. I recur here again to our Manuscript. Following on the passage already given we read, ‘The king and council however seemed to have been apprehensive lest this rigorous step against the Presbyterians [‘Act of Uniformity’] might have ill consequences. They were much inclined therefore to compound the matter, at least, with some of the leaders of the party; and, in this view, three or four bishoprics and many superior dignities in the Church were offered to them. Among others, Dr Gilpin was represented to the king as a person highly esteemed in the Northern parts of England, and as a man of great moderation. Accordingly, in filling up the vacant bishoprics, his name was inserted for the see of Carlisle: and it was not doubted by his friends but he would get over the few scruples he had to the Act of Uniformity, and accept the preferment: for he had always spoken favourably of the Church of England, and considered the line between the two parties with regard to their religious sentiments as almost an invisible one. But, to the surprise of his nearest friends, he declined the offer.’42 The ‘friends,’ who so lightly estimated the ‘scruples’ of the ‘retired’ Rector, little knew the stamp of man he was. Everything before and subsequent goes to shew that Dr Gilpin remained a Nonconformist, with, no doubt, the same reluctance as Baxter and Calamy and the rest,—to whom bishoprics had similarly been offered, and by whom they had similarly been promptly declined,—but also from the same deep conviction of necessity so long as that ‘Act’ outraged the truth, and ignored conscience. And so, as his ancestor, Bernard Gilpin to Elizabeth,43 did Richard Gilpin to Charles II. refuse that mitre which he could not have worn unless at the sacrifice of principles which were dearer to him then all civil or ecclesiastical dignities, and life itself.44 We have an incidental allusion—as I read it—in ‘Dæmonologia Sacra’ to the ‘temptation,’ and the casuistic pleas of the ‘friends’ alluded to. Speaking of the ‘wiles’ of the Tempter, and his many snares to induce to sin, he specially notices this, that ‘he extenuates the offence by propounding some smaller good or convenience that may follow that evil,’ and he continues, evidently speaking from his own experience of the ‘fiery dart:’ ‘This, though it be a way of arguing directly contrary to that rule, “Do not evil that good may come,” yet it oft proves too successful; and it is like that common stratagem of war when, by the proposal of a small booty in view, the enemies are drawn out of their hold into a fore-contrived danger. Thus Satan pleads, This one act of sin may put you into a capacity of honouring God the more. Some have admitted advancements and dignities against conscience, upon no better ground, but they might keep out knaves, and that they might be in a condition to be helpful to good men. ... Thus a pretended good to come becomes a pander to a present certain iniquity.’ There are other like intimations in the book, which give new significance and a strange passion to the words; but this one must suffice.

Recurring to our Family-Manuscript—which though somewhat stilted in its style, is generally accurate in its facts—we reach the next point in our Worthy’s ‘Life.’ ‘The Dissenters,’ remarks the Prebendary, ‘having now found they could get nothing from government beyond a Toleration, began to separate everywhere into assemblies, and choose pastors of their own;’ and so eyes and hearts turned toward the Doctor, secluded at Scaleby. ‘Among other places,’ the Narrative proceeds, ‘a large congregation united at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, where they built a handsome meeting-house, and sent an invitation to Dr Gilpin to be their minister; and though he had now taken his measures, and laid his plan for a life of quiet and repose, he accepted their invitation, and as soon as he could settle his affairs at Scaleby, removed with his family to Newcastle.’ ‘Here,’ continues the Manuscript, ‘a new scene of life opened before him. Hitherto he had lived in a country retirement, both at Greystock and at Scaleby, where party prevailed little. But here he was in the midst of a large town, divided by various opinions, where his candour and moderation had an ample field for exercise. In fact, I have heard it said that his meeting-house was a kind of centre of unity among them all. It was frequented as much by Churchmen as Dissenters, and they all found here, what was seldom found in the pulpits of those times, their common Christianity preached, unsullied by the religious contests which everywhere prevailed. His preaching was extremely pleasing and popular. His subject-matter, his language, his voice, his manner, were all engaging, and made such an impression on the people as was never worn out, but with the lives of his contemporaries.’45

Gilpin arrived in Newcastle, as the successor of the admirable Samuel Hammond, one of the ejected,46 and the spiritual father of Oliver Heywood,—about 1668-69, that is, in the crisis of the ‘troubles’ to all who bore the ‘mark’ of Nonconformity. High-Churchmen were ‘building-up,’ as they deemed it, the Church, by persecuting relentlessly those who dared not acquiesce in the ‘Act of Uniformity;’ and accordingly ‘Dissenters’ had to preach furtively, even as ‘of old,’—and all was clamour and confusion. One of themselves, who, if not of kin, was, in wit and wiseness, of kind, in more than name to Thomas Fuller,—thus vividly describes the period during which the recluse of Scaleby went to his new charge in Newcastle: ‘I am ashamed,’ says Ignatius Fuller, ‘that whilst the Jews’ temple was building, there was neither hammer, nor axe, nor any tool of iron heard in the house,—now when we are raising an house to Him that dwells not in temples made with hands, we should make so much use of iron and steel, and should reckon guns and swords, flames and fagots amongst our means of grace. I am sorry we should seem to have more of Nimrod than Solomon in our building; that we should partake of the curse poured upon the workmen at Babel—