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ties this world could present to him. And this, and many other like blessings, we enjoy daily. And for most of them, because they be so common, most men forget to pay their praises; but let not us, because it is a sacrifice so pleasing to Him that made that sun and us, and still protects us, and gives us flowers, and showers, and stomachs, and meat, and content, and leisure to go a-fishing.

Well, scholar, I have almost tired myself, and, I fear, more than almost tired you. But I now see Tottenham High Cross, and our short walk thither will put a period to my too long discourse, in which my meaning was, and is, to plant that in your mind with which I labour to possess my own soul-that is, a meek and thankful heart. And to that end I have showed you that riches without them (meekness and thankfulness) do not make any man happy. But let me tell you that riches with them remove many fears and cares. And therefore my advice is, that you endeavour to be honestly rich, or contentedly poor; but be sure that your riches be justly got, or you spoil all; for it is well said by Caussin, "He that loses his conscience has nothing left that is worth keeping." Therefore be sure you look to that. And, in the next place, look to your health, and if you have it, praise God, and value it next to a good conscience; for health is the second blessing that we mortals are capable of a blessing that money cannot buy-and therefore value it, and be thankful for it. As for money (which may be said to be the third blessing), neglect it not; but note, that there is no necessity of being rich; for I told you there be as many miseries beyond riches as on this side them; and if you have a competence, enjoy it with a meek, cheerful, thankful heart. I will tell you, scholar, I have heard a grave divine say that God has two dwellings, one in heaven, and the other in a meek and thankful heart; which Almighty God grant to me and to my honest scholar! And so you are welcome to Tottenham High Cross.

Venator. Well, master, I thank you for all your good directions, but for none more than this last, of thankfulness, which I hope I shall never forget.'

angler and his disciple, whose genuine love of nature, and moral and descriptive pages, have silently but powerfully influenced the taste and literature of their native country.

JOHN EVELYN.

JOHN EVELYN (1620-1706), a gentleman of easy fortune, and the most amiable personal character,

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distinguished himself by several scientific works written in a popular style. His Sylva, or a Discourse of Forest Trees, and the Propagation of Timber in his Majesty's Dominions, published in 1664, was written in consequence of an application to the Royal Society by the commissioners of the navy, who dreaded a scarcity of timber in the country. This work, aided by the king's example, stimulated the landholders to To the fifth edition of the 'Complete Angler' was plant an immense number of oak trees, which, a added a second part by CHARLES COTTON, the poet, century after, proved of the greatest service to the and translator of Montaigne. It consisted of in- nation in the construction of ships of war. Terra, structions how to angle for a trout or grayling in a a Discourse of the Earth, relating to the Culture and clear stream. Though the work was written in the Improvement of it, for Vegetation and the Propagation short space of ten days, Cotton, who had long been of Plants, appeared in 1675; and a treatise on medals familiar with fly-fishing, and was an adopted son is another production of the venerable author. There of Izaak Walton, produced a treatise valuable for has been printed, also, a volume of his Miscellanies, its technical knowledge and accuracy. Walton's including a treatise in praise of Public Employment form of conveying instruction in dialogues is also and an Active Life,' which he wrote in reply to Sir preserved, the author being Piscator Junior, and his George Mackenzie's Essay on Solitude.' Evelyn companion a traveller (Viator), who had paid a was one of the first in this country to treat gardenvisit to the romantic scenery of Derbyshire, nearing and planting scientifically; and his grounds at which the residence of Cotton was situated. This Sayes-Court, near Deptford, where he resided during traveller turns out to be the Venator of the first a great part of his life, attracted much admiration, part, wholly addicted to the chase' till Mr Izaak on account of the number of foreign plants which Walton taught him as good, a more quiet, innocent, he reared in them, and the fine order in which they and less dangerous diversion. The friends embrace; were kept. The czar, Peter, was tenant of that Piscator conducts his new associate to his beloved mansion after the removal of Evelyn to another river Dove,' extends to him the hospitalities of his estate; and the old man was mortified by the gross mansion, and next morning shows him his fishing manner in which his house and garden were abused house, inscribed Piscatoribus Sacrum,' with the by the Russian potentate and his retinue. It was prettily contrived' cipher including the two first one of Peter's amusements to demolish a 'most letters of father Walton's name and those of his son glorious and impenetrable holly hedge,' by riding Cotton. A delicate clear river flowed about the through it on a wheelbarrow. house, which stood on a little peninsula, with a bowling-green close by, and fair meadows and mountains in the neighbourhood. The ruins of this building still remain, adding interest to the romantic and beautiful scenery on the banks of the river Dove, and recalling the memory of the venerable

Evelyn, throughout the greater part of his life, kept a diary, in which he entered every remarkable event in which he was in any way concerned. This was published in 1818 (two volumes quarto), and proved to be a most valuable addition to our store of historical materials respecting the latter half of

the seventeenth century. Evelyn chronicles familiar as well as important circumstances; but he does it without loss of dignity, and everywhere preserves

Thames, and all along Cornehill (for it kindl'd back against ye wind as well as forward), Tower Streete, Fenchurch Streete, Gracious Streete, and so along to Bainard's Castle, and was now taking hold of St Paule's church, to which the scaffolds contributed exceedingly. The conflagration was so universal, and the people so astonish'd, that from the beginning, I know not by what despondency or fate, they hardly stirr'd to quench it, so that there was nothing heard or seene but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted creatures, without at all attempting to save even their goods, such a strange consternation there was upon them, so as it burned both in breadth and length, the churches, publiq halls, exchange, hospitals, monuments, and ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner from house to house and streete to streete, at greate distances one from ye other; for ye heate with a long set of faire and warme weather had even ignited the air, and prepar'd the materials to conceive the fire, which devour'd, after an incredible manner, houses, furniture, and everything. Here we saw the Thames cover'd with goods floating, all the barges and boates laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on ye other, ye carts, &c. carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were strew'd with moveables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away. Oh the miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as haply the world had not seene the like since the foundation of it, nor be outdone till the universal conflagration. All the skie was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, the light scene above 40 miles round about for many nights. God grant my eyes may never behold the like, now seeing above 10,000 houses all in one flame: the noise, and cracking, and thunder of the impetuous flames, ye shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like an hideous storme, and the aire all about so hot and inflam'd, that at last one was not able to approach it, so that they were forc'd to stand still and let ye flames burn on, wch they did for neere two miles in length and one in bredth. The clouds of smoke were dismall, and reach'd upon computation neer 50 miles in length. Thus I left it this afternoone burning, a resemblance of Sodom or the last day. London was, but is no more!

4th. The burning still rages, and it was now gotten as far as the Inner Temple, all Fleete Streete, the Old Bailey, Ludgate Hill, Warwick Lane, Newgate, Paul's Chain, Watling Streete, now flaming, and most of it reduc'd to ashes; the stones of Paules flew like granados, ye mealting lead running downe the streetes in a streame, and the very pavements glowing with fiery rednesse, so as no horse nor man was able to tread on them, and the demolition had stopp'd all the passages, so that no help could be applied. The eastern wind still more impetuously drove the flames forward. Nothing but ye Almighty power of God was able to stop them, for vaine was ye help of man.

5th. It crossed towards Whitehall: Oh the confusion there was then at that court! It pleased his Maty to command me among ye rest to looke after the quenching of Fetter Lane end, to preserve if possible, that part of Holborn, whilst the rest of ye gentlemen tooke their several posts (for now they began to bestir themselves, and not till now, who hitherto had stood as men intoxicated, with their hands acrosse), and began to consider that nothing was likely to put a stop but the blowing up of so many houses, as might make a wider gap than any had yet ben made by the ordinary method of pulling them down with engines; this some stout seamen propos'd early enough to have sav'd near ye whole citty, but this some tenacious and avaritious men, aldermen, &c., would not permit, because their houses must have ben of the first. It was therefore now commanded to be practis'd, and my con

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cern being particularly for the hospital of St Bartholomew, neere Smithfield, where I had many wounded and sick men, made me the more diligent to promote it, nor was my care for the Savoy lesse. It now pleas'd God, by abating the wind, and by the industrie of ye people, infusing a new spirit into them, that the fury of it began sensibly to abate about noone, so as it came no farther than ye Temple westward, nor than ye entrance of Smithfield north. But continu'd all this day and night so impetuous towards Cripplegate and the Tower, as made us all despaire; it also broke out againe in the Temple, but the courage of the multitude persisting, and many houses being blown up, such gaps and desolations were soone made, as with the former three days' consumption, the back fire did not so vehemently urge upon the rest as formerly. There was yet no standing neere the burning and glowing ruines by neere a furlong's space.

The coale and wood wharfes and magazines of oyle, rosin, &c., did infinite mischeife, so as the invective which a little before I had dedicated to his Maty, and publish'd, giving warning what might probably be the issue of suffering those shops to be in the citty, was look'd on as a prophecy.

The poore inhabitants were dispers'd about St George's Fields, and Moorefields, as far as Highgate, and severall miles in circle, some under tents, some under miserable hutts and hovells, many without a rag or any necessary utensills, bed or board, who, from delicatenesse, riches, and easy accommodations in stately and well furnish'd houses, were now reduc'd to extreamest misery and poverty.

In this calamitous condition, I return'd with a sad heart to my house, blessing and adoring the mercy of God to me and mine, who in the midst of all this ruine was like Lot, in my little Zoar, safe and sound. 7th. I went this morning on foote fm Whitehall as far as London Bridge, thro' the late Fleete Street, Ludgate Hill, by St Paules, Cheapeside, Exchange, Bishopgate, Aldersgate, and out to Moorefields, thence thro' Cornehill, &c., with extraordinary difficulty, clambering over heaps of yet smoking rubbish, and frequently mistaking where I was. The ground under my feete was so hot, that it even burnt the soles of my shoes. In the meantime his Maty got to the Tower by water, to demolish ye houses about the graff, which being built intirely about it, had they taken fire and attack'd the White Tower where the magazine of powder lay, would undoubtedly not only have beaten downe and destroy'd all ye bridge, but sunke and torne the vessells in ye river, and render'd ye demolition beyond all expression for several miles about the countrey.

At my return, I was infinitely concern'd to find that goodly church St Paules, now a sad ruine, and that beautiful portico (for structure comparable to any in Europe, as not long before repair'd by the king) now rent in pieces, flakes of vast stone split asunder, and nothing remaining intire but the inscription in the architrave, showing by whom it was built, which had not one letter of it defac'd. It was astonishing to see what immense stones the heat had in a manner calcin'd, so that all ye ornaments, columns, freezes, and projectures of massie Portland stone flew off, even to ye very roofe, where a sheet of lead covering a great space was totally mealted; the ruines of the vaulted roofe falling broke into St Faith's, which being filled with the magazines of bookes belonging to ye stationers, and carried thither for safety, they were all consum'd, burning for a weeke following. It is also observable, that the lead over ye altar at ye east end was untouch'd, and among the divers monuments, the body of one bishop remain'd intire. Thus lay in ashes that most venerable church, one of the most antient pieces of early piety in ye Christian world, besides neere 100 more. The lead, yron worke, bells,

plate, &c., mealted; the exquisitely wrought Mercers Chapell, the sumptuous Exchange, ye august fabriq of Christ Church, all ye rest of the Companies Halls, sumptuous buildings, arches, all in dust; the fountaines dried up and ruin'd, whilst the very waters remain'd boiling; the vorago's of subterranean cellars, wells, and dungeons, formerly warehouses, still burning in stench and dark clouds of smoke, so that in 5 or 6 miles, in traversing about, I did not see one load of timber unconsum'd, nor many stones but what were calcin'd white as snow. The people who now walk'd about ye ruines appear'd like men in a dismal desart, or rather in some greate citty laid waste by a cruel enemy; to which was added the stench that came from some poore creatures bodies, beds, &c. Sir Tho. Gressham's statute, tho' fallen from its nich in the Royal Exchange, remain'd intire, when all those of ye kings since ye Conquest were broken to pieces, also the standard in Cornehill, and Q. Elizabeth's effigies, with some armes on Ludgate, continued with but little detriment, whilst the vast yron chaines of the citty streetes, hinges, barrs, and gates of prisons, were many of them mealted and reduc'd to cinders by ye vehement heate. I was not able to passe through any of the narrow streetes, but kept the widest; the ground and air, smoake and fiery vapour continu'd so intense, that my haire was almost sing'd, and my feete unsufferably sur-heated. The bie lanes and narrower streetes were quite fill'd up with rubbish, nor could one have knowne where he was, but by ye ruines of some church or hall, that had some remarkable tower or pinnacle remaining. I then went towards Islington and Highgate, where one might have seene 200,000 people of all ranks and degrees dispers'd and lying along by their heapes of what they could save from the fire, deploring their losse; and tho' ready to perish for hunger and destitution, yet not asking one penny for relief, which to me appear'd a stranger sight than any I had yet beheld. His Majesty and Council indeede tooke all imaginable care for their reliefe, by proclamation for the country to come in and refresh them with provisions. In ye midst of all this calamity and confusion, there was, I know not how, an alarme begun that the French and Dutch, with whom we were now in hostility, were not onely landed, but even entering the citty. There was, in truth, some days before, greate suspicion of those 2 nations joining; and now, that they had ben the occasion of firing the towne. This report did so terrifie, that on a suddaine there was such an uproare and tumult, that they ran from their goods, and taking what weapons they could come at, they could not be stopp'd from falling on some of those nations, whom they casualy met, without sense or reason. The clamour and peril grew so excessive, that it made the whole court amaz'd, and they did with infinite paines and greate difficulty reduce and appease the people, sending troops of soldiers and guards to cause them to retire into ye fields againe, where they were watch'd all this night. I left them pretty quiet, and came home sufficiently weary and broken. Their spirits thus a little calmed, and the affright abated, they now began to repaire into ye suburbs about the citty, where such as had friends or opportunity got shelter for the present, to which his Matys proclamation also invited them.

[A Fortunate Courtier not Envied.]

Sept. 6 [1680].-I dined with Sir Stephen Fox, now one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury. This gentleman came first a poor boy from the quire of Salisbury, then was taken notice of by Bishop Duppa, and afterwards waited on my Lord Percy (brother to Algernon, Earl of Northumberland), who procured for him an inferior place amongst the clerks

of the kitchen and green cloth side, where he was
found so humble, diligent, industrious, and prudent
in his behaviour, that his majesty being in exile, and
Mr Fox waiting, both the king and lords about him
frequently employed him about their affairs; trusted
him both with receiving and paying the little money
they had. Returning with his majesty to England,
after great wants and great sufferings, his majesty
found him so honest and industrious, and withal so
capable and ready, that being advanced from Clerk of
the Kitchen to that of the Green Cloth, he procured
to be paymaster to the whole army; and by his dex-
terity and punctual dealing, he obtained such credit
among the bankers, that he was in a short time able
to borrow vast sums of them upon any exigence. The
continual turning thus of money, and the soldiers'
moderate allowance to him for his keeping touch with
them, did so enrich him, that he is believed to be
worth at least £200,000, honestly gotten and unenvied,
which is next to a miracle. With all this, he con-
tinues as humble and ready to do a courtesy as ever
He is generous, and lives very honourably;
of a sweet nature, well spoken, well bred, and is so
highly in his majesty's esteem, and so useful, that,
being long since made a knight, he is also advanced
to be one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury,
and has the reversion of the Cofferer's place after
Harry Brounker. He has married his eldest daughter
to my Lord Cornwallis, and gave her £12,000, and
restored that entangled family besides. He matched
his eldest son to Mrs Trollope, who brings with her
(besides a great sum) near, if not altogether, £2000
per annum.
Sir Stephen's lady, an excellent woman,
is sister to Mr Whittle, one of the king's chirurgeons.
In a word, never was man more fortunate than Sir
Stephen; he is a handsome person, virtuous, and very
religious.*

he was.

which she arrived to that perfection, that of the sens lars of those famous two masters, Signors Pietro and Bartholomeo, she was esteemed the best; for the sweetness of her voice and management of it added such an agreeableness to her countenance, without any constraint or concern, that when she sung, it was as charming to the eye as to the ear; this I rather note, because it was a universal remark, and for which so many noble and judicious persons in music desired to hear her, the last being at Lord Arundel of Wardour's. What shall I say, or rather not say, of the cheerfulness and agreeableness of her humour? Condescending to the meanest servant in the family, or others, she still kept up respect, without the least pride. She would often read to them, examine, instruct, and pray with them if they were sick, so as she was exceedingly beloved of everybody. Piety was so prevalent an ingredient in her constitution (as I may say), that even among equals and superiors, she no sooner became intimately acquainted, but she would endeavour to improve them by insinuating something of religious, and that tended to bring them to a love of devotion. She had one or two confidants, with whom she used to pass whole days in fasting, reading, and prayers, especially before the monthly communion and other solemn occasions. She abhorred flattery, and though she had abundance of wit, the raillery was so innocent and ingenious, that it was most agreeable; she sometimes would see a play, but, since the stage grew licentious, expressed herself weary of them; and the time spent at the theatre was an unaccountable vanity. She never played at cards without extreme importunity, and for the company. but this was so very seldom, that I cannot number it among anything she could name a fault. No one could read prose or verse better or with more judgment; and, as she read, so she writ, not only most correct orthography, [but] with that maturity of judgment and exactness of the periods, choice of exMarch 10. She received the blessed sacrament; hers have astonished me and others to whom she has pressions, and familiarity of style, that some letters of after which, disposing herself to suffer what God occasionally written. She had a talent of rehearsing should determine to inflict, she bore the remainder of any comical part or poem, as, to them she might be her sickness with extraordinary patience and piety, decently free with, was more pleasing than heard on and more than ordinary resignation and blessed frame the theatre. She danced with the greatest grace I of mind. She died the 14th, to our unspeakable sorhave ever seen, and so would her master say, who was row and affliction; and not to ours only, but that of Monsieur Isaac; but she seldom showed that perfecall who knew her, who were many of the best quality, tion, save in gracefulness of her carriage, which was greatest and most virtuous persons. The justness of with an air of sprightly modesty not easily to be deher stature, person, comeliness of countenance, grace-scribed. Nothing affected, but natural and easy in fulness of motion, unaffected though more than ordi- her deportment as in her discourse, which was always narily beautiful, were the least of her ornaments, com-material, not trifling, and to which the extraordinary pared with those of her mind. Of early piety, singularly religious, spending a part of every day in private devotion, reading, and other virtuous exercises; she had collected and written out many of the most useful and judicious periods of the books she read in a kind of common-place, as out of Dr Hammond on the New Testament, and most of the best practical treatises. She had read and digested a considerable deal of history and of places [geography]. The French tongue was as familiar to her as English; she understood Italian, and was able to render a laudable account of what she read and observed, to which assisted a most faithful memory and discernment; and she did make very prudent and discreet reflections upon what she had observed of the conversations among which she had at any time been, which being continually of persons of the best quality, she thereby improved. She had an excellent voice, to which she played a thorough base on the harpsichord, in both *Sir Stephen Fox was the progenitor of the noble house of Holland, so remarkable for the line of distinguished statesmen which it has given to England.

[Evelyn's Account of his Daughter Mary.+]

sweetness of her tone, even in familiar speaking, was very charming. Nothing was so pretty as her descending to play with little children, whom she would caress and humour with great delight. But she was most affected to be with grave and sober men, of whom she might learn something and improve herself. I have been assisted by her in reading and praying by me; comprehensive of uncommon notions, curious of knowing everything to some excess, had I not sometimes repressed it.

go into my study, where she would willingly have Nothing was so delightful to her as to dance of history, and all the best poets; even Terence, spent whole days, for, as I said, she had read abunPlautus, Homer, Virgil, Horace, Ovid; all the best romances and modern poems; she could compose happily, as in the Mundus Muliebris, wherein is an enumeration of the immense variety of the modes and ornaments belonging to her sex ; but all these are vain trifles to the virtues that adorned her soul; she was sincerely religious, most dutiful to her parents, whom she loved with an affection tempered with great esteem, so as we were easy and free, and never were so This young lady died of small-pox, March 1635, in her well pleased as when she was with us, nor needed we twentieth year. other conversation. She was kind to her sisters, and

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was still improving them by her constant course of
piety. Oh dear, sweet, and desirable child! how
shall I part with all this goodness and virtue without
the bitterness of sorrow and reluctancy of a tender
parent? Thy affection, duty, and love to me, was that
of a friend as well as a child. Nor less dear to thy
mother, whose example and tender care of thee was un-
paralleled; nor was thy return to her less conspicuous.
Oh, how she mourns thy loss! how desolate hast thou
left us! to the grave shall we both carry thy memory.

[Fashions in Dress.]

[From "Tyrannus, or the Mode.'*]

'Twas a witty expression of Malvezzi, I vestimenti negli animali sono molto sicuri segni della loro natura; negli huomini del lor cervello,-garments (says he) in animals are infallible signs of their nature; in men, of their understanding. Though I would not judge of the monk by the hood he wears, or celebrate the humour of Julian's court, where the philosophic mantle made all his officers appear like so many conjurors, 'tis worth the observing yet, that the people of Rome left off the toga, an ancient and noble garment, with their power, and that the vicissitude of their habit was little better than a presage of that of their fortune; for the military saga, differencing them from their slaves, was no small indication of the declining of their courage, which shortly followed. And I am of opinion that when once we shall see the Venetian senate quit the gravity of their vests, the state itself will not long subsist without some considerable alteration. I am of opinion that the Swiss had not been now a nation but for keeping to their prodigious breeches.

*

Be it excusable in the French to alter and impose the mode on others, 'tis no less a weakness and a shame in the rest of the world, who have no dependence on them, to admit them, at least to that degree of levity as to turn into all their shapes without discrimination; so as when the freak takes our Monsieurs to appear like so many farces or Jack Puddings on the stage, all the world should alter shape, and play the pantomimes with them.

* *

This

Methinks a French tailor, with his ell in his hand,
looks the enchantress Circe over the companions of
Ulysses, and changes them into as many forms. One
while we are made to be so loose in our clothes
and by and by appear like so many malefactors sewed
up in sacks, as of old they were wont to treat a parri-
cide, with a dog, an ape, and a serpent. Now, we are
all twist, and at a distance look like a pair of tongs,
and anon stuffed out behind like a Dutchman.
gallant goes so pinched in the waist, as if he were pre-
pared for the question of the fiery plate in Turkey;
and that so loose in the middle, as if he would turn
insect, or drop in two; now, the short waists and shirts
in Pye-court is the mode; then the wide hose, or a
man in coats again. * * Methinks we should learn
to handle distaff too: Hercules did so when he courted
Omphale; and those who sacrificed to Ceres put on
the petticoat with much confidence. *

It was a fine silken thing which I spied walking
tother day through Westminster Hall, that had as
much ribbon about him as would have plundered

as a porter bear it only, was not easily to be resolved.

For my part, I profess that I delight in a cheerful gaiety, affect and cultivate variety. The universe itself were not beautiful to me without it; but as that is in constant and uniform succession in the natural, where men do not disturb it, so would I have it also in the artificial. If the kings of Mexico changed four times a-day, it was but an upper vest, which they were used to honour some meritorious servant with. Let men change their habits as oft as they please, so the change be for the better. I would have a summer habit and a winter; for the spring and for the autumn. Something I would indulge to youth; something to age and humour. But what have we to do with these foreign butterflies? In God's name, let the change be our own, not borrowed of others; for why should I dance after a Monsieur's flageolet, that have a set of English viols for my concert? We need no French inventions for the stage, or for the back.

SIR ROGER L'ESTRANGE.

the reigns of Charles II. and James VII., great notoSIR ROGER L'ESTRANGE (1616-1704) enjoyed, in riety as an occasional political writer. During the rebellion he had fought as a royalist soldier: being captured by the parliamentary army, he was tried and condemned to die, and lay in prison almost four years, constantly expecting to be led forth to execution. He was at length set free, and lived in almost total obscurity till the Restoration, when he was rewarded with the invidious post of licenser of the press. From this time, till a few years before his death, he was constantly occupied in the editing

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Sir Roger L'Estrange.

six shops, and set up twenty country pedlars. All of newspapers and writing of pamphlets, mostly
his body was dressed like a May-pole, or a Tom-a-in behalf of the court, from which he at last re-
Bedlam's cap. A frigate newly rigged kept not halfceived the honour of knighthood. He is generally
such a clatter in a storm, as this puppet's streamers
did when the wind was in his shrouds; the motion considered to have been the first writer who sold his
was wonderful to behold, and the well-chosen colours
were red, orange, blue, and well gummed satin, which
argued a happy fancy; but so was our gallant over-
charged, [that] whether he did wear this garment, or
* A rare pamphlet by Evelyn.

services in defence of any measure, good or bad. As a controversialist, he was bold, lively, and vigorous, but coarse, impudent, abusive, and by no means a scrupulous regarder of truth. He is known also as a translator, having produced versions of Æsop's Fables, Seneca's Morals, Cicero's Offices, Erasmus's

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