of the church was appropriated first to the poor, then to strangers, and lastly to the erection of churches, good men thought it highly improper that it should be lavished on harlots, entertainments, dogs, splendid garments, and other things unbecoming the religion of Christ. It may be mentioned as the greatest proof of Jerome’s abilities, that though he was frequently interrupted by various noises, and was teased by some people who cavilled at his expressions, he replied to them all, and compelled them either to blush or to be silent. When the clamour incommoded him, he ceased speaking, and sometimes reproved those who disturbed him. He then continued his speech, begging and entreating them to suffer him to speak, since this was the last time they would hear him. He was never terrified by the murmurs of his adversaries, but uniformly maintained the firmness and intrepidity of his mind. It was a wonderful instance of the strength of his memory, that though he had been confined three hundred and forty days in a dark dungeon, where it was impossible for him to read, and where he must have daily suffered from the utmost anxiety of mind, yet he quoted so many learned writers in defence of his opinions, and supported his sentiments by the authority of so many doctors of the church, that any one would have been led to believe, that he had devoted all the time of his imprisonment to the peaceful and undisturbed study of philosophy. His voice was sweet, clear and sonorous; his action dignified, and well adapted either to express indignation, or to excite compassion, which however he neither asked nor wished for. He stood undaunted and intrepid, not merely contemning, but like another Cato longing for death. He was a man worthy to be held in everlasting remembrance. I do not commend him for entertaining sentiments hostile to the constitution of the church; but I admire his learning, his extensive knowledge, the suavity of his eloquence, and his ability in reply. But I am afraid that all these endowments were bestowed on him by nature, in order to effect his destruction. As he was allowed two days for repentance, several learned men, and amongst the rest the cardinal of Florence, visited him, with a view of persuading him to change his sentiments, and turn from the error of his ways. But as he pertinaciously persisted in his false notions, he was condemned as guilty of heresy, and consigned to the flames. No stoic ever suffered death with such constancy of mind. When he arrived at the place of execution, he stripped himself of his garments, and knelt down before the stake, to which he was soon after tied with wet ropes and a chain. Then great pieces of wood, intermixed with straw, were piled as high as his breast. When fire was set to the pile, he began to sing a hymn, which was scarcely interrupted by the smoke and flame. I must not omit a striking circumstance, which shows the firmness of his mind. When