it will be harsh and out of tune; the diapason dies, when every string does not perform his part. Surely, without an union to God, we cannot be secure or well. Can he be happy, who from happiness is divided? To be united to God we must be influenced by his goodness, and strive to imitate his perfections. Diligence alone is a good patrimony; but neglect will waste the fairest fortune. One preserves and gathers; the other, like death, is the dissolution of all. The industrious bee, by her sedulity in summer, lives on honey all the winter. But the drone is not only cast out from the hive, but beaten and punished. FRANCE TO THE LIFE. FRANCE painted to the Life, by a learned and impartial hand.-Motto.— Quid non Gallia parturit ingens. Second edition; London, printed for William Leake, at the Crown, in Fleet-street, betwixt the two Temple gates, 1657. Of this curious book, I know nothing more than what we are told in the title page. It will be seen from the following extract, that the French national character has not materially altered since the time of its being written. The cart stayeth, and it is fit we were in it; horses we could get none for money, and for love we did not expect them. We are now mounted in one chariot, it will be harsh and out of tune; the diapason dies, when every string does not perform his part. Surely, without an union to God, we cannot be secure or well. Can he be happy, who from happiness is divided? To be united to God we must be influenced by his goodness, and strive to imitate his perfections. Diligence alone is a good patrimony; but neglect will waste the fairest fortune. One preserves and gathers; the other, like death, is the dissolution of all. The industrious bee, by her sedulity in summer, lives on honey all the winter. But the drone is not only cast out from the hive, but beaten and punished. FRANCE TO THE LIFE. FRANCE painted to the Life, by a learned and impartial hand.-Motto. Quid non Gallia parturit ingens. Second edition; London, printed for William Leake, at the Crown, in Fleet-street, betwixt the two Temple gates, 1657. Of this curious book, I know nothing more than what we are told in the title page. It will be seen from the following extract, that the French national character has not materially altered since the time of its being written. The cart stayeth, and it is fit we were in it; horses we could get none for money, and for love we did not expect them. We are now mounted in one chariot, for so we must call it. An Englishman thought it a plain cart, and if it needs will have the honour of being a chariot, let it; sure I am, it was never ordained for a triumph. At one end were fastened three carcasses of horses, and three bodies which had been once horses, and now were worn to dead images, Had the statue of a man been placed on any one of them, it might have been hanged up at an inn door to represent St. George on horse-back; so lifeless they were and so little moving: yet at last they began to crawl, for go they could not. This converted me from my former heresy, and made me apprehend life in them; but it was so little, that it seemed only enough to carry them to the next pack of hounds. Thus accommodated, we bade farewell to Dieppe, and proceeded with a pace so slow, that we thought our journey to Rouen would prove a most perfect emblem of the motion of the ninth sphere, which was forty-nine thousand years in finishing. But this was not our greatest misery; the rain fell on us through our tilt, which for the many holes in it, we would have thought a net. The dust brake plentifully in upon us through the rails of our chariot, and the unequal and unproportionable pace of it startled almost every bone of us. I protest I marvel how a French man durst adventure in it. Thus endured we all the diseases of a journey, and the danger of three several deaths, drowning, choaking with the mire, and break |