ness, and therefore have written
so much against it; and of the excellency and necessity of self-denial
and of a public mind, and of loving our neighbors as ourselves." Against
many difficulties and discouragements, both within himself and in his
outward circumstances, he strove to make his life and conversation an
expression of that Christian love whose root, as he has said with equal
truth and beauty, "is set

In humble self-denial, undertrod,
While flower and fruit are growing up to God."

Of the great mass of his writings, more voluminous than those of any
author of his time, it would ill become us to speak with confidence. We
are familiar only with some of the best of his practical works, and our
estimate of the vast and appalling series of his doctrinal, metaphysical
and controversial publications would be entitled to small weight, as the
result of very cursory examination. Many of them relate to obsolete
questions and issues, monumental of controversies long dead, and of
disputatious doctors otherwise forgotten. Yet, in respect to even these,
we feel justified in assenting to the opinion of one abundantly capable
of appreciating the character of Baxter as a writer. "What works of Mr.
Baxter shall I read?" asked Boswell of Dr. Johnson. "Read any of them,"
was the answer, "for they are all good." He has left upon all the
impress of his genius. Many of them contain sentiments which happily
find favor with few in our time: philosophical and psychological
disquisitions, which look oddly enough in the light of the intellectual
progress of nearly two centuries; dissertations upon evil spirits,
ghosts, and witches, which provoke smiles at the good man's credulity;
but everywhere we find unmistakable evidences of his sincerity and
earnest love of truth. He wrote under a solemn impression of duty,
allowing neither pain, nor weakness, nor the claims of friendship, nor
the social enjoyments of domestic affection, to interfere with his
sleepless intensity of purpose. He stipulated with his wife, before
marriage, that she should not expect him to relax, even for her society,
the severity of his labors. He could ill brook interruption, and
disliked the importunity of visitors. "We are afraid, sir, we break in
upon your time," said some of his callers to him upon one occasion. "To
be sure you do," was his answer. His seriousness seldom forsook him;
there is scarce a gleam of gayety in