in themselves flowery and pleasing, and ending at the point originally in view. "To have great excellences and great faults, magnæ virtutes nec minora vitia, is the poesy," says our author, "of the best natures." This poesy may be properly applied to the style of Browne: it is vigorous, but rugged; it is learned, but pedantic; it is deep, but obscure; it strikes, but does not please; it commands, but does not allure: his tropes are harsh and his combinations uncouth. He fell into an age in which our language began to lose the stability which it had obtained in the time of Elizabeth; and was considered by every writer as a subject on which he might try his plastic skill, by moulding it according to his own fancy. Milton, in consequence of this encroaching licence, began to introduce the Latin idiom; and Browne, though he gave less disturbance to our structures in phraseology, yet poured in a multitude of exotic words; many, indeed, useful and significant, which, if rejected, must be supplied by circumlocution, such as commensality for the state of many living at the same table; but many superfluous, as a paralogical for an unreasonable doubt; and some so obscure, that they conceal his meaning rather than explain it, as arthritical analogies for parts that serve some animals in the place of joints. His style is, indeed, a tissue of many languages; a mixture of heterogeneous words, brought together from distant regions, with terms originally appropriated to one art, and drawn by violence into the service of another. He must however be confessed to have augmented our philosophical diction; and in defence of his uncommon words and expressions, we must consider, that he had uncommon sentiments, and was not content to express in many words that idea for which any language could supply a single term. But his innovations are sometimes pleasing, and his temerities happy; he has many verba ardentia, forcible expressions, which he would never have found, but by venturing to the utmost verge of propriety; and flights which would never have been reached, but by one who had very little fear of the shame of falling. There remains yet an objection against the writings of Browne, more formidable than the animadversions of criticism. There are passages from which some have taken occasion to rank him among deists, and others among atheists. It would be difficult to guess how any such conclusion should be formed, had not experience shown that there are two sorts of men willing to enlarge the catalogue of infidels. It has been long observed, that an atheist has no just reason for endeavouring conversions; and yet none harass those minds which they can influence, with more importunity of solicitation to adopt their opinions. In proportion as they doubt the truth of their own doctrines, they are desirous to gain the attestation of another understanding: and industriously labour to win a proselyte, and eagerly catch at the slightest pretence to dignify their sect with a celebrated name *. The others become friends to infidelity only by unskilful hostility; men of rigid orthodoxy, cautious conversation, and religious asperity. Among these, it is too frequently the practice, to make in their heat concessions to atheism, or deism, which their most confident advocates had never dared to claim or to hope. A sally of levity, an idle paradox, an indecent jest, an unseasonable objection, are sufficient, in the opinion of these men, to efface a name from the lists of Christianity, to exclude a soul from everlasting life. Such men are so watchful to censure, that they have seldom much care to look for favourable interpretations of ambiguities, to set the general tenour of life against single failures, or to know how soon any slip of inadvertency has been expiated by sorrow and retraction; but let fly their fulminations, without mercy or prudence, against slight offences or casual temerities, against crimes never committed, or immediately repented. The infidel knows well what he is doing. He is endeavouring to supply, by authority, the deficiency of his arguments; and to make his cause less invidious, by showing numbers on his side: he will, therefore, not change his conduct, till he reforms his principles. But the zealot should recollect, that he is labouring, by this frequency of excommunication, against his own cause; and voluntarily adding strength to the enemies of truth. It must always be the condition of a great part of mankind to reject and embrace tenets upon the authority of those whom they think wiser than themselves; and, therefore, the addition of every name to infidelity in some degree invalidates that argument upon which the religion of multitudes is necessarily founded. Men may differ from each other in many religious opinions, and yet all may Therefore no Heretics desire to spread And other men's assent their doubt assures. retain the essentials of Christianity; men disseminated, the fathers authorized, and may sometimes eagerly dispute, and yet the martyrs confirmed:" who, though not differ much from one another: the paradoxical in philosophy, loves in rigorous persecutors of error should, there- divinity to keep the beaten road; and fore, enlighten their zeal with knowledge, pleases himself that he has no taint of and temper their orthodoxy with charity; heresy, schism, or error:" to whom, that charity, without which orthodoxy is "where the Scripture is silent, the Church vain; charity that "thinketh no evil," is a text; where that speaks, 'tis but a but "hopeth all things," and " endureth comment;" and who uses not "the dic all things." tates of his own reason, but where there Whether Browne has been numbered is a joint silence of both: who blesses among the contemners of religion, by the himself, that he lived not in the days of fury of its friends, or the artifice of its miracles, when faith had been thrust upon enemies, it is no difficult task to replace him; but enjoys that greater blessing, him among the most zealous professors pronounced to all that believe and saw of Christianity. He may, perhaps, in not." He cannot surely be charged with the ardour of his imagination, have ha- a defect of faith, who "believes that our zarded an expression, which a mind in- Saviour was dead, and buried, and rose tent upon faults may interpret into heresy, again, and desires to see him in his glory:" if considered apart from the rest of his and who affirms, that "this is not much discourse; but a phrase is not to be op- to believe;" that "we have reason to posed to volumes: there is scarcely a owe this faith unto history;" and that writer to be found, whose profession was "they only had the advantage of a bold not divinity, that has so frequently tes- and noble faith, who lived before his tified his belief of the sacred writings, has coming; and upon obscure prophecies appealed to them with such unlimited and mystical types, could raise a belief." submission, or mentioned them with such Nor can contempt of the positive and ritual parts of religion be imputed to him, who doubts, whether a good man would refuse a poisoned eucharist; and "who would violate his own arm, rather than a church." unvaried reverence. It is indeed somewhat wonderful, that he should be placed without the pale of Christianity, who declares, that "he assumes the honourable style of a Christian," not because it is "the religion of his country," but because" having in his riper years and confirmed judgment seen and examined all, he finds himself obliged, by the principles of grace, and the law of his own reason, to embrace no other name but this :" who, to specify his persuasion yet more, tells us, that " he is of the Reformed religion; of the same belief our Saviour taught, the apostles The opinions of every man must be learned from himself: concerning his practice, it is safest to trust the evidence of others. Where these testimonies concur, no higher degree of historical certainty can be obtained; and they apparently concur to prove, that Browne was a zealous adherent to the faith of Christ, that he lived in obedience to his laws, and died in confidence of his mercy. ROGER ASCHAM was born in the year 1515, at Kirby Wiske (or Kirby Wicke), a village near Northallerton in Yorkshire, of a family above the vulgar. His father John Ascham was house-steward in the family of Scroop; and in that age, when the different orders of men were at a greater distance from each other, and the manners of gentlemen were regularly formed by menial services in great houses, lived with a very conspicuous reputation. Margaret Ascham, his wife, is said to have been allied to many considerable families, but her maiden name is not recorded. She had three sons, of whom Roger was the youngest, and some daughters; but who can hope, that of any progeny more than one shall deserve to be mentioned? They lived married sixtyseven years, and at last died together almost on the same hour of the same day. Roger having passed his first years under the care of his parents, was adopted into the family of Antony Wingfield, who maintained him, and committed his education, with that of his own sons, to the care of one Bond, a domestic tutor. He very early discovered an unusual fond ness for literature by an eager perusal of English books; and having passed happily through the scholastic rudiments, was put, in 1530, by his patron Wingfield, to St. John's college in Cambridge. Ascham entered Cambridge at a time when the last great revolution of the intellectual world was filling every academical mind with ardour or anxiety. The destruction of the Constantinopolitan empire had driven the Greeks with their language into the interior parts of Europe, the art of printing had made the books easily attainable, and Greek now began to be taught in England. The doctrines of Luther had already filled all the nations of the Romish communion with controversy and dissension. New studies of literature, and new tenets of religion, found employment for all who were desirous of truth, or ambitious of fame. Learning was at that time prosecuted with that eagerness and perseverance which in this age of indifference and dissipation it is not easy to conceive. To teach or to learn, was at once the business and the pleasure of the academical life; and an emulation of study was raised by Cheke and Smith, to which even the present age perhaps owes many advan- of Trent. Any cause is sufficient for a tages, without remembering or knowing its benefactors. Ascham soon resolved to unite himself to those who were enlarging the bounds of knowledge, and, immediately upon his admission into the college, applied himself to the study of Greek. Those who were zealous for the new learning, were often no great friends to the old religion; and Ascham, as he became a Grecian, became a Protestant. The Reformation was not yet begun, disaffection to Popery was considered as a crime justly punished by exclusion from favour and preferment, and was not yet openly professed, though superstition was gradually losing its hold upon the public. The study of Greek was reputable enough, and Ascham pursued it with diligence and success equally conspicuous. He thought a language might be most easily learned by teaching it; and when he had obtained some proficiency in Greek, read lectures, while he was yet a boy, to other boys, who were desirous of instruction. His industry was much encouraged by Pember, a man of great eminence at that time, though I know not that he has left any monuments behind him, but what the gratitude of his friends and scholars has bestowed. He was one of the great encouragers of Greek learning, and particularly applauded Ascham's lectures, assuring him in a letter, of which Graunt has preserved an extract, that he would gain more knowledge by explaining one of Æsop's fables to a boy, than by hearing one of Homer's poems explained by another. quarrel; and the zealots of the North and South lived long in such animosity, that it was thought necessary at Oxford to keep them quiet by choosing one proctor every year from each. He seems to have been hitherto supported by the bounty of Wingfield, which his attainment of a fellowship now freed him from the necessity of receiving. Dependence, though in those days it was more common, and less irksome, than in the present state of things, can never have been free from discontent; and therefore he that was released from it must always have rejoiced. The danger is, lest the joy of escaping from the patron may not leave sufficient memory of the benefactor. Of this forgetfulness Ascham cannot be accused; for he is recorded to have preserved the most grateful and affectionate reverence for Wingfield, and to have never grown weary of recounting his benefits. His reputation still increased, and many resorted to his chamber to hear the Greek writers explained. He was likewise eminent for other accomplishments. By the advice of Pember, he had learned to play on musical instruments, and he was one of the few who excelled in the mechanical art of writing, which then began to be cultivated among us, and in which we now surpass all other nations. He not only wrote his pages with neatness, but embellished them with elegant draughts and illuminations; an art at that time so highly valued, that it contributed much both to his fame and his fortune. He became master of arts in March, Ascham took his bachelor's degree in 1537, in his twenty-first year; and then, 1534, February 18, in the eighteenth year if not before, commenced tutor, and pubof his age; a time of life at which it is licly undertook the education of young more common now to enter the univer- men. A tutor of one-and-twenty, howsities than to take degrees, but which, ac- ever accomplished with learning, howcording to the modes of education then ever exalted by genius, would now gain in use, had nothing of remarkable pre-little reverence or obedience; but in maturity. On the 23d of March follow-those days of discipline and regularity, ing, he was chosen fellow of the college; the authority of the statutes easily supwhich election he considered as a secondplied that of the teacher; all power that birth. Dr. Metcalf, the master of the was lawful was reverenced. Besides, college, a man, as Ascham tells us, young tutors had still younger pupils. "meanly learned himself, but no mean Ascham is said to have courted his encourager of learning in others," clan-scholars to study by every incitement, destinely promoted his election, though to have treated them with great kindness, he openly seemed first to oppose it, and and to have taken care at once to instil afterwards to censure it, because Ascham learning and piety, to enlighten their was known to favour the new opinions; minds, and to form their manners. Many and the master himself was accused of of his scholars rose to great eminence; giving an unjust preference to the North- and among them William Grindal was ern men, one of the factions into which so much distinguished, that, by Cheke's this nation was divided, before we could recommendation, he was called to court find any more important reason of dis- as a proper master of languages for the sension, than that some were born on the lady Elizabeth. Northern and some on the Southern side There was yet no established lecturer of Greek; the university therefore appointed Ascham to read in the open schools, and paid him out of the public purse an honorary stipend, such as was then reckoned sufficiently liberal. A lecture was afterwards founded by King Henry, and he then quitted the schools, but continued to explain Greek authors in his own college. He was at first an opponent of the new pronunciation introduced, or rather of the ancient restored, about this time by Cheke and Smith, and made some cautious struggles for the common practice, which the credit and dignity of his antagonists did not permit him to defend very publicly, or with much vehemence: nor were they long his antagonists; for either his affection for their merit, or his conviction of the cogency of their arguments, soon changed his opinion and his practice, and he adhered ever after to their method of utterance. Of this controversy it is not necessary to give a circumstantial account; something of it may be found in Strype's Life of Smith, and something in Baker's Reflections upon Learning; it is sufficient to remark here, that Cheke's pronunciation was that which now prevails in the schools of England. Disquisitions not only verbal, but merely literal, are too minute for popular narration. He was not less eminent as a writer of Latin, than as a teacher of Greek. All the public letters of the university were of his composition; and as little qualifications must often bring great abilities into notice, he was recommended to this honourable employment not less by the neatness of his hand, than the elegance of his style. ample of diction more natural and more truly English than was used by the common writers of that age, whom he censures for mingling exotic terms with their native language, and of whom he complains, that they were made authors, not by skill or education, but by arrogance and temerity. He has not failed in either of his purposes. He has sufficiently vindicated archery as an innocent, salutary, useful, and liberal diversion; and if his precepts are of no great use, he has only shown, by one example among many, how little the hand can derive from the mind, how little intelligence can conduce to dexterity. In every art practice is much; in arts manual, practice is almost the whole. Precept can at most but warn against error, it can never bestow excellence. The bow has been so long disused, that most English readers have forgotten its importance, though it was the weapon by which we gained the battle of Agincourt, a weapon which, when handled by English yeomen, no foreign troops were able to resist. We were not only abler of body than the French, and therefore superior in the use of arms, which are forcible only in proportion to the strength with which they are handled, but the national practice of shooting for pleasure or for prizes, by which every man was inured to archery from his infancy, gave us insuperable advantage, the bow requiring more practice to skilful use than any other instrument of offence. Fire-arms were then in their infancy; and though battering-pieces had been some time in use, I know not whether However great was his learning, he any soldiers were armed with hand-guns was not always immured in his chamber; when the Toxophilus was first published. but, being valetudinary, and weak of They were soon after used by the Spanish body, thought it necessary to spend many troops, whom other nations made haste hours in such exercises as might best re-to imitate: but how little they could yet lieve him after the fatigue of study. His favourite amusement was archery, in which he spent, or in the opinion of others, lost so much time, that those whom either his faults or virtues made his enemies, and perhaps some whose kindness wished him always worthily employed, did not scruple to censure his practice, as unsuitable to a man professing learning, and perhaps of bad example in a place of education. To free himself from this censure was one of the reasons for which he published, in 1544, his Toxophilus, or the Schole or Partitions of Shooting,' in which he joins the praise with the precepts of archery. He designed not only to teach the art of shooting, but to give an ex effect, will be understood from the account given by the ingenious author of the "Exercise for the Norfolk Militia." "The first muskets were very heavy, and could not be fired without a rest; they had match-locks, and barrels of a wide bore, that carried a large ball and charge of powder, and did execution at a greater distance. "The musketeers on a march carried only their rests and ammunition, and had boys to bear their muskets after them, for which they were allowed great additional pay. "They were very slow in loading, not only by reason of the unwieldiness of the pieces, and because they carried the powK K |