Whether the author of this libellus was related to the ingenious and candid memoirist, Sir Philip Warwick, I do not know: but he was worthy to be so, from the meritoriousness of his publication; the tenor and character of which will be exhibited by the following selections.

"Nature bids me love myselfe, and hate all that hate me. Reasons bids me love my friends, and hate those that envy me. Religion bids me love all, and hate none. Nature may induce me, Reason perswade me, but Religion shall rule me. I will hearken to Nature in much, to Reason in more, to Religion in all,

It is not good to speak evil of all whom we know to be bad it is worse to judge evil of any who may prove good. To speake ill upon knowledge, shews a want of charity to speake ill upon suspicion, shews a want of honesty. I will not speake so bad as I know of many: I will not speake worse than I know

of any.

As there is a misery in want, so there is a danger in excess : I would therefore desire neither more nor less than enough, I may as well die of a surfeit as of hunger.

There is no estate of life so happy in this world as to yield a Christian the perfection of content: and yet there is no state so wretched in this world, but a Christian must be content with it. Though I can have nothing here that may give me true content, yet I will learn to be truly contented here with what I have. What care I, though I have not much: I have as much as I desire, if I have as much as I want: I have as much as the most, if I have as much as I desire.

As faith is the evidence of things not seene: so things that are seene, are the perfecting of faith. I believe a tree will be

Of this writer of the “Memoirs of the Reign of King Charles I." there is ■ biographical account, with a portrait, in the Cent. Mag. vol. ii. p. 781.

green, when I see him leaveless* in winter: I know he is green, when I see him flourishing in summer. It was a fault in Thomas not to believe till he did see: it were a madness in him not to believe when he did see. Beliefe may sometime exceed reason, not oppose it: and faith be often above sense, not against it.

It is the nature of man to be proud, when man by nature hath nothing to be proud of. He more adorneth the creature, than he adoreth the Creator: and makes not only his belly his God, but his body. I am ashamed of their glory, whose 'glory is their shame.' If nature will needs have me to be proud of something, I will be proud only of this-that I am proud of nothing,

There are two things necessary for a traveller, to bring him to the end of his journey; a knowledge of his way, and a perseverance in his walk. If he walk in a wrong way, the faster he goes, the further he is from home: if he sit still in a right way, he may know his home, but never come to it. If heaven be my home, and Christ my way, I will learne to know my way, ere I haste to travel to my home. If Christ be my way, and heaven my home, I will rather indure my paineful walk, than want my perfect rest. I more esteem my home than my jour ney."

After p. 92, a second part commences of this little work, with another engraved title-page, and "a briefe Elogium upon the author and his pious meditations, &c. by Geo. Wither."

On the back of the title appears "Loquela Emblematici Frontispicii, in obsequium Inventoris, et piam Authoris memoriam suggesta." These Latin verses are signed Guliel. Haydock.

This seems to be a more appropriate orthography than leafless.

The continuation, or second part, is dedicated "to the vertuous and religious gentlewoman, Mistresse Anne Ashton;" and (as it appears) by the father of the writer, after the death of his son; out of whose loose papers they were collected for publication, as Wither's verses intimate. The author, from some verses at the close of his Meditations, is shown to have been in the Church.

"He that contemns a small fault, commits a great one. I see many drops make a shower: and what difference is it, whether I be wet either in the rain or in the river, if both be to the skin? There is small benefit in the choyce, whether we go downe to hell by degrees or at once. As I am fearefull to act great sins, so I will be carefull to avoid small sins.

I admire with reverence the justice and wisdome of the laws: I deplore with compassion the abused practice of the laws and I resolve rather to bear with patience an haileshower of injuries, than to seek shelter at such a thicket, where the brambles shall pluck off my fleece, and do me more hurt by scratching, than the storm would have done by hailing.

As in vertues, he that hath one hath all; so in vices, he that hath one hath seldom one alone. He that will steal, must lye: and he that will steal and lye, will swear his lye; and so easily skrew himself up to perjury. He that will be drunk, what will he not be when he is drunk? I see the devil's claw is an entering wedge to let in his foot, and that foot his whole body.

As in the greater world for man, so in the little world of man as in the outward riches of the one, so in the inner treasures of the other; many possess much, and enjoy but little; many have much, and use but little; others use much, and but little well. I shall not so much endeavour to have much wherewithall to do, as to do much with that little I have. It shall

not so much grieve me, that I am a poore treasurer, as joy me, if I have beene a good steward.

When I plant a choice flower in a fertile soil, I see nature presently thrust up with it the stinging nettle, the stinking hemlock, the drowsie poppy, and many such noisome weeds, which will either choak my plant by excluding the sun, or divert its nourishment to themselves. But if I weed these at first, my flower thrives, to its goodness and glory. This is also my case, when I endeavour to plant grace in the fertile soil of a good wit: for luxurious nature thrusts up with it either stinging wrath, or stinking wantonness, or drowsy sloth, or some other vices, which rob my plant of its desired flourishing. But these being first plucked up, the good wit produceth in its time the flower of vertue.

As it is never too soon to be good, so it is never too late to amend. I will therefore neither neglect the the present, nor despair of the time past. If I had been soon good, I might perhaps have been better: if I am longer bad, I shall I am sure be worse. That I have stayed long time idle in the market place, deserves reprehension; but if I am late sent in the vineyard, I have encourage to work-"I will give unto this last even as unto thee."

P. S. Before this sheet proceeded to press, it was perceived that WARWICK'S Spare-Minutes had been noticed in RESTITUTA, vol. ii. but it will be found, on comparison, that not any of the passages correspond; and may obtain excuse, from considering the growing difficulty of bearing all that has preceded in recollection.

1

Lawson's Orchet: wharin thou shall fynde most pleasaunt fruicte of all manner of sortes. That is to say -the true acte, fact, or deede of every Prince reininge in this lande, sens yt was first inhabett: with the yeares of thaire contynuaunce, and the varietie of the opinyons of the Historiographers. Newly gathered and augmented; contynuinge unto the Conquest.

THIS is the title to a metrical Chronicle in the Lansdowne collection of MSS. (N° 204) which contains the following memorandum, in the hand-writing of the famous Lord Burleigh. "A°. D'ni. 1581, et Regin. Elizab. 23. Tho Lawson feodary in ye County of Northub. sent me this booke." The title contains also an autograph of Carew Ralegh. The book itself is of considerable bulk, extending to 409 folios; comprising three volumes of " Englysshe and Frenche Cronycles." The first of these, in five books, runs on from Dioclesian to Constantine, and conveys a notice that it was finished on the 10th of Sept. 1572. The second volume, in three books, includes " the rule of all Brytonkyngs, at which tyme the Saxons and Angles beganne to reigne in Britain:" this was finished on the 4th of July, 1573. The third volume, in three books, extends from Cadwallader to the Conquest, and bears no date of the time of completion. Like most of our histories in verse, there is little if any that can be called poetry; but this is speaking more perhaps in favour of the author