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IGNATIUS, who is also called Theophorus, to Polycarp, Bishop of the Church of Smyrna, or rather to him who hath God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ for his bishopHealth*.

Hearing of thy purpose which is founded and fixed in God, as upon a rock unmoveable, my heart is lifted up in thanksgiving, for that I am accounted worthy to behold thy face, which I earnestly wish to enjoy.

I beseech thee by the grace of God, wherewith thou art clothed, that thou wouldest quicken thy course and exhort all men to be saved. Maintain thy place and office in constant attention to every part of it, whether carnal or spiritual. Be careful of unity, than which nothing is more excellent. Endure all men, that the Lord may endure thee. Be patient with all in the spirit of charity, as indeed thou art. Be constant in prayer. Entreat for a larger measure of understanding than thou hast. Watch always, and guard against a drowsy spirit. Address thyself to all, according to the help given to thee from above. Bear the infirmities of all men, as a perfect wrestler. The more labour, the greater gain.

If thou love only the good and faithful disciples, what reward hast thou? But labour rather to overcome the disobedient by meekness. Every wound is not healed by the same treatment. "Be prudent as a serpent" in all things, "and simple as a dove." The time requireth thee, as a pilot requireth winds, and those who are tossed with tempests the haven. Conduct thyself cautiously

* I have preserved this address on account of its singularity; but the authenticity of all the superscriptions to these Epistles may be doubted of, without any injury to the credit of the Epistles them

selves.

CHRIST. OBSERV. No. 22.

as the wrestler of God: the reward set before thee is immortality.

In every thing let me be unto thee in the place of thine own soul, and my bonds which thou hast loved.

Be not affrighted by those who, though they seem worthy of credit, teach other doctrines. Stand firm as an anvil, which is beaten with the hammer. It is our duty to endure all things for God that he may endure us. Be more earnest than thou art. Consider the time, and wait for him who is beyond all time immortal, invisible, yet made visible for our sakes, incapable of suffering, yet made capable of it for us, and who endured all things in our behalf.

See that the widows be not neglected: next to the Lord be thou their friend. Let nothing be done without thy will, neither do thou any thing without the will of God. Let assemblies be held more frequently. Enquire for all by name. Do not proudly despise slaves, whether male or female; yet see that they be not themselves puffed up, but let them serve more faithfully to the glory of God that they may obtain a better freedom from him. Neither let them seek to have their freedom purchased out of the public stock, lest they become slaves of covetousness.

Flee from evil arts; nay, even forbear to mention them. Say unto my sisters that they must love God, and be contented with their husbands; likewise also charge my brethren in the name of the Lord Jesus, that they love their wives as Christ loved the Church. If any one is able to remain in chastity to the honour of his Lord, let him do it in humility: if he boasteth himself he is undone; and if he setteth up his own will against that of the bishop he is undone likewise. Marriages, which are made in the Lord and not according to concupiscence, ought to be made with the

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whom I pray that ye may continue in unity and obedience. I salute Alce, a name greatly beloved. Farewell in the Lord.

consent of the bishop. Let all things
be done to the honour of God. Ex-
hort them, hearken unto your bi-
shop, that God may hearken unto
you. May my soul be with them who
are obedient to the bishop, priests,
and deacons; and my part in God the
same with theirs! and ye, brethren,
labour, and run, and suffer with one
accord, awake and sleep together as
the joint ministers of God and com-
mon stewards of his mysteries. Please
him under whose banners you fight,
and whose wages you receive.
Let
none of you be found a deserter. Let
your baptism remain upon you as ar
mour, your faith as an helmet, your
charity as a spear. Let your works
be your pledges that ye may receive
accordingly. Be long-suffering one
towards another, that God may be the
same to you.

A RELATION OF THE PENITENT DEATH
OF JOHN ATHERTON, LATE BISHOP OF
WATERFORD IN IRELAND, WHO WAS
EXECUTED AT DUBLIN, THE 5TH DE-
CEMBER, 1610*.

And since the Church, which is at Antioch in Syria, enjoys peace, as I am assured, through your prayers, by which my mind is composed to a more settled confidence in God, it is fitting, my dear Polycarp, blessed of God, to call an assembly to chuse some beloved brother, an active man, who may be named the divine messenger, to go into Syria and glorify your charity in Christ. A Christian hath not power over himself, but is at the disposal of his God. And this surely, when perfected, will be God's work as well as your's; for I believe you are ready to every work which is agreeable to him.

But although I knew your vehe, ment affection for the truth, I have thought it good, notwithstanding, to admonish you by letter. And since Į was unable to write to all the Churches, because I was suddenly called to set sail from the Troad to Naples according to the divine will, do thou, who knowest the mind of God, write unto the neighbouring Churches that they do the same thing; those who are able by messengers of their own, and those who are not by letters entrusted to the others.

I salute you all, and namely, the wife of Epitropus with her children, and all her house.

Salute my dear friend Attalus. Salute him who shall be accounted worthy to undertake the journey into Syria. May unceasing grace be with him, and with Polycarp who sends him. May you all, evermore, be strong in our God Jesus Christ, through

For his arraignment, though it held long, I heard it not, only his carriage then is by all condemned, and it is not my intent in the least measure to excuse it. The subject of this dis course is only to declare, how afterwards he judged and condemned himself, and so we trust is not condemned of God. How he deeply repented and cried to heaven for pardon, whereof he received a rare me morable testimony, as we shall hear afterward.

On Sunday in the afternoon, being the 28th of November, and the next day after his condemnation, I went to see him first, when having had some speech with him of the scandal of the fact, justice of the sentence, misery of his condition without repentance, (of each of which he heard me long with silence) at length he asked me if I were sent by any to him: when he understood I was not, but that I came of myself, he took me by the hand, and replied, I was very welcome to him, believed I had no other end but his good, that indeed he had been moved to send for me, but being thus come of myself he tock me as sent of God. He acknowledg ed his stupidity and senselessness, desired me to take a further liberty of speech unto me, to preach the law to him, to aggravate his sins by the highest circumstances, that he might grow but sensible of the flames of hell. In subjects of this nature we spent near an hour, when I left him pliable, only with this assurance, that in Christ his sins were pardonable. His request then was, that I would

* This account was drawn up by Ni CHOLAS BERNARD, D. D. then preacher of St. Peter's in Drogheda, and published bishop Usher. We have transcribed it by him at the particular request of Archfrom the third edition of Dr. Bernard's work, said to be reviewed by himself, only omitting the notes, and altering the old orthography.

not leave the town till I left him in better case; that as he had begun so he would continue to open himself unto me, and would in all things be ordered by me, and prayed me to see the end of him, to which I yielded.

As a preparative to the main, I advised him to lay aside his rich clothes, and to put on the meanest he had. To let the chamber be kept dark; to deprive himself of the solace of any company, but such as came to give him spiritual counsel, and so to commit himself close prisoner to his own thoughts; that if upon necessity any meat was brought unto him he should eat it in a solitary way alone; and chiefly to give himself to fasting, even to the afflicting of his body which he had so pampered, as a means to effect the sorrow of the soul; to have his coffin made and brought into his chamber: which howsoever they were but small things in themselves, yet altogether were very conducible to a further end, as he acknowledged afterward.

The way which inwardly he took for the obtaining of godly sorrow was this, he first entered into a serious and special consideration of all his sins, in thought, word, and deed, whether of omission or commission, against God or man, which he drew out according to the several breaches of each commandment, and for his memory, by his pen put all into one inditement wherein he might at once, as in a glass, view the face of his soul. After this rough draught, that he might be the more astonisired, he gave each of them their marginal aggravations, whereby they became exceeding sinful by the circumstances of time when, place where, and person against whom, done against the light of knowledge, often checks of conscience, many seasonable admonitions in public and private, notwithstanding the apparent hand of God in several crosses, special mercies, unexpected preservation. Then he considered with what presumption he had sinned, even before God's face, though he knew he was by him, and his eye on him all the while: What hardness of heart after it, though he could not but know God was an gry with him, yet continued his impenitency as if he were careless whether he were pleased or no: his pub

lic reproving, and sharp censuring others for the same faults which himself had been guilty of. His often relapses after secret vows in sickness, after a more solemn bond in receiving the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, each of which sins so often reiterated, added to the heap, as multiplying of the same figures does in numbers, Upon this, in the next place, he made a stand with himself, in thinking what a miserable condition he must needs be in if he should thus die in his sins, viz. a lost and undone man for ever. He strongly imagined with himself, as if he now saw the day of judgment set, heard the trumpet sounding, the voice crying, "Arise, ye dead;" as if he beheld the graves opening; the earth and sea, like God's gaol, giving up their prisoners; our Saviour upon his throne, in flaming fire, both judge and witness; every man's life, and his among the rest, reading before men and angels, and a final sentence pronouncing upon his body and soul; hell accordingly with his wide mouth enlarged to receive him, those spirits of darkness ready to seize on him, &c.

These thoughts, and the like, had their work upon him in some frights and astonishments, but a spirit of contrition and compunction, he complained, was far from him. How of ten did I hear him yet crying out, "Oh! can you give me any receipt that will work my heart into tears and sorrow" The eye of his understanding, he confessed, was sufficiently enlightened, his conscience awakened, but still his heart and affections were hardened. "All my friends," saith he, "are ashamed of me, have forsaken me, but if God withdraw his grace from me what shall I do?" And so desired me to speak to any in the town, who I thought would be compassionate of his condition to pray for him, for which he thought there was more cause than for any bodily sickness; and here, by his own experience, (whatsoever he had be fore uttered) he found the vanity of that doctrine of free-will naturally in man to any saving good, that though it be in his own power thus to kill himself, yet it is not to make himself alive again. How firmly did he now believe repentance to be the gift of God, that it is he that worketh the will and the deed? How happy did

he apprehend those that had broken hearts, though not bound up again with comfort; and how unhappy such, whose hardened hearts could not repent, though swimming in all earthly contents? And yet herein he had a door of hope, that his dry soul in time should be watered with this dew of heaven, in that God did not give him over with Cain unto despair, but still he stuck to his first principle, that mercy was attainable, his sins pardonable. The thing he only wanted was God's act in pouring upon him that spirit of grace and supplication whereby he might mourn, and be in bitterness of weeping for them; he saw there was a fountain of salvation opened to him for sin and for uncleanness; but his case was like the poor impotent man at the pool of Bethesda, wanted one to put him in: his first supporter in this case was that of Nehemiah, we desire to fear thy name," that of our Saviour, "you that are heavy laden" and "whosoever will, whosover is a thirst, let him come;" and indeed this was some change in him before he was wont to fling the thoughts of grief out of his mind, did his utmost to put them from him; now he bewailed their absence, he grieved that he could not grieve. To be altogether insensible is very opposite to the state of grace, but to be sensible of an insensibleness proceeds from some already. The sight and sense of sin was some pledge of a further perfection, at least, that God had not given him over unto death, as Manaoh's wife said to her husband, "if the Lord were pleased to kill us he would not have shewn us thus much, nor told us such things as these."

trouble, now only the thoughts of his heart put him to a most grievous agony that astonished me, and wrung many tears from myself.

And here it is observable, that as a flint is sooner broken upon a soft bed than on a hard floor, so the representing unto him the most compassionate merciful nature of God willing yet to be friends with him, so apt to forgive and forget all injuries; I say, the opening unto him the infinite sweet disposition of him whom he had of fended, caused this holy indignation against himself, and was a means to melt him into an entrance of this happy condition; according to the argument of the apostle, Rom. xii. 1. as elsewhere.

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In this wrestling with God for repentance, and such a measure of godly sorrow, that might be proportionable for so great a sinner, was Monday and part of Tuesday spent by him. When in the afternoon upon some further discourse, the sore of his soul being now ripened, burst forth; and his mind being a burthen to himself he unloaded his conscience to me in some particulars, but with such a flood of tears, casting himself down to the ground, taking me by the hand and desiring me to kneel down with him, and pray for him, that I have never seen the like: whercas before he could swallow gross acts without

Now after this, by some interruption of other company, I was compelled to leave him till late at night, when visiting him again, I found him getting further ground of himself, and that time was the first I heard hin pray, the main subject being a sorrowful large confession of his vileness, with deep aggravations, prevalent arguments for mercy, hearty thankful ness for any beginnings of breakings in him, and sending a brother willing to bear the burden with him, which, with divers others were so aptly and fully exprest, and in that latitude, that as it was beyond my imagination, so it wrought much upon my affection, and this was the first time, he said, he ever felt indeed what belonged to prayer. He had said one over often as others usually do, but he found a great difference between that and the spirit of prayer, and so we parted for that night.

The next day he desired we might keep together in the nature of a fast, when nobody came to him but myself, from nine of the clock till between three and four in the afternoon, which he set apart for the finishing what he had begun before. Such a countenance of a perplexed soul did I never see as his scenied to me that morning at our first meeting, so sore had the weight of his sins pressed his feeble conscience that night, in a private audit between God and himself.

At our entrance he desired me again to stir up in him a further apprehension of his wretched condition, how odious his sins had made him in his sight with whom he had now to do, that the nearer he drew to God

the more he might, like Job, abhor himself; to use his own words, "I pray, (saith he), deal truly, freely, and impartially with me. Look not upon me as one that hath had some honour in the Church (from which I am worthily fallen), but as upon the most abject, base person in the world." He was resolved to set himself as before God's tribunal, and to pour forth his heart fully unto me; the thing he only desired was a further spirit of compunction, that his eyes might be like Jeremiah's, a fountain of tears to weep day and night. After some such instructions as he had desired he fell upon his knees with a most affectionate prayer, in the acknowledging of God's omnipresence and omniscience, infinite wisdom and justice, &c. praying for a further sense and sorrow for those sins which he was now about to rip up without any extenuation or concealing, and so set open his heart indeed in a plenary particular confession of all his sins he could remember from his youth till now, [the heads of which he had, for his memory, penned,] but with such bitter tears, such sorrowful sighs, the whole time either upon his knees or prostrating himself upon the ground, as cannot be expressed; which took so with me, as I never wept more at the loss of my dearest friend: and in conclusion, after he had thus unlocked (to use his own words) the magazine of his sinful soul, (for which his shame was as evident as his grief) he intreated me, if I could discern any true penitency in him, and judged him to be in the state of pardon, to pronounce it to him in Christ's stead, that it would be some comfort to his conscience for me to declare so much unto him. But what tears fell on both sides, how he prayed both before and after, that God would ratify it in heaven and seal it inwardly to his soul, can scarce be imagined.

Now, however, he found some present ease in this emptying himself of himself, yet still he grew very jealous, that he was not yet come to that depth of sorrow requisite for so great a sinner. The fears and troubles of Francis Spira he wished for, whose life and death he had a great desire to read, but I thought it not fitting. One thing that troubled him long was my weeping with him, gathering from thence, that if an ear witness were so moved what should the party him

self be plunged into. He began to find already such sweetness in tears for sin, that he often prayed like those in the Gospel, Lord evermore give us this bread, desired there were a well of such living water in him that might stream down his cheeks continually, wished that he might be in them wafted over into another world, and till then not to be wiped from his eyes.

After this, many conflicts and doubts assaulted him, which would be too many to relate. Perplexed he was at the consideration of some passages of humiliation in Ahab, Felix, Judas, finding that wicked men may cry earnestly for mercy and yet have little love to God, less to grace. A passage he read casually of Francis Spira disturbed him more, viz. that he begged for grace itself, as a bridge "to get to heaven by. Sometimes he doubted if the time and cause of his return, being so late and out of necessity, would be accepted, (according to such threatenings, Prov. i. 26, 27, and the like.) Seldom did he think of any passionate fit of mourning, such as David's for Absalom, but he thought it checked his for his sins to be as nothing, which, being so great, and the issue so miserable even the loss of his soul, he judged, should have exceeded them much both in measure and continuance. When in these and divers others he was satisfied, then fears of another nature rose, viz. that if he were truly getting out of the devil's snare, it could not be, but he should be pursued with further horrors and terrors, tending to despair, which he had not felt. In this he was thus satisfied, that expectation of temptations was a preparation for them, and such the devil did not usually set upon; and that if ever he did appear it would be in some wiles, and at such times, as he should least suspect he had a hand in them, which I verily believe did so fall out in some distractions afterwards. The many objections which he not only found but studied against himself, as it was a task to clear, so a school to learn much experience in, so cautelous was he of any rocks which in this mist might split him, so suspicious of any sands that might swallow him, so accurate in searching out any secret leak within himself that might sink him; thus fearful and full of doubts was he till he found

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