has presently vanished, the whole world has kept holiday; there has been no men but heroes and poets, no women but nymphs and shepherdesses: trees have borne fritters, and rivers flowed plum-porridge. When he writes, he commonly steers the sense of his lines by the rhyme that is at the end of them, as butchers do calves by the tail. For when he has made one line, which is easy enough, and has found out some sturdy hard word that will but rhyme, he will hammer the sense upon it, like a piece of hot iron upon an anvil, into what form he pleases. There is no art in the world so rich in terms as poetry; a whole dictionary is scarce able to contain them; for there is hardly a pond, a sheep-walk, or a gravel-pit in all Greece, but the ancient name of it is become a term of art in poetry. By this means, small poets have such a stock of able hard words lying by them, as dryades, hamadryades, aönides, fauni, nymphæ, sylvani, &c., that signify nothing at all; and such a world of pedantic terms of the same kind, as may serve to furnish all the new inventions and thorough reformations' that can happen between this and Plato's great year. A Vintner Hangs out his bush to show he has not good wine; for that, the proverb says, needs it not. He had rather sell bad wine than good, that stands him in no more; for it makes men sooner drunk, and then they are the easier over-reckoned. By the knaveries he acts above-board, which every man sees, one may easily take a measure of those he does under-ground in his cellar; for he that will pick a man's pocket to his face, will not stick to use him worse in private, when he knows nothing of it. He does not only spoil and destroy his wines, but an ancient reverend proverb, with brewing and racking, that says, 'In vino veritas, for there is no truth in his, but all false and sophisticated; for he can counterfeit wine as cunningly as Apelles did grapes, and cheat men with it, as he did birds. He is an Antichristian cheat, for Christ turned water into wine, and he turns wine into water. He scores all his reckonings upon two tables, made like those of the Ten Commandments, that he may be put in mind to break them as oft as possibly he can; especially that of stealing and bearing false witness against his neighbour, when he draws him bad wine, and swears it is good, and that he can take more for the pipe than the wine will yield him by the bottle-a trick that a Jesuit taught him to cheat his own conscience with. When he is found to overreckon notoriously, he has one common evasion for all, and that is, to say it was a mistake; by which he means, that he thought they had not been sober enough to discover it; for if it had passed, there had been no error at all in the case. A Prater Is a common nuisance, and as great a grievance to those that come near him, as a pewterer is to his neighbours. His discourse is like the braying of a mortar, the more impertinent, the more voluble and loud, as a pestle makes more noise when it is rung on the sides of a mortar, than when it stamps downright, and hits upon the business. A dog that opens upon a wrong scent will do it oftener than one that never opens but upon a right. He is as long-winded as a ventiduct, that fills as fast as it empties; or a tradewind, that blows one way for half a year together, and another as long, as if it drew in its breath for six months, and blew it out again for six more. He has no mercy on any man's ears or patience that he can get within his sphere of activity, but tortures him, as they correct boys in Scotland, by stretching their lugs without remorse. He is like an ear-wig, when he gets within a man's ear, he is not easily to be got out again. He is a siren to himself, and has no way to escape shipwreck but by having his mouth stopped instead of his ears. He plays with his tongue as a cat does with her tail, and is transported with the delight he gives himself of his own making. An Antiquary Is one that has his being in this age, but his life and conversation is in the days of old. He despises the present age as an innovation, and slights the future; but has a great value for that which is past and gone, like the madman that fell in love with Cleopatra. All his curiosities take place of one another according to their seniority, and he values them not by their abilities, but their standing. He has a great veneration for words that are stricken in years, and are grown so aged that they have outlived their employments. These he uses with a respect agreeable to their antiquity, and the good services they have done. He is a great time-server, but it is of time out of mind to which he conforms exactly, but is wholly retired from the present. His days were spent and his only business is to collect what he can out of the gone long before he came into the world; and since, ruins of them. He has so strong a natural affection dust and worms, 'you are my father,' and to rottento anything that is old, that he may truly say to ness, thou art my mother.' He has no providence nor foresight, for all his contemplations look backward upon the days of old, and his brains are turned with them, as if he walked backwards. He values things wrongfully upon their antiquity, forgetting that the most modern are really the most ancient of all things in the world, like those that reckon their pounds before their shillings and pence, of which they are made up. He esteems no customs but such as have outlived themselves, and are long since out of use; as the Catholics allow of no saints but such as are dead, and the fanatics, in opposition, of none but the living. WALTER CHARLETON. Another lively describer of human character, who flourished in this period, was DR WALTER CHARLETON (1619-1707), physician to Charles II., a friend of Hobbes, and for several years president of the College of Physicians in London. He wrote many works on theology, natural history, natural philosophy, medicine, and antiquities; in which last department his most noted production is a treatise published in 1663, maintaining the Danish origin of Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain, in opposition to Inigo Jones, who attributed that remarkable structure to the Romans. The work, however, which seems to deserve more particularly our attention in this place is, A Brief Discourse concerning the Different Wits of Men, published by Dr Charleton in 1675. It is interesting, both on account of the lively and accurate sketches of character which it contains, and because the author, like a sect whose opinions have lately attracted much notice, attributes the varieties of talent which are found among men to differences in the form, size, and quality of their brains.* We shall give two of his happiest sketches. The Ready and Nimble Wit. Such as are endowed wherewith have a certain extemporary acuteness of conceit, accompanied with a quick delivery of their thoughts, so as they can at * See Phrenological Journal, vii. 597. engage whereby they might be redeemed from obscurity, and raised to employments answerable to their faculties, and crowned with honours proportionate to their merits. The best course, therefore, for these to overcome that eclipse which prejudice usually brings upon them, is to contend against their own modesty, and either, by frequent converse with noble and discerning spirits, to enlarge the windows of their minds, and dispel those clouds of reservedness that darken the lustre of their faculties; or by writing on some new and useful subject, to lay open their talent, so that the world may be convinced of their intrinsic value. pleasure entertain their auditors with facetious passages and fluent discourses even upon slight occasions; but being generally impatient of second thoughts and deliberations, they seem fitter for pleasant colloquies and drollery than for counsel and design; like flyboats, good only in fair weather and shallow waters, and then, too, more for pleasure than traffic. If they be, as for the most part they are, narrow in the hold, and destitute of ballast sufficient to counterpoise their large sails, they reel with every blast of argument, and are often driven upon the sands of a nonplus; but where favoured with the breath of common applause, they sail smoothly and proudly, and, like the city pageants, discharge whole volleys of squibs and crackers, and skirmish most furiously. But take In 1670 Dr Charleton published a vigorous transthem from their familiar and private conversation lation of Epicurus's Morals,' prefaced by an earnest into grave and severe assemblies, whence all extem-vindication of that philosopher. We extract one porary flashes of wit, all fantastic allusions, all per- of the chapters, as a specimen of the style in which sonal reflections, are excluded, and there the ancient classics were faithfully Englished' in them in an encounter with solid wisdom, not in light the middle of the seventeenth century. skirmishes, but a pitched field of long and serious Of Modesty, opposed to Ambition. debate concerning any important question, and then you shall soon discover their weakness, and contemn Concerning this great virtue, which is the fourth that barrenness of understanding which is incapable branch of temperance, there is very little need of sayof struggling with the difficulties of apodictical know-ing more than what we have formerly intimated, when ledge, and the deduction of truth from a long series we declared it not to be the part of a wise man to affect of reasons. Again, if those very concise sayings and greatness, or power, or honours in a commonwealth; lucky repartees, wherein they are so happy, and which but so to contain himself, as rather to live not only at first hearing were entertained with so much of privately, but even obscurely and concealed in some pleasure and admiration, be written down, and brought secure corner. And therefore the advice we shall to a strict examination of their pertinency, coherence, chiefly inculcate in this place shall be the very same and verity, how shallow, how frothy, how forced will we usually give to our best friends. Live private and they be found! how much will they lose of that concealed (unless some circumstance of state call you applause, which their tickling of the ear and present forth to the assistance of the public), insomuch as exflight through the imagination had gained! In the perience frequently confirms the truth of that provergreatest part, therefore, of such men, you ought to bial saying, 'He hath well lived who hath well conexpect no deep or continued river of wit, but only a cealed himself.' few plashes, and those, too, not altogether free from mud and putrefaction. The Slow but Sure Wit. Some heads there are of a certain close and reserved constitution, which makes them at first sight to promise as little of the virtue wherewith they are endowed, as the former appear to be above the imperfections to which they are subject. Somewhat slow they are, indeed, of both conception and expression; yet no whit the less provided with solid prudence. When they are engaged to speak, their tongue doth not readily interpret the dictates of their mind, so that their language comes, as it were, dropping from their lips, even where they are encouraged by familiar intreaties, or provoked by the smartness of jests, which sudden and nimble wits have newly darted at them. Costive they are also in invention; so that when they would deliver somewhat solid and remarkable, they are long in seeking what is fit, and as long in determining in what manner and words to utter it. But, after a little consideration, they penetrate deeply into the substance of things and marrow of business, and conceive proper and emphatic words by which to express their sentiments. Barren they are not, but a little heavy and retentive. Their gifts lie deep and concealed; but being furnished with notions, not airy and umbratil ones borrowed from the pedantism of the schools, but true and useful-and if they have been manured with good learning, and the habit of exercising their pen-oftentimes they produce many excellent conceptions, worthy to be transmitted to posterity. Having, however, an aspect very like to narrow and dull capacities, at first sight most men take them to be really such, and strangers look upon them with the eyes of neglect and contempt. Hence it comes, that excellent parts remaining unknown, often want the favour and patronage of great persons, Certainly, it hath been too familiarly observed, that many, who had mounted up to the highest pinnacle of honour, have been on a sudden, and, as it were, with a thunderbolt, thrown down to the bottom of misery and contempt; and so been brought, though too late, to acknowledge, that it is much better for a man quietly and peaceably to obey, than, by laborious climbing up the craggy rocks of ambition, to aspire to command and sovereignty; and to set his foot rather upon the plain and humble ground, than upon that slippery height, from which all that can be with reason expected, is a precipitous and ruinous downfall. Besides, are not those grandees, upon whom the admiring multitude gaze, as upon refulgent comets, and prodigies of glory and honour; are they not, we say, of all men the most unhappy, in this one respect, that their breasts swarm with most weighty and troublesome cares, that incessantly gall and corrode their very hearts? Beware, therefore, how you believe that such live securely and tranquilly; since it is impossible but those who are feared by many should themselves be in continual fear of some. Though you see them to be in a manner environed with power, to have navies numerous enough to send abroad into all seas, to be in the heads of mighty and victorious armies, to be guarded with well armed and faithful legions; yet, for all this, take heed you do not conceive them to be the only happy men, nay, that they partake so much as of one sincere pleasure; for all these things are mere pageantry, shadows gilded, and ridiculous dreams, insomuch as fear and care are not things that are afraid of the noise of arms, or regard the brightness of gold, or the splendour of purple, but boldly intrude themselves even into the hearts of princes and potentates, and, like the poet's vulture, daily gnaw and consume them. Beware, likewise, that you do not conceive that the body is made one whit the more strong, or healthy, by the glory, greatness, and treasures of monarchy, espe cially when you may daily observe, that a fever doth as violently and long hold him who lies upon a bed of tissue, under a covering of Tyrian scarlet, as him that lies upon a mattress, and hath no covering but rags; and that we have no reason to complain of the want of scarlet robes, of golden embroideries, jewels, and ropes of pearl, while we have a coarse and easy garment to keep away the cold. And what if you, lying cheerfully and serenely upon a truss of clean straw, covered with rags, should gravely instruct men how vain those are who, with astonished and turbulent minds, gape and thirst after the trifles of magnificence, not understanding how few and small those things are which are requisite to a happy life? believe me, your discourse would be truly magnificent and high, because delivered by one whose own happy experience confirms it. What though your house do not shine with silver and gold hatchments; nor your arched roofs resound with the multiplied echoes of loud music; nor your walls be not thickly beset with golden figures of beautiful youths, holding great lamps in their extended arms, to give light to your nightly revels and sumptuous banquets; why yet, truly, it is not a whit less (if not much more) pleasant to repose your wearied limbs upon the green grass, to sit by some cleanly and purling stream, under the refreshing shade of some well-branched tree, especially in the spring time, when the head of every plant is crowned with beautiful and fragrant flowers, the merry birds entertaining you with the music of their wild notes, the fresh western winds continually fanning your heats, and all nature smiling upon you. Wherefore, when any man may, if he please, thus live at peace and liberty abroad in the open fields, or his own gardens, what reason is there why he should affect and pursue honours, and not rather modestly bound his desires with the calmness and security of that condition? For, to hunt after glory by the ostentation of virtue, of science, of eloquence, of nobility, of wealth, of attendants, of rich cloths, of beauty, of garb, and the like, seriously, it is altogether the fame of ridiculous vanity; and in all things modesty exacts no more than this, that we do not, through rusticity, want of a decent garb, or too much negligence, do anything that doth not correspond with civility and decorum. For it is equally vile, and doth as much denote a base or abject mind, to grow insolent and lofty upon the possession of these adjuncts of magnificence, as to become dejected, or sink in spirit, at the loss or want of them. Now, according to this rule, if a wise man chance to have the statues or images of his ancestors, or other renowned persons of former ages, he will be very far from being proud of them, from showing them as badges of honour, from affecting a glory from the generosity of their actions and achievements; and as far from wholly neglecting them, but will place them (as memorials of virtue) indifferently either in his porch or gallery, or elsewhere. Nor will he be solicitous about the manner or place of his sepulture, or command his executors to bestow any great cost, or pomp and ceremony, at his funeral. The chief subject of his care will be, what may be beneficial and pleasant to his successors; being well assured that, as for his dead corpse, it will little concern him what becomes of it. For to propagate vanity even beyond death is the highest madness; and not much inferior thereto is the fancy of some, who in their lives are afraid to have their carcasses torn by the teeth of wild beasts after their death. For if that be an evil, why is it not likewise an evil to have the dead corpse burned, embalmed, and immersed in honey, to grow cold and stiff under a ponderous marble, to be pressed down by the weight of earth and passengers? him a scholar almost in his boyhood; his studies at Queen's college, Cambridge, were attended with the highest triumphs of the university, and on entering life as a preacher in that city, he acquired the greatest popularity. He afterwards passed through a rapid succession of promotions, until he acquired the lectureship of the Savoy in London. On the breaking out of the civil war, Fuller attached Meanwhile, he published his History of the Holy War. himself to the king's party at Oxford, and he seems to have accompanied the army in active service for some years as chaplain to Lord Hopton. Even in these circumstances, his active mind busied itself in collecting materials for some of the works which he subsequently published. His company was at the same time much courted, on account of the extraordinary amount of intelligence which he had acquired, and a strain of lively humour which seems to have been quite irrepressible. The quaint and familiar nature of his mind disposed him to be less nice in the selection of materials, and also in their arrangement, than scholarly men generally are. He would sit patiently for hours listening to the prattle of old women, in order to obtain snatches of local history, traditionary anecdote, and proverbial wisdom. And these he has wrought up in his work entitled The Worthies of England, which is a strange melange of topography, biography, and popular antiquities. When the heat of the war was past, Fuller returned to London, and became lecturer at St Bride's church. He was now engaged in his Church History of Britain, which was given to the world in 1656, in one volume folio. Afterwards, he devoted himself to the preparation of his Worthies,' which he did not complete till 1660. Meanwhile, he had passed through some other situations in the church, the last of which was that of chaplain to Charles II. It was thought that he would have been made a bishop, if he had not been prematurely cut off by fever, a year after the Restoration. This extraordinary man possessed a tall and handsome person, and great conversational powers. the world can make their parts which are naturally sluggish, rise one minute before the hour nature hath appointed. 4. Those that are invincibly dull, and negligent also. Correction may reform the latter, not amend the former. All the whetting in the world can never set a razor's edge on that which hath no steel in it. Such boys he consigneth over to other professions. Shipwrights and boat-makers will choose those crooked pieces of timber which other carpenters refuse. Those may make excellent merchants and mechanics which will not serve for scholars. He is able, diligent, and methodical in his teaching; not leading them rather in a circle than forwards. He minces his precepts for children to swallow, hanging clogs on the nimbleness of his own soul, that his scholars may go along with him. He is and will be known to be an absolute monarch in his school. If cockering mothers proffer him money to purchase their sons' exemption from his rod (to live, as it were, in a peculiar, out of their master's jurisdiction), with disdain he refuseth it, and scorns the late custom in some places of commuting whipping into money, and ransoming boys from the rod at a set price. If he hath a stubborn youth, correction-proof, he debaseth not his authority by contesting with him, but fairly, if he can, puts him away before his obstinacy hath infected others. He is moderate in inflicting deserved correction. Many a schoolmaster better answereth the name paidotribes than paidagogos, rather tearing his scholars' flesh with whipping than giving them good education. No wonder if his scholars hate the muses, being presented unto them in the shapes of fiends and furies. Such an Orbilius mars more scholars than he makes. Their tyranny hath caused many tongues to stammer which spake plain by nature, and whose stuttering at first was nothing else but fears quavering on their speech at their master's presence. And whose mauling them about their heads hath dulled those who in quickness exceeded their master. He makes his school free to him who sues to him in forma pauperis. And surely learning is the greatest alms that can be given. But he is a beast who, because the poor scholar cannot pay him his wages, pays the scholar in his whipping; rather are diligent lads to be encouraged with all excitements to learning. This minds me of what I have heard concerning Mr Bust, that worthy late schoolmaster of Eton, who would never suffer any wandering begging scholar (such as justly the statute hath ranked in the forefront of rogues) to come into his school, but would thrust him out with earnestness (however privately charitable unto him), lest his schoolboys should be disheartened from their books, by seeing some scholars after their studying in the university preferred to beggary. He spoils not a good school to make thereof a bad college, therein to teach his scholars logic. For, besides that logic may have an action of trespass against grammar for encroaching on her liberties, syllogisms are solecisms taught in the school, and oftentimes they are forced afterwards in the university, to unlearn the fumbling skill they had before. Out of his school he is no way pedantical in carriage or discourse; contenting himself to be rich in Latin, though he doth not gingle with it in every company wherein he comes. To conclude, let this, amongst other motives, make schoolmasters careful in their place that the eminences of their scholars have commended the memories of their schoolmasters to posterity, who, otherwise in obscurity, had altogether been forgotten. Who had ever heard of R. Bond, in Lancashire, but for the breeding of learned Ascham, his scholar? or of Hart Spill not the morning (the quintessence of the day) in recreation; for sleep itself is a recreation. Add not therefore sauce to sauces; and he cannot properly have any title to be refreshed who was not first faint. Pastime, like wine, is poison in the morning. It is then good husbandry to sow the head, which hath lain fallow all night, with some serious work. Chiefly, intrench not on the Lord's day to use unlawful sports; this were to spare thine own flock, and to shear God's lamb. * Some books are only cursorily to be tasted of: namely, first, voluminous books, the task of a man's life to read them over; secondly, auxiliary books, only to be repaired to on occasions; thirdly, such as are mere pieces of formality, so that if you look on them you look through them, and he that peeps through the casement of the index, sees as much as if he were in the house. But the laziness of those cannot be excused, who perfunctorily pass over authors of consequence, and only trade in their tables and contents. These, like city-cheaters, having gotten the names of all country gentlemen, make silly people believe they have long lived in those places where they never were, and flourish with skill in those authors they never seriously studied. [Education confined too much to Language.] Our common education is not intended to render us good and wise, but learned: it hath not taught us to follow and embrace virtue and prudence, but hath imprinted in us their derivation and etymology; it hath chosen out for us not such books as contain the soundest and truest opinions, but those that speak the best Greek and Latin; and, by these rules, has instilled into our fancy the vainest humours of antiquity. But a good education alters the judgment and manners. "Tis a silly conceit that men without languages are also without understanding. It's apparent, in all ages, that some such have been even prodigies for ability; for it's not to be believed that Wisdom speaks to her disciples only in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. [Rules for Improving the Memory.] First, soundly infix in thy mind what thou desirest to remember. What wonder is it if agitation of busi |