study, he observed one shelf of his books of various forms and sizes, all richly bound, and finely gilt and lettered: he asked what extraordinary authors they were, so remarkably distinguished by his grace? 66 Those," said Tillotson, 68 are my own.. personal friends; and, which is more, I myself have made such, (for they meant to be my enemies) by the use I have made of those hints, which their malice had.. suggested to me, and from which I have received more profit, than from the advice of my best and most cordial friends; and therefore, you see, I have rewarded them accordingly." Bishop Sherlock also told Mr. Pitt, that, upon a small bundle of libels found among Bishop Tillotson's papers after his death, he had put no other inscription than this"These are libels; I pray God forgive the authors, I do," a striking proof of that worthy prelate's charity and benevolence. Anecdote of Dr. Warner. Some years ago, that gentleman happened to be in a stationer's shop, when a member of the house of commons came in to purchase a hundred of pens, for six shillings. When he was gone, the doctor exclaimed, "Oh! the luxury of the age! Six shillings for a hundred of pens! Why it never cost me six pence for pens in all my life." "That is somewhat very surprising, doctor," says the stationer, " for your writings are very voluminous." "I declare," replied the doctor, "I wrote my Ecclesiastical History, two volumes in folio, and my Dissertation on the Book of Common Prayer, a large folio, first and corrected copies, with one single pen: it was an old one before I began, and it is not now worn out that I have finished." This relation was spread out, and the merits of this pen esteemed so highly, that a certain countess begged the doctor to make her a present of it; he did so, and her ladyship had a gold case made, with a short history of the pen wrought upon it,. and placed it in her cabinet of curiosities. Madness. Swell the clarion, sweep the string, All thy answers, echo, bring, Let wood and dale, let rock and valley ring 'Tis madness' self inspires. Hail, awful madness, hail! Thy realm extends, thy powers revail, Far as the voyager spreads his sail. Nor best nor wisest are exempt from thee, Hark! to the astonish'd ear The gale conveys a strange tumultuous sound, They now approach, they now appear- Pride-Ambition, idly vain ; Revenge and malice swell her train,- And injur'd merit with a downcast eye (Hurt by neglect) slow stalking heedless by. Loud the shouts of madness rise, All seem to pierce the skies. Rough as the wintry wave that roars On Thule's desart shores, Wild raving to the unfeeling air (Rage the burthen of his jarring song) In rage he grinds his teeth, and rends his streaming hair. No pleasing memory left-forgotten quite All former scenes of dear delight Connubial love-parental joy— No sympathies like these his soul employ, -But all is dark; all furious black des pair. Not so the love-lorn maid, By too much tenderness betray'd; Her gentle breast no angry passion fires, But slighted vows possess, and fainting soft desires. She yet retains her wonted flame, Streaming eyes, Incessant sighs, Dim haggard looks, and clouded o'er with care, Point out to pity's tears, the poor distracted fair, Dead to the world-her fondest wishes crost, She mourns herself thus early lost. |