plot whereof being contrived by infinite wisdom and goodness, we cannot but surmise, that the most sad representations are but a shew, but the delight real to such as are not wicked and impious; and that what the ignorant call evil in this universe, is but as a shadowy stroke in a fair picture, or the mournful notes in music, by which the beauty of the one is more lively and express, and the melody of the other more pleasing and melting.

An Antidote against Atheism.

P. 74, 1. 19. Is instead of "he is"; 1. 28, indulge to instead of “indulge" : Il 31, 32, is, are. All these are instances of constructions foreign to the genius of English, and defensible only on classical rules.

THIS

RICHARD BAXTER.

Richard Baxter was born at Rowton in 1615. He was irregularly educated, but took orders, and received the living of Kidderminster. He was chaplain in the Parliament army, but of moderate views, and was prominent at the Savoy Conference. The Act of Uniformity deprived him, and in 1685 he was fined and imprisoned. He died in 1691. His Saint's Rest has been immensely popular.

THE PEOPLE OF SOLDANIA.

HIS is the case of the miserable world; but they have not hearts to pity themselves, nor can we make them willing to be delivered, because we cannot make them know their case. If a man fall into a pit, we need not spend all the day to persuade him that he is there, and to be willing to be helped out of it. But with these fleshly, miserable souls, the time that should be spent by themselves and us for their recovery, must be spent to make them believe that they are lost; and when all is done we leave them lost, and have lost our labour, because we cannot prevail with them to believe it. Drown they will, and perish everlastingly, because the time that should be spent in saving them, must be spent in making them know that they are sinking, and after all they will not believe it; and therefore will not lay hold on the hand that is stretched forth to pull them out. The narrative of the savage people of Soldania doth notably represent their state. Those people lived naked, and fed upon the carrionlike carcases of beasts, and hang the stinking guts about their necks for ornaments, and wear hats made of the dung, and carve their skins, and will not change these loathsome customs.

Some of them being drawn into our ships, were carried away for England. When they came to London and saw our stately buildings, and clothing, and provisions, they were observed to sigh much, which was thought to have been in compassion of their miserable country, which so much differed from ours. When they had stayed long among us, and got so much acquaintance with our civility and order, and all that belongs to the life of man, as that they were thought fit to communicate it to their countrymen, the next voyage they were brought back, and set on shore in their own country, to draw some of the rest to come into the ships, and see and enjoy what they had done, who had purposely been used as might most content them. But as soon as they were landed, they leaped for joy, and cried, “Soldania,” and cast away their clothes, and came again in the sight of our ships, with dung on their heads and guts hanging about their necks, triumphing in their sordid nakedness. Just so do worldly, sensual men, in the matters of salvation. If against their wills they are carried into cleaner ways and company, and the beauty of holiness, and the joys of heaven are opened to them, they are weary of it all the while; and when we expect they should delight themselves in the felicity that is opened to them, and draw their old acquaintance to it, and be utterly ashamed of their former base and sinful state, they are gone when the next temptation comes, and return with the dog unto their vomit, and with the washed swine to wallow in the mire, and glory in their filth and shame, and only mind their earthly things.

A Saint or a Brute.

P. 76, l. 15. Soldania is apparently Saldanha Bay, and the peculiar necklaces described are eminently Hottentot.

ABRAHAM COWLEY.

Abraham Cowley was born in London in 1618, and died at Chertsey in 1667. His prose is small in quantity, but wonderfully good and advanced in form. The two following extracts show both its sides, the second that in which it approximates to Milton, and the first that in which it anticipates Dryden and Temple.

I

THE GARDEN.

NEVER had any other desire so strong and so like to covetousness, as that one which I have had always, that I might be master at last of a small house and large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life only to the culture of them, and study of nature;

And there, with no design beyond my wall, whole and intire to lie,
In no unactive ease, and no unglorious poverty.

Or, as Virgil has said, shorter and better for me, that I might there

"Studiis florere ignobilis otî:"

(though I could wish that he had rather said, "nobilis otî," when he spoke of his own). But several accidents of my illfortune have disappointed me hitherto, and do still, of that felicity; for though I have made the first and hardest step to it, by abandoning all ambitions and hopes in this world, and by retiring from the noise of all business, and almost company, yet I stick still in the inn of a hired house and garden, among weeds

and rubbish; and without that pleasantest work of human industry, the improvement of something which we call (not very properly, but yet we call) our own. I am gone out from Sodom, but I am not yet arrived at my little Zoar. "O let me escape thither (is it not a little one?) and my soul shall live." I do not look back yet; but I have been forced to stop, and make too many halts. You may wonder, Sir (for this seems a little too extravagant and pindarical for prose), what I mean by all this preface it is to let you know, that though I have missed, like a chemist, my great end, yet I account my affections and endeavours well rewarded by something that I have met with by the bye; which is, that they have procured to me some part in your kindness and esteem; and thereby the honour of having my name so advantageously recommended to posterity, by the epistle you are pleased to prefix to the most useful book that has been written in that kind, and which is to last as long as months and years.

Among many other arts and excellencies which you enjoy, I am glad to find this favourite of mine the most predominant; that you choose this for your wife, though you have hundreds of other arts for your concubines; though you know them, and beget sons upon them all (to which you are rich enough to allow great legacies), yet the issue of this seems to be designed by you to the main of the estate; you have taken most pleasure in it, and bestowed most charges upon its education: and I doubt not to see that book, which you are pleased to promise to the world, and of which you have given us a large earnest in your calendar, as accomplished, as anything can be expected from an extraordinary wit, and no ordinary expenses, and a long experience. I know nobody that possesses more private happiness than you do in your garden; and yet no man, who makes his happiness more public, by a free communication of the art and knowledge of it to others. All that I myself am able yet to do, is only to recommend to mankind the search of that felicity, which you instruct them how to find and to enjoy.

Essay on The Garden to J. Evelyn, Esq.