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is so great an honour and support to his family, so great a hope to his fortune, and comfort to his life? Are there so many left of your own great family that you should desire in a manner wholly to reduce it, by suffering almost the last branch of it to wither away before its time? or is your country, in this age, so stored with great persons, that you should envy it those whom we may justly expect from so noble a

race?

Whilst I had any hopes that your tears would ease you, or that your grief would consume itself by liberty and time, your ladyship knows very well I never accused it, nor ever increased it by the common formal ways of attempting to assuage it: and this, I am sure, is the first office of the kind I ever performed, otherwise than in the most ordinary forms. I was in hopes what was so violent could not be long; but when I observed it to grow stronger with age, and increase like a stream the further it ran; when I saw it draw out to such unhappy consequences, and threaten not less than your child, your health, and your life, I could no longer forbear this endeavour. Nor can I end it without begging of your ladyship, for God's sake, for your own, for that of your children and your friends, your country and your family, that you would no longer abandon yourself to so disconsolate a passion; but that you would at length awaken your piety, give way to your prudence, or, at least, rouse up the invincible spirit of the Percies, which never yet shrunk at any disaster; that you would sometimes remember the great honours and fortunes of your family, not always the losses; cherish those veins of good humour that are so natural to you, and sear up those of ill, that would make you so unkind to your children and to yourself; and, above all, that you would enter upon the cares of your health and your life. For my part, I know nothing that could be so great an honour and a satisfaction to me, as if your ladyship would own me to have contributed towards this cure; but, however, none can perhaps more justly pretend to your pardon for the attempt, since there is none, I am sure, who has always had at heart a greater honour for your ladyship's family, nor can have more esteem for you, than, madam, your most obedient and most humble servant.

[Right of Private Judgment in Religion.] Whosoever designs the change of religion in a country or government, by any other means than that of a general conversion of the people, or the greatest part of them, designs all the mischiefs to a nation that use to usher in, or attend, the two greatest distempers of a state, civil war or tyranny; which are violence, oppression, cruelty, rapine, intemperance, injustice; and, in short, the miserable effusion of human blood, and the confusion of all laws, orders, and virtues among men.

Such consequences as these, I doubt, are something more than the disputed opinions of any man, or any particular assembly of men, can be worth; since the great and general end of all religion, next to men's happiness hereafter, is their happiness here; as appears by the commandments of God being the best and greatest moral and civil, as well as divine precepts, that have been given to a nation; and by the rewards proposed to the piety of the Jews, throughout the Old Testament, which were the blessings of this life, as health, length of age, number of children, plenty, peace, or victory.

Now, the way to our future happiness has been perpetually disputed throughout the world, and must be left at last to the impressions made upon every man's belief and conscience, either by natural or supernatural arguments and means; which impressions men may disguise or dissemble, but no man can

resist. For belief is no more in a man's power than his stature or his feature; and he that tells me I must change my opinion for his, because 'tis the truer and the better, without other arguments that have to me the force of conviction, may as well tell me I must change my gray eyes for others like his that are black, because these are lovelier or more in esteem. He that tells me I must inform myself, has reason, if I do it not; but if I endeavour it all that I can, and perhaps more than ever he did, and yet still differ from him; and he that, it may be, is idle, will have me study on, and inform myself better, and so to the end of my life, then I easily understand what he means by informing, which is, in short, that I must do it till I come to be of his opinion.

If he that, perhaps, pursues his pleasures or interests as much or more than I do, and allows me to have as good sense as he has in all other matters, tells me I should be of his opinion, but that passion or interest blinds me; unless he can convince me how or where this lies, he is but where he was; only pretends to know me better than I do myself, who cannot imagine why I should not have as much care of my soul as he has of his.

A man that tells me my opinions are absurd or ridiculous, impertinent or unreasonable, because they differ from his, seems to intend a quarrel instead of a dispute, and calls me fool, or madman, with a little more circumstance; though, perhaps, I pass for one as well in my senses as he, as pertinent in talk, and as prudent in life: yet these are the common civilities, in religious argument, of sufficient and conceited men, who talk much of right reason, and mean always their own, and make their private imagination the measure of general truth. But such language determines all between us, and the dispute comes to end in three words at last, which it might as well have ended in at first, That he is in the right, and I am in the wrong.

The other great end of religion, which is our happiness here, has been generally agreed on by all mankind, as appears in the records of all their laws, as well as all their religions, which come to be established by the concurrence of men's customs and opinions; though in the latter, that concurrence may have been produced by divine impressions or inspirations. For all agree in teaching and commanding, in planting and improving, not only those moral virtues which conduce to the felicity and tranquillity of every private man's life, but also those manners and dispositions that tend to the peace, order, and safety of all civil societies and governments among men. Nor could I ever understand how those who call themselves, and the world usually calls, religious men, come to put so great weight upon those points of belief which men never have agreed in, and so little upon those of virtue and morality, in which they have hardly ever disagreed. Nor why a state should venture the subversion of their peace, and their order, which are certain goods, and so universally esteemed, for the propagation of uncertain or contested opinions.

[Poetical Genius.]

The more true and natural source of poetry may be discovered by observing to what god this inspiration was ascribed by the ancients, which was Apollo, or the sun, esteemed among them the god of learning in general, but more particularly of music and of poetry. The mystery of this fable means, I suppose, that a certain noble and vital heat of temper, but especially of the brain, is the true spring of these two parts or sciences: this was that celestial fire which gave such a pleasing motion and agitation to the minds of those men that have been so much admired in the world, that raises such infinite images of things so agreeable

and delightful to mankind; by the influence of this sun are produced those golden and inexhausted mines of invention, which has furnished the world with treasures so highly esteemed, and so universally known and used, in all the regions that have yet been discovered. From this arises that elevation of genius which can never be produced by any art or study, by pains or by industry, which cannot be taught by precepts or examples; and therefore is agreed by all to be the pure and free gift of heaven or of nature, and to be a fire kindled out of some hidden spark of the very first conception.

But though invention be the mother of poetry, yet this child is, like all others, born naked, and must be nourished with care, clothed with exactness and elegance, educated with industry, instructed with art, improved by application, corrected with severity, and accomplished with labour and with time, before it arrives at any great perfection or growth: 'tis certain that no composition requires so many several ingredients, or of more different sorts than this; nor that, to excel in any qualities, there are necessary so many gifts of nature, and so many improvements of learning and of art. For there must be a universal genius, of great compass as well as great elevation. There must be a sprightly imagination or fancy, fertile in a thousand productions, ranging over infinite ground, piercing into every corner, and, by the light of that true poetical fire, discovering a thousand little bodies or images in the world, and similitudes among them, unseen to common eyes, and which could not be discovered without the rays of that sun.

Besides the heat of invention and liveliness of wit, there must be the coldness of good sense and soundness of judgment, to distinguish between things and conceptions, which, at first sight, or upon short glances, seem alike; to choose, among infinite productions of wit and fancy, which are worth preserving and cultivating, and which are better stifled in the birth, or thrown away when they are born, as not worth bring ing up. Without the forces of wit, all poetry is flat and languishing; without the succours of judgment, 'tis wild and extravagant. The true wit of poesy is, that such contraries must meet to compose it; a genius both penetrating and solid; in expression both delicacy and force; and the frame or fabric of a true poem must have something both sublime and just, amazing and agreeable. There must be a great agitation of mind to invent, a great calm to judge and correct; there must be upon the same tree, and at the same time, both flower and fruit. To work up this metal into exquisite figure, there must be employed the fire, the hammer, the chisel, and the file. There must be a general knowledge both of nature and of arts, and, to go the lowest that can be, there are required genius, judgment, and application; for, without this last, all the rest will not serve turn, and none ever was a great poet that applied himself much to anything else.

When I speak of poetry, I mean not an ode or an elegy, a song or a satire; nor by a poet the composer of any of these, but of a just poem; and after all I have said, 'tis no wonder there should be so few that appeared in any parts or any ages of the world, or that such as have should be so much admired, and have almost divinity ascribed to them and to their works. *

I do not here intend to make a further critic upon poetry, which were too great a labour; nor to give rules for it, which were as great a presumption: besides, there has been so much paper blotted upon these subjects, in this curious and censuring age, that 'tis all grown tedious, or repetition. The modern French wits (or pretenders) have been very severe in their censures, and exact in their rules, think to very little purpose; for I know not why they might not

have contented themselves with those given by Aristotle and Horace, and have translated them rather than commented upon them; for all they have done has been no more; so as they seem, by their writings of this kind, rather to have valued themselves, than improved anybody else. The truth is, there is something in the genius of poetry too libertine to be confined to so many rules; and whoever goes about to subject it to such constraints, loses both its spirit and grace, which are ever native, and never learned, even of the best masters. "Tis as if, to make excellent honey, you should cut off the wings of your bees, confine them to their hive or their stands, and lay flowers before them such as you think the sweetest, and like to yield the finest extraction; you had as good pull out their stings, and make arrant drones of them. They must range through fields, as well as gardens, choose such flowers as they please, and by proprieties and scents they only know and distinguish they must work up their cells with admirable art, extract their honey with infinite labour, and sever it from the wax with such distinction and choice, as belongs to none but themselves to perform or to judge.

Sir William Temple's Essay upon the Ancient and Modern Learning gave occasion to one of the most celebrated literary controversies which have occurred in England. The composition of it was suggested to him principally by a French work of Charles Perrault, on The Age of Louis the Great,' in which, with the view of flattering the pride of the grand monarque, it was affirmed that the writers of antiquity had been excelled by those of modern times. This doctrine excited a warm controversy in France, where the poet Boileau was among those by whom it was strenuously opposed. It was in behalf of the ancients that Sir William Temple also took the field. The first of the enemy's arguments which he controverts, is the allegation, that we must have more knowledge than the ancients, because we have the advantage both of theirs and our own; just as a dwarf standing upon a giant's shoulders sees more and farther than he.' To this he replies, that the ancients may have derived vast stores of knowledge from their predecessors, namely, the Chinese, Egyptians, Chaldeans, Persians, Syrians, and Jews. Among these nations, says he, 'were planted and cultivated mighty growths of astronomy, astrology, magic, geometry, natural philosophy, and ancient story; and from these sources Orpheus, Homer, Lycurgus, Pythagoras, Plato, and others of the ancients, are acknowledged to have drawn all those depths of knowledge or learning which have made them so renowned in all succeeding ages.' Here Temple manifests wonderful ignorance and credulity in assuming as facts the veriest fables of the ancients, particularly with respect to Orpheus, of whom he afterwards speaks in conjunction with that equally authentic personage, Arion, and in reference to whose musical powers he asks triumphantly, 'What are become of the charms of music, by which men and beasts, fishes, fowls, and serpents, were so frequently enchanted, and their very natures changed; by which the passions of men were raised to the greatest height and violence, and then as suddenly appeased, so that they might be justly said to be turned into lions or lambs, into wolves or into harts, by the powers and charms of this admirable music?' In the same credulous spirit, he affirms that 'The more ancient sages of Greece appear, by the characters remaining of them, to have been much greater men than Hippocrates, Plato, and Xenophon. They were generally princes or lawgivers of their countries, or at least offered or invited to be so, either of their own or of others, that desired

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them to frame or reform their several institutions of man deeply versed in Greek literature; on whom he civil government. They were commonly excellent inserted a bitter reflection in his preface. Bentley, poets and great physicians: they were so learned in revenge, demonstrated the Epistles to be a forgery, in natural philosophy, that they foretold not only taking occasion at the same time to speak someeclipses in the heavens, but earthquakes at land, what irreverently of Sir William Temple. Boyle, and storms at sea, great droughts, and great plagues, with the assistance of Aldrich, Atterbury, and much plenty or much scarcity of certain sorts of other Christ-church doctors (who, indeed, were the fruits or grain; not to mention the magical powers real combatants), sent forth a reply, the plausibility attributed to several of them to allay storms, to of which seemed to give him the advantage; till raise gales, to appease commotions of the people, to Bentley, in a most triumphant rejoinder, exposed the make plagues cease; which qualities, whether upon gross ignorance which lay concealed under the wit any ground of truth or no, yet, if well believed, must and assumption of his opponents. To these parties, have raised them to that strange height they were however, the controversy was not confined. Boyle at, of common esteem and honour, in their own and and his friends were backed by the sarcastic powers, succeeding ages.' The objection occurs to him, as one if not by the learning, of Pope, Swift, Garth, Middlelikely to be set up by the admirers of modern learn- ton, and others. Swift, who came into the field on ing, that there is no evidence of the existence of behalf of his patron Sir William Temple, published books before those now either extant or on record. on this occasion his famous Battle of the Books,' This, however, gives him no alarm: for it is very and to the end of his life continued to speak of Bentdoubtful, he tells us, whether books, though they ley in the language of hatred and contempt. In the may be helps to knowledge, and serviceable in dif- work just mentioned, Swift has ridiculed not only fusing it, are necessary ones, or much advance any that scholar, but also his friend the Rev. William other science beyond the particular records of Wotton, who had opposed Temple in a treatise actions or registers of time'-as if any example entitled Reflections upon Ancient and Modern could be adduced of science having flourished where Learning,' published in 1694. To some parts of tradition was the only mode of handing it down! that treatise Sir William wrote a reply, the folHis notice of astronomy is equally ludicrous: 'There lowing passage in which suggested, we doubt not, is nothing new in astronomy,' says he, 'to vie with the satirical account given long afterwards by Swift the ancients, unless it be the Copernican system-a in 'Gulliver's Travels, of the experimental researches system which overturns the whole fabric of ancient of the projectors at Lagoda. What has been proastronomical science, though Temple declares with duced for the use, benefit, or pleasure of mankind, great simplicity that it has made no change in by all the airy speculations of those who have passed the conclusions of astronomy. In comparing the for the great advancers of knowledge and learning great wits among the moderns' with the authors of these last fifty years (which is the date of our antiquity, he mentions no Englishmen except Sir modern pretenders), I confess I am yet to seek, and Philip Sidney, Bacon, and Selden, leaving Shak- should be very glad to find. I have indeed heard of speare and Milton altogether out of view. How wondrous pretensions and visions of men possessed little he was qualified to judge of the comparative with notions of the strange advancement of learning merits of ancient and modern authors, is evident not and sciences, on foot in this age, and the progress only from his total ignorance of the Greek language, they are like to make in the next; as the universal but from the very limited knowledge of English lite- medicine, which will certainly cure all that have it; rature evinced by his esteeming Sir Philip Sidney the philosopher's stone, which will be found out by to be both the greatest poet and the noblest genius men that care not for riches; the transfusion of of any that have left writings behind them, and young blood into old men's veins, which will make published in ours or any other modern language.' them as gamesome as the lambs from which 'tis He farther declares, that after Ariosto, Tasso, and to be derived; a universal language, which may Spenser, he knows none of the moderns that have serve all men's turn when they have forgot their made any achievements in heroic poetry worth re- own; the knowledge of one another's thoughts cording.' Descartes and Hobbes are the only new without the grievous trouble of speaking; the art philosophers that have made entries upon the noble of flying, till a man happens to fall down and break stage of the sciences for fifteen hundred years past,' his neck; double-bottomed ships, whereof none can and these have by no means eclipsed the lustre of ever be cast away besides the first that was made; Plato, Aristotle, Epicurus, and others of the ancients.' the admirable virtues of that noble and necessary Bacon, Newton, and Boyle, are not regarded as phi-juice called spittle, which will come to be sold, and losophers at all. But the most unlucky blunder very cheap, in the apothecaries' shops; discoveries committed by Temple on this occasion was his of new worlds in the planets, and voyages between adducing the Greek Epistles of Phalaris in sup- this and that in the moon to be made as frequently port of the proposition, that the oldest books we as between York and London: which such poor have are still in their kind the best.' These Epis- mortals as I am think as wild as those of Ariosto, tles, says he, 'I think to have more grace, more but without half so much wit, or so much instrucspirit, more force of wit and genius, than any others tion; for there, these modern sages may know I have seen, either ancient or modern.' Some critics, where they may hope in time to find their lost he admits, have asserted that they are not the pro- senses, preserved in vials, with those of Orlando.' duction of Phalaris (who lived in Sicily more than five centuries before Christ), but of some writer in the declining age of Greek literature. In reply to these sceptics, he enumerates such transcendent excellences of the Epistles, that any man, he thinks, must have little skill in painting that cannot find out this to be an original.' The celebrity given to these Epistles by the publication of Temple's Essay, led to the appearance of a new edition of them at Oxford, under the name of Charles Boyle as editor. Boyle, while preparing it for the press, got into a quarrel with the celebrated critic Richard Bentley, a

WILLIAM WOTTON.

WILLIAM WOTTON (1666-1726), a clergyman in Buckinghamshire, whom we have mentioned as the author of a reply to Sir William Temple, wrote various other works, of which none deserves to be specified except his condemnatory remarks on Swift's

Tale of a Tub.' In childhood, his talent for languages was so extraordinary and precocious, that when five years old he was able to read Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, almost as well as English. At the age of

man. The productions of his pen, which are many and various, relate chiefly to natural philosophy, divinity, and law. His religious opinions were Calvinistical; and his chief theological work, entitled Contemplations, Moral and Divine, retains consider. able popularity among serious people of that persuasion. As a specimen of his style, we present a letter of advice to his children, written about the year 1662.

twelve he took the degree of bachelor of arts, pre-extracted from Baxter a character of this estimable viously to which he had gained an extensive acquaintance with several additional languages, including Arabic, Syriac, and Chaldee; as well as with geography, logic, philosophy, chronology, and mathematics. As in many similar cases, however, the expectations held out by his early proficiency were not justified by any great achievements in after life. We quote the following passage from his Reflections upon Ancient and Modern Learning (1694), chiefly because it records the change of manners which took place among literary men during the seventeenth century.

[Decline of Pedantry in England.]

[On Conversation.]

And

Never speak anything for a truth which you know or believe to be false. Lying is a great sin against God, who gave us a tongue to speak the truth, and not falsehood. It is a great offence against humanity itself; for, where there is no regard to truth, there can be no safe society between man and man. it is an injury to the speaker; for, besides the disgrace which it brings upon him, it occasions so much baseness of mind, that he can scarcely tell truth, or avoid lying, even when he has no colour of necessity for it; and, in time, he comes to such a pass, that as other people cannot believe he speaks truth, so he himself scarcely knows when he tells a falsehood.

DEAR CHILDREN-I thank God I came well to Farrington this day, about five o'clock. And as I have some leisure time at my inn, I cannot spend it more The last of Sir William Temple's reasons of the to my own satisfaction, and your benefit, than, by a great decay of modern learning is pedantry; the letter, to give you some good counsel. The subject urging of which is an evident argument that his dis-shall be concerning your speech; because much of the course is levelled against learning, not as it stands good or evil that befalls persons arises from the wel now, but as it was fifty or sixty years ago. For the or ill managing of their conversation. When I have new philosophy has introduced so great a correspon- leisure and opportunity, I shall give you my direc dence between men of learning and men of business; tions on other subjects. which has also been increased by other accidents amongst the masters of other learned professions; and that pedantry which formerly was almost universal is now in a great measure disused, especially amongst the young men, who are taught in the universities to laugh at that frequent citation of scraps of Latin in common discourse, or upon arguments that do not require it; and that nauseous ostentation of reading and scholarship in public companies, which formerly was so much in fashion. Affecting to write politely in modern languages, especially the French and ours, has also helped very much to lessen it, because it has enabled abundance of men, who wanted academical education, to talk plausibly, and some exactly, upon very many learned subjects. This also has made writers habitually careful to avoid those impertinences which they know would be taken notice of and ridiculed; and it is probable that a careful perusal of the fine new French books, which of late years have been greedily sought after by the politer sort of gentlemen and scholars, may in this particular have done abundance of good. By this means, and by the help also of some other concurrent causes, those who were not learned themselves being able to maintain disputes with those that were, forced them to talk more warily, and brought them, by little and little, to be out of countenance at that vain thrusting of their learning into everything, which before had been but too visible.

SIR MATTHEW HALE.

SIR MATTHEW HALE (1609-1676) not only acquired some reputation as a literary man, but is celebrated as one of the most upright judges that have ever sat upon the English bench. Both in his studies and in the exercise of his profession he displayed uncommon industry, which was favoured by his acquaintance with Selden, who esteemed him so highly as to appoint him his executor. Hale was a judge both in the time of the commonwealth and under Charles II, who appointed him chief baron of the exchequer in 1660, and lord chief-justice of the king's bench eleven years after. In the former capacity, one of his most notable and least creditable acts was the condemnation of some persons accused of witchcraft at Bury St Edmunds in 1664. Amidst the immorality of Charles II.'s reign, Sir Matthew Hale stands out with peculiar lustre as an impartial, incorruptible, and determined administrator of justice. Though of a benevolent and devout, as well as righteous disposition, his manners are said to have been austere; he was, moreover, opinionative, and accessible to flattery. In a previous page, we have

As you must be careful not to lie, so you must avoid coming near it. You must not equivocate, nor speak anything positively for which you have no authority but report, or conjecture, or opinion.

Let your words be few, especially when your superiors, or strangers, are present, lest you betray your own weakness, and rob yourselves of the opportunity, which you might otherwise have had, to gain knowledge, wisdom, and experience, by hearing those whom you silence by your impertinent talking.

Be not too earnest, loud, or violent in your conversation. Silence your opponent with reason, not with noise.

Be careful not to interrupt another when he is speaking; hear him out, and you will understand him the better, and be able to give him the better

answer.

Consider before you speak, especially when the business is of moment; weigh the sense of what you mean to utter, and the expressions you intend to use, that they may be significant, pertinent, and inoffensive. Inconsiderate persons do not think till they speak; or they speak, and then think.

Some men excel in husbandry, some in gardening, some in mathematics. In conversation, learn, as near as you can, where the skill or excellence of any person lies; put him upon talking on that subject, observe what he says, keep it in your memory, or commit it to writing. By this means you will glean the worth and knowledge of everybody you converse with; and, at an easy rate, acquire what may be of use to you on many occasions.

When you are in company with light, vain, impertinent persons, let the observing of their failings make you the more cautious both in your conversation with them and in your general behaviour, that you may avoid their errors.

If any one, whom you do not know to be a person of truth, sobriety, and weight, relates strange stories, be not too ready to believe or report them; and yet

(unless he is one of your familiar acquaintance) be not too forward to contradict him. If the occasion requires you to declare your opinion, do it modestly and gently, not bluntly nor coarsely; by this means you will avoid giving offence, or being abused for too much credulity.

If a man, whose integrity you do not very well know, makes you great and extraordinary professions, do not give much credit to him. Probably, you will find that he aims at something besides kindness to you, and that when he has served his turn, or been disappointed, his regard for you will grow cool.

Beware also of him who flatters you, and commends you to your face, or to one who he thinks will tell you of it; most probably he has either deceived and abused you, or means to do so. Remember the fable of the fox commending the singing of the crow, who had something in her mouth which the fox wanted. Be careful that you do not commend yourselves. It is a sign that your reputation is small and sinking, if your own tongue must praise you; and it is fulsome and unpleasing to others to hear such commenda

tions.

Speak well of the absent whenever you have a suitable opportunity. Never speak ill of them, or of anybody, unless you are sure they deserve it, and unless it is necessary for their amendment, or for the safety and benefit of others.

Avoid, in your ordinary communications, not only oaths, but all imprecations and earnest protestations. Forbear scothing and jesting at the condition or natural defects of any person. Such offences leave a deep impression; and they often cost a man dear.

Be very careful that you give no reproachful, menacing, or spiteful words to any person. Good words make friends; bad words make enemies. It is great prudence to gain as many friends as we honestly can, especially when it may be done at so easy a rate as a good word; and it is great folly to make an enemy by ill words, which are of no advantage to the party who uses them. When faults are committed, they may, and by a superior they must, be reproved: but let it be done without reproach or bitterness; otherwise it will lose its due end and use, and, instead of reforming the offence, it will exasperate the offender, and lay the reprover justly open to reproof.

If a person be passionate, and give you ill language, rather pity him than be moved to anger. You will find that silence, or very gentle words, are the most exquisite revenge for reproaches; they will either cure the distemper in the angry man, and make him sorry for his passion, or they will be a severe reproof and punishment to him. But, at any rate, they will preserve your innocence, give you the deserved reputation of wisdom and moderation, and keep up the serenity and composure of your mind. Passion and anger make a man unfit for everything that becomes him as a man or as a Christian.

Never utter any profane speeches, nor make a jest of any Scripture expressions. When you pronounce the name of God or of Christ, or repeat any passages or words of Holy Scripture, do it with reverence and seriousness, and not lightly, for that is taking the name of God in vain.'

If you hear of any unseemly expressions used in religious exercises, do not publish them; endeavour to forget them; or, if you mention them at all, let it be with pity and sorrow, not with derision or reproach. Read these directions often; think of them seriously; and practise them diligently. You will find them useful in your conversation; which will be every day the more evident to you, as your judgment, understanding, and experience increase.

I have little further to add at this time, but my wish and command that you will remember the former counsels that I have frequently given you. Begin and

end the day with private prayer; read the Scriptures often and seriously; be attentive to the public wor ship of God. Keep yourselves in some useful employment; for idleness is the nursery of vain and sinful thoughts, which corrupt the mind, and disorder the life. Be kind and loving to one another Honour your minister. Be not bitter nor harsh to my servants. Be respectful to all. Bear my absence patiently and cheerfully. Behave as if I were present among you and saw you. Remember, you have a greater Father than I am, who always, and in all places, beholds you, and knows your hearts and thoughts. Study to requite my love and care for you with dutifulness, observance, and obedience; and account it an honour that you have an opportunity, by your attention, faithfulness, and industry, to pay some part of that debt which, by the laws of nature and of gratitude, you owe to me. Be frugal in my family, but let there be no want; and provide conveniently for the poor.

I pray God to fill your hearts with his grace, fear, and love, and to let you see the comfort and advantage of serving him; and that his blessing, and presence, and direction, may be with you, and over you all. I am your ever loving father.

England, during the latter half of the seventeenth century, was adorned by three illustrious philosophers, who, besides making important contributions to science, were distinguished by the simplicity and moral excellence of their personal character, and an ardent devotion to the interests of religion, virtue, and truth. We allude to John Locke, Robert Boyle, and Sir Isaac Newton.

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