a great encourager of learning, and his tutor, Mr Hugh Fitzherbert, had not only much knowledge, but also a moit graceful and infinuating method of transfusing it into his pupils, amongst whom were very many, who, in process of time, became the greatest and the brightest men of the age. No wonder then, that to a genius naturally prone to learning Mr. Afcham added a fpirit of emulation, which induced him to study fo hard, that, while a perfect boy, he made a prodigious progress in polite learning, and became diftinguished, even amongit the most eminent wits in the University. He took his first degree of Bachelor of Arts in Feb 1534, when he was but eighteen years of age; and in March following was elected Fellow of his col lege by the interest of the master; though Mr. Afcham's propenfity to the Reformed Religion had put Dr. Medcalf to no small trouble, in carrying his good intention into act, as himself tells us. These honours ferved only to excite him to still greater vigilance in his studies, particularly in that of the Greek tongue, wherein he attained a peculiar excellence, and read therein, both publicly and privately, with univerfal applaufe. At the Commencement held in 1536, he was inaugurated Master of Arts, being then 21 years old. By this time many of bis pupils came to be taken notice of for their extraordinary proficiency, informuch that William Grindał, who was one of them, at the recommendation of Mr. Afcham, was made choice of by Sir John Cheke to be Tutor to the Lady Elizabeth. One may juftly wonder, that he did not accept at this time of fo great an honour himself: but it feems he was so delighted with an academical life, that he was not very defirous of changing it for one at Court. His affection for his friends, tho' It filled him with a deep concern for their interesls, and a tender regard for their perfons, yet could not induce him to give up his undertanding, especially in points of learning. For this reason he did not go immediately into the new pronunciation of the Greek, which his intimate friend, Sir John Cheke, laboured, by his authority to introduce throughout the University; yet when he had thoroughly examined, he came over to his opinion, and defended the new pronunciation with that zeal and viva. city which gave a peculiar liveliness to all his writings. In July 1542, he fupplicared the Univerfity of Oxford to be incorporated Master of Arts, but whether he was or was not incorporated, does not ap : pear by the register. To divert him after the fatigue of feverer studies, he practifed archery: which innocent amusement drew upon him the cenfure of some envious perfons. Whereupon he fet himself to thew the expediency of fuch fort of divertisements in general, and the innocency and usefulness of shooting with the long bow in particular, in a small treatise, intitled Toxophilus; which book he published in 1544, and dedicated it to King Henry VIII, then about to undertake his expedi tion against Boulogne. This work was very kindly received, and the King, at the recommendation of Sir William Paget, was pleafed to fettle a small pension upon him, which, after that Prince's death, was for fome time discontinued; but at length restored to him, during pleasure, by Edw. VI, and confirmed by Queen Mary, with an addition of ten pounds per annum. Among other accomplishments, he was remarkable for writing a very fine hand, for which reason he was made use of to teach that art to Prince Edward, the Lady Elizabeth, the two brothers Henry and Charles, Dukes of Suffolk, and several other perfons of distinction; and for many years wrote all the letters of the University to the King, and to the great men at Court. The fame year that he published his book he was chofen University Orator, in the room of Mr. John Cheke, an office which fuited him extremely well, as gratifying his strong paffion for an academical life, and affording him frequent opportunities of difplaying his fuperior eloquence in the Latin and Greek tongues. In 1548, on the death of his pupil, Mr. Grindal, he was fent for to Court, in order to instruct the Lady Elizabeth in the knowledge of the learned languages, which duty he dif charged for two years, with great reputation to himself, and with much fatisfaction to that illuftrious person. For fome time he enjoyed as great comfort and content at Court as he had done at college: but at length, on account of some ill-judged and ill founded whispers, Mr. Afcham took fuch a diftafte at fome in the Lady Eliza beth's family, that he left her a little abruptly, which he afterwards heartily repented, and took great and not unfucceffful pains, to get himself restored to her good graces. On his returning to the University, he refumed his studies, and the discharge of his office of public Orator, his circumstances being at this time pretty ealy, by reason of confiderable allistances from lovers of learning, and a finall penfion allowed him by King Edward. In the the fummer of 1550, he went into Yorkmire to vifit his family and relations, from whence he was recalled to Court, in order to attend Sir Richard Moryfine, who was then going Ambaffador to the Emperor Charles V. In his journey to London, he went to visit the Lady Jane Gray, at her father's house at Broadgate, in Leicestershire, with whom he had been well acquainted at Court, and for whom he had already a very high esteem. The family were hunting; and Mr. Afcham going to wait on the young Lady, furprised her reading the Phædon of Plato. This naturally led him to inquire, how a Lady of her age, for the could not be then above 14, arrived at fuch a perfection both in philofophy and the Greek tongue? To which the answered thus, as Mr. Afcham himself informs us: 'I will tell you, quoth she, and tell you truth, which, perchance, you will marvel at. One of the greatest benefits which ever God gave me, is that he sent so sharp and fevere parents, and so gentle a schoolmatter. For when I am in prefence either of father or mother, whether I speak, keep filence, fit, stand, or go; eat, drink, be merry, or fad; be fewing, playing, dancing, or doing any thing else; I must do it, as it were, in such weight, meafure, and number, and even so perfectly, as God made the world, or elfe I am so sharply taunted, so cruelly threatened, yea, prefently fometimes with pinches, nips, and bobs (or other ways, which I will not name, for the honour I bear them), so without measure mifordered, that I think myself in Hell, till time come, that I must go to Mr. Aylmer, who teacheth me so gently, so pleasantly, with fair allurements to learning, that I think all the time nothing while I am with him; and when I am called from him, I fall a weeping, because whatsoever I do else but learning is full of grief, trouble, fear, and wholly mifliking unto me; and this my book hath been so much my pleasure, and bringeth daily to me more pleasure, and more yet, in refpcét to it, all other pleafures, in very deed, be but trifles and troubles unto me. So much was Mr. Afcham affected with this interview, that, in a let ter to Lady Jane, dated the 18th of January, 1551, he fpeaks of it in rapture, and by a beautiful apoftrophe, addrefling him felf to Mr. Ayliner, felicitates Lim on his having to ingenious a scholar, in a ffrain of compliment which he says the great Sturmius made use of to him, speaking of his happiness, in having the Lady Elizabeth for his pupil. In this letter it is, that he defires Mr. Aylmer, to whom he forefaw it would be thewn, to engage the Lady Jane to write a letter in Greek to himself. and another to Sturmius, and alfo defires they might continue to live in the fame learned friendship and intercourse, which they had hitherto done. In September following, he embarked with the before-mentioned Ambaffador for Germany, where he remained three years; during which space he thought it became him to make politics fome part of his Rudy, and fucceeded perfectly well, as appears from a short but very curious trast which he wrote, concerning Germany, and of the affairs of Charles V. He was also of great use to the Ambaffador, as well in the management of his public concerns, as in being the companion of his private studies, which were for the most part in the Greek language, three days in a week: the other three he copied the letters which the Ambaffador fent to England. While he was thus employed, his friends in England procured for him the polt of Latin Secretary to King Edward, for which he was in a particular manner obliged to the kind intercession of Sir William Cecil, Secretary of State. But whatever fatisfaction refulted to him from hence, he did not enjoy it long, being recalled on account of the King's death, whercby, for the prefent, he loft all his places, together with his pension, and, which was wone, all expectation of obtaining any farther favours at Court. In this fad fituation he was at first in a manner hopeless, and therefore retired to the University, merely to indulge his melancholy. But the profpect quickly became more promifing. His friend the Lord Paget mentioned him to Stephen Gardiner Bishop of Winchester, Lond High-chancellor, who very fiankly re. ceived him into his favour, notwithitanding Mr. Afcham remained fium to his religion, which was fo far from being a fecret to the Bithop, that he had many malicious informations given him on that head, which however he treated with centempt, and abated nothing in his friendship to our Author on that account. He in the first place procured him the re-establishment of his penfion, which contitled of but ten pounds a-year, and got it doubled: he fixed him in the pott of Latin Secretary to the King and Queen, and kept him in the Fellowship of St. John's, and in his place of Orator to the Unverfey, to Midfummer 1554. He was likewite well known to, and in great credit with, Car Cardinal Pole, who, though he wrote elegantly in the Latin tongue, yet would fometimes make use of Mr. Ascham's pen; and particularly in tranflating his speech to the Parliament, which he made as the Pope's Legate. In June 1554, he married Mrs. Margaret Howe, a Lady of a good family and fortune, of whom he himself gives an excellent character, in one of his letters to his friend Sturmius. His favour with Queen Mary's Minifters lasted as long as they were in power, and he was even so happy as to enjoy the countenance of the Queen herself, who conversed with him often, and was much pleased with his company. On her death, however, he was so far from lofing any of his preferments, that, on the contrary having been previously reconciled to the Lady Elifabeth, he was immediately diftinguished by her, on her acceffion to the Throne. Thenceforward to the day of his death, he was always constant at Court, very fully employed in the difcharge of his two great offices, the one of Secretary for the Latin tongue, and the other of Tutor to her Majesty in the learned languages, wherein he read fome hours with her every day. This interest of his at Court would have procured a man of a more active temper many confiderable advantages: but fuch was either Mr. Ascham's indolence, or disinterestedness, that he never asked her Majesty any thing, either for himself or his family, though he received several benefactions without asking; particularly the Prebend of West. wang in the church of York, in 1559, which he held to his death. Yet how cold foever he was in regard to his own affairs, he was very far from being negligent in those of his friends for whom he was ready to do any good office in his power, and in nothing readier than in parting with his money, though he never had much to fpare. He was always in company with the greatest men of the Court; and having once in converfation heard the belt method of educating youth debated with some heat, he from thence took occafion, at the request of Sir Richard Sackville, to write his Schoolmaster, which he lived to finish, but not to publish. His application to study rendered him infirm throughout his whole life, and at last he grew so weak, that he was unable to read in the evenings or at night; to make amends for which he rose very early in the morning. The year before his death he was seized with a hectic, which brought him very low; and then, contrary to his former custom, relapfing into night-studies, in order to compleat a Latin Poem with which he designed to present the Queen on the new year, he, on December 23, 1568, was attacked by an aguish distemper, and expired on the 30th of the fame month. He was interred according to his own directions, in the moft private manner, in St. Sepulchre's church, his funeral fermon being preached by Dr. Nowell. He was univerfally lamented, and even by the Queen een herself. racter is very well drawn by Buchanan in the following short epigram, which he confecrated to the memory of his friend; Aschamum extinctum patriæ, Graiæque Camæne His cha Et Latiæ vera cum pietate dolent. Principibus vixit carus, jucundus amicis, Re modica, in mores dicere fama nequit. With thine, the Greek and Latin Muses join, Britain! to lament at Afcham's shrine. To Princes dear, delightful to his friends, He liv'd on little, yet to mighty ends. His only failing was too great a propenfity to dice and cock-fighting, which the learned Bithop Nicolfon would perfuade us to be an ill grounded calumny; but as it is mentioned by Camden, as well as some other cotemporary writers, we dare not omit ir. Certain it is, that he died in very indifferent circumstances, as may appear from these two instances. First, the address of his widow to Sir William Cecil, in her dedication of his Schoolmaster, wherein she says expressly, that Mr. Afcham left her a poor widow with * It has been questioned whether Ascham was really addicted to Cook-fighting: but the following paffage in his Schoolmaster seems to be a fufficient evidence of his attachment to that diverfion: Of all kinds of paftimes, fit for a Gentleman, I will, God willing, in fitter place more at large declare fully, in my 'Book of the Cockpit,' which I do write to fatisfy fome, I trust with some reason, that be more curious in marking other men's doings, than careful in mending their own faults.' It cannot reafonably be supposed, that Afcham would have thought of writing on this fubject, if he ha I not been addicted to Cock-fighting; and it is, perhaps, a circumstance favourable to his memory, that he did not execute his intended work. many ! 1 many orphans, and this only to comfort took him under his protection, by whole interest he was commended to a scholarship of St. John's, and afterwards, by the Queen's Mandate, to a Fellowship of Trinity college in Cambridge, and was celebrated, as well as his father, for his admirable Latin style in Epistolary writeings. If literary performances were always fought after in proportion to their merit, there can be no doubt, but the Works of Afcham would have paffed through more editions than they have done. They have, however, been defervedly held in great estimation by the truly learned,; and an Upton and a Johnfon have been laudably employed in doing justice to his memory, and extending his reputation. OCCASIONAL LETTERS, LETTER XCV. W On Indifference in RELIGION. THATEVER abfurdities may arife from the fancied ardors of enthusiasm, they are much less pernicious to the mind than the contrary extreme of coldness and indifference in religion. The spirit of chivalry, though it led to many romantic enterprises, was nevertheless favourable to true courage, as it excited and nourished magnaniinity and contempt of danger; which, though fometimes wasled in abfurd undertakings, were of the greatest use on real and proper occafions. The noblest energies of which we are capable, can scarcely be called out without fome degree of enthusiasm, in whatever cause we are engaged; and those sertiments, which tend to the exaltation of human nature, though they may often excite attempts beyond the human powers, will, however, prevent our stopping short of them, and Joting, by careless indolence and felf. desertion, the greatest part of that strength with which we really are endued. How common is it for those who profefs (and perhaps fincerely) to believe with entire perfuafion the truth of the Gospel, to declare that they do not pretend to frame their lives according to the purity pur of its moral precepts! I hope, fay they, • I am guilty of no great crimes, but the customs of the world in these times will not admit of a conduct agreeable either to reason or revelation. I know the course of life I am in is wrong; I know that I am engrossed by the world that I have no time for reflection, nor for the practice of many duties which I acknowledge to be fach. But I know not how it is-I do not find that I can alter my manner of living. Thus they coolly and contentedly give themselves up to a conftant confe of diffipation, and a general worthlesiness of character, which, I fear, is as little favourable to their happiness here or hereafter, as the occafional commiflion of crimes at which they would start and tremble. The habitual neglect of all that is most valuable and important, of children, friends, fervants-of neighbours and dependents of the poor- of God-and of their own minds, they confider as an excufable levity, and fatisfy themselves with laying the blame on the manners of the times. If a modern lady of fashion was to be called to account for the difpofition of her time, I imagine her defence would run in this style: 'I can't, you know, be out of the world, nor act differently from every body in it. The hours are everywhere late-confequently I rise late. -I have scarce breakfasted before morning vitits begin or it is time to go to an auction, or a concert-or to take a little exercise for my health. Dreffing my hair is a long operation--but one can't appear with a head unlike every body else. One muit fometimes go to a play, or an opera; though I own it hurries one to death. Then, what with neceffary vifits--the perpetual engagements to card-parties at pri vate houses and attendance on the public affemblies, to which all people of fashion fubfcribe, the evenings, you fee, are fully difpofed of. What time then can I poffibly have for what you call domestic duties? - You talk of the offices and enjoy. joyments of friendship-alas! I have no hours left for friends! I must see them in a croud, or not at all. As to cultivating the friendship of my husband, we are very civil when we meet; but we are both too much engaged to spend much time with each other. With regard to my daughters, I have given them a French governess and proper masters-I can do no more for them. You tell me I should instruct my fervants-but I have not time to inform myself, much less can I undertake any thing of that fort for them, or even be able to guess what they do with themselves the greatest part of the twentyfour hours. I go to church, if possible, once on a Sunday, and then some of my fervants attend me; and, if they will not mind what the picacher fays, how can I help it? The management of our fortune, as far as I am concerned, I must leave to the steward and housekeeper; for I find I can barely fsnatch a quarter of an hour juft to look over the bill of fare when I am to have company, that they may not fend up any thing frightful or old-fashioned. As to the Chriftian duty of charity, I affure you I am not ill-natured; and (confidering that the great expence of being always dressed for company, with loffes at cards, fubfcriptions, and public spectacles, leave me very little to dispose of) I am ready enough to give my money when I meet with a miferable object. You fay, I should inquire out fuch, inform myself thoroughly of their cafes, make an acquaintance with the poor of my neighbourhood in the country, and plan out the best method of relieving the unfortunate, and aflifting the industrious. But this supposes much more time, and much more money, than I have to bestow. I have had hopes indeed that my fummers would have afforded me more leifure; but we Ray pretty late in town; then we generally pass several weeks at one or other of the water-drinking places, where every moment is spent in public; and, for the few months in which we refide at our own feat, our house is always fuil, with a fucceffion of company, to whose amusement one is obliged to dedicate every hour of the day. So here ends the account of that time which was given you to prepare and educate your felf for eternity?-yet you believe the immortality of the foul, and a future state of rewards and punithments. Afk your own heart what reward's you deferveor what kind of felicity you are fitted to enjoy? Which of those faculties or affections, line, by the energies which heaven can be supposed to gratify, have you cultivated and improved? It, in that eternal world, the ftores of knowledge should be laid open before you, have you preferved that thirst of knowledge, or that tafte for truth, which is now to be indulged with endless information? If, in the fociety of faints and angels, the pureft benevolence and mott cordial love is to conftitute your happiness, where is the heart that should enjoy this delightful intercourse of affection? Has yours been exercised and refined to a preper capacity of it during your ftate of difcipline, by of generous friendship, by the meltings of parental fondnets, or by that union of heart and foul, that mixed exertion of perfect friendship and ineffable tenderness, which approaches nearest to the full fatisfaction of our nature, in the bands of conjugal love? Alas! you scarce knew you had a heart, except when you felt it swell with pride, or flutter with vanity. Has your piety and gratitude to the source of all good been exercised and strengthened by conftant acts of praise and thanksgiving? Was it nourished by frequent meditation, and filent recollection of all the wonders he hath done for us, till it burst forth in fervent prayer? I fear it was rather decency than devotion that carried you once a week to the place of public worship-and, for the rest of the week, your thoughts and time were fo differently filled np, that the idea of a Ruler of the universe could occur but feldom, and then, rather as an object of terror than of hope and joy. How then shall a foul, so dead to divine love, fo lost to all but the most childish purfuits, be able to exalt and enlarge ittelf to a capacity of bliss which we are allowed to hope for, in a more intimate perception of the divine presence, in contemplating more nearly the perfections of our Creator, and in pouring out before his throne our ardent gratitude, love, and adoration? What kind of training is the life you have pafled through for fuch an immortality? And dare you look down with contempt on those whom strong temptation from natural paffions, or a train of unfortunate circumftances, have funk into the commiffion of what you call great crimes ? Dare you speak peace to your own heart, becaute by different circumstances you have been preserved from them? Far be it from me to with to leffen the horror of crimes; but yet, as the temptations to these occur but feldem, whereas the temptations to negleft, and indifference towards our duty, for 1 1 |