*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.
*His uniform composure was the rather to be noticed, as his life was not of the recluse, but of the popular kind. He had to do with multitudes; and, unless on special occasions, was seldom above six hours together out of company. It is true he seldom appeared in publick, unless to speak of the things of eternity, in some respect or other. But he was so shut in with God, that all places became alike to him; and he retained the same attention to God in the most thronged streets of _London_, as he could have had in the most sequestered wilderness. Curious sights, elegant furniture in shops or houses, magnificent buildings, fine shews, the ringing of bells, firing of guns, with every thing of this kind; were no more to him than the chirping of a sparrow, or the buzzing of a fly.
*To all which, the constant government which he had over his senses, greatly contributed. The difference of tastes, harmony of sounds, and whatever his eyes could behold, were as nothing to him. He was in this respect truly crucified to the world, and the world to him. Even in travelling through the most pleasant parts of the country, and in the pleasantest seasons, when the stupendous beauties of the creation, the spacious firmament, the verdure of the country, (nature’s loveliest universal robe;) the music of the groves, and all the joint beauties of nature, might have furnished him with delightful contemplation; yet he seemed insensible to the whole, enjoying a
“Paradise within him happier far!”
*When he at any time adverted to the works of God in the creation, he was delighted chiefly with the heavens, paved as it were, with those living fires, the spangled stars. But the use which he made of every thing, was to get more acquainted with God, and so
―――by this stupendous scaffolding Creation’s golden steps to climb to him!
He was in truth loosed from earth’s inclosure, and from the contracted circle of the sun, his heart was set at large. Christ, and the scriptures, with things pertaining to them, were the only and uniform objects of his attention, and every thing, place or person, which did not serve to promote, in some degree, his knowledge and love of these, had with him the estimate of trivial and insignificant.
*And hence it was, that the _presence_ of God became so exceeding familiar to him. He could not be content a moment without it. And hereby was he fitted likewise, for more glorious, and more frequent divine communications; of which he had not a few, in the course of his progress. Several times has he been quite lost to himself, and insensible of every thing about him, being left in the visions of God. Two instances in particular are related in his diary, in which he seemed as though he was out of the body for sometime. One day I remember going to visit a person who was ill, as soon he got to the stair case, being in his usual composure, “Did you see that light?” said he, with a sudden low voice. To which I answered partly with a sigh, having seen nothing. He said no more. But it was easy to discern in him the rest of that day and night, a very peculiar solemnity of soul.