any perish in our service, the bloody characters of his love and goodness are the more stupendous. All Nature is sacrificed to our welfare, and all that we have by pure Nature to do (till Sin mars all) is to admire and enjoy that goodness, to the delight of which we sacrifice ourselves in our own complacency. And in real truth, if it be a great wonder that any goodness should be thus infinite, the goodness of all other things without that goodness, is a far greater. If it be wonderful, admire and adore it.

The sun is a glorious creature, and its beams extend to the utmost stars, by shining on them it clothes them with light, and by its rays exciteth all their influences. It enlightens the eyes of all the creatures: it shineth on forty Kingdoms at the same time, on seas and continents in a general manner : yet so particularly regardeth all, that every mote in the air, every grain of dust, every sand, every spire of grass, is wholly illuminated thereby, as if it did entirely shine upon that alone. Nor does it only illuminate all these objects in an idle manner, its beams are operative, enter in, fill the pores of things with spirits, and impregnate them with powers, cause all their emanations, odours, virtues and operations; springs, rivers, minerals and vegetables are all perfected by the sun, all the motion, life and sense of birds, beasts and fishes dependeth on the same. Yet the sun is but a little spark, among all the creatures that are made for the soul; the soul being the most high and noble of all, is capable of far higher perfections, far more full of life and vigour in its uses. The sphere of its activity is illimited, its energy is endless upon all its objects. It can exceed the heavens in its operations, and run out into infinite spaces. Such is the extent of knowledge, that it seemeth to be the light of all eternity. All objects are equally near to the splendour of its beams: As innumerable millions may be conceived in its light, with a ready capacity for millions more; so can it penetrate all abysses, reach to the centre of all nature, converse with all beings, visible and invisible, corporeal and

spiritual, temporal and eternal, created and increated, finite and infinite, substantial and accidental, actual and possible, imaginary and real, all the mysteries of bliss and misery, all the secrets of heaven and hell are objects of the soul's capacity here, and shall be actually seen and known hereafter.

Perfect life is the full exertion of perfect power. It implies two things, perfection of vigour, and perfection of intelligence, an activity of life, reaching through all immensity, to all objects whatsoever; and a freedom from all dulness in apprehending: an exquisite tenderness of perception in feeling the least object, and a sphere of activity that runs parallel with the omnipresence of the Godhead. For if any soul lives so imperfectly, as to see and know but some objects, or to love them remissly, and less than they deserve, its life is imperfect, because either it is remiss, or, if never so fervent, confined.

It is impossible to conceive, how great a change a slight action may produce. It is but pressing the wick a little with one's finger, and a Lamp is extinguished, and darkness immediately made to overspread the room. The glory and splendour of the whole world would vanish upon the extinction of the sun and one instant's cessation from the emission of its beams, would be its extinction. A soul is a more glorious thing than the sun: the sphere of its activity is far greater, and its light more precious. All the world may be filled with the splendour of its beams; Eternity itself was prepared for it. Were there but one soul, to see and enjoy all the creatures, upon the suspension of its light all the creation would be rendered vain. Light itself is but darkness without the understanding.

F

H. VAUGHAN

ALL IS VANITY

WHAT is become now of these great merchants of the

earth, and where is the fruit of all their labours under

Their

the sun? Why, truly they are taken out of the way as all others and they are cut off as the tops of the ears of corn. dwelling is in the dust, and as for their place here, it lies waste, and is not known. Nettles and brambles come up in it, and the owl and the raven dwell in it. But if you will visit them at their long homes, and knock at those desolate doors, you shall find some remains of them, a heap of loathsomeness and corruption. O miserable and sad mutations. Where is now their pompous and shining train? Where are their triumphs, fire works and feasts, with all the ridiculous tumults of a popular, prodigious pride? Where is their purple and fine linen, their chains of massy gold, and sparkling ornaments of pearls? Where are their cooks and carvers, their fowlers and fishers? Where are their curious utensils, their cups of agate, crystal and china-earth? Where are their sumptuous chambers, where they inclosed themselves in cedar, ivory and ebony? Where is their music, their soft and delicate dressings, pleasing motions, and excellency of looks? Where are their rich perfumes, costly conserves, with their precious and various store of foreign and domestic wines? Where are their sons and their daughters fair as the flowers, straight as the palm trees, and polished as the corners of the temple? O pitiful and astonishing transformations. All is gone, all is dust, deformity and desolation. Their bones are scattered in the pit, and instead of well set hair, there is baldness, and loathsomeness instead of beauty. This is the state of their bodies, and (O blessed Jesus) who knows the state of their souls ?

THA

WILLIAM PENN

UNLAWFUL SELF

`HAT unlawful self in religion that ought to be mortified by the cross of Christ, is man's invention and performance of worship to God as divine, which is not so, either in its institution or performance. In this great error those people have the van of all that attribute to themselves the name of Christians, that are most exterior, pompous, and superstitious in their worship; for they do not only miss exceedingly by a spiritual unpreparedness, in the way of their performing worship to God Almighty, who is an Eternal Spirit; but the worship itself is composed of what is utterly inconsistent with the very form and practice of Christ's doctrine, and the apostolical example. For whereas that was plain and spiritual, this is gaudy and worldly; Christ's most inward and mental, theirs most outward and corporeal: that suited to the nature of God, who is a Spirit, this accommodated to the most carnal part. So that, instead of excluding flesh and blood, behold a worship calculated to gratify them; as if the business were not to present God with a worship to please Him, but to make one to please themselves. A worship dressed with such stately buildings and imagery, rich furniture and garments, rare voices and music, costly lamps, wax candles, and perfumes; and all acted with that most pleasing variety to the external senses that art can invent or cost procure; as if the world were to turn Jew or Egyptian again; or that God was an old man indeed, and Christ a little boy, to be treated with a kind of religious mask, for so they picture Him in their temples, and too many in their minds. And the truth is, such a worship may very well suit such an idea of God: for when men can think Him such a one as themselves, it is not to be wondered if they address Him in a way that would be the most pleasing from others to themselves.

DRAMATISTS AND NOVELISTS

IN

ROBERT GREENE

THE IDEA OF A MORTIFIED MAN

N a valley between two high mountains topped with trees of marvellous verdure, whereby ran a fountain pleasant as well for the murmur of the streams, as for the sweetness of waters, there was situated a little lodge artificially built, and at the door, a man of very great gravity and no less age, sat leaning upon his staff, so to take the benefit of the air and the sun his hairs were as white as the threads of silk in Arabia, or as the palm trees on the Mount Libanus; many years had made him furrows in his face, where experience sat and seemed to tell forth oracles: devotion appeared in his habit, and his outward cloth discovered his inward heart, that the old hermit seemed in the world a resolute despiser of the world: standing a while, and wondering at this old man, at last, all reverence done that his years did require, or my youth was bound unto, after salutations, I questioned him of the order of his life, who answered me with such courtesy and humility as I perceived in his words the perfect Idea of a mortified man: after sundry questions broken with pro and contra, at last he took me by the hand and carried me into his cell, where I found not those utensilia which Tully says are necessary to be in every cottage, but I found books and that of Theology, a drinking cup, and that was full of water: a dead man's skull, an hour-glass, and a Bible, thus only was his house furnished.

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