wit of man to read them. In vain we murmur, at the things which must be; in vain we mourn over, what we cannot remedy. Why should we rave, when we meet with what we did not look for? It is our ignorance which makes us wonder. When we consider how little we know, we need not be dis turbed, by any event. Regitur fatis mortale genus, Nec sibi quispiam spondere potest Volvitur varios semper nobis Metuenda dies. All mankind is rul'd by fate, Senec. 4. Act 5. Chor. No man can propose a state Firm and stable? various chance, That something which we fear. Surely, to these things we may well submit, and be contented, as knowing we are always in the hands of an Allwise Protector, who never gives ill, but to him that has deserved ill. Whatsoever befals me, I would yield to it with a composed soul. It were a super-insaniated folly, to struggle with a power, which I know it is in vain to contend with. If a fair endeavour may free me, I will practise it; if that cannot, let me wait it with a calm mind. Whatsoever happens as a wonder, I will admire and magnify it, as the act of a power above my appre hension. But as it is an alteration to man, I will never think it marvellous. I every day see him suffer more changes, than he could have even imagined. OF OSTENTATION. VAIN-GLORY, at best, is only like a window cushion, specious without, and decorated with tasseled pendents; but within, nothing but hay or tow or some such trash, not worth looking on. Where I have found a flood in the tongue, I have found the heart empty. It is the hollow instrument that always sounds the loudest; and where the heart is full, the tongue is seldom liberal. Certainly, he that boasteth, if he be not ignorant, is at any rate, inconsiderate, in thinking so little of the slides and casualties to which man is ever liable. If thou be good, thou mayest be sure the world will know thee to be so; if thou be bad, thy bragging tongue will make thee worse, while the actions of thy life will confute thee; if thou wilt yet boast the good thou truly hast, thou obscurest much of thine own worth, in drawing it up by so unseemly a bucket as thine own tongue. The honest man takes more pleasure in knowing himself honest, than in knowing that all the world approves him so; virtue is built upon herself. Phocion called bragging Laosthenes, the cypress tree, which makes a fair shew, but seldom bears any fruit. He that does good for praise only, fails of that end which a good work ought to have in view. He only is virtuous, who is so for virtue's sake. To do well, is as much applause as a good man labours for. Whatsoever good work thy hand builds, is pulled down by the folly of a boasting tongue. St. Gregory wittily observes: Sub hoste quem pros ternit, moritur, qui de culpa quam superat elevatur. He who thinks too much of his own virtues, teaches others to dwell on his vices.-All are enemies to an assuming man. When he would have more than his due, he seldom finds so much. Whether it be out of jealousy; or whether we consider another's exalting himself, to be our depression; or whether it proceed from our displeasure, that he should so undervalue goodness, as, despising her approbation, to prefer to it the uncertain warrant of men; or whether it be an instinct stampt in man, to dislike the vain-glorious; it is certain, no man can endure the puffs of a swelling mind. Nay, though the vaunts be true, they do but awaken scoffs; and, instead of a clapping hand, they find a look of scorn. When a soldier bragged too much of a great scar in his forehead, he was asked by Augustus, if he did not get it when he turned his back on the enemy? If I have done any thing well, I will never think it worth while to tell the world of it. There is nothing added to essential virtue, by the hoarse clamour of the blundering rabble. If I have done ill; to boast the contrary is, I think, like painting an old face, to make it so much the more ugly. If it be of any thing past, the world will talk of it, though I be silent. If not, it is more noble to neglect fame, than seem to beg it. If it be of ought to be done, I am foolish for speaking of that, which I am not sure to perform. We disgrace the work of virtue, when we, in any way, try to seduce voices for her approbation. OF HOPE. HUMAN UMAN life has not a surer friend, nor oftentimes a greater enemy than hope. It is the miserable man's god, which in the hardest gripe of calamity, never fails to yield him beams of comfort. It is the presumptuous man's devil, which leads him a while in a smooth way, and then suddenly breaks his neck. Hope is to man, as a bladder to a learning swimmer; it keeps him from sinking in the bosom of the waves; yet it oftentimes makes him venture beyond his depth, and then, if it breaks, or a storm rises, he is sure to be drowned. How many would die, did not hope sustain them! How many have died, by hoping too much! This wonder we may find in hope; that it is both a flatterer, and a true friend. Like a valiant captain, in a losing battle, it is ever encouraging man, and never leaves him till they both expire together. While breath pants in the dying body, there is hope fleeting in the waving soul. There is one thing which may add to our value of hope, that it is appropriate unto man alone: for other living creatures have it not at all; they are only capable of the present; whereas man, apprehending future things, has this given him, for the support of his drooping soul. Who would live when surrounded with calamities, did not smiling hope cheer him, with the expectation of deliverance? Finirent multi leto mala; sed credula vitam Hæc laqueo volucres, hæc captat arundine pisces, Tibullus, El. 6. 1. 2. Thousands in death would seek an end of woe, 1 There is no estate so miserable, as to exclude her comfort. Imprison, vex, fright, torture, shew death with his most horrid brow; yet hope will dart in her reviving rays, to illumine and exhilarate. But though she often befriends us with her gentle shine, she as often fools us with her sleek delusions. She dandles us into killing flames, sings us into lethargies; and, like an over-hasty surgeon, skins over sores which are full and foul within. She cozens the thief of the coin he steals and cheats the gamester more than even the falsest die. All men are subject to her deceptions; from him that stoops to the loam wall upon the naked common, to the monarch in his purpled throne. It is hope that undoes the prodigal, that delivers the ambitious to the edged axe, and the rash soldier to destruction in the battle. Whatsoever good we see, it tells us we may obtain it; and in a little time, tumbles us, in the down of our wishes: but it often performs like Domitian, promising all and performing nothing. We see a box, wherein we |