his ready and faithful servant, left him not till the last minute of his life, and then forsook him, not to serve another master, (for who speaks like him?) but died before him, for that it was then become useless to him that now conversed with God on earth, as angels are said to do in heaven, only by thoughts and looks. Being speechless, and seeing heaven by that illumination by which he saw it, he did as St. Stephen, "look stedfastly into it, till he saw the Son of Man, standing at the right hand of God his Father;" and being satisfied with this blessed sight, as his soul ascended, and his last breath departed from him, he closed his own eyes, and then disposed his hands and body into such a posture as required not the least alteration by those that came to shroud him.

Thus variable, thus virtuous, was the life; thus excellent, thus exemplary, was the death of this memorable man.

He was buried in that place of St. Paul's church, which he had appointed for that use some years before his death, and by which he passed daily to pay his public devotions to Almighty God (who was then served twice a day by a public form of prayer and praises in that place). But he was not buried privately, though he desired it; for, beside an unnumbered number of others, many persons of nobility, and of eminency for learning, who did love and honour him in his life, did show it at his death, by a voluntary and sad attendance of his body to the grave, where nothing was so remarkable as a public sorrow.

To which place of his burial some mournful friends

repaired, and, as Alexander the Great did to the grave of the famous Achilles, so they strewed his with an abundance of curious and costly flowers; which course they (who were never yet known) continued morning and evening for many days, not ceasing till the stones that were taken up in that church to give his body admission into the cold earth (now his bed of rest), were again by the mason's art so levelled and firmed as they had been formerly, and his place of burial undistinguishable to common view.

The next day after his burial, some unknown friend, some one of the many lovers and admirers of his virtue and learning, writ this epitaph with a coal on the wall over his grave:—

"Reader! I am to let thee know,
Donne's body only lies below:

For, could the grave his soul comprise,
Earth would be richer than the skies."

Nor was this all the honour done to his reverend ashes; for as there be some persons that will not receive a reward for that for which God accounts himself a debtor, persons that dare trust God with their charity, and without a witness; so there was by some grateful unknown friend, that thought Dr. Donne's memory ought to be perpetuated, a hundred marks sent to his two faithful friends and executors (Dr. King and Dr. Monfort) towards the making of his monument. It was not for many years known by whom; but, after the death of Dr. Fox, it was known that it was he that sent it: and he lived to see as lively a representation of his dead friend as marble

can express; a statue indeed so like Dr. Donne, that (as his friend Sir Henry Wotton had expressed himself) "It seems to breathe faintly, and posterity shall look upon it as a kind of artificial miracle"."

He was of a stature moderately tall, of a straight and equally-proportioned body, to which all his words and actions gave an unexpressible addition of comeli

ness.

The melancholy and pleasant humour were in him so contempered, that each gave advantage to the other, and made his company one of the delights of mankind.

His fancy was inimitably high, equalled only by his great wit, both being made useful by a commanding judgment.

His aspect was cheerful, and such as gave a silent testimony of a clear knowing soul, and of a conscience at peace with itself.

His melting eye showed that he had a soft heart, full of compassion; of too brave a soul to offer inju

7 On the south side of the choir of St. Paul's Cathedral, stood a white marble Monument, with the figure of Dr. Donne, in his shroud, standing erect, his feet in an urn, and placed in a niche. Above are the arms of the deanery, impaled with his own, viz. a wolf saliant. This monument is engraven by Hollar, in Dugdale's St. Paul's, and the head and urn now remain in the crypt of St. Paul's Cathedral.

"In 1631 I made a tombe for Dr. Donne, and sette it up in St. Paul's, London, for which I was paid by Dr. Mountford the sum of £120. I took £60 in plate, in part of payment.""1631, Humphrey Mayor, a workman employed under Stone, finisht the statue for Dr. Donne's monument, £8 : 0:0.”— Extract from the Pocket-book of Nicholas Stone.

ries, and too much a Christian not to pardon them in others.

He did much contemplate (especially after he entered into his sacred calling) the mercies of Almighty God, the immortality of the soul, and the joys of heaven; and would often say, in a kind of sacred ecstasy, "Blessed be God that he is God, only and divinely like himself."

He was by nature passionate, but more apt to reluct at the excesses of it; a great lover of the offices of humanity, and of so merciful a spirit, that he never beheld the miseries of mankind without pity and relief.

He was earnest and unwearied in the search of knowledge, with which his vigorous soul is now satisfied, and employed in a continual praise of that God that first breathed it into his active body, that body which once was a temple of the Holy Ghost, and is now become a small quantity of Christian dust. But I shall see it reanimated.

Feb. 15, 1639.

IZ. WALTON.