old age, will not surprise such a one in an unprepared state. He will not be confounded in the peril ous time; and in the days of dearth, he will have enough to strengthen, comfort, and support, him and his brethren.

Precious beyond rubies are the hours of youth and health! Let none of them pass unprofitably away: for surely they make to themselves wings; and they are as a bird cutting swiftly the air, and the trace of her can no more be found. If well-spent, they fly to Heaven with news that rejoices angels; and they meet us again, as witnesses for us, at the tribunal of our Lord. When the graces of time run into the glories of eternity, how trifling will the labour seem, that has, through grace, procured us everlasting rest: for which the apostles toiled night and day, and the martyrs "loved not their lives unto death!"

These, my dear

are my sentiments: would

to God that my practice were more conformable to them than it is, that I might be less unworthy to advise and exhort others! But, I trust, that the persuasion I have of the truth of what is said above, (which every day's experience more and more confirms,) will influence my conduct in this particular, and make me more watchful in time to come. In the mean season, I cannot forbear pressing the same upon you, as I should do with my dying breath; since upon the due proportioning and employing of our time, all our progress in grace and knowledge depends.

If there be any thing with regard to the choice or matter of your studies in which I can assist you, let me know, as you can have no doubt of my being, in all things, Most affectionately yours,

George Horne.

CHAPTER IV.

LETTERS OF ADMONITION AND EXPOS

TULATION.

LETTER I.

Sir William Temple to the countess of Essex.-On the excess of her grief oocasioned by the loss of her only daughter.

Sheen, Jan. 29, 1674.

The honour which I received by à letter from your ladyship, was too great not to be acknowledged; yet I doubted whether that occasion could bear me out in the confidence of giving your ladyship any furthes trouble. But I can no longer forbear, on account of the sensible wounds that have so often of late been given your friends here, by the desperate expressions in several of your letters, respecting your temper of mind, your health, and your life; in all which, you must allow them to be extremely concerned. Perhaps none can be, at heart, more partial than I am to whatever regards your ladyship, nor more inclined to defend you on this very occasion, how unjust and unkind soever you are to yourself. But when you throw away your health, or your life, so great a remainder of your own family, and so great hopes of that into which you are entered, and all by a desperate melancholy, upon an event past remedy, and to which all the mortal race is perpetually subject; give me leave to tell you, madam, that what you do is not at all consistent either with so good a Christian, or so reasonable and great a person,

as your ladyship appears to the world in all other lights.

I know no duty in religion more generally agreed on, nor more justly required by God Almighty, than a perfect submission to his will in all things; nor do I think any disposition of mind can either please him more, or become us better, than that of being satisfied with all he gives, and contented with all he takes away. None, I am sure, can be of more honour to God, nor of more ease to ourselves. For if we consider him as our Maker, we cannot contend with him; if as our Father, we ought not to distrust him: so that we may be confident, whatever he 'does, is intended for good; and whatever happens that we interpret otherwise, yet we can get nothing by repining, nor save any thing by resisting.

But if it were fit for us to reason with God Almighty, and your ladyship's loss were acknowledged as great as it could have been to any one; yet, I doubt, you would have but ill grace to complain at the rate you have done, or rather as you do: for the first emotions or passions, may be pardoned; it is only the continuance of them which makes them inexcusable. In this world, madam, there is nothing perfectly good; and whatever is called so, is but either comparatively with other things of its kind, or else with the evil that is mingled in its composition: so, he is a good man who is better than men commonly are, or in whom the good qualities are more than the bad; so, in the course of life, his condition is esteemed good, which is better than that of most other men, or in which the good circumstances are more than the evil. By this measure, I doubt, madam, your complaints ought to be turned into acknowledgments, and

1

your friends would have cause to rejoice, rather than to condole, with you. When your ladyship has fairly considered how God Almighty has dealt with you in what he has given, you may be left to judge yourself how you have dealt with him in your complaints for what he has taken away. If you look about you, and consider other lives as well as your own, and what your lot is, in comparison with those that have been drawn in the circle of your knowledge; if you think how few are born with honour, how many die without name or children, how little beauty we see, how few friends we hear of, how much poverty, and how many diseases, there are in the world; you will fall down upon your knees, and, instead of repining at one affliction, will admire so many blessings as you have received at the hand of God.

To put your ladyship in mind of what you are, and of the advantages which you have, would look like a design to flatter you. But this I may say, that we will pity you as much as you please, if you will tell us who they are whom you think, upon all circumstances, you have reason to envy. Now if I had a master who gave me all I could ask, but thought fit to take one thing from me again, either because I used it ill, or gave myself so much over to it, as to neglect what I owed to him, or to the world; or perhaps because he would show his power, and put me in mind from whom I held all the rest: would you think I had much reason to complain of hard usage, and never to remember any more what was left me, never to forget what was taken away?

It is true, you have lost a child, and all that could be lost in a child of that age: but you have kept one child, and you are likely to do so long; you have the assurance of another, and the hopes of many more. You have kept

a husband, great in employment, in fortune, and in the esteem of good men. You have kept your beauty and your health, unless you have destroyed them yourself, or discouraged them to stay with you by using them ill. You have friends who are as kind to you as you can wish, or as you can give them leave to be. You have honour and esteem from all who know you; or if ever

it fails in any degree, it is only upon that point of your seeming to be fallen out with God and the whole world, and neither to care for yourself, nor any thing else, after what you have lost.

You will say, perhaps, that one thing was all to you, and your fondness of it made you indifferent to every thing else. But this, I doubt, will be so far from justifying you, that it will prove to be your fault, as well as your misfortune. God Almighty gave you all the blessings of life; and you set your heart wholly upon one, and despise or undervalue all the rest: is this his fault or yours? nay, is it not to be very unthankful to Heaven, as well as very scornful to the rest of the world? is it not to say, because you have lost one thing God has given, you thank him for nothing he has left, and care not what he takes away? is it not to say, since that one thing is gone out of the world, there is nothing left in it which you think can deserve your kindness or esteem ? A friend makes me a feast, and places before me all that his care or kindness could provide: but I set my heart upon one dish alone, and, if that happens to be thrown down, I scorn all the rest; and though he sends for another of the same kind, yet I rise from the table in a rage, and say; "My friend is become my enemy, and he has done mé the greatest wrong in the world.” Have I reason, madam, or good grace, in what I do?

1