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this connexion of the Common-weal and divinity, and fears it may be an arch-practice of state. In our differences with Rome he is strangely unfixt, and a new man every day, as his last discourse-book's meditations transport him. He could like the grey hairs of Popery, did not some dotages there stagger him; he would come to us sooner, but our new name affrights him. He is taken with their miracles but doubts an imposture; he conceives of our doctrine better, but it seems too empty and naked. He cannot drive into his fancy the circumscription of truth to our corner, and is as hardly persuaded to think their old legends true. He approves well of our faith, and more of their works, and is sometimes much affected at the zeal of Amsterdam. His conscience interposes itself betwixt duellers, and whilst it would part both, is by both wounded. He will sometimes propend much to us upon the reading a good writer and at Bellarmine recoils as far back again; and the fathers jostle him from one side to another. Now Socinus and Vorstius afresh torture him, and he agrees with none worse than himself. He puts his foot into heresies tenderly, as a cat in the water, and pulls it out again, and still something unanswered delays him, yet he bears away some parcel of each, and you may sooner pick all religions out of him than one. He cannot think so many wise men should be in error, nor so many honest men out of the way, and his wonder is doubled, when he sees these oppose one another. hates authority as the tyrant of reason, and you cannot anger him worse than with a Father's dixit, and yet that many are not persuaded with reason, shall authorise his doubt. In sum, his whole life is a question, and his salvation a greater, which death only concludes, and then he is resolved.

(From the Same.)

He

A VULGAR-SPIRITED MAN

Is one of the herd of the world. One that follows merely the common cry, and makes it louder by one. A man that loves none but who are publicly affected, and he will not be wiser than the rest of the town. That never owns a friend after an ill name, or some general imputation though he knows it most unworthy. That opposes to reason, Thus men say, and Thus most do, and

Thus the world goes; and thinks this enough to poise the other. That worships men in place, and those only, and thinks all a great man speaks oracles. Much taken with my lord's jest, and repeats you it all to a syllable. One that justifies nothing out of fashion, nor any opinion out of the applauded way. That thinks certainly all Spaniards and Jesuits very villains, and is still cursing the Pope and Spinola. One that thinks the gravest cassock the best scholar and the best clothes the finest man.、、 That is taken only with broad and obscene wit, and hisses any thing too deep for him. That cries Chaucer for his money above all our English poets, because the voice has gone so, and he has read none. That is much ravisht with such a noble man's courtesy, and would venture his life for him, because he put off his hat. One that is foremost still to kiss the King's hand, and cries "God bless his Majesty" loudest. That rails on all men condemned and out of favour, and the first that says, Away with the traitors: yet struck with much ruth at executions, and for pity to see a man die, could kill the hangman. That comes to London to see it, and the pretty things in it, and the chief cause of his journey the bears that measures the happiness of the kingdom by the cheapness of corn; and conceives no harm of state, but ill trading. Within this compass, too, come those that are too much wedged into the world, and have no lifting thoughts above those things that call to thrive, to do well, and preferment only the grace of God. That aim all studies at this mark, and show you poor scholars as an example to take heed by. That think the prison and want, a judgment for some sin, and never like well hereafter of a jail-bird. That know no other content but wealth, bravery, and the town-pleasures; that think all else but idle speculation, and the philosophers mad-men: in short, men that are carried away with all outwardnesses, shows, appearances, the stream, the people; for there is no man of worth but has a piece( of singularity, and scorns something.

(From the Same.)

OWEN FELLTHAM

[Owen Felltham was born early in the seventeenth century. Very little is known of his history, even the dates of his birth and death are uncertain. He was the son of one Thomas Felltham of Suffolk, gent., and it is inferred was attached to the household of the Earl of Thomond. He appears to have been happily married. He seems to have had a liberal education, and to have been possessed of means. He is supposed to have died about 1677.]

THE most celebrated of the writings of Owen Felltham is his little volume of Resolves, divine, moral, and political. In addition to this he wrote a Brief character of the Low Countries under the States, some lay sermons or Practical Reflections on certain Scripture texts; poems, and letters.

Part of the Resolves was written in his nineteenth year. It is uncertain when the little book first made its appearance; the earliest edition we possess is the second, published in 1628, and it is supposed that the first had appeared some two years previously.

Each essay or resolve is
Like most of his learned

Felltham writes pleasantly and well. well turned, and in itself a work of art. contemporaries he adorns his pages with classical allusions and quotations, but not oppressively so. He was censured for not giving his references. He defended himself against this charge somewhat curiously, saying that he did not profess to be a scholar, and for a gentleman he held such accuracy a little pedantical."

His metaphors and analogies are for the most part felicitous. He does not labour after effect, but writes with the easy grace of a refined, but not profound, student of literature.

The Resolves may be best described as satires. They are temperate, judicial, wise. There is no ardent enthusiasm, but considerable earnestness and good sense in Felltham's writings. His style is easy without being colloquial; dignified without being stilted. It is that of an amiable, pious, sensible man of the

world, who aimed at as much virtue as was conveniently practicable; and who, without affecting to be a saint, patiently endeavoured not to be too much of a sinner.

His sentences are never lengthy nor involved, and always perfectly intelligible. There is no loftiness of diction, neither is there any attractive homeliness. Sustained, harmonious, dignified, he inspires our respect, if he does not win our love.

A shrewd and graceful humour, seldom wandering into coarseness, distinguishes his writings, notably his Brief Character of the Low Countries.

Ignorant as we are of his whole life, ignorant even of the dates of his entering and leaving the world, we yet feel as we close this book of his Resolves, written primarily for his own guidance, and modestly offered to the world, on the chance of possibly helping others, that we know and like the man with his quiet, sensible spirit, and earnest gentlemanlike utterance.

A. I. FITZROY.

A FRIEND AND ENEMY, WHEN MOST DANGEROUS

I WILL take heed both of a speedy friend and a slow enemy. Love is never lasting which flames before it burns; and hate, like wetted coals, throws a fiercer heat when fire gets the mastery. As quick wits have seldom sound judgments which should make them continue: so friendship kindled suddenly is rarely found to consist with the durability of affection. Enduring love is ever built on virtue, which no man can see in another at once. He that fixes upon her shall find a beauty which will every day take him with some new grace or other. I like that love which, by a soft ascension, by degrees possesses itself of the soul. As for an enemy who is long a making, he is much the worse for being ill no sooner.

is unwilling to hate at all.

He hates not without cause who

(From Resolves, Divine, Moral, and Political.)

OF PREACHING

THE defect of preaching has made the pulpit slighted; I mean the much bad oratory we find come from it. It is a wonder to me how men can preach so little, and so long: so long a time, and so little matter; as if they thought to please by the inculcation of their vain tautologies. I see no reason why so high a princess as divinity is should be presented to the people in the sordid rags of the tongue; nor that he who speaks from the Father of Languages should deliver his embassage in an ill one. A man can never speak too well while he speaks not obscurely. Long and diffusive sentences are both tedious to the ear and difficult to retain. A sentence well couched takes both the senses and the understanding.

I love not those cart-rope speeches.

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