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power of his word, the efficacy and virtue of his sacraments, all which you shall utterly exclude yourselves from, and leave yourselves in such a state, that it shall not be in God's power to do you any good I1

Sermon on the teit, "The foot hath laid in hie heart, there it no Cod."

FRANCIS QUARLES. 1502—1044.

Francis Quahles was born at Stewards, near Romford, Essex, in 15P2. He was educated at Christ's College, Cambridge, whence he went to Lincoln's Inn, where "he studied," says his widow, "the laws of England, not so much out of desire to benefit himself thereby, as his friends and neighbors, and to compose suits and differences between them." Subsequently he went over to Ireland, and became secretary to Archbishop Usher. On the breaking out of the rebellion there, in 1041, he fled to England for safety, and died three years aAer.

"There is not," says Montgomery, "in English literature a name more wronged than that of Quarles; wronged, too, by those who ought best to have discerned, and most generously acknowledged his merits in contradistinction to his defects." True, his writings are occasionally defaced by vulgarisms and deformed by quaint conceits, but his beauties abundantly atone for bis defects; the latter being comparatively few, while his works generally are characterized by great learning, lively fancy, and profound piety. "He too often, no doubt," says Headley, "mistook the enthusiasm of devotion for the inspiration of fancy. To mix the waters of Jordan and Helicon in the same cup was reserved for the hand of Milton; and for him, and him only, to find the bays of Mount Olivet equally verdant with those of Parnassus. Yet, as the effusions of a real poetical mind, however thwarted by untowardness of subject, will seldom be rendered totally abortive, we find in Quarles original imagery, striking sentiment, fertility of expression, and happy combinations; with a compression of style that merits the observation of writers of verse."

His chief poetical works are his "Emblems," "Divine Poems," and "Job Militant, with Meditations divine and moral." His "Emblems"' consist oi*a set of quaint pictorial designs, referring to moral and religious ideas, and each elucidated by appropriate verses.

O THAT THOU WOULDST HIDE ME IN THE GRAVE, THAT THOU WOULDST
KEEP ME IN SECRET UNTIL THY WRATH BK PAST.

Ah! whither shall I fly? what path untrod
Shall I seek out to 'scape the flaming rod
Of my offended, of my an^ry God?

1 "Will you intrust V to Muhderebs, and liberty to Despots f Will you constitute those legislators, who doupl*e you, and despise equal laws, and wage war with the eternal principles of Justice t Had the duellist destroyed your neighbor; had your own tither been killed by the man who (.olK-iUt your murage; had your aon, laid low by his hand, been brought to your door pule in death and weltering In blood, would you Uien think the crime a miuill one? Would you honor with your confidence, and elevate to power by your Tote, the RiiUty nioiustcr r And what woull you Uiltik of yom neighbors, if, regardless of your agony, they should reward himr And yet, Kuch scenes of unutterable anguish are multiplied every year. Every year the duelh'fct Is cutting down Lhe neighbor of Kmcbody," &c. Head—an admirable sermon entitled "Remedy for Duelling." by Rev. Lyman Beechcr, D. D., delivered shortly after Alexander Hamilton was murdered by Aaron Burr.

Where shall I sojourn? what kind sea will hide
My head from thunder? where shall I abide,
Until his flames be quench'd or laid aside?

What if my feet should take their hasty flight,
And seek protection in the shades of night?
Alas! no shades can blind the God of light.

What if my soul should take the wings of day,
And find some desert; if she springs away,
The wings of Vengeance clip as fast as they.

What if some solid rock should entertain
My frighted soul? can solid rocks restrain
The stroke of Justice and not cleave in twain?

Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, nor cave,

Nor silent deserts, nor the sullen grave,

What flame-eyed Fury means to smite, can save.

Tis vain to flee; till gentle Mercy show

Her better eye, the farther off we go,

The swing of Justice deals the mightier blow.

Til' ingenuous child, corrected, doth not fly
His angry mother's hand, but clings more nigh,
And quenches with his tears her (bulling eye.

Great God! there is no safety here below;

Thou art my fortress, thou that seem'st my foe;

Tis thou, that strik'st the stroke, must guard the blow.

THE WORLD.

She's empty: hark! she sounds: there's nothing there

But noise to 1111 thy ear;
Thy vain inquiry can at length but find

A blast of murmuring wind:
It is a cask that seems as full as fair,

But merely tunn'd with air.
Fond youth, go build thy hopes on better grounds;

The soul that vainly founds
Her joys upon this world, but feeds on empty sounds.

She's empty: hark! she sounds: there's nothing in't;

The spark-engendering flint
Shali sooner melt, and hardest raunce1 shall first

Dissolve and quench thy thirst,
Ere this false world shall still thy stormy breast

With smooth-laced calms of rest.
Thou mayst as well expect meridian light

From shades of black-mouth'd night, As in this empty world to find a full delight

She's empty: hark! she sounds: 'tis void and vast;

What if some flattering blast
Of flatuous honor should perchance bo there,

And whisper in thine ear?

1 A dry crust.

It is but wind, and blows but where it list,

And vanisheth like mist.
Poor honor eRrth can give! What generous mind

Would be so base to bind
Her heaven-bred soul, a slave to serve a blast of wind?

She's empty: hark! she sounds: ?tis but a ball

For fools to play withal;
The painted film but of a stronger bubble,

That's lined with silken trouble.
It is a world whoso work nnd recreation

Is vanity and vexation;
A hag, repair'd with vice-complexion'd paint,

A quest-house of complaint.
It is a saint, a fiend; worse fiend when most a saint

She's empty: hark! she sounds: ?tis vain and void.

What's here to be enjoy'd
But grief and sickness, and large bills of sorrow,

Drawn now and cross'd to-morrow?
Or, what are men but puffs of dying breath,

Revived with living death?
Fond youth, () build thy hopes on surer grounds

Than what dull ilesh propounds:
Trust not this hollow world; she's empty: hark! she sounds

MEUCY TEMPERING JUSTICE.

Had not the milder hand of Mercy broke
The furious violence of that fatal stroke
Offended Justice struck, we had been quite
Lost in the shadows of eternal night.
Thy mercy, Lord, is like the morning sun,
Whose beams undo what sable night hath done;
Or like a stream, the current of whose course,
Restrained awhile, runs with a swifter force.
Oh! let me glow beneath those sacred beams,
And after, bathe me in those silver streams;
To Thee alone, my sorrows shall appeal:
Hath earth a wound too hard for heaven to heal?

Though in his day Quarlcs was mostly known as a poet, he was also the author of a few prose works, the principal of which is the "Enchiridion,1 containing Institutions divine, contemplative, practical, moral, ethical, economical, political/' Of this, Head ley remarks, "had this little piece been written at Athens or Rome, its author would have been elapsed with the wise men of his country." The following arc some specimens of it:—

If thou be ambitious of honor, and yet fearful of the canker of honor, envy, so behave thyself, that opinion may be satisfied in this, that thou seekest merit, and not fame; and that thou attributest thy preferment rather to Providence than thy own virtue. Honor is a due debt to the deserver; and who ever envied the

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payment of a debt? A just advancement is a providential act; and who ever envied the act of Providence?

If evil men speak good, or good men evil, of thy conversation, examine all thy actions, and suspect thyself. But if evil men speak evil of thee, hold it as thy honor; and, by way of thankfulness, love them; but upon condition that they continue to hate thee.

To tremble at the sight of thy sin, makes thy faith the less apt to tremble: the devils believe and tremble, because they tremble at what they believe; their belief brings trembling: thy trembling brings belief.

If thou desire to be truly valiant, fear to do any injury: he that fears not to do evil, is always afraid to suffer evil; he that never fears, is desperate; and he that fears always, is a coward. He is the true valiant man, that dares nothing but what he may, and fears nothing but what he ought.

If thou stand guilty of oppression, or wrongfully possest of another's right, see thou make restitution before thou givest an alms: if otherwise, what art thou but a thief, and makest God thy receiver?

When thou prayest for spiritual graces, let thy prayer be absolute; when for temporal blessings, add a clause of God's pleasure: in both, with faith and humiliation: so shalt thou, undoubtedly, receive what thou desirest, or more, or better. Never prayer rightly made, was made unheard; or heard, ungranted.

Not to give to the poor, is to take from him. Not to feed the hungry, if thou hast it, is to the utmost of thy power to kill him. That, therefore, thou mayst avoid both sacrilege and murder, be charitable.

Hath any wronged thee? Be bravely revenged: slight it, and the work's begun; forgive it, and 'tis finished: he is below himself that is not above an injury.

Gaze not on beauty too much, lest it blast thee; nor too long, lest it blind thee; nor too near, lest it burn thee: if thou like it, it deceives thee ; if thou love it, it disturbs thee; if thou lust after it, it destroys thee: if virtue accompany it, it is the heart's paradise; if vice associate it, it is the soul's purgatory: it is the wise man's bonfire, and the fool's furnace.

Use law and physic only for necessity; they that use them otherwise, abuse themselves into weak bodies and light purses: they are good remedies, bad businesses, and worse recreations.

If what thou hast received from God thou sharest to the poor, thou hast gained a blessing by the hand; if what thou hast taken from the poor, thou givest to God, thou hast purchased a curse into the bargain. He that puts to pious uses what he hath got by impious usury, robs tbe spittle' to make an hospital; and the cry of the one will out-plead the prayers of the other.

Give not thy tongue too great a liberty, lest it take thee prisoner. A word unspoken is, like the sword in the scabbard, thine; if vented, thy sword is in another's hand. If thou desire to be held wise, be so wise as to hold thy tongue.

Wisdom without innocency is knavery; innocency without wisdom is foolery: be, therefore, as wise as serpents, and innocent as doves. The subtilty of the serpent instructs the innocency of the dove; the innocency of the dove corrects the subtilty of the serpent. What God hath joined together, let no man separate.

WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 1585—1649.

William Dkummomd, of Hawthornden, the first Scottish poet that wrote well in English, was born in 1585. "To the scholar and the wit he added every elegant attainment After forming his taste at the University of Edinburgh, he enlarged his views by travelling nnd by a cultivation of the modem languages. At first ho nppears to have studied the law, but soon left it for more congenial pursuits. The character of his poetry is various, consisting of sonnets, epigrams, epitaphs, religious and other poems. His sonnets are the most beautiful, and some of them of the highest excellence. His greatest charm is, unaffected feeling, and unaffected language."* His feelings were so intense on the side of the royalists, that the execution of Charles is said to have hastened his death, which took place at the close of the same year, December, 1049. The following are specimens of his sonnets3:—

THE PRAISE OF A SOLITARY LIFE.

Thrice happy he, who by some shady grove,

Far from the clamorous world, doth live his own;

Though solitary, who is not alone,
But cloth converse with that eternal Love.

0 how more sweet is bird's harmonious moan,
Or the hoarse sobbings of the widow'd dove,

Than those smooth whisperings near a prince's throne,
Which good make doubtful, do the evil approve!

O! how more sweet is zephyr's wholesome breath,
And sighs embalm'd, which new-born flowers unfold,

Than that applause vain honor doth bequeath 1
How sweet are streams to poison drank in gold!

The world is full of horrors, troubles, slights:

Woods' harmless shades have only true delights.

1 Thts term was originally applied to a lazar-liouse, or receptacle for persons affected with leprosy, hot afterwards to an hospital of any kind. * See Retrospecuve Review, Ix. 338.

i "Drumniond's sonnets, 1 think, come as near as almost any others to the perfccUon of this kind of wrlUng, which should embody a sentiment, and every shade of a sentiment, as it varies with time and place and humor, with the extra ogance or lightness of a momentary impression."—BarStt.

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