trims, nor glosses over,
nor would veil, a single part of his conduct. He wrote to serve his
patrons, but never himself. I preserve the whole of this noble
passage in the note.[265] Wood bears witness to his perfect
disinterestedness. He never partook of the prosperity of his patron,
nor mixed with any parties, loving the retirement of his private
studies; and if he scorned and hated one party, the Presbyterians, it
was, says Wood, because his high generous nature detested men "void
of generous souls, sneaking, snivelling, &c." Stubbe appears to have
carried this philosophical indifference towards objects of a higher
interest than those of mere profit; for, at the Restoration, he found
no difficulty in conforming to the Church[266] and to the Government.
The king bestowed on him the title of his physician; yet, for the
sake of making philosophical experiments, Stubbe went to Jamaica,
and intended to have proceeded to Mexico and Peru, pursuing his
profession, but still an adventurer. At length Stubbe returned
home; established himself as a physician at Warwick, where, though he
died early, he left a name celebrated.[267] The fertility of his pen
appears in a great number of philosophical, political, and medical
publications. But all his great learning, the facility of his genius,
his poignant wit, his high professional character, his lofty
independence, his scorn of practising the little mysterious arts of
life, availed nothing; for while he was making himself popular
among his auditors, he was eagerly depreciated by those who would
not willingly allow merit to a man who owned no master, and who
feared no rival.

Literary coteries were then held at coffee-houses;[268] and there
presided the voluble Stubbe, with "a big and magisterial voice, while
his mind was equal to it," says the characterising Wood; but his
attenuated frame seemed too delicate to hold long so unbroken a
spirit. It was an accident, however, which closed this life of toil
and hurry and petulant genius. Going to a patient at night, Stubbe was
drowned in a very shallow river, "his head (adds our cynic, who had
generously paid the tribute of his just admiration with his strong
peculiarity of style) being then intoxicated with bibbing, but more
with talking and snuffing of powder."

Such was the adversary of the Royal Society! It is quite in character
that, under the government of Cromwell, he himself should have spread
a taste for what was then called