ter, be it troublesome, quyet, angrey or pleasant, a man shall thincke not to be readyng, but present in goyng of the same. And herein Livie of all other in any toung, by myne opinion, carrieth away the prayse.

R. ASCHAM

206. OF AMBITION. Ambition raises a secret tumult in the soul, it inflames the mind, and puts it into a violent hurry of thought. It is still reaching after an empty imaginary good, that has not in it the power to abate or satisfy it. Most other things we long for can allay the cravings of their proper sense, and for a while set the appetite at rest: but fame is a good so wholly foreign to our natures, that we have no faculty in the soul adapted to it, nor any organ in the body to relish it; an object of desire, placed out of the possibility of fruition. It may indeed fill the mind for a while with a giddy kind of pleasure, but it is such a pleasure as makes a man restless and uneasy under it; and which does not so much satisfy the present thirst, as it excites fresh desires, and sets the soul on new enterprises. For how few ambitious men are there, who have got as much fame as they desired, and whose thirst after it has not been as eager in the very height of their reputation, as it was before they became known and eminent among men? There is not any circumstance in Cæsar's character which gives me a greater idea of him, than a saying which Cicero tells us he frequently made use of in private conversation, 'That he was satisfied with his share of life and fame.' Many indeed have given over their pursuits after fame, but that has proceeded either from disappointments they have met in it, or from their experience of the little pleasure which attends it, or from the better informations or natural coldness of old age; but seldom from a full satisfaction and acquiescence in their present enjoyments of it.

207. Nor is fame only unsatisfying in itself, but the desire of it lays us open to many accidental troubles, which those are free from who have no such a tender regard for it. How often is the ambitious man cast down and disappointed, if he receives no praise where he expected it? Nay, how often is he mortified with the very praises he receives, if they do not rise so high as he thinks they ought; which they seldom do, unless increased by flattery, since few men have so good an opinion of us as we have of ourselves? But if the ambitious man can be so much grieved even with praise

itself, how will he be able to bear up under scandal and defamation? for the same temper of mind, which makes him desire fame, makes him hate reproach. If he can be transported with the extraordinary praises of men, he will be as much dejected by their censures. How little therefore is the happiness of an ambitious man, who gives every one a dominion over it, who thus subjects himself to the good or ill speeches of others, and puts it in the power of every malicious tongue to throw him into a fit of melancholy, and destroy his natural rest and repose of mind? especially when we consider that the world is more apt to censure than applaud, and himself fuller of imperfections than virtues.

J. ADDISON

208. KING CHARLES'S RETURN. If human force and preparation could have determined the event of things, and Providence had proceeded by the same measures which men judge, the business of this day, I am sure, had been desperate and as impossible in the event, as it was once in the opinion and discourse of some, who, having done their utmost to prevent it, had the good luck to get too much by it, when it came to pass. For were not the usurpers just before the king's restoration as strong as ever? Did they not sit lording it in the head of victorious fleets and armies, with their feet upon the neck of three conquered enslaved kingdoms? and striking such an awe and terror into all about them, that the boldest of their adversaries durst not so much as stir or open their mouths either against their persons or proceedings? And now in this state of things, who would have imagined, that any thing could have recovered the lost sceptre, but a triumphant sword? Or that the crown, being once fought off from the royal owner's head, could have ever returned to it, but by being fought on again? These and no other methods of restoring the king did either his friends or his enemies think of; but so infinitely unlikely and unfeasible were they, that his enemies feared them as little as his friends had grounds to hope for them.

209. When, behold! on a sudden and in the height of all their pride policy and power, Providence gives them a turn, and they see the whole web, which with so much pains cost and cunning they had been so long a weaving, unravelled before their eyes in a moment, and themselves clear off the stage, without having settled any one of those innovations

either in church or state, which they had been swearing and lying, whining and praying, plundering and fighting, and cutting throats for (all in the Lord) for near twenty years together, but instead thereof, the ancient government restored and happily set upon its former bottom (could it have kept itself there;) and all this (to phrase it in the words of a late historian) so easily and with so little noise, that the wresting of that usurped power out of their hands cost not so much as a broken head or a bloody nose; for the getting of which they had wasted so many millions of treasure, and more than one hundred thousand lives, not to mention the loss of souls: by such unlikely and unforeseeable ways does Providence sometimes bring about its great designs, in opposition to the shrewdest conjectures and contrivances of men. And thus much for the other general argument, proving the inability of any human wisdom to comprehend the designs of Providence, taking from those false rates and grounds, by which men generally forejudge of the issue or event of actions.

R. SOUTH

210.

THE PLEASURE OF STUDY AND CONTEMPLATION. I can wonder at nothing more than how a man can be idle; but of all others, a scholar; in so many improvements of reason, in such sweetness of knowledge, in such variety of studies, in such importunity of thoughts: other artizans do but practise, we still learn; others run still in the same gyre to weariness, to satiety; our choice is infinite; other labours require recreations; our very labour recreates our sports; we can never want either somewhat to do, or somewhat that we would do. What an heaven lives a scholar in, that at once in one close room can daily converse with all the glorious martyrs and fathers! that can single out at pleasure, either sententious Tertullian, or grave Cyprian, or resolute Hierome, or flowing Chrysostome, or divine Ambrose, or devout Bernard, or, (who alone is all these) heavenly Augustine, and talk with them and hear their wise and holy counsels, verdicts, resolutions. Let the world contemn us; while we have these delights we cannot envy them; we cannot wish ourselves other than we are. Besides, the way to all other contentments is troublesome; the only recompence is in the end. To delve in the mines, to scorch in the fire for the getting, for the fining of gold is a slavish toil; the comfort is in the wedge to the owner, not the labourers;

FOL. CENT.

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where our very search of knowledge is delightsome. Study itself is our life; from which we would not be barred for a world. How much sweeter then is the fruit of study, the conscience of knowledge! In comparison whereof the sou!, that hath once tasted it, easily contemns all human comforts.

BISHOP HALL

211.

EXPECTATION PREPARETH APPLAUSE WITH THE WEAK, AND PREJUDICE WITH THE STRONGER JUDGMENTS. The fashion of commending our friends abilities before they come to trial, sometimes takes good effect with the common sort, who, building their belief on authority, strive to follow the conceit of their betters; but usually amongst men of independent judgments, this bespeaking of opinion, breeds a purpose of stricter examination; and if the report be answered, procures only a bare acknowledgment; whereas if nothing be proclaimed or promised, they are perhaps content. to signifie their own skill in testifying anothers desert: otherwise great wits, jealous of their credit, are ready to suppress worth in others, to the advancing of their own, and (if more ingenuous) no farther just, than to forbear detraction; at the best rather disposed to give praise upon their own accord, than to make payment upon demand or challenge.

SIR H. WOTTON

212. THE ACTIVE MAN RISETH NOT SO WELL BY HIS STRENGTH, AS THE EXPERT BY HIS STIRROP. They that climb towards preferment or greatness by their own vertue, get up with much ado and very slowly; whereas such as are raised by other means, usually ascend lightly and appear more happy in their sudden advancements, sometimes by the only strength of those who stand above, exercising their power in their dependants commonly by subordinate helps and assistance, which young men happily obtain from the commendations of friends, old men often compass by the credit of their wealth, who have a great advantage in that they are best able to purchase, and likely soonest to leave the SIR H. WOTTON

room.

213. CONSPIRACY OF THE PAZZI. On receiving the wound, he took a few hasty steps and fell, when Francesco de' Pazzi rushed upon him with incredible fury, and stabbed

him in different parts of the body, continuing to repeat his strokes even after he was apparently dead. Such was the violence of his rage that he wounded himself deeply in the thigh. The priests who had undertaken the murder of Lorenzo were not equally successful. An ill-directed blow from Maffei, aimed at the throat, rather roused him to his defence than disabled him. He immediately threw off his cloak, and holding it up as a shield in his left hand, with his right he drew his sword, and repelled his assailants. Perceiving that their purpose was defeated, the two ecclesiastics, after having wounded one of Lorenzo's attendants who had interposed to defend him, endeavoured to save themselves by flight. At the same moment, Bandini, his dagger streaming with the blood of Giuliano, rushed towards Lorenzo; but meeting in his way with Francesco Nori, a person in the service of the Medici, in whom they placed great confidence, he stabbed him with a wound instantaneously mortal. At the approach of Bandini, the friends of Lorenzo encircled him, and hurried him into the sacristy, where Politiano and others closed the doors, which were of brass. Apprehensions being entertained that the weapon which had wounded him was poisoned, a young man attached to Lorenzo sucked the wound. A general alarm and consternation commenced in the church; and such was the tumult that ensued, that it was at first believed that the building was falling in; but no sooner was it undersood that Lorenzo was in danger, than several of the youth of Florence formed themselves into a body, and receiving him into the midst of them, conducted him to his house, making a circuitous turn from the church, lest he should meet with the dead body of his brother.

214. WHILST these transactions passed in the church, another commotion arose in the palace; where the archbishop, who had left the church, as agreed upon before the attack on the Medici, and about thirty of his associates, attempted to overpower the magistrates, and to possess themselves of the seat of government. Leaving some of his followers stationed in different apartments, the archbishop proceeded to an interior chamber, where Cesare Petrucci, then gonfaloniere, and the other magistrates, were assembled. No sooner was the gonfaloniere informed of his approach, than, out of respect to his rank, he rose to meet him. Whether the archbishop was disconcerted by the presence of Petrucci, or whether his courage was not equal to the undertaking, is uncertain; but instead of intimidating the magistrates by a