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others possessed of more honor or more riches than his wise God has allotted for his share; but he possesses what he has with a meek and contented quietness, such a quietness as makes his very dreams pleasing, both to God and himself.1

ROBERT LEIGHTON, 1613-1684.

THIS eminent divine was born in London in 1613, and educated at the University of Edinburgh. He was first settled as a Presbyterian clergyman in a small church near Edinburgh; but being disapproved of by his brethren, because he did not sufficiently "preach to the times," he resigned his living, and soon after was chosen principal of the University of Edinburgh, When Charles II. resolved to make the attempt to introduce episcopacy into Scotland, Leighton was induced to accept a bishopric, but he chose the humblest of the whole, that of Dumblane, and would not join in the pompous entry of his brethren into Edinburgh. On the contrary, he conducted himself with so much moderation and humility, that he won the affections of even the most rigid Presbyterians. Subsequently, when the court of Charles II., failing to attain their object by cruelty and butchery, resolved to accomplish it more in the way of persuasiveness and gentleness, Leighton was induced to accept the archbishopric of Glasgow. Still he found it an affair of contention little suited to his habits or turn of mind; accordingly he resigned his situation, and retired to the county of Sussex in England, where he ended his days in 1684,2

The following character of this most excellent man is given by Bishop Burnet, in his "History of His Own Times." "He had great quickness of parts, a lively apprehension, with a charming vivacity of thought and expression. He had the greatest command of the purest Latin that ever I knew in any man. He was a master both of Greek and Hebrew, and of the whole compass of theological learning, chiefly in the study of the Scriptures. But that which excelled all the rest was, he was possessed with the highest and noblest sense of divine things that I ever saw in any man. He had no regard to his person, unless it was to mortify it by a constant low diet, that was like a perpetual fast. He had a contempt both of wealth and reputation. He seemed to have the lowest thoughts of himself possible, and to desire that all other persons should think as meanly of him as he did himself. He bore all sorts of ill usage and reproach like a man that took pleasure in it. He had so subdued the natural heat of his temper, that in a great variety of accidents, and in a course of twenty-two years' intimate conversation with him, I never observed the least sign of passion but upon one single occasion. He brought himself into so composed a gravity, that I never saw him laugh, and but seldom smile. And he kept himself in such a constant recollection, that I do

1 The editions of Walton's "Angler" are almost innumerable; but the most splendid is that by Sir Harris Nicolas, published by Pickering, London, 1836, in one tall, imperial octavo, with numerous plates. But the American reader has nothing more to desire than the beautiful edition recently published by Wiley & Putnam, prepared with great learning and taste by the "American Editor," well understood to be the Rev. George W. Bethune, D. D.

* Coleridge's " Aids to Reflection" has for its foundation selections from the writings of Leighton: fail not, reader, to possess thyself of it, and make the rich treasure thy manual.

not remember that ever I heard him say one idle word. There was a visible tendency in all he said to raise his own mind, and those he conversed with, to serious reflections. He seemed to be in a perpetual meditation. His preaching had a sublimity both of thought and expression in it. The grace and gravity of his pronunciation was such, that few heard him without a very sensible emotion; I am sure I never did. His style was rather too fine; but there was a majesty and beauty in it that left so deep an impression, that I cannot yet forget the sermons I heard him preach thirty years ago. And yet with this he seemed to look on himself as so ordinary a preacher, that while he had a cure, he was ready to employ all others. And when he was a bishop, he chose to preach to small auditories, and would never give notice beforehand: he had, indeed, a very low voice, and so could not be heard by a great crowd,"

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We are to observe and to respect the smallest good that is in any. Although a Christian be never so base in his outward condition in body or mind, of very mean intellectual and natural endowments; yet they that know the worth of spiritual things will esteem the grace of God that is in him, in the midst of all those disadvantages, as men esteem a pearl, though in a rough shell. Grace carries still its own worth, though under a deformed body and ragged garments; yea, though they have but a small measure of that either; yea, the very lowest degree of grace, as a pearl of the least size, or a small piece of gold, yet men will not throw it away. But, as they say, the least shavings of gold are worth the keeping. The Jews would not willingly tread upon the smallest piece of paper in their way, but took it up; for possibly, say they, the name of God may be on it. Though there was a little superstition in that, yet truly there is nothing but good religion in it, if we apply it to men. Trample not on any; there may be some work of grace there that thou knowest not of. The name of God be written upon that soul theu treadest on.

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THE BEASTS WITHIN US.

What, you will say, have I beasts within me? Yes; you have beasts, and a vast number of them. And that you may not think I intend to insult you, is anger an inconsiderable beast, when it barks in your heart? What is deceit, when it lies hid in a cunning mind; is it not a fox? Is not the man who is furiously bent upon calumny, a scorpion? Is not the person who is eagerly set on resentment and revenge, a most venomous viper? What do you say of a covetous man; is he not a ravenous wolf? And is not the luxurious man, as the prophet expresses it, a neighing horse? Nay, there is no wild beast but is found within us. And do you consider yourself as lord and prince of the wild beasts, because you command those that are without, though you never

think of subduing or setting bounds to those that are within you? What advantage have you by your reason, which enables you to overcome lions, if, after all, you yourself are overcome by anger? To what purpose do you rule over the birds, and catch them with gins, if you yourself, with the inconstancy of a bird, or hurried hither and thither, and sometimes flying high, are ensnared by pride, sometimes brought down and caught by pleasure? But, as it is shameful for him who rules over nations to be a slave at home, will it not be, in like manner, disgraceful for you, who exercise dominion over the beasts that are without you, to be subject to a great many, and those of the worst sort, that roar and domineer in your distempered mind?

ALL CHRISTIANS, PREACHERS.

What the apostles were in an extraordinary way befitting the first annunciation of a religion for all mankind, this all teachers of moral truth, who aim to prepare for its reception by calling the attention of men to the law in their own hearts, may, without presumption, consider themselves to be, under ordinary gifts and circumstances namely, ambassadors for the Greatest of Kings, and upon no mean employment, the great Treaty of Peace and Reconcilement betwixt Him and Mankind.

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TEMPERANCE,

As excessive eating or drinking both makes the body sickly and lazy, fit for nothing but sleep, and besots the mind, as it clogs up with crudities the way through which the spirits should pass, bemiring them, and making them move heavily, as a coach in a deep way; thus doth all immoderate use of the world and its delights wrong the soul in its spiritual condition, makes it sickly and feeble, full of spiritual distempers and inactivity, benumbs the graces of the Spirit, and fills the soul with sleepy vapors, makes it grow secure and heavy in spiritual exercises, and obstructs the way and motion of the Spirit of God, in the soul. Therefore, if you would be spiritual, healthful, and vigorous, and enjoy much of the consolations of Heaven, be sparing and sober in those of the earth; and what you abate of the one, shall be certainly made up in the other.

THE HEART THE GREAT REGULATOR.

To set the outward actions right, though with an honest intention, and not so to regard and find out the inward disorder of the heart, whence that in the actions flows, is but to be still putting the index of a clock right with your finger, while it is foul, or out of order within, which is a continual business, and does no good. Oh! but a purified conscience, a soul renewed and refined in its

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temper and affections, will make things go right without, in all the duties and acts of our callings.

A CONTRACTED SPHERE NO SECURITY AGAINST WORLDLINESS.

The heart may be engaged in a little business as much, if thou watch it not, as in many and great affairs. A man may drown in a little brook or pool, as well as in a great river, if he be down and plunge himself into it, and put his head under water. Some care thou must have, that thou mayest not care. Those things that are thorns indeed, thou must make a hedge of them, to keep out those temptations that accompany sloth, and extreme want that waits on it; but let them be the hedge: suffer them not to grow within the garden.

ANNE KILLEGREW. Died 1685.

THIS very accomplished young woman, whom Dryden has immortalized, was the daughter of the Rev. Dr. Henry Killegrew, one of the prebendaries of Westminster. She gave strong indications of genius at a very early age, and became equally eminent in the sister arts of poetry and painting, as well as distinguished for her unblemished virtue and exemplary piety, amid the seductions of a licentious court. She was one of the maids of honor to the Duchess of York, but was cut off in the midst of her usefulness and fame, falling a victim to the small-pox in the summer of 1685, in her twenty-fifth year.

THE DISCONTENT.

I.

HERE take no care, take here no care, my Muse,

Nor aught of art or labor use:

But let thy lines rude and unpolish'd go,

Nor equal be their feet, nor numerous let them flow.
The ruggeder my measures run when read,

They'll livelier paint th' unequal paths fond mortals tread.
Who when th' are tempted by the smooth ascents
Which flattering hope presents,

Briskly they climb, and great things undertake;
But fatal voyages, alas! they make:

For 'tis not long before their feet
Inextricable mazes meet;

Perplexing doubts obstruct their way;
Mountains withstand them of dismay;
Or to the brink of black despair them lead,
Where's nought their ruin to impede:

In vain for aid they then to reason call,
Their senses dazzle, and their heads turn round,
The sight does all their powers confound,

And headlong down the horrid precipice they fall:
Where storms of sighs for ever blow,

Where rapid streams of tears do flow,

Which drown them in a briny flood.

My Muse, pronounce aloud, there's nothing good,
Nought that the world can show,
Nought that it can bestow.

II.

Not boundless heaps of its admired clay,
Ah! too successful to betray,

When spread in our frail virtue's way:
For few do run with so resolved a pace,
That for the golden apple will not lose the race.
And yet not all the gold the vain would spend,
Or greedy avarice would wish to save,
Which on the earth refulgent beams doth send,
Or in the sea has found a grave,

Join'd in one mass, can bribe sufficient be,
The body from a stern disease to free,

Or purchase for the mind's relief

One moment's sweet repose, when restless made by grief,
But what may laughter more than pity move:

When some the price of what they dearest love

Are masters of, and hold it in their hand,

To part with it their hearts they can't command:
But choose to miss, what miss'd does thein torment,
And that to hug affords them no content.

Wise fools, to do them right, we these must hold,
Who Love depose, and homage pay to Gold.

IV.

But, oh, the laurell'd fool! that doats on fame,
Whose hope's applause, whose fear 's to want a name,
Who can accept for pay

Of what he does, what others say,
Exposes now to hostile arms his breast,
To toilsome study then betrays his rest;
Now to his soul denies a just content,
Then forces on it what it does resent;
And all for praise of fools! for such are those,
Which most of the admiring crowd compose.
O famish'd soul, which such thin food can feed!
O wretched labor, crown'd with such a meed!
Too loud, O Fame! thy trumpet is, too shrill
To lull a mind to rest,

Or calm a stormy breast,

Which asks a music soft and still.

"Twas not Amalek's vanquish'd cry,

Nor Israel's shouts of victory,

That could in Saul the rising passion lay;

Twas the soft strains of David's lyre the evil spirit chased away

VI.

Is there that earth by human foot ne'er press'd?

That air which never yet by human breast

Respired, did life supply?

Oh! thither let me fly!

Where from the world at such a distance set,

All that's past, present, and to come, I may forget ;

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