non THE READY AND NIMBLE WIT. Such as are endowed therewith have a certain extemporary acuteness of conceit, accompanied with a quick delivery of their thoughts, so as they can at pleasure entertain their auditors with facetious passages and fluent discourses even upon slight occasions; but being generally impatient of second thoughts and deliberations, they seem fitter for pleasant colloquies and drollery than for counsel and design; like fly-boats, good only in fair weather and shallow waters, and then, too, more for pleasure than traffic. If they be, as for the most part they are, narrow in the hold and destitute of ballast sufficient to counterpoise their large sails, they reel with every blast of argument, and are often driven upon the sands of a plus;" but where favoured with the breath of common applause, they sail smoothly and proudly, and, like the city pageants, discharge whole volleys of squibs and crackers, and skirmish most furiously. But take them from their familiar and private conversation into grave and severe assemblies, whence all extemporary flashes of wit, all fantastic allusions, all personal reflections, are excluded, and there engage them in an encounter with solid wisdom, not in light skirmishes, but a pitched field of long and serious debate concerning any important question, and then you shall soon discover their weakness, and contemn that barrenness of understanding which is incapable of struggling with the difficulties of apodictical knowledge, and the deduction of truth from a long series of reasons. Again, if those very concise sayings and lucky repartees, wherein they are so happy, and which at first hearing were entertained with so much of pleasure and admiration, be written down, and brought to a strict examination of their pertinency, coherence, and verity, how shallow, how frothy, how forced will they be found! how much will they lose of that ap plause which their tickling of the ear and present flight through the imagination had gained! In the greatest part, therefore, of such men, you ought to expect no deep or continued river of wit, but only a few flashes, and those, too, not altogether free from mud and putrefaction. THE SLOW BUT SURE WIT. Some heads there are of a certain close and reserved constitution, which makes them at first sight to promise as little of the vir tue wherewith they are endowed, as the forwhich they are subject. Somewhat slow mer appear to be above the imperfections to they are, indeed, of both conception and expression; yet no whit the less provided with solid prudence. When they are engaged to speak their tongue doth not readily interpret the dictates of their mind, so that their language comes, as it were, dropping from their lips, even where they are encour aged by familiar entreaties, or provoked by the smartness of jests, which sudden and nimble wits have newly darted at them. Costive they are also in invention; so that when they would deliver somewhat solid and remarkable, they are long in seeking what is fit, and as long in determining in what manner and words to utter it. But after a little consideration, they penetrate deeply into the substance of things and marrow of business, and conceive proper and emphatic words, by which to express their sentiments. Barren they are not, but a little heavy and retentive. Their gifts lie deep and concealed; but being furnished with notions, not airy and umbratil ones, borrowed from the pedantism of the schools. but true and useful,-and if they have been manured with good learning, and the habit of exercising their pen, oftentimes they produce many excellent conceptions, worthy to be transmitted to posterity. Having, however, an aspect very like to narrow and dull capacities, at first sight most men take them to be really such, and strangers look upon them with the eyes of neglect and contempt. Hence it comes, that excellent parts remaining unknown, often want the favour and patronage of great persons, whereby they might be redeemed from obscurity, and raised to employments answerable to their faculties, and crowned with honours proportionate to their merits. The best course. therefore, for these to overcome that eclipse which prejudice usually brings upon them, is to contend against their own modesty, and either by frequent converse with noble and discerning spirits to enlarge the windows of their minds, and dispel those clouds of reservedness that darken the lustre of JOHN EVELYN. their faculties; or, by writing on some new and useful subject, to lay open their talent, so that the world may be convinced of their intrinsic value. Two Philosophical Discourses. JOHN EVELYN, born 1620, died 1706, one of the best and most accomplished men in the vicious court of Charles II., kept a chronicle of public events occurring around him, which will be found in Memoirs illustrative of the Life and Writings of John Evelyn. Esq., comprising his Diary from 1641 to 1705-6, and a selection of his familiar Letters, Lond., 1818, 2 vols. 4to, and later editions. By Evelyn's direction the following inscription was placed upon his tombstone: "That living in an age of extraordinary events and revolutions, he had learned from thence this truth, which he desired might be thus communicated to posterity: That all is vanity which is not honest, and that there is no solid wisdom but real piety." "His life," remarks Horace Walpole, "which was extended to eighty-six years, was a course of enquiry, study, curiosity, instruction, and benevolence. The works of the Creator, and the mimic labours of the creature, were all objects of his pursuit. He unfolded the perfection of the one, and assisted the imperfection of the other. He adored from examination; was a courtier that flattered only by informing his prince, and by pointing out what was worthy for him to countenance; and was really the neighbour of the gospel, for there was no man that might not have been the better for him."-Catalogue of Engravers. THE GREAT FIRE IN LONDON. 1666. 2d Sept. This fatal night about ten began that deplorable fire near Fish Streete in London. 3d. The fire continuing, after dinner I took coach with my wife and sonn and went to the Bank side in Southwark, where we beheld that dismal spectacle, the whole citty in dreadful flames near ye water side; all the houses from the Bridge, all Thames, and upwards towards Cheapeside, downe to the Three Cranes, were now consum'd. The fire having continu'd all this night (if I may call that night which was light as day for 10 miles round about, after a dreadful manner), when conspiring with a fierce eastern wind in a very drie season, I went on foote to the same place, and saw the whole south part of y burning from Cheapside to y Thames, and all along Cornehill (for it kindl'd back against ye wind as well as forward), Tower Streete, Fenchurch Streete, Gracious Streete, and so along to Bainard's Castle, and was now taking hold of St. 81 Paule's church, to which the scaffolds contributed exceedingly. The conflagration was so universal, and the people so astonish'd, that from the beginning, I know not by what despondency or fate, they hardly stirr'd to quench it, so that there was nothing heard or seene but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted creatures, without at all attempting to save even their goods, such a strange consternation there was upon them, so as it burned both in breadth and length, the churches, publiq halls, exchange, hospitals, monuments, and ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner from house to house and streete to streete, at greate distances one from y° other; for ye heate with a long set of faire and warme weather had even ignited the air, and prepar'd the materials to conceive the fire, which devour'd, after an incredible manner, houses, furniture, and everything. Here we saw the Thames cover'd with goods floating, all the barges and boates laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on y other, ye carts, &c., carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were strew'd with moveable of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away. Oh the miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as haply the world had not seene the like since the foundation of it, nor be outdone till the universal conflagration. All the skie was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, the light seene above 40 miles round about for many nights. God grant my eyes may never behold the like, now seeing above 10,000 houses all in one flame: the noise, and cracking, and thunder of the impetuous flames, y shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like an hideous storme, and the aire all about so hot and inflam'd, that at last one was not able to approach it, so that they were forc'd to stand still and let ye flames burn on, wch they did for neere two miles in length and one in bredth. The clouds of smoke were dismall, and reach'd upon computation neer 50 miles in length. Thus I left it this afternoone burning, a resemblance of Sodom or the last day. London was, but is no more! 4th. The burning still rages, and it was now gotten as far as the Inner Temple, all Fleete Streete, the Old Bailey, Ludgate Hill, Warwick Lane, Newgate, Paul's Chain, Watling Streete, now flaming, and most of it reduc'd to ashes; the stones of Paules flew like granados, y mealting lead running downe the streetes in a streame, and the very pavements glowing with fiery rednesse, so as no horse nor man was able to tread on them, and the demolition had stopp'd all the pas sages, so that no help could be applied. The eastern wind still more impetuously drove the flames forward. Nothing but ye Almighty power of God was able to stop them, for vaine was ye help of man. houses, were now reduc'd to extreamest misery and poverty. In this calamitous condition I return'd with a sad heart to my house, blessing and adoring the mercy of God to me and mine, who in the midst of all this ruine was like Lot, in my little Zoar, safe and sound. Sept. 5th. It crossed towards Whitehall: Oh the confusion there was then at that court! It pleased his May to command me 7th. I went this morning on foote f among ye rest to looke after the quenching Whitehall as far as London Bridge, thro' of Fetter Lane end, to preserve if possible, the late Fleete Street, Ludgate Hill, by St. that part of Holborn, whilst the rest of ye Paules, Cheapeside, Exchange, Bishopgate, gentlemen tooke their several posts (for now Aldersgate, and out to Moorefields, thence they began to bestir themselves, and not till thro' Cornehill, &c., with extraordinary diffinow, who hitherto had stood as men intoxi-culty, clambering over heaps of yet smoking cated, with their hands acrosse), and began rubbish, and frequently mistaking where I to consider that nothing was likely to put a was. The ground under my feete was so stop but the blowing up of so many houses hot that it even burnt the soles of my shoes. as might make a wider gap than any had In the meantime his May got to the Tower yet ben made by the ordinary method of by water, to demolish ye houses about the pulling them down with engines; this some graff, which being built intirely about it, stout seamen propos'd early enough to have had they taken fire and attack'd the White sav'd near ye whole citty, but this some tena- Tower where the magazine of powder lay, cious and avaritious men, aldermen, &c., would undoubtedly not only have beaten would not permit, because their houses must downe and destroy'd all ye bridge, but have ben of the first. It was therefore now sunke and torne the vessells in ye river, and commanded to be practis'd, and my concern render'd y demolition beyond all expres being particularly for the hospital of St. sion for several miles about the countrey. Bartholomew, neere Smithfield, where I had many wounded and sick men, made me the more diligent to promote it, nor was my care for the Savoy lesse. It now pleas'd God, by abating the wind, and by the industrie of ye people, infusing a new spirit into them, that the fury of it began sensibly to abate about noone, so as it came no farther than ye Temple westward, nor than ye entrance of Smithfield north. But continu'd all this day and night so impetuous towards Cripplegate and the Tower as made us all despaire; it also broke out againe in the Temple, but the courage of the multitude persisting, and many houses being blown up, such gaps and desolations were soone made, as with the former three days' consumption, the back fire did not so vehemently urge upon the rest as formerly. There was yet no standing neere the burning and glowing ruines by neere a furlong's space. The coale and wood wharfes and magazines of oyle, rosin, &c., did infinite mischeife, so as the invective which a little before I had dedicated to his May, and publish'd, giving warning what might probably be the issue of suffering those shops to be in the citty, was look'd on as a prophecy. The poore inhabitants were dispers'd about St. George's Fields, and Moorefields, as far as Highgate, and severall miles in circle, some under tents, some under miserable hutts and hovells, many without a rag or any necessary utensills, bed or board, who, from delicatenesse, riches, and easy accommodations in stately and well furnish'd At my return I was infinitely concern'd to find that goodly church St. Paules now a sad ruine, and that beautiful portico (for structure comparable to any in Europe, as not long before repair'd by the king) now rent in pieces, flakes of vast stone split asunder, and nothing remaining intire but the inscription in the architrave, showing by whom it was built, which had not one letter of it defac'd. It was astonishing to see what immense stones the heat had in a manner calcin'd, so that all y° ornaments, columns, freezes, and projectures of massic Portland stone flew off, even to y very roofe, where a sheet of lead covering a great space was totally mealted; the ruines of the vaulted roofe falling broke into St. Faith's, which being fillel with the maga zines of bookes belonging to ye stationers, and carried thither for safety, they were all consum'd, burning for a week following. It is also observable, that the lead over ye altar at ye east end was untouch'd, and among the divers monuments, the body of one bishop remain'd intire. Thus lay in ashes that most venerable church, one of the most antient pieces of early piety in y Christian world, besides neere 100 more. The lead, yron worke, bells, plate, &c.. mealted; the exquisitely wrought Mercers Chapell, the sumptuous Exchange, y august fabriq of Christ Church, all ye rest of the Companies Halls, sumptuous buildings, arches, all in dust; the fountaines dried up and ruin'd, whilst the very waters remain'd boiling; the vorago's of subterranean ALGERNON SIDNEY. cellars, wells, and dungeons, formerly warehouses, still burning in stench and dark clouds of smoke, so that in 5 or 6 miles, in traversing about, I did not see one load of timber unconsum'd, nor many stones but what were calcin'd white as snow. The people who now walk'd about ye ruines appear'd like men in a dismal desart, or rather in some greate citty laid waste by a cruel enemy. Evelyn's Diary. ALGERNON SIDNEY, son of Robert, Earl of Leicester, born about 1621, illegally convicted and executed for alleged complicity in the Rye House Plot, 1683, was the author of Discourses concerning Government: Published from the author's original MS., Lond., 1698, fol. "Sidney's Discourses on Government, not published till 1698, are a diffuse reply to Filmer. They contain indeed many chapters full of historical learning and judicious reflection; yet the constant anxiety to refute that which needs no 83 the same consent gives the form to them all, how much soever they differ from each other. Some small numbers of men, living within the precincts of one city, have, as it were, cast into a common stock the right which they had of governing themselves and children, and, by common consent joining in one body, exercised such power over every single person as seemed beneficial to the whole; and this men call perfect democracy. Others choose rather to be governed by a. select number of such as most excelled in wisdom and virtue; and this, according to the signification of the word, was called aristocracy; or when one man excelled all hands, under the name of monarchy. But others, the government was put into his the wisest, best, and far the greatest part of mankind, rejecting these simple species, did form governments mixed or composed of the three, as shall be proved hereafter, which commonly received their respective denomination from the part that prevailed, and did deserve praise or blame as they were well or ill proportioned. It were a folly hereupon to say, that the refutation renders them a little tedious. Sidney liberty for which we contend is of no use to does not condemn a limited monarchy like the us, since we cannot endure the solitude, barEnglish, but his partiality is for a form of republic barity, weakness, want, misery, and dangers which would be deemed too aristocratical for our that accompany it whilst we live alone, nor popular theories."-HALLAM: Lit. Hist. of Europe, can enter into a society without resigning 4th ed., 1854, iii. 440. "Not a syllable can we find that shows the illus-it; for the choice of that society, and the trious author to have regarded the manner in which the people were represented as of any importance." -LORD BROUGHAM: Polit. Philos., Part 3, 2d ed., 1819, 88. LIBERTY AND GOVERNMENT. Such as enter into society must, in some degree, diminish their liberty. Reason leads them to this. No one man or family is able to provide that which is requisite for their convenience or security, whilst every one has an equal right to everything, and none acknowledges a superior to determine the controversies that upon such occasions must continually arise, and will probably be so many and so great, that mankind cannot bear them. Therefore, though I do not believe that Bellarmine said a commonwealth could not exercise its power; for he could not be ignorant that Rome and Athens did exercise theirs, and that all the regular kingdoms of the world are commonwealths; yet there is nothing of absurdity in saying, that man cannot continue in the perpetual and entire fruition of the liberty that God hath given him. The liberty of one is thwarted by that of another; and whilst they are all equal, none will yield to any, otherwise than by a general consent. This is the ground of all just governments; for violence or fraud can create no right; and liberty of framing it according to our own wills, for our own good, is all we seek. This remains to us whilst we form governments that we ourselves are judges how far it is good for us to recede from our natural liberty; which is of so great importance, that from thence only we can know whether we are freemen or slaves; and the difference between the best government and the worst doth wholly depend on a right or wrong exercise of that power. If men are naturally free, such as have wisdom and understanding will always frame good governments: but if they are born under the necessity of a perpetual slavery, no wisdom can be of use to them; but all must forever depend upon the will of their lords, how cruel, mad, proud, or wicked soever they be. The Grecians, amongst others who followed the light of reason, knew no other original title to the government of a nation than that wisdom, valour, and justice which was beneficial to the people. These qualities gave beginning to those governments which we call Heroum Regna; and the veneration paid to such as enjoyed them proceeded from a grateful source of the good received from them they were thought to be descended from the gods, who in fortune and beneficence surpassed other men: the same attended their descendants, till they came to abuse their power, and by their vices showed A SERIOUS EXPOSTULATION WITH UNBE themselves like to, or worse than others, who could best perform their duty. Upon the same grounds we may conclude that no privilege is peculiarly annexed to any form of government; but that all magistrates are equally the ministers of God, who perform the work for which they are instituted; and that the people which institutes them may proportion, regulate, and terminate their power as to time, measure, and number of persons, as seems most convenient to themselves, which can be no other than their own good. For it cannot be imagined that a multitude of people should send for Numa, or any other person to whom they owed nothing, to reign over them, that he might live in glory and pleasure; or for any other reason than that it might be good for them and their posterity. This shows the work of all magistrates to be always and everywhere the same, even the doing of justice, and procuring the welfare of those that create them. This we learn from common sense: Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, and the best human authors, lay it as an immovable foundation, upon which they build their arguments relating to matters of that nature. Discourses on Government. BLAISE PASCAL, famous as a mathematician and natural philosopher, and also eminent for his piety, was born at Clermont-Ferrand, Auvergne, France, 1623, and died 1662. He is best known by his Provincial Letters, and his Thoughts upon Religion, and upon some other subjects. "His powers of mind were such as have rarely been bestowed on any of the children of men; and the vehemence of the zeal which animated him was but too well proved by the cruel penances and vigils under which his macerated frame sank into an early grave. His spirit was the spirit of Saint Bernard: but the delicacy of his wit, the purity. the energy, the simplicity of his rhetoric [in the Provincial Letters], had never been equalled, except by the great masters of Attic eloquence. All Europe read and admired, laughed and wept. The Jesuits attempted to reply, but their feeble answers were received by the public with shouts of mockery."—LORD MACAULAY: Hist. of Eng., i., ch. vi. "The Thoughts of Pascal are to be ranked, as a monument of his genius, above the Provincial Letters,' though some have asserted the contrary. They burn with an intense light; condensed in expression, sublime, energetic, rapid, they hurry away the reader, till he is scarcely able or willing to distinguish the sophisms from the truth they contain."-HALLAM: Introd. to Lit. of Europe. The following thoughts are very impressive: LIEVERS. The immortality of the soul is a thing which so deeply concerns, so infinitely imports us, that we must have utterly lost our feeling to be altogether cold and remiss in our inquiries about it. And all our actions or designs ought to bend so very different a way, according as we are encouraged or forbidden to embrace the hope of eternal rewards, that it is impossible for us to proceed with judgment and discretion, otherwise than as we keep this point always in view, which ought to be our ruling object and final aim. Thus it is our highest interest, no less than our principal duty, to get light into a subject on which our whole conduct depends. And therefore, in the number of wavering and unsatisfied men, I make the greatest difference imaginable between those who labour with all their force to obtain instruction, and those who live without giving themselves any trouble, or as much as any thought in this affair. I cannot but be touched with a hearty compassion for those who sincerely groan under this dissatisfaction; who look upon it as the greatest of misfortunes, and who spare no pains to deliver themselves from it, by making these researches their chief employment and most serious study. But as for those who pass their life without reflecting on its issue, and who, for this reason alone, because they find not in themselves a convincing testimony, refuse to seek it elsewhere, and to examine to the bottom, whether the opinion proposed be such as we are wont to entertain by popular simplicity and credulity, or as such, though obscure in itself, yet is built on solid and immovable foundations, I consider them after quite another manner. The carelessness which they betray in an affair where their their person, interest, their whole eternity is embarked, rather provokes my resentment than engages my pity. Nay, it strikes me with amazement and astonishment: it is a monster to my apprehension. I speak not this as transported with the pious zeal of a spiritual and rapturous devotion: on the contrary, I affirm that the love of ourselves, the interest of mankind, and the most simple and artless reason, do naturally inspire us with these sentiments; and that to see thus far is not to exceed the sphere of unrefined, uneducated men. It requires no great elevation of soul to observe that nothing in this world is productive of true contentment; that our pleasures are vain and fugitive, our troubles innumerable and perpetual: and that, after all, death, which threatens us every moment, |