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of the kitchen and green cloth side, where he was found so humble, diligent, industrious, and prudent in his behaviour, that his majesty being in exile, and Mr Fox waiting, both the king and lords about him frequently employed him about their affairs; trusted him both with receiving and paying the little money they had. Returning with his majesty to England, after great wants and great sufferings, his majesty found him so honest and industrious, and withal so capable and ready, that being advanced from Clerk of the Kitchen to that of the Green Cloth, he procured to be paymaster to the whole army; and by his dexterity and punctual dealing, he obtained such credit among the bankers, that he was in a short time able to borrow vast sums of them upon any exigence. The continual turning thus of money, and the soldiers' moderate allowance to him for his keeping touch with them, did so enrich him, that he is believed to be worth at least £200,000, honestly gotten and unenvied, which is next to a miracle. With all this, he continues as humble and ready to do a courtesy as ever he was. He is generous, and lives very honourably; of a sweet nature, well spoken, well bred, and is so highly in his majesty's esteem, and so useful, that, being long since made a knight, he is also advanced to be one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and has the reversion of the Cofferer's place after Harry Brounker. He has married his eldest daughter to my Lord Cornwallis, and gave her £12,000, and restored that entangled family besides. He matched his eldest son to Mrs Trollope, who brings with her (besides a great sum) near, if not altogether, £2000 per annum. Sir Stephen's lady, an excellent woman, is sister to Mr Whittle, one of the king's chirurgeons. In a word, never was man more fortunate than Sir Stephen; he is a handsome person, virtuous, and very religious.*

which she arrived to that perfection, that of the scholars of those famous two masters, Signors Pietro and Bartholomeo, she was esteemed the best; for the sweetness of her voice and management of it added such an agreeableness to her countenance, without any constraint or concern, that when she sung, it was as charming to the eye as to the ear; this I rather note, because it was a universal remark, and for which so many noble and judicious persons in music desired to hear her, the last being at Lord Arundel of Wardour's. What shall I say, or rather not say, of the cheerfulness and agreeableness of her humour! Condescending to the meanest servant in the family, or others, she still kept up respect, without the least pride. She would often read to them, examine, instruct, and pray with them if they were sick, so as she was exceedingly beloved of everybody. Piety was so prevalent an ingredient in her constitution (as I may say), that even among equals and superiors, she no sooner became intimately acquainted, but she would endeavour to improve them by insinuating something of religious, and that tended to bring them to a love of devotion. She had one or two confidants, with whom she used to pass whole days in fasting, reading, and prayers, especially before the monthly communion and other solemn occasions. She abhorred flattery, and though she had abundance of wit, the raillery was so innocent and ingenious, that it was most agreeable; she sometimes would see a play, but, since the stage grew licentious, expressed herself weary of them; and the time spent at the theatre was an unaccountable vanity. She never played at cards without extreme importunity, and for the company but this was so very seldom, that I cannot number it among anything she could name a fault. No one could read prose or verse better or with more jude ment; and, as she read, so she writ, not only most correct orthography, [but] with that maturity of [Evelyn's Account of his Daughter Mary.+] judgment and exactness of the periods, choice of exMarch 10.-She received the blessed sacrament; hers have astonished me and others to whom she has pressions, and familiarity of style, that some letters of after which, disposing herself to suffer what God occasionally written. She had a talent of rehearsing should determine to inflict, she bore the remainder of any comical part or poem, as, to them she might be her sickness with extraordinary patience and piety, decently free with, was more pleasing than heard on and more than ordinary resignation and blessed frame the theatre. She danced with the greatest grace I of mind. She died the 14th, to our unspeakable sor-have ever seen, and so would her master say, who was row and affliction; and not to ours only, but that of Monsieur Isaac; but she seldom showed that perfec all who knew her, who were many of the best quality, tion, save in gracefulness of her carriage, which was greatest and most virtuous persons. The justness of with an air of sprightly modesty not easily to be deher stature, person, comeliness of countenance, grace- scribed. Nothing affected, but natural and easy in fulness of motion, unaffected though more than ordi- her deportment as in her discourse, which was always narily beautiful, were the least of her ornaments, com- material, not trifling, and to which the extraordinary pared with those of her mind. Of early piety, singu- sweetness of her tone, even in familiar speaking, was larly religious, spending a part of every day in private very charming. Nothing was so pretty as her descenddevotion, reading, and other virtuous exercises; she ing to play with little children, whom she would caress had collected and written out many of the most use- and humour with great delight. But she was most ful and judicious periods of the books she read in a affected to be with grave and sober men, of whom she kind of common-place, as out of Dr Hammond on might learn something and improve herself. I have the New Testament, and most of the best practical been assisted by her in reading and praying by me; treatises. She had read and digested a considerable comprehensive of uncommon notions, curious of knowdeal of history and of places [geography]. The French ing everything to some excess, had I not sometimes tongue was as familiar to her as English; she under-repressed it. Nothing was so delightful to her as to stood Italian, and was able to render a laudable account of what she read and observed, to which assisted a most faithful memory and discernment; and she did make very prudent and discreet reflections upon what she had observed of the conversations among which she had at any time been, which being continually of persons of the best quality, she thereby improved. She had an excellent voice, to which she played a thorough base on the harpsichord, in both *Sir Stephen Fox was the progenitor of the noble house of Holland, so remarkable for the line of distinguished statesmen which it has given to England.

This young lady died of sanall-pox, March 1685, in her

twentieth year.

go into my study, where she would willingly have spent whole days, for, as I said, she had read abun dance of history, and all the best poets; even Terence, Plautus, Homer, Virgil, Horace, Ovid; all the best romances and modern poems; she could compose happily, as in the Mundus Muliebris, wherein is an enumeration of the immense variety of the modes and ornaments belonging to her sex ; but all these are vain trifles to the virtues that adorned her soul; she was sincerely religious, most dutiful to her parents, whom she loved with an affection tempered with great esteem, so as we were easy and free, and never were so well pleased as when she was with us, nor needed we other conversation. She was kind to her sisters, and

was still improving them by her constant course of piety. Oh dear, sweet, and desirable child! how shall I part with all this goodness and virtue without the bitterness of sorrow and reluctancy of a tender parent? Thy affection, duty, and love to me, was that of a friend as well as a child. Nor less dear to thy mother, whose example and tender care of thee was unparalleled; nor was thy return to her less conspicuous. Oh, how she mourns thy loss! how desolate hast thou left us! to the grave shall we both carry thy memory.

[Fashions in Dress.]

[From Tyrannus, or the Mode.'*]

Twas a witty expression of Malvezzi, I vestimenti negli animali sono molto sicuri segni della loro natura; negli huomini del lor cervello,-garments (says he) in animals are infallible signs of their nature; in men, of their understanding. Though I would not judge of the monk by the hood he wears, or celebrate the humour of Julian's court, where the philosophic mantle made all his officers appear like so many conjurors, 'tis worth the observing yet, that the people of Rome left off the toga, an ancient and noble garment, with their power, and that the vicissitude of their habit was little better than a presage of that of their fortune; for the military saga, differencing them from their slaves, was no small indication of the declining of their courage, which shortly followed. And I am of opinion that when once we shall see the Venetian senate quit the gravity of their vests, the state itself will not long subsist without some considerable alteration. I am of opinion that the Swiss had not been now a nation but for keeping to their prodigious breeches.

Be it excusable in the French to alter and impose the mode on others, 'tis no less a weakness and a shame in the rest of the world, who have no dependence on them, to admit them, at least to that degree of levity as to turn into all their shapes without discrimination; so as when the freak takes our Monsieurs to appear like so many farces or Jack Puddings on the stage, all the world should alter shape, and play the pantomimes with them.


Methinks a French tailor, with his ell in his hand, looks the enchantress Circe over the companions of Ulysses, and changes them into as many forms. One while we are made to be so loose in our clothes * and by and by appear like so many malefactors sewed up in sacks, as of old they were wont to treat a parricide, with a dog, an ape, and a serpent. Now, we are all twist, and at a distance look like a pair of tongs, and anon stuffed out behind like a Dutchman. gallant goes so pinched in the waist, as if he were prepared for the question of the fiery plate in Turkey; and that so loose in the middle, as if he would turn insect, or drop in two; now, the short waists and shirts in Pye-court is the mode; then the wide hose, or a man in coats again. Methinks we should learn to handle distaff too: Hercules did so when he courted Omphale; and those who sacrificed to Ceres put on the petticoat with much confidence.

It was a fine silken thing which I spied walking tother day through Westminster Hall, that had as much ribbon about him as would have plundered

as a porter bear it only, was not easily to be resolved.

For my part, I profess that I delight in a cheerful gaiety, affect and cultivate variety. The universe itself were not beautiful to me without it; but as that is in constant and uniform succession in the natural, where men do not disturb it, so would I have it also in the artificial. If the kings of Mexico changed four times a-day, it was but an upper vest, which they were used to honour some meritorious servant with. Let men change their habits as oft as they please, so the change be for the better. I would have a summer habit and a winter; for the spring and for the autumn. Something I would indulge to youth; something to age and humour. But what have we to do with these foreign butterflies? In God's name, let the change be our own, not borrowed of others; for why should I dance after a Monsieur's flageolet, that have a set of English viols for my concert? We need no French inventions for the stage, or for the back.


the reigns of Charles II. and James VII., great notoSIR ROGER L'ESTRANGE (1616-1704) enjoyed, in riety as an occasional political writer. During the rebellion he had fought as a royalist soldier: being captured by the parliamentary army, he was tried and condemned to die, and lay in prison almost four years, constantly expecting to be led forth to execution. He was at length set free, and lived in almost total obscurity till the Restoration, when he was rewarded with the invidious post of licenser of the press. From this time, till a few years before his death, he was constantly occupied in the editing


Sir Roger L'Estrange.

six shops, and set up twenty country pedlars. All of newspapers and writing of pamphlets, mostly his body was dressed like a May-pole, or a Tom-aBedlam's cap. A frigate newly rigged kept not half such a clatter in a storm, as this puppet's streamers did when the wind was in his shrouds; the motion was wonderful to behold, and the well-chosen colours were red, orange, blue, and well gummed satin, which argued a happy fancy; but so was our gallant overcharged, [that] whether he did wear this garment, or

* A rare pamphlet by Evelyn.

in behalf of the court, from which he at last received the honour of knighthood. He is generally considered to have been the first writer who sold his services in defence of any measure, good or bad. As a controversialist, he was bold, lively, and vigorous, but coarse, impudent, abusive, and by no means a scrupulous regarder of truth. He is known also as a translator, having produced versions of Æsop's Fables, Seneca's Morals, Cicero's Offices, Erasmus's

Colloquies, Quevedo's Visions, and the works of Josephus. Sir Roger was so anxious to accommodate his style to the taste of the common people, that few of his works could now be read with any pleasure. The class whom he addressed were only beginning to be readers, and as yet relished nothing but the meanest ideas, presented in the meanest language. What immediately follows is a chapter of his life of Æsop, prefixed to the translation of the Fables.

Esop's Invention to bring his Mistress back again to her

Husband after she had left him.

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lowing of execrations and revenge against the accursed bloody papists. It was imputed at first, and in the general, to the principles of the religion; and a Roman Catholic and a regicide were made one and the same thing. Nay, it was a saying frequent in some of our great and holy mouths, that they were confident there was not so much as one soul of the whole party, within his majesty's dominions, that was not either an actor in this plot, or a friend to't. In this heat, they fell to picking up of priests and Jesuits as fast as they could catch 'em, and so went on to consult their oracles the witnesses (with all formalities of sifting and examining) upon the particulars of place, time, manner, persons, The wife of Xanthus was well born and wealthy, &c.; while Westminster Hall and the Court of Rebut so proud and domineering withal, as if her for- quests were kept warm, and ringing still of new men tune and her extraction had entitled her to the come in, corroborating proofs, and further discoveries, breeches. She was horribly bold, meddling and ex- &c. Under this train and method of reasoning, the pensive (as that sort of women commonly are), easily managers advanced, decently enough, to the finding put off the hooks, and monstrous hard to be pleased out of what they themselves had laid and concerted again; perpetually chattering at her husband, and beforehand; and, to give the devil his due, the whole upon all occasions of controversy threatening him to story was but a farce of so many parts, and the noisy be gone. It came to this at last, that Xanthus's informations no more than a lesson that they had much stock of patience being quite spent, he took up a ado to go through with, even with the help of diligent resolution of going another way to work with her, and careful tutors, and of many and many a prompter, and of trying a course of severity, since there was to bring them off at a dead lift. But popery was so nothing to be done with her by kindness. But this dreadful a thing, and the danger of the king's life and experiment, instead of mending the matter, made it of the Protestant religion so astonishing a surprise, worse; for, upon harder usage, the woman grew des- that people were almost bound in duty to be inconsi perate, and went away from him in earnest. She derate and outrageous upon 't; and loyalty itself was as bad, 'tis true, as bad might well be, and yet would have looked a little cold and indifferent if it Xanthus had a kind of hankering for her still; beside had not been intemperate; insomuch that zeal, fiercethat, there was matter of interest in the case; and a ness, and jealousy were never more excusable than pestilent tongue she had, that the poor husband upon this occasion. And now, having excellent matter dreaded above all things under the sun. But the to work upon, and the passions of the people already man was willing, however, to make the best of a bad disposed for violence and tumult, there needed no game, and so his wits and his friends were set at more than blowing the coal of Oates's narrative, to work, in the fairest manner that might be, to get her put all into a flame: and in the mean time, all arts home again. But there was no good to be done in it, and accidents were improved, as well toward the en it seems; and Xanthus was so visibly out of humour tertainment of the humour, as to the kindling of it. upon it, that Esop in pure pity bethought himself The people were first haired out of their senses with immediately how to comfort him. Come, master,' tales and jelousies, and then made judges of the says he, pluck up a good heart, for I have a project danger, and consequently of the remedy; which upon in my noddle, that shall bring my mistress to you the main, and briefly, came to no more than this: The back again, with as good a will as ever she went from plot was laid all over the three kingdoms; France, you.' What does my sop, but away immediately Spain, and Portugal, taxed their quotas to't; we were to the market among the butchers, poulterers, fish- all to be burnt in our beds, and rise with our throats mongers, confectioners, &c., for the best of everything cut; and no way in the world but exclusion and that was in season. Nay, he takes private people in union to help us. The fancy of this exclusion spread his way too, and chops into the very house of his mis-immediately, like a gangrene, over the whole body of tress's relations, as by mistake. This way of proceeding set the whole town agog to know the meaning of all this bustle; and sop innocently told everybody that his master's wife was run away from him, and he had married another; his friends up and down were all invited to come and make merry with him, and this was to be the wedding feast. The news flew like lightning, and happy were they that could carry I shall now pass some necessary reflections upon the first tidings of it to the run-away lady (for every-whole. There never was, perhaps, since the creation body knew sop to be a servant in that family). It of the world, so much confusion wrought by so mean, gathered in the rolling, as all other stories do in the so scandalous, so ridiculous instruments; lousy, greasy telling, especially where women's tongues and pas-rogues, to be taken into the hands of princes; porters, sions have the spreading of them. The wife, that was in her nature violent and unsteady, ordered her chariot to be made ready immediately, and away she posts back to her husband, falls upon him with outrages of looks and language; and after the easing of her mind a little, 'No, Xanthus,' says she, do not you flatter yourself with the hopes of enjoying another woman while I am alive.' Xanthus looked upon this as one of Æsop's masterpieces; and for that bout all was

the monarchy; and no saving the life of his majesty without cutting off every limb of the prerogative: the device of union passed insensibly into a league of conspiracy; and, instead of uniting protestants against papists, concluded in an association of subjects against their sovereign, confounding policy with religion.

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and the coarsest of letter-carriers, to be made the c fidants of public ministers; starving indigent varlets, that had not credit in the world for a Brumigen great, and lived upon the common charity of the basket, to be a matter of seven hundred pound out of pocket in his majesty's service, as Oates and Bedloe pretended; sots, to find treason in words, at length in common post-letters. The four ruffians to have but twenty pound a man for murdering the king by assault, and Sir George Wakeman fifteen thousand pound only for poisoning him, without running the fifteenth part the risk; nay, and Bedloe fifteen hundred pound for At the first opening of this plot, almost all people's * The exclusion of the heir-presumptive, the Duke of York, hearts took fire at it, and nothing was heard but the bel-who was a Catholic, from the throne.-Ed.

well again betwixt master and mistress.

[The Popish Plot.]



but lending a hand to the helping away of a dead jus-
ice: these, and a thousand incredibilities more, must
le all believed, or the witnesses found to be most
damnably forsworn, unless it were for the evidence's
sake that they had credit given 'em; for the matter
of fact, under such circumstances, was morally im-
posible to be true; and for the probity of the wit-
nesses, they were already as well known as the whip-
ping post, for a pack of swearing, lying, cheating, a
prostitute and an abandoned sort of mercenary vil-
lains and yet such was the infatuated credulity of
the common people at that season, and such the bold
and shameless hypocrisy of the managers of that im-tablishment of the following three propositions, which
posture, that there was no place for either truth or
honesty to appear. The inference I draw from this
preposterous way of proceeding is, that the whole story,
from end to end, was a practice; that the suborners of
the perjury were also the protectors and the patrons
of it both under one; and that they had their accom-
plices in the House of Commons upon this crisis of
state, that played the same game which their fore-
fathers had done upwards of forty years before.

There is more good taste in the style of Sir Roger L'Estrange's translations of ancient authors than in that of his original works. The following is a brief

extract from his version of 'Seneca's Morals :'


The principal causes of ingratitude are pride and self-conceit, avarice, envy, &c. It is a familiar exclamation, "Tis true, he did this or that for me, but it came so late, and it was so little, I had e'en as good have been without it: If he had not given it to me, he must have given it to somebody else; it was nothing out of his own pocket.' Nay, we are so ungrateful, that he that gives us all we have, if he leaves anything to himself, we reckon that he does us an injury. It cost Julius Cæsar his life the disappointment of his unatiable companions; and yet he reserved nothing of all that he got to himself, but the liberty of disposThere is no benefit so large, but malignity will still lessen it: none so narrow, which a good nterpretation will not enlarge. No man shall ever be grateful that views a benefit on the wrong side, or takes a good office by the wrong handle. The avaricious man is naturally ungrateful, for he never thinks he has enough, but without considering what he has, only minds what he covets. Some pretend want of power to make a competent return, and you shall find in others a kind of graceless modesty, that makes a man ashamed of requiting an obligation, because 'tis a confession that he has received one.

ng it.

Not to return one good office for another is inhuman; but to return evil for good is diabolical. There are too many even of this sort, who, the more they owe, the more they hate. There's nothing more dangerous than to oblige those people; for when they are conscious of not paying the debt, they wish the creditor out of the way. It is a mortal hatred that which arises from the shame of an abused benefit. When we are on the asking side, what a deal of cringing there is, and profession. Well, I shall never forget this favour, it will be an eternal obligation to me.' But, within a while the note is changed, and we hear no more words on't, till by little and little it is all quite forgotten. So long as we stand in need of a benefit, there is nothing dearer to us; nor anything cheaper when we have received it. And yet a man may as well refuse to deliver up a sum of money that's left him in trust, without a suit, as not to return a good office without asking; and when we have no value any further for the benefit, we do commonly care as little for the author. People follow their interest; one man is grateful for his convenience, and another man is ungrateful for the same reason.

DR RALPH CUDWORTH (1617-1688) is celebrated as a very learned divine and philosopher of this age. He studied at the university of Cambridge, where, during the thirty years succeeding 1645, he held the office of regius professor of Hebrew. His principal work, which is entitled The True Intellectual System of the Universe, was published in 1678, and is designed as a refutation of the atheistical tenets which at that time were extensively held in England. It executes only a portion of his design; namely, the eshe regarded as the fundamentals or essentials of true religion: First, that all things in the world do not float without a head and governor; but that there is a God, an omnipotent understanding being, presiding over all. Secondly, that this God being essentially good and just, there is something in its own nature immutably and eternally just and unjust; and not by arbitrary will, law, and command only. And lastly, that we are so far forth principals or masters of our own actions, as to be accountable to justice for them, or to make us guilty and blame-worthy for what we do amiss, and to deserve punishment accordingly.' From this statement by Cudworth in his preface, the reader will observe that he maintained (in opposition to two of the leading doctrines of Hobbes), first, the existence of a natural and everlasting distinction between justice and injustice; and secondly, the freedom of the human will. On the former point he differs from most subsequent opponents of Hobbism, in ascribing our consciousness of the natural difference of right and wrong entirely to the reasoning faculties, and in no degree to sentiment or emotion. As, however, he confines his attention in the Intellectual System' to the first essential of true religion enumerated in the passage just quoted, ethical questions are in that work but incidentally and occasionally touched upon. combating the atheists, he displays a prodigious amount of erudition, and that rare degree of candour which prompts a controversialist to give a full statement of the opinions and arguments which he the reproach of insincerity; and by a contempomeans to refute. This fairness brought upon him rary Protestant theologian the epithets of Arian, Socinian, Deist, and even Atheist, were freely applied to him. He has raised,' says Dryden, such strong objections against the being of a God and Providence, that many think he has not answered them; the common fate,' as Lord Shaftesbury remarks on this occasion, of those who dare to appear fair authors.' This clamour seems to have dislishing the other portions of his scheme. He left, heartened the philosopher, who refrained from pubhowever, several manuscript works, one of which, entitled A Treatise concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality, but only introductory in its character, was published in 1731 by Dr Chandler, bishop of Durham. His unprinted writings are now in the British Museum, and include treatises on Moral Good and Evil, Liberty and Necessity, the Creation of the World and the Immortality of the Soul, the Learning of the Hebrews, and Hobbes's Notions concerning the Nature of God and the Extension of Spirits. Mr Dugald Stewart, speaking of the two published works, observes, that The Intellectual System of Cudworth embraces a field much wider than his treatise of Immutable Morality. The latter is particularly directed against the doctrines of Hobbes, and of the Antinomians;* but the former aspires to


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tear up by the roots all the principles, both physical have not a perfectly comprehensive knowledge, or such and metaphysical, of the Epicurean philosophy. It as is adequate and commensurate to the essences of is a work, certainly, which reflects much honour on things; from whence we ought to be led to this acthe talents of the author, and still more on the knowledgment, that there is another Perfect Mind or boundless extent of his learning; but it is so ill Understanding Being above us in the universe, from suited to the taste of the present age, that, since the which our imperfect minds were derived, and upon time of Mr Harris and Dr Price, I scarcely recollect which they do depend. Wherefore, if we can have the slightest reference to it in the writings of our no idea or conception of anything, whereof we hare British metaphysicians. Of its faults (beside the not a full and perfect comprehension, then can we not general disposition of the author to discuss questions have an idea or conception of the nature of any subplaced altogether beyond the reach of our faculties), stance. But though we do not comprehend all truth, the most prominent is the wild hypothesis of a as if our mind were above it, or master of it, and canplastic nature; or, in other words, "of a vital and not penetrate into, and look quite through the nature spiritual, but unintelligent and necessary agent, of everything, yet may rational souls frame certain created by the Deity for the execution of his pur- ideas and conceptions, of whatsoever is in the orb of poses." Notwithstanding, however, these and many being proportionate to their own nature, and sufficient other abatements of its merits, the "Intellectual for their purpose. And though we cannot fully com System" will for ever remain a precious mine of in-prehend the Deity, nor exhaust the infiniteness of its formation to those whose curiosity may lead them to study the spirit of the ancient theories.* A Latin translation of this work was published by Mosheim at Jena in 1733. A few specimens of the original are subjoined:

perfection, yet may we have an idea of a Being absolutely perfect; such a one as is nostro modulo conformis, agreeable and proportionate to our measure and scantling; as we may approach near to a mountain, and touch it with our hands, though we cannot encompass it all round, and enclasp it within our arms. Whatsoever is in its own nature absolutely unconceivable, is nothing; but not whatsoever is not fully compre

[God, though Incomprehensible, not Inconceivable.] It doth not at all follow, because God is incomprehensible by our imperfect understandings. hensible to our finite and narrow understandings, that It is true, indeed, that the Deity is more incomhe is utterly inconceivable by them, so that they can- prehensible to us than anything else whatsoever, which not frame any idea of him at all, and he may there- proceeds from the fulness of its being and perfection, fore be concluded to be a non-entity. For it is certain and from the transcendency of its brightness; but for that we cannot comprehend ourselves, and that we the very same reason may it be said also in some sense, have not such an adequate and comprehensive know- that it is more knowable and conceivable than anyledge of the essence of any substantial thing as that thing. As the sun, though by reason of its excessive we can perfectly master and conquer it. It was a splendour it dazzle our weak sight, yet is it, notwithtruth, though abused by the sceptics, akatalepton ti, standing, far more visible also than any of the new something incomprehensible in the essence of the lowest losa stella-the small misty stars. Where there is substances. For even body itself, which the atheists more of light there is more visibility; so, where there think themselves so well acquainted with, because is more of entity, reality, and perfection, there is more they can feel it with their fingers, and which is the of conceptibility and cognoscibility; such a thing only substance that they acknowledge either in them-filling up the mind more, and acting more strongly selves or in the universe, hath such puzzling difficulties and entanglements in the speculation of it, that they can never be able to extricate themselves from. We might instance, also, in some accidental things, as time and motion. Truth is bigger than our minds, and we are not the same with it, but have a lower participation only of the intellectual nature, and are rather apprehenders than comprehenders thereof. This is indeed one badge of our creaturely state, that we

the law,' it being their opinion that exhortations to morality

were unnecessary, at once to the elect, whom the divine grace would of itself lead to the practice of piety and virtue, and to the non-elect, whose salvation and virtuous conduct were, by the very circumstance of non-election, rendered impossible.

Some of the Antinomian doctors carried their views so far as to maintain, that as the elect cannot fall from grace, nor forfeit the divine favour, so it follows that the wicked actions they commit, and the violations of the divine law with which they are chargeable, are not really sinful, nor are to be considered as instances of their departing from the law of God; and that, consequently, they have no occasion either to confess

their sins or to break them off by repentance.' Baxter and Tillotson were among the distinguished opponents of the tenets of this sect. (See Mosheim's Ecclesiastical History, cent. xvii. chap ii. sect. 23.) Cudworth, in his Treatise concerning

Eternal and Immutable Morality,' classes with the atheists of antiquity some of his contemporaries, who thought that God may command what is contrary to moral rules; that he has no inclination to the good of his creatures; that he may justly doom an innocent being to eternal torments; and that whatever God does will, for that reason is just, because he wills it.' He does not mention, however, by what sect these views were


* First Preliminary Dissertation to Encyclopædia Britannica, 7th edition, p. 44.

upon it. Nevertheless, because our weak and imper fect minds are lost in the vast immensity and redundancy of the Deity, and overcome with its transcendent light and dazzling brightness, therefore hath it to us an appearance of darkness and incomprehensibility; as the unbounded expansion of light, in the clear transparent ether, hath to us the apparition of an azure obscurity; which yet is not an absolute thing in itself, but only relative to our sense, and a mere fancy in us.

being an argument against the reality of its existence, The incomprehensibility of the Deity is so far from as that it is most certain, on the contrary, that were there nothing incomprehensible to us, who are but contemptible pieces, and small atoms of the universe; were there no other being in the world but what our finite understandings could span or fathom, and encompass round about, look through and through, have a commanding view of, and perfectly conquer and subdue under them, then could there be nothing abso lutely and infinitely perfect, that is, no God.

is some such absolutely perfect Being, which, though And nature itself plainly intimates to us that there not inconceivable, yet is incomprehensible to our finite understandings, by certain passions, which it hath implanted in us, that otherwise would want an object to display themselves upon; namely, those of devout veneration, adoration, and admiration, together with a kind of ecstacy and pleasing horror; which, in the silent language of nature, seem to speak thus much to us, that there is some object in the world so much bigger and vaster than our mind and thoughts, that it is the very same to them that the ocean is to nar row vessels; so that, when they have taken into them selves as much as they can thereof by contemplation,

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