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of his sovereign, and lingered out a wretched life till 1658, when he died of consumption, induced by misery and want.

TO ALTHEA.

Written in Prison.

When love with unconfined wings

Hovers within my gates:
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates:
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fetter'd to her eye;
The gods that wanton in the air,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free;
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.

THE GRASSHOPPER.

To my noble friend, Mr. Charles Cotton.

Oh thou that swing'st upon the waving hair
Of some well-filled oaten beard,

Drunk every night with a delicious tear

Dropp'd thee from heaven, where now thou'rt rear'd;

The joys of earth and air are thine entire,

That with thy feet and wings dost hop and fly;
And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire
To thy carved acorn-bed to lie.

Up with the day; the sun thou welcom'st then;
Sport'st in the gilt-plats of his beams,
And all these merry days mak'st merry men,
Thyself, and melancholy streams.

But ah! the sickle! golden ears are cropp'd;
Ceres and Bacchus bid good night;

Sharp frosty fingers all your flowers have topp'd,
And what scythes spared, winds shave off quite.
Poor verdant fool! and now green ice, thy joys
Large and as lasting as thy perch of grass,
Bid us lay in 'gainst winter, rain, and poise
Their floods with an o'erflowing glass.

Thou best of men and friends! we will create
A genuine summer in each other's breast;
And spite of this cold time and frozen fate
Thaw us a warm seat to our rest.

Our sacred hearths shall burn eternally
As vestal flames, the north-wind, he

Shall strike his frost-stretch'd wings, dissolve and fly
This Etna in epitome.

Thus richer than untempted kings are we,

That asking nothing, nothing need;
Though lord of all what seas embrace; yet he
That wants himself, is poor indeed.

THOMAS FULLER. 1608-1661.

A CONSPICUOUS place in the prose literature of our language is due to the historian and divine, Thomas Fuller. He was the son of a clergyman of the same name, and was born in 1608 at Aldwinkle in Northamptonshire, the native place of Dryden. At the early age of twelve, he was sent to Queen's College, Cambridge, where he distinguished himself for his attainments, and on entering life as a preacher in that city, he acquired the greatest popularity. He afterwards passed through a rapid succession of promotions, until he acquired (1641) the lectureship of the Savoy Church in London. To show his fidelity to the royal cause, he procured, in 1643, a nomination as chaplain to the royal army. When the heat of the war was passed he returned to London, and became lecturer at St. Bride's church. Subsequently he occupied other situations in the church of England, and at the Restoration (1660) he was chosen chaplain extraordinary to the king. The next year he was prematurely cut off by fever at the age of fifty-three.

The works of Fuller are very numerous: the chief of which are the following: 1. "History of the Worthies of England," one of the earliest biographical works in the language; a strange mixture of topography, biography, and popular antiquities. 2. "The Holy and Profane State," the former proposing examples for imitation; the latter their opposites, for our abhorrence. Each contains characters in every department of life, as, "the father," "husband," "soldier," "divine," &c.; lives of eminent persons, as illustrative of these characters; and general essays. 3. "The History of the Holy War," and "The Church History of Britain." There are specimens of historical painting in these works that have perhaps never been excelled. 4. "Good Thoughts in Bad Times." 5. "A Pisgah-sight of Palestine and the Confines thereof; with the History of the Old and New Testament acted thereon." Besides these he published a large number of tracts and sermons on various subjects. Fuller was indeed an extraordinary man. If ever there was an amusing writer in this world, Thomas Fuller was one. There was in him a combination of those qualities which minister to our entertainment, such as few have ever possessed in an equal degree. He was, first of all, a man of multifarious reading; of great and digested knowledge, which an extraordinary retentiveness of memory preserved ever ready for use, and considerable accuracy of judgment enabled him successfully to apply. So well does he vary his treasures of memory and observation, so judiciously does he interweave his anecdotes, quotations, and remarks, that it is impossible to conceive a more delightful checker-work of acute thought and apposite illustration, of original and extracted sentiment, than is presented in his works."1

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1 Read-an article on Fuller in the "Retrospective Review," iii. 50.

MISCELLANEOUS APHORISMS.

Know, next to religion, there is nothing accomplisheth a man more than learning. Learning in a lord is as a diamond in gold. He must rise early, yea, not at all go to bed, who will have every one's good word.

He needs strong arms who is to swim against the stream.

It is hard for one of base parentage to personate a king without overacting his part.

The pope knows he can catch no fish if the waters are clear. The cardinals' eyes in the court of Rome were old and dim; and therefore the glass, wherein they see any thing, must be well silvered.

Many wish that the tree may be felled, who hope to gather chips by the fall.

The Holy Ghost came down, not in the shape of a vulture, but in the form of a dove.

Gravity is the ballast of the soul.

Learning hath gained most by those books by which the printers have lost.

He shall be immortal who liveth till he be stoned by one without fault.

It is the worst clandestine marriage when God is not invited to it.

Deceive not thyself by over-expecting happiness in the married state. Look not therein for contentment greater than God will give, or a creature in this world can receive, namely, to be free from all inconveniences. Marriage is not like the hill Olympus, wholly clear, without clouds. Remember the nightingales, which sing only some months in the spring, but commonly are silent when they have hatched their eggs, as if their mirth were turned into care for their young ones.

THE GOOD SCHOOLMASTER.1

There is scarce any profession in the commonwealth more necessary, which is so slightly performed. The reasons whereof I conceive to be these:-First, young scholars make this calling their refuge; yea, perchance, before they have taken any degree in the university, commence schoolmasters in the country, as if nothing else were required to set up this profession but only a rod and a ferula. Secondly, others who are able, use it only as a

1 The remarks of Fuller on this subject are most admirable. How little discrimination parents often evince in placing their children at school; and how many are there who "set up school," as the phrase is, without any suitable preparation or qualifications for the responsible duty. It is hu miliating to reflect how often that profession, for which as much training and study are requisite as for any other, has been assumed merely as the last resort. But a better day is at hand.

passage to better preferment, to patch the rents in their present fortune, till they can provide a new one, and betake themselves to some more gainful calling. Thirdly, they are disheartened from doing their best with the miserable reward which in some places they receive, being masters to their children and slaves to their parents. Fourthly, being grown rich they grow negligent, and scorn to touch the school but by the proxy of the usher. But see how well our schoolmaster behaves himself.

His genius inclines him with delight to his profession. God, of his goodness, hath fitted several men for several callings, that the necessity of church and state, in all conditions, may be provided for. And thus God mouldeth some for a schoolmaster's life, undertaking it with desire and delight, and discharging it with dexterity and happy success.

He studieth his scholars' natures as carefully as they their books; and ranks their dispositions into several forms. And though it may seem difficult for him in a great school to descend to all particulars, yet experienced schoolmasters may quickly make a grammar of boys' natures.

He is able, diligent, and methodical in his teaching; not leading them rather in a circle than forwards. He minces his precepts for children to swallow, hanging clogs on the nimbleness of his own soul, that his scholars may go along with him. He is moderate in inflicting deserved correction. Many a schoolmaster better answereth the name paidotribes1 than paidagogos, rather tearing his scholars' flesh with whipping than giving them good education. No wonder if his scholars hate the muses, being presented unto them in the shapes of fiends and furies.

Such an Orbilius mars more scholars than he makes. Their tyranny hath caused many tongues to stammer which spake plain by nature, and whose stuttering at first was nothing else but fears quavering on their speech at their master's presence; and whose mauling them about their heads hath dulled those who in quickness exceeded their master.

To conclude, let this, amongst other motives, make schoolmasters careful in their place-that the eminences of their scholars have commended the memories of their schoolmasters to posterity.3

1 Boy-beater.

? He means "boy-teacher," but the paidagogos (raiƐaywyos) “pedagogue" of the Greeks, was the servant who conducted the children from their homes to the schools, and not the instructor.

a How beautifully the historian Gibbon expresses the obligations due from a scholar to a faithful and competent teacher: "The expression of gratitude is a virtue and a pleasure; a liberal mind will delight to cherish and celebrate the memory of its parents, AND THE TEACHERS OF SCIENCE ARE THE PARENTS OF THE MIND." Memoirs, ch. ill.

THE GOOD WIFE.

She commandeth her husband in any equal matter, by constant obeying him.

She never crosseth her husband in the spring-tide of his anger, but stays till it be ebbing-water. Surely men, contrary to iron, are worst to be wrought upon when they are hot.

Her clothes are rather comely than costly, and she makes plain cloth to be velvet by her handsome wearing it.

Her husband's secrets she will not divulge: especially she is careful to conceal his infirmities.

In her husband's absence she is wife and deputy husband, which makes her double the files of her diligence. At his return he finds all things so well, that he wonders to see himself at home when he was abroad.1

Her children, though many in number, are none in noise, steering them with a look whither she listeth.

The heaviest work of her servants she maketh light, by orderly and seasonably enjoining it.

In her husband's sickness she feels more grief than she shows.

THE GOOD SEA-CAPTAIN.

Conceive him now in a man-of-war, with his letters of marque, victualled, and appointed.

The more power he hath, the more careful he is not to abuse it. Indeed a sea-captain is a king in the island of a ship, supreme judge, above all appeal, in causes civil and criminal, and is seldom brought to an account on land for injuries done to his own men

at sea.

He is careful in observing the Lord's day. He hath a watch. in his heart, though no bells in a steeple to proclaim that day by ringing to prayers.

He is as pious and thankful when a tempest is past, as devout when 'tis present; not clamorous to receive mercies, and tonguetied to return thanks. Escaping many dangers makes him not presumptuous to run into them.

In taking a prize he most prizeth the men's lives whom he takes; though some of them may chance to be negroes or savages.

1 In Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy there are twelve reasons in favor of marriage, of which the first six are as follows:

1. Hast thou means? Thou hast one to keep and increase it.

2. Hast none? Thou hast one to help to get it.

3. Art in prosperity Thine happiness is doubled.

4. Art in adversity? She'll comfort, assist, bear a part of thy burden, to make it more tolerable. 5. Art at home? She'll drive away melancholy.

6. Art abroad? She looks after thee going from home, wishes for thee in thine absence, and fully welcomes thy return.

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