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next writings for the public were contributions for the Spectator. Numbers 588, 601, 626, and 635 (the last number) are from his pen. He also published many treatises of a strictly religious character. Of these, "A Discourse on Secret Prayer," "The Evidence of our Saviour's Resurrection Considered," "Some Thoughts concerning the Proof of a Future State from Reason," and "Discourses on the Lord's Supper," and on "Saving Faith," are best known.

"In all his writings, Mr. Grove, taking the Scripture solely for his guide, adhered to the result of his own inquiries; his mind was biased by no sys tems or creeds, and his theology, therefore, was purely practical, and, as far as the fallibility of men will allow in judging of the text, perfectly conformable to the tenor of the Gospel." After living a life of great benevolence and practical piety, he died on the 27th of February, 1738, in the fifty-fifth year of his age. The following extracts from one of his letters to a friend, draw a true picture of his own character, in his directions for

THE TRUE ART OF ENJOYING LIFE.

It will not be altogether out of character, if I write down a few reflections on the art of improving human life, so as to pass it in peace and tranquillity, and make it yield the noblest pleasures it is capable of affording us. The first rule, and in a manner comprehensive of all the rest, is always to consider human life in its connection, as a state of trial, with an everlasting existence. How does this single thought at once raise and sink the value of every thing under the sun? sink it as a part of our worldly portion; raise it as a means and opportunity of promoting the glory of the great Author of all good, and the happiness, present and future, of our fellow-creatures as well as our own?-In the next place, we are to lay down this for a certain maxim, and constantly attend to it, that our happiness must arise from our own temper and actions, not immedaitely from any external circumstances. These, at best, are only considerable, as they supply a larger field to the exercise of our virtue, and more leisure for the improvements and entertainments of the mind: whereas, the chief delights of a reasonable being must result from its own operations, and reflections upon them as consonant to its nature, and the order it holds in the universe. How do I feel myself within? Am I in my natural state? Do I put my faculties to their right use ?-To require less from others than is commonly done, in order to be pleased, and to be more studious to please them, not from a meanness of spirit, not from artful views, but from an unaffected benevolence, is another rule of greater importance than is easily imagined; and more ef

hands a most perverse selection of books. You place him in contact with the best society in every period of history-with the wisest, the wittiest-with the tenderest, and the purest characters that have adorned humanity. You make him a denizen of all nations-a contemporary of all ages. The world has been created for him. It is hardly possible but the character should take a higner and better tone from the constant habit of associating in thought with a class of theakers to say the least of it, above the average of humanity." From Sir John Herschel's "Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy." 1 Drake's Essays, vol. ii. p. 210.

fectually reaches all that is aimed at by self-love, ▾ ithout designing it. To this add, that though we should be impartial, yet not severe in the judgment we pass, and the demands we make upon ourselves; watchful against the infirmities and errors too incident to human nature, but not supposing that we shall be entirely free from them, nor afflicting ourselves beyond measure to find that we are not. Such an overstrained severity breaks the force of the mind, and hinders its progress towards perfection. In the choice of conditions, or making any steps in life, it is a dictate of wisdom to prefer reality to appearance, and to follow Providence as our guide to be more indifferent to life, and all things in it, which the less we value the more we shall enjoy. And, lastly, to consider that the happiness of the present state consists inore in repose than pleasure; and in those pleasures that are pure and calin (which are likewise the most lasting) rather than in those which violently agitate the passions. Happy are we, when our pleasures flow from the regularity of our passions, and even course of piety and goodness, an humble confidence in the mercy of God, and from the hope of immortality! Not to be conterted without a perpetual succession of other pleasures be: ides these, is the way never to know contentment.

ON NOVELTY.

One advantage of our inclination for novelty is, that it annihilates all the boasted distinctions among mankind. Look not up with envy to those above thee! Sounding titles, stately buildings, fine gardens, gilded chariots, rich equipages, what are they? They dazzle every one but the possessor; to him that is accustomed to them they are cheap and regardless things; they supply him not with brighter images or more sublime satisfactions, than the plain man may have, whose small estate will just enable him to support the charge of a simple, unencumbered life. He enters heedless into his rooms of state, as you or I do under our poor sheds. The noble paintings and costly furniture are lost on him; he sees them not; as how can it be otherwise, when by custom a fabric infinitely more grand and finished, that of the universe, stands unobserved by the inhabitants, and the everlasting lamps of heaven are lighted up in vain, for any notice that mortals take of them? Thanks to indulgent nature, which not only placed her children originally upon a level, but still, by the strength of this principle, in a great measure preserves it, in spite of all the care of man to introduce artificial distinctions.

To add no more-is not this fondness for novelty, which makes us out of conceit with all we already have, a convincing proof of a future state? Either man was made in vain, or this is not the only world he was made for: for there cannot be a greater in

stance of vanity than that to which man is liable, to be deluded from the cradle to the grave with fleeting shadows of happiness. His pleasures, and those not considerable neither, die in the possession, and fresh enjoyments do not rise fast enough to fill up half his life with satisfaction. When I see persons sick of themselves any longer than they are called away by something that is of force to chain down the present thought: when I see them hurry from country to town, and then from the town back again into the country, continually shifting postures, and placing ife in all the different lights they can think of: " Surely," say I to myself, life is vain, and the man beyond expression stupid or prejudiced, who from the vanity of life cannot gather that he is designed for immortality."

Spectator, No. 626.

THOMAS TICKELL.

1686-1740.

THOMAS TICKELL, the bosom friend of Addison, was born in Bridekirk, near Carlisle, in Cumberland, in 1686. At the usual age he entered Oxford University, where he devoted himself to his studies with great industry. He was early introduced to Addison, and gained his friendship, which was never for a moment violated. Addison, it is said, had the affection of a father for Tickell, who, in return, loved and venerated that great man with a warmth of zeal which no filial affection could exceed. In consequence of this connec tion he made several contributions to the Spectator and Guardian, though his papers cannot all now be identified. While negotiations were on foot that preceded the peace of Utrecht,' he published his poem entitled "The Prospect of Peace." Though it has not much merit as a poem, it presents some noble thoughts on the general subject of peace and the duty of nations to cultivate it among each other, which, if practised, would make the world much better and happier. In 1717, when Addison was made secretary of state, he advanced his friend Tickell to the post of under-secretary, a situation which he filled with equal advantage to himself and his patron.

The decease of Addison, 1719, was severely felt and most sincerely la mented by Tickell. To the collected works of his great patron, who had on his death-bed left him the charge of publishing them, he prefixed an "Elegy," in memory of their author, "to whose beauty and pathos," says Dr. Drake, "no language can do justice." It is this, indeed, on which his fame as a writer chiefly rests; though his verses on the "Cato" of Addison, and his ballad of "Colin and Lucy," have much merit. His promotion and prosperity ceased not with the death of Addison. In 1725 he was created secretary to the lords justices of Ireland, a situation of dignity and profit, and he held it till his death, which took place on the 23d of April, 1740.

ON THE DEATH OF ADDISON."

If, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stay'd,
And left her debt to Addison unpaid,

1 The treaty of Utrecht was signed in 1713.

This was addressed to the Earl of Wa wick, Addison's step-son.

Blame not ner silence, Warwick, but bemoan,
And judge, oh! judge my bosom by your own.
What mourner ever felt poetic fires!

Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires.
Grief unaffected suits but ill with art,
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.
Can I forget the dismal night that gave
My soul's best part for ever to the grave!
How silent did his old companions tread,
By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead,
Through breathing statues, then unheeded things,
Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings!
What awe did the slow, solemn knell inspire;
The pealing organ, and the pausing choir;
The duties by the lawn-robed prelate paid;
And the last words, that dust to dust convey'd!
While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend,
Accept these tears, thou dear, departed friend.
Oh, gone for ever! take this long adieu;
And sleep in peace, next thy loved Montague.
To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine,
A frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine;
Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan
And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone.
If e'er from me thy loved memorial part,
May shame afflict this alienated heart;
Of thee forgetful, if I form a song,

My lyre be broken, and untuned my tongue;
My grief be doubled from thy image free,
And mirth a torment, unchastised by thee.

Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown;
Along the walls where speaking marbles show
What worthies form the hallow'd mould below;
Proud names, who once the reins of empire held;
In arms who triumph'd, or in arts excell'd;
Chiefs, graced with scars, and prodigal of blood;
Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood;
Just men, by whom impartial laws were given;
And saints who taught, and led, the way to heaven;
Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest,
Since their foundation, came a nobler guest;
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd
A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.

In what new region to the just assign'd,

What new employments please th unbodied mina
A winged Virtue, through th' ethereal sky,
From world to world unwearied does he fly?
Or curious trace the long, laborious maze

Of heaven's decrees, where wondering ange s gaze!
Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell
How Michael battled, and the dragon fell;
Or, mix'd with milder cherubim, to glow
In hymns of love, not ill essay'd below?
Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind,
A task well-suited to thy gentle mind?

Oh! if sometimes thy spotless brm descend;
To me, thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend!
When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms,
When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms,
In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart,
And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart;
Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before,
Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
That awful form, which, so the heavens decree,
Must still be loved and still deplored by m2,
In nightly visions seldom fails to rise,

Or, roused by fancy, meets my waking eyes.
If business calls, or crowded courts invite,

Th' unblemish'd statesman seems to strike mySight;

If in the stage I seek to sooth my care,

I meet his soul which breathes in Cato1 there;

If pensive to the rural shades I rove,

His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove;
"Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong,
Clear'd some great truth, or raised some serious song
There patient show'd us the wise course to steer,

A candid censor, and a friend severe;

There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high
The price for knowledge,) taught us how to die.

RICHARD BENTLEY. 1662-1742

RICHARD BENTLEY, one of the most learned men, and perhaps me greatest classical scholar England has produced, was the son of a farmer nea: Wakefield, in Yorkshire, and was born in 1662. He was educated at Canibridge, and became chaplain to Stillingfleet, Bishop of Worcester. In 1692 he was appointed to the lectureship instituted by Boyle, for the defence of the Christian religion, and he delivered a series of very able discourses against atheism, which were highly popular. His next public appearance was in the famous controversy with the Hon. Charles Boyle, Earl of Orrery, relative to the genuineness of the Greek Epistles of Phalarus. Most of the wits and scholars of that period joined with Boyle against Bentley; but he triumphantly established the position that the epistles are spurious. Though professedly a controversial work, it embodies a mass of accurate information relative to historical facts, antiquities, chronology, and philology, such as, we may safely say, has rarely, if ever, been collected in the same space; and shows how thoroughly digested and familiar was the vast stock of reading which Bentley possessed. At the end of the "Dissertation on Phalarus," Bentley denies the genuineness of the "Fables" which bear Æsop's name.

It would be impossible, in this mere sketch of his life,3 to enumerate all his subsequent works. They were mostly of a classical character, and from the great learning and research which they displayed, established his reputation, not in England only, but on the continent, as the first scholar of his age. In

1 Addison's tragedy of "Cato."

2 See this controversy spoken of on page 342.

* Read-Dr. Monk's Life of Bentley, a most interesting as well as learned piece of birgraphy: also a life by Hartley Coleridge, in his "Lives of Distinguished Northerns.

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