*It was really surprizing, to see his thriftiness in this particular. He even deprived himself of such indulgences as nature required, in order to her performing the offices he imposed upon her: such, for example, as abstaining from all study immediately after meals: when, notwithstanding he eat exceeding sparingly, more relaxation would have been better for his health: likewise, a sufficient quantity of proper exercise; but most of all, a sufficiency of sleep.
He was often up late at study, and his general time of rising was four o’clock, or a little after, sometimes between three and four. He was often urged to take more rest. I remember once to have heard a gentlewoman, compassionating the wasting, dying condition of his body, saying, “Sure Mr. Walsh, you may at least, lie longer in bed on Sunday morning, when the preaching is not so early.” To which he replied with his usual zeal and abrupt plainness, ‘Should a man rob God?’ He was commonly up earliest on the Lord’s-day, for which he had the highest veneration. He has sometimes said, he thought there was something peculiarly sacred in the very air, and the whole structure of nature on this day.
*During the long intimacy I had with him, I do not remember to have known him spend a minute in discourses about national occurrences, politics, or worldly diversions. He knew that these were not his affairs, and that his business was One. And the same may be said of what is called free and pleasant conversation. So provident was he of time, and so bent upon the pursuit of that “immense revenue which each moment pays,” that in whatsoever company he was, unless something relative to the one thing needful was discoursed of, he either took out a book (impolite as it may seem) or continued in profound silence, save when he answered a question. And if at any time any thing vain, or tending to levity was spoken, so as to occasion the least appearance of approbation in his looks or gesture, he severely reprehended himself for it afterwards, and prayed for strength for the time to come.
And yet notwithstanding all his caution, care, and diligence, he frequently lamented his not improving the time better, ‘I do not use every moment to the best purposes,’ was a frequent reflection with him against himself.
III. Disengagement from the world.
Although what has been said of him already, implies his just contempt of every earthly thing; yet his eminency therein, deserves to be taken some farther notice of. His indifferency to this world was such, as even bordered upon abhorrency; and the rather, as he could not but observe, what a gulph to souls it is; and how many are lost for ever through their undue attachment to it. He kept at the utmost distance from what worldly men most ardently court, and earnestly sought what they most abhor.
The vain things; riches, honours, and pleasures of this world, were too poor, for so generous a heart: he shewed the greatness of his soul, by despising all that was beneath it. He had the most generous contempt of money; esteeming it (unless to bestow on the poor, or procure a book sometimes) as the pebbles in the street.
He had a full reliance on the providence of God, and found a happiness therein, which infinitely surpassed all the enjoyments and treasures of the universe.
IV. Recollection of spirit, and government of his thoughts.
*His carriage, aspect, words, and the whole of his behaviour, spoke the solemnity and profound recollection of his soul. Nor can a stranger better conceive of him, in regard to this particular, than by forming to himself, an idea of a person returned from the happy dead, conversing with men. And it was nearly in this manner that some have expressed their surprize at him. A gentleman said to me one day, “I met Mr. Walsh in the street, and I declare he seemed to me like a person returned from the other world.” So emaciated a countenance, such fixedness of thought, and serenity of deportment, as appeared in him, towards the conclusion of his race especially, were surprising in so young a man; and discovered a something, very different from the busy ways of men. One needed only to look on him to perceive that there was something in him more than common. And if as the son of Sirach says, “A man may be known by his look, and one that has understanding may be perceived by the marking of his countenance,” they must be indeed, superficial observers, that could not discern in his very aspect the excellencies that dwelt within him. An air of wisdom and piety appeared in him continually. There seemed to be something peculiarly distinguishing in the very features of his countenance. Some have taken him to be little less than forty years of age, at the time he was but about five and twenty.