fictions are alNIA. miseries are sipery, or al ke stow pen is whet nes withstanding is w maggy supid. Teguerant a evils come and irgi nevis pust, is a mersul gr vision in mare viery we get the mixture of a t and evi fas and mur iivere ses triggsing into one ting remembranCS, SOS are not kept raw by the eige of repetitions. A great part of antiquity convened their hopes of subsistency with a resignation of ther sous-and way to contine ter memories, vile having the advantage of pizzal successors, they could not but act something re markable in such variety of beings, and enjoying the fame of their passed selves, make accumulation of glory unto their last durations. Others rather than be lost in the novmärtable zigist of nothing, were content to recede into the common being, and make one particle of the public soul of all things which was no more than to return into their unknown and divine original again. Egyptian ingenuity was more unsitisted, contriving their bodies in sweet consistencies, to attend the return of their souls But all was vanity, feeding the mind and folly. The Egyptian mummies, which Cambyses or time hath spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy is become merchandise, Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams. In vain do individuals hope for immortality, or any patent from oblivion, in preservations below the moon; men have been deceived even in their flatteries, above the sun, and studied conceits to perpetuate their names in heaven. The various cosmography of that part hath already varied the names of contrived constellations; Nimrod is lost in Orion, and Osiris in the Dog-star. While we look for incorruption in the heavens, we find they are but like the earth;-durable in their main bodies, alterable in their parts, whereof, beside comets and new stars, perspectives [telescopes] begin to tell tales, and the spots that wander about the sun, with Phaeton's favor, would make clear conviction. There is nothing strictly immortal but immortality. Whatever hath no beginning, may be confident of no end;which is the peculiar of that necessary essence that cannot who beats nature in a boy for a fault. And I question whether all the whipping in 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 teachings; 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 the scholars' flesh with whipping than giving them good education. No wonder if his scholars hate the muses, being presented unto them in the shape 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. SIR THOMAS BROWNE. BETWEEN 1605 and 1682, dates which mark the birth and death of this most singular doctor of medicine and meditative Diogenes, England was racked with conflicts of intellect, interests, and armies in the field. Every man of passion and wisdom found himself whirled by the elements to this side or that, every man except this cool-witted country physician-philosopher. He passed through Oxford with credit, traveled a little, studied medicine at the School of Padua, read omnivorously, and ultimately settled down to practice in Norwich in 1637. He won success by his skill in doctoring and in marrying well. Browne argued against marriage, but his record of eleven children born during his forty-one years of wedlock sufficiently refutes his theoretical objections. He was averse to taking sides in questions of Church or State, but showed his royalist bias when neutrality was out of question. While country was convulsed with violent passions Browne busied himself with pondering every conceivable question that could arise out of a given conception. His prying mind roams over the whole range of possible existence. But for an undercurrent of humor Browne's rambling contemplations might seem like vague metaphysical searchings for the unexpected. Whatever the immediate topic may be, he pursues it with a wealth of lore, of fancy, of subtle speculation, of metaphor and of ingenious words, until we are mystified as to which is poetry and which prose, or whether the writer is philosophizing or joking. In the "Religio Medici" he unclothes his mind of the trappings gotten in the schools and gives it free course to find safe footing, if it can, in the middle ground between Catholicism and Protestantism, faith and unfaith, realism and mystery. This came out in 1643, and set men thinking. It was followed in 1646 by the "Pseudodoxia Epidemica, or Vulgar Errors," in which he treats of witchery and superstition with considerable boldness for one who yet could not dismiss a few pet absurdities of his own. Other works of a whimsical kind followed, but the best of all is the exquisite "Hydriotaphia," 1658, urging the now popular substitution of cremation for burial. In this treatise on "Urn Burial," Browne's style rises to a pitch of sustained grandeur which, not less than its learning, originality, and boldness, ensures it a place among the immortal writings. IMMORTALITY. (From the "Hydriotaphia, or Urn-burial.") OBLIVION is not to be hired. The greater part must be content to be as though they had not been; to be found in the register of God, not in the record of man. Twenty-seven names make up the first story before the flood, and the recorded names ever since contain not one living century. The number of the dead long exceedeth all that shall live. The night of time far surpasseth the day, and who knows when was the equinox? Every hour adds unto that current arithmetic, which scarce stands one moment. And since death must be the Lucina* of life, and even Pagans could doubt, whether thus to live were to die; since our longest sun sets at right descensions, and makes but winter arches, and therefore it cannot be long before we lie down in darkness, and have our light in ashes; since the brother of death [sleep] daily haunts us with dying mementos, and time that grows old in itself, bids us hope no long duration;-diuturnity is a dream and folly of expectation. Darkness and light divide the course of time, and oblivion shares with memory a great part even of our living beings; we slightly remember our felicities, and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but short smart upon us. Sense endureth no extremities, and sorrows destroy us or themselves. * The Roman goddess who assisted in child-birth. To weep into stones are fables. Afflictions induce callosities; miseries are slippery, or fall like snow upon us, which notwithstanding is no unhappy stupidity. To be ignorant of evils to come, and forgetful of evils past, is a merciful provision in nature, whereby we digest the mixture of our few and evil days, and our delivered senses not relapsing into cutting remembrances, our sorrows are not kept raw by the edge of repetitions. A great part of antiquity contented their hopes of subsistency with a transmigration of their souls,—a good way to continue their memories, while having the advantage of plural successions, they could not but act something remarkable in such variety of beings, and enjoying the fame of their passed selves, make accumulation of glory unto their last durations. Others, rather than be lost in the uncomfortable night of nothing, were content to recede into the common being, and make one particle of the public soul of all things, which was no more than to return into their unknown and divine original again. Egyptian ingenuity was more unsatisfied, contriving their bodies in sweet consistencies, to attend the return of their souls. But all was vanity, feeding the mind and folly. The Egyptian mummies, which Cambyses or time hath spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy is become merchandise, Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams. In vain do individuals hope for immortality, or any patent from oblivion, in preservations below the moon; men have been deceived even in their flatteries, above the sun, and studied conceits to perpetuate their names in heaven. The various cosmography of that part hath already varied the names of contrived constellations; Nimrod is lost in Orion, and Osiris in the Dog-star. While we look for incorruption in the heavens, we find they are but like the earth;-durable in their main bodies, alterable in their parts, whereof, beside comets and new stars, perspectives [telescopes] begin to tell tales, and the spots that wander about the sun, with Phaeton's favor, would make clear conviction. There is nothing strictly immortal but immortality. Whatever hath no beginning, may be confident of no end;which is the peculiar of that necessary essence that cannot |
