CHAP. I. A Child ought to begin his adoration towards God by Speech; God is the Principle of all things, and his Being is incomprehensible.

AS the Voice is the first sign of Life, which the Body coming into the World giveth, and the Light the first Object that is presented to it, so is Speech the first indication of the Life of the Soul, and God who is the Father of Light, the first Object [Page 2]that should be presented to it; and as the Eye re­ceives the Light, without knowing the nature of it, the Soul should likewise be disposed to the Worship of God, and by love to unite it self to him, without searching or curious diving into his Essence.

And forasmuch, my dearest Children, that all the functions of your Soul are not as yet in your power, and that when you come first into this World, it is not the Mistriss of your heart to make an obligation thereof to God, your speech must supply that defect, and be the first Sacrifice that is offered up unto him: trouble not your selves then, if the sense of the Pray­er which your Mother or I make, you daily repeat, be at present as unknown to you, as is the nature of him to whom it is addressed; only follow us, our Faith gives life to your imperfect fambling, and assure your selves that there is no incense more acceptable to God; than this first sacrifice of your lips, the first fruits of them are due to him, in expectation that your intention will accompany them, by the know­ledge of the obligation that you have to adore him, let us see if we can attain to that.

My Child, if I ask you who is your Father, you will immediately answer that it is I, and if I ask you who is my Father, you will tell me that it is another Father, and my Fathers Father still another; so that that progress would ascend infinitely from Father to Father, if it did not stop, and end in a common Fa­ther of all mankind.

The case is so with all created beings, that have a common original with your self; for if they had made themselves the desire of preservation, which is insepa­rable from, and rooted in the creature, would never leave them.

So that there would never have hapned any change, nature would have always continued one and the same, and never would have entertained her self by a [Page 3]succession of vicissitudes, as she hath done. We must hold it then for certain, that there is a fixt and perma­nent being, which is the common principle of all others, beyond which there is no progress; and which by consequence ought to be the outmost limit of our Inquisition, and Nature her self tells us so.

That Divine Form of Prayer which God was plea­sed to dictate to us from the mouth of his own Son, confirms the same; when he tells us that he is our Fa­ther, he would have us to understand that he is yours, mine, and every mans else; and that so we are all Brethren, and therefore as Brethren obliged to love one another, and to reverence him as the common Father of us all. And when he tells us afterwards that his habitation is in Heaven, it should instruct us that our curiosity should rest satisfied in knowing that he is our Father, without attempting to enquire far­ther into his Essence.

The vast passage that is between us and the Hea­vens, their solidity and infinite spaces which divide them from one another, are so many different inter­vals of our common distance and separation; and though their motion with that of the Sun, Moon, and other Planets, which are fastned to them, have not as yet discovered to us but nine Spheres, yet have we credentials to assure us that their number is not as great or it may be greater than that of the Stars. To measure immensity, all the extent of our Imagination makes not so much as a small point in respect of its greatness.

My Son, you cannot know a man one hundred paces off, and would you know the Majesty of God at so great a distance? That cannot be. Be contented to know that he is your Father, that the double arch of Crystal which covers the upper and under face of all the Earth is his dwelling place, and that [Page 4]this Divine Palace can no more be measured than its Inhabitant.

You see the Heavens in all their appearances, and are not yet able to comprehend of what Matter they are composed, the Existence of God discovers it self unto you in all his Creatures, when notwithstanding you cannot conceive his Essence. Heaven hides it from you, and the same light which opens to you the gate of its concavity, shuts that of its convexity; with this difference, that this Heavenly vault appears to our eyes fixed, and nevertheless it moves; and God in all the works of Nature seems in endless mo­tion, and notwithstanding it is he alone that is in re­pose. And as it is impossible for you to conceive a thing in motion, without an immoveable point from which the motion proceeds, so no more can you ap­prehend the progress and regress which you see in all created beings, without arriving insensibly at the immoveable point, from whence it hath its rise, which is the same God that is your Fa­ther.

It was not without reason that we were forbidden to make to our selves any graven Image of any thing that is above in the Heavens, to worship them; for this prohibition regards as much him that frames to himself a model of them in his mind, as him that graves them with an Instrument. We cannot know them but as they present themselves to our Imaginati­on, and our Imagination being but a vain Image of our Fancy, can no sooner be shaped in our mind, but that our self-love makes it its Idol.

So that, my Child, busie not thy self in the search of the number of the Heavens, what distance there is betwixt them, and what is their greatness in respect of the Earth, it is too vast a speculation, and more spongy than the brain that entertains it, the suppu­tation which by Algebra you may make thereof (the [Page 5]very name of which makes me afraid) will fill your mind with so many Fractions, that possibly it may crack your wit.

All the rovings that are in vogue upon this subject, are but the idle skippings of curious Wits, that would transgress the limits prescribed to the capacity of Man, and so we see that such persons are but of very little use in Civil Society. Nature hath stretched a Veil of two eye-lids over your eyes to teach you, that the beams of your knowledge should dart downwards and reflect upon your self alone. She hath levelled your sight with the Horizon, to point out unto you that your curiosity should stop upon the confines of Heaven. Your eye can no more than your mind look up above you, without the oversetting of your head and brain.

If you will follow my advice, in the contemplation of Heaven, look upon it with silence and reverence, as the house of God. Consider the Sun (according to the modern opinion) as a fixed point, or rather as the Center of that great wheel of the Universe, by which is derived to it that fountain of Light which does il­luminate, and fruitful Spirit which enlivens the same. The great Creator of all things knowing that our weakness could not bear the sight of his Majesty, that he might not altogether conceal himself from us, was pleased perhaps to open a point in the Hea­vens, through which a small thread only of his glory and light (which is the sun) might descend, which is nothing else but a material stamp and visible draught of that invisible power which governs and cherisheth this great Universe. That Divine chink appears to you but small in respect of the Heavens, yet you must know that though the whole Celestial Canopy did shine with the same brightness, hardly would it be a glimpse of light, if compared to that living Luminary from whence that Divine fire proceeds. However such [Page 6]as it is, there is nothing created that doth with more splendour and pomp, present to our understanding a more perfect notion of the Omnipotence of God, than the fruitful and indefatigable vertue of the Sun, which stirs up nature to action, and rouses all seminal causes from idleness.

Can any thing represent to us a more lively image of his grace, the presence or absence of which gives day or night to our souls? And what can make us better understand the uniformity of his goodness to­wards all his Creatures, than the regular course of the Sun, who keeps so equal a ballance between the two opposite Poles, that there is not so much as one living Creature, one Plant, or one corner of the Earth, which enjoys a minutes time more of his Light than another.

He dispenseth it with so much exactness, that to render every where the day equal to the night, in those places where there is inequality, he successively compensates long nights by long days, before that he accomplish his intire Revolution.

By this Analogy of the properties of the Sun with the Attributes of God, I pretend not (contrary to his prohibition) to have engraven his Image, he himself hath cut it out, and made this chink in the Heavens, through which that scantling of his Omnipotence comes down to us. He communicates himself to us that way, as in jealousie to let us know that he is, but not what he is. Propose not then to your self to eye him at nearer distance: The highest effort that your Soul can make towards his Perfection, is not so much as a spark of his Glory. Nothing that is yours can be attributed to him, without a diminution of his great­ness.

My Child, if you would come near and see him, there is no other way for it, but to stand off and hum­ble your self as much as possibly you can, you exalt [Page 7]your self by falling low. O strange wonder! by these two extremities, that is, by the highest notion that we conceive of God, and the lowest sense of our own unworthiness, we may by stepping backwards return towards, and reunite our selves with this Di­vine principle.

CHAP. II. In what manner God is to be Worshipped. Of Christian Religion, and that one cannot be a good Subject without being a good Chri­stian. That no innovations ought to be made in Religion. Of the excellence of Faith above Reason.

LET us rest satisfied then, seeing that Nature and God himself tells us that he is our Father, to render him the respect and obedience of a Son: and since that it hath pleased him to hide himself in the high and unsearchable places of Heaven, let us be contented according to his appointment to san­ctifie his holy Name. Admire in that, my Son, the goodness of God that descends to you, seeing that you cannot mount up to him.

This first cause being infinite, inconceivable, and unlimited, perceiving that it was not in your power to support your self in the troublesome floods of so many thousand wild and shapeless notions which you must forge to represent him to your self, and that you were incapable of a Religion purely intel­lectual and mental, hath been pleased to limit mans worship of God by the adoration of the name only that designs him to our capacity, and not as he is in [Page 8]himself, to the end that our Devotion might have a fixt and determinate object. For in effect it is Man an earthly and material Creature, who believes and prays, and who by consequent hath need that the divine Majesty should reveal himself to him by such means as might bear some proportion with his con­dition: and therefore it hath pleased him to commu­nicate to us the invisible grace of his Sacraments un­der visible signs, to appoint us a verbal Prayer, and to suffer the external Ceremonies that are used in the Church to accompany our Adoration. This is not all, he hath taken to himself flesh like yours, and be­come man, that he might at the same time be your Saviour, and the guide to your Salvation.

Son, this is the foundation of the Christian Ca­tholick and Apostolick doctrine, wherein I advise you not only to live and dye, but absolutely command you, if you desire to have Gods blessing and mine. This is the Religion of your Fathers in the very first Ages of the Church; let your Religion, as your blood, be one with theirs: I it is the most antient, the old and stately Fabricks, where the exercise of it is continued to this day, may confirm you in that.

A small number of Separatists, who like misled sheep have forsaken the flock, are but the dross of the whole. Lastly, it is the publick Religion of the State, which you cannot renounce without becoming guilty of Faction and Sedition, or suspected of it to­ward the King. Indeed, if Obedience which is due to the King be but a dependency on Religion, which rallies together our wills in the service of God, it is most just that we should enter with him, and he with us, into the Society of this common Obliga­tion.

The true Christian Religion hath continued lon­ger than any Government or Policy whatsoever now extant, & more powerfully asserted the rights and pri­viledges [Page 9]of Civil Magistracy than any other, & would you now put the truth of it to Arbitration? Know, my Son, that you can never be a good Christian, if you be not a good Subject; and that there is nothing that more convinces Fanaticks of error and falshood, than their rebellion against the King: the true do­ctrine expresly commands us to obey him, and to submit to the Laws and Magistrates. You cannot, (as hath been heretofore done) trample on their Au­thority, under what pretext soever, but that you dash in pieces one of the Tables of the Law against the other.

Be stedfast then in the Religion of your Fore­fathers and of the State; withdraw not your self from it, though there may be some depravation in the manners of those that are the Ministers of it, yea even some abuses in its Government, that corruption is but a peccant humor in some part of the body, which is inconsiderable in respect of the whole, and may be cured or evacuated by Repentance. As to our abuses, if any there be, look upon them as a di­stemper of our fear, or of our love of God, which hath its being but in the superfice of our Faith, like blisters and warts that break out on our skin without cutting or exulcerating the flesh.

The most dangerous hurts in the body of man are those which make the greatest solution of its conti­nuity, and the deepest wound. The scandal most to be feared in the Church of God, is when Schism and Heresie divide and cut into two or more Facti­ons its unity, which like the garment of our Saviour should be without a seam.

Before that the lips of such wounds be joined again and consolidated into a cicatrice, men commit and suffer so many strange evils, that were they but fore­seen by those that cause them, I doubt not but that their zeal, whatever it might be, would easily comply with the received opinions.

Then would the external peace of the Church drop internal peace into the Consciences of the faithful, the vapours of their contention would turn their brains no more, and instead of the divisions that are amongst us, we should see mens minds reconciled and ferment together by the heat of charity, and the labour of those who write and read Controversies, changed into works and treatises of Piety and Morti­fication, which is a far more innocent and Christian subject than the other.

It seems to me to have been great presumption in our Fanaticks, to endeavour the subjecting of the publick received customs of the Church, to the cen­sure and correction of a private sufficiency, and of their own authority, and without a call to enter into the inheritance of our salvation, whereof we and our Fathers have been in possession before them. Every innovation in the matter of Religion, though it were good, is at present very dangerous in respect of the times, when nothing can be changed without hazarding very much.

The tempests that for many years have tossed the Church of God, are not as yet wholly appeased, and shall we furnish matter of a new storm; and at this time, when all Europe is in Arms, and that the mind of man was never more curious of novelty than it is at present?

It is, in my mind, much safer and more conscien­tious to conform to the received opinions when they are peaceable, than dangerously to admit of any new. Hardly can there be any Covenant made in Ecclesia­stical Policy, but that immediately after it degene­rates into some civil faction, from whence all publick disorders gather strength and vigor.

Once therefore, my Child, I counsel you to be a little reserved, when there comes any question to be handled in the Church, which may seem to you to [Page 11]carry the stamp of novelty. Let never your determi­nation in such occurrences prevent the sentence of our common Mother the Church, continue in the peace­able submission of a tractable and respectful Son, and beware by a private enterprize to usurp the sacred au­thority which resides in the persons of those whom God hath appointed for the conduct of Christians. In a word, believe for a certain truth that the unity of the Church should be as inviolable as its verity, and that they who make a rupture amongst its members, ought to be considered as the greatest enemies thereof.

Our Religion consists chiefly in two heads, to wit, the Commandments of the Law, and the Faith of the Gospel. We cannot fully satisfie these two, but that our soul which is likewise composed of two parts, to wit, our Will and our Reason, must render as great obedience to the Commands of the Law, what resi­stance and difficulty soever our Wills may make; as submission to the Faith of the Gospel, what repug­nancy soever our Reason may have against it.

Otherwise if we believe only what may have some conformity with our reason, and no more; we do greater honour to the truth that reflects from matter, than to him who is the author of matter and truth it self. Indeed, Belief hath some preeminence above Knowledg, because in knowledg the understanding is only enlightened by the information of the senses, which is material and subject to mistakes: but in Faith our soul draws its notions from the spirit of God alone, which is so noble an agent, that I know not but that I may be so bold as to say, that though there might be some errour in the direction of my Faith, yet that my intention could not be rectified by the ex­cellence of the object it self of my Faith, which is God.

It is most certainly true, that the more incredible the mysteries of our Faith seem to be, the more reve­rence [Page 12]we pay to God in not doubting of them. Behold the obscurity which you find in it, as a fair night wherein you have the light of the Gospel to direct you, and the Apostles, Martyrs and Saints for guiding Stars, in whose steps you tread even at present. In a word, take it from me, my Son, that your reason is much more certainly your Daughter according to the spirit, than Isaac the Son of Abraham according to the flesh, and that as often as you make a sacrifice to God of it by faith, so often you present to him the same ob­lation which drew down so many blessings upon that divine Patriarch,

God who is a nature altogether distinct from ours, deals with us by means contrary to our measures, and which are altogether inconceivable to us. When he applied clay, which is a matter apt to put out the eyes, to restore the blind mans sight, it was to teach us that we can never well enjoy the light of the soul, but by putting out the light of the body. For it is not enough to know by the light of Nature that there is a God, it must likewise agree with our Faith, upon the ways whereby he communicates himself to us, and the ways how we ought to serve him.

The imployment of our Reason is only to wait up­on our Faith as a discreet Handmaid, which is not yet so much a slave to it, but that it may examine the Law of God according to humane prudence, but not the Faith, to the end that the beauty of his commands and their necessity in the conjunctures of civil society, may instruct us to reverence and fear him that gives us them. Can we have a better warranty of our belief than Jesus Christ himself, who teaches us to love God above all, our neighbour as our self, and even to do good to him that hates and persecutes us?

CHAP. III. Of Libertinism and Miscreancy.

I Wonder not, my Child, that those who will not submit to any of these things, have the boldness now adays to disown and neglect him that by his Commandments hath enjoined them. The number of such has of late so increased, that it seems at present to be the mark of the Beast, not to be one of them; they are called the Wits or Virtuosi, as if none had understanding but they, or as if it were a weak­ness of judgment not to be of their opinion. This evil is the more dangerous, that the mind infected with this poyson, flatters it self with some false con­ceit of Liberty, and God Almighty knows what li­berty: to renounce God, the common Faith, the Laws of the Land and the Prince, which are the only blessings that keep us in Peace, to put us un­der the power and private Government of our most irreconcileable enemy, which is our selves.

The slack execution of Laws concerning a matter of that importance, seems to me indeed wonderful, and so much the more, that whosoever makes an open rupture with God, is incapable of any other accommodation, and is from thenceforward convi­cted of being a bad Statesman and a bad Subject. Observe, my Son, the consequences of that, the King is not my Master, nor I the Master of my Servant, nor a proprietor of his Estate, but by vertue of the strength and support which the Laws receive from Religion, it is from that alone that the publick union and security does depend.

A soul infected with some insolent opinion, may well evaporate and send up towards Heaven stinking steams, but nature will sooner be annihilated, than that it should be so wholly corrupted, that the divine character can be intirely and without reversion blot­ted out of the conscience of man: Let us not be asha­med to own our guest, there is nothing upon us or within us but avouches it; and though our tongue would deny, yet our heart upon the least surprise convinces us of it. Strange kind of vanity! to de­sire that men should think us more wicked than it is possible for us to be.

I have seen one of the chief pillars of this foolish opinion appear abroad openly with applause, and publish his impiety in the head City of the kingdom, with as much confidence as if he had been some new Messiah. And more than this, which is very prodi­gious, I saw him after two years imprisonment escape out of the hands of the Judges who should have con­demned him, acquitted for want of evidence, of an impiety that had as many witnesses as he acquain­tants: whether it was that the envy of his accusers sa­ved him, or that perhaps no body durst evidence or give sentence against a crime which they saw publick­ly connived at; or that it was judged that Atheism being rather a sin of the lips and fansie, than of the heart, deserved no other punishment but its own folly.

In effect, the original of Miscreancy proceeds but from a foolish presumption that will not abide in the beaten road of common opinions. It is most certain, there are three kinds of spirits, and that those of the lower rank are spirits of livery and attendance, which receive things according to use and custom, without farther examination. Those of the second order, who are our pretended Wits, go a little farther, they tru­ly consider the effects of second causes, their motions [Page 15]and regular changes, but they consider them only se­parately and divided from the whole, and not being able to rise higher, they are forced to rest there, and leave to them the dominion of the Universe: but the transcendent spirits of the higher sphere, prying more narrowly into things, and rallying together se­parate and divided causes, discover the connexion and agreement that is amongst them, and by seeing all the different parts conspire to compose that uni­versal harmony, they advance to the knowledge of a soveraign cause and principle, by whose providence all things are governed; so that I think Libertinism makes Vanity its false Idol, and he that makes profes­sion of it, carries rather the stamp of an Ignorant and Blockhead, than of a Wit: and so much the more that he puts out his own eyes, and robs himself of his greatest light, which is the knowledg of God.

CHAP. IV. Concerning Superstition.

SON, As it is dangerous to abolish the sentiment of a Deity by Atheism and Miscreancy, so is it likewise no less dangerous to forge a false image of God by superstition, the denying of God lessens not his greatness, when superstition on the other hand according to its timorousness ascribes to him an infi­nite number of bad qualities, and by consequence the wrong is less, to be in doubt of his being, than to do him injury. Atheism does not totally suppress rea­son and the actions of sense, it roots not out natu­ral affections, nor the care of our reputation, as Super­stition doth; and though Religion be the chief agent [Page 16]in all the Moral Virtues, yet are they not so inconsi­stent with the negation of God, as they are with Su­perstition.

Superstition is a base and cowardly vice, to which the common people, children, women and old folks, who are all weak persons, are most subject. It is afraid of every thing; what is past, what is present, and what is to come, keep it in a continual quaking, for fear of the vengeance of God. it is rash and inconsiderate in its zeal, witness the rage of the wars occasioned by Religion; and so ingenious to do it self mischief, that it makes him who should be the instrument of its safe­ty, the executioner of its punishment, and the place of its refuge and protection, its scaffold. In a word, Superstition is the passion of a soul dull in the works of Charity, peevish, distrustful, scrupulous, which pro­fanes Religion, by placing all the duty of it in antick faces and external grimaces, as if the true worship of God were but foppish jugling, or a spiritual tatling.

Be nevertheless well advised, my Child, how you shun that imperfection, and take heed that in forsa­king of it, you fall not into another inconvenience no less dangerous, by committing some irreverence a­gainst the forms and ceremonies of antient use, which make a part of your Religion, lest (as it happens often in the bodies of men) you purge not what is sound with the corrupted humors.

CHAP. V. How we are to use our Will and Reason in the Service of God.

MY Son, Man cometh into the world like a new Artist, with his rule and compass, which is his reason and will: but that he may have the pleasure to be in some sort the master of his trade, God who is his chief Architect, hath left the care of ordering of both to himself. To order aright a compass, we must keep one leg of it fast, and in making of its sweep bring the other round to the same point where it be­gan.

For the adjusting of our reason, God ought to be the fixed point, and our life the moveable part there­of, which makes its whole course round that unmove­able point. To know the justness of a Rule, you must first draw a streight line from one point to another, and afterward another streight line of equal distance from, and of the same length with the former; with these conditions you may assure your self your Rule is true. My Child, if you would regulate aright your will, and make a good application of it in all the actions of life, let the first line that enters into its com­position, be your love toward God, and the second your love to your neighbour.

Let this last be always measured by the former, and in due distance from it; for if you neglect the present necessity of your neighbour to betake your self to Me­ditation or Prayer, when you think you draw near to God, you falsifie your rule and take wrong mea­sures: and therefore the life of Jesus Christ which is [Page 18]the pattern of a Christians, is almost all taken up in the services of his neighbour. He visits, instructs, comforts, feeds, cures him, compassionates his infir­mities, and what is most remarkable, it seems that lest he should abandon him, he prays but seldom to God his Father; and when he prays to him, we ne­ver find in all the Scripture, that his Prayer regarded himself alone, but at the approach and in the agonies of his passion, to teach us that the hour of death breaks the society of man with man, and that in this occasion which decides the salvation of every one in particular, we have all enough to do in our own business.

The most pleasing sacrifice that you can offer to God, is to render the service of your neighbour pa­rallel to his own: and when in the Lords Prayer he makes you so often repeat the words [Us] and [Ours,] take it for a lesson to make no difference be­twixt your own and neighbours concerns: He that told you, that when two or three of you shall be ga­thered together in my name, I will be in the midst of you, promises not to you the same blessing when you shall be alone, and therefore to obtain it, join to your own the interest of your neighbour in your prayer.

This is a strange mystery, that at the last day he is not to accuse you of the taking of his name in vain, nor of the breach of his Commandments, he will only then tell you, When I was naked, you cloathed me not, when I was hungry, you fed me not, when I was afflicted, you comforted me not, and so forth. And what is the reason of that? because that last line, to wit, the love of our neighbour being that which should bear proportion to the first, which is the love of God, all the actions which depend on thy Will, will avail thee nothing to salvation without it.

The Lord requires but of you the seventh part of your life for the sanctification of his name, nor all that neither, if the necessity of your neighbour crave your help. So we see that the most assiduous in the former, are such whom the weakness of age, sex, or some pro­fession of an idle and unactive life, hath rendered lazy and unfit for the offices of reciprocal charity which men owe to one another.

CHAP. VI. Concerning Prayer. Of Private and Publick Prayers.

COnsider well how you pray in private, forasmuch as it is an action which requires of us a clean­sing and purging of the spirit, and a frame of soul more pure and disengaged from the body than any other whatsoever. So we see that when our Saviour went about to pray, he ascended to the Mount, that he might withdraw from the commerce of men. In a word, when a man prayeth, he speaks to God; and if he be impenitent, and still polluted with some foul desire, he calls his Judge to be the witness of his crime: wherefore I advise you that a short examina­tion of conscience do always go before your Prayer. If it be frequent, let it be short, and like a spark that rises from an inflamed heart, let it mount to heaven with silence and reverence, and not with thunder and noise like the lightning that falls down from thence.

Prayer is our union with God, whether we adore him, or beg any thing from him, if it be long, our weakness suffers it not to be without distraction, and [Page 20]from the very minute that your attention stragles and wanders from him, against his own Command­ment, you take his name in vain. Your inferiour would even take it ill, if that whilest you were a speaking to him, your thoughts were taken up else­where, the rays of our minds are less able to endure the contemplation of God by a fixed union in pray­er, than our eyes stedfastly to behold the Sun, the aspect of both must only be had by sallies and glan­ces; and therefore the form of Prayer which hath been left to us from the mouth of our Saviour him­self in the Lords Prayer, is divided into seven distinct petitions, which are so many stops and pauses deno­ting to us the impotency of our soul to unite it self with him any other way than by ejacu­lation.

Beside this prayer which was given us for a pattern, Jesus Christ did the same, when his own concern lay at stake, saying, Father, if it be possible that this cup may pass from me; and another time, Lord, if I must drink it, let thy will be done: and a little after, Pardon them, God, for they know not what they do; and before he yielded up the ghost, Into thy hands I commit my spirit. All these things are so many dif­ferent rests of the humanity of the Son of God, as if he had wanted breath to continue his prayer.

I intend not in this brevity to comprehend the publick prayers of the Church, the use of which I re­verence, as being of divine institution, and whereof the consort make one harmony of our voice and wills in the presence of God; they are like so many sparks which breath out of the common fire of the inflamed hearts of the faithful.

It is almost impossible to consider the majesty of Churches, the publick places of Assembly, the decent ceremonies which are there performed, the sound of [Page 21]Bells, the consort of our voices with Organs, and to see that the rallying of all these things together makes but an unison betwixt us and nature in the worship of God, without being convinced in our own consciences, that their institution is Di­vine.

Assure your self, my Son, that all these things are so many different rivulets, which flow from the Ca­tholick and Apostolick Faith, and that you ought to reverence them as you do their fountain.

If this content not yet your devotion, and that you would make a longer prayer both publickly and pri­vately, wherein there may be no distraction; let the beginning, progress, and end of all the actions of your life have always a respect to God, and you shall be in­cessantly in Prayer. Every servant that is diligent in his masters business, desires tacitly his masters fa­vour or his reward. Consider what will become of you, if your actions, how good soever they may be, respect any thing besides God. Your compassion for the miseries of another, which is the bud of Charity, will be no more but a natural imbecillity of your soul that cannot see him suffer; the mutual duties which pass betwixt men without that respect, are no way profi­table to salvation. If you give that you may receive, or do one good turn to attract another, it is no more Charity, but traffick. In fine, all moral virtues are changed into dead works, if they be not quickned by the love of God.

CHAP. VII. Concerning the Lords Prayer.

ABove all things I recommend to you that your most ordinary Prayer be the Lords Prayer: I leave to your discretion all others that are of humane institution, but this I would have you often repeat. It is a short instruction to man, which marks so pre­cisely the duty and acknowledgment which he oweth to God, and the need that he hath of him, that be­sides what it doth prescribe, he can say nothing to God, nor beg any thing of him but what is superflu­ous. Although this Prayer be very simple in appear­ance, yet it speaks so fully the plenitude of its author, that (if you examine it narrowly) it contains not so much as one word, which is not beyond the reach of humane understanding.

Consider those two first words, [Our Father.] Wherefore [Our] and not [My,] sure you pray a­lone, but to inform you that your care should not be confined to your self alone, and that he being our common Father, we are all his Children? Wherefore [Father] but to make you understand by the relation that there is betwixt Son and Father, and Father and Son, that acknowledging him to be your Father, you oblige your self to him by a filial obedience and sub­mit to his paternal protection? The word [Father] is a name of good will and tenderness, which Jesus Christ himself always used when he spake to God, until he was upon the Cross, but in that place he calls God only Lord, which is a name of authority and ju­risdiction, inasmuch that the name of [Father] would [Page 23]on this hard occasion have been too tender, and that he would make appear, that it was only the humani­ty of the Son of God which then suffered.

He tells you that he is in Heaven, to the end that you may seek him there, and that you give your self no trouble to know him otherwise but by Faith, and because his infinite Being is incomprehensible, lest that you should propose to your self an uncertain and undeterminate object of Adoration, he hath been pleased to condescend to your capacity, and to be worshipped by a name whereby we signifie what he is, not as he is in himself, but according as we are able to conceive him.

Having taught you that your first homage and acknowledgment is due to him, he would have you next think of your own salvation, and above all things pray for his Kingdom, that you may antici­pate the enjoyment of it even in this world; he shows you that your Will should so fully agree with his, that you have always the same love and hatred as he hath: for indeed you cannot renounce your own Will, to accommodate and submit your self to the Will of God, but that you must be carried by the same inclination of your mover, and jointly reign with him.

Next to the resignation of your Will, God would have you be contented here below with that food which you may most easily command, to wit, bread; lest that anxious solicitude for other things may di­vert you from your duty; he would likewise have your provision stinted to one day, to comfort you in this your exile, and to give you to understand by this small Viaticum, that your abode in this place is short and uncertain; and to the end also that if you have more than enough, you give a share and com­municate to those that are in want. Consider that you receive them into partnership, when you say, Give us [Page 24]this day our daily bread, which is a petition that you make in common with others, if he grant you more than is sufficient for one day, you cannot reserve it to your self alone, without robbing the indigent & poor.

My Son, what follows, if you take not good heed to it, is rather a snare laid for you, than a prayer. Here let your prayer end, if you be a rigid creditor, or entertain any hatred or malice against your neighbour; if you desire to have grace, shew favour: for when you say, Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that tre­spass against us; if you harbour vengeance or malice in your mind, you pronounce against your self the sentence of condemnation. God will still less pardon you if you mock and laugh at the imperfections of another, for such as have them are neither indebted nor accountable to you.

O good God! lead us never into temptation, that is to say, leave us never to our selves in the least, for we can never be abandoned to our own conduct for how little time soever, but that we are exposed to thou­sands of temptations. Deliver us from that, if thou please, good Lord, and from all evil, whether active, which is sin that kills the soul, or passive, which is pain, unless it be thy merciful will to furnish us with grace to support it to thy glory.

It hath been my custom these forty years, to subjoin the 142. Psalm to the Lords Prayer, it makes appear the inability of man to justifie himself in the sight of God; mans blindness in the discovery of his secrets, the faintings and dryness of the soul without Gods help, and the need that it hath of his conduct. I re­peat it most commonly every day, until I come to the verse, Thou shalt bring forth my soul out of tribulation: I stop there and never say the rest. A King, such as Da­vid, may invoke the wrath of God against his enemies, as being the enemies of his state, a private man cannot do it with a good conscience, without the permission of the Church.

For conclusion of this first part, having told you, my Children, that God cannot be conceived, it is to tell you that he cannot be expressed; so that it is impos­sible that I who have so little knowledge in facred learning, can have handled the Duty of Man towards God, without falling into some mistake. Theology is a sacred Virgin, so rich in its natural and proper graces, that it is hard for a man who hath not been in­itiated in its mysteries, to touch it without hurting the purity thereof, and leaving on it some mark of his imperfection. If by ignorance or inadvertency any word or thought have escaped me which is not con­form to the sacred Canons of the Church, I forthwith disown it, and heartily submit my opinions as well as my faith, to the censure of those who are sent by God to be the Judges thereof.

CHAP. I. Of the difference that there is betwixt the pro­creation of Man, and the other productions of Nature; and the reason thereof.

MY Child, in the first part of this my Will and Testament, where I have treated of your duty toward God, I have showed you that the knowledge of him must go before your adoration, which is your duty towards him. In this [Page 28]second part, where I propose to speak of your duty to­wards your self, I intend to observe the same order, judging it most convenient that you should know what you are, before you be instructed of your duty towards your self; to accomplish my design, I think it necessary to trace nature step by step, and to eye her al­ways as the forerunner of my enterprize.

When I consider her in the first elements of our life, I find nothing but incontinence, fainting, griping pains, and a flood of impurities which accompany your tears. It seems that in the other productions of Nature there is somewhat more happy, and especial­ly in the procreation of Birds and Plants. Birds bear not as we do their young in their womb, they lay and hatch their eggs in the loveliest season of the year, with so much tranquillity and repose, that many times the same hand that robs the nest of their young, does likewise seize the old: Their harmony and con­sort during that time sufficiently proves that their birth is fortunate in respect of ours. Plants likewise seem to renew their life when they begin to bud, in­stead of corrupt blood or unsavory water, a sweet dew does moisten and cherish their fruit. It is not (like us) wrapped in an impure coat, its own flowers encompass it, which in blowing perfume the air, and the very leaves, which are as their after-birth, serve them for cloathing and ornament until they are stript and left naked by the winter.

This advantage, my Son, which Plants seem to have above you, hath only been granted them for your sake; the chief end of the production of their fruit, is that they are for your use, and prudent nature who designs them for your sustenance, presents them to you in that manner, lest otherwise you might loath and reject them, do not therefore envy them.

Now if the production and birth of some living creatures seem less painful than your own, and that as [Page 29]soon as they are brought forth, they find cloathing at hand and their table covered, for both which you must labour with the sweat of your brows, yet are they nei­ther your brethren nor your elders, they come into the world as into their native country, and their own in­heritance, without pretending to any other; and there­fore it is just that they should be received as the chil­dren of the family: But what hurt is done to you, who are a stranger, and come hither as a pilgrim, to demand of you custom and tole for your passage? The goodness of God who hath placed your inheritance elsewhere, thought fit to deprive you at first of the al­lurements of this life, that so he might separate from it your affection. Think with your self, that your pre­posterous dropping into the world with your head down and feet upwards, is only to teach you that none come in this posture into the natural place of their abode, and that here you must not expect yours.

Since then, my Son, you are only as a passenger in this life, it is your chief duty to plain the way to that whither you aspire, and to seek out in this painful pas­sage the most proper means to attain to it, every thing that is superfluous, is but a hindrance to a traveller; it is enough for him to live and to have what is necessa­ry for his journey: and because the first desire which discovers it self in man as soon as he is born, is that of living; and the second, of having every thing that he sees. In treating of the Duty of Man towards himself, I shall begin with the measures that he ought to ob­serve in the moderation of those two first appetites.

CHAP. II. Concerning the moderation of the first appetite of man, which is that of living, where Glutto­ny is handled.

IT is most certain, that the first appetite of nature which is discovered in us when we come into the world, is the desire of living, which consists in eating and drinking: Infancy and old age are moderate enough in this desire, it is only young age that abuses it, and which only upon that account standeth in need of counsel and direction. And forasmuch that in this middle age the natural senses are in their force and vigour, and especially the taste, it is very hard to retain them in so regular a mean, but that the soul does often become complice with the body in that excess.

The exercises of body, heat of blood, and exemple are such violent counsellors for the belly, that reason which is but then imperfect cannot resist. In defect of that, the best advice, my Son, that I can give you in such occasions, is that you let the inconveniencies of gluttony be your first instruction, if you have over­loaded yourself with meat, for a lesson of moderation consider the indisposition and heaviness of your body, your loathing and disgusting the bad digestion of your stomach, and the vapours that arise from the crudities thereof, which bemist and darken your mind.

If you have drunk too much, consider your eyes, mouth words, reelings, the obstructions of your spirit, and how many hideous and shapeless dreams and fan­cies, the vapours of wine does lodge in your brain, un­til that sleep and perhaps your own excrements have [Page 31]buried you, then will you find all these things to be so many different documents of sobriety; and be­cause the body is never drowned in wine without the shipwrack of the mind, you will fasting perceive better the ugliness of that vice in the debauches of other men, than in your own: follow it step by step from the beginning to the end thereof, make the ap­plication in your self, and call to mind the giddiness, loathing and indigestion which the like will occasion in you; and having done so, you must be well hardned in your sin, if shame do not reclaim you.

Mistrust that liquor which imprints the malignity of its juice on the wood that drinks it, though it be much harder than your flesh; the stock of the vine is only knobby and crooked, to inform you that the use of wine if you glut your self therewith as it doth, may cause in you the same effects, shaking and reeling, fambling and stuttering of the tongue, ca­tarrhs and the gout, are the tempests of its vapours. Consider this, the fuller your stomach and the larger your belly is, the narrower will the reach of your wit be, the more disburthened of flesh the body is, it is the more healthful, active, vigorous and obedient to the commands of the soul. If nature deny, let your diet procure you this constitution, begin it betimes; for if the too great quantity of victuals have once stretched your soft and pliable guts, they will give you no rest afterward until they be filled.

Though Children must be allowed sufficiency of food, yet they must not be so far indulged as to let them carve for themselves, and far less to provoke their appetite, or to solicite them to eat against their stomach; we must believe that nature which works freely in that age, during the cessation of the mouth, is elsewhere better employed in consuming of some hurtful excrement.

Besides this swinish intemperance of the Mouth, whereof I have been speaking, which is never satisfied without being glutted, there is still another more inge­nious and artificious, and that is the luxury of the Table, it is dainty and full of ostentation, and so ex­cessive now adays in its preparations, that the sight alone and steam of dishes, is enough to satisfie the ap­petite without touching of them; the palate stands in suspence at the diversity of joints and dishes that are presented to it, not knowing on which to resolve. This luxury makes indeed but few drunkards, because the eyes only are there for the most part fed, but it of­ten begets poverty, a more dangerous evil, and for an addition of misery, the derision of him that thereby ruines himself.

My Son, though my table give you twice a day a lesson of sobriety, yet you may spend at Court some part of your life as I have done, and bring from thence no more than I, but a more dainty and delicate palate: Wherefore if Fortune call you into the publick, which is my wish, I advise you to regulate betimes your diet according to your condition, make use of such things as may not always be in your power, with that mode­ration, that you may be able to dispense with them without trouble; abstain from excess in them, and from too much care in hunting after them: my mean­ing is also, that if you should come to want them, you might let them go without grief or anxiety; by doing so, you will in this part satisfie what you owe to your self, which is the thing that I proposed to my self to teach you.

CHAP. III. Concerning the moderation of the second appe­tite of man, which is the desire of having; where Avarice and the true use of riches, are discoursed of.

AS the desire of nourishment is the first appetite of man, the desire of having is the second in­clination of nature, which is almost born with him, and keeps him alwaies company. We see it in Chil­dren, who have no sooner the use of their Arms, but that they give some sign by hand or eyes, that they have a mind to all that they see: Whatever we give them, they carry it immediately to the mouth, all their actions then tending only to nourishment.

These two first appetites, which are in a manner twins, are so rooted in man, that they seem to be in­carnate with him, both of them have their birth in us before the soul hath knowledge; wherefore the more dark and obscure they are, the more they stand in need of light and conduct, and the more natural they are to us, the more ought our care and circum­spection be, that they plant not in us bad principles. Moderation of diet gives health to the body, and pu­rity to the soul; moderation of the desire of having, gives peace and tranquillity to both; their contraries producing contrary effects. Since it is so, my Son, you are obliged to purchase to your self a good, the enjoyment or loss of which, will cause the happiness or misery of your life. I have already shown you the inconveniences of intemperance in diet, I come [Page 34]now to those which the immoderate desire of having may occasion.

A wise Politician of the times by allusion calls Riches the baggage of vertue, as if he would thereby signifie to us that they are no less cumbersome than necessary. For my part, I should rather say that the want of riches is the greatest incumbrance that ver­tue can meet with; if they be heavy in respect of the great care that is required in purchasing, spending, and preserving of them; yet I think it still more bur­thensome to possess so little wealth, that one can­not but with much difficulty supply the necessities of life.

He that is taken up in progging for an ordinary livelyhood, can hardly lay up any great store of ver­tue; so we see in the Lords Prayer, that the petition of our daily bread goes before that of the forgiveness of sin, and the not leading us into temptation, which is the bridling of our passions, wherein all moral vertue consists. To say the truth, there may be hurt both in the one and other, but the want of riches is far more incommodious, than their excess cumber­some; and our Language does properly call them goods, because without them we can enjoy no worldly good.

Let us not think it a blind appetite that a Child has a desire for every thing that it sees, it is a presci­ence of nature, that informs it that all things are made for its use, and when it wears off all that it hath, it is by another foreknowledge that all goods being common, they ought to pass from hand to hand, and successively escape our affection. It is only he that would have every thing, and keep all that acts against nature, whose blindness is so great, that he cannot learn by the vanity of his labour, that his covetousness is a leaky vessel which cannot be filled.

Observe, my Son, the punishment of his sin, he desires to hold all fast, and lets all slip, goods which are not goods, but in the using of them, lose their name and property in his hands, he robs himself by depriving society of them, to spare them he renoun­ces all the pleasures of sense, for whose sake men de­sire their possession, and the custody of an avaricious mans treasure is so slavish, that one cannot tell which is the gaoler or prisoner, his treasure or himself. The substance of a rich man is a wall raised in his imagi­nation, said the wise man, and consequently being but imaginary, not very sure; the reputation of his wealth is an outcry that sets out his estate, only to expose it to the first seizer, and he is so wretched that lest he should not be rob'd, he becomes a prey to himself rather than fail.

Look to it, my Son, if on these terms you desire to have and keep all; consider how many advanta­ges which may be in your power, you must renounce for the view of one, which is impossible to be ac­quired, inasmuch as by filling your self with riches, your thirst will increase with your dropsie. I conjure you then to be wise in this desire; the Poetical ficti­ons, which were heretofore the antient Theology, re­gulate the march of the god of riches according to the place from whence he sets out. If Jupiter who is the god of heaven send him, he comes but slowly, like riches that are lawfully and honestly acquired. If he be sent by Pluto, who is the god of hell, he comes running in diligence, to teach us, that nothing but vexation, injustice, oppression of the weak, and a base and abject prostitution of ones self, can get riches hastily and in great abundance.

To win gold, the earth must be digged and hol­lowed, the metal drawn from thence, separated from other matter, purified from its dross, melted, refi­ned, broken, and beaten a thousand ways before [Page 36]that it can be made into a mass; the hardness of skin, the blackness and sweat which the body contracts in that base exercise, sufficiently represents to us the contagion and impurity of that metal. I assure you, my Child, you must suffer more pain and sordid drudgeries than all these, to gather great riches, and when you have got them, it is to no purpose. Gold in the ingot is but a mass of ostentation and show, if it be not put to use, how much do you think must it still endure from the file, hammer, sheers and wheel, before it can be made currant money?

Great Possessions without being emploied, like gold in a mass, serve only for a show, and to make that, how many mouths are to be fed, how many orders dispatcht, how many accounts to be revised, and how much care and circumspection must be had, to which a moderate desire is not at all subject? To conclude, the distribution of riches (without the stamp of Charity, which is the coin of the Prince that be­stows them on us) cannot be lawfully performed, no more than the passing of coined gold, if it want the impression of the Soveraign.

So that a rich man is accountable for all he posses­seth; if he make ill use of it, he is punishable as well for having hid, as for having inconsiderately scatter­ed his treasure. Poverty which men propose to avoid, is the chastisement of the covetous as well as the pro­digal; the one suffers it already by his sparing, the other is in a fair way to it by his profusion, his train, the luxury of his table, rich moveables, stately houses: In a word, his magnificence and splendour are the at­tendants of his funeral pomp.

Be moderate then in the desire of having, and ju­dicious in the managing of riches; if I leave you but little, I hope your own industry and the good­ness of God will supply what you want: behave your self with honour in the profession which your [Page 37]birth obliges you to follow; soon or late you will therein find the end of your life, or a supply of what is necessary to maintain it. Above all things touch not the goods of another, and especially of the poor, for the rich defends his own, but the other is more exposed to prey; take never any advantages of the necessities of the poor.

I enjoy the house where we live by a decree of Court, having asked leave of the owner to bid for it, and when I saw that the Creditor left him nothing, my year and days possession being expired, I freely presented him with a gratuity of the tenth part of my purchase, to the end that he might not leave his inheritance empty-handed. God and the ancient possessour are my witnesses, that he might have still been the master of it, if he had had no other impe­diment but from me. More than this, I payed that respect to the next in kin, not to bid for the pur­chase without his consent, and all this without either acquaintance, particular friendship or relation to ei­ther of them: They are still alive, let them and my own conscience give me the lie, if I speak any thing but what is true.

I propose to you, my Son, this domestick example, to the end that you may never make a violent entry into another mans inheritance, and that you regard more the poor man that is undefended, than the rich; though the Laws abandon him to you, which allow us many things that charity forbids, yet abate a little of their rigour for your soul and conscience sake: consult but that, and put your self in the place of the poor, and your own sense will teach you how you ought to treat him. In the Scripture, he that said to the debtor that was not able to pay, Render what you ow me, was as rigorously punished, as if he had ex­acted what was not his due. Draw from that divine fountain this fair lesson, that your desire should not [Page 38]only be moderate in matters which belong not to you, but likewise so much even in things that are your own, that you may be able to renounce them without regret when they destroy charity.

When I would have you thus indulgent to others, I mean not that you your self should be miserable, see­ing it is just that your pity begin at home, your cha­rity regards your self more directly than your neigh­bour; but if you have more than what you stand in need of, lay it out freely and chearfully for the neces­sities of others.

Lay not up before hand the revenues of many years, a years rent ought to suffice you, but neglect not that neither, experience tells you that the present lives by the last years crop, and that the gain of yesterday feeds to day the workman; the providence of God would be offended, if yours were negligent; neither would I have you imagine that you owe all your sub­sistence to your self; old wine grows sowre, and the vermine consume old corn, you will labour in vain for a new harvest, if God be not pleased to give the season.

Join your assistance with his in the getting of goods, and use them as you ought, spoil not their name by a bad usage; and since riches are called means, let them be so to you, I pray, for the satisfaction of your own, and the necessities of your neighbour.

CHAP. IV. Of the Will of a Child, that it is a rude and indigested reasoning of the Soul, and how it ought to be guided with moderation.

I Come now, my Children, to treat of your Will, which I discover not in you, but after the two first appetites, whereof I have discoursed before: for albeit every action presuppose the will of him that does it, yet that of a Child appears so troubled and obscure in the desire of feeding it self, and of having all that it sees, that I ascribe it rather to a blind im­pulse of nature, than a voluntary inclination. The Will is a motion of the Soul made with deliberati­on; and, I think, there is not any in these two first appetites.

I perceived not, my Son, that you had a will, but in the first resistance that you made to mine; I consi­der it in that age as an essay that you resolved to make to put your self in liberty, and to enter into the first possession of your self, to which nature was your adviser; the first man as yet innocent, and newly formed by the hand of God, did the same; that same appetite wrought in him (as in you) before his fall.

It is strange, when a Child begins to go, he will have no more the help of another; when his will be­gins to dawn, he is unwilling any more to be gui­ded; as if the desire of acting in liberty were more violent in us, than of our own security: this appe­tite being common to all Children, proceeds from nothing else but a principle of nature, which pro­poses to man to be as well single and individual in the [Page 40]functions of body and soul, as he is in the composition of his person.

When Philip conducts the steps and wills of his Children Armand, Hardowin, and Charles, it is not one single going nor single Will, it is compounded of Philips and theirs, and then there is a dissolution of the individual beings of Armand and Hardowin in what concerns their Wills; so it is no wonder that they make resistance in obeying him, it is occasioned by an advice of nature that would act by its own measures, and which imprints in every one of us a desire of entring as soon as possibly we can into the possession of our selves.

In effect, the headstrongness of a Child is only a rude and gross reasoning of a soul as yet imperfect, which would betimes enjoy its rights.

My Son, learn to order your will by the fault of the first man; the crafty Serpent that would deceive you as it did him, is the false object of an apparent good, and the Woman that tempts you, is the con­cupiscence and lust of the eye and flesh, the seat whereof is not far from the place from whence the first Woman was taken, nor its perswasion less pres­sing to make you sin, than hers was: when that ac­cursed counsellor comes out of us, we are asleep as Adam was; for if we had our eyes open we should presently see the deceitfulness of its counsel.

You are naked in this world without the sense of your nakedness, as he was in the delightful Garden, but so soon as you resist the will of God and follow your own, your eyes begin to be opened, your curi­osity to know all things, your avarice which cannot be satisfied, your unlimited ambition, your restless lusting that skips from one desire to another, discover to you a nakedness which you did not see before, you lose all to grasp at all.

You can never be happy, my Child, but only by [Page 41]the moderation of your Will. I require not of you a total renunciation of it, that internal mortification belongs only to Saints, nor that all things should be indifferent to you, which is an extravagance of Pyr­rhonism; for indeed they are not all so; nor that you should subject your self to the Stoical severity of these two wild words, Sustine, Abstine, which have too large an extent. Abstain only from all things that are unjust, and from desiring that which is not in your power. Support all the Calamities which you cannot honestly shun, and draw upon your self no new ones, and your Will shall be such as I would have it.

God gives you not the Senses, of Seeing, Hearing, Smelling, Tasting, nor of Touching, in vain; nor likewise what is most pleasant and sweet in nature for their satisfaction: If you abuse either of these blessings, by excess, or a disdainful contempt of using of them, you are both ways injurious to him that makes you the Present. If your Table were co­vered with good Dishes, and your Guest would tast of nothing but coarse bread, and flat drink, he would certainly offend you. In this manner do we treat the universal Purveyor of the World, when we dis­dain to make use of those excellent things which he hath prepared for us. The Senses make the first try­al of the goodness of God toward men, be content to moderate the excess of them, without stifling the vi­gour of their sensation.

I am not the least in doubt, but that there is a more perfect way than this of going to God; but that belongs only to those transcendent souls, who would anticipate the enjoyment of him in the middle of their course. As for us, my Children, who are but of ordinary endowments, let us rest satisfied with the middle and more easie way of advancing to­wards him. It is enough for us to meet him at the [Page 42]end of our career, provided that in the course of our life, we always did behold him as our last end.

As I would not have you disdainfully and supersti­tiously refuse the pleasures which Nature does libe­rally present you with; so neither is it my meaning that you should be low and base in bearing of her cross dispensations; the same hand presents you with good and evil, receive it therefore with the same tem­per and countenance.

The Plague that visits you with sickness, and your friends with infirmities and death; War which be­side the confusion that fire and sword does occasion, comes attended with enmities, quarrels, suits of Law and Famine, which is as much as a total deprivation of all that is necessary for your subsistence, are ra­ther the portion and lot of Humanity, than the rods of Gods indignation. He punisheth you with no others, but what your own hands have made; that is, your ingratitude towards him, the injury done to your neighbour, the hatred and violence that you use against him, your envy, injustice, avarice, and in a word, your debauchery and loosness; avoid these, and acknowledge no other evils.

Consider rather the Plague, War and Famine, as three great flood-gates, which are now and then opened to drain the world, when the plenty of its productions cannot otherwise by the ordinary course be evacuated. So that, my Son, if you find your self carried away by any of these terrents, or by any other stream that flows from thence, follow the current without complaining; reverence, and sub­mit to the immutable decree of Providence; mur­mur not, nor strive against the stream, nor wonder at the proceedings of destiny; but know that it is (as well as your self) obliged to follow it's order, and to run in the channel that is appointed for it.

When any cross accident befalls you, it is appoin­ted by God, it comes not upon you at random by a fortuitous inconstancy of chances which hit by guess. There is such a necessary coherence and concatenation between causes, that like waves they push one ano­ther forward, though we cannot know the original cause of their impulse, when nevertheless there is one; seeing the smallest effect that can happen, hath its cause. The more immediate may come into our knowledge by reason of the nearness that it hath to its effect: but to trace the progress from one to ano­ther upwards in order, to the fountain head, would be, my Child, a curious and succesless enter­prize.

Be content then to submit your self to what God is pleased to appoint you, and to be assured that he who hath thought you worthy of his creating, will likewise vouchsafe you his conduct and preservation. the good and had accidents of your life, carry the character of his Providence, though to you invisible, as the lowest and basest creatures, the stamp of his omnipotence; and so much the more wonderfully, that his immensity is contracted in that small draught and representation.

Thus it is that I would have you apply these two words, Abstine, Sustine, by patient supporting of the evils that befall you, as having their quarters with you allotted by the hand of God; those bad guests are enough for you though you admit of no others: So that you may abstain from what is unlawful and superfluous, without depriving your self of what is allowed and permitted: However I should willingly advise you to entertain a very moderate desire even for the things which are in your power, and not pro­hibited.

Felicity consists not in more or less, but in the har­mony that is between your desire and enjoyment; it matters you not though both be in small Volume, provided they be of equal extent. How little soe­ver you have, if you be therewith satisfied, you are as full as if you desired much, and had it, and in as great repose. My Child, if you have at hand a small River that may quench your thirst, search not farther off for a greater which can do no more.

And forasmuch as it is impossible that your Will, whose object is vast, undetermined, and almost in­finite, can be totally regulated according to my di­rections, make use of this rule upon all occasions. When you have no body to consult with about what you are to do, but your self and your own Will, let the side to which it inclines you most, be always most suspected; but above all, let not your Judgment be swayed by the preoccupation of your senses, whose counsel many times goes hand in hand in the same crime with your lust.

CHAP. V. From whence springs the Errour of our Will, and concerning Veracity and Ly­ing.

THE mistakes of our Will, which tends natu­rally to good, proceed only from our inability of knowing it. The turbulent passions of Youth, and the prejudice of an evil habit, do so jumble and confound the notions of real and apparent good, that reason that comes after, and is formed in us during that tempest, is not then capable to make the distin­ction of them: to make that aright, we had need of the knowledge of good and evil, which is the fruit of the forbidden tree.

It is most certain, that the real nature of things which present themselves to us, is so hidden, that for want of knowledge of it, our soul is often mista­ken in their choice. When it was asked of the Sun of God, What is truth? He made no answer, as if he would have by his silence given us to understand, that man was not capable of that knowledge. Truth, as far as I am able to conceive it, is a conformity of the tongue with the thought, from which results an action which ought likewise to be conformed to both.

The union of these three things, my Son, is to you so necessary, that if there be any disagreement amongst them, you efface in your self the Trinity of your Creator, who would have you made according to his own Image. The Divine word resembles the power that produces it, as the action which flows [Page 46]from the same. If you would be framed according to this divine pattern, your words must agree with your thoughts, and at the very instant your actions will receive the same delineation.

It may be said, that Man is naturally inclined to good, and never sets himself to do evil, without some repugnancy in his soul. When he proposes to himself the doing of any action, the reflection that he makes thereon, is an internal speech which ad­vises him to the execution of it if good, and endea­vours to divert him therefrom if it be bad. If it be good, his consent agreeing with his judgment, he performs it publickly, and never conceals it: But if it be bad, acting then contrary to his internal speech, which is the council of his Conscience, he is ashamed of his action, does it secretly, and when it is done, either disguises it or disowns it.

For example, if you meet any one that is going to Church, to visit the sick, or to comfort one that is in affliction, and if you ask him whither he is go­ing, he will freely tell you; his thought and expres­sion will be conform to his action: but if he be going to any place of debauchery, or to commit theft, murther or adultery, you shall never hear him dis­cover his design, he will put it in execution under the protection of some by-place, or dark night, as if he were ashamed to be the complice of an action wherein he can hardly agree with himself.

So that, my Son, you see that there can never be a perfect concordance betwixt our thought and free consent, which is an internal speech, but in the de­sign of a good action. This harmony, which ren­ders a man faithful to himself, and inwardly true, frames him after the image of God, as on the other hand the discord of our conscience with our will, makes a lie and a lyar, which is the spawn of the devil.

It is strange! there is nothing that wounds so much the honour of a Gentleman, as to give him the lye, although he reproach himself often with it, without thinking that he does so. Child, every time that he cheats, that he foists in one thing for another, that he dissembles, flatters himself or others in their imperfections, or that there is the least disa­greement between his words and thoughts, so often is he a lyar.

There is nothing that vexes us so much, nor raises more our blood, than the presence of one that hath deceived us. The trouble and displeasure which we have frequently with our selves, proceeds, it may be, only from this, that our seducer is always with us. Your Conscience knows it, if it call to you from within and tell you that you are an Impostor, be not angry if a voice reproach you so from without, bear the censure and shame patiently, or otherwise strive to amend.

My dearest Children, Sons and Daughters, if ye desire that I should be satisfied with you, I charge you above all things that ye be true, and though the eldest of you be not as yet seven years old compleat, ye are already capable of the veracity that I desire in you; at present it consists only in a Yea and a Nay, conform to your knowledge: it is far more easie for you to form a real notion of a thing that is, than a false image of what hath no being; truth may be expressed without art and study, but a lye hath need of both.

The Gentry of our Nation hath better understood the ugliness of his Vice than any other Country whatsoever, judging a lye to be the greatest and most insupportable affront, not to be repaired but by blood. True Nobility having its rise from vertue, one cannot give a Gentleman a lye, and not forth­with reproach him that he degenerates, and that he [Page 48]thereby forfeits his quality. A liar to satisfie his vanity, or to please the person whom he flatters, co­zens, or fears, is guilty of felony against God who sees all things, in whose presence he speaks a falshood. It is very certain that we ought justly to resent that reproach, provided we have truth on our side; but if we tell a lye indeed, we boldly maintain to God, Man, and our own Conscience, a falsity which it internally disowns. Think therefore, my Son, that you cannot sufficiently abhor a crime which plunges you in the abyss of this confusion.

Though some of our actions be indifferent, yet (with the good leave of our Casuists) there is not any the least lye that can be so, though even it were offi­cious. For by that, the faithfulness of commerce betwixt God and man, and betwixt man and man, is broken. Your tongue is the instrument of your soul, which is the thing alone that you have still in your own power.

Make use of it, my Friends, according to the intent of nature that bestows it on you, in expressing your thoughts with sincerity, until that a more ripe and advanced age may render you fit for the other fun­ctions of life, which are Studies and Exercises.

CHAP. VI. Studies and Exercises ought to be jointly per­formed.

AS the Body and Soul, my Children, are form­ed and bred both together, so likewise after the same method should we endeavour to accomplish and perfect them in company. And therefore it is my opinion (though the common practice be con­trary) that ye follow your Exercises and Studies at one and the same time; to the end that by an alter­nate progress and regress from your studies to your exercises, and from your exercises to your studies, you may with more profit and less tediousness per­form your course, than when you are forced with one breath to run the career of either.

Nature gives us this lesson in all her productions; when she forms a flower, its stalk, bud, blossom, co­lour and smell, advance jointly with so equal a pace, that it is her last stroke alone which finisheth all its parts.

My Child, the body and the soul are two twins whereof you are composed; if you neglect the one, to take care only of the other, you are the stepfather of that which you forsake, they crave both your care at one and the same time: when by exercises you have rendred your body healthful, well disposed and nimble, it is all in vain, your business is but half done, without the concourse of the good qualities of the soul, to wit, of sciences and vertues which de­pend on study.

The fable of the Poets tells us, that the Tutor of Achilles was half-man and half-horse, to hint to us [Page 50]that Studies and Exercises should be learnt jointly: it calls him likewise the Son of Esculapius the God of Medicine, because the indisposition of body, and sicknesses, are the obstacles and hindrances in the progress of an accomplished life. Occasion is bald, and Fortune inconstant, they are both to be taught by a cunning catch, or not at all, and therefore a moment of time lost by sickness may snatch them out of our hands.

CHAP. VII. Of Exercises. Of Riding, Dancing, Fen­cing: and of the agility of Body and Hand.

APply your selves then, my Children, to those exercises which render the body healthful, strong and nimble, and at the same time neglect not your Studies; but ye must pass from the one to the other so regularly, that the change may seem rather the divertisement of your work, than the alteration of employment.

Amongst Exercises, Running, Wrestling and Jumping, preserve a good disposition of body, and are of great use for the Wars: but having often ob­served the most part of those who have excelled in these three, become gouty, and grow old before their time; Armand, my eldest Son, I advise you not to use them, you have too hot and boiling a temper to keep moderation in such exercises, you are so excessive in every thing you do, that I am afraid lest by spending and dissipating much of your spirits in bodily action, you may have no more left for the functions of the soul: if their restlesness, which never [Page 51]allows you repose; relent not a little, as you grow in age, the fountain of them being unable to supply their activity, it may be that I may have the grief to survive you according to the course of Nature, al­though I be six and fifty years older than you. Take heed to it, my Son, and refrain those violent exer­cises, or be very moderate in them. As to your Bro­thers, whose natural constitution is more tempe­rate than yours, I allow them all that I forbid you.

I am rather of the mind that you learn to ride the great Horse well. By this exercise a man fashions the carriage of the body, and at the same time the Horse is managed. In it a man is taught how to sit, carry his body, hold his legs, his foot, and his hand, ei­ther for the bridle or switch, to make the Horse obey whatever he is bid do. And in all these things, there must be a great deal of patience, whereof your rest­less temper hath much need.

Be satisfied to acquire a competent skill in this ex­ercise, without applying your self to it over much; to excel in it one must know the nature and particu­lar temper of every horse, and it is to be feared that by too much familiarity with them, as they may re­tain somewhat of the man, so by the same reason we may contract a little of the beast.

Slight not Dancing, which is a motion of the bo­dy that adjusts it self with measure to the rising, mean, or falling of the voice or instrument that is played on. There is no man of what condition so­ever, nor any nation whether of the new or old world, that loves not Dancing. Disturb not that universal consent by a singular and private repug­nancy; our new Reformers who condemn it, show as little reason in this as in the rest, for leaving the common cadence. By Dancing you will acquire a graceful carriage, provided you subject not your self [Page 52]too much to the rule of Art. A master teaches you your steps, but the air, port and liberty of body must come from your self: As there is something rude and barbarous in slighting this exercise, there is likewise somewhat too soft and effeminate in striving to excel in it.

A woman is to know no more of this, than what is consistent with modesty, nor a man more than the decorum of his condition will admit of, lest that otherwise he may transfer unto his feet the care that he ought to have of his head. Dancing is to be learned, to satisfie with some order the impulses of blood and spirits which move and stir in a young bo­dy: but as soon as ever they are setled and a calm in our veins and arteries, we must bid adieu to the Ball.

There is yet another exercise which you cannot be without, and that is the handling of the Sword. You carry it not as an ornament, it is rather cumbersome; nor for the security of your person, since you live under the protection of the Laws. The Gentry car­ry it, as being the instrument of their profession, which is to be always ready for the service of the Prince. You are covered with no other arms but this, which is rather an offensive than defensive wea­pon, to instruct you that you are more obliged to shed the blood of your Princes enemies, than to pre­serve your own. You carry it in time of War for the service of the State, and in time of Peace to di­stinguish you from the common people, and that they may also respect you as being armed for their defence. If you make use of it against them, unless it be on your own defence, you prophane it, and deserve to have it taken from you, as having defiled it with base or with innocent blood.

Learn to use it for the maintaining of your ho­nour, for though you live under the protection of [Page 53]Laws, yet the same Laws, if one transgress them by doing you an injury, should have in vain allowed you to carry it on the side of your heart, if it was their meaning to deprive you of the liberty of draw­ing it to repel an injury. The lawful ground of using it, is a blow with the fist, threatning, injurious con­tempt, accusing one of a dishonourable crime, the upbraiding of one with a shameful imperfection, and the lye: But I still understand it with this condition, that if you be accused of a vice whereof you are guil­ty, or receive the lye for a thing which is indeed false, that both these reproaches be to you rather an occasion of amendment than revenge: in this ren­counter bend your force against your self.

When you are obliged to take Sword in hand, make use of that which hangs by your side, a long Tuck is only for Hectors or Robbers. If you exer­cise your self with the foil, (though it be in the Fencing School it self, or at home in your house) let it be with doors shut, and your particular friends: take not up the Fluret in all sorts of places, that is, the vanity of a Fencing-master. Be not too vehe­ment nor too frequent in that exercise; and above all things when you are upon a Journey, beware that foils may never be seen to make a part of your equi­page, as I have often seen at Court: let the master of that equipage pardon me, if he please; but he gives me ground to suspect that he stood in greater need of a breast-plate. My Son, be a little more li­beral of your flesh, and venture your body, rather than such precaution should give occasion to make you suspected of fear, or that you have in your head some design of a combat.

As concerning Hunting, which is permitted to great men and to the Gentry, I dare not advise you that pastime, because it contains in it some hidden poyson; for though it render a man active, vigilant [Page 54]and laborious, yet there is a certain venom mingled with that exercise which bewitches and brutifies him that is too much addicted to it. If it appear to be chast, vertuous and innocent, like the Goddess who is the Patroness thereof, yet its effect is barren, and brings forth no more than she. He that pursues it as passionately as that famous hunter of Antiquity, ex­poses himself to the same misfortune; that having hunted much, finds at last the idol of his pleasure to be a very naked thing, grows brutish, and becomes himself at last like the beast that he hunts, a prey to his own dogs.

Hunting is of great use in time of Peace, forasmuch as it keeps the Gentry in breath, and affords an in­nocent diversion to spirits that are impatient of re­pose. In time of War it is quite contrary, for it ap­plies to private pleasure the service which is due to the Prince and publick. Observe, my Son, in fine, that excepting great Cyrus, there was never any great hunter a great Conqueror.

To conclude, my Children, what I have to say con­cerning your Exercises, I give you this advice more, that you never meddle with any but such as may con­duce to you health, or become your quality, even though you might excel in others. Renounce all sorts of dangerous leaps, jugling tricks, and slights of hand; let Juglers and Gypsies enjoy their own trade.

All these things are like the works of— where there is much dexterity, but very little useful­ness. None but the rabble are taken or concern themselves with them; nevertheless I condemn them not as superfluous, since it is not altogether unprofi­table in the Government that fools should divert fools. Neither do I fobid you to see some time all the Bartholomew-fair Shows, I rather advise you to it, and to reason from thence, that seeing the body and [Page 55]mind of man is capable of a great many idle subtilties which seem impossible, if he excel not likewise in things that are necessary, it is only for want of pains and good application.

CHAP. VIII. That the first knowledge of Man should be that of himself. That he ought to know the apart­ments of the place of his abode, which is the World and Arithmetick.

NOW as concerning your Studies, I think that man ought to be to himself the first subject of his enquiry, and that he cannot handsomly desire to be knowing abroad, and ignorant at home. Indeed if we desire to pry into the knowledge of things that are without us, how low soever they may be, we shall find these that are below, equally unknown to us as those that are above us.

We shall as little understand the nature of Hyssop, as of the Cedar; or of an Head-worm, which is but an excrement of our skin, as of an Angel, which is a middle Being betwixt God and Man. This first enquiry into our selves, ought to be so natural, that I cannot enough wonder that men have so much esteemed that famous Inscrip­tion on the Temple of Apollo in Delphos, Nosce te ipsum, Know thy self; seeing that there is no man, how weak soever, that puts not often to himself this question, (What am I?)

So that Man might be better defined, an enquiring Creature, than a rational Creature. If he were na­turally rational, all his actions would spring from a [Page 56]wise consultation of mind, which is that we call Reason: but in respect that the inclination of his Will is oftner hurried by an external impulse of sense, that dwells only on shows and appearances, than by an internal tryal and examination of mind, which makes the difference between real, and appa­rent, good; let all antiquity pardon me if it please, that I agree not with in it this, that Man is a Ratio­nal Creature. He may become so, but that he can be so without study, and exerting acts of Reason, is what I cannot conceive. Reason is rather a qua­lity proper to Man, than essential to him alone. Let us call the understanding of an Elephant, Horse or Dog, what we please, it is not without reflection, which is a kind of reasoning, no more than our own.

If these three Creatures had not had some spark of our understanding, we could never have become so familiar together, nor have been employed respe­ctively (as we are) in the service of one another. I do notwithstanding confess, that their understan­ding is far short of ours, and so obscure, that it is not to be discovered but upon a near view; which gives us ground, that we may not own them as our brethren, to call it rather an Instinct, than Rea­soning.

Probably there are none but Man capable of Rea­son, but that he is always rational, is against expe­rience: The essential difference which agrees with him alone, and distinguishes him from all other Crea­tures in the world, is to be Enquiring. As there is none but he that doubts, it belongs only to him also to desire to know. Every Man, young or old, good or wicked, poor or rich, ignorant or learned; in a word, of what condition soever he be, is hourly and continually an enquirer.

My Son, before you came into the world, you re­mained nine months shut up in a Den, living only the life of a Vegetable: but so soon as you became capable of the Sensitive, you your self put your sen­ses in the possession of their rights, by breaking the prison of the Womb.

Child, render to your Soul the same good Office; its Functions for some time lie stupified under the imperfection of matter to which it is coupled: As soon as you finding make the least effort, to get out; be not wanting to its assistance. At first your knowledge will be muddy and confused, like the knowledge of those who are stun'd by a great fall. After your fall into this world with your head downward, and your lying benum'd nine months in the womb of your Mother, and as many years in the darkness of In­fancy; when you begin to come out of that primi­tive Syncope, put to your self that question, as they when they come out of their trance, What am I? or, Where am I?

Assist the first informations of your Soul by the ministry of your Senses. When you see here at home, that my Dogs serve to watch and guard my House, my Horses to carry me, my Oxen to labour my ground, my Sheep and Poultry to feed and cloath me, what can you think, but that he for whose use all these things are made, hath some preeminence above them? By this you see that Man (which you are) is the most perfect Creature which you know.

Consider in this place, my Son, the wonderful Oeconomy of the Creator of the world, who to pre­vent all emulation and envy, amongst the infinite number of his Creatures, hath not thought fit, that any one being, should know another better than it self. Plants are satisfied with the Vegetative Soul, the Sensitive being unknown to them. Insects ha­ving no other notion of perfection but of what be­longs [Page 58]to themselves, are without doubt destituted of the knowledge of what they want, as other Crea­tures bear without repining the knowledge which we have, whereof they have no Idea.

Upon the same ground we may say, that there is not so much as one man who does envy the nature of Angels, of the excellence of which we conceive no notion, but under the image of a form unknown; nor that there is so much as one man that in all re­spects and relations would make a total and intire change with another; because that neither of the two wishes can be made without desiring the anni­hilation of our Kind, or individual Being, to which Nature cannot consent. This progress mounts from Kind to Kind, and from Creature to Creature, up to God, to the end that every thing should so much the more closely be knit to him, that it is pleasantly deceived by this flattering illusion, that it is it self alone which is the favorite of the Al­mighty.

Son, having discovered what you are, let us now see where you are. If you rest satisfied to know no­thing here below more accomplish'd than Man, you have matter of humiliation, in respect that the place of his abode, is the common habitation of all sorts of Creatures, and the lowest Story of the world.

But such-as it is, since it is appointed to him for his residence, and he to have the use of it, he can­not be ignorant of its parts and apartments, without slighting the Architect that bestows on him the Pos­session of the same. And therefore I would have you, before all things, learn Cosmography: A Map and a Sphere will furnish you with a draught of the Heavens and the Earth in a small compass. And since there is not a corner of the world which hath not been discovered by men, within these hundred or sixscore years past, there is not a part thereof [Page 59]which you may not every day review in your mind, and go so far, till there remain no farther to be gone.

The knowledge of the Ancients comes short of ours in this point. In the first place they knew no­thing at all of the New World, which is greater than the Old, and of the Old they have allowed but two parts to be habitable, the other three they judg­ed desert, by reason of cold, or the excess of heat; which, in my opinion, was no very good way of Philosophising, to render Nature idle, and unactive in so great an extent of Countries.

It had been much more probable to have believed, (as it hath been since found out) that Nature, which makes nothing in vain, had accommodated the con­stitution of Man to the temper of the Climate where he was to live: That under the Poles she had conden­sed his skin, (which is the effect of cold) and so rendred his Pores less transpirable, that he might suffer less inconvenience from cold; and that even for an additional supply, she had made cold Coun­tries fruitful in Furs. And as to hot Countries, where day and night are alike in length, and where the Returns and Vicissitudes of Seasons are almost imperceptible, there was great appearance, that the course of Mans life should have been there more uni­form and healthful, and consequently, that in such Climates Inhabitants should not be wanting.

And indeed there is no part of the world, disco­vered, where men live longer, and in better health, than under the torrid Zone. It is there alone, where men feel but little of the Curse of Original sin; the Earth, without being laboured, yielding to them of its own accord all that is necessary for Food and Rayment.

My Son, exercise your Studies in this Science, which is of great use; provided you make the right application of it. By considering the small extent of [Page 60]the Earth and Water, which make up but one single Globe, and which is no more than a Point in respect of Heaven, you may make a reflexion on the vastness of the Universe, which will raise your thoughts to a Metaphysical contemplation of the immensity of God, who is the Author of it; as on the contrary, the small Globe which you possess of this Point of Earth, in regard of the whole, will teach you a Les­son of Christian and Moral Humility, by making you understand the smallness of your portion.

It is likewise very necessary for the understanding of Natural and Civil History, in respect that the ge­neral division of the world by Limits, and the latitude of the several Parts, and the subdivision thereof into Principalities, according to the Confines, Rivers, chief Cities, Manners and Government of every se­veral State, are so many Retreats and different Sta­tions, where the Memory, which is naturally fluid, fixes and rests, and where it takes breath again to form to it self an order and method, without which it can never but confusedly dispose of its Magazine and Store.

Having got some knowledge of the place of your abode, and where you live, which is the Earth, see­ing the course of your life is made up of hours, days, nights, weeks, months, and years, the unequal mea­sures of which depend on the revolutions of the Sun, and the diverse faces and appearances of the Moon; I would advise you to study the particular Theory of both these Luminaries: Further than that, inform your self but little of what else is above you.

Leave to the Curious the Reveries that go current in the world concerning the extent of the Heavens, the matter whereof they are composed, their num­ber, motion, and the influences of Coelestial Bodies on ours; all which things have given Being to a Science; the vanity of which appears in this, that [Page 61]a good Astronomer, or Astrologer, seldom makes a good Statesman. The wonders of Heaven are not manifest to Man, but when he looks down upon the Earth: The light and power which emanates from that Divine source, being unperceptible to the eye and mind of Man, but by the reflexion which we see thereof here below amongst our selves.

Arithmetick is absolutely necessary for the practice of Geography, and for that part of the Sphere, which I would have you know: Learn it at the same time you learn the others, even to its Fractions; leave the rest, which are the broken and figurative num­bers to such as desire to excel in Algebra, which is a Science too subtile and abstracted for the commerce of humane society.

And for as much as we all have naturally an origi­nal Arithmetick, which is formed in us by the sight of the plurality of several individuals which present themselves to us to be considered without confusion, and that Cosmography is rendered palpable and sen­sible to the eye, by the Anatomy which is made on the Globe of the parts of the World, I propose them to you as the first Elements of your knowledge; for your instruction in which, I follow Nature as much as I can, as my chief guide.

CHAP. IX. That History informs Man of the transactions of the World, and that it is necessary to know it.

IN pursuance of this order, it is not enough for you, my Child, to know who you are, nor what is the place of your abode; you must also have some knowledge of that which passeth in this place; for that purpose, Nature hath thought fit that Memory should be first of the three faculties of the Soul which manifests it self in Man, that it might be the guar­dian of his first informations; to it History does properly belong; which is divided into two Heads, the one is Natural, which is a general collection of the particular works of Nature; and the other Civil, which is another collection of all the particu­lar acts of Men.

So that the true subject matter of History taken in its source and principles, is only individuals and particular things, from which the Memory draws its first knowledges. My Son, exercise your self in both: But I would have you lay Chronology and Cosmography, which are two dependances on na­tural History, as the basis and foundation of Civil: They will acquaint your memory with the circum­stances of Time and Place, without which it is im­possible that it can retain any thing in order.

Natural History regards the actions of Nature, and the Civil, the actions of Men; from the one is drawn a Natural and Physical Reason, and from the other a Politick Judgment: And seeing that you [Page 63]are to live with men, it is my opinion, that you ap­ply your self first to this last Study, and reserve the other for your retreat, and for the latter season of your life.

Though History be of much worth, as being the guardian of the reputation of illustrious men, and of notable examples which have happened before our times, yet I find it, and particularly our modern History so defective, that instead of presenting to us a true relation of things as they are, or have been, it is only the Gazet of them, where there is nothing more faithfully recorded than the trifles, and the matters of small consequence.

In effect, when a man would make it his business to trace backward the time past, which now is no more: To examine the motions of time, which was not as yet our own: To expose to view the natural inclinations of those with whom we have had no converse or correspondence: To give sentence upon the suspense and irresolution of a Council to which we have not been called, to dive into the secret of a Prince whose confident one hath not been, and to draw such a Picture of these and all other things which have been unknown to us, as may satisfie the Spectator, and him that is on the Stage, is a thing altogether impossible.

Notwithstanding of this, my Child, I would have you read History with all its imperfections; for though it be defective in its Circumstances, it is so­lid in the bulk, in that it lays open publick actions, brings back the image of past ages, and turns to­wards us the inside of men and affairs, to submit them to our Judgment. Memoirs, Letters, publick Records, Chronicles, Lives, particular Relations, Annals, and Journals, are so many different Store­houses, from whence are taken the examples which seve for a ground-work to Humane Prudence. All [Page 64]these things are a connexion of what is past with the present; whereof the issue and success of the one, is a direction to the other.

Above all, apply your self to the reading of the Lives of illustrious men, and propose to your self some one for your imitation. The Lives of par­ticular men, which have some single person for subject; in the texture of which there is a mixture of great matters with small, of sleight things with matters of weight, and of private actions with publick concerns, discover is man a Wart as well as an Ulcer, and may furnish to one a Model of Life, provided that there be some proportion in quality and condition between the Original and the Copy. A Prince must make choice of a Prince for his example, and a Subject of a Subject, o­therwise their measures will either be too short, or too long.

As to those great Lives, which seem to be beyond imitation, to admire them we must look upon them at distance as upon Colosses, lest that seeing them near at hand, we may perceive them to be nothing but a cast piece, or temper­ed Mortar; and so we see that they never suf­fer themselves to be known of any in particu­lar, but by the means of their own prepossessed Domesticks.

I wish we had in writing the Particulars of the Lives of the Duke of Weimar, and of the Mareschals of Guebriant, and Gassion. The first is a brave Pattern for a Prince stript of his Do­minions, and the two other for a Gentleman who designs to raise his Family; though the last two have not been on the fairest place of the Stage as the former, yet they have been as conspicuous. The course of these three Lives, which have had no other end but Virtue to raise [Page 65]them to what they were, is an illustrious car­reer which would present a lovely spectacle. I speak nothing of the Living; for besides that they may still fall into escapes, their modesty, it may be, or their self-love might be offended at my Judgment.

The Life of the Chevalier Wayard, is, in my opinion, one of the most lovely Lives which I have ever read, and the true pattern to a Gen­tleman: This was the Chevalier without fear, and without reproach, and who was so equally valiant and good, that one cannot tell in which of these two Virtues he hath most excelled. My Son, I will have his Life to be the first History that you read, and the first that you give me an account of; strive to imitate him as much as you can; you cannot but write well after so fair a Copy. If you cannot reach his valour, which is without example; be faithful to your Prince, and courteous as he was.

CHAP. X. Of fabulous History, and of Romance.

BEside the true, there is also a fabulous History, which is that of Romance; the reading of which I do not forbid you. A Romance is nothing but a History made at pleasure, wherein the mind of Man gives full reins to his imagination, to form to it self an image of perfection, to which the power of Man cannot attain, which is a certain mark of the immortality of the Soul, when it ap­pears more perfect in its notions, than it can be in action. Indeed, the most pompous things, the most accomplished order, and the least expected va­riety, is that which pleases us most.

True History represents to us only things as they are, with all their faults; their events depend more on Fortune than Reason, and the narration becomes very often tedious, because it gives account of no extraordinary success; when on the contrary every thing in a Romance is great, there Virtues and Vi­ces are extream, and always recorded according to the measure of merit. A thousand rare and unfore­seen Adventures there, surprise the Reader, and keep him always in breath, in expectation of some other novelty which may prove still more wonderful. In fine, the Soul elevates it self by this reading, and it comes often to pass, the being instructed by the excellent qualities of some imaginary Hero, it re­tains in effect some real impression of them; or some horrour of Vice, from the borrowed shape of the villanous.

I believe, this was the reason, why Alexander the great allotted that rich Cabinet of Darius for the Books of Homer, whether that he had a mind by that action to make some acknowledgment to him who had assisted to his breeding, by the example of the ima­ginary Hero's of his Iliads; or that he thought it just to give a share of the booty of his Conquests to him that had shaped him his first design in the Expedition of Troy. It is almost impossible to read a good Romance without feeling in our selves an aversion from vice, or our desires touched with the emulation of the brave actions which we read therein.

It is certainly true, that the morality which made the first impression on my hear, was that which I read in the Amades, where I found vice always pu­nished, virtue rewarded, the promise inviolable, and valour in the highest pitch that it can rise to: And therefore I cannot forbid you the reading there­of. But for my Daughters, if they will take my word, they should refrain the reading of all Roman­ces, and this above all others, forfear they may learn what is not fit for them to know. In my opinion, the most dangerous Romance of all, is Astrea, which by the variety of many amorous Histories, woven all in the same strain, secretly kindles in young hearts that natural and sweet passion, which hath its train laid in the spirits and blood; and though there be it that work, discreet and wise Counsels to prevent the taking fire, yet that hot and fiery Age, which is more capable of burning than Reason, will not at all hear them: So that I think that Book only fit to be read at an after season, when these wanton flames are extinguished.

Such Romances as begin with the birth of their Hero's, the progress of whose lives interwoven with pretty Adventures being traced in order to the end, are those wherein I find greatest instruction. I look [Page 68]upon them as on a perfect body, whereof at one only glace we see all the beauties placed in their order.

As to such Romances which begin with some Ad­venture of the Life of their Hero, which serves for the ground-work of the whole invention, being too subtile, they affect me less than the others; because their gracefulness appears only in confusion, and the mind is always obliged to be upon the scout to rally together the scattered pieces which make up the Hi­story, as if the Author intended to go snips with his Hero, in the attention of his Reader for the finding out of his order and method.

The ancient Philosophers have represented to us Heroical Virtues in efforts and duties, which surpass the force of Man, that they might give him an aim, and advance them to the outmost confines of the power of Nature. Romances have done the same more ingeniously than Philosophers, in that they have proposed them to us in a subject endowed with them; and by consequence they take better with our imagination under that last shape, which is in some manner material, than under the former, which is meerly natural.

It is most certain, that the Idea of these brave, though feigned Presentations, is able to instil into great Souls such a Principle of emulation, that it is probable that some part of the extraordinary actions which have been performed in the Wars, have drawn from this Principle the boldness of their execution.

It may not without reason, be thought strange, that I have handled seriously so frivolous a matter, and that I have made it an Article of my Will and Testa­ment. Romances, may Son, are an infirmity of the times; it hath been mine, and it may be perhaps thine; though the subject be vain, yet it cannot miss of a good effect, if one can but soberly and judiciously peruse it.

CHAP. XI. Of the different ends of Studies, according to the diversity of Spirits. That it is very ne­cessary that Kings should be learned.

HItherto, my Children, by the reading of Hi­story to which I advise you, and Romances which I forbid you not, I have only set a task to your memory and imagination, which are the two weakest faculties of the Soul. It remains now that I should entertain you with what may be useful to the forming of your Judgment, which are your other Studies, in the use whereof every one propo­ses to himself a different end.

Some there are who content themselves with a slight tincture of learning, and especially with some skill in the Poets, (which they call Humanity) and are well satisfied with their pains, if they can but gain some esteem in the private conversation of those they meet. No Learning can be called Hu­manity, unless it be good; nor good, unless ap­plyed to a more solid use than the laziness of an un­active life.

Beside, what perfection soever one may acquire it that kind of knowledge being but superficial; instead of real esteem, it produceth but ordinarily a vain eccho of fame, which answers no longer than the conversation lasts.

There are others who employ all their Studies about the quaintness and elegancy of diction, whe­ther in speech or writing, and never heed the weight of Reasons which the matter whereof they treat does require. Words, which should represent to us [Page 70]the real notion of things, notwithstanding of what ornament and dress they may have, are no more but air and illusion, if the strength of reason give them not solidity, and a body. Beware of that gingling harmony, as of a snare which you lay, or is laid for you to catch the Judgment by the ear.

Whether you speak of write, covet no other di­ction but what is most proper and significant to ex­press the notions of your mind. The diversity of faces proceeds only from the diversity of spirits, and the difference of stile from the difference of temper and humour.

A dull man will be slow and heavy, a crafty man will have cunning fetches, a babler will be diffused and tedious, a hudling shuffler confused, a deceiver ambiguous, it is the only frank and honest man that will be clear and near in his words. Let your stile then, in speaking or writing, have no other end but to represent in the most genuine manner you can, the real image of the notions of your mind. if so you do, besides that you will accustom your self to be candid and true, by setting your self out by word and writing to be what you are, you will without Art and Study insensibly become elo­quent.

There are others who study, that they may fit and accommodate to business what they have learnt, and that is the science of the Law and Govern­ment; for although those men who are meer States­men, have some sufficiency in the dispatch of busi­ness, and the Judgment exact enough in ordinary matters, nevertheless, when any question of State of great importance, comes to be discussed, as a League or Alliance betwixt two Crowns, a Rupture or Treaty of Peace betwixt them, it is most certain, that those who have studied, having by the means of learning acquired a more universal knowledge, [Page 71]do penetrate further, and are more judicious in such affairs, than such who have only the ordinary Job-trot of State. However, before they be called to that, it is absolutely necessary that experience have recti­fied the precepts of the School, and the Court their use and application: the circumstances which do u­sually attend great affairs, not permitting that one can judge of them meerly by the rules of art. Learn­ing perfects nature, and experience learning; the former makes the Scholar, and the latter the Ma­ster.

And forasmuch as the more weighty affairs con­cern great men directly, and the meaner only re­flection, I think there are none so much obliged to be learned and knowing, as Kings, witness the glori­ous success of our arms and counsels, which partly proceeds from that lovely knowledg of letters, wherewith our Princes of the Blood; our chief Mini­sters, and Generals, are endued.

Upon this subject, the Queen at present shews us in the education of the King, an extraordinary trace of prudence, having contrary to ancient custom re­moved from his Majesty, all young persons, to the end that the government and wise erudition of those eminent and discreet men, to whom the care and oversight of his breeding hath been committed, be­ing disburthened of that incumbrance, might be more free in the direction of his manners. Good and evil insinuate themselves into man only by the eye and ear.

These two gates being well guarded in the con­duct of the Prince, and nothing childish appearing before him, but what may be useful to give him some good instruction, we shall see his judgment by little and little rectified before the ordinary season, and his prudence as his majority anticipate that of his Subject. Experience hath often taught us, that [Page 72]it is a dangerous piece of policy to withhold from young Princes any of the knowledges which they are capable to receive; soon or late their mind as their body comes out of pupillage: if then they are sensible that all the notion which they ought to have, have been sincerely wrought in them, their sense is turned into gratitude; and on the contrary, into indignation, if they perceive that there has been any design to stifle and offuscate their know­ledge.

In effect arms and letters are so linked together, that the Goddess of the one is the Goddess of the o­ther: so that there was never any great Conqueror but who hath been learned, witness Cyrus, Alexander, Caesar, and Charlemain, because that of necessity the actions of the mind, which proceed from knowledg, must go before the actions of the heart, which con­sist only in execution; and that clemency towards the subdued, a yoke more easie than their former, and new and better Laws, which are the effects of science, are wont to be the most victorious arms of a Conqueror.

The Progress of a rude and ignorant man, let him be never so stout, goes not far, witness the But­cheries of Sylla and Marius, which had Rome alone for their stage; or if it goes far, it is but like a whirl­wind driven by a giddy and irregular impulse, which breaks and scatters it self in its course, and by its dissipation leaves no other mark of it self, but a stench of sulphur and nitre, and the desolation of the places where it hath past, witness the irruption of the Goths into Italy. Not only all great Con­querors have been learned but we may also observe from time to time, that the most learned ages have been the most warlike: let France be an instance, which was never more learned, nor more victorious than it is at present. May it not be, that as the vi­gour [Page 73]of body and mind are for most part of the same age: so also in the politick body, the glory of arms and of letters should always have the same season.

How excellent soever notwithstanding Letters are, yet they teach not of themselves their right use and employment. We may say of them in general, that they are an instrument for every kind of work, and that Prudence to make use of them is a science a­bove them all, which is only acquired by a long and judicious experience in the application of them. And therefore it is that we see in a great many men of learning, who, not knowing how to imploy their talent, are very ignorant in the actions of life and society; for though the reading of History may make a man provident and foreseeing, of Poets pleasing and agreeable, the Mathematicks ingenious, Rhe­torick eloquent, Logick subtile, Natural Philosophy speculative, and Ethicks and Politicks sociable: All these faculties nevertheless are but stupid and useless, if they be not imployed with judgment; the right and lawful application of them depends more on an original faculty and oeconomy that is born with us, than on the light which themselves af­ford.

CHAP. XII. Of Christian Morality, which consists onely in Charity.

THe only study which seems to me to have its force, merit, and use in it self, is that of Chri­stian Morality, that consists solely in the exercise of Charity, which comprehends in it the love of God, [Page 74]and of our Neighbour. Child, if your will propose to it self never to do any thing contrary to these two points, your virtue, without much art, will be compleat. The Morality of the ancient Philoso­phers was almost all in words, and so contentious and jangling, that they would never agree among themselves about the chief good, which is the object of the will: they have divided and subdivided vir­tue into so many parts, that its beauty is no more discernable, by reason of the many wounds and cuts that have been given it. Let us banish from our mind that multiplicity of virtues; there is but only one that is to say, Charity, which is the love of God and our Neighbour; all the rest spring from this Fountain.

It is very considerable, that the ancient Morality hath conceived virtue under a name singular, and that it would not find a word proper enough to ex­press it in its full extent. For want of that it hath been forced to divide it into four principal heads, and again to subdivide the four principal by a sub­altern division, which instead of one hath produced us a swarm of virtues: that perhaps hath been the reason that for want of a notion that reunites the essence of all that is called Virtue, under one single Idea, the inclination of ancient Ages hath not been so rapid towards the love of it, in respect that they never considered it but in the particulars, and by a beam reflected only from some good action.

For example, if a man was patient and void of fear, they called that Fortitude; if his manners were well regulated, Temperance; if he was equi­table, Justice; and if the conduct of his life was ju­dicious and discreet, that they called Prudence.

In effect virtue is quite another thing, it's name is singular, in respect that its true essence proceeding from a simple and single being, bears the stamp of [Page 75]the unity of its principle. To speak properly, there is no virtue but in God, mans is but a stream deri­ved from that fountain. Every action of God, in what we can conceive of it, is only love towards his creatures, and man being made after his Image, cannot preserve that divine resemblance, unless his actions have the same end.

So that, my Children, there is no other virtue but that which shapes us after that divine pattern, and which unites us with him by a common bond of love, which is Charity: without it, that which we commonly call Virtue, is but the image and pi­cture thereof. Ancient morality could not (as the Christian hath) find a proper name for it, because it knew not the true source from whence it springs.

Without that the love of our Neighbour is but meer good-will, or rather a weakness of spirit, that cannot see our like suffer without compassion; as I have observed before, it is but a dead work, if the love of God quicken it not. Fortitude, which fears nothing, and suffers patiently pain, and all the cross and troublesome accidents of life, is a faculty whose acts are savage and contrary to the tenderness of man; nevertheless it becomes a pleasant and easie virtue, so soon as the love of God hath perswaded us that all these things are sent by him, and that there is nothing terrible, nor insupportable in na­ture but Sin, which destroys that love.

Temperance is a barren virtue, and insipid in its moderation, if it be not seasoned by the love of God: It is altogether likewise impossible that Justice can find the centre of its equipoise, nor that Prudence can be sufficiently disinteressed in its conduct, if they receive not a just temper from the same principle. So that it seems the moral virtues of the Ancients have but only been simple dispositions to good, and that they deserve not the name of Virtue, unless [Page 76]Charity stamp them with that character: they all consist in a determined mediocrity; Charity on the contrary never appears excellent but in overflowing, as the History of Martyrs sufficiently testifies: it seems to our eyes a piece of humane folly, because the union that it makes betwixt God and man, is alto­gether impossible by ordinary means.

The wise Politicians of past times have, in my o­pinion, a more clear and distinct knowledg of this than the ancient Philosophers; they have had some shadow of the notion which we have of Christian Charity, in reducing virtue to the duty of the love of ones Countrey and Religion. As concerning Religion, though their object was wrong, yet their intention was good, and conform to ours. And as to the love of their Countrey, though it respected only their fellow-Citizens, yet it carried some im­pression of our Charity, and was only defective in its extent.

Children, the Ten Commandments of the Law are all reduced to this, that we love God above all things, and our Neighbour as our self. Ile tell you once more, that the practice of this Commandment is called Charity, which is a virtue which alone com­prehends all Christian morality, and which far sur­passes the morality of the Schools. In the first place there never was any Philosophy, Sect, nor Religion, that hath had greater regard to the publick good, and less to private interest, that God by the means of This demonstrates to us, that God by the means of that virtue would imprint in man, as he hath in all nature, a more violent appetite to preserve the whole, than any one part thereof; and make known to us, that that Law of nature to which all created beings do obey, and the Law of Christianity which alone conspires in this desire, have been presented to us by the same hand. When that Law commands [Page 77]us to love our enemies, and to do good to those that persecute us: forasmuch as they who hate and persecute us, are many in number, and that we are alone to suffer their hatred, and bear with their im­perfections; it would have our private interest give place to the concerns of the greater number of man­kind, who are our persecutors, and that we should pray that God would pardon them.

If we have the patience to examine the Christian Doctrin in its original, though its Author be only known to us by faith, yet so great is the conformity of its principles with nature, that the Divinity of the Author must visibly discover it self to us. There is nothing more consonant to nature, than to ac­knowledg a first principle, acknowledging him, to adore and worship him, to unite our selves with him by love, because we depend on him, to admit of no other Deitie but him; not to prophane and abuse the majesty of his Name, to give him a part of the time which he hath made, that we may rest as he did, and contemplate with him the wonders of his works.

Now as to what concerns our selves: it is con­sonant to nature that man should be a measure to man. If you desire that your Son should honour you, honour your Father: if you be afraid that one kill you, defile your Marriage-bed, bear false witness against you, rob you, or design you the least inju­ry, nature condemns you, and your own conscience pronounceth the sentence, if your heart and hands preserve not the same innocence for another that you desire for your self: Tooth for tooth, and eye for eye, is a rude and rigorous Law.

If any one become cruel, must I be so also? it is far more humane to be indulgent to him; when he deprives me of an eye, he acts against nature, and I according to it, when I leave him both his. God [Page 78]hath indeed shewed an act of goodness which is a­bove nature, in becoming man, but being incarnate, he hath done according to nature, in devoting him­self for the salvation of all mankind: the part should naturally consent to its own annihilation for the preservation of the whole.

My dearest Children, it is my advice that ye search for no other morality in your studies, but the practice of this virtue. The Scripture calls it the bond of perfection, because without it all other vir­tues are defective; by the means of this alone (pro­vided it be the fixed point and centre, about which your thoughts, words, and deeds turn, and that ye, have a constant and unshaken resolution, to eye no other end but what it proposeth) you will find your selves insensibly and without study possessed of all vertues: By doing so you will form and fashion your souls after the manner and progress of Na­ture rather than Art; since the works of Art re­ceive their perfection by degrees one part after an­other.

A Lapidary with one stroke cuts not all the points and faces of a Diamond, whilst he is about the first the rest remain rough and rude: but when Nature casts any of it's productions into the mould, as a plant or flower, all its parts have at the same instant an uniform progress. If you study to acquire vertues by habit, and successively one after another, you will find that when you labour for Fortitude, you will advance but flowly towards Prudence. When the Soul exerciseth the habit of one vertue, it grows negligent in the practice of another; where­as on the other hand, when we once propose to our selves to act nothing contrary to the love of God, or the love of our Neighbour, by means of that pre­disposition, our mind will be ready of it self to per­form the acts of whatsoever vertue that end enjoyns [Page 79]us, as if it were natural to it. But forasmuch as we cannot but with difficulty attain to that perfecti­on, let us now consider what are the vices that may be able to hinder it.

CHAP. XIII. Of the vices that spring from Self-love, which is contrary to the love of God, and of our Neighbour. And in the first place of Pride.

AS the love of God and our Neighbour is he foundation of all virtues; so is self-love the source of many imperfections, whereof Pride is the first: That was the sin of the first men, and the first of Angels; the one having had the presumption to equal the knowledg of God, and the other his power. If the Man and the Angel newly created by the hand of God, have not had strength to with­stand the internal worm of self-love, how can you defend your self from it, who are but the excre­ment of the clay of Adam, and art always beset by the same Angel, whose self-love set him upon his rebellion. This example ought to humble you, my Child, and nevertheless it is from this old leaven that the height of your swelling proceeds.

The happiness of the first man, and the excel­lence of the chief of the Angels before their fall, shew us that pride is a haughty plant, which grows not but in the best ground. If you be fortunate, and esteemed of amongst men, be the more upon your guard, and suffer not that what is good in you, pro­duce with it that weed which is able to choak it.

The wise man considers a poor man that is proud, as a thing contrary to nature: we may see the same [Page 80]of a Dunce, and man of no merit, seeing that vanity springs from confidence, and that there is nothing so suspicious, and so distrustful of it self as an ignorant: notwithstanding we see sometimes the ignorant proud, and the poor arrogant. As for the ignorant, it may be it is, because that man being naturally progressive, the Dunce may have the same desire to force himself forward as well as the wise, and that perceiving the stock of his sufficiency to be but small, he would enlarge it by his opinion.

As concerning him who is indigent, and yet arro­gant and proud in his power, he must still feel some strength and vigour in his soul, and some re­source that bears him up in spight of his heavy bur­den, without that inward support the pride of eve­ry infortunate man would be but small. To say the truth, boldness without fortune and merit, is but an Embrio that never comes to perfection, or if it do, it pines away like an Infant, that hath neither Mother nor breast to feed it.

How imperfect soever that appetite in man to raise himself above what he is, be, yet I can see no­thing that makes me so distinctly conceive the co­herence, that we have with the Creator of the Uni­verse, as the vain efforts which are discovered in all things created, to put themselves as forward as they can towards the perfection of their principle; and though there be a certain term that limits their greatest extent, yet when they attain to that, the design of rising higher, turns to a desire of preserva­tion: and seeing they cannot do that but for a short time, they leave in their seed or slips the bud of the eternity with they have had from God.

I return to Pride, which is so much the more dangerous, that it attacks the noblest part of man. Avarice is wholly earthly; Love hath its seat in the liver; Anger and hatred in the bilious humours: but [Page 82]Presumption lodges it self in that part of the brain which it finds emptiest, and that is the Imagination, which nevertheless it would but very little infect, if men would have patience to consider the matter whereof this phantome is composed: for indeed whereof is it that man can be proud? Is it of his birth? in sight of the majesty, highness, and nobility of his blood, he is still the Son of a man, and perhaps of a very imperfect creature: Is it of his beauty? that is but an effect of the harmony of the qualities of his first conformation, the agreement of which hath made the lovely conjunction of the parts whereof he is composed, to which he hath contributed nothing of his own, but rude and shapeless matter.

I cannot be for his riches, for if he want the least thing, and if his desire be not intirely satisfied, from that very instant he is poor. And less still for his Places and Offices. Dignities rather confound and jumble together men of worth, with persons of no merit, than distinguish them. And so it is a kind of disgrace for a Man of Honour, to be put in the balance with the Villain. Can it be for his learn­ing? learning indeed, which fills the brain with a confusion of different and indigested notions, which it heaps one upon another, may well occasion a tu­mour; but knowledge which examins all things, and which lets nothing pass for true, without con­sidering it in all its appearance, is humble, and let­ting us see our weakness and imperfection in every thing, discovers to us the vanities and emptiness of our presumption.

Vanity, Child, is formed very often of the scum of young blood; moderate therefore betimes the vapours of yours. Fruits that burst before they be ripe are never good to eat. Experience likewise teaches us that trees which are graffed near the ground, bear better and fairer fruit than those that [Page 82]are graffed upon the top of the stocks, there branch­es only spreading above, according to the depth of their roots under ground; which is a lesson of na­ture to teach us, that our virtues have onely their worth and excellence from the lowness of our hu­miliation.

The sole of your feet which touches the ground, is the only part which bears and supports your body; your soul can less stand upright, and pro­duce any good action, if your humility be not a stay and foundation to it. The humility which I desire of you is not to kiss the earth, nor the feet of the poor, that defiles the mouth, and cleanses not much the soul; nor that you should esteem every man a­bove your self: order requires that you should keep your rank. It is in this sense that I would have you humble, to wit, if there be any thing that is good in you, that you acknowledg it to be the gift of God alone, and that there is nothing your own but your faults and vices.

CHAP. XIV. Of sensual Love.

THe second imperfection which seems to me to sprout from Self-love, is our Sensual Love, which we name (most improperly) Love; seeing the word Love is proper only to God alone. Love in its essence is nothing else but a most perfect union of the thing that loves with the thing loved, which union cannot be naturally and in order, but betwixt the effect and its cause, and the Creature and its Creator: If you break that union with your origi­nal to make it more strict elsewhere, it is a spurious and unlawful union which you contract.

So that, My Child, when your love forsakes God to reflect upon your self, that vain complacency is the Mother of your pride. If it likewise quite him to make an unlawful reflexion upon another, your affection which is then sensual, deserves no more from thenceforth the name of Love. In fine we may say of that passion, that it takes to it self its name, according to the different respects, or the predominancy of the two parts that compose us. If the soul be hurried away by the body, it is Inconti­nence, if she be the mistriss, and have the command, it is Love.

It is a wonder very strange, that the heathenish Theology, that is, the Poetical fictions, and the do­ctrine of the Gospel, can so well agree about the things which are attributed to love, that notwith­standing of the contrariety that there is betwixt sensual and divine love, it seems that to attract on us the divine love, we must hate all the same quali­ties which are ascribed to the sensual.

The Fable represents to us sensual love under the shape of a Child, naked and blind, with wings to his shoulders, a Bow in one hand, and a Torch in the other: A Child, because that passion sutes well with none but young folks, and that infancy is a sign of the want of judgment: Naked, because it strips to the shirt those that are addicted to it, and never procures any good: Blind, because it puts out the eye of conduct, and that it is impossible to spie the imperfections of the thing that is loved: With wings at his back, because it is unconstant and fu­gitive: A Bow in one hand and a Torch in the other, to signifie to us that Incontinence is nothing but fire and sword.

All these conditions are also necessary to procure divine Love. The mouth of our Saviour hath told us, that to come to him we must become like little [Page 84]children, his example does likewise instruct us that we must be naked, even to the casting off and de­nying of our own will; and his doctrin teacheth us, that we ought blindly to captivate our minds to the obedience of faith, that the wings of hope should bear us up, and that the fire of charity should never be quenched in us.

My Child, the Fable would have Love to be blind, to give you to understand that his arms will never single you out of the croud so as to wound you, if you your self run not upon the point of them. Stand a little off, and make use of the Torch of that blind Boy, to let you see his inconsiderateness in his infan­cy, his shame in his nakedness, and the wrong aims that he takes in his blindness. Though the present age furnishes us with examples enough in this kind, yet to spare the honour of the living, let us make use of the most ancient of all, which is that of Paris.

Consider this Judg of three Goddesses, who for a flower already pluckt, renounces the plenty of all things, and the glory of Arms and Sciences, of which he had the choice; nor was the Mistress that was offered to him, either a Virgin, to shew us that virginity ought not to be the prey of a foul desire. Observe, how that to commit that unlucky rape, it behoved him to violate the most sacred right of an­tiquity, which was that of Hospitality; and that during a ten years Siege, whereof he was the cause; he never appeared for the defence of his Countrey, nor in the Counsel, nor in Arms, but once, when he was overcome. Judg by this, that where that passion rules, faith ceaseth, and strength and pru­dence lose their action, as if they were bound by some secret charm.

We must be blinder yet than that false Deity, to call it, as we commonly do, good Fortune, to ac­complish a desire that is foul in its design, disloyal [Page 85]in its addresses, painful in its pursuit, dangerous in its execution, and whose end is often accompanied with ruin, distaste, and shame. That passion hath so much the more need of counsel, that it hath its nest and seat in the blood, and that it begins to kindle in the season when that is most boyling. So we see it is the most ordinary subject of the Stage, which are established in the Government, as much for the instruction as the divertisement of the Spectators.

It is not my intention, my Child, here to put you out of conceit with Ladies, nor that you should a­void them as a Quicksand which threatens you with inevitable shipwrack; that counsel would be too rude and barbarous: instead of taking you off from them, (seeing the soul is capable of love, before the body be of debauchery) I should rather advise you to be­take your self betimes to some fair and lovely per­son, that is wise, discreet, and somewhat more ma­ture than you, and that you should endeavour by all means, and do all you can to gain her esteem. To deserve that you must have a good grace, be discreet, dextrous, knowing, valiant, and sociable. Do not you think that the desire to become agreeable to a wise and beautiful Mistress, should not be a most faithful Counsellor for the acquiring of all these good qualities? so long as to please her, you shall exercise your self in these things, the season of de­bauchery will insensibly pass away, and the person whom you have served, considering you then as the work of her own hands, will love you accordingly. Then will you be sensible that the union of two lovely souls together, which is contracted by virtue, without the assistance of the body, hath somewhat in it far more sweet and pleasing, than if it had been more gross and material. The grace of love never well preserve their natural sincerity, but by the first two senses, which are Seeing the Hear­ing; [Page 86]the last, which I dare not name, corrupts the fruit of it, if the Law which allows it, do not pre­serve its purity.

It is not that I would have you serve the Mistress that I am speaking of, with a purpose to marry her, your measures would be too near for a design which ought to be at greater distance: but it is most cer­tain that he, who as yet being very young, could place his first affection on some wise female Coun­sellor, who finding her self obliged by the first fruits of our heart, should give us to understand that all our pains and courtship is but labour in vain, and that we can have no share in her esteem, unless we deserve it by virtue. I confess to you, my Son, that in such a case, if the imperfection of the stuff we are made of can admit of any amendment, such ad­vice would prove more useful to us to make men of honour, than any other whatsoever.

I say nothing to you of that brutish appetite, whose impetuosity comes from the lees of the blood, it deserves neither directly nor indirectly the name of Love. That you may have in horror that filthi­thiness, consider only the places of that infamous prostitution; what their slavery is, what is the na­ture of the evils that are there contracted, what stench and symptomes they have, how difficult the cure is, and how obstinate the contagion; and I am assured, that having in your mind a lively im­pression of that visible Hell, you will need no other documents to guard you from it.

CHAP. XV. Of Hatred.

HAtred is a bad sprout, that springs from self-love: for though virtuous persons have a natural aversion from the wicked, yet is it much more violent towards one who hath wounded the love that we have for our selves, than to a pub­lick Enemy; and is raised in us for the evil that men wish, or do to us. If the disorder that a wic­ked person causeth in us, did only terminate in a care to guard our selves from him, as from a hurt­ful creature, the wound that we receive would never rankle, which is of the nature of those hurts where­of the consent with other parts affected is more dangerous than the wound it self. Indeed hatred is only a malignant vapour which without intermis­sion makes a circulation from the heart to the imagi­nation, and from the imagination to the heart, and which disquiets us day and night, so long as he that is the cause of it is in quiet. Since it is so, we must kill, if it be possible, that internal worm of the soul, and not give our enemy the joy to beget it in us, and far less the satisfaction to see it gnaw and torment us.

We can have but three kinds of enemies, they are either more powerful than we, or our equals, or inferiours. If one greater than your self hate you, and you slight his hatred, your contempt, being in a manner the annihilation of his action, you get the better of him, and put him under you. If he be your equal, you must imploy in that occasion your prudence, for where forces are equal, the most vi­gilant and skilful commonly carry the day. Stand [Page 88]upon your guard, and skilfully avoid such things as may stir up your own or his hatred: but if he be your inferiour, make use of your strength to disarm him, that is to say, to take from him all means whereby he may hurt you. Pluck out only the Serpents teeth, and leave him so.

Child, when one offers you any cause of hatred, I should be glad that your resentment did terminate in a horrour of the injustice that is done to you, without reaching the person from whence it comes. He deserves pity more than you, for he breaks the bands of nature, which oblige man to be humane to­wards man; do not you likewise break them, by ha­ting of him, otherwise you will add to the evil active of the injury that is done to you, the evil passive of thy hatred, which will be evil upon evil. A dog is satisfied to bite the stone that is thrown at him, without fleeing at him that threw it, suffer not a dog to be more humane than you.

The biting of hatred is like the stinging of a Scor­pion, to cure which it must be crushed like the Scorpion upon the wound that it hath made. In a word carry not about with you that enemy in your bosom, forget the injury, or despise it, or if it re­quire some more violent remedy, hasten to exe­cute what your honour may advise you, for your sa­tisfaction, to the end that you may with all possible expedition diflodge from your heart so troublesome a guest.

There is but one only case where hatred seems to be allowed, and that is when some wicked and dis­loyal person hates you, and that you have evident proofs of his hatred and malice: in that case it is very hard to separate the sinner from his sin, and not to hate both.

CHAP. XVI. Of Anger.

THere is still another enemy that lodgeth in the heart of man, which is not so lasting as hatred, and is notwithstanding more dangerous than it, by reason of it's violence, and that is, Anger. Children, it is my own fault, it will be yours, it is the vice of all ages, sexes, and conditions, without any excep­tion. There is no difference amongst us but only of more and less: all the other imperfections of the soul, have a certain particular object, without which the sinfulness of their action ceaseth.

Avarice hath riches for it's leaven; hatred, an injury received; envy, impatience at anothers pros­peritie; gluttony, the satisfaction of the belly and palat: Without that bait the poyson of all these vices would have no more force than the vennom of a benummed Serpent. It is not so with anger, all things from the greatest to the least are fewel to it's fire. A broken glass, a false report, a careless look, the suspition of a slight, an unlucky chance at play—which are but trifles, will cause as great a tumult in the brain of a cholerick person, as all the greatest storms of humane life.

I cannot conceive from whence so unconsiderate a vehemency as that of anger can proceed, unless it be that the subject that causes it, makes a recipro­cal reverberation from the memory to the imagina­tion, and from the imagination to the memory, without ever penetrating unto the reasonable part of the soul, and that by this collision our fire is kind­led; for if the vanity of the matter that transports us out of our selves: could undergo the tryal of rea­son, [Page 90]the name of God who beholds our follies, would not be blasphemed; our hair, at least mine, would still have remained on the head; no palpitati­on of heart, suffocation of lungs, inflammation of eyes, froth on the mouth, stuttering of the tongue, nor any frantick and convulsive motion in all the parts of body and soul, would be excited in us. All these things are so many symptoms of choler and so many enemies which still wage war against me, of the victory of which, provided that ye had a share in it, my children, I protest to you, that I should have more joy to see us all erect a trophy in our souls, than of all other conquests which we can possibly obtain.

To say the truth, my friends, as concerning my self there is no hopes of amendment: my faults be­ing as old as my self, and making but one and the same substance with me, it is impossible now to re­move them and leave the person that supports them. So that I cannot engage with you in this conflict, nor assist you, but like those who sound the charge and never enter the battel. This enemy notwith­standing is not invincible, provided that he be fought on the frontiers, and resisted at it's first tu­multuary charge before that it seize us: then we shall perceive that it is of the nature of sprights, whose first aspect is terrible; and that in effect it hath neither body nor sinews no more than they, when one hath courage to abide it.

This is a sign of it's weakness, that women, chil­dren, old people, and the sick who are all infirm persons, are most subject to that passion. A man of courage is never overtaken with it, unless by his care­lesness, and therefore to overcome him, it must al­ways surprise him o the weakest side: The covetous man by losses, or decay of trade and gain the am­bitious by a repulse, the vain man by a slight, the [Page 91]voluptuous by the deprivation of his pleasures, and so of others.

The nature of anger, me thinks, hath been rare­ly well expressed, by calling it an impotency of the soul; for from whence could have proceeded the scourging of the sea, the threatnings against Mount Athos, the challenging of Neptune, the displacing of the gods from their ranks, the cessation of their sa­crifices, the denying of them, the rending and tear­ing of houshold furniture, cloaths, and of his own flesh, but from an extream impotency of a weak soul? And in so much that men laugh at all these follies, instead of having of them in horrour, that indulgence does so maintain them, that there have been known a hundred braggadocios of anger, who are indeed milder than they seem to be, introduced into the good will of great men by the very means which ought to have banished them from it.

Though my temper be more sanguin than chole­rick, yet ill luck at play, and impatience in my for­tune, hath occasioned in me such troublesome fits in the paroxysm of that feaver, that if you cut not off from yours, and especially, you my eldest son, who are the most boyling of all the rest, these two breasts of wormwood, I mean Play, and the same Impatience that I have had, I am very much afraid that after my example that malady do not make in my family a part of mine inheritance.

There is nothing that better discovers to us the ugliness of that vice, than to see a man in that agi­tation, suffer in some sort an entire annihilation of what he was before, by the change that it is wrought upon him. He cannot be known by the indications and marks of his mind, the first lineaments of it are gone, rage hath effaced them; and yet less by the form of his countenance, the convulsions which he suffers, not permitting him to retain so much as one [Page 92]trait of his ordinary feature.

It hath been perhaps the prudence of nature, that this vice being more prompt and active than the rest, it should not be able (as they) to hide it's defor­mity and sinfulness in the depth of matter, and that by appearing outwardly, it should let us see in the representation of it's ugliness, the image of other vices it's brethren, whose venom is more hid, to work in us thereby a general aversion from all. Would to God that we could behold our selves with a whole­some look in a glass, whilst our spirit is boyling, and that the real external and internal picture of our tempest could be conveyed from our sight to our Judgment without confusion of the appearances; to cure that evil there needed no other medicine without doubt but our own view.

Consider I pray you, my Child, in the person of a cholerick man, what Kind of monster it is that tos­ses him within, whereof you only see the shadow and phantome in his countenance. Judg by the smoak, and soot which appear outwardly, what fire must be in his heart, and by the convulsive mo­tions which his body endures, what kind of tyrant it is that hath seized his soul. They abuse you who tell you that it is a short rage; it's violence supplyes it's duration, it is of the nature of Giants, who (as the fable saith) being children at night become men by next morning.

Other vices insinuate themselves secretly by stealth, as if they were ashamed to be seen, but this makes it's irruption into the heart like a tempest of fire, from which break forth many sparks, where­of some flie to the eyes, others to the cheeks, the tongue, lips, lung, joynts, leaving not one part of the body to the government of it's own spirits. Yea the mouth of him that suffers it, like that of a criminal, utters many words against his will being [Page 93]forced from him by the violence of the rack that he feels, and which are quite forgotten so soon as the storm is over.

But if all these things be not sufficient to give you instruction, learn at least from the experience that I have had of it, that there is no vice in man so quick in it's conception, so ugly in it's action, so lyable to repentance, nor whose fruit is so bitter as of this. To conclude it is a kind of Epilepsie fouler than the falling sickness, in that it is both active and passive. Hereby judge, my friends, of the beauty of meek­ness which is it's contrary, and how pleasing a thing it is to God, to men, and more still to ones self; to possess the body and soul in patience with all sort of traquillity and ease.

CHAP. XVII. Of Revenge.

REvenge is the fruit that anger and hatred pro­pose to themselves, which God hath not reser­ved to himself as the most dainty bit: but rather to pluck out of our hearts these two wild stocks, whose fruit is more dangerous still than it's stem. Take but from anger and hatred the pleasure of revenge, and you disarm them both. Experience teaches us that wounds are cured by the powder of sympathy; but Nature permits not that the ointment of antipathy should produce the same effect. Experience like­wise shews us that our own blood which congeals in the mouth of a wound that we have received, is a more sovereign balsam for the cure thereof, than the shedding of the blood of another.

This is properly the effect of Revenge, it scratches an ulcer that pains us, and that produceth a greater [Page 94]inflammation; and at length a gangrene, a Piemon­tane Captain who was under my guard almost six weeks in Savoy, confessed to me that he alone of threescore and three of his family remained alive and escaped being murthered, and that the family that was the enemy of his, which with women, children and servants consisted of fifty six souls, was totally extinguished.

All things rightly considered, I know no remedy so treacherous to it's intention, as the remedy of Re­venge, whether we propose to our selves thereby to ease the hurt that we have received, or to punish the wicked doer; for we neither do the one nor other. I heal not my wound when I make a deeper in the body of mine enemy, and by revenging my self on the wicked doer, I not only provoke him rather than correct him, but I become wicked my self, by taking to me the power and authority which only belongs to the Law. I do worse yet, for in doing of him injury by revenging my self, I justifie what he hath done, and afford him new matter of a counter Revenge. An injury done violates only the Law, an injury returned does insolently rob it of it's autho­rity.

When we revenge our selves by engaging with our enemy, we make him our equal; but by par­doning of him, he loseth that and becomes our in­feriour, a pardon carrying somewhat that is royal, and the character of Master? the wise man, when he tells us that it is honourable to forget past offen­ces, teaches us our duty on this occasion. The evil that is past is gone, let the troublesome remembrance thereof sink unto the same abyss.

A wicked man in doing evil follows his trade; if you be a good man, it will be yours to do him good, there is not a more piercing thrust than a good turn, it reacheth even to the heart, perhaps it may touch [Page 95]the heart of your enemy; at least you will make ap­pear in doing him good, that he is so much the more wicked, that you are good; which is no slight Revenge. To tell you the truth, my children, the theory of these counsels is far more lovely than the practice of them easie: God preserve us all from an injury that deserves a just resentment, for fear lest so slippery a step may not discover the weakness of our strength, on that occasion.

CHAP. XVIII. Of Fear.

REvenge never gives us but in the blade the fruit which it proposes for our satisfaction. Fear does yet worse, it gives us such a shake by seizing on us that it makes the leaf, flower, and fruit, that it promises, fall. It seems that it only looks to our security, and nevertheless from the very minute that it is formed in our mind, trouble ariseth with it: we may with rea­son call it the usurer of our misfortunes; for in stead of some one or other which only threatens us, it calls together all those that apprehension can con­ceive; and is so forward in it's diligence, that it of­ten turns an imaginary evil into a real torment. If even the best fruits gathered before their maturity be sowre, what can be the foretast of an evil which is not as yet come to it's season.

Fear is an art of prolonging misery, which joyns the past with the present; (witness the surprise of one of Alexanders Lieutenants at the sole sight of his statue) and with greater pomp the future with the present, in so much that present evils come up­on us but one and one, and that the future present themselves always to our imagination in gross. In [Page 96]this rencounter let us not suffer fortune who will save us from some of them, and perhaps from all, to be kinder to us, than we are to our selves.

As that apprehension of the future, which does not as yet exist, is but a bastard sprout of humane prudence, so the impression that it makes on us is not so sudden, nor so unconsiderate, as that of a present fear. This last takes no counsel, it so binds up in us all the functions of body and soul, that we remain without action, or if we retain any, it is only to throw us into a greater precipice than that which we would avoid; this is directly opposed to fortitude, and so much the more shameful in a Gentleman, that valour ought to be his most essential quality.

Child, Fright at a present danger, is dishonoura­ble; and the fear of a future will disturb you: take heart, I pray you, against both, if it be prudence to discover a future evil, it is none to forestal it: let not the dint of fortune which threatens you, strike at a distance, lest you be so much the more weakned, when you come to grapple with it. The fear, which is not only allowed, but absolutely commanded, is the fear of God, which is the beginning of wisdom; And I pray the Lord to bestow it on you.

CHAP. XIX. Of Envy.

ENvy is yet a more troublesome Guest to the soul, which I advise you never to harbour in your heart. Hatred upon a just resenting of a re­ceived injury, may enter it by force; Envy can never be admitted, unless invited: but when it is once entertained, it is the only vice which dallies not, and is never reconciled to virtue, till af­ter [Page 97]death. Grant not to that lean and meagre Guest, which feeds only on Vipers, the same lodging which God has reserved in you for himself. Detracting from the honour of another is a shameful fomenta­tion for a mind affected with that distemper. If by diminishing of it you could piece up your own, there might be something to be said, but on the contrary you thereby lose what little you may have.

An evil eye begets not only the hatred and con­tempt of him that it beholds, but likewise of all those that see the malignity of it's aspect. Envy is rather an homage payed to the virtue of another, than a pique; and see the effect of it. Of two Com­petitors, the enviours voluntarily yields the place, though fortune did grant it him: and it very often comes to pass, that by rubbing on other mens acti­ons we make them bright, and thereby more illu­strious.

This vice without any plausible pretext or excuse, as others have, is alike common to the great, as to the mean, because the mean cannot with patience abide that the virtue of those of their condition should place them at a distance from them; nor the great that their inferiours should come near them: instead of this mutual envy, the mean would do better to tread the steps of those that go before them, and the great to keep their advantage.

There are few noble Families that have not had some predecessour raised by his fortune, that pro­gress could not be made without changing the in­terval that was betwixt him, and the men of qua­lity of his time, his posterity may do the same: and therefore, my children, I intreat you; to have an e­steem for those that raise themselves by their vertue, one day they may lend you a hand, and they that follow after by your example, will push you for­ward.

CHAP. XX. Of Grief and Sadness.

There are not many passions which are not for­med in us with violence, but Sadness is of the number of those, that breed in the soul by a free acquiescency of the will: we have so great a dispo­sition to it, that beside that all vices are in the end dog'd with an inward sorrow which attends them, the least cross accident brings it upon us without a­ny resistance. Let it be the punishment of our vices, for we deserve it: it is just that evil should beget e­vil, but that the accidents of life to which humane nature is subject, and which come on us from the hand of God, should afflict and make us sad, is a thing that we should not permit.

Sadness is so essential a mark of a sinner, that by that alone the Scripture discovers to us the heart of an hypocrite, God in his just Judgment being wil­ling, that his concealed enemy, though he may dis­guise himself in appearances, being gnawed by the internal worm of his conscience, should carry always on his forehead the stamp of punishment which his disloyalty deserves, and that is sorrow.

This passion is in some sort the visible image of hell, inasmuch as by the loss of the good which we lament, it robs us of the use and relish of those we possess, and that it so much infects with it's bitter­ness all the functions of our soul, that it kills in it the love of our selves, and our gratitude toward God.

Observe, my child, how far the industry of a man that afflicts himself advances; who by making a re­view of all possible felicities, of Riches, Pleasures, [Page 99]and Honours, composes of all these blessings which are wanting to him, the venom that empoysons him. Make better use, I pray you, of sickness, crosses of fortune, and an infinite number of other evils which you suffer not, which are many more in number than those that lie upon you; make of them rather a preservative and antidote against this deadly poy­son.

If there be any sorrow excusable, it should be for the loss of a Father, a kind Brother, a wise Son, a trusty Friend, a good Master, or for the death of a faithful Wife, which is rather a dismembring of our selves than a separation. It is not in our power to forget the memory of them: and though it were, that forgetfulness being a kind of annihilation of the thing loved, I should never advise you so barbarous a remedy; for it is true that on such hard occasions, which have their root in the midst of our bowels, it would be inhumane to be insensible.

What must we then do for our comfort? Weep o­ver the dead as our Saviour did, raise him again by a sweet reviving of his memory; and leave our grief buried with him in the same grave, since we cannot retrive him from thence. The fable by turning into stone the infortunate Mother after the death of all her children, instructs us that we are of too soft a mat­ter to suffer in flesh and bone an evil of that nature: Insomuch notwithstanding that an extream sorrow seems to be a secret repining against providence, let us humble our selves before it, and acknowledg that there is no internal grief whose continuance is ab­solutely lawful, but what afflicts us for the evil which we do. That sorrow alone kills sin, raises the sin­ner, and restores to him joy and gladness.

CHAP. XXI. Of Joy, and that there is none without Vertue.

AS there is nothing that marks so much sin to us, as Sadness, so likewise there is no solid con­tentment but what springs from virtue. If it pro­ceed from our immoderateness, it passeth like light­ning, or as a flash of gunpowder, which lasts but an instant, and is immediately turned into a stinking vapour. If fortune be the cause of it, she is always treacherous, what ever she do. If she grant us no­thing, she is unfaithful to our hopes; she is so like­wise if she take from us what she hath bestowed, and is so still even when she continues them with us, in respect that the sense of the good that she does us evaporates in the enjoyment; the duration of it is sufficient to deprive us of it's relish; so that we may say that contentment where virtue is wanting, hav­ing nothing to enliven it, is but only the carcass of felicity.

Joy, which proceeds not from vertue, fails often in it's bulk: if it be little, it is imperceptible: if excessive, there is danger that the heart of man prove not too weak and small a vessel to contain it's overflowing without being split and broken.

Know also, my child, that the pleasure of sense is impure and of short duration, that of tast, though it be but an essay that is made in passing of the victuals which the stomach receives, is yet the cause of lasting evils, as of crudities and indigestion, ver­tigo's, and obstructions of the brain, which are the interreigns of the soul by the cessation of it's actions; from which sometime death does ensue, by a secret [Page 101]and clandestin blow, the cause of which cannot be perceived at so great distance. As to the pleasure that spring from the two great abundance of spi­rits, it is so sudden in it's act; that it is as soon ex­tinct as kindled: if it be urged too much, it is put out of breath; and by continuance, degenerates un­to feebleness.

The smelling is for the bad as well as good smells: the latter if they be a little strong, make the head ake as well as the former, instead of comforting the brain. As concerning the hearing, if jarring discord trou­ble the soul, harmony dissolves and softens it, and displaces it from it's seat. Seeing, which is the pu­rest of all our senses wearies at length of the beauty of it's object, what it admired at first glance, only pleases it at the second look; at the third it does not as yet offend it, but in process of time it is cloyed by the frequent custom of eying it. In a word, my children, the pleasure of our senses, though they were even always satisfied, is but superficial; it af­fects only the extremities of the organs that are de­stined for their functions; if it come nearer and in­corporate with them, from that instant it ceases to be sensible.

As to what concerns the contentment which Ho­nour, Glory, Dignities, Nobility, Authority, and Riches afford; the opinion of those who consider these things but as imaginary goods, or instruments of our vanity, is, in my judgement, a little too se­vere. Though vertue may find in it self content­ment, yet humane policy, to provoke men to emu­lation, in well doing, hath most wisely appointed Honour, Glory, Dignities, and Nobility, to be a visible homage which should be rendered to ver­tue, and that Authority and Riches should be the means to give greater extent to it's operations.

All these goods, notwithstanding, ought to make [Page 100]no other impression on us, but as goods of retinue and attendance, which are but the baggage of ver­tue; for in effect Honour and Esteem is but a pas­sing vapour, which is derived to us onely from the fancy of another; Nobility but a politick acknow­ledgment of service performed, and Authority but a power to maintain with Dignity the Laws, which the same Laws confer upon us; all these things be­ing but forein concessions, can establish in us no so­lid contentment: nothing but vertue alone whose acts are all our own, can bestow it.

As it is impossible but that a body of a good Con­stitution, lovely, healthful and vigorous, must be sensible of the pleasure that there is in the enjoyment of all these blessings; so by the same reason, when the soul is purged from all it's perturbations, which are it's maladies, when it wills nothing but what is honest, and just, wherein consists it's true beauty, and that it is always in readiness to do good, it cannot be in that condition, and not feels already some foretast of the joys of heaven.

Would to God, my friends, that ye were capa­ble to know the happiness of those who have attain­ed to that perfection, and that ye could see presented to the eye in some worthy subject a living scheme of the excellence of vertue, to the end that the sensi­ble object of it's beauty might attract you with grea­ter violence to the Love of it.

CHAP. XXII. That we must choose a profession. Of the pro­fession of Arms, and what ought to be the first institution thereof.

HAving discoursed to you, my child, concerning your manners, and the vices that may corrupt them, I come now to speak of the profession that you are obliged to follow; for though we have all one and the same original, yet the wisdom of him who is the author of it, hath been pleased that there should be amongst us many different conditions and trades, all which should stand in need of one ano­ther, to the end that the mutual service which is performed in that diversity, might be to us all a com­mon bond of love: wherefore, my friends, that we may not be useless members of this community, every one of us ought to propose to our selves, a course of life which may according to nature and Law satisfie this publick duty.

Upon the account of that common obligation, it is my intention that two of my three Sons serve the King in his Armies, and that the third be a Church­man, provided he be endued with the good quali­lities that so holy a Calling requires; if not, I de­sign him likewise for a Souldier, though I have al­ready lost three elder Brothers Children, one before Corbie, another before Perpignan, and the third in the return from the Siege of Thionvile: and likewise three Sisters Children, whereof the one died in Gar­rison, the other killed before St. Antonin, and the third at the Battel of Nordlinguen, yet we must not forsake the Trade.

I am not ignorant that a Souldier is only a Sacri­fice devoted for the service of his King and Country; that he is their Martyr, and that our Kings have more reason to call the Gentlemen the Limits of their Dominions, considering the Progress of our Wars, than that Ancient, who shewing his fellow Citizens, said that they were the Walls of the Town.

Since it is so, I think there should be a little more care taken of their primary institution for the wars, and that it were to be wished that there were some place in the Kingdom that might serve for nurseries, where the Gentry, when they leave the Colledge and the Livery, might be trained in the exercise of Arms, and that in such places there were Acade­mies for riding the great Horse, for Vaulting, Dan­cing, Fencing; for Arithmetick, Cosmography, Na­vigation, and the Languages, whereof the Masters were entertained at the publick charge, for the use and benefit of the Children of poor Gentlemen who may have died or grown aged in the service. The matter is not without example, two persons of qua­lity have done heretofore at their own cost, to wit Monsieur de St. Luke in Brouage, and Monsieur de Vic at Calais, with so much honour and reputation, that there was never a younger Brother that came out of their Garrisons, who did not respect them as long as they lived as much as the King, and honour them more than their Parents.

That little expence is very inconsiderable in so great a Kingdom as this, in respect of the great ad­vantage that may redound from it. In the first place, what bad habit a Page may have learned in the com­pany of Lackeys where he hath been bread, and from whom he only differs by the fashion of his breech­es, will turn to discretion when he comes to be in­structed by his Officers, his Masters and the rest of the Gentlemen that run the same career with him. [Page 105]The Scholar that leaves the Colledg, ill-bred, diffi­dent, and wild, will learn grace and assurance, find­ing himself in a company more resolute and civili­zed than that from which he parted: whereas if a Page after his commerce with Lackeys turn himself streight over into the Guards, the contagion of the Pickpocket or Highway-man may in a great City prove dangerous: and it is likewise to be feared, lest a young Scholar, being but a fresh-water Soul­dier, may not for want of a good Tutor forsake the service, when he finds that in his noviciat he is the sport of his Comrades in that place, where there is more licence given than in a well ordered Garrison.

It is likewise very considerable that young men leave the Colledge and the Livery of the Page, in the flower of their age, and that this flower is blasted without bearing any fruit, or if it bear any, it is bad, if it be but in the least neglected. In this fair season the blood and spirits, which are in their prime, are very dangerous Counsellors, if the motion of their impulse have it's free course. So that it is a matter of pity and commiseration to see young men, who leave the Family of a person of quality, to whom perhaps by reason of his negligence, they have only been known by his Liveries; or come out of a Col­ledge where they have learned nothing but what must be forgotten, for want of skill in Tutors for the education of youth, left to their own conduct.

After such shipwrack of their first years, it is to heap evil upon evil to send them into a Garrison, where all that they have to do, is once in three days to mount the Guard. By the sloth of the other two the mind is in danger of becoming more lazy than the body. Against this inconvenience I see no other remedy, but the different exercises which I have proposed, which by their variety might always keep in breath the bodies and minds of youth, and by a [Page 106]laudable emulation of striving to excel, break the bonds of evil habits before contracted, and intro­duce better in their place.

It would now be very superfluous to send our Youth into Holland; the success of our Arms, and the diligence of our Sieges, make appear that of Scholars we are become Masters in that Trade; and besides I have found by experience in two journies that I made there as a Volunteer, the one at the Rupture of the Truce, and the other during the Siege of Breda, a younger Brother, though of thirty six years of age at the first, and of forty at the second, that Brandy and Tobacco made in that place the greater share of the Exercises of our cadets.

I am much of opinion that what I propose, is but a wish in the blade, whereof I neither expect flower nor fruit. So that knowing no Garrison in the Kingdom where there is any care taken of the Youth, I would advise you, my Children, before ye go to the Army, to serve the King a year in his Guards: ye owe him the first fruits of your services; there the Grandees of the Nation are to be seen in gross, elsewhere they appear but in retail: whilst in that place you learn the duty of a Souldier, you will neither want Masters nor time for your other exercises, provided you have discretion to manage it aright in the same place. The commerce of the Soul­dier, the Officer, the Citizen, Tradesman, Pick­pocket, Religious, and the Presence of the Court, may offer you at one glance a general view of the order and disorder of the world, the consideration of which will not be altogether useless to you for your conduct: so after that your years of noviciat in the Guards is expired, you may go and make your profession in the Army.

CHAP. XXIII. Seven Counsels for a Souldier.

HItherto, my Children, I have treated you as a good Father, who teaches his Children their first steps, and holds them up by the strings; but when I now consider you as entred into the Trade, beside the quality of Father, which I had before, I acquire likewise over you the quality of an ancient Officer, and on this double respect ye own more de­ference and regard to my Counsels concerning the profession to which ye are called.

CHAP. XXIV. Three Counsels for ones fortune. The first, Always to follow the Court and the Army. The second, To follow the inclination of ones Genius. The third, To propose in all things an honest end.

CHAP. XXV. Five Counsels concerning the conduct of ones Family.

HAving discoursed to you, my Children, of the honest end, which all your actions ought to have, I come now to the conduct of your House, which is a matter of no small importance. If like Knights Errant we found always our Equipage rea­dy, and a covered Table, I should advise you to follow, as they do, the course of your adventures, without troubling your selves farther: but seeing you have need of the small portion that I leave you, to serve you for ammunition bread, until the King give you other, it is convenient that you know how it is to be managed. The Laws allow us not the disposal of our Estates before we be five and twenty years of age, whether it has been their scope not to abandon to young age, which is expensive and in­considerate, a Viatick whereof old age stands more in need, or that they have had some other regard, they seem to me very prudent in having suspended our power of acting in business until that age; in respect that the conduct of a Family which is pain­ful, would have made too great a diversion of our first years, which are more profitably imployed in the study of the Profession that we intend to follow, than in any other business whatsoever. For that [Page 118]effect our Statutes have ordained that the character of Priest or Judge should not be conferred on any before the five and twentieth year of age, to give more time for one to render himself capable of ei­ther, and that also because it would not be at all reasonable that one should be the Judge of another man's conscience, before he knew how to govern his own; nor that we should have Jurisdiction upon the goods that are not ours, and not upon our own. You see, my Son, that in these two Offices one must have attained to a certain age before he can make profession of them; in this your employment has the advantage of them, wherein to obtain command; the time, nor the years of service are not reckoned, only the merit and price of him that is engaged in it, is taken notice of. There has been one known to have had the disposal of all the Commands of an Army by Law, who by the same Law being as yet under age had not the power of his Estate. The past and present ages furnish us with rich examples of this, which I wave, that I may return to the measures that I would have you follow in the con­duct of your Family.

I. In the first place, my Children, after that you have rendered your first services to the Publick, the interest of which goes before your own, I would have you at the age of five and twenty take the in­spection of your Estate, seeing that the Laws, who are our wise Counsellors, give you the possession of it at that age.

I leave you no Law-suit, have not any amongst your selves, I charge you, nor with your Neighbours either, if you can avoid it. It is my wish that there should be no need of any other law betwixt you and them, but of the Law of your own conscience. If there be any commenced against you, strive to take it up amicably, and rather yield a little of your [Page 119]right, than bring it to a tryal. One arrest begets another, and that a third: nevertheless if you must come to a tryal, expect from your Judges what God shall be pleased to inspire into them for your re­pose. When you solicit them, beg of them only attention to your cause: any other desire beside that of attention, solicits them to their dishonour. Tell them the naked truth concerning your Business, though it may do you hurt, they ill thereupon prove more indulgent to you. What ever sentence be pronounced, render the same respect to your Jud­ges, as if God himself had given it. They that sit on his tribunal, what ever they do, are still the Mi­nisters of his will.

II. It is my opinion also that you endeavour to get some general Notions of your right and family customes, to the end that you may not so blindly give your self over to the direction of those to whom you commit the care of your affairs, that you can­not be able to know if they faithfully acquit them­selves of their charge or not: eye them attentively, the Masters eye that makes a fat Horse, should have a care that his Servant devour not too much, or that he be not ill served by him. When a servant thinks himself secure under the blind confidence of his ma­ster, from being faithful he turns perfidious; and from being careful, lazie. In fine it comes often to pass that by this negligence a Master finds himself more under the government of his servant, than the affairs are, which are committed to his care.

I give you this counsel, my Children, without believing that it can be applyed to your fortune, for it is so small that it requires no other steward but your self. But having had the design under the name of you, to call to a share of this Legacy all the youth of what condition and quality soever, I find my self engaged to insert in it a great many things, which [Page 120]are rather of publick use than your private concern.

III. In speaking to you, I give advice to all who may have need of assistance in the ordering of their affairs, never to make use of a sordid or mechanick person. A base fellow, by his sneaking husbanding of a trifle communicates the contagion of his Soul to the thing that he manages: he pollutes like the Harpyes whatever he touches, and besmears them with I know not what filth, that may reflect on him that employs him. We may say of sordid and sneak­ing saving, that for every ounce it spares it spends a hundred weight of reputation, it is only profitable to him that uses it, insomuch that it serves as a lure for a greater confidence and trust. Every sordid wretch is greedy, and none that are greedy can be faithful. He looks upon the goods that you put in­to his hands as his prey, and manages them as sor­didly as if they were already his own. If he seem faithful in the conduct of the small streams which should fill the Cistern, it is only that he may draw more largely and securely out of it's depth, observe him narrowly in matters which he thinks you do not mind, and you will quickly discover that he is a good husband only for himself.

IV. Make no use either of a jangling Pettifog­ger, he is a kind of Croat that skirmishes and flies and whose seol strength consists in tricks, who for want of knowledg to cut a Law-suit by the root, contents himself to split and slice it, from whence spring an infinite number of new sprouts; when on the other hand a knowing man in one breath drives a matter to the end, and brings the remedy to the source of the evil. In fine the snare that a pettifogger lays, is either so coarse that it is discovered, or so fine that it is broken. So that it is only pitched for his own Master, who is perhaps also the only prey that he hunts for.

V. Wherefore it is very necessary that you make frequent reviews of the affairs of your house, to the end you may see how your Servants carry themselves. Business hath indeed at first something harsh and rude in that it abstracts us from our selves to it. Let us do better, let us attract it to us, and it will become more familiar. The first temporal petition that we make to God, if for our daily bread, if he bestow it on us, let us quicken our natural light for the managing of it, rather than extinguish it by a­bandoning of it blindly to the conduct of another. Instruction in our private affairs, will make us know­ing in the publick; Because that the common Law of the state binding us all in subjection to one and the same Duty, I cannot know in what manner I should honestly and lawfully dispose of what is mine own, but that I must have at the same time a notion of what ought to be done in the Family of ano­ther.

CHAP. XXVI. That one ought to have some general notions of publick affairs. That they can only be learn­ed at Court: and wherefore one should spend some part of his Life there.

It is likewise my Judgment , seeing that every one of us makes but a part of a greater whole, that you should acquire some general notions, of the manner how this great body whereof you are a part, is governed, and of what parts it is composed. Ma­ny Souls assembled together, make a Family, many Families a Town and City, many Towns a Province, and many Provinces a State, which is governed by the power and authority of a single Person, from [Page 122]which is derived a common Law, that makes the union of all these parts together, from whence re­sists a mutual correspondence between the head and the members, and the members and the head, for the common preservation of the whole. This total is composed of four different conditions of men; of the Nobility and Gentry, the Clergy, the Jud­ges and the common People. From the concourse of the Services of each of these conditions, and their just harmony among themselves, peace and the se­curity of the publick depend.

The Clergy entertain the union betwixt God and the State: the Nobility and Gentry secure it at home and abroad by their arms: the Judges keep it in concord under the authority of the Law, and the common People contribute to it by their substance. So great is the good understanding of the Prince with these different degrees of his subjects, that our Kings have almost as often said, that they were the first Burgesse of their chief City, as they have called themselves the first Gentlemen of their Kingdom. their seat of Justice and Unction at their Coronati­on, testifie also that they are the chief Justices, and first Prelates. So that he being head over all, there ought to be a mutual respect from one condition to another, of which in every several state the King is pleased to be the first head.

My child, you have a place in this great body: if you can understand how it is governed, you will fill your place better and more to your own satisfaction. though your quality call you to a profession for the which some barbarous ages have believed ignorance to be the greatest and most successful qualification, yet there are others more discreet, who are of an other opinion. Amongst the most warlike People that ever have been, the Generals of the Army com­ing down from their triumphant Chairs have been [Page 123]ever now and then seen, assisting in the Council of state, giving counsel to Clients, discharging the of­fice of a Judge, great Surveyer, and Treasurer of the Exchecquer, and from thence to return again to the command of Armies, which is an evidence that these functions were not inconsistent together. We need not search for distant examples of this, our progresses in Flanders proceed only from this, that our first Princes of the blood, do as worthily fill the first places in Council as in the command of Ar­mies, and that to be a good head in counsel, and a good head in War, is equally the effect of their pro­fession.

Were there no other profit to be reaped from that study, but the satisfaction to see by how many dif­ferent pipes the stream of the chief command is de­rived even to the lowest parts of the State, and how the return of obedience remounts to the fountain head of Authority, yet that alone is a pleasant thing to be considered. That knowledg is more easily ac­quired than men imagine to themselves: the reading of the Statutes and Acts of Parliament, assisted with some conference with those of the profession, of whom you may find all sorts at Court, will in short time furnish you with that knowledg, which as a lovely Anatomy of state will represent to you in or­der at one view all the different parts whereof ours is composed. It is no small satisfaction to under­stand the symmetry of a body whereof we make a part, though that knowledg should ever remain idle in us, without making any Application of it.

That study, my Son, cannot be followed but at Court, in respect that the Court contains all the noble parts of this great body, one must spend a part of his Life there, and endeavour being already the Kings subject, to obtain some place or pension in his Family. Employ the best of your Services [Page 124]and years in that design. But if fortune cross you in this as she hath me, when you begin to grow old think of your retreat; for that age is a dull and dead season, which produceth no fruit.

An old Courtier that is still in pursuit of for­tune, deserves as much derision as an old Lover: the mistrisses whom at that time either serve, can do them no greater favour, than to deny them what they beg, whereof perhaps the functions would be a­bove their strength. If any thing be allowed to their importunity, if should be reckoned a gracious gift, which obligeth but to very little or no service at all.

Although that the distribution of earthly goods seem when we come into the World, already made, nevertheless our portions are not so fixed and limi­ted that they can neither increase nor diminish, God being willing for the preserving of some equality a­mongst men, that the ebbing and flowing of fortune should now and then make a new division of them. The Court is the most considerable stage of this vi­cissitude, there great men rise, and fall to give place to their rising inferiours, who likewise ruine them­selves in the same place to make way again for others. It is here that the swiftest motion of this revolution appears: in the Country it is like the motion about the axletree, which is so slow that it is almost im­perceptible. We should do wrong to complain of this vicissitude; seeing it is an effect of providence, which makes appear to men what it calls every one of them by turn to the enjoyment of goods and ho­nours: and because the order that it observes, is to us unknown, we inconsiderately call the action of God by the name of Fortune.

The Court, as I have said, is the chief theatre of this change, every thing there, in respect of the country is great, and all little in respect of the [Page 125]Prince, and of those of his blood. The presence of them renders in some sort all the rest equal, which would not be so elsewhere, though it seem to be a place of great noise and confusion, and that from thence proceed Thunder and Tempests, yet it is bet­ter and more secure being there, than in the places where they break. The Court at least hath this ex­cellent property, that if it advance and raise not him who proposes to follow it, it fashions and breeds him, in respect that virtue is there in it's exaltation, and vice in the fall, for fear of appearing in view of the Prince.

CHAP. XXVII. Of the vices to which Courtiers are most subject, which are Vanity, Scoffing, Dis­simulation, Ambition, and Luxury.

THe most ordinary vices of Court, are Vanity, Scoffing, Dissimulation, Ambition and Luxu­ry. Vanity is properly a weakness or impotency of Soul, that cannot contain within our selves the good opinion that we have of our selves, whether it be, that the contentment which we receive from it, be too great for the smallness of the Vessel which should hold it, or that having received it, it is so weak that it must break to give vent to our Joy. Ladies and exploits of valour are the most common matter of Court-Vanity. Men that are in love persuade themselves that to keep it secret, is in some manner to smother the light of a bright fire, and that it is but a small Joy, that hath no larger extent than the heart of those that feel it. So that it is pretty difficult for the mouth of a young man to conceal a pleasure wherein it hath had so great a share. In the [Page 126]acts of Valour, those that are the Authors, are like­wise afraid of not being sufficiently seen, and that if Victory be dum, there will be but small difference between the Victorious and the Vanquished. And hence it is that both these Vanities do spring, though their principles be very different, the first proceeding from the impotency of a Soul that opens it self and evaporates in the excess of it's pleasure, and the o­ther from the weakness of a mean heart, which mea­sures things according to the pain that it hath had, or the violence that it put upon it self in the perfor­mance of them. He esteems them according to what they cost him, and not according to their true worth, and this is the cause that we find always little Souls much more given to Vanity, than the great, in re­gard that whatever good thing they do, appears to them beyond their measure; when on the other hand great men who have a larger reach, and are always above their greatest performances, contain them­selves within as great a modesty as if they were a­shamed that they had not done enough: both these Vanities are no more but the sound of a hollow or weak Vessel, that deserves rather derision than ha­tred.

Scoffing is another Court Vice, which springs on­ly from a good opinion of our own parts and suffi­ciency beyond others; if seeks it's own and compa­nies divertisement at the charge of some body. If it could be so modest to work it's effect softly and gently without grating or wounding deep, I should not think it altogether unprofitable in Society: when it is only Ingenious and Brisk, beside that it serves to season conversation, it's sting is in some manner medicinal; that which is tart and biting in it, makeing sometimes a more useful Impression than a wise Counsel. It's freedom discovers to us many times an evil that we are ignorant of, which [Page 127]a friend dares not touch; and cures it by making it known to us. To give it it's due, it should not be thought very injurious but in the mouth of him that bears us ill will.

Dissimulation is another vice of the Courtier, and nevertheless a Virtue of State, which hath need of that veil, as of a second night, better to conceal the secrets of government: when a Courtier ap­plies it to his private actions, that require not such conduct as the publick, he makes it a particular Vice. It is a false reflexion of light, or to say bet­ter, except in publick affairs it is only but the ape of politick prudence. It is a disguise that puts a man into such a Mascarade, that the whole course of his Life is but one continued Lie. A lyar hath some in­tervals of truth, a dissembler hath none, and most commonly he resembles those maskers that go about the streets at Shrove-tide, who whether they be known or not, it is no great matter. Nevertheless distrust always every man that walks under a Visor, whatever his intention be, in that condition he gives ground to suspect, that he is going, or com­ing from the committing of some foul act. As to your self, fix always your eyes on the spot to which you tend, go neither backward nor cross-ways, lest that thereby you may take the wrong rode. Amongst great men themselves dissimulation makes but an or­dinary Vertue. Tiberius was but an indifferent Prince, though the most dangerous of all the Em­perours; And Lewis the eleventh hath neither been the greatest nor best of our Kings. Both which were great artists in this state-craft.

My children, be not at all afraid to make a win­dow in your breast, you may perhaps amend a part of your Faults by the shame that you will have to see them exposed to view. When men have once found that in all your actions there is nothing but [Page 128]Truth, Candour, and Ingenuity; if you meet with any affair where there is need of Mid-night se­crecy, the opinion of the integrity of your Life past will render you invisible in the managing of it.

As to Ambition, it is a vice so inherent in, and inseparable from the nature of man, that there is no age, sex nor quality that is free from it: but see­ing that the matter of it is more noble and large at Court, than any where else, I call it a Court-Vice, if an appetite in man to set himself forward ought to be called a Vice. It is true that if one could al­ways follow an honest course for his Preferment, Ambition would be rather a Vertue than Vice; but seeing the desire of growing great is violent and precipitant, and that all means good or bad are made use of to attain to that end, for that reason it often degenerates into a vitious passion.

To say the truth, Ambition is the inward worm of a man of parts, which turns to a Bee in the soul of the virtuous, and a Wasp in the mind of the wicked. That passion hath some resemblance to Choler which grows adust by being obstructed, as the other becomes Malitious and Envious, when it meets with any hinderance in it's progress. It must needs be of a very blind and inconsiderate nature, that it can never find a resting place, like birds whose eyes are put out, which fly always upward, because they know not the place where they should pearch.

It is very strange, that ambition with all it's im­perfections preserves still the seeds of all the most lovely actions of Life. My son, that is but a ba­stard issue, to give them a more illustrious and law­ful birth, we must have no other aim in doing of them, but the only respect to Virtue.

Luxury which chiefly consists in the magnifi­cence of Buildings, the beauty of furniture, the excess and delicacy of Food, the riches of Apparel [Page 129]and in a great retinue and attendance, may be bet­ter called the Pomp than a Vice of Court. All these things are so many refractions of Grandure, which appear crooked when they are not so. The course of that profusion of state flows secretly back and fore from the Country to the Court, and from the Court to the Country, as Rivers that fall in the Sea, which return again to their source to preserve succes­sively themselves and Sea in their just greatness, by wayes and channels unknown to us: without that reflux their source would quickly be dry or overgor­ged.

There is no State but ours that can support that excessive charge, others cannot without ruining themselves; this we see because that in some all their pomp is ceremonial, and consists only in the right and left hand, or in a certain kind of parade that lengthens only the tail without enlarging the wings. In others, they have the prudence not to suffer that the Prince should always appear in pub­lick. This Eclipse of his person is but in effect, the husbandry of a State which perceives it self not able enough to carry out the splendour which should al­ways accompany the Majesty and presence of the Prince.

As to other States that endeavour to imitate us in that excess, we may say of them that they are but our apes, considering the disproportion of their strength to ours. Our luxury is in some manner an image of the abundance of nature, which though it may suffer some wast in it's flowers or fruit, leaves us always enough and to spare.

I will say farther, that Profusion (without offence to our sumptuary Laws) has in it somewhat of greater policy than Sparing, in that by the liberty that it gives to great men, who are naturally expen­sive, to ruine themselves, it lessens their rents, [Page 103]whereby their power by dissipating it self becomes less suspect to the State. In effect all things rightly considered, I think luxury is a private evil and a publick good, in respect that by that means, goods only change hands, and that there is some distribu­tive Justice in that successive revolution, which is one of the principal causes of the preserving of the State.

My child, in the five things that I have hinted at, I have within a little reckoned up the most essential imperfections of the Court, others that are obser­ved there, are but transient faults; these are inhe­rent to it. Nevertheless whatsoever vices are found there, they are more excusable in that place than a­ny where else.

In the Country the most ordinary Vanity, is that of pedegree, which is but a reflexion of the light of our Fore-fathers. Scoffing is injurious there, dissi­mulation treacherous, ambition rests in giving pre­sents or doles, and luxury barely in the table and keeping of days. These defects having at Court more noble subjects to be applyed to, are there also more supportable.

If there was ever at Court a Vertue refin'd, and without any mixture of Vice it was that of the late Marquis of Senecy the Father: he was equally wise, valiant, learned and good, or to say better he was Vertuous in the ways of God and of the Court, which are two things not so easie to be reconciled to­gether.

CHAP. XXVIII. Containing six Counsels for a Courtier. 1. To serve only the King. 2. How one should carry himself with his Favorites. 3. To accommodate ones self to times. 4. To be Flexible. 5. Not to be too Scru­pulous about points of Honour. 6. To fol­low the Mode.

I Leave this illustrious example that I may return to you, my Son, and inform you that unless it be at Court, we can find nothing accomplished; nor any thing of a noble life; and therefore it is my ad­vice that you take the first shape and form of living in that place: I leave you but a small estate to bear out the charges of a Court-life, you must run your hazard as I have done, fortune will have us pawn ourselves in her Service. In the mean time you shall either get breeding or die in the Service; or if you grow old at Court or in the Army, the Court or Ar­my will maintain you.

If you reap any advantage from your Services in the Army, which with the little estate that I leave you may make you able to subsist by your self, let the King alone be your Master; engage not your fidelity to any besides, lest a time may come when your honour clashing with your duty may call you to side with your benefactor.

Suffer your self like the multitude to be surried by the torrents of Court, which are the Farourites. They are choses by the King, either to affist him it carrying the burden of the state, or to be the confi­dents of his secrets or pleasures, or meetly to show [Page 132]some work of his creation: on which soever of all these three accounts it be, they are by himself cut out as the images of his power, which you are ob­liged to reverence.

They who are in favour with their Prince, for their wisdom in counsels and faithfulness in affairs are ra­ther associates in the care of government, than fa­vourites; the usefulness of their Services, and the ease that the Prince thereby receives, should make you honour and esteem them, if you be a good sub­ject. Strive, if you can to make your self known to them, in respect that the eye of the Prince which is for most part vagrant and ranging among the mul­titude will never attentively fix on you, whatsoever you may be, but by their means: but seeing that men and business run commonly in the same channel, the crowd is so great that way, that it becomes more easie to obtain access to the Prince, than to his mini­sters: one must nevertheless use his endeavours to appear sometime before them, though it be for no other end but to honour the choice of their Servi­ces.

But then let your discretion keep you at due di­stance: if you approach too near them, or see them too often, you will burden their sight and be trou­blesome, and by pressing too much upon them in­stead of advancing forward set your self back: nei­ther look upon them at too great distance, nor too seldom, lest you may put your self out of their eye, and by your indifference do your self prejudice.

As to those who are the Confidents of the Kings secrets and pleasures (whom I place in the second rank, seeing that it is necessary that the care of Go­vernment take place of his Divertisements) the grandeur of Kings would be uneasie to them, if it deprived them of the sweetest enjoyment of humane life, which is Friendship.

To make up a perfect Friendship, there must be some resemblance of age, humour and quality a­mongst friends. For the supplying of this last qua­lification, which cannot (as the two former) be between a Prince and a Subject, Kings have judged it more convenient that they might have a share in this pleasant fruit of society, to raise those whom they have honoured with their friendship, to great places of state, rather than to stoop down to them. In effect what is called Favour in a Prince toward his Subject, is the same thing as Friendship between two equals: there is nothing changed but the name.

Some speculative heads have judged this elevation of a Subject dangerous, and that thereby there might happen some revolution in the State: there are rea­sons and examples pro and con. Yet the more so­ber opinion, and as I think, the more politick, is that the King should make choice of some person, in whose bosom he might power part of his Joy or Displeasure, otherways the life of Kings would become a desart in the midst of the multitude. Seeing their passions are great as themselves, it is so much the more necessary that they should lose part of their force, by imparting them to some faithful person, for fear that they discover not too much vi­olence or weakness in their eruption; or that by keeping of them secret they breed not some peevish and melancholy humour, or some obstruction of mind; whose symptomes are far more dangerous, than open wounds.

History tells us that this profound retreat of Soul stupified the Judgment of Charles Duke of Burgun­dy surnamed the Hardy, a little before his death: and that the last years of Lewis the eleventh, by rea­son of his so reserved a kind of life; were neither his wisest nor most happy years.

Joy and heaviness have this property, that being [Page 134]imparted to a faithful friend, the first is doubled and the last lessened by a half. So then whatever can being serenity to the mind of the Prince, hath in it always much more good than evil, their private tem­pests being wont to become a publick storm.

Yet I deny not also but that upon some other con­siderations it were to be wished that the Prince might preserve his affections as his rank equal with all his subjects: but seeing that he is a man as we are, when his inclinations carry him to some particu­lar person, we should, if we have any tenderness of heart, from our own experience excuse in him, a passion that never appears in force but when it is a­bused.

Above all things beware of that impertinent va­nity of not reverencing the Favourite, it is neither profitable, secure, nor honest; you cannot refuse him honour, nor even your affection, seeing that he is the Confident of your Master, but that you break his image in your mind, and are guilty of internal felony against him.

The third kind of Favourites, is when a Prince raises any one without allowing him any share in his counsels, pleasures or confidence, he erects him meerly as a Colossus of greatness, that he may leave to the present age and posterity a visible monument of his power. Kings who are the image of God upon earth, are pleased sometimes in imitation of him, to make of impure matter some work of crea­tion that may bear their Image: but as the works of the creature are more imperfect than those of the creator, so they are of no duration, whether it be by reason of their inability to support their own weight, or that the artist is ashamed of his own workmanship, and like God, repents himself that he hath made man.

When that happens, my child, as I have advised

When that happens, my Child, as I have advised you to reverence the other Favorits, retain also some respect for the wracks of your Masters follies; if you love him you are bound to conceal or excuse them. The choice of a Favorite of any of these three kinds, is more honest in the middle Region than in the lower, and less dangerous than in the upper. There is never any false Idol of Sovereignty set up in that middle Region, and the Majesty of the Prince is not thereby in the least vilified.

I advise you moreover to conform your self to the present state of affairs, the direction of which is not in your power; condemn not what you can­not alter, and if your judgment find any thing in it amiss, take heed at least that your Tongue betray you not. You will labour in vain, if the move­ments of your mind be not concentric with the Wheels of the Times, their rapid motion will car­ry yours along in spight of you, and will prove con­trary to you in their revolution.

Be likewise of a more pliable disposition than I have been; it is the best Gold that best obeys the Artists Hand, and of which the loveliest piece is made: the coarser makes only more resistance be­cause it's parts are not so solid as the others: as­sure your self then, my Child, that every churlish spirit is porous and uneven, and that if any good come of it, it proceeds rather from the excellence of the Workman, than of the matter.

It is to my self that I speak at present, who might have left you in legacy something else beside counsels; if I had had a spirit a little more flexi­ble. One may bow like the rush without remain­ing crooked, and rise again streight in the same place as it doth, when the blast of Wind is over. I confess, my Children, that I have often wanted prudence in that; for which I can make no other [Page 136]excuse for my justification towards you, but to pro­test to you, that in getting the side of my fortune, I thought always that I followed that which was most for mine honour.

Here I am obliged to tell you that Honour as­well as Devotion, has its scruples, and that it is very hard for one so to conduct himself in refining of either, that he admit no mixture of superstition. Wherefore it is my opinion that the thread and texture of your honour should be somewhat coarse: when it is too thin and fine, its tenderness shapes out too much work for the maintaining of it.

If superstition in honour be excusable, it ought only to be in the actions of War; except in these, it is our greatest glory to be most condescending in society, and most sociable in conversation. Be not abused by the vain phantome of I know not what false generosity, which is only superficial. I have often observed, that those who make the greatest clutter about it, are for most part all necessitous, and who hazard nothing but rags and words in the profession of it.

Make it never your business to introduce a new Fashion, the wise are rarely the authors of them. Neither condemn those that are in use; if they continue, follow them; if they alter, change with them; in matters indifferent, and whereat no bo­dy is offended, there is more extravagance and pre­sumption, than judgment, in being singular.

It is enough for a wise man to retire from the crowd, as to the inside, and to preserve to himself the liberty of judging within himself of matters ac­cording as they are: but as to the outside, he must enter into the common use of received forms. Publick society is in a manner offended at the ex­ternal revolt of a particular person, though in a thing indifferent. Besides our mutual assistance, [Page 137]we owe it our consent and imitation of its cu­stoms, yea even though in them there may be some folly.

If the Mode will have you to wear more cloth in a loose or less in a close-bodied Coat; and that your Shoes be longer than your Feet, do so; but I pray you let them not be too streight, the slashes that you give them, cry against you murther, and the Ribbons with which you tie them are not at all becoming in that place. Use not your self like a criminal by putting your self to a Rack, from whence you can reap nothing but vexation, bunches and the Gout. Let your Periwig or Hair be long and well powdered and your Shoulders too, if the Fashion will have it so, I am not against it, only I beg of you that you employ not so much time for the ornament of the outside of your Head; that you reserve not to your self still some hours for the ordering of the inside.

CHAP. XXIX. Of Divertisements that consist in Play, and in Conversation. Of the Play of Chess, Dice and Cards, and of Play in General.

I Think, my Children, that I have now handled the principal Actions of Mans Life except that of Divertisements, whereof the most common are Play and Conversation. Plays which are not se­dentary, as Tennis, Hand-Ball, Pel-Mel, and the like, are rather Exercises than Plays, which Men love or slight according to their Age, their Fitness and Disposition, or according as they are addicted to them. All the hurt that excess in these can do, is to tire the Body without much troubling the [Page 138]Mind or Purse. The Sedentary such as the Chess, Dice, and Cards, are more dangerous.

Though Chess have in it somewhat ingenious, yet seeing it abstracts us too much from our selves, and that the Victory is but vain to the Gainer and makes the Loser fretful, and that it is so dreaming a Pastime, that it seems to be the sleep of two men that are awake; since you have the World and Soci­ety to make a proof of your sufficiency in, I advise you, not to reduce it to so narrow a Precinct. That is an attracting Play because that the pleasure of every action consists in the end, and that this is suddain, depending on our own conduct alone, and is often reiterated; all which conditions do hardly meet in any other action whatsoever.

The Play at Dice is not a Divertisement, it is rather an attempt made upon anothers Purse, which the Law tolerates because it cannot hinder. Be­fore you suffer your self to be infected with this abomination; Look, I pray you, into the Places and Ordinaries of this unlucky Commerce, and there consider the trouble and agitation of those that haunt them, the disturbance of the Winners, the despair of Losers, the Curses, and Blasphemies that there are uttered, and I assure my self that all these terrible Images will fill you will horror a­gainst it. Though the Hits of that Play are all mo­mentany, and entertained with the diverse reprises of hope and fear, the Mind suffers a continual tor­ture under the Wheel of these two Passions; beside that of Fortune.

Cards and Tables are somewhat more moderate: for as the Progress of their action is slower, so the motion that they cause in the Mind, is more regu­lar. In these Games Fortune decides one part of the success, and leaves the other to our conduct. So that it is the most ordinary Divertisement of [Page 139]those that want business, or desire some relaxation from affairs, which in it self would be honest and lawful, if there were no cheating in the case: but seeing that Game is a kind of Exchequer, from whence Luxury draws part of its stock, and that all men would spend more than they are able, hence it is that there is but little honesty in a Commerce from which every one hopes to reap advantage.

Play is a kind of contract, which hath its forms only in use and custom: Fortune is the Judg, but the management and conduct is all our own, which ought to be so much the more sincere, that we are obliged to obey its rules by an unwritten Law. He that did violate it, was heretofore held as in­famous, whom one might upbraid as a man taken in open Robbery: now adays it is no shame to be a Cheat in Play, so great is the prostitution of Publick Faith that it is now no more the Trade of a beggarly Knave, there are Persons of Quality that openly and securely practise it, because it is not easie to bring them to reason.

So that, my Son, I should be glad that you would renounce this Divertisement, which is altogether opposite to Charity, in that it grieves either your self, or Adversary who loses. If you cannot abstain from it, be at least, I pray you, more patient than I have been, and as faithful to your Gamester.

CHAP. XXX. Of Conversation.

COnversation is the most common and honest Divertisement of Life. Solitary retreat would be somewhat too ghastly, and the Croud too tu­mu tuary, if there were not some mean betwixt [Page 140]both made up of the choice of some particular per­sons, with whom men communicate themselves, to avoid the tediousness of solitude, or the burden of the multitude. That choice is made according to the diversity of tempers, every one fitting his Buckle to his Belt, and in this variety all propose the same end which is the divertisement of the Mind.

As every Week hath its working days and day of Rest, so after the painful hours that are spent at home and abroad, every day hath need of its hours of repose, which are the hours of conversati­on. wherefore we should have a care not to mistake in the choice of those with whom we contract fa­miliarity, in respect that the last seasoning of our manners whether good or bad depends thereon.

There is no society in the Croud, the counte­nances of men whom we meet there, make no more impression on us than the Faces that we see in a Dream: the sound of their Voices is not much more articulated than the noise of falling waters. The mind in that tumult finds no support: If it be likewise alone, instead of pleasing, it stuns it self in its own career: there is nothing then but the presence of one or more friends that comforts it. It is indeed most certain that the disclosing of our hearts to some particular friend cures it of part of its anxiety: but seeing the conversation with more friends requires a greater enlargement of our mind, we divide our selves more amongst them, and by consequent discharge more fully our troubles.

God did me the favour when I was at Court, twenty six years ago, that I was received into a conversation, which was chiefly entertained by two brothers of the same name, merit, and illustrious Life. There was every evening in their house a [Page 141]certain consort of friends, where all things past with such harmony, and so much sweetness and discre­tion, that I never had any trouble in mind which vanished not in that company.

They being persons [...] [...]sdom, fidelity, learning and of a most eminent v [...]tue, every one strove to contribute his best, in that honest society. Now such a kind of conversation, beside that it quiets and stills our passions, it enlightens likewise the mind: for it will be certainly in vain to fill the magazin of the mind by meditation, if we vent it not by speech. And therefore we commonly see good reasons lose their force and grace for want of a clear expression, which depends only on the turning about, and setting in order the notions of the mind before they be expressed; conversation embodies them by speech, and we see them better then, than when they are still shapeless in our ima­gination; and therefore it is that men for most part pronounce aloud what they read or write; words admitting of a more distinct judgment than thoughts.

In conversation, methinks, that men also con­tract some union with those to whom they com­municate themselves, and that we feel the same effect that appears in natural actions, which not only fortifie themselves by their conjunction, but better resist contrary impressions. Mankind is a body composed of similary and dissimilary parts, which is divided into as many portions as there are men. The Similary Parts by their approach en­deavour to reunite themselves: And the Dissimi­lary, to maintain their scparation by flight: for from whence can proceed the love, or aversion that we find at first meeting, if the intimation of that casual impulse were not inherent in the mass of blood, and the spirits where it is occasioned.

It is very considerable that there passes nothing in the intellectual nature, whereof the material gives us not some indication. For example the eye is better satisfied to joyn the eye, the hand the hand, and the mouth the mouth, than any other part of the body. After the same manner we find amongst Spirits and Humours some similary parts which have so great affection for one another, that by the sole difference of their sorting together, what diversity soever there may be in the mass, we may make a certain judgement of a man according to the conver­sation wherein he delights. The serious covet the company of the serious, fools of the brainsick, the gentle tempers the quiet of a corner: but discreeter persons desire an innocent and pleasing society which forms the mind and diverts it. There is none but the company of several friends who make all profes­sion of honour and integrity, that can have all these conditions. Keep to this last, my son, and prefer it to all the rest.

CHAP. XXXI. Of the Conditions necessary for a Church­man.

I Have formerly declared my intention that one of my Sons should be a Church-man, provided he were endued with the conditions and qualifica­tions necessary for that charge. My second Son, I think, will be the fittest for it; for I find him of a temper more debonnaire and tractable than the rest. And as the sacrifice of a Son is more acceptable to God, than that of a Lamb, I will not make my Ob­lation a Sacriledge, by presenting to him the im­perfectest [Page 143]of my Children. Though they be yet too young to discern which of them will be the fit­test, yet I design him who seems to be so at present, whether it be the mildness of his infancy that ob­liges liges me to it, or that I have already a respect to that holy Character wherewith I desire he may be honoured.

My eldest and youngest Sons, are of too brisk and hot a temper, for a Profession that requires meek­ness; the constitution of their brother appears more moderate, and to have some sign also of great­er judgment; so that I think in dedicating him to the Service of God, I offer him the soundest fruit of my Family. It is greater injury to God to pre­sent unto him the refuse of the House, than to offer him a Sheep that hath a blemish; in respect that the Sacrificer ought to be more pure than the Sa­crifice. That is just as to make the Shew-Bread of the Siftings of the Flower, and to pollute the Sanctuary of the Lord with the impurity of our Blood.

The Platonick Laws require of those that aspire to the Priest-hood, that they should be lawfully be­gotten, sound in Body and Manners, of an inge­nuous and honest extraction, virtuous persons; and that afterward the hand of God should make the choice by giving them their preferment by Lot. The Canons of the Church agree in all these qua­lifications, except the Election by Lot, which they have judged too blind and casual for so worthy an Employment: and forasmuch as the imperfections of the Soul are more hidden than the defects of Bo­dy, which are obvious to the Eye, they have been prudently circumspect in their inquiry and exami­nation, and in not permitting that any should be honoured with that Dignity before a certain age, and without evident proofs of Learning and Inte­grity [Page 144]of Manners; and have therefore appointed Orders to be conferred successively one after ano­ther, to the end that during that progress it might be known if the person to be admitted were not guilty of somewhat that might render him incapa­ble of that holy Character which separates him from the Laics and consecrates him to the portion of God which is the Clergy, from whence there is no return.

Hardowin, my Son, when you have attained to the years of discretion, enter into your self, and de­liberate maturely with your Manners and Passions, which will then be in their vigour, if they can suf­fer you to lead the Life of a good Church-man. It is better that you should be a bad Lay-man, than a vitious Priest. The reverence toward God and the scandal of your Neighbour will therein be less: Consider likewise, if you be sufficiently instructed in the matters of your Profession, the Lord preserve you from that shame and confusion, that any one should be in doubt when you approach to the Foot of the Altar whether you be the Sacrifice or Sacri­ficer.

You must likewise, my Son, be a lover of Books or renounce your Profession. Study is one of the chief exercises of a Church-man; for beside that it serves to instruct himself and others, it serves al­so to divert him from idleness; his Prayers are short, and the day long, if he employ not his time in Stu­dy, what will he be else, but an empty ground, that is exposed, Vitiorum primo occupanti, to the first pos­sessour of his Vices?

Employ your Studies in endeavouring like the ancient Fathers to become more knowing in posi­tive Divinity than in Scholastick, the one makes the Master, the other but the Scholar. The posi­tive is humble, dutiful, and full of the Holy Ghost, [Page 145]the Scholastick is subject to be headstrong; arro­gant, and so full of contention, that very often it puts out Charity.

A certain person hath said more judiciously, I think, than malitiously, that it hath been hatched by the idleness of some Monkish spirits, who were indeed subtil, but having had more fire than light, would have reduced Theology to an Art, by subje­cting it to the forms of Logick, as Aristotle hath done all his Works. From thence is derived that Deluge of Arguments, Questions, Objections and Distinctions (great indeed in bulk, but small in sub­stance) whereof the most part are of no conse­quence, and where there is neither Bottom nor Bank.

The Positive consists simply in the Word of God, in the Exposition of it according to the Fathers, and in the understanding of the Mysteries of Reli­gion according to Faith. The Scholastick mingles with it so many vain Subtilties, and so much Em­broydery of less value than the Stuff, that hardly can the ancient Texture of it be known. My Son, the business is to labour for our Salvation in the reading of holy Books. So long as you busie your self to reason of God, and his Attributes, have a care that you mistake not the way that you must follow to guide you to him.

In primitive times he that desired to be a Dis­ciple of Christ, was obliged to resign all his Goods and to lay them at the Apostles Feet. It was need­ful at that time that the primitive Zeal should make up a common stock for the use of the Faithful and Poor: but now adays when there remains little more but the Smoak of that ancient Heat, and that the Manners of Men are changed, the honour of Priest-hood requires that he that undertakes it, should have a sufficient subsistance.

If God bestow upon you, my Son, somewhat more than is necessary to maintain you decently in the rank that you may have in the Church, distri­bute it amongst the Poor. They that live in the place where your Benefices (if any you have) lie, have the first priviledg: your Relations and those of your Blood, if they be necessitous, the second: and afterward the rest of the Poor according to your ability. Govern your self nevertheless with so much wisdom in that Economy, that you send not so much nourishment to the Branches, as may exhaust the Sap of the Stock.

My Child, if you would entirely dedicate your self to the Service of God, I have an advice to give you, which is more Apostolick than Religious Vows; render your self capable of the charge of a good Parson or Curate. For that end you must renounce all sort of impurity of Flesh and of Spirit, be submitted to your Superiors, and be no more your own man, but give your self wholly to all the Souls committed to your charge, which is the lowest abnegation that you can make of your self, and the most illustrious purity to which you can attain.

When I hear men speak of the Life of some Pa­rish Parsons heretofore deceased and of some still a­live, I think that in their actions I see a living Em­blem of the greatest Purity that hath ever been in Christendom. They Pray, they Practise, they Ca­techize, Confess, Preach, they distribute their Goods amongst the Poor, they comfort the Affli­cted, they visit the Sick, far and near, night and day, at what hour soever they be called, a foot; and give them the Sacrament; they assist them at their Death, and what danger soever there may be, accompany them to the Grave, and perform to them the Office of Funeral. They are all to all in par­ticular as well as in general. The holy Apostles [Page 147]and Jesus Christ himself did no more, except the working of Miracles, which was rather an effect of their being visited by the Holy Ghost, than of their Character.

As we are touched with reverence at the happy meeting of such holy Persons, we should likewise be with horror, when we see any that neglect the Souls of the Faithful committed to them, and aban­don these Apostolick Functions which are their du­ty, for any other employment whatsoever, unless it be the service of the King and State; such persons will hardly prove more faithful to man than God, their first breaking warrants them in the second. God preserve you, my Son, if you be called to that holy charge, from doing any thing that may be con­trary to the purity of so sacred and holy a Profes­sion.

CHAP. XXXII. Five general Directions for Virtue, whereof the last is Submission to the Providence of God, which makes the conclusion of the Second Part.

MY dearest Children, if it behove me to make a review of all the particulars which may conduce to the fashioning your Body and Mind, I should never make an end. I have only therefore touched those things which I thought most neces­sary for you, and wherein you ought to take great­est care to improve your selves. There is no in­dustry which languishes not by neglect, nor strength that becomes not weakness when nummed or stu­pified. Virtue will not have its Action put off till [Page 148]to morrow: that delay is nothing but a modest complement that an irresolute soul makes to it self, which hath neither the power to grant nor refuse what reason requires.

Your active and working temper is a rude and unpolished diligence, that stands in need only of a wise direction; this is the effect of Virtue alone, the series of which that is made up of all occasions and all kinds of matter, exposes to view the lovely pro­spect of the Lives of the Illustrious. Virtue is not the work of an hour, a year, of one or more actions, it requires our whole life, it is always beginning and it's progress should be so continued that it al­low not the liberty of judging thereof till after death. It is true that the purchase of it is pain­ful; but seeing that difficulty makes matter for it, the greater that is, the more noble will be its actions.

The hardest Marble frustrates not the hand of the Statuary, but by the difficulty of shaping of it into form his diligence is doubled. Virtue is only inaccessible to those that look upon it at distance, such as have a heart to approach it, find it's avenues easie enough: it consists only in four or five general points.

The first is never to be idle. The fore part of man bends all forwards: the hands, feet, and face, to teach us that the Mind should conform to the Fabrick of the Body, and be progressive as it is. Let us not suffer those two parts of our Body to loyter in laziness and sloth: we find that we weary sooner standing still than walking, and that the best spirits are like the strongest arms, which are far sooner put out of joynt by beating the Air than striking on a resistable Matter.

So that Action being more commodious to us than Rest, let us apply our selves to something. [Page 149]The Head without the Hands and Feet is a Mon­ster, to shew us that we must determine our selves to action, and that whatsoever delicateness there may be in our words and thoughts, if we employ our selves in nothing else, we appear like the winged heads of those little Cherubims, which are so much the more imperfect, in that they are neither Angels nor Men; as an Ape is deformed, because it is of an ambiguous nature betwixt a Beast and a Man.

The second Method of preparing and plaining the ways of Virtue, is to be watchful, and to con­sider if in whatsoever we do or say we propose an honest end, and take honest ways to attain it. If we be assiduous in that observation, and in that stu­dy of our selves, we shall without doubt insensibly mount to the top of Virtue, without being much incommoded or hindred by the steepness of it's ascent; for though the affairs of the World, have many times crooks and knots which seem to sub­ject them to some indirect circumstances which may divert us from the right road that we must keep in managing of them: Nevertheless if our will con­tinue firm and immoveable towards a good end, and that the biasses that we take to arrive at it be likewise honest; we may assure our selves that the imperfection of the matter will be redressed by the integrity of the Workman. It is impossible to car­ry on all things by a streight line: business like ways have their turnings and windings, which of necessity we are obliged to follow, otherwise we should make in both but a bad progress.

The most important secret of life is to have pru­dence and skill honestly and lawfully to accommo­date Virtue to times, men and affairs; for by that means we not only sweeten what is most harsh and austere in it, but likewise give it the best and most commodious use that it can have.

My Third Advice is, that when you have most carefully observed your self, you likewisely atten­tively consider the actions of others. All the acti­ons of Man are good or bad; for the greatest part of those that we call indifferent, are not so, they are rather the marks of, or predispositions which tend to good or evil. If you exactly consider both, the good will furnish you with an example of imi­tation, and the bad with a better example to make you abhor and detest them. Assure your self, my Son, that the faults that are committed in your pre­sence, have in them a more certain corrective, than what proceeds from your own escapes.

The Features of anothers Face which appears di­rectly to our eyes, make a more lively impression in us, than our own, which are not seen of us but by reflexion, other Mens vices are considered naked­ly as they are in themselves. Our perturbation (for there is no Vice without perturbation) con­founds the appearances of our own, and hinders us from seeing of them in their ugliest shape: from whence it comes to pass that when there is a calm in our minds again, we retain no more of them but an imperfect Image, the kindness that we have for our selves, which reacheth not to others, blot­ting out of our memory a part of their deformi­ty.

My fourth Counsel is, that every night before you go to rest, you make a short recollection of all that you have seen, done, and said during the day; this tryal not only inflames the foul with the love of good, and the hatred of evil, but serves also as a memorandum for the conduct of the day follow­ing.

It is not just that we should give the whole night to the repose of the Body, and the digestion of the Victuals, wherewith it hath been loaded in [Page 151]the day time, and refuse half an hour only or less to the Soul, for the concoction of good actions, and the evacuation of it's impurities.

By this recollection Virtue ferments and swells; and Vice dissolves; it is of so excellent an use, that some of the very Ancients, though they were not illuminated by the Light of the Faith, have made it one of the chief Articles of their Morality. Let us not suffer, my Son, that they should have been more careful than we in an exercise so necessary for the salvation, and conduct of the Soul of a Believer.

I will conclude this second Part, and my Coun­sels concerning Virtue, by the last of the four which the Divine and unimitable Thomas a Kempis directs for obtaining peace in the Mind. His three first Counsels, to wit, to affect rather to do the will of another than ones own, to covet always the low­est place, and to desire rather too little than too much, are of a higher perfection than I wish you to have.

These three which are Virtues in a retired Life, are imperfections in the order of Society, which requires that every one keep the rank of his Parts and Quality. As to the Fourth, which is to submit our selves in all things to the Will of God, this last does really crown all the Virtue of Man; it will be in vain for you to be diligent in well-do­ing, to observe your self in your actions, to draw instruction from the Actions of others, and to make an examination of your Conscience; if your mind submit not to the events of life which are not in your power, and your will be not entirely con­formed to the Will of God, the rest will stand you in no stead. The loss of Friends, Goods, Health, Crosses in our Designs, and a thousand other trou­blesome accidents, come all upon us by an eternal decree: and in respect that our eye and understand­ing [Page 152]are too weak to trace step for step the connexion that all these things have with the Providence of God, we esteem them casual.

Let us not abuse our selves, my Children, there is nothing in the world casual, Providence orders the smallest aswel as greatest things; a grain of dust, a Gnat have their dependance on God aswel as Men and Angels, every one in their several order, there is no event how small so ever but hath it's cause, and that cause it's dependence on another cause till we come to the first.

So, my Child, if all things come to pass by ap­pointment, he that gives it, intends nothing there­by; or rise all things happen for the best, if not in respect of you, yet in reference to the Universe, the interest of which takes place of yours: you cannot then be afflicted with any cross accident, but that your mind is in open rebellion against him who is the cause of it. To avoid that, I charge you, my dearest Children, Sons and Daughters, to submit your selves to the obedience of God, and to desire that in all things his Will be done rather than your own.

There is no softer lenitive to sweeten the bitter­ness of the cross accidents of life, which depend not on us, than constantly to believe that they are the effects of the providence of God which come upon us by his order. By so doing the necessity that lies upon us of bearing of them, will be easily changed into a complacency to his Will: by accommodating our selves to his pleasure, there will nothing from thence forward happen to us in spight of us, and we do not only a thing that is pleasing to him, but become in some manner participant of his eternal Counsel, to which it seems we subscribe by our con­sent, when it goes along with his.

In effect it is a most gross mistake to imagine that [Page 153]all the adventures of our life are guided by a blind power, it is God, and not that, who leads us. Whither? to himself. Which way? inquire not, your guide is not obliged to give you an account of the way he takes, let it content you that the Al­mighty is your guide. This is very strange in the vast extent of the Ocean, where there is neither Path nor Road, man commits himself blindly to the faith of a Pilot, who hath no other direction where­by to make his course round the World, but his Compass and a Star; and in the Revolution of Life he can hardly confide in the providence of him, who is not only the Creator of that Star, but the mover of the Universe, in the conduct whereof it is impossible that he can be mistaken, because that be­ing the Founder thereof, all it's ways are known to him.

Dash out of your mind then, I pray you, my Son, that vain name of Fortune, which is an empty ap­parition, that hath its being only in the foolish imagination of man: pronounce not so much as the name of it, lest that by forming the word you grave not a false Idol of a thing that is not, and by attributing to it any kind of power, you rob not the Divinity. Consider whither your error leads you, when you cannot comprehend the order of the World, nor the connexion of it's causes; under the name of Fortune, you transfer your own blindness to their Mover. Although you cannot follow within distance the contiguity of events, whereof the effect of the one is the cause of the other, yet for all that they have an eternal and immutable princi­ple, from whence that order is derived. Content your self to be measured by it, without calling in question the rule of the Measurer. Universal and particular things are linked together, without any the least confusion. The last Wave that beats the [Page 154]Shore, receives the same common impulse with the rest of the Ocean. According to that general dis­position, it ought to be no small contentment to man, to see that the same order that makes the en­tire revolution of the Universe, is at the same time the cause of his.

Add this then, my Children, to the Articles of your Faith, [That God does all for the best.] It is as true as the rest, more sutable to your reason, and of larger use; in so much that if you be once per­swaded of this truth, it will be to you an internal Haven, where you may ride secure from all the Tempests of Life.

CHAP. I. Of the Force and Necessity of Society.

GOd having had the goodness, my Children, to make Man after his own Image, and to multiply his kind, we cannot, I think, pre­serve that resemblance that resemblance that is betwixt him and us, if man behave not him­self toward Man, like a God; that is to say, unless he be good and beneficent to him. In the First Part of these my Counsels, I have handled the Du­ty of Man towards God: In the Second, his Duty [Page 156]towards Himself which depends on the moderation of his Passions. This Third Part, which consists in the respective Duty of Man toward Man, is nothing else but a lawful application of these two first Du­ties towards his Neighbour: for it is most certain that every man that fears God, and conforms his Will to Reason, will prove a good Husband, good Father, good Son, good Brother, good Master, good Servant, good Neighbor, good Citizen, good Subject, and good Prince, which are the chief links of hu­mane Society.

It hath been said by one, with very little judg­ment, that to lead a retired Life, one must be more than man or less than man, because I have never heard of a Heroe that became so in solitude, there is more probability to think that the avoiding of company proceeds only from the lubbardliness of a rude and rustick soul, buried in matter, which want­ing force to push it self out into the world, only re­tires to hide its own infirmity. And if the Anci­ent zeal have exhibited to us some virtuous Ancho­rites, they are so few in number, and the imitation hath been so difficult that, that perfection hath not been able to descend to us. If there remain any image of it at this day, it is in the retreat of the Carthusian Monks. It is true that every one of them has his Cell apart, yet to compensate in some sort the austerity of their Rule, their institution ap­points that of twenty four hours, whereof day and night is composed, they should employ ten in the Church by intervals, and thereby entertain a mutual society in the exercise and duties of their worship.

Man is of so sociable a nature, that for want of company, if he be in the night time alone in a De­sart without light, the presence of a Dog, a Horse, a Bird, or of an Infant in the Swadling Cloaths, is able to lessen his fear, and it may be it was for that [Page 157]reason that the Beasts and other living Creatures were created before him. The flight of a rout, the pursuit of a Victory, panick terrours, the flocking of eleven thousand Virgins, and fourty thousand men to martyrdom, are so many different effects that proceede only from the force that a blind impression of society makes in the mind, which is sometime so uniform in its action, that a whole multitude seems to be governed by one single spirit.

When two or three of you shall be gathered together in my name, I will be in the midst of you, (said our Lord) to oblige man to some society. He promises not the same grace to man alone; for though a man by himself may love God with all his strength, yet his charity is imperfect, in that it is defective in the officious part of it's duty, which is the love of our Neighbor; wherein is comprehended the mutual duty of man towards man, which is the last thing that I have proposed to my self to treat of in this Will and Testament.

CHAP. II. Of the first Society, which is that of Husband and Wife, and of their respective Duties.

I Shall then begin this last part by the first Society in the World which was made by the hand of God himself, and that is the conjunction of Man and Wife, whereof all the circumstances are very considerable.

Before that the Woman was made, God faw (saith the Scripture) that it was not good for Man to be alone; for when he is alone he is many times the greatest enemy that he hath, and of whom he should be most aware. Afterward he said, that he [Page 158]would give him an help meet for him: betwixt two things that are meet for one another, the conve­nience ought to be equal and reciprocal, which gives us an evidence that the Woman should neither be the Mistress nor the Servant of the Man, otherwise they could not be meet for one another.

Before that he gave her to him he cast him a­sleep, to teach us perhaps that we have no need of our eyes on that occasion, and that they are often enough very bad Counsellors in the choice of a con­venient good, and that it is also altogether necessary that the mind should be setled and in repose before we take a Wife; for if in the matter of Marriage covetousness possess and trouble the Mind, or we be pre-engaged in any other love, we can very hardly make a good choice.

The Woman was neither taken out of the Back nor the Fore-part of Man, but out of his Side, as be­ing appointed for his Companion and equal. The Scripture observes not out of what side she was taken, to the end that she might take the right, that is to say, the conduct of the Family, if she be more capable of it than the Husband.

Lastly, The Woman is made of the same Skin. Bone, Flesh, and Blood, as the Man is, to the end that both may know that there cannot be a more strict union in nature than is betwixt them. The knowledg of their duty should be so perfect, that it must appear like a Cement, which joyns Obedience so well with Command, that it can hardly be di­stinguished who commands and who obeys.

With the good leave of the Doctors, the division which they have made of a Family into two parts, to wit, the Man, and the Goods, and Possession, seems to me very imperfect, if we add not a third, to wit, the Wife; seeing that man cannot propagate Posterity but only by her means, nor transfer his [Page 159]Estate unless to the uncertain pillage of others, if she give him not a lawful Possessor. So that the denomination of the Family should have been taken from the Wife; in respect that the principal parts that constitute it, cannot be governed with good order and economy, if she take not upon her the direction.

Wherefore, my dearest Children, I give you my advice, that you take the greatest care imaginable in the choice of a Wife, as being the most important action of all your Life. If you be cheated in the goodness of a Horse, in the price of a House, or any thing else, you are not wedded to them, you may turn them off when you are weary of them: but in choosing of a Wife, you engage in a contract, which can only be annulled by death.

Would ye choose her well? consider rather the purity than Antiquity of her Blood; and the Vir­tues and good manners rather than the Honours and Dignities of her Race. The imperfections of Body and Mind are hereditary evils whose contagi­on (as we often see) skips from the Grand-father, and Great Grand-father, to the Grand-children; if it sleep in some generation, it is rather a Cessation and Truce than Peace, which will not be of long con­tinuance.

Marry not too young, the first man was in a state of perfection before the Woman was given him. You see that men never take the seed of a green Apple nor the grain of Corn that is in the Bud or Flower for Planting or Sowing. A Body that is but loose and half fastened, whereof the first ebulli­tions of Blood are but as yet Froth and Scum, can produce nothing capable of perfection. The Laws which deny you the disposal of your Estate before a certain Age of majority, seem tacitly to suspend you Marriage until that Age; otherwise you would [Page 160]marry before the season. It is unseemly to have a Housewife before you have the power of a House to commit to her management. Seeing that the Body and Soul enter both in the composition of Man, the maturity of the Body is not sufficient for that effect, you must likewise expect the ripeness of the Soul, which is not supposed to be, until you be of Age. I beg pardon of our Lawgivers, they have left us a just suspicion of their incontinence, by by giving us permission to marry sooner.

As I advise you not to marry, until you be some­what advanced in years, so if you would find an help meet for you, court not one either that is too young; let the verdure of her tender years grow up to maturity under the care of a wise Mother, and the virtuous modesty of her virginity, before you present your self to gather the fruit. You will know better when the season is come, if it be cor­rupt or not, than if it were as yet but green. What assistance can you expect to find in an age that is not ripe enough to understand what is its duty? She must learn that under the modest name of Maiden: For if she hath once got the name of Wife, it will be then too late; for that is a name of Authority, but the other of Maid, a name of fear and submission.

In vain should the first Woman have been given to Man by the hand of God when both were in most perfect age; if it had not been fittest for their comfortable living together. The man was made before the woman, to teach us that the hus­band should be oldest, but it was only a very short time, to give us likewise to understand, that there should not be betwixt them too great a difference of age. When the one is much older than the o­ther, such a match is rather a common hinderance to both, than a convenient and mutual help; since [Page 161]neither the Law of the Land, nor the virtue and solemnity of the Matrimonial Promise have force enough to solder together two opposite things, such as are the two extremities of Life; betwixt which nature seems to have made a double divorce, as well in the dissimilitude of the properties of the Body, as of the passions of the Soul.

The Latins called Marriage (Conjugium) a term very proper which signifies the coupling together of the Husband and Wife, under the same Yoke. This Conjunction is made for three ends; First, that they may spend their Life more pleasantly in that Society: Secondly, For the propagation of the kind: And lastly, That Children being distinguish­ed one from another by Marriage, the care of their education should be divided amongst the Fathers and Mothers, that they might thereby oblige them to help and succour their Parents when they be­come old or infirm.

These three ends cannot be well accomplished, if the Husband and Wife be not well matched un­der the same Yoke. For that purpose they ought to be very near of the same age, the same manners, and of the same mind: otherwise it is impossible that one should ever be meet for the other. Two Horses very young are too wanton to be yoked to­gether, if the one be too young, he draws away the other; if he be too old he retards him: if they be both old, it is a common hinderance: if the one be tractable and the other froward, they make no way; and if they be both froward they go back­ward. When the same difficulties happen in marriage, the contentment of living comfortably together, and the mutual succour which is drawn from the affection of Parents towards their Chil­dren, and of Children towards their Parents, which is the chief end of that society, is quite lost.

It is certainly very difficult to have the same House, the same Fire, the same Table, the same Bed, the same Interests, the same Children, and to live happily together, and not to have the same Mind and Will. All these circumstances do from time to time furnish new matter of love or hatred, according as Marriages are fortunate or unlucky. And therefore we find no affection that grasps so close as the love of a good Wife and good Hus­band, because living always together they render one another upon all occasions a thousand little of­fices, which are so many common ties that make new knots in the Soul, whereof the one never slackens but the other is untied.

If likewise the Husband and Wife agree not well together, beside that it is a punishment to them as long as they live, their misunderstanding in the par­ticulars of their actions instils on either side a com­mon aversion into the blood and spirits, whereof the venom is propagated to the Posterity, it being impossible that two natures betwixt whom there is so little sympathy can ever produce a good gene­ration; and perhaps from hence proceeds the little love of Parents to Children, of Children to Pa­rents, and of Brothers and Sisters amongst them­selves, which upon the contrary reason seldom hap­pens to Children that are begotten in a happy Mar­riage.

My dearest Children, Sons and Daughters, though ye be not as yet of age to know what is to be done, and what not, yet your Mother and I are already so well satisfied with the respect and obe­dience that ye yield to us, and with a certain ten­derness of brotherly love which you have for one another, above what can be expected from your un­derstanding, that we have ground to believe that your good nature is an effect of that perfect corre­spondence [Page 163]that is betwixt your Mother and me, communicated to the blood and spirits from whence you have your original. Ye may very well perceive what blessing we enjoy in our marriage, and what ye may expect, if God bestow the same fa­vour on you, as he hath done upon us. For the obtaining of that, there is so much circumspection to be used, that it is impossible for the prudence of man to foresee all the necessary cautions. The Wise Man informs us that the industry and care of man may procure him other blessings, but that a wise Woman is the gift of God. The surest way to find her is to sleep as Adam did, I mean that having your eyes shut and your other passions at rest, you should expect her from the hand of God, and that you should beg of him only without pro­posing to your selves any other design, that he would give you a helper sutable and meet for you. In this manner was your Mothers marriage and mine made up, wherein we have both this blessing, that she is satisfied with me, and I so much with her that should I say that there is nothing more to be desire but the only content which I find in her, I think I should speak modestly enough: our union by the mercy of God is so perfect, that

CHAP. III. Of the Duty of Parents towards their Chil­dren, and of Children towards their Pa­rents.

I Have just now shewn you, my Children, that the first society that was ever made in the world, is that of Husband and Wife. The second which springs from it, is that of Parents and Chil­dren; in conformity to that order the first place in our affections, is due to the first, and the next to the second. When the first is perfect, it unites two Bodies and two Souls into one, from whence pro­ceeds an union betwixt Man and Wife as dear and intimate to them, as the love of our selves is to e­very one of us. The Bond of the other Society which is between Parents and Children, is some­what more slack, being but at first a bare inclina­tion for the continuing the progress of nature, whose Laboratory would quickly be idle, if for the preservation of the several kinds that fill it, she had not stampt on every living creature a desire to bring up, and have a care of what they bring forth into the World.

There is no doubt but that this first appetite is common to us with all other living creatures, and that it appears ever often more tender in some of them than in Man. But seeing the care of their young extends no farther than the Body, and that so soon as they are in condition to provide for themselves, and have left the Nest and Kennel: that tie of nature leaves no more any mark of it self, it appears that there ought to be a great difference [Page 165]betwixt the parental affection of Man and that of the Beast; for besides that of all living Creatures Man comes into the World most destitute of neces­saries, and longest without ability to provide for himself, he is likewise composed of two parts, the Soul and the Body, which both stand equally in need of Food and Education. The care of both concerns the Parents, wherein it is impossible for them to make a compleat progress, and their Chil­dren to feel it, but that there must be formed be­twixt them, by reason of knowledg, an affection wholly spiritual, and altogether different from that rude and blind inclination which appears in other living Creatures towards their Parents.

If our care did terminate simply in the Body, as theirs doth, our Children being bred like Beasts, should not transgress the order of nature, if they were no more respectful nor thankful to us than Beasts are to those that have given them Life. All Duty between us would cease, so as the Body stood no more in need of assistance; and it would even be to be feared, that the Child who had received no other impression of pleasure but what was sen­sual, might not have just cause to complain of his Parents, if they afforded him not the means to sa­tisfie it. We see in the Life of Countrey Clowns an instance evident enough of the neglect of pater­nal duty in respect of the Soul, in that we find not amongst them but a very obscure sentiment of friendship betwixt the Father and the Son, the Son and the Father, and the Brother and Brother, which subsists only because their fellowship in labour re­quires it. The cause of that hardness of heart proceeds from nothing else but their Education, the care of which aimed only at the body, and that by the ordinary commerce that they have with Beasts, they contract a middle way of living [Page 166]betwixt that of Beasts and of a sociable civil Man.

It is then unquestionable, that the care of the Body is but the rough draught of paternal affecti­on, and that that of the Soul gives it the last stroaks. And therefore our first duty towards you, my Children, consists in these two points, and from which also should spring your gratitude towards your Mother and me.

As we both concur in begetting of you, and that ye are made up of two parts, the Body and the Soul, it seems likewise to be the will of prudent nature that you should have two births, and that for our common comfort the care of these should be divided betwixt us. The first hath been the birth of your Body, whereof your Mother alone hath had the charge, by bearing of you nine moneths in her Womb, and afterward bringing you forth into the World. The giving of you Suck, the Cradle, Blankets, Clouts, the trouble of carrying of you constantly in her Arms, all this les­ser toyl concerns her still, until that your second birth discover it self in the actions of the Soul: then it is that I must also take my turn and labour by suffering in breeding of you, all the inconveni­ences of your second birth, before that ye become perfect Men.

There is some secret Mystery in it, that the ope­rations of the Soul are younger than those of the Body, and that they appear last. God hath so or­dered it, that by the service of the Body that goes first, and which is gross and external, we might be taught what ought to be our duty towards the Soul, which is more internal, and harder to be discovered. So soon as the body is born, we pre­pare clean Clouts for it, lay it on the back with the eyes upward, stretch out its arms and legs in their [Page 167]most natural posture, and swadle it in a fast and easie swathing Band, to keep all its Members in a convenient situation for fear of dislocation. The same method must be observed, as soon as the Soul hath given the first indication of its birth, and pro­vision must be made of wise and innocent counsels for its postures: we must lay it so as that it may look upwards, by raising its knowledg towards Heaven, to which it should aspire; rectifie the appe­tites and affections of it, which are its members; keep them in their place and duty by an easie, yet close restraint, to the end that their operation may not be subjected to the tyranny of a scrupulous and superstitious conduct; nor be loosened and slacken­ed by the tumultuary impulse of the will. The Arms and Legs of the Infant are for some time kept wrapt up in Swathing Bands, and are not set at li­berty, till both have given some token of strength; to instruct us, as I think, that the use and liberty of our will is never to be allowed us, before that the Soul hath given some manifest sign of its suffi­ciency to govern it self.

Negligence in the first Swadling of the Body and Soul gives the beginning to all the defects and im­perfections of both, Use and custom compleats them. Wherefore the Soul being naturally more ready to receive a good or bad impression than the Body, we should keep watch to observe its first blowing, and to begin to train it in a constant ha­bit of good, from the very instant that it hath given the first sign of Life.

Child, it is altogether impossible that you could have articulated your words according to the accent and use of your Country, without applying of some attention. It is not done by chance, your ear by some occult virtue must of necessity have made the distinction of sounds, and your eye observed the mo­tion [Page 168]of the lips of those that are about you, and that afterward another hidden faculty have made the composition of them, though you have not percei­ved it.

The first twilight of the mind discovers it self in this action, and this external articulation of words produceth a manifest though confused image, of the first internal reasoning that is in us. It is therefore my opinion that as soon s male Children begin to have the use of their Tongue, Women should be removed from them, and discreet Men put in their place, who besides the care of their tri­fling concerns should likewise take the inspection of their primary deportments, and behave them­selves with circumspection in their presence (I speak of persons of quality) for indeed manners become good or bad, according to their first pat­terns.

If we see (as it often happens) some vices natu­ralized in Families, and become a part of the inhe­ritance; that flows only from the contagion of the Parents or Servants, who are of so loose and depra­ved a Life, that they have not the power to forbear but a little their dissolute courses in the presence of their Children or Masters.

Since then an Infants speech is the dawning of his Soul, I think the care of his conduct should be­gin with it, considering the dominion of custom whereof nothing can give us a more speaking re­presentation than speech it self. The Eye sees no­thing when it is framed, neither does the Ear hear but confusedly and without making any appa­rent distinction of the kinds of sounds, and conse­quently the operation of the Mind must as yet be but confused and undistinct: Nevertheless we find that by the often hearing of words spoken, these three faculties of hearing, seeing, and reasoning, do [Page 169](though imperfectly) concur, to frame by the fre­quent hearing and imitation of the voice, the same understanding, sound, and accent of the impression which they have received, and from thence proceeds the difference of idioms.

Think it not then strange, my Friends, if I have always an eye over you; and if I begin so soon to ob­serve you: In observing of you, and those that are about you, I my self stand upon my guard, that no­thing that is contagious may pass in your presence. It is as easie to speak well as ill, and to do good, as bad: Good and bad manners are formed in us by example, as language by a good or bad accent, without any other study but use and custom.

There are some other duties still of a good Fa­ther, besides that of your institution, which I ought not to hope to be ale to render to you, con­sidering the difference of our ages, unless nature will be pleased to suspend the execution of her laws in favour of me.

One is to use familiarity with our Children, and make them intimate with us: It is more becoming, in my opinion, to reason, than to trifle and play the fool with them: And since we make our selves sharers of their pastimes and entertainment, so soon as they begin to walk and speak, which is but a mere action of the sensitive Soul; when the rea­sonable acts in them, and they become Men, it is unjust and out of time to deny them the continu­ance of a familiarity whereof they have already in their infancy got the possession. Consider what befals us by a severe and rigid countenance toward them: we have gained their affection by an infi­nite number of cares, which we have heretofore had of them, and we lose the effect of them by an idle policy of distance and respect.

Children, if God give you grace one day to be [Page 170]Parents, make your Children your first Friends, when they be of age to be so; their friendship is a graffing of natural Slips into a natural Stock which produceth better and more pleasant Fruit, than any other strange and bastard graffing, which retains always somewhat of the roughness of its wild stock.

When they are become men, and perhaps wiser than your selves, change the quality of Father into that of elder Brother. This last is common to us all; the other is but an alliance contracted by Blood, and by consequence you cannot follow the order of nature; if when your Children are grown up to the perfect state of Men, you treat them not rather as their elder Brother, than as their Father, Acquaint them with your houshold affairs so soon as they are capable to understand them. You and they both will thereby reap this advantage; that in the first place by letting them understand what is your revenue, and what your charges, they will undeceive themselves of the opinion that they might have, that you may allow them a larger Portion than you do; and so preserve their affection. Se­condly, by calling them into that society they will ease you of part of your care. And in the third place they will learn the management of an estate whereof they are one day to be proprietors, and will by that means know what portion of it every one of them is to expect; which will make them more satisfied with their shares, and more cordial in their love to one another, when you shall leave to them the entire possession.

To conclude, It is very dangerous for Fathers to be too great husbands of their Purse toward their Children, left that too much sparing may debase them, when they have not means to set themselves forward if they can. From being Citizens of the [Page 171]World, they are thereby confined as Prisoners to the Chimney-corner or Precincts of the House: and it happens often that for want of somewhat to be husbands of, being incapable of all aeconomy, they grow prodigal in their abundance, because that they never learned in their necessity the art of spending to purpose. In fine he that never allows his Children any share in his Estate but when he dies, does no more oblige them, than he that leaves us his Spoil, because he cannot carry it with him.

Now as to the Duty of Children toward their Parents, prudent nature hath thought fit that when we come into the World the same ligament that sustains us, and which as a Conduit-Pipe conveys to us our nourishment for the space of nine moneths, should still remain fastened to our Womb-bed, and not break of it self as all the other Membranes wherein we are wrapt; to be to us a visible mark, that the ligaments which sustain the Soul, and which give it Life by wise instruction, and a thou­sand testimonies of love and good will which chil­dren receive from their Parents, should be stronger and less apt to break than that.

The burden of the big Belly, the Pains in Child-bearing, the servitude of giving Suck; of taking up and putting to Bed, of keeping clean, instructing, and on all occasions furnishing all that is needful for the subsistence of Body and Soul, are so many various chains of Parents toward their Children, from whence spring an equal number of links of the same metal and workmanship which tie Chil­dren to their Parents.

Wherefore one would think that the command of honouring Father and Mother were superfluous, considering the obligation that lies on Men to do it; but God seeing that there were Souls so ungrate as to [Page 172]fail in that duty, and even in the duty of love to­wards himself, which is more according to the laws of nature, he hath thought sit that both Command­ments should be written in the Tables of the Law, since they could not be graven on their Consciences, to the end that those who obey them not, should be abominable to God and Men, as being convicted by their infidelity in these two, of treason against both.

My Children, I am already so far advanced in Age, and ye as yet so young, that in all probability your Mother will remain charged with the care of your institution, as she hath been already with all the troubles of your Infancy. She is so good and discreet, that I make no doubt but that you will find in her alone the affection both of a Father and Mother. If that come to pass, as her good offices will be doubled towards you, so as ye desire the blessing of God upon you, unite all the force and faculties of your Souls, to render to her alone the honour and respect which ye owe us both in com­mon.

If I say nothing here in particular concerning the conduct of my Daughters, I would not have them believe that I have past them by in my Testament. That direction belongs to their Mother, who knows better than I how they ought to demean them­selves. She fears God, loves her Husband, is care­ful of the House, so humble and modest, and so wise and discreet that many times I stand in need of her counsel. Daughters, make use of that good example that ye have from her, and of her good counsels, and I assure my self that if ye do so, they will be found better and more faithful to you, than those which now I give to your Brothers.

CHAP. IV. Of the Duty of Brothers amongst them­selves.

NExt to conjugal affection, and the love of Parents toward their Children, and Children toward their Parents, the third and strictest tie of Nature, is the love of Brethren to one another; they are like the Branches of the same Tree, which being nourished by the same Sap, though they be different in Body should bear Fruit of the same taste, otherwise they give ground to suspect that there hath been diversity of Grafts. The Harmo­ny that appears betwixt the two hands which are Sisters, and amongst all the Fingers for the com­mon use of the Hand, is a lesson of mutual love and assistance, which God gives to Children of the same Family, if they intend to follow his order.

There are commonly three things which cause the mis-understanding that is seen amongst Bro­thers. The first and chief is an original fault of conformation and nature, which proceeds (as hath been already said) from corruption in the mass of their Parents blood it being altogether impossible, that a production which springs from the mixture of two disagreeing seeds, can contain in it any thing that is sociable, nor that any thing capable of har­mony, can be produced by the dissonance of a Mar­riage full of discord and contrarieties. So that enmity amongst Brethren is not only ignomini­ous to themselves; but makes an injurious re­bound to the dishonour of their Parents, and in so doing breaks the second Table of the Law, by [Page 174]the which they are commanded to honour them.

The partiality of Parents affection toward their Children, is the second cause of misunderstanding amongst Brethren, built (as I think) upon a very weak foundation: for if there were no violence in mens inclinations, which is not easie to be avoided, yet it often happens that one of your Children is more respectful and obedient to you than another, and that that difference of their respect and love to­wards you, begets another in you for them; and in that case, they who think themselves wronged, have no reason to complain, in respect that they have been had Stewards of the mutual good will, which ought to be between them and their Pa­rents.

There is another very considerable reason, why a Father should not treat his Children equally with the same affection, and that is, when a Father per­ceives a hopeful nature in a Child, which of it self acquires some pre-eminence above the rest, he is obliged to cultivate it with more care, and the Bro­thers ought to consent to this birth-right of good will, which in end has often no other design but the general good of all the Family. We see the same or­der in nature; Amongst the Branches that grow like Sisters from the top of the Trunk, the strong­est draws always most nourishment to it self, and the stock affords it more Sap than the rest: If I in imitation of that example, my Children, be more liberal of my care and affection, to him that shall best deserve it, I conjure you not to take it ill. I should be very glad to see you strive in emulation to gain this first place in my esteem, I promise it upon the word of a good Father to the most virtuous; your endeavour to obtain it is as much in your power, it consists only in abstaining from evil and doing of good, which is a thing not at all above [Page 175]your strength. Might I see in you a desire so uni­form to prosecute this goodly design, that my in­clinations did rest so equally suspended amongst you all, that neither ye nor I might ever be able to judg, to which side the balance ought to cast.

The third and most ordinary cause of little love amongst brethren, proceeds from the distribution of their portions: the wiser Parents leave the disposition of them to the custom of the Country: which being according to Law, howsoever it be, is always bet­ter and less subject to the jealousie of our Children among themselves, than our own. Our Estates be­long to our Families, and our Families to the State, whose publick ordinances we cannot transgress in favour of our Children, but that our memory be­comes odious to others, and amongst them we sow contention. When the Law (as in certain cases it does) allows us the liberty of our will, it is rather a civil permission that it hath given us, to keep our Children in more strict subjection to their duty, than an absolute power to deprive them of the right of their birth, to which they are called by common Justice.

To maintain a perfect union amongst you, my Children, in this manner should it be my opinion to dispose of my Estate, if I had sufficiency to give every one of you a competent share. In the first place seeing that there are some times, and ages more ex­pensive than others; it should be my design to assist every one of you according to your present need, and in that distribution which I should make of my goods in my life time, to observe rather a Geome­trical than Arithmetical Proportion. That dis­position which would evidence to you an equal affection, though there might be perhaps some inequality in the expence, should, I think, satis­fie you, seeing that therein I should have no o­ther [Page 176]respect, but the common advancement of you all.

As to the division of my goods after my death, be content I pray you, my Friends, that I transfer it to the Law of the Countrey where they are; I have but the use of them, the propriety belongs to it, and I can alter nothing in what it appoints, without offending the judgment of an infinite num­ber of wise persons who have all agreed concerning the extent of its power; I must give them my con­sent upon my Death-Bed, otherwise I shall give ground to suspect that I am sicker in Mind than in Body.

It is true that our custom is a little too indulgent, in remitting to our own disposition all the Chattels and Purchases, and a third part of the ancient In­heritance; they are so many seeds of envy amongst the Brothers, which a dying Father that thinks he leaves some stem in his Family more able than the rest to maintain it, considers not sufficiently; for it comes to pass often that instead of continuing it, he disperses it by giving such advantages, the affection of the younger to the elder abating as their part of the inheritance. Wherefore it is my opinion, that Fathers should only accept of that li­berty which the Law gives them, as an act of ci­vility done to them, whereof they should make no use. The Law which only assigns the first part of the real Estate and Inheritance to the Eldest, though it extend our power farther, seems to regulate our duty merely on that side, and to hint to us that as to the overplus we owe him but the same preroga­tive and advantage in our Chattels and Purchases, if we would follow the intention of it.

As to those customs which give almost all to the Eldest, it is reasonable also to comply with their au­thority being already past prescription, and to suffer it [Page 177]as an old wound which is healed by time and long use, the pain of which is past. But when the Fa­ther himself grants this favour, it is a kind of dis­inheriting a part of his Children, which like a new wound makes a solution of continuity in that strict union that ought to be in fraternal friendship; it be­ing impossible but that the weakned parts should bear a grudge and envy against those which are the cause of their weakness, and that being even destitute of power to maintain themselves, they should be like­wise of mutual affection to one another.

The only way to provide against this inconveni­ence, is (as I have said) to leave when we die the disposition of our Estate to the Laws and received Customs: not to abuse our selves with this vain folly of thinking to make our name immortal, when we our selves die, by an useless attempt to pre­serve our Estate whole. The duty of brotherly love is first in order, and more natural than the desire of preserving our Inheritance, and by consequence our chief care should be bent to keep it in its place.

The Stock of Families, fruitful in the number of Children, is like a Tree surcharged with Fruit; a part of them fall of themselves, another is beat down by Winds, and a third comes to maturity, so that its fruitfulness does neither exhaust nor dry it.

According to this example we may confidently and securely, remit to the conduct and providence of the Laws, the ordering of our Estates, and the duration of our posterity; let us assure our selves that the undoing of both will be occasioned rather by the misunderstanding of brothers among them­selves, than the plurality of their Portions. When there are many to be made, their shares will indeed be less, but in recompence of that their counsels and [Page 178]forces will be redoubled by the conjunction of ma­ny hands and many heads together.

This union is far more helpful than that of the fabulous men with three Bodies and an hundred Hands, who being incorporated in one Trunk could not separately sever one another in several persons, when brethren who are united together by a mu­tual affection, though their persons be divided, may continue inseparable in all the functions of mutual aid and common defence; and being divided in place, in body and action, maintain the same con­juncture of mind in all things, provided they fol­low the inclination of nature, and that there has been no mistake in their original conformation. Naturally the same spirit, the same blood, the same principle, and the same education should produce the same inclinations and wills.

Children, the correspondence which appears in the fraternity of the fingers of the hand, is a pat­tern to you of the duty of yours: a single motion opens them altogether, and another shuts them; to teach you that all your wills ought to have but one common impulse: and as in laborious actions where the effort of all the hand is necessary, the lit­tle finger contributes as much as the thumb; so should this serve you for example, that whatsoever inequality there may be amongst you, yet your whole strength consists only in your union; and fi­nally though the three greatest fingers be only em­ployed in all manufactures, yet the other two are not debarred from a society in the wages, that you may thereby understand, that the most active and intelligent amongst you should supply the necessities and defects of the weaker.

We have at present in our Family the experience of this succour: but seeing the modesty of him from whom we receive it, forbids me to publish it, [Page 179]let us beseech him, my Children, to permit us to render him from our Souls most hearty thanks, and to consider him as a secret Buttress which serves to support our House, without being seen.

Under brotherly Love I comprehend the duty of all the kindred, until that degree wherein the Law permits them to contract new consanguinity by the Bond of Marriage, all that is betwixt that branch and the Stock being but the same blood, is obliged to the same duty of reciprocal affection, according to the rank of its proximity. When this alliance advances farther, it is confounded in the publick Mass, whence it is that the private duty of a Fami­ly terminates at last in a civil obligation.

CHAP. V. Of the Duty of Masters and Servants.

THe reciprocal duty that is between the Master and the Servant, is the fourth in order in civil society. Though it be the most common opinion that the name of Master have its rise only from an usurpation made upon the publick and common li­berty, yet I am of a contrary Judgment. The Bo­dy Politick, as the Humane, is composed of parts that command, and parts which obey: such in ei­ther, as are found to have most reason and authori­ty, have put themselves according to nature in the possession of command; and the rest though many times the stronger and most virtuous, according to the same order, are reduced to the necessity of obe­dience.

Otherwise if they had all together aspired to the command, there would have been no mutual ser­vice; [Page 180]and if they had likewise all submitted to the duty of obedience, their services would have been performed with confusion, for want of order and conduct to guide and rule them.

To trace the matter to its original, it is proba­ble that force hath made the first division of the Earth among Men, and that the possession thereof hath been since warranted by common consent, for avoiding a second time this Primary Anarchy, during which all things were possest in disorder and confusion. They who got the greater share in this division, finding that they had more than they could employ and put to use, were constrained to call to a Partnership of their Portions such who had been unfortunate in the distribution, under such free and easie conditions, as being well observed, I think there is no difference betwixt the Master and Ser­vant but only in name.

In the first place, according to the Law of Na­ture, both are cast in the same Mould; according to the Law of the State, both are free, and both the Subjects of the same Prince; and by the Law of Re­ligion, both they and the Prince himself are the Mem­bers of Christ.

Secondly; none of us all whoever he be, can force a man of what base condition soever, to serve him unless he be willing. This priviledge is so common to us all that none but the King alone can break it.

In the third place, whatever inequality there is betwixt me and him whom I would have for my Servant, I cannot bargain with him for his Service, but that he stipulates with me for his Wages, and that so by contracting together he become my e­qual: as he is by our Covenants obliged to me. so am I to him; if he be my domestick, he enters into society of house and fire with me; and though [Page 181]he eat at the lower Table, yet he is my dayly Guest, and I am even bound to protect and defend him against others.

What do you think that he whom you take for my Servant does for me, in recompence of so much care? He serves me: You are mistaken, he serves himself: the same labour that he must do in his own house for a livelyhood he performs in mine; if he engage to me his will in my service, mine re­mains a pledge for his Wages; if I reap any bene­fit of his services, he is no loser; if he medle in my affairs, it is soon perceived that he neglects not his own; if he labour my Land, he shares with me of the Fruits; if he dress my Victuals, he has the first tasting of them, he is at the pains, and I at all the expence. Our Partnership appears in so many things, that all well considered, I think the con­junction of Master and Servant is nothing else but a society contracted betwixt a poor man and a rich for their common profit, in which there is not any difference but of name.

It is not amiss, my Son, that both of them should know, that the distance betwixt them, is not so great as men think, to the end that the command of the one should be more mild and easie, and that the other (though he serve) should do nothing unworthy of the liberty of his condition. An honest Servant is the Masters observer and watch, and a good Master the Servants example. And therefore there is no conjunction amongst men, next to that of Husband and Wife, that hath more need to be well made, than this.

And forasmuch as it is difficult that the Master and Servant can be always in so good correspon­dence together, that there may not sometime hap­pen little debates betwixt them: it is convenient that in matters of small importance the Master [Page 182]should sometimes yield to give a little breath to the liberty of his Servant, for fear lest by striving to deprive him of all, he set him not on the desire of recovering all, and so make him forsake his Ser­vice.

The repugnancy that we find in our selves to obey the will of another, proceeds from this, that our life being in it self nothing else but an act of sense and knowledge, it seems to us, when that act is not in our own power that we live rather by the soul of another, than by our own. That unwil­lingness to obey which is natural to man springs from this, and therefore Nature and the Laws making no Servants, if they are not willing of them­selves, we should have the prudence to treat ours with discretion, if we find our selves well served by them, lest that by the tediousness of too rude and harsh a subjection we may give them cause of repentance.

For the quiet both of Master and Servant, it is many times necessary that the first were blind, and the other deaf. A clear sighted Master if he ob­serve his Servants too narrowly, shall never want fresh occasion of vexing; he should slight or not seem to take notice of part of their faults, when they are committed through want of skill or judgment, or even through a little itching humour of liberty, which would still retain its right; they are to be excused, and the rather because if the matter affect us, beyond reason, the trouble will remain, and the fault cannot be undone.

It is as necessary also that a Servant be not too quick in hearing; because choler being a thin and subtle humour which easily mixes with mastery, it is very hard that a Servant can so duely follow his Masters directions, but that now and then he may give him some occasion of being angry: from [Page 183]whence it comes to pass that his troubled reason, imparts suddenly its disorder to the tongue, and strives to ease it self by that member.

For two reasons the Servant ought to be deaf at that time: First, that he may not be obliged to an­swer, because his answering may make a new re­percussion of his fault in his Masters mind, whereof silence weakens the force as of a stroak in the empty air: And secondly, that he may blunt the edge of the reproaches and injuries that are said to him; the cutting sense of which may give him some a­version from his Master if he be too attentive.

There are few other faults wherein a Master ought not to be indulgent, except those that are committed against him with deliberation, and that tend to the offence of God. And then it is not to be reckoned a bare fault, it is a vice, or malicious­ness: when this happens, how useful soever a Ser­vant may be to you, turn him off, if he be not young enough to give hopes of amendment: have a care also if he be a hardned sinner, that by endea­vouring to reform him, you contract not somewhat of his pollution, and draw upon your self some part of his scandal.

If you find that your Servant loves Gaming, Drinking, and the Debauchery of Women, be assu­red that he will likewise prove a Blasphemer, and that it is altogether impossible, that with so many wicked qualities he can prove faithful to you, be­sides the scandal that comes of it, if you keep him in your service; these three first vices being no vices that go on credit, you must of necessity pay for them, or if any other Purse besides yours maintain them, you are, though ignorantly the Confident and con­cealer.

If you would have your Servant be faithful to you, be so first to him by honestly paying of him [Page 184]his wages; force him not by keeping back his hire, to pay himself with his own hands, lest that you both become culpable at the same time.

The Teeth in the constitution of the body of man are the emblem of what servants should be in the composition of a Family, and what qualities they ought to have; the Teeth should make the first pre­paration of our nourishment, be set in order, labour all, lest that those who are idle putrifie; be clean, to the end that nothing stick to them which may spoil them; and whole and sound, lest if they be hollow, something of that they chew may remain and cor­rupt them. Their duty is to chew and not to taste; and according as they are sound or rotten they give an indication of the good or bad disposition of the body to which they are fastned: It is just so with Servants.

My Children, that I may put an end to the duty that ought to be betwixt Masters and Servants, as they came next in order after our Kindred in socie­ty, so should they be in our affection. If you mind the Prayer which your Mother makes you say daily for our common preservation, you will find your Houshold Servants in that Rank: seeing our engage­ment with one another is free and voluntary, let us not make it with them with a reservation of heart.

All service without affection wants relish, if it be performed to me with regret, though it be my due, yet I receive it still with more regret, and there is nothing but the warmth of the heart that can sea­son it. Sure it is so, let us endeavour to be beloved of our Servants: the way to procure their affecti­on, is to love them, friendship cannot be interchan­ged on other terms. If it be our design then to at­tract to us their affection, they being many in num­ber, the greatest part of the Loadstone must be on our side, to the end that its uniting virtue may be [Page 185]the better communicated to all, and produce its ef­fect in common.

I have not been so large on the duty of the Ser­vant, as on that of the Mater, because the Master has always more power to compel the Servant to his duty, than he to refuse it.

CHAP. VI. Of the Duty of Neighbours among them­selves.

THe duty of man would be of a narrow com­pass, and his acquaintance small, were it on­ly confined to the enclosure of his house. The earth is open on every side, that man may with more ease communicate with man; his first com­merce when he comes out of the Family is with his Neighbours. Son, what do you think your Neigh­bours are? I'll tell you, they are only an overflow­ing occasioned by the swelling of the first Families of the world, which being increased to too great a number, were forced to separate and take a greater space of earth to live in, than they had pos­sessed before; so that if you remount to your origi­nal, you are a part of your Neighbours Family, or he is of yours.

Without tracing the matter so far as its source, a Family is very inconsiderable that hath not alliance, gossipship, or consanguinity with the greater part of the Neighbours of the same quality, not reckon­ing the injuries of time which effaceth all the tracts of ancient Kindred. So that, my Children, we are bound to live with them as if we were all Kinsmen, and the rather because likewise from Kindred to [Page 186]Neighbours, the common Bond which constitutes the state is continued.

As our Kinsfolk are next, so our Neighbours are near to us, whom God has commanded us to love, not as our Kindred, but as our selves. In effect if our house be on fire, if we be sick, afflicted, or in any pressing necessity, our readiest help comes from the hand of our Neighbour.

We are to one another the first object of our cha­rity, and the most helpful is always the nearest of our Neighbours; witness the Samaritan in Scrip­ture, who tough he was execrable to the Jews, was judge the Neighbour of him that had fallen into the hands of robbers, though he was the last that saw him, because he took pity on him, when both the Priest and Levite, who saw him before, passed by without taking any care of him.

There are three things especially, wherein if a man do not a little moderate his desire, and do him­self justice, he can very hardly prove a good Neigh­bour: one is the interest in Goods; the other inte­rest in Pleasure; and the last, competition for Ho­nour.

As concerning interest in Goods, our Neighbours are either our equals, or stronger, or weaker than we: if we be equals, and there happen any debate a­mongst us, it falls presently into a Law-Suit or a Quarrel: and as there is nothing so frail as man and his riches, from that contest it often happens, that two Neighbours of equal power break themselves by clashing together. As concerning the strong and the weak, if he that is powerful be unjust, he is in his Country like a cancer in the flesh, which by little and little devours all the parts about it, and grows always more malignant the more that it spreads.

If he that is poor and weak be froward, he is troublesom in his neighbourhood, as a hand-worm [Page 187]in the skin, which for all it is so little, fails not to cause smarting, itching, and inflammation. God keep you from these two kinds of Neighbours, be­cause you must always anoint the one, and by scratch­ing the other, you pluck off the skin.

Interest in Goods is common to all sorts of con­ditions; interest in Pleasure that may occasion trou­ble amongst Neighbours, such as hunting, concerns only the Gentry; the Farmer labours the ground, the Tradesman works, the Merchant follows his Traffick, and the man of affairs his business: so that none but Gentlemen are idle; and seeing when they are in the fields together they have but one common divertisement, which is hunting: it is very hard for them to take so good measures, but that there may happen many times amongst them some debate.

Children, if you will follow my counsel, you shall not delight in hunting no more than I; but if you love sport, and have Neighbours never so little touchy, I charge you for fear of dipleasing of them, that you be ever more severe to your selves than the Laws of the King, who have regulated the duty of every one in that matter. And if you have any Neighbour prepossessed with that passion, since you see that it makes him to more than he can: excuse him if he do more than the Law allows him.

The pains that he takes in this exercise, the fa­tigues of body after hunting, should incline you to think, that he who is addicted to that passion is ra­ther possessed than delighted, and that the convul­sions and transports of it deserve better an exorcist, and your compassion, than resentment. As to Hawk­ing and Fowling, which is gluttonous, and minds the belly more than the exercise of body, and con­tentment of the mind, it is reasonable that every one should follow this divertisement.

Hunting makes one part of the Civil War a­mongst [Page 188]Gentlemen; and competition for Honour the other. This last point is subject to so great a variety of emergents, that it hath been impossible that the Laws could so foresee and adjust the duty of every particular person, that there should remain no occasion of noise among men. In this matter, my Son, it is my advice, that you govern your self after this manner.

In those places where the order of the world re­quires that you should keep your rank, do it with so much discretion, that though the Law give it you, it may yet appear that you receive it from the cour­tesie of him that yields to you. Be so tender of the honour of another, that men may see you far rather inclined to remit somewhat of your own, than to usurp any thing of what is your neighbours. In pla­ces indifferent, and on rencounters, fear not to be over-respectful; honour is like the stream of a tor­rent, which comes upon us with more violence, when we stem its course than when we follow it: above all things, in the Church, which is the most common Theatre of the vanity of man, if any one invade your right, I command you to suffer it, you are in the presence of God, to whom you owe that reverence, and before whom the humblest is always in the place of honour. If notwithstanding you see that he take to himself the difference which you render to the Altar, there will be no danger, if he dares dispute you your place, to make him sen­sible that he is your inferiour.

Finally, since Peace is a blessing, we cannot say that we enjoy it, though it may be in the State, if we entertain it not with our neighbours. So that I judge a good neighbourhood to be absolutely ne­cessary for the repose and quiet of life, and that the living near a bad neighbour is a fourth Flail of God, which being permanent is alone more dangerous [Page 189]than all the others together, which are but transi­tory.

Imagine not, my Son, that none but he whose house joyns to yours, and your land to his, is your neighbour. The command that is given to you, to love your neighbour as your self, would be too much contracted, if it were confined to him alone. Seeing the world is patent on all hands, and that you are free to go whithersoever you please, you must know that he whom you meet, see and keep company with, where-ever you be, and of what condition soever he is, becomes a neighbour to you, and you to him; and that your presences ingage you in a mutual duty of doing good to one another.

CHAP. VII. Of Friends, and of three springs of the acti­ons of man towards his Neighbour, which are Good will, Friendship, and Charity.

IN the Soul of man there are three springs of love towards his Neighbour, the first of which touches him but superficially, by allowing him only some slight wishes of good, without the en­deavour of doing it. The Schools have named that superficial good inclination, by too favourable a name, in calling it Benevolence, because that every good inclination which helps not in time of need when it can do it, is not altogether innocent, and so cannot be good; and by consequence (with our Doctors favour) I think that that inofficious inclina­tion of the Soul deserves not so fair a name, as that of Benevolence, and that it is only a bare itching of nature toward good. Nevertheless it is true that [Page 190]that inclination is a predisposition to friendship, when he for whom we have it is touched with the same affection for us that we are for him; for then there is a concourse of benevolence, which having no other design but to conciliate themselves by a mutual complacency, mingle together with so per­fect a harmony, that the solder that joyns them is altogether unperceptible: and from this consocia­tion of benevolence proceeds the second motion of the Soul in the love of our Neighbour, which we call friendship.

These two inclinations of affection which proceed from man, are imperfect, in that the first touches none but him that feels it, and that the second re­gards onely some particular persons. The third that takes its original more high, is quite another thing, as being an efflammation of the heart of man to­ward God, which comes from God, and makes its reflexion towards our Neighbour, according to the extent and greatness of its principle; for as God is indifferently good, to the good, and to the bad, so man by his example becomes equally beneficent to all, to his enemies as well as his friends, without distinction of persons or conditions; and this third spring of affection is called Charity.

So that then all the duty of man towards his Neighbour, is terminated either in Benevolence, which is an inofficious friendship; or in Friendship, which is an imperfect charity; or in Charity, which is a living lamp, and like a publick fire burns al­ways for the use of those that need it.

My Child, though the first of these three inclina­tions seem only a transitory impression, yet since neither friendship nor charity can be formed in us, but that benevolence hath gone before, I wish you may have that tenderness of heart, as being the Nursing-mother of the other two: it is noble in [Page 191]that it is disinteressed, otherwise if it were merce­nary, one should be benevolent to himself.

And although it remain inofficious, yet it repre­sents to us in one draught an image of the goodness of God, who is universally benevolent to all his creatures, and another image of the negligence of man, who suffers in himself the fountain of his in­clination to good to dry up, for want of giving it a course.

Its course is opened two ways: when benevo­lence within it self is nothing but a good will with­out effect, becomes active and mutual amongst some particular persons, then does it turn into friendship: and when it breaks forth upon all mankind, and indifferently offers it self to the necessity of the first comer, and renders it self one to all, and one to e­very one; then it becomes Charity. The practice of these two, my Child, is necessary to you, if you would acquit your self well of your duty toward God, your self, and your neighbour, which is the thing that I proposed to my self to instruct you in.

Now as to Friendship, me-thinks that the man who is incapable of it, is in the world and out of the world, like to those barbarous and wild Islands, which are not only divided from the continent, but destitute of any way to enter, or to get out of them, as if provident nature, which does nothing in vain, had removed these places and men from commerce and society, as parts infected, pestered with mon­sters, and contagious to the whole. Friendship is so necessary to the life of man, that it were better for him to be deprived of all other blessings than of that, because that without it he can have the enjoy­ment of no other good.

The want of friends is a kind of wilderness in the croud. Consider that if you were alone to taste all the pleasures which the eye, the ear, the smelling [Page 192]afford, and all those whereof any part of the body is capable, what relish they would have without the company of your friends. The attainment of all the good qualities that can be desired to body and soul, is a beauty without grace, and a light stifled, if it be not communicated. In fine, without that com­merce which is entertained by the means of friend­ship, we seem to one another rather so many Sta­tues on a Wall, or in a Porch, than so many men. This is a blessing of so great value, that it raises na­ture to the highest exaltation that humanity can suffer, it doubles, triples, quadruples, and multi­plies it according to the number of ones friends.

The Ancients who would restrain its perfection only to two friends, by preserving the memory of some famous couples, have not sufficiently under­stood its whole extent: if it be true that our friend is our other self, with this condition, there can be no friendship betwixt the good and the wicked, which are the two extremes; nor between the wic­ked and the wicked, who may indeed agree in some things, as far as their interest requires; but never in all, nor always. It remains then that it can only exist betwixt the good, whose actions are uniform, in that they are directed to that which is virtuous and honest.

This being so, as it is not more strange to see many Needles touched by the Loadstone turn al­ways to the same point, than to see two; it is less strange to see an honest consort of many persons of honour, seeing that there is no virtue in nature, more attractive and unitive, than the concourse and common conspiration of good men toward good.

Could it be possible that there should have been so little union amongst those that gave themselves to the exercise of virtue, that the names which are [Page 193]used in the ancient Dialogues, were but only sup­posed names, and that the study of Philosophy could not have the power to conciliate a common affecti­on betwixt the persons speaking, and some of their hearers? The narration of such examples without doubt deserved better to have been transmitted to us, than that of those renowned couples of friends; unless it hath been perhaps judged that it ought not to have past to posterity as an instance of a rare thing. In effect the action of a poor friend, who when he was dying, left by his will, (which was accepted and executed) his Mother to be entertain­ed by one of his friends, and his Daughter to be married by another, and who substituted, the one failing, the other in this duty, is of a far higher pitch of friendship, than the action of him that gave himself in hostage for his friend; and nevertheless though it be more illustrious, it is less known, be­cause such things were so ordinary amongst virtuous persons, that they were then looked upon but on­ly as common actions.

Child, it is not enough to render a man one and the same with another, which is the effect of friend­ship, to agree with him in interest, exercise, play, divertisement, and in sensual pleasures, which are all the appetites of the body, and of the inferiour part of the soul; an union contracted upon the con­sideration of these things, is dissolved with its cause, which is subject to change: the identity which makes the union of two persons in one, cannot be perfect if it have not its original in the superior part of the soul, which constitutes the essential form of man: For that effect it is necessary that we be one, even in our selves, before that we can be so with another, because that one who is discordant with himself, can never make a good harmony with an­other.

Since then there is nothing but virtue alone that can produce in us that uniformity of soul, it is ma­nifest that there is nothing but it also that can ani­mate us towards our friends in the same manner as we are to our selves. By directing all our actions as they do constantly and perpetually to a good end without ever turning aside, we are never out of the same road. When we desire honour, riches, and contentment, for our selves, we make the same wish for them, if we have the possession of these, it is so much in common with them, that to make all the rest reap the fruit, it is enough that one of us enjoy the blessings.

The same thing never happens to the wicked, who can suffer no body to share with them in their good fortune. As they disagree always with them­selves, they do so with others. A soul that is so va­riously tossed, is more miserable than a body whose Members are all disjoynted. Let me pray you, my Child, from this to take a horrour against vice, for two reasons; first that you may not be deprived of content and complacency in your self; and next, that you may redouble the faculties and powers of your soul towards good, by the Union that you shall contract with those who make profession of vertue as you do.

All friendship built upon another foundation is de­fective; betwixt Father and Son, the authority of the one and the submission of the other spoils the perfection of friendship; betwixt the Husband and Wife it is hermaphrodite amity; amongst Brothers, blood contributes more to it than our choice, and be­twixt the Master and Servant, the distance is too great to suffer a conjunction.

So that it cannot be intirely perfect, unless it be abstracted from all considerations but of that of vir­tue alone: And as virtue brings under the same du­ty [Page 195]all ages, sexes and conditions, it can likewise unite many persons in one and the same mind; and by consequent it is an old errour to think that friend­ship cannot arrive at it's excellence and perfection but only between two friends; my friends friend is my friend, the friend of my friends friend, is like­wise mine; provided that all of us have the same scope, which is the desire of honest things.

This were a lovely Theory, if it could be put in practice; but that conformity of the Soul which the perfection of friendship requires is circumscri­bed with circumstances so nice and delicate, that they seem to be inconsistent together. For instance in friendship one would be the most beloved, because the most beloved supposes the most lovely; and be­cause the agent is more noble than the patient, one desires likewise to appear the greatest lover, which is such a contradiction as in effect destroys unifor­mity in our selves, and that which we ought to have with our friends.

It is most certain that friendship in it's highest ex­altation is but a mental being, which like heroick virtue, exists only in our imagination: yet though it be impossible to attain to perfection in either, it is not altogether superfluous to cut out the perfectest image that can be had of it, to the end that man who is the subject of virtue and friendship, may be the more violently allured to the exercise of both, by the highest and most excellent notion that he can conceive of their perfection.

Indeed virtue which is the bond of friendship, is of so ordinary a pitch in man, that if we bear not with the infirmities of one another, we cannot con­tinue long friends: as he is unconstant and fickle, so is his friendship liable to his failings, his pauses and returns. He that pardons most, is most faithful, and honours most his choice. We cannot renounce [Page 194] [...] [Page 195] [...] [Page 196]the love of our friend, without weakening our selves thereby: if he forsake us, let us follow him: the lips of a wound close again by bringing of them to­gether, let us be stedfast in it, that death it self which unties every knot, may not be able to break ours: let us revive it towards the Children of our friends.

Friendship is a spiritual hospitality, the right to which is transferred to posterity. If we perceive that their friendship for us, is much less than ours for them, let us not be angry, they follow the universal motion of the world, where all things ascend more weakly than they descend, even to the love of Chil­dren toward their Parents.

In fine, my Child the greatest praise that can be given to a man, is to call him a good Friend, because that supposes him to be virtuous; As on the contra­ry when that goodly name is applyed to a wicked person, the purity of it is defiled, and the thing that ought to be most precious amongst men thrown out on the dunghil.

Though it seems when one devotes himself in particular to his friends, he takes himself off from Charity, whose obligation is more universal; never­theless because that friendship is an affection more adapted to your measure than the other, which would have us become one to all in general, and one to every one in particular; I give you only my advice touching that which is most proportionate to you; to obtain the other, one must go out of him­self, and be divinely seized with that wise and holy foolishness of the Apostles.

This divine transport is violent and painful, be­cause it makes an union betwixt God and man, not­withstanding their extream distance. And there­fore we may observe in the writings of St. Paul, reachings and throbs of love, which break forth [Page 197]like a flame of Nitre, whose vehemency denotes still some resistance in the matter. In St. John, we see the contrary; and seeing Friendship is more calm, and more fitted to the measure of men, then Chari­ty, it seems the mildness of this affection is only to qualifie the violence of the other.

And for this reason, his love appears in his wri­tings as a cherishing, gentle, pure, and vivifying heat, always equal. This difference proceeds only from this, that the former seems to love man only for Gods sake; having only had acquaintance with the divine nature of the Son of God, who discover­ed himself to him when he was dazled with his shi­ning brightness.

The affection of the other is more tender, he loves man for Gods sake, and man for man sake; because he had shared in the love of his master as God, and in his friendship as man, having been the beloved disciple.

Charity is so high a virtue, that it makes man a coppy and image of God: by it he enters into the plenitude of his love, which makes a reflux towards all things created, if not, with so infinite an action, yet with the same extent of will and affection: in fine if it operate not where it is employed, it ope­rates in the person from whom it proceeds, with so much efficacy, that the will alone, when the power is wanting, stands in stead of operation.

Scripture teacheth us, my Child, that God is love, and that he that abides in love abides in God, and God in him, and although that this virtue be wholly divine, yet the habits of benevolence and friendship, are two humane means, which dispose and prepare the heart of man to receive the grace of that perfection; which is the third and most accom­plished inclination of the Soul in the love of our neighbour.

CHAP. VIII. Of the Persons whose company we should en­tertain, or avoid.

YOur Neighbour comprehends all sorts and con­ditions of men, amongst whom there are some good, some bad, and others of an ambiguous na­ture, who determine not themselves to good or e­vil, but according as example, or the present im­pulse of sense incline them.

Above all things avoid the company of men har­dened in wickedness, you can never amend them. The sound parts cure not the corruption of the gan­grened; look upon them as old uncurable ulcers, which communicate not only their contagion to the adjacent parts, but change the colour likewise of the parts contiguous to the adjacent. I would have you likewise know, that of all wicked persons the hypocrite is the worst. He abolishes the inward worship of God in himself, to make the outward an instrument of treachery, he is so much the more malicious, that under a livery which promises secu­rity he intends to surprise you.

Covet for your instruction the company of honest and virtuous persons; of whom you may find two sorts: some live a retired life, that they may not be polluted with the contagion of other men: these be­ing only a voice that cries in the desart, Prepare the wayes of the Lord. I advise you not what purity soever they may have, to propose to your self their example for imitation.

Others without renouncing of publick society, converse indifferently amongst all kinds of men good or bad, still preserving an intention of well doing, [Page 199]covet the familiarity of those, if they be not, as Jesus Christ was, the way, the light, and the life; they are in the way, illuminated by his light, and quickened in him.

Amongst those who are of a nature as yet inde­termined to good, or evil, and who are only incli­ned to either by an external cause, there are some so careless, that they can apply themselves to no side whether good or bad. Frequent not the company of such, for fear that you be condemned to the fire, like the fig-tree which bore no fruit. There are o­thers more active, that do evil rather by inadverten­cy, than out of any bad inclination. To amend these, there is no more needful but to make them attentive to what they do.

If you be of the number of those, my Son, re­flect a little upon your self, and you shall find that your amendment is not out of your power. There is a third kind of men who are bad only for want of breeding; a Soul which produceth vices is not bar­ren, no more than ground which brings forth bri­ers and thorns. Would you make good use of both? cleanse the one from its impurities by good exerci­ses and wise instructions, and the other from its thorns by grubbing them out: And then you shall find that the fruits which they bear will be fairer, better, and more abundant, than of a piece of ground or a Soul that is naturally barren.

CHAP. IX. Of the duty between a Prince, and a Subject.

THere remains no more but that I should tell you somewhat of the duty of a Subject towards his Prince, and of the Prince towards his Subject, [Page 200]which is the most important of all. The duty of a Husband, Wife, Father, Children, Brothers, Mas­ter, Servant, Neighbours, and Friends, which are but the constituent parts of a State, is but a private obligation. As the name of Subject is general, and comprehends all these relations; and the name of King, a name of publick function and authority, so is there duty of a larger consideration. Their names of Subject, and King, which are relative, in­form us that the subjection to true obedience in the one, is in the other an obligation to good govern­ment. In effect the best model of government that can be in humane policy, is that in a state we be all subject to one single person. If we were all of e­qual condition, the strong would oppress the weak, the cunning would overreach the more simple. And violence and fraud would reign in place of Justice; when on the other hand in an equal subjection, Jealousie and emulation not only ceaseth, but every one of us finds our private security under the gene­ral protection of him, to whom we are all Subjects.

One King, one Faith, one Law, is an unity of State, which are reduced to such an unity in the per­son of the King, that there have never been any defection from the Prince, but that the authority of the Law and the majesty of Religion have been like­wise wounded; witness our civil wars, and those whereof England hath been the Stage. Wherefore I command you, my Son, never to forsake the service of the King, for what reason soever it may be. The Apostle teaches you that all power is of God, and that he that refists the power, refists the ordinance of God, and bringeth upon himself damnation. Be subject, (says he) not only for wrath, that is for fear of the Prince, but also for conscience sake.

This is a duty of so strict obligation amongst us, that we had rather run the hazard of violating the [Page 201]fundamental law of the State, which admits no woman to the Crown, than to fail in our respect to the lawful successour, by honouring as our Master an imperfect embryo, whose sex is not known before that it's birth declare it to be a male. Such an uni­versal deference, which keeps a Kingdom in this du­ty, must of necessity have more than humane war­rant and foundation.

It is in God alone, and for him only that Kings reign. Their Scepter, Crown, Anoynting, and the concourse of people that flock to their obedience, are but the visible signs of the invisible power that does accompany them. What-ever they be, good or bad, reverence in them the commission which they have from God; the good are given you for a recom­pence, and the bad for a tryal if you be good, and a punishment if you be wicked.

As you see then that there is no interreign in the royalty, and that the Prince never dies, because that when the one gives out, the other comes in; so likewise there ought to be no cessation in the duty of a Subject towards his Prince. When he renders to the Prince his due, and according to the counsel of the Apostle, pays tribute to whom tribute, custom to whom custom, fear to whom fear, and honour to whom honour is due, it is not a right of servi­tude that he discharges, it is rather a right of grati­tude which he renders to the Prince, for the securi­ty of his liberty under his protection.

By the means of the duty that he renders him, which is but of small charge, in respect of the be­nefit that he receives from him, provided it be not abused in the receiving and employing of it; the poor man in his thrift, the rich in the disposal of his wealth, the tradesman in his industry, and the mer­chant in his traffick, do all retain an image of prin­cipality, in that they live in security, and that there [Page 201]is not one amongst them, how miserable soever, that can be forced to serve another if he be not willing: real and effective subjection amongst us concerns him only who engages voluntarily in it; and whosoever can live by his industry at home, without Quarrels or Lawsuits, is as free in his Fa­mily under the protection of the Prince, as the Prince himself in his State.

My child, you are of a quality that gives you the same immunities as the King enjoys, except the obligation of serving him in the Wars when you are required to it. I charge you once more, that the sense of the honour of your privileges may per­swade you to anticipate that command. Your duty is so great that way, that the weight of Monarchy should be so far from being uneasie to you, that you subsist by it rather as a little Soveraign, seeing the small estate that I leave you holds of the King in chief, and is erected into a Regality with Jurisdiction Civil and Criminal, which you may execute by your Offices under the authority of the Prince.

CHAP. X. Of Seditions, their Ground, and their Re­medy.

THere is nothing certainly that can render a Sub­ject more religious in his obedience to the Prince, than to represent to himself the miseries which Se­ditions are wont to occasion. In the first place Rage, which is the most stunning passion of the Soul, is the beginner of all; from whence it comes to pass that there is not a part of the State, great or small, which suffers not thereby convulsive motions.

During such a kind of motion, all are at work, and yet nothing done in order: all Work-houses keep holiday, and Shops are shut; there is no But­chery but of men; the Bake-houses, Markets, Entry of Provisions, Arrival of Boats and Barges, and ge­nerally all kinds of Services are stopt, except that of the Water-houses, which furnishes only with water; whilst in the mean time the hungry Belly, which is the heaviest taxation, craves, and calls for food.

The Calamities, to which men are exposed du­ring this storm, are not to be numbered; for so soon as ever the reverence of the Prince is lost, every thing becomes lawful, Sacriledg, Rapes, Pillage, Revenge; which come attended with so deadly a Train, that whilest you hold your enemy by the Throat to take your revenge of him, another ene­my of yours kills you: when you have plundered and sackt sufficiently, and from a poor man become rich, your Booty renders you a Prey to another in­digent person, who robs you to make himself the prey of another; and so Plunder follows Plunder, and Murther, Murther, until that as in a fight of mad blind-men, their disorder ceases for want of Competitours.

And if (as it happens often that Devils have a hand in great Tempests) some powerful Subject take this occasion to make himself head of a Party, assure your self that this Remedy is worse than the Disease, and that he that would be the Tyrant of his King, would be so of you, and that with harder condi­tions than those which have given cause to the Re­bellion.

The most dangerous times for Seditions, are when we are at War with our Neighbours, and they in Arms: one day of Disorder is enough in such a conjuncture to make us deliver up with our hands to those whom we have been accustomed to overcome, [Page 204]our Fathers, Mothers, Wives, Children, our Liber­ty, Estates, Countrey, and our selves.

So terrible is the thought of all these horrid Re­presentations, that I think there can be nothing in the World which a Subject ought not rather to suf­fer, than to betake himself to that desperate Re­medy, which causes so many evils in one only day, that many times intire Ages are little enough to re­pair the losses. Neither our Children, nor our Chil­drens children, nor those that spring from their Loins, can see an end of them: What is beyond them, affects us then no more but as a common In­terest.

How terrible notwithstanding that Seditions can be, they are but transient evils, which resemble those thicks Clouds which mount to the middle Region of the Air, where after much noise they burst at length, being unable to rise to the upper, which beats them back, and turns them into Hail and Thunder-Bolts, to waste and ruine the very place from whence their Vapours and Exhalations did arise.

But forasmuch as the duty and honor of the Prince are concerned, that he prove the Father and not the Flail of his People, it is his part to remove all sort of matter that may occasion such Imposthumes in the body of his State, that he may not be obliged to use the Cautere, and likewise they become not in­curable Botches: For it is most certain that if they who sit at the Helm of Affairs content themselves only to remedy the evils that come stealing upon them, without preventing and diverting of them by foresight, it will often happen that their Reme­dies will be like those that are given in the agony of Death, which are not only useless to the Patient, but disgraceful to the Physician.

And therefore as the Distempers which proceed from inanition, are the most dangerous, it is of [Page 205]greatest importance that the meaner sort of people be not reduced to extream Poverty, for fear that they whose condition is somewhat better, may not grow dry, like Rivers when the Brooks that feed them are drained. It is also very convenient to leave somewhat beside what is just necessary to the middle rank of people; from which there flows back al­ways some profit upon the lower: for indeed if these two parts from which the Prince draws his greatest Aid, be once extenuated, it is to be feared that their weakness may be communicated to the whole body of the State, and that there may be as many wishes made for a change, as there are persons that suf­fer.

The greatest vexations are not always hardest to be born, such as threaten a continuance are most irksome; because the sense of present pain hath bounds, but the apprehension of its duration, none. Whence it comes to pass that a weakness occasioned by some heavy load, instead of abating turns to rage, when all hopes of amendment are gone.

For this reason a Prince ought to avoid as much as possibly he can, all things that may render his Government terrible, to the end that he may not only be secure from all kinds of Rebellion, but that even the least Tempest may not be raised in the minds of his Subjects, and that he may reign more absolutely in their Hearts than over their Estates.

There is nothing that convinces us more of the perfection of the temper that is in this Kingdom betwixt the Prince and his Subjects, than the du­ration of our Monarchy. We see no state that can show like ours so long a series of Kings and years under one form of Government, which is an evi­dence that the Harmony thereof is excellent.

The body Politick like the Natural, hath it's principles of long Life: They both subsist long, [Page 206]when in their first constitution there happens a per­fect Symmetry between the part that commands, and that which obeys. Not, but that it may be sometimes disturbed, and that as from the middle and lower regions of the Body there arise of ten undige­sted Vapors which trouble the Brain, and from thence also there descend some Defluxions which overcharge the lower parts, the same disorder may not some­time be found betwixt the Prince and his Subjects: Yet when the first Conformation is good, there is always in it some radical and vivifying Spirit, that produces a Noble Crasis, which sets all things again to right.

It is true there happen sometimes cross and un­lucky Conjunctures, that force the King to raise Taxes from his People; as when it is the publick Interest to entertain War for procuring of an advan­tageous Peace. In such occasions it is very just that the People should contribute to it with all their Might, and that the Prince likewise on his side should remit somewhat of his advantages for facilita­ting the overtures of Peace, for fear that if that con­tribution should always continue, the whole substance of the State might be exhausted, and that at length the Forrein War, might become Intestine by the miseries that it causes at home. For indeed, tho Forrein Wars be but like inflamed Blisters that break out in the Skin, which are not so dangerous as internal Imposthumes; yet for all that, they are very troublesome and uneasy, because they are always ac­companied with a great itching, which forces the hand by continual scratching at length to claw off the Skin.

All things rightly considered, War seems to be nothing but the flail of God, which Kings should divert from themselves, if they be able, as a thing that lessens their Greatness by the loss of their Sub­jects, [Page 207]and the consequence of an infinite number of Evils that attends it. God is the God of Peace and Love: A King who is the image of God upon earth, blots out in himself that resemblance, if he be not, like him, a King of Peace and Love; but seeing Peace is a Blessing that was proclaimed by Angels at our Saviours coming into the World, and which was left by himself to his Apostles when he went out of it, we must expect it from God as a thing purely celestial. However the Prince should preserve in his mind a desire to make it, and contribute thereto all that he can, that he may not have this displeasure to see that his Reign is only considerable by the acti­ons which proceed from the irascible faculty of man.

In fine, My Son, that I may conclude your duty towards your Neighbour, break never Society with any who-ever, unless with persons confirmed in wickedness. Live civilly with your Inferiour, fa­miliarly with your equal, respectfully with him that is above you, with all submission and obedience to­ward your Prince, and in charity with all men.

CHAP. XI. Counsels how we may not err in the mutual du­ty of one towards another.

THat you may not err in any one of these duties, you must know, my Son, that there are three sorts of Eyes that behold you, to wit, the eye of God, the eye of Man, and your Own: This being so, I advise you to carry your self in publick, as if the eye of God observed none but you alone, and to live in private, as if all the World beheld you. [Page 208]As to your own Eye, let there none, I pray you, that looks more narrowly on you, nor that you stand in awe of, than of it. By so doing you will retain your original Modesty, which being nothing but a reflexion of the image of God that is in us, makes us delight in honest things, and ashamed of what is otherwise.

Would you make a certain and infallible distin­ction betwixt that which is honest, and that which is not? Set your self always in the place of ano­ther, and reason thus within your self: If any one, thought, did, or said that which I am about to do, think or say, would it be an honest thing? The place of another is the true distance that you must take to make a right Judgment on it: If in that place you perceive it to be honest, do it boldly; if not, have a care of proceeding any farther. The greatest part of Mortality consists in that point, whereof one of the adventures of my life will af­ford you an instance, which I should be glad you did imitate.

A person alive at this day, whom I knew not, and have never seen since, nor he mee, came to me one day from a place at a pretty distance, and upon a Letter of Credit of another who should not have had any such confidence in me, proposed to me a thing that was contrary to the service of the King. At first it was in my thoughts to have caused Ar­rest him; but having put my self in his place and see­ing that he did his Masters Service, having seriously weighed what I ought to do on that occasion, I let him go, though by so doing I put my own head in anger to save his. It is true that my peril was but doubtful and his certain. But seeing the place where I had then some command, run no risk by my so doing, that I performed the Kings service more securely, I took the course that seemed to me [Page 209]the honestest. If the person in whose place I put my self at that time, had put himself in mine, I should have since in the space of ten years received some word of thanks. The person that sent the messenger, and he on whom I depended at that time, may very well call to mind the truth of this adventure, though not one of them to this hour know what was the chief motive to my action.

CHAP. XII. The conclusion of the Work by a short discourse concerning Death, and of three things that usually trouble the mind of Man be­fore his death.

I Think, my Child, that I have now discoursed of your Conduct in all the actions of Life except the last, to wit, of Dying, which is rather a certain term where the life of Man ends, than an action of life. Since it is so, as the conclusion of a work is always bet­ter than it's progress, in respect that then it re­ceives it's accomplishment; so I think also that the last instant which terminates our life, is that which is of most value. Death is good to the Good, in that they find therein their rest, and the reward of their labour. It is good to the Wicked, in that it puts an end to their wickedness, which is aggra­vated as their iniquity does increase. It is good to the Living, in that it frees them from the croud which is to them a common pressure; and good in respect of Nature, in that it gives her a larger space to contain her new Productions. All that is most [Page 210]terrible in it, is the depth of it's Abyss: But seeing when we came into the World, we came out of the same Abyss without fear, thither again we should re­turn without astonishment.

Whether it be that our original descends from Heaven, which is not to be doubted, or that we have been taken out of the still calm of Nothing, as some have believed; Nature hath been very prudent, in rendering that knowledg to us a little confused, lest that otherways the trouble of our exile, or of our remove from a non-entity peaceable and with­out pain, unto a restless and painful being, such as ours is, might have afflicted us. She hath been al­so very discreet in that, contrary to all reason, she hath made the remembrance of our past calamities pleasing to us, lest that otherways the fear of fu­ture Evils might not set us upon the shortning of her course, and the anticipating of her appointment of Dying; but yet more wise by dazling us with some false light of apparent good in life, and engaging us to the love of it by the charms of Sense, of our Works, and Children; and by having in some man­ner obliged us to run out her course by the custom of living, and to take care of our own preservation by the fear of Annihilation.

It is not without cause that at first we appear in the World like Blind-men, without the knowledg of the gate by which we entered, or that we are, or where we are; for if our undestanding had a being as soon as our selves, and that it were not prejudicated by the custom of seeing our selves in the World, we should not be so nice in quitting the love of Life, which appears to us all so natural.

Notwithstanding all the charms which life may boast of, yet I cannot imagine that there hath ever been any one bold enough to desire to come into the World, if it had been in his own choice, and that he [Page 211]had been made to understand that for that end it be­hoved him first to lurk nine Moneths in the Womb of a Woman, as in a Den, there to lye double like a shapeless Lump in a puddle of corrupt Blood, wherewith he is nourished; to be dropt from thence with his head downward, with a gut like a Halter about his neck, ready to strangle him; naked, im­potent and unable to help himself, and suffering already the inconveniences of life, before he begin to live.

Nature does the act of a good Mother in forsa­king of us; for her principal intention is to conti­nue her Productions, for maintaining of the Uni­verse, which she satisfies by giving us Life: And by denying of us her assistance at our first step into it, it seems she intends to commit a charitable Homicide, that she may have no hand in all those evils which there we are to suffer.

Indeed, when I well consider the constraint of Swadling, the nastiness of Clouts, the abundance of Tears that distil from our Eyes during our Infancy, the ignorance, chastisement and correction to which our fairest season is exposed: The impatience, disor­ders and irregularities of our stronger age: The fears, languishing, and faintings of our weaker; I think it hath been said with good reason, that we are made up of two Executioners, to wit, the Body and the Soul, whereof the one puts us to the rack by Hunger, Thirst, Labor, Wearisomness and Disea­ses; and the other uses us not more favourably by disquietings, fears, and the tumults of our Passions and Desires; and when we have all things at will, even by the surfeit that we contract through satiety. Man in that condition is like a Malefactor on the Wheel, to whom the Death's-stroke is the stroke of Grace.

Certainly, seeing that we are exposed to such legi­ons of Miseries, it may with more reason be said, that Life is the punishment of Sin, than Death; seeing there is nothing so grievous to be found in it, whe­ther we look upon it as a sleep of Nature, or a last duty which she exacts from us.

In the first place, Sleep and Fainting, which are two means whereby before we die, we make a trial of the approaches of Death, show us sensibly that we wear away without Pain. Beside, natural rea­son teacheth us that the Vital parts, which suffer most in this dissolution, are the most insensible parts of all the Body; for shortness of Breath, the altera­tion of the Pulse, its weakness and intermission, and the Convulsions which are the forerunners of Death, are not so much the signs of Pain, as of the ruine of a crasie House which shakes when it is up­on the point of falling. The feebleness of the Bo­dy, the shutting of the Teeth, Paleness, cold Sweats, loss of Memory, suppression of Speech, the contra­ction of the Tongue, trembling of the Arteries, extinction of Sight, and the Hickock, are meer signs of the abundance of Vital Spirits which retire from all these parts with an irregular motion, which are indeed more painful to him that sees, than to him that suffers them.

To convince us yet more evidently how slight a thing it is to die, there is not any passion of the Soul, how weak soever, that hath not a more absolute Authority over us than the fear of Death; Revenge triumphs over it, Love despises it; Honor faces it; the shame of Ignominy embraces it; Affliction makes it it's refuge; and Fear prevents it. So that the preparatives and magazins that are made against so weak an Enemy, are rather the marks of Cowar­dise than Resolution.

If it be lawful to touch the memory of that An­cient, from whence we have the loveliest Counsels that were ever given on that subject, we have more likelihood to suppose, that when he was ordered to die, the apprehension that he conceived of Death, occasioned so forceable an attraction of his Blood and Spirits to the heart, that notwithstanding the opening of the Veins of his Arms and Thighs, and the poyson which he had taken, his Soul could not expire; than to believe, as it is recorded, that the languishing of his Agony was an effect of the weak­ness of his age. I am the more confirmed in this con­jecture, because they were fain to put him in a very hot Bath to extenuate his Blood and Spirits con­densed by the chilliness of his fear, and to recal them from the heart whither they were retired, to the external Orifices, that by that way they might get out.

It is an evidence that that excellent Man had his Soul wholly infected with the black vapour of fear, that what subject soever he hath handled, he hath always like a huffing Captain, (for he was indeed of Cordova in Spain) mingled with it some Bravado a­gainst Death, which makes me suspect his courage, when I find him always grapleing with, (a word is enough) and never in any truce with that deadly E­nemy. It is better to be surprized by an evil of that nature, than to be in a necessity of anticipating of it by fear; for the Science which teaches us to sup­port it, is more sharp and Corrosive than Lenitive, and the instructions that are given on this Subject, are only as the voice of a man in a fright, that makes a noise to encourage himself, wherein there is more of ostentation than force.

He that said that the end of Philosophy is to teach us to die well, would have had more reason to say, that Philosophy is to teach us to live well; because that [Page 214]the whole course of our life stands in need of reason for its conduct, and it seems that to die well there is only need of ignorance: Witness Beasts and the inferior sort of People, who are wont to run that Carreer undauntedly and unconcernedly, which is the loveliest frame of Soul that one can have on such an occasion.

In effect, when I consider Death as a still and quiet night of Nature, from whence all its produ­ctions creep out, and where they return again to rest, the depth and silence of that great Darkness causes in me more veneration than astonishment. I perceive that the time past is one part of that night, and the future the other; and that the present, which is but an instant, has so steep a descent from the fu­ture which is not yet, towards the past which is no more, that my imagination it self cannot trace it: So that the life of the World appears to me as our own, to be nothing else but a breaching in the future, and breathing out the past.

When I likewise consider, that this flux of Life, betwixt the past and future, is in the beast meerly an act of Sense which ends with it, and that in us it is an effect of the breathing of God, which emanating from that Divine Principle is Immortal as he is; Then do I look on Death with greater confidence. Though the Holy Scripture did not teach me that truth, yet our good and bad actions, whereof the good or bad smell descends to Posterity, do evident­ly prove it to me: Our very Bones and the dust of our Graves instruct me, that since the basest part of us, which is common to the beast, out-lives us; there is not the least ground to fear that the better part can be annihilated, which is a part of God in us.

In the times of our Fore-Fathers, whilest Hea­vens-gate was still shut, a long life was the reward [Page 215]of the Upright: Since it hath been opened, the Chri­stian strives to enter it sooner, and to prevent natural death by a civil, which consists in the performance of certain Vows and Austerities which serve to hum­ble and bring down Man during his life. But since I foresee, that you and I are like to have too short a breath for so high a design, I dare neither follow it my self, nor advise it to you: For that end we must renounce the love of our selves, which in some manner is comprehended under the love of our Neighbour.

There is a time to live and a time to die, let us em­ploy the time which we have to live, in the service of God, in the exercise of Vertue; and in the mutual offices of Society, and we shall insensibly and with­out fear arrive at the time of death. The revolu­tion of the natural day is an abridgment of the whole course of life. As we see that a wise man disposes with order all his hours, without troubling himself about the hour of rest, before Bed-time be come; so in like manner it should be enough for us to regul­ate all the actions of our life with so much inte­grity and quietness, that the sleep of Death may overtake us when we are doing the last act of Vir­tue.

Life is a duty active in good Offices, and Death a necessity of Nature that puts an end to it, which we ought not to fear, provided we watch, and have always Oyl in our Lmaps. The wise Virgins were a-sleep as well as the foolish, when they waited for the Bridegroom, to show us that it is impossible to be always on our guard in expecting of an hour which is uncertain, and that to enter into the Bridechamber with the Bridegroom, it is enough to make, as the wise Virgins did, provision of Oyl, that is to say, of good works: Otherways if it be­hoved us to be in a continual disquiet for the hour [Page 216]of our death, instead of living we should be in a perpetual trance.

When we die pining away through the defect of vital Spirits, the weakness of sight, the thickness of Hearing, the debility of the Stomach, the hea­viness of Body, which are the forerunning messen­gers of Death, may very well give us some intelli­gence of it's approach: But when we are in the flower of our age, and that the vigour of Blood and Spirits cause in us transports of Joy which even pre­vent our will; what can we then do to prepare our selves for Death, but to resolve to live well?

That we may live well; we must, as much as we can, disengage the Soul from the Body, purge it from it's lusts, it's affections and fears; stupifie our senses; and to say better, annihilate our selves. This abstraction of the Superior part from the Infe­rior, is in some sort an imitation of Death, which renders the life of a man that lives well, more calm by the resemblance that it hath with Death, and his death more tranquile, by the conformity which it hath with his life.

In effect to live well is nothing else but to die well; because every instant of our life is but a gli­ding of our age toward death; so that there is no­thing that makes a less alteration in man than this last hour, seeing that every one of us pursues even to that moment the natural inclination of the ordi­nary course of life. Which gave occasion to a Law­giver to call our last Will and Testament, the mir­ror of our manners. This we see in that a man of business dies with his head full of affairs, the care­less man, negligently; the grave man seriously; and they that are of a brisk and gay temper, with a Jest in their mouth.

Our Soul is quite otherways changed in other pas­sions. anger does so alter us, that there remains [Page 217]not in us the least appearance of our selves: Fear by a single assault seizes both our body and mind: Grief and sadness blast both: And Envy by the foot that it forces out, lets us see too well what altera­tion it causes within. This difference of impression which is to be observed between death and our pas­sions, proceeds only from this, that Death is a meer natural motion, and that passions overtake us by an irregular impulse, which puts Nature to the rack.

Although there be nothing more hid from Man, than the knowledg of the place from whence he came into the World, and of that from whence he must go out of it, which are two extremities out of his reach; the one being on this side, and the other beyond his being; nevertheless the power of perpe­tuating of himself which he brings with him from the place from whence he came, demonstrates to him that he hath his original from an Eternal Source, and in some manner assures him of his immortality. As to the place whither he returns when he takes leave of the World, the depth of its Abyss frightens only him that looks on it, and not him that goes down into it: We must consider it as sleep, which is a repose to him that sleeps, and appears a death to him that is awake.

Death cannot be an evil, because Sleep, which is the image of it is a good. As the one refreshes us, puts an end to the labour of the day, and restores our strength for some time; so the other does us the same kindness for ever. As it makes a cessation in us of all the actions of the other functions of life, except of breathing; so likewise we may assure our selves, that though the action of the body die, yet the breath of the spirit of God which is in us, dies not, and that we shall as certainly rise again from death, as we do awake from sleep.

In fine, my Friends, let us look upon Death as a last act of Life, which we ought neither to fear at the hour of it, because it is a duty of Nature; nor de­sire it before the time, that we may not forsake a warfare which is not to be left without order. If so be that ye consider it so, ye will thereby alone find as much instruction for dying well, as there is in all the precepts for a good Life which I have given you.

There are three things which are wont to trouble the mind of a dying Man, the thought of what shall become of him after death, the care of his me­mory, and of his posterity.

To remedy the anxiety of what shall become of you after death, regulate the actions of your life, as if your good actions were alone sufficient to pro­cure you Salvation. Having done so, resign your self to the will of God, as if you hoped for Salva­tion from his mercy alone. And so your works be­ing justified by your Faith, and your faith by your works, be assured that your Soul shall find all the con­solation which it cannot receive when you die.

As to our memory after death, the memory of the Just being a sweet Vapour that exhales from his past life, continues sometime like a precious perfume which still sends out a steam, and fills the place where it dies with its good odour. But seeing there is nothing that hath a thinner body than a Vapor, there is nothing either that sonner evaporates, than the Reputation of a living or dead man; it passes away like the beauty of pluckt flower, or it withers like the flower it self when it hath remained too long on its stalk.

The lives of the most illustrious and sparkling, as of the more dull and darksome, are subject to the shipwrack of time. If any escape, strange won­der! it is only to leave us an emblem of the empti­ness [Page 219]of worldly greatness, when we see the grandure of the highest abased in a Tavern-sign, or in a Ga­ming-house, where a Knave is better than a King, and where the most famous Names of all antiquity are exposed to the insolence of an huffing Gamester, which tears and tramples on them at his pleasure.

How do we know, but it may be questioned one day which of the two Rouland or Lercanier was the Knight of the round Table or the Carter? this great debasing of the vanity of Man comes to pass, because there is nothing Eternal and permanent but God a­lone, who is a jealous God, and to whom only belongs Glory, Honour, and Praise, and not to Man.

The last care of Man, which reacheth beyond himself, is that of his Posterity, the most universal of all; because it is a kind of respite from death. I wish that when we come to die this care might be so moderate, that our conscience, which has then enough to do about our own Salvation, might not be troubled, nor the ordinary course of the Law changed, the publick order of which is always bet­ter than our private appointment. The advantages and entails which we are allowed to grant in favour of the Elder and of the Males, undoes one part of our Posterity to preserve the other. It is an evidence that in that there is more Vanity than Justice, that our caution and circumspection holds good but for one time, which being expired, our inheritance falls in again into the common road, as being more conform to right reason, than our private disposi­tion.

It less in our power to order the future than the present, whereof we are but very bad Stewards. What am I concerned, who am a dying man, whe­ther my Name and Estate be preserved in the race of my eldest or youngest Son, or if both fall into the [Page 220]Daughters lap? My blood is as much my blood in my Daughter, as in my Son; and though even this last prop of our line should fail, Nature provides for it, and shows us sensibly that the difference is not great betwixt Nephews, Cosins, and Children, by representing as well the manners and features of the Uncle or Grandfather in the most remote, as in the nearest in blood.

So that, my dearest Children, let us commit our selves and posterity to the providence of God, that we may die with peace: When we came into the World we were not at all concerned with those whom we found there before us, neither let us be so when we are going out of it, with those whom we leave behind. These two extremities being equally distant from our beginning, and from our end, should be equally indifferent to us. The peace of a living man consists in the obeying of God's Command­ments, and when he dies in the hope and confidence of his mercy: If in these two ye be stedfast, I hope that God in his goodness, will be pleased to accom­pany with his Grace, my Blessing which I leave you as the conclusion of my Will and Testament.