ry. And he that sees into what heats, what fears, what distempers and disorders, what madness and vexations, a cross hand at play implunges some men in, will never hazard his own peace of mind with bidding, by play, for such phrensies, such bedlam fits and distortions of the whole frame of man, which sometime never leave their patients, till they drive them into despair and a halter. What is it provokes to anger like it? And anger ushers in black oaths, prodigious curses, senseless imprecations, horrid rage, and blacker blasphemy, with quarrels, injuries, reproaches, wounds, and death. And, which is not the meanest of the ills attending gaming, he that is addicted to play and loves it, is so limed by custom to it, that if he would stir his wings to fly away, he cannot. Therefore Plato was in the right when he sharply reproved the boy he found at play, and the boy told him he wondered how he could be so angry for so small a matter, Plato replied again, that custom was no small

matter.

It is not denied, but labors and cares may have their relaxes and recreations. Though Memmius objected to Cato his nightly play and jollity, yet Cicero excused it with instancing his perpetual daily toil for the public. But we must beware lest we make a trade of sport,

and never to play for more than we may lose with content, and without the prejudice of ourselves or others.

OF THE TEMPER OF AFFEC-
TIONS.

EVERY man is a vast and spacious sea. His passions are the winds that swell him into disturbant waves. How he tumbles and roars and foams, when they in their fury trouble him! Sometimes the west of pleasure, fanning in luxurious gales; sometimes the madid south, sorrowful and full of tears; sometimes the sharp east, piercing with a testy spleen; sometimes the violent and blustering north, swelling the cheek with the anger's boiling blood. Any of these, in extremes, makes it become unnavigable, and full of danger to the vessel that shall coast upon it. When these are too loud, it is perilous; but when again they are all laid in the stillness of an immotive calm, it is useless; and though it be not so ready to hurt, yet it is far from availing to the profit of a voyage; and the passengers may sooner famish, by being becalmed, than coast it over for the advantage of their mart. Surely, the man that is always

still and reposed in his own thoughts, though he be good, is but a piece of deadened charity. I care not for the planed Stoic; there is a sect between him and the Epicure. An unmoved man is but a motive statue, harmless and unprofitable. Indeed fury is far the worse extreme; for, besides the trouble it puts on the company, it always delivers the author into successive mischiefs. He that is raging in one thing, seeds his business with many inconveniencies. Fury is like false position in a verse, at least nine faults together. Says Claudian,

"Caret eventu nimius furor :"

Rage knows not when, nor how to end."

I like neither a devouring stork nor a Jupiter's log. Man is not fit for conversation, neither when his passions hurry him in a hideous distemper, nor when they are all laid in a silent and unstirring calm. The sea is best in a pleasant gale; and so is man when his passions are alive without raging. God implanted passions in the soul, as he gave his talents in the gospel, neither to be lavished out impetuously, nor to be buried in napkins. We may warm us at these fires, though we burn not. Man, without any, is no better than a speaking

"Qui potuit

stone. Cato's best emperor was, imperare affectus;" he does not say, "deponere." Moderate passions are the most affable expressions of humanity, without which the soul finds nothing like itself to love. A horse, too hot and fiery, is the danger of his rider ; one too dull is his trouble. And as the first will not endure any man, so the last will be endured by no man. One will suffer none to back him; the other admits each child to abuse him.

A good temper is a sure expression of a wellcomposed soul. Our wild passions are like so many lawyers, wrangling and bawling at the bar. Discretion is the lord-keeper of man, that sits as judge, and moderates their contestations. Too great a spirit in a man born to poor means, is like a high-heeled shoe to one of mean stature; it advanceth his proportion, but is ready to fit him with falls. The flat sole walks more sure, though it abates his gracefulness; yet being too low, it is subject to bemire the foot. A little elevation is the best mediocrity. It is both raised from the earth and sure; and for his tallness, it disposeth it to an equal competency. I will neither walk so lifted as to occasion falling, nor so dejected as at every step to take soil. As I care not for being powder, or the cap of the company, so I would not be earth, or the fool's foot-ball.

OF PRAYER.

It is not an easy matter for men of inferior rank to get access or freedom of conference with one that is an earthly prince. Admission to all would weigh him down to a slave. He cannot be a centre large enough to receive all the lines that come from the vast circumference. But had he an ear for all, he could not have wherewith to grant and satisfy all. Nor were men sure to speed, although they were admitted. He that to all should grant what is asked, would quickly leave himself nothing at all to grant. He might, perhaps, enrich some others, but he should be sure to impoverish himself. How great then is the freedom and the prerogative of the devout Christian, who hath a reverence and an affection to the greatness and the goodness of his God! Though he often lives here in a slight esteem among men, yet by his prayers and the ardent effusion of his groans and wishes he can freely confer with the King of Heaven.

Prayer penetrates through all the clouds and spheres. It makes a man a kind of intimate with God, and by a towering flame mounts him to the bosom of the great Creator; who not only hears his entreaties, but delights in his requests,