f to you as it
were in the form of LAZARUS, in order that seeing me in this chest, which
is no other than an emblem of the sepulchre wherein he had been buried,
you might be moved more effectually to the consideration of what
perishable things we are; and that seeing me stripped of all worldly
decorations, thus in my shirt, you may be convinced of the vanity of the
things of this world, the which, if only duly considered, may tend greatly
to the amending of our lives. Will you believe that since yesterday night
I have been a thousand times dead, and revived as LAZARUS was; and
considering my dreadful situation, remember (as it were with the memory of
a similar penance in your hearts) that we must all die, and trust to HIM
who can bestow upon us life eternal: but first ye must die to sin, to
avarice, to rapine, to lust, and all those sinful deeds to which our
nature prompts us.' In such language, and in such manner, did the friar
continue his sermon. The husband, astonished at the extraordinary presence
of mind which he displayed, laughed heartily at his success; and in
consideration of the adroitness of the culprit, did not attempt any
farther revenge; 'but,' it is added, 'he took very good care to shut his
door in future against all such double-faced hypocrites.' . . . READER,
what are you thinking of at this moment? 'Nothing.' Indeed! and so were
we, and of how much a clever man once said upon the subject; observe:
'Philosophers have declared they knew nothing, and it is common for us to
talk about doing nothing; for from ten to twenty we go to school to be
taught what from twenty to thirty we are very apt to forget; from thirty
to forty we begin to settle; from forty to fifty, we think away as fast as
we can; from fifty to sixty, we are very careful in our accounts; and from
sixty to seventy, we cast up what all our thinking comes to; and then,
what between our losses and our gains, our enjoyments and our inquietudes,
even with the addition of old age, we can but strike a balance of
ciphers.' Happy are they who amidst the variations of nothing have nothing
to fear; if they have nothing to lose, they have nothing to lament; and if
they have done nothing to be ashamed of, they have every thing to hope
for. . . . SENTENTIOUSNESS, let us inform 'S.' of Cambridge, and
antitheses, do not consist of short sentences and inversion of words
_merely_; and even the most felicitous examples in each case often
sacrifice the sound to