WHEN Sir Francis Walsingham, a Secretary of State in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, arrived at old age, he withdrew to the country to spend his closing days in retirement. Some of his former gay companions came one day to pay him a visit, and rallied him on being melancholy.
His answer deserved serious consideration:
“No, I am not melancholy, hut I am serious; and it is very proper that we should be so.
Ah, my friends, while we laugh, everything is serious about us. God is serious, who exercises patience towards us. Christ is serious, who shed His atoning blood for us. The Holy Ghost is serious in striving against the obstinacy of our hearts. The Holy Scriptures are serious books; they present to our thoughts the most serious concerns in all the world....
The whole creation is serious. All in heaven are serious. All in hell are serious. How then can we be gay and trifling?”
On another occasion, when writing to his friend, Lord Burleigh, he remarked, “We have lived long enough to our country, to our fortunes, and to our sovereign; it is high time that we begin to live to ourselves and to God.”