m his very unappreciative companions. The book in which
this 'humorous sadness' finds the fullest expression is the 'Religio
Medici.' The conception of the book apparently resulted from the 'sundry
contemplation of his travels,' and it is written throughout in his
characteristic strain of thought. From his travels he had learnt the
best lesson of a lofty toleration. The furious controversies of that
age, in which the stake, the prison, and the pillory were the popular
theological arguments, produced a characteristic effect on his
sympathies. He did not give in to the established belief, like his
kindly natured contemporary Fuller, who remarks, in a book published
about the same time with the 'Religio Medici,' that even 'the mildest
authors' agree in the propriety of putting certain heretics to death.
Nor, on the other hand, does he share the glowing indignation which
prompted the great protests of Chillingworth and Taylor against the
cruelties practised in the name of religion. Browne has a method of his
own in view of such questions. He shrinks from the hard, practical world
into spiritual meditation. He regards all opinions less as a philosopher
than as a poet. He asks, not whether a dogma is true, but whether it is
amusing or quaint. If his imagination or his fancy can take pleasure in
contemplating it, he is not curious to investigate its scientific
accuracy. And therefore he catches the poetical side of creeds which
differ from his own, and cannot even understand why anybody should grow
savage over their shortcomings. He never could be angry with a man's
judgment 'for not agreeing with me in that from which, perhaps, within
a few days, I should dissent myself.' Travelling in this spirit through
countries where the old faith still prevailed, he felt a lively sympathy
for the Catholic modes of worship. Holy water and crucifixes do not
offend him. He is willing to enter the churches and to pray with the
worshippers of other persuasions. He is naturally inclined, he says, 'to
that which misguided zeal terms superstition,' and would show his
respect rather than his unbelief. In an eloquent passage, which might
teach a lesson to some modern tourists, he remarks:--'At the sight of a
cross or crucifix I can dispense with my hat, but scarce with the
thought and memory of my Saviour. I cannot laugh at, but rather pity,
the fruitless journeys of pilgrims, or contemn the miserable condition
of friars; for though misplaced in cir