sty
without it. He is taken with their miracles yet doubts an imposture; he
conceives of our doctrine better, yet it seems too empty and naked. He
prefers their charity, and commends our zeal, yet suspects that for
blindness, and this but humour. He sees rather what to fly than to follow,
and wishes there were no sides that he might take one. He will sometimes
propend to us upon the reading a good writer, and at Bellarmine recoils as
far back again; and the fathers justle him from one side to another. His
conscience interposes itself betwixt two duellers, and whilst it would
part both, is by both wounded. He hates authority as the tyrant of reason,
and you cannot anger him worse than with a Luther or Calvin's dixit, yet
that wise men are not persuaded with reason, shall authorize his doubt. In
sum, his whole life is a question, and his salvation a greater, wherein he
is so long a disputing, till death make the conclusion, and then he is
resolved."

[From Bliss's annotated copy of Earle's Microcosmography.]

A GALLANT.

P. 57. (_In the Bodleian, 2699, E. 21._) [This version is almost identical
with that in the Durham MS. till the last few sentences.] The variations
between the printed copy and Dr. Bright's MS. are so considerable, that
the latter text is here given entire. "A Gallant is a heavy loader of
himself, for he lays more upon his back than it is able to bear, and so at
last breaks it. His first care is his clothes, and the next his body, and
in the uniting of these two lyes his judgment. He is no singular man, for
he is altogether in the fashion, and his very look and beard are squared
to a figure conformable. His face and his boot are ruffled much alike, and
he takes great delight in his walk to hear his spurs gingle. Though his
life pass somewhat slidingly, yet he seems very carefull of the tyme, for
he is always drawing his watch out of his pocket, and spends part of his
hours in numbering them. His chiefest toil is how to spin out the day, and
get a match for cards or the bowl alley, and his worst companion is
himself, for then he is desperate and knows not what to do. The labour of
doing nothing had made him long since weary of his life, if tobacco and
drink did not out of charity employ him. He is furnished with jests, as
some wanderer with sermons, some three for all companies, and when these
are expired, his discourse survives in oaths and laughter. He addresses
himself to ladies with the wagging of