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THE GOOD WIFE.

She commandeth her husband in any equal matter, by constant obeying him.

She never crosseth her husband in the spring-tide of his anger, but stays till it be ebbing-water. Surely men, contrary to iron, are worst to be wrought upon when they are hot.

Her clothes are rather comely than costly, and she makes plain cloth to be velvet by her handsome wearing it.

Her husband's secrets she will not divulge: especially she is careful to conceal his infirmities.

In her husband's absence she is wife and deputy husband, which makes her double the files of her diligence. At his return he finds all things so well, that he wonders to see himself at home when he was abroad.1

Her children, though many in number, are none in noise, steering them with a look whither she listeth.

The heaviest work of her servants she maketh light, by orderly and seasonably enjoining it.

In her husband's sickness she feels more grief than she shows

THE GOOD SEA-CAPTAIN.

Conceive him now in a man-of-war, with his letters of marque, victualled, and appointed.

The more power he hath, the more careful he is not to abuse it. Indeed a sea-captain is a king in the island of a ship, supreme Judge, above all appeal, in causes civil and criminal, and is seldom brought to an account on land for injuries done to his own men

at sea.

He is careful in observing the Lord's day. He hath a watch in his heart, though no bells in a steeple to proclaim that day by ringing to prayers.

He is as pious and thankful when a tempest is past, as devout when 'tis present; not clamorous to receive mercies, and tonguetied to return thanks. Escaping many dangers makes him not presumptuous to run into them.

In taking a prize he most prizeth the men's lives whom he takes; though some of them may chance to be negroes or savages.

1 In Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy there are twelve reasons in favor of marriage, of which the first six are as follows:

1. Hast thou means? Thou hast one to keep and increase it.

2. Hast none? Thou hast one to help to get it.

3. Art in prosperity Thine happiness is doubled.

⚫. Art in adversity? She'll comfort, assist, bear a part of thy burden, to make it more tolerable. 5. Art at home! She'll drive away melancholy.

• Art abroad? She looks after thee going from home, wishes for thee in thine absence, and joy fully welcomes thy return.

"Tis the custom of some to cast them overboard, and there's an end of them for the dumb fishes will tell no tales. But the murderer is not so soon drowned as the man. What, is a brother

of false blood no kin? a savage hath God to his father by creation, though not the church to his mother, and God will revenge his innocent blood. But our captain counts the image of God, nevertheless his image cut in ebony as if done in ivory.1

In dividing the gains, he wrongs no one who took pains to get them: not shifting off his poor mariners with nothing.

In time of peace he quietly returns home.

His voyages are not only for profit, but some for honor and knowledge.

He daily sees, and duly considers God's wonders in the deep.

ON TRAVELLING.

Travel not early before thy judgment be risen; lest thou observ. est rather shows than substance.

Get the language (in part), without which key thou shalt unlock little of moment.

Know most of the rooms of thy native country before thou goest over the threshold thereof.

Travel not beyond the Alps. Mr. Roger Ascham did thank God that he was but nine days in Italy, wherein he saw in one city (Venice) more liberty to sin than in London he ever heard of in nine years.

Be wise in choosing objects, diligent in marking, careful in remembering of them. Yet herein men much follow their own humors. One asked a barber who never before had been at the court, what he saw there? "O," said he, "the king was excellently well trimmed!"

Labor to distil and unite into thyself the scattered perfections of several nations. Many weed foreign countries, bringing home Dutch drunkenness, Spanish pride, French wantonness, and Italian atheism; as for the good herbs, Dutch industry, Spanish loyalty, French courtesy, and Italian frugality, these they leave behind them; others bring home just nothing; and, because they singled not themselves from their countrymen, though some years beyond sea, were never out of England.

1 "s not this one of the earliest intercessions on behalf of the poor slaves "-Basil Montagu. No; for a higher than all human authority proclaimeu, fifteen hundred years before, “All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them;" which, if obeyed, would breas every bond of oppression throughout the world. Light and darkness, virtue and vice, heaven ana earth, present no greater contrast than the code of Christian ethics and the slave code.

This is common to all professions: "I hold," says Lord Bacon, "that every man is a debtor to his profession, from the which, as men do of course seek to receive counterance and profit, so ought they of duty to endeavor themselves, by way of amends, to be a help and ornament thereunto."

OF MEMORY.

It is the treasure-house of the mind, wherein the monuments thereof are kept and preserved. Plato makes it the mother of the Muses. Aristotle sets it in one degree further, making experience the mother of arts, memory the parent of experience. Philosophers place it in the rear of the head; and it seems the mine of memory lies there, because there men naturally dig for it, scratching it when they are at a loss. This again is two-fold; one, the simple retention of things; the other, a regaining them when forgotten.

Artificial memory is rather a trick than an art, and more for the gain of the teacher than profit of the learners. Like the tossing of a pike, which is no part of the postures and motions thereof, and is rather for ostentation than use, to show the strength and nimbleness of the arm, and is often used by wandering soldiers, as an introduction to beg. Understand it of the artificial rules which at this day are delivered by memory mountebanks; for sure an art thereof may be made, (wherein as yet the world is defective,) and that no more destructive to natural memory than spectacles are to eyes, which girls in Holland wear from twelve years of age. But till this be found out, let us observe these plain rules.

First, soundly infix in thy mind what thou desirest to remember. What wonder is it if agitation of business jog that out of thy head which was there rather tacked than fastened? It is best knocking in the nail over night, and clinching it the next morning.

Overburden not thy memory to make so faithful a servant a slave. Remember, Atlas was weary. Have as much reason as a camel, to rise when thou hast thy full load. Memory, like a purse, if it be over full that it cannot shut, all will drop out of it; take heed of a gluttonous curiosity to feed on many things, lest the greediness of the appetite of thy memory spoil the digestion thereof.

Marshal thy notions into a handsome method. One will carry twice more weight trussed and packed up in bundles, than when it lies untoward, flapping and hanging about his shoulders. Things orderly fardled up under heads are most portable.

Adventure not all thy learning in one bottom, but divide it betwixt thy memory and thy note-books. He that with Bias carries all his learning about him in his head, will utterly be beggared and bankrupt, if a violent disease, a merciless thief, should rob and strip him. I know some have a common-place against commonplace-books, and yet perchance will privately make use of what they publicly declaim against. A common-place-book contains many notions in garrison, whence the owner may draw out an army into the field on competent warning.

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ONE of the most exquisite of the early English lyric pets, was Robert Herrick. But little is known of his life. His father was a goldsmith of London, and he was born in that city in 1591. He studied at Cambridge, and took orders in the established church, and obtained a place to preach in, in Devonshire, which he lost at the commencement of the civil wars. At the Restoration he was re-appointed to his vicarage, but died soon afterwards, in 1662.

...

Abating some of the impurities of Herrick, we can fully join with an able critic in the Retrospective Review in pronouncing him one of the best of English lyric poets. "He is the most joyous and gladsome of bards; singing like the grasshopper, as if he would never grow old. He is as fresh as the Spring, as blithe as the Summer, and as ripe as the Autumn. His poems resemble a luxuriant meadow, full of king-cups and wild flowers, or a July firmament, sparkling with a myriad of stars. His fancy fed upon all the fair and sweet things of nature: it is redolent of roses and jessamine; it is as light and airy as the thistle down, or the bubbles which laughing boys blow into the air, where they float in a waving line of beauty."

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TO PRIMROSES, FILLED WITH MORNING DEW.

Why do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears

Speak grief in you,

Who were but born

Just as the modest moin

Teem'd her refreshing dew?

Alas! you have not known that shower
That mars a flower;

1 VOL v. page 156. Read also, remarks in "Drake's Literary Hours."

Nor felt th' unkind
Breath of a blasting wind;
Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warp'd, as we,

Who think it strange to see

Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
To speak by tears before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimpering younglings; and make known
The reason why

Ye droop, and weep.

Is it for want of sleep;
Or childish lullaby?

Or, that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?

Or brought a kiss

From that sweetheart to this?
No, no; this sorrow, shown
By your tears shed,

Would have this lecture read,

"That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth."

TO BLOSSOMS.

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What, were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
'Tis pity nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we

May read how soon things have

Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.

HOW THE HEART'S-EASE FIRST CAME

Frolic virgins once these were,

Over-loving, living here;

Being here their ends denied,

Ran for sweethearts mad, and died.

Love, in pity of their tears,

And their loss of blooming years,

For their restless here-spent hours,

Gave them heart's-ease turn'd to flowers

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