equally with the mightiest prince, is the object of God's especial providence and grace, of his continual regard and care, of his fatherly love and affection; who, as good Elihu saith, accepteth not the persons of princes, nor regardeth the rich more than the poor; for they are all the work of his hands. In fine, this poor creature whom thou seest is a man, and a Christian, thine equal, whoever thou art, in nature, and thy peer in condition: I say not, in the uncertain and unstable gifts of fortune, not in this worldly state, which is very inconsiderable; but in gifts vastly more precious, in title to an estate infinitely more rich and excellent. Yea, if thou art vain and proud, be sober and humble; he is thy better, in true dignity inuch to be preferred before thee, far in real wealth surpassing thee: for, better is the poor that walketh in his upright ness, than he that is perverse in his ways, though he be rich.

THE STRUCTURE OF THE HUMAN BODY A PROOF OF DIVINE

WISDOM.

Can any man, endued with common sense, imagine that such a body as any of us doth bear about him, so neatly composed, fitted to so many purposes of action; furnished with so many goodly and proper organs; that eye by which we reach the stars, and in a moment have, as it were, all the world present to us; that ear by which we so subtly distinguish the differences of sound, are sensible of so various harmony, have conveyed unto our minds the words and thoughts of each other; that tongue by which we so readily imitate those vast diversities of voice and tune, by which we communicate our minds with such ease and advantage; that hand by which we perform so many admirable works, and which serves instead of a thousand instruments and weapons unto us; to omit those inward springs of motion, life, sense, imagination, memory, passion, with so stupendous curiosity contrived; can any reasonable man, I say, conceive that so rare a piece, consisting of such parts, unexpressibly various, unconceivably curious, the want of any of which would discompose or destroy us; subservient to such excellent operations, incomparably surpassing all the works of the most exquisite art, that we could ever observe or

death on the battle-field, a murder-the soldier's name "a name abhorred"-and the slaveholder viewed by every one as Milton views him

O EXECRABLE SON! So to aspire
Above his brethren, to hiniself assuming
Authority usurp'd, from God not given:
He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl,
Dominion absolute; that right we hold
By his donation; but man over men
He made not lord; such title to himself
Reserving, HUMAN LEFT FROM TUMAN FREE.

Paradise Lost, xil. 66.

conceive, be the product of blind chance; arise from fortuitous jumblings of matter; be effected without exceeding great wisdom, without most deep counsel and design? Might not the most excellent pieces of human artifice, the fairest structures, the finest pictures, the most useful engines, such as we are wont so much to admire and praise, much more easily happen to be without any skill or contrivance? If we cannot allow these rude and gross imitations of nature to come of themselves, but will presently, so soon as we see them, acknowledge them the products of art, though we know not the artist, nor did see him work; how much more reasonable is it that we believe the works of nature, so much more fine and accurate, to proceed from the like cause, though invisible to us, and performing its workmanship by a secret hand?

WHAT IS WIT?

To the question what the thing we speak of is, or what this facetiousness doth import? I might reply as Democritus did to him that asked the definition of a Man, 'Tis that which we all see and know any one better apprehends what it is by acquaintance than I can inform him by description. It is indeed a thing so versatile and multiform, appearing in so many shapes, so many postures, so many garbs, so variously apprehended by several eyes and judgments, that it seemeth no less hard to settle a clear and certain notion thereof, than to make a portrait of Proteus, or to define the figure of a fleeting air. Sometimes it lieth in pat allu sion to a known story, or in seasonable application of a trivial saying, or in forging an apposite tale: sometimes it playeth in words and phrases, taking advantage from the ambiguity of their sense, or the affinity of their sound: sometimes it is wrapped in a dress of humorous expression: sometimes it lurketh under an odd similitude: sometimes it is lodged in a sly question, in a smart answer, in a quirkish reason, in a shrewd imitation, in cunningly diverting, or cleverly retorting an objection: sometimes it is couched in a bold scheme of speech, in a tart irony, in a lusty hyperbole, in a startling metaphor, in a plausible reconciling of contradictions, or in acute nonsense: sometimes a scenical representation of persons or things, a counterfeit speech, a mimical look or gesture passeth for it sometimes an affected simplicity, sometimes a pre sumptuous bluntness, giveth it being: sometimes it riseth from a lucky hitting upon what is strange, sometimes from a crafty wresting obvious matter to the purpose: often it consisteth in one knows not what, and springeth up one can hardly tell how. Its ways are unaccountable and inexplicable, being answerable to the numberless rovings of fancy and windings of language. It is, in short, a manner of speaking out of the simple and plain way, (such as reason teacheth and proveth things by,) which, by a pretty sur

prising uncouthness in conceit or expression, doth affect and amuse the fancy, stirring in it some wonder, and breeding some delight thereto.

KNOWLEDGE A SOURCE OF Delight.

Wisdom of itself is delectable and satisfactory, as it implies a revelation of truth and a detection of error to us. 'Tis like light, pleasant to behold, casting a sprightly lustre, and diffusing a benign influence all about presenting a goodly prospect of things to the eyes of our minds; displaying objects in their due shapes, postures, magnitudes, and colors; quickening our spirits with a comfortable warmth, and disposing our minds to a cheerful activity; dispelling the darkness of ignorance, scattering the mists of doubt; driving away the spectres of delusive fancy; mitigating the cold of sullen melancholy; discovering obstacles, securing progress, and making the passages of life clear, open, and pleasant. We are all naturally endowed with a strong appetite to know, to see, to pursue truth; and with a bashful abhorrency from being deceived and entangled in mistake. And as success in inquiry after truth affords matter of joy and triumph; so being conscious of error and miscarriage therein, is attended with shame and sor row. These desires wisdom in the most perfect manner satisfies, nct by entertaining us with dry, empty, fruitless theories upon mean and vulgar subjects; but by enriching our minds with excellent and useful knowledge, directed to the noblest objects, and serviceable to the highest ends.1

ANDREW MARVELL. 1620-1678.

FEW men deserve more to be remembered with admiration than Andrew Marvell; not so much for his intellectual powers and mental attainments, great though they were, as for his high moral qualities. Indeed, a character in all respects, private, literary, and patriotic, so uncommonly excellent and noble, is rarely to be met with in the annals of history. He was born at Kingston-upon-Hull, in Yorkshire, in 1620, and at the age of fifteen entered Cambridge. After leaving the university he travelled many years in Europe.

1 Bacon, in enumerating the advantages of knowledge, says, 1. It relieves man's afflictions. 2. It promotes public virtue and order. 3. It promotes private virtues, by humanizing, humbling, nullifying vain admiration, improving. 4. It is power. 5. The pleasure of knowledge far exceedeth all other pleasures: for, shall the pleasures of the affections so exceed the senses, as much as the ob taining of desire or victory exceedeth a song or a dinner; and must not, of consequence, the pleasures of the intellect or understanding exceed the pleasures of the affections? We see in all other pleasures there is satiety, and after they be used, their verdure departeth; which showeth well they be but deceits of pleasure, and not pleasures; and that it was the novelty which pleased, and not the quality: and therefore we see that voluptuous men turn friars, and ambitious princes turn melan choly. But of knowledge there is no satiety, but satisfaction and appetite are perpetually inter chargeable, and therefore appeareth to be good in itself simply, without fallacy or tccident.

and on his return he became assistant Latin secretary to Milton, to whom he ever proved a most faithful friend, defending his reputation and shielding him from danger after the Restoration.

In 1660 he was elected to parliament by the city of Hull, and was re elected as long as he lived. In his parliamentary duties he exhibited a zeal and faithfulness that were never surpassed; constantly.corresponding with his constituents, and earnestly contending for their public rights and local in terests. He always voted on the popular side, and so great was his influence that the court determined, if possible, to bribe him to their interests. Accordingly they sent his old school-fellow, the lord reasurer Danby, to him, with an order for £1000 on the treasury. He found him in a garret, writing to his constituents. After some conversation, as he was going ont, he slipped the order into Marvell's hand, who, without looking at it, accompanied him to his coach. As he was about driving off, Marvell, having opened the paper, and seen what it was, called him back, and they returned to the garret. My lord," said Marvell, pointing to a small shoulder-bone of mutton, "Andrew Marvell's dinner is provided for; there is your piece of paper; I want it not. I know the sort of kindness you intend, but I live here to serve my constituents; the ministry may seek men for their purpose; I am not one." How refreshing it is to the eye to look upon a character of such unsultied purity, especially if it be in the midst of political life, that perilous arena, from which so few return without some spots to disfigure their moral vestments.1

Marvell, from the stern integrity of his character, rendered himself more and more obnoxious to a corrupt court. His personal satire against the king himself, his tracts against popery and the ministry, and his desperate literary battles with Bishop Parker, "that venal apostate to bigotry," (as Campbeti calls him,) repeatedly endangered his life. Among other anonymous letters sent to him, was the following: "If thou darest to print or publish any lie or libel against Dr. Parker, by the Eternal God I will cut thy throa.." But all this was to no purpose. He pursued the path of duty, unfaltering, and stood like a rock amid the foaming ocean. He, at last, died suddenly, on the 29th of July, 1678, while attending a public meeting at Hull: many supposed that he was poisoned.

In his prose writings Marvell defended the principles of freedom with great vigor of eloquence and liveliness of humor. He mingled a playful exu berance of fancy and figure not unlike that of Burke, with a keenness of sar castic wit not surpassed even by Swift.

The following spirited irony, taken from one of his answers to Parker, is on the

"DOLEFUL EVILS" OF THE PRESS.2

For the press hath owed him a shame a long time, and is but now beginning to pay off the debt, the press, (that villanous engine,) invented about the same time with the Reformation, that hath done more mischief to the discipline of our church, than all the doctrine can make amends for. 'Twas a happy time when

1 Burke and Wilberforce in England, and John Quincy Adams in our own country, are eminent exceptions to the general rule.

2 Two well-written articles on Marvell may be found in the 10th and 11th vols. of the Retro spective Review. Read, also, an admirable life in Hartley Coleridge's "Lives of Distinguis' ed Northerny."

all learning was in manuscripts, and some little officer, like ou author, did keep the keys of the library; when the clergy needed no more knowledge than to read the Liturgy; and the laity no more clerkship than to save them from hanging. But now, since printing came into the world, such is the mischief, that a man cannot write a book, but presently he is answered! Could the press at once be conjured to obey only an Imprimatur, our author might not disdain, perhaps, to be one of its most zealous patrons. There have been ways found out to banish ministers, to fine nct only the people, but even the grounds and fields where they assembled in conventicles. But no art yet could prevent these seditious meetings of letters. Two or three brawny fellows in a corner, with mere ink and elbow-grease, do more harm than a hundred systematical divines, with their sweaty preaching.' And, which is a strange thing, the very sponges, which one would think should rather deface and blot out the whole book, and were anciently used for that purpose, are now become the instruments to make things legible. Their ugly printing-letters, that look but like so many rotten teeth,-how oft have they been pulled out by the public tooth-drawers! And yet these rascally operators of the press have got a trick to fasten them again in a few minutes, that they grow as firm a set, and as biting and talkative as ever. O Printing! how hast thou disturbed the peace of mankind! That lead, when moulded into bullets, is not so mortal, as when founded into letters. There was a mistake, sure, in the story of Cadmus; and the serpent's teeth, which he sowed, were nothing else but the letters which he invented. The first essay that was made towards this art was in single characters upon iron, wherewith of old they stigmatized slaves and remarkable offenders; and it was of good use sometimes to brand a schismatic. But a bulky Dutchman diverted it quite from its first institution, and contrived those innumerable syntagmes of alphabets. One would have thought, in reason, that a Dutchman at least might have contented himself only with the wine-press.

The following is a cutting

PARODY ON THE SPEECHES OF CHARLES II.

My lords and gentlemen,

I told you, at our last meeting, the Winter was the fittest time for business, and truly I thought so, till my lord-treasurer assured ine the Spring was the best season for salads and subsidies. hope, therefore, that April will not prove so unnatural a month, as

I

1 How unspeakably important is it, considering the mighty influence of the press, that it should be, in all its departments, the guardian of morals-the handmaid of virtue; and yet, how many publishers seem utterly reckless of the character of the books they publish, provided they "will sell :” and how few are the editors of our newspapers who do not appear to consider the triumphs of pars de ramount to the triumphs of truth and justice.