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tation of it, we may truly say he would be a real benefactor to his country. For the first stage of a true enlightenment is, that man should reflect upon his condition and circumstances, and be brought to regard them in the most agreeable light. Let the song of the potato be sung in the field, where the wondrous mode of increase, which calls even the man of science to high and curious meditation, after the long and silent working and interweaving of vegetable powers, comes to view, and a quite unintelligible blessing springs out of the earth; and then first will be felt the merit of this and similar poems, in which the poet essays to awaken the rude, reckless, unobservant man, who takes everything for granted, to an attentive observation of the high wonders of all-nourishing nature, by which he is constantly surrounded. But scarcely are all these bounties brought under man's notice, when Autumn glides in, and our poet takes an affecting leave of nature, decaying, at least in outward appearance. Yet he abandons not his beloved vegetation wholly to the unkind winter. The elegant vase receives many a plant, many a bulb, wherewith to create a mimic summer in the home seclusion of winter, and, even at that season, to leave no festival without its flowers and wreaths. Care is taken that even the household birds belonging to the family should not want a green fresh roof to their bowery cage.

Now is the loveliest time for short rambles,-for friendly converse in the chilly evening. Every domestic feeling becomes active; longings for social pleasures increase; the want of music is more sensibly felt; and now, even the sick man willingly joins the friendly circle, and a departing friend seems to clothe himself in the colours of the departing year.

For as certainly as spring will return after the lapse of winter, so certainly will friends, lovers, kindred mect again; they will meet again in the presence of the allloving Father; and then first will they form a Whole with each other, and with everything good, after which they sought and strove in vain in this piece-meal world. And thus does the felicity of the poet, even here, rest on the persuasion that all have to rejoice in the care of a wise God, whose power extends unto all, and whose light lightens upon all. Thus does the adoration of such a Being create in the poet the highest clearness and reasonableness; and, at the same time, an assurance that the thoughts, the words, with which he comprehends and describes infinite qualities, are not empty dreams and sounds and thence arises a rapturous feeling of his own and others' happiness, in which everything conflicting, peculiar, discordant, is resolved and dissipated.

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I GRANT brevity, where it is neither obscure nor defective, is very pleasing, even to the daintiest judgments. No marvel, therefore, if most men desire much good counsel in a narrow room; as some affect to have great personages drawn in little tablets, or as we see worlds of countries described in the compass of small maps. Neither do I unwillingly yield to follow them; for both the powers of good advice are the stronger when they are thus united, and brevity makes counsel more portable for memory and readier for use. Take these therefore for more; which as I would fain practice, so am I willing to commend. Let us begin with him who is the first and last; inform yourself aright concerning God; without whom, in vain do we know all things: be acquainted with that Saviour of yours, which paid so much for you on earth, and now sues for you in heaven; without whom we have nothing to do with God, nor he with us. Adore him in your thoughts, trust him with yourself renew your sight of him every day, and his of you. Overlook these earthly things; and, when you do at any time cast your eyes upon heaven, think there dwells my Saviour, there I shall be. Call yourself to often reckonings; cast

up your debts, payments, graces, wants, expenses, employments; yield not to think your set devotions troublesome; take not easy denials from yourself; yea, give peremptory denials to yourself: he can never be good that flatters himself: hold nature to her allowance; and let your will stand at courtesy: happy is that man which hath obtained to be the master of his own heart. Think all God's outward favours and provisions the best for you: your own ability and actions the meanest, Suffer not your mind to be either a drudge or a wanton; exercise it ever, but overlay it not in all your businesses, look, through the world, at God; whatsoever is your level, let him be your scope: every day take a view of your last: and think either it is this or may be: offer not yourself either to honour or labour, let them both seek you: care you only to be worthy, and you cannot hide you from God. So frame yourself to the time and company, that you may neither serve it nor sullenly neglect it; and yield so far as you may neither betray goodness nor countenance evil. Let your words be few and digested; it is a shame for the tongue to cry the heart mercy, much more to cast itself upon the uncertain pardon of others' ears. There are but two things which a Christian is charged to buy, and not to sell, Time and Truth; both so precious, that we must purchase them at any rate. So use your friends, as those which should be perpetual, may be changeable. While you are within yourself, there is no danger: but thoughts once uttered must stand to hazard. Do not hear from yourself what you would be loth to hear from others. In all good things, give the eye and ear the full of scope, for they let into the mind: restrain the tongue, for it is a spender. Few men have repented them of silence. In all serious matters take counsel of days, and nights, and friends; and let leisure ripen your purposes: neither hope to gain aught by suddenness. The first thoughts may be confident, the second are wiser. Serve honesty ever, though without apparent wages she will pay sure, if slow. As in apparel, so in actions, know not what is good, but what becomes you. How many warrantable acts have misshapen the authors? Excuse not your own ill, aggravate not others: and if you love peace, avoid censures, comparisons, contradictions. Out of good men choose acquaintance; of acquaintance, friends; of friends, familiars; after probation admit them; and after admittance, change them not. Age commendeth friendship. Do not always your best it is neither wise nor safe for a man ever to stand upon the top of his strength. If you would be above the expectation of others, be ever below our cl Expend after your purse, not after your mind: take not where you may deny except upon conscience of desert, or hope to requite. Either frequent suits or complaints are wearisome to a friend. Rather smother your griefs and wants as you may, than be either querulous or importunate. Let not your face belie your heart, no: always tell tales out of it: he is fit to live amongst friends or enemies that can inga uously be close. Give freely, sell thriftily: change seldom your place, never your state either amend inconveniences or swallow them, rather than you should rm from yourself to avoid them.

In all your reckonings for the world cast up some crosses that appear not; eit} e those will come or may. Let your suspicions be charitable; your trust fear fi: your censures sure. Give way to the anger of the great. The thunder and cann will abide no fence. As in throngs we are afraid of loss, so, while the world con ES upon you, look well to your soul; there is more danger in good than in evil: I fear the number of these my rules; for precepts are wont (as nails) to drive out one another: but these I intended to scatter amongst many; and I was loth that y guest should complain of a niggardly hand; dainty dishes are wont to be sparingly served out: homely ones supply in their bigness what they want in their worth.



ROGER NORTH. [ONE of the most entertaining books in our language is 'The Life of the Lord Keeper Guilford,' by the Hon. Roger North. The same biographer also wrote the lives of the Lord Keeper's brothers, Sir Dudley North, and Dr. John North. These biographies of three eminent men, by their relation and contemporary, were not published till the middle of the last century. Sir Dudley North was a merchant, who had long resided in Turkey, and returned to England in the time of Charles II. He was a man of great ability; and his notions on matters of commerce were far in advance of his age.]

But now we have our merchant, sheriff, alderman, commissioner, &c., at home with us, a private person, divested of all his mantlings; and we may converse freely with him in his family, and by himself, without clashing at all against any concern of the public. And possibly, in this capacity, I may show the best side of his character; and, for the advantage of that design, shall here recount his retired ways of entertaining himself from his first coming from Constantinople to England. He delighted much in natural observations, and what tended to explain mechanic powers; and particularly that wherein his own concern lay, beams and scales, the place of the centres, the form of the centre-pins, what share the fulcrum, and what the force, or the weight, bore with respect to each other; and, that he might not be deceived, had made proofs by himself of all the forms of scales that he could imagine could be put in practice for deceiving.

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When he came first to England, all things were new to him, and he had an infinite pleasure in going about to see the considerable places and buildings about town. I, like an old dame with a young damsel, by conducting him, had the pleasure of seeing them over again myself. And an incomparable pleasure it was; for, at all remarkables, he had ingenious turns of wit and morality, as well as natural observations. But once I was very well pleased to see the power of habit, even in his mind, and apprehension of things. I carried him to Bridewell, where, in the hemphouse, there was a fair lady, well habited, at a block. We got in and surveyed her: but the cur, that let us in at the door, put on his touchy airs, expecting his sop at our going out, and spoke hoarse and loud. My gentleman could not, for his life, but be afraid of that fellow, and was not easy when we went in, nor while we staid; for he confessed himself that the rascal was so like a Turkish chiaus, he could not bear him, and wondered at me for making so slight of him and his authority, and really fancied we should not get clear of him without some mischief or other. Such was indeed a necessary prudence at Constantinople and not only in this, but in the cases of other merchants, who had lived in Turkey, I have observed, that if there were a crowd, or a clatter in the street, to which most people go to see what is the matter, they always draw back for fear of being singled out to be beaten. cathedral church I could scarce get my merchant to take a place with me; but he would pull, and correct me, as being too forward, and for fear of some inconvenience. Here is a consequence of living under absolute and rigorous lords. Whereas,



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amongst us, there is scarce any regard at all had to superior powers; if I may term them such, that cannot punish but in mood and figure, and by due course of law.

He took pleasure in surveying the Monument, and comparing it with mosque towers, and what, of that kind, he had seen abroad. We mounted up to the top, and, one after another, crept up the hollow iron frame that carries the copper head and flames above. We went out at a rising plate of iron that hinged, and there found convenient irons to hold by. We made use of them, and raised our bodies entirely above the flames, having only our legs, to the knees, within; and there we stood till we were satisfied with the prospects from thence. I cannot describe how hard it was to persuade ourselves we stood safe; so likely did our weight seem to throw down the whole fabric. But the adventure at Bow Church was more extraordinary. For, being come to the upper row of columns, next under the dragon, I could go round between the columns and the newel; but his corpulence would not permit him to do that: wherefore he took the column in his armı, and swung his body about on the outside; and so he did quite round. Fancy, that in such a case would have destroyed many, had little power over his reason, that told him there was no difficulty nor danger in what he did.


He was so great a lover of building, that St. Paul's, then well advanced, was his ordinary walk there was scarce a course of stones laid, while we lived together, over which we did not walk. And he would always climb to the uppermost heights. Much time have we spent there in talking of the work, engines, tackle, &c. showed me the power of friction in engines; for, when a capstan was at work, he did but gripe the ropes, between the weight and the fulcrum, in his hand, and all was fast; and double the number of men, at the capstan, could not have prevailed against the impediment, to have raised the stone, till he let go.

We usually went there on Saturdays, which were Sir Christopher Wren's days, who was the surveyor; and we commonly got a snatch of discourse with him, who, like a true philosopher, was always obliging and communicative, and, in every matter we inquired about, gave short, but satisfactory answers. When we were upon Bow Steeple, the merchant had a speculation not unlike that of a ship, in the Bay of Smyrna, seen from the mountains. Here the streets appeared like small trenches, in which the coaches glided along without any unevenness as we could observe. "Now this," said he, "is like the world. Who would not be pleased in passing so equably from place to place? It is so when we look upon great men, who, in their courses, at our distance, seem to glide no less smoothly on; and we do not perceive the many rude jolts, tossings, and wallowings they feel; as whoever rides in that coach feels enough to make his bones ache, of which, to our notice, there is no discovery. And farther," said he, "let not the difficulties, that will occur in the way of most transactions, however reasonable, deter men from going on; for here is a coach not for a moment free from one obstruction or other; and yet it goes on, and arrives, at last, as was designed at first.”

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He loved travelling, but hated a coach, because it made him a prisoner, and hindered his looking about to survey the country, in which he took a great pleasure; and, for that reason, he loved a horse. I had a grave pad that fitted him, and he always desired the use of that sage animal, that was very sure and easy, but slow. While his wife's mother, the Lady Cann, lived at Bristol, he made annually a visit to her; and, when I had the honour to serve as recorder there, I accompanied him. We joined equipages, and sometimes returned across the country to Wroxton, the residence of the late Lord Guilford. We had the care of affairs there, as trustees for the young Lord Guilford, who was sent abroad to travel; and we thought it no disservice to our trust to reside upon the spot some time in summer; which we did,

and had therein our own convenience, and charged ourselves in the accounts to the fuii value of ourselves, and the diet for our horses. But, our way of living there being somewhat extraordinary, I think it reasonable to give an account of it. In the first place, the lady had a standing quarrel with us; for we had such a constant employ that she could have none of her husband's company; and when she came to call him to dinner she found him as black as a tinker.

There was an old building, which was formerly hawks' mews. There we instituted a laboratory. One apartment was for wood-works, and the other for iron. His business was hewing and framing, and, being permitted to sit, he would labour very hard; and, in that manner, he hewed the frames for our necessary tables. He put them together only with laps and pins; but so, as served the occasion very well. We got up a table and a bench; but the great difficulty was to get bellows and a forge. He hewed such stones as lay about, and built a hearth with a back, and, by means of water, and an old iron which he knocked right down, he perforated that stone for the wind to come in at the fire. What common tools we wanted, we sent and bought, and also a leather-skin, with which he made a pair of bellows that wrought over-head, and the wind was conveyed by elder-guns let into one another, and so it got to the fire. Upon finding a piece of an old anvil, we went to work, and wrought all the iron that was used in our manufactory. He delighted most in hewing. He allowed me, being a lawyer, as he said, to be the best forger. We followed this trade so constantly and close, and he coming out sometimes with a red short waistcoat, red cap, and black face, the country people began to talk as if we used some unlawful trades there, clipping at least; and it might be, coining of money. Upon this we were forced to call in the blacksmith, and some of the neighbours, that it might be known there was neither damage nor danger to the state by our operations. This was morning's work before dressing; to which duty we were usually summoned by the lady full of admiration what creatures she had in her family. In the afternoons, too, we had employment which was somewhat more refined; and that was turning and planing; for which use we sequestered a low closet. We had our engines from London, and many round implements were made.

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In our laboratories, it was not a little strange to see with what earnestness and pains we worked, sweating most immoderately, and scarce allowing ourselves time to eat. At the lighter works, in the afternoon, he hath sat, perhaps, scraping a stick, or turning a piece of wood, and this for many afternoons together, all the while singing like a cobbler, incomparably better pleased than he had been in all the stages of his life before. And it is a mortifying speculation, that of the different characters of this man's enjoyments, separated one from the other, and exposed to an indifferent choice, there is scarce any one, but this I have here described, really worth taking up. And yet the slavery of our nature is such, that this must be despised, and all the rest, with the attendant evils of vexation, disappointments, dangers, loss of health, disgraces, envy, and what not of torment, be admitted. It was well said of the philosopher to Pyrrhus: "What follows after all your victories? To sit down and make merry. And cannot you do so now?"



HE departed from the village that same afternoon, under the auspices of his con ductor, and found himself benighted in the midst of a forest, far from the habitations of men. The darkness of the night, the silence and solitude of the place, the indistinct images of the trees that appeared on every side, "stretching their extravagant

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