Christian, and a perfect heretic, but that
there are so many to distract him, whose
learning is too much for his brain, and his
judgment too little for his learning, and his
over opinion of both spoils all,—who puts his
foot into heresies tenderly, as a cat into water,
and pulls it out again, and still something
unanswered delays him: and the sordid rich man
who will redeem a penny with his reputation,
and lose all his friends to boot, and
his reason is, he will not be undone:—these
are all photographs from life, portraits from
which any observant man, at any period,
could discover or recal originals. Bishop
Earle did not recognise, or did not care to
describe, much that is good in his fellow-
creatures; except the divine, a stayed man
is his only picture of active, working excellence;
and the stayed man is, at best, a piece
of very formal and dull respectability—a
shrewd Quaker of the present day, with a
balance at his banker's, and with a little
laxity about the second person plural, would
almost realise him. Vice and folly would
appear to have made themselves more prominent
in the world, in sixteen hundred and
twenty-eight, than they do now-a-days; the
one being less exposed to shame, the other
less kept in bounds by custom. The later
character books tell much the same tale; but
they tell it, too often, in language that is not
suited for quotation, being written by wittie
gentlemen whose thoughts were not under
the restraint of orders, and whose words and
phrases reflect, too truly, the customs they
describe. But there is one sketch from the
pen of an unknown author, which proves at
once the antiquity and the permanence of the
chief element in English society, the chief
cause of English greatness. We will
conclude this paper by quoting it at length,
leaving it to express the estimation in which,
two hundred and thirty years ago, our
forefathers held the original that is described.
To that description we can add nothing;
except the wish that its subject may become,
for all our readers, a veritable household
word.

A GOOD WIFE

Is a world of happiness, that brings with it a kingdom
in conceit, and makes a perfect adjunct in
societie; shee's such a comfort as exceeds content, and
proues so precious as canot be paralleld, yea more
inestimable than may be valued. Shee's any good
man's better second selfe, the very mirror of true
constant modesty, the carefull huswife of frugalitie, and
dearest object of man's heart's felicitie. She
commands with mildnesse, rules with discretion, lives in
repute, and ordereth all things that are good or necessarie. Shee's her husband's solace, her house's
ornament, her children's succor, and her servant's comfort.
Shee's (to be briefe) the eye of warinesse, the tongue
of silence, the hand of labour, and the heart of loue.
Her voice is musicke, her countenance meeknesse;
her mind vertuous, and her soule gratious. Shee's a
blessing giuen from God to man, a sweet companion
in his affliction, and ioynt co-partner upon all
occasions. Shee's (to conclude) earth's chiefest paragon,
and will bee, when she dyes, heaven's dearest
creature.

GOOD-WILL.

I LIVE in a free country; I cannot be pressed
into the Queen's service; I cannot be kept in
prison more than twenty-four hours without
a preliminary trial; I am not the born thrall
of any Cedric the Saxon; I cannot be sold
into slavery. Rule Britannia, Magna Charta,
Habeas Corpus, and the Bill of Rights.

So much for my public liberty; but how
about my private freedom of action?

Between me and my country, the balance
is pretty fairly struck. I pay my taxes, and
I enjoy my privileges; but between me and
a certain class of my fellow-creatures, called
my neighbours, there is a long account to
settle, in which I stand, not as a debtor, but
as a creditor. While I sit ruminating in the
learned seclusion of my study, while I sit
masticating in the social communion of my
dining-room, while I lounge in the elegant
luxuriance of my drawing-room, or slumber
in the comfortable silence of my bed-chamber,
I am bought and sold; my wants, my fancies,
my ailings, and weaknesses, are weighed, and
measured, and hawked about the town to
find a purchaser. I am not even the miserable
shadow of a free agent. I live at South
Poodleton. I am parcelled out amongst a
baker, a tailor, a bootmaker, a butcher, a
publican, a doctor, a greengrocer, a
fishmonger, and a sweep. If there were but
two of each, as we explained in a former
number of this Journal,* I would not
complain, as that would secure me something
like competition; but my elegant and
salubrious suburb, under a scarcity of building
ground and peculiar leases, restricting the
landlords as to what trading tenants they
shall accept, is given up to the tender
mercies of these small individual monopolists,
and I am bound hand and foot with it. I
see an "eligible business at South Poodleton,
with good-will," &c. advertised in the
columns of the leading organ, and I feel a cold
chill run through my frame, as if I was a
South Carolina slave reading an account of
his good qualities in a local newspaper: I
am part of that good-will, myself and my
family. Our capacity for consuming food is
calculated to a loaf, a herring, a mutton-chop,
a pint of beer, a cabbage, even to a single
potato. My requirements in the way of
garments, made or repaired, are put upon
paper, and made the basis of a selfish
calculation. My sweep looks upon my chimneys
as his property, not mine, and gets sullen and
discontented if he is not called in with periodical
regularity. On one occasion, when a
stupid cook tilted a pan of dripping on the
fire, and set the whole flue in a blaze, this
black and heartless scoundrel was heard to