PLAINNESS OF APOSTOLIC SPEECH.

A SECOND property of the ability of speech, conferred by Christ upon his apostles, was its unaffected plainness and simplicity: it was to be easy, obvious and familiar; with nothing in it strained, or far fetched: no affected scheme, or airy fancies, above the reach or relish of an ordinary apprehension; no, nothing of all this; but their grand subject was truth, and consequently above all these petit arts, and poor additions; as not being capable of any greater lustre or advantage, than to appear just as it is. For there is a certain majesty in plainness; as the proclamation of a prince never frisks it in tropes, or fine conceits, in numerous and well-turned periods, but commands in sober, natural expressions. A substantial beauty, as it comes out of the hands of nature, needs neither paint nor patch : things never made to adorn, but to cover something that would be hid. It is with expression, and the clothing of a man's conceptions, as with the clothing of a man's body. All dress and ornament supposes imperfection, as designed only to supply the body with something from without, which it wanted, but had not of its own. Gaudery is a pitiful and a mean thing, not extending farther than the surface of the body; nor is the highest gallantry considerable to any, but to those, who would hardly be considered without it: for in that case indeed there may be great need of an outside, when there is little or nothing within.

And thus also it is with the most necessary and important truths; to adorn and clothe them is to cover them, and that to obscure them. The eternal salvation and damnation of souls, are not things to be treated of with jests and witticisms. And he, who thinks to furnish himself out of plays and romances with language for the pulpit, shews himself much fitter to act a part in the revels, than for a cure of souls.

I speak the words of soberness, said St. Paul, Acts xxvi. 25. And I preach the Gospel not with the enticing words of man's wisdom, 1 Cor. ii. 4. This was the way of the apostles discoursing of things sacred. Nothing here of the fringes of the

North-star; nothing of Nature's becoming unnatural; nothing of the down of angels' wings, or the beautiful locks of cherubims: no starched similitudes, introduced with a thus have I seen a cloud rolling in its airy mansion, and the like. No, these were sublimities above the rise of the Apostolic Spirit. For the apostles, poor mortals, were content to take lower steps, and to tell the world in plain terms, that he who believed should be saved, and that he who believed not should be damned. And this was the dialect, which pierced the conscience, and made the hearers cry out, Men and brethren, what shall we do? It tickled not the ear, but sunk into the heart and when men came from such sermons, they never commended the preacher for his taking voice or gesture; for the fineness of such a simile, or the quaintness of such a sentence; but they spoke like men conquered with the overpowering force and evidence of the most concerning truths; much in the words of the two disciples going to Emmaus; Did not our hearts burn within us, while he opened to us the Scriptures?

In a word, the apostles' preaching was therefore mighty, and successful, because plain, natural, and familiar, and by no means above the capacity of their hearers: nothing being more preposterous, than for those, who were professedly aiming at men's hearts, to miss the mark, by shooting over their heads.

Sermon on Ascension Day.

P. 113. l. 18. Cried out of them. There is a slight difference of sense between this and the more usual "cried out on them."

P. 115,

1. 1. The whole of this passage indirectly, and the sentence from "Nothing" to "the like" directly, is levelled at Jeremy Taylor. I do not know whether this attack on a brother preacher is apostolic, but it is very amusing. P. 115, 1. 7. The original form petit is now confined to legal use, and even there is sometimes changed to petty. But it was common in South's time.

P. 115, ll. 19, 20. Gaudery and gallantry, both in the sense of "finery," are both old-fashioned and the former is rare; but both are good.

IT

APHRA BEHN.

Aphra Behn was born at Canterbury about 1640. She visited the West Indies, married a Dutch merchant, and held some dubious diplomatic appointments. Her plays have in relation to those of her contemporaries a rather unfair reputation for license, but are of small literary worth. Her prose has much merit, and she ranks early and high in the list of English novelists. She died in 1689.

LOVE LETTERS.

T is an art too ingenious to have been found out by man, and too necessary to lovers, not to have been invented by the God of Love himself. But, Damon, I do not pretend to exact from you those letters of gallantry, which, I have told you, are filled with nothing but fine thoughts, and writ with all the arts of wit and subtilty: I would have yours still all tender unaffected love, words unchosen, thoughts unstudied, and love unfeigned. I had rather find more softness than wit in your passion; more of nature than of art; more of the lover than the poet.

Nor would I have you write any of those little short letters, that are read over in a minute; in love, long letters bring a long pleasure; Do not trouble yourself to make them fine, or write a great deal of wit and sense in a few lines; that is the notion of a witty billet, in any affair but that of love. And have a care rather to avoid these graces to a mistress; and assure yourself, dear Damon, that what pleases the soul pleases the eye, and the largeness or bulk of your letter shall never offend me; and that I only am displeased when I find them small. A letter is

ever the best and most powerful agent to a mistress, it almost always persuades, 'tis always renewing little impressions, that possibly otherways absence would deface. Make use then, Damon, of your time while it is given you, and thank me that I permit you to write to me: Perhaps I shall not always continue in the humour of suffering you to do so; and it may so happen, by some turn of chance and fortune, that you may be deprived, at the same time, both of my presence, and of the means of sending to me. I will believe that such an accident would be a great misfortune to you, for I have often heard you say that, "To make the most happy lover suffer martyrdom, one need only forbid him seeing, speaking and writing to the object he loves." Take all the advantages then you can, you cannot give me too often marks too powerful of your passion: Write therefore during this hour, every day. I give you leave to believe, that while you do so, you are serving me the most obligingly and agreeably you can, while absent; and that you are giving me a remedy against all grief, uneasiness, melancholy, and despair; nay, if you exceed your hour, you need not be ashamed. The time you employ in this kind devoir, is the time that I shall be grateful for, and no doubt will recompense it. You ought not however to neglect heaven for me; I will give you time for your devotion, for my Watch tells you 'tis time to go to the temple. The Lover's Watch.

P. 118, 1. 23. The Lover's Watch is a time-table in verse and prose of imaginary employments for the lover and his mistress during the twenty-four hours. In justice to "the divine Astrea," it should be said that the treatment is almost entirely unobjectionable.

W

GILBERT BURNET.

Gilbert Burnet was born in Edinburgh in 1643. Educated chiefly at Aberdeen and Amsterdam, he took orders, and in 1674 came to London. He belonged to the Whig party, lived abroad during the reign of James II., and was appointed to the see of Salisbury by William of Orange. He died in 1715. Burnet had talent and merit, but was hot-headed, pragmatical, and injudicious.

ARCHBISHOP CRANMER.

WHEN he came to the stake, he first prayed, and then undressed himself; and, being tied to it, as the fire was kindling, he stretched forth his right hand towards the flame; never moving it, save that once he wiped his face with it, till it was burnt away, which was consumed before the fire reached his body. He expressed no disorder for the pain he was in; sometimes saying, "That unworthy hand!" and oft crying out, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!" He was soon after quite burnt.

But it was no small matter of astonishment to find his heart entire, and not consumed among the ashes: which, though the reformed would not carry so far as to make a miracle of it, and a clear proof that his heart had continued true, though his hand had erred; yet they objected it to the papists, that it was certainly such a thing, that, if it had fallen out in any of their church, they had made it a miracle.

Thus did Thomas Cranmer end his days, in the sixty-seventh year of his age. He was a man raised of God for great services, and well fitted for them. He was naturally of a mild and gentle