“Reverend Sir,
“The last time I troubled you with a letter was to return you thanks for your work on the “Glory of Christ,” a subject which can never be exhausted, or ever thought of without calling for all the praise which our hearts are capable of in our present imperfect state. My gratitude to you is again awakened by the obligation I am under (and, indeed, the whole Christian Church) to you for giving Dr. Doddridge the plan, and engaging him to write his excellent book of “The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul.” I have read it with the utmost attention and pleasure, and, I would hope, with some advantage to myself, unless I should be so unhappy as to find the impression it has made on my heart wear off like the morning dew which passeth away, which God in His mercy avert. If you have a correspondence with him, I could wish you would convey my thanks to him, and the assurance that I shall frequently remember him in my humble (though weak) address to the throne of Almighty Grace (and which I know myself unworthy to look up to any otherwise than through the merits and sufferings of our blessed Saviour), that he may go on to spread the knowledge and practice of his doctrine, and that he may add numbers to the Church, and finally hear those blessed words, ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant, enter thou into thy Master’s joy.’
“I cannot help mentioning to you the manner of this book falling into my hands, as I think there was something providential in it. About four months ago my poor lord had so totally lost his appetite that his physician thought it necessary for him to go to Bath. I was not a moment in doubt whether I should attend him there, because I knew it was my duty, and, besides, I could not have been easy to be absent when I hoped my care might be of some use. Yet I undertook the journey with a weight upon my spirits, and a reluctance which is not to be described, though I concealed it from him. Since the great affliction with which it pleased Almighty God to visit me by the death of a most valuable and only son, I found myself happiest in almost an entire retreat from the world, and being of a sudden called into a place where I remembered to have seen the utmost of its hurry and vanity exerted, terrified my imagination to the last degree, and I shed tears every time I was alone at the thought of what I expected to encounter; yet this dreaded change has, by the goodness of God, proved one of the happiest periods in my life, and I can look back upon no part of it with greater thankfulness and satisfaction. I had the comfort to see my Lord Hertford recovering his health by the use of those waters as fast as I could hope for. I found it was no longer necessary, as formerly, to avoid giving offence, to be always or frequently in company; I enjoyed the conversation of two worthy old friends, whom I did not expect to meet there, and had an opportunity of renewing my acquaintance with Lady Huntingdon, and admiring that truly Christian spirit which seems to animate the whole course of her life; and, as I seldom went out, I read a great deal, and Frederick, the bookseller, used to send the new books which he received on the waggon nights, of which I kept what I chose, and sent back the rest. One night he sent me an account of some remarkable passages relating to the life of Colonel Gardiner; as I had known this gentleman in his unconverted state, and often heard with admiration the sudden and thorough change of his conduct for many years, it gave me curiosity to read a book which seemed to promise me some information upon that subject. I was so touched with the account given of it that I could not help speaking of it to almost everybody I saw; among others, the Dowager Lady Hyndford came to make me a visit in the morning, and as I knew she was of his country, and had lived much in it, I began to talk to her of the book, and happened to name the author. Upon which she said she would believe whatever he wrote, for he was a truly good man, and had wrote upon the ‘Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul’ in a manner which she was sure would please me. She gave me the title in writing, and I bought the book the day before I left Bath. I have now been at home three weeks, and have already had the pleasure to engage several others to read it, who, I hope, will think of it as I do. I would not wish to trouble you to write to me yourself, but a letter from your amanuensis to let me know how you enjoy your health, and whether you are still carrying on some work of your pen to the glory of our great Master, would be a very sincere pleasure to me. Let me beg to be remembered in your prayers, for I am every day more sensible of the imperfection of my own, and yet, I hope, my heart is sincere in its desires, that it may be brought to a perfect conformity and submission to the will of my heavenly Father. My Lord Hertford always mentions you with regard, and will be glad of your acceptance of the assurance of his friendship.
“I am, with an affectionate esteem, Sir,
“Your most faithful and obliged humble servant,
“F. Hertford.”
It is impossible not to feel that, viewed from many aspects, Philip Doddridge must have been Watts’ most congenial friend. The largest portion of Watts’ work was done before they knew each other, but friendships founded in sympathy ripen very rapidly, and the difference of years is very slightly felt where there is a great and happy congeniality of hearts. Watts was not a glowing correspondent, but none of his letters are so tender as those to Doddridge, to whom he writes as his “dear and valuable friend,” and always his “affectionate brother and fellow servant,” and the letters warm greatly as the correspondence increases, Doddridge always looked up to, and spoke of, Watts in terms of extraordinary reverence and affection; in their work they were very similar; Doddridge’s nature was smaller than his friend’s, but in its measure it was very harmonious and perfect. Watts had a fine metaphysical sagacity, and the keenness with which he analyzed never interfered for a moment with the clearness of visions by which he stepped from the discrete to the concrete, and from parts to the whole; hence, notwithstanding his fair and catholic nature, he appears to have been much more absolutely dogmatic than Doddridge, and it was perhaps the defect of this great man’s teaching that from the fatal facility which brought him into contact with every class and shade of opinion, the lines of his more absolute creed were not fixed with sufficient distinctness: but from his tutorship there passed forth a variety of men who all delighted to confess their obligations to Doddridge,—Hugh Farmer, Andrew Kippis, Job Orton, Benjamin Fawcett, and, if not the most scholarly, that beautiful and well-known teacher, who realized perhaps beyond any his tutor’s spirit and his tutor’s peculiar power, Risdon Darracott. Such was Doddridge, without some notice and knowledge of whom a review of the life and times, the friends and labours of Watts would be incomplete.
One hundred and twenty years have passed away since Philip Doddridge died, but his name and many of his works are still as sweet and fragrant as ever. His “Life of Colonel Gardiner” is still one of the most interesting of religious biographies; his “Family Expositor” still holds its place in the family; his theological lectures are still an invaluable curriculum; his correspondence is full of entertainment and interest; his hymns are still sung in all our churches, and that to which we have referred, which ought assuredly to be spoken of as his, “O God of Bethel,” sounded the other day down the aisles of Westminster, as the body of Livingstone was lowered into the grave. Doddridge’s body, of course, was denied a resting-place at Lisbon by the civil and ecclesiastical authorities, but it was permitted to repose in the burying-ground of the English Factory. The great earthquake, which occurred shortly after, left his grave undisturbed, and it is a spot of holy ground unto this day.[28]
