of the young. To no purpose are they endowed with the best abilities, if
they want activity for exerting them. Unavailing, in this case, will be
every direction that can be given them, either for their temporal or
spiritual welfare. In youth the habits of industry are most easily
acquired; in youth the incentives to it are strong, from ambition and
from duty, from emulation and hope, from all the prospects which the
beginning of life affords. If, dead to these calls, you already languish
in slothful inaction, what will be able to quicken the more sluggish
current of advancing years? Industry is not only the instrument of
improvement, but the foundation of pleasure. Nothing is so opposite to
the true enjoyment of life as the relaxed and feeble state of an
indolent mind. He who is a stranger to industry, may possess, but he
cannot enjoy. For it is labour only which gives the relish to pleasure.
It is the appointed vehicle of every good man. It is the indispensable
condition of our possessing a sound mind in a sound body. Sloth is so
inconsistent with both, that it is hard to determine whether it be a
greater foe to virtue or to health and happiness. Inactive as it is in
itself, its effects are fatally powerful. Though it appear a
slowly-flowing stream, yet it undermines all that is stable and
flourishing. It not only saps the foundation of every virtue, but pours
upon you a deluge of crimes and evils.
It is like water which first putrefies by stagnation, and then sends up
noxious vapours and fills the atmosphere with death. Fly, therefore,
from idleness, as the certain parent both of guilt and of ruin. And
under idleness I include, not mere inaction only, but all that circle of
trifling occupations in which too many saunter away their youth;
perpetually engaged in frivolous society or public amusements, in the
labours of dress or the ostentation of their persons. Is this the
foundation which you lay for future usefulness and esteem? By such
accomplishments do you hope to recommend yourselves to the thinking part
of the world, and to answer the expectations of your friends and your
country? Amusements youth requires: it were vain, it were cruel, to
prohibit them. But, though allowable as the relaxation, they are most
culpable as the business, of the young, for they then become the gulf of
time and the poison of the mind; they weaken the manly powers; they sink
the native vigour of youth into contemptible effeminacy.
BLAIR.
* * * * *
THE RIVER JORDAN.
[Illustration]
The river Jordan rises in the mountains of Lebanon, and falls into the
little Lake Merom, on the banks of which Joshua describes the hostile
Kings as pitching to fight against Israel. After passing through this
lake, it runs down a rocky valley with great noise and rapidity to the
Lake of Tiberias. In this part of its course the stream is almost
hidden by shady trees, which grow on each side. As the river approaches
the Lake of Tiberias it widens, and passes through it with a current
that may be clearly seen during a great part of its course. It then
reaches a valley, which is the lowest ground in the whole of Syria, many
hundred feet below the level of the Mediterranean Sea. It is so well
sheltered by the high land on both sides, that the heat thus produced
and the moisture of the river make the spot very rich and fertile. This
lovely plain is five or six miles across in parts, but widens as it
nears the Dead Sea, whose waters cover the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah,
destroyed for the wickedness of their inhabitants.
* * * * *
ON JORDAN'S BANKS.
On Jordan's banks the Arab camels stray,
On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray--
The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep;
Yet there--even there--O God! thy thunders sleep:
There, where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone;
There, where thy shadow to thy people shone--
Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire
(Thyself none living see and not expire).
Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear--
Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear!
How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod?
How long thy temple worshipless, O God!
BYRON.
* * * * *
FORTITUDE.
Without some degree of fortitude there can be no happiness, because,
amidst the thousand uncertainties of life, there can be no enjoyment of
tranquillity. The man of feeble and timorous spirit lives under
perpetual alarms. He sees every distant danger and tremble; he explores
the regions of possibility to discover the dangers that may arise: often
he creates imaginary ones; always magnifies those that are real. Hence,
like a person haunted by spectres, he loses the free enjoyment even of a
safe and prosperous state, and on the first shock of adversity he
desponds. Instead of exerting himself to lay hold on the resources that
remain, he gives up all for lost, and resigns himself to abject and
broken spirits. On the other hand, firmness of mind is the parent of
tranquillity. It enables one to enjoy the present without disturbance,
and to look calmly on dangers that approach or evils that threaten in
future. Look into the heart of this man, and you will find composure,
cheerfulness, and magnanimity; look into the heart of the other, and you
will see nothing but confusion, anxiety, and trepidation. The one is a
castle built on a rock, which defies the attacks of surrounding waters;
the other is a hut placed on the shore, which every wind shakes and
every wave overflows.
BLAIR.
* * * * *
THE IVY IN THE DUNGEON.
[Illustration: Letters "The".]
The Ivy in a dungeon grew
Unfed by rain, uncheer'd by dew;
Its pallid leaflets only drank
Cave-moistures foul, and odours dank.
But through the dungeon-grating high
There fell a sunbeam from the sky:
It slept upon the grateful floor
In silent gladness evermore.
The ivy felt a tremor shoot
Through all its fibres to the root;
It felt the light, it saw the ray,
It strove to issue into day.
It grew, it crept, it push'd, it clomb--
Long had the darkness been its home;
But well it knew, though veil'd in night,
The goodness and the joy of light.
Its clinging roots grew deep and strong;
Its stem expanded firm and long;
And in the currents of the air
Its tender branches flourish'd fair.
It reach'd the beam--it thrill'd, it curl'd,
It bless'd the warmth that cheers the world;
It rose towards the dungeon bars--
It look'd upon the sun and stars.
It felt the life of bursting spring,
It heard the happy sky-lark sing.
It caught the breath of morns and eves,
And woo'd the swallow to its leaves.
By rains, and dews, and sunshine fed,
Over the outer wall it spread;
And in the daybeam waving free,
It grew into a steadfast tree.
Upon that solitary place
Its verdure threw adorning grace.
The mating birds became its guests,
And sang its praises from their nests.
Wouldst know the moral of the rhyme?
Behold the heavenly light, and climb!
Look up, O tenant of the cell,
Where man, the prisoner, must dwell.
To every dungeon comes a ray
Of God's interminable day.
On every heart a sunbeam falls
To cheer its lonely prison walls.
The ray is TRUTH. Oh, soul, aspire
To bask in its celestial fire;
So shalt thou quit the glooms of clay,
So shaft thou flourish into day.
So shalt thou reach the dungeon grate,
No longer dark and desolate;
And look around thee, and above,
Upon a world of light and love.
MACKAY.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
THE NESTS OF BIRDS.
[Illustration: Letter H.]
How curious is the structure of the nest of the goldfinch or chaffinch!
The inside of it is lined with cotton and fine silken threads; and the
outside cannot be sufficiently admired, though it is composed only of
various species of fine moss. The colour of these mosses, resembling
that of the bark of the tree on which the nest is built, proves that the
bird intended it should not be easily discovered. In some nests, hair,
wool, and rushes are dexterously interwoven. In some, all the parts are
firmly fastened by a thread, which the bird makes of hemp, wool, hair,
or more commonly of spiders' webs. Other birds, as for instance the
blackbird and the lapwing, after they have constructed their nest,
plaster the inside with mortar, which cements and binds the whole
together; they then stick upon it, while quite wet, some wool or moss,
to give it the necessary degree of warmth. The nests of swallows are of
a very different construction from those of other birds. They require
neither wood, nor hay, nor cords; they make a kind of mortar, with
which they form a neat, secure, and comfortable habitation for
themselves and their family. To moisten the dust, of which they build
their nest, they dip their breasts in water and shake the drops from
their wet feathers upon it. But the nests most worthy of admiration are
those of certain Indian birds, which suspend them with great art from
the branches of trees, to secure them from the depredations of various
animals and insects. In general, every species of bird has a peculiar
mode of building; but it may be remarked of all alike, that they always
construct their nests in the way that is best adapted to their security,
and to the preservation and welfare of their species.
[Illustration: SWALLOW PREPARING A WALL FOR HER NEST.]
[Illustration: BLACKBIRD BUILDING HER NEST.]
Such is the wonderful instinct of birds with respect to the structure of
their nests. What skill and sagacity! what industry and patience do they
display! And is it not apparent that all their labours tend towards
certain ends? They construct their nests hollow and nearly round, that
they may retain the heat so much the better. They line them with the
most delicate substances, that the young may lie soft and warm. What is
it that teaches the bird to place her nest in a situation sheltered from
the rain, and secure against the attacks of other animals? How did she
learn that she should lay eggs--that eggs would require a nest to
prevent them from falling to the ground and to keep them warm? Whence
does she know that the heat would not be maintained around the eggs if
the nest were too large; and that, on the other hand, the young would
not have sufficient room if it were smaller? By what rules does she
determine the due proportions between the nest and the young which are
not yet in existence? Who has taught her to calculate the time with such
accuracy that she never commits a mistake, in producing her eggs before
the nest is ready to receive them? Admire in all these things the power,
the wisdom, and the goodness of the Creator!
STURM.
* * * * *
THE BUSHMEN.
[Illustration: Letter T.]
The Bosjesmans, or Bushmen, appear to be the remains of Hottentot
hordes, who have been driven, by the gradual encroachments of the
European colonists, to seek for refuge among the inaccessible rocks and
sterile desert of the interior of Africa. Most of the hordes known in
the colony by the name of Bushmen are now entirely destitute of flocks
or herds, and subsist partly by the chase, partly on the wild roots of
the wilderness, and in times of scarcity on reptiles, grasshoppers, and
the larvae of ants, or by plundering their hereditary foes and
oppressors, the frontier Boers. In seasons when every green herb is
devoured by swarms of locusts, and when the wild game in consequence
desert the pastures of the wilderness, the Bushman finds a resource in
the very calamity which would overwhelm an agricultural or civilized
community. He lives by devouring the devourers; he subsists for weeks
and months on locusts alone, and also preserves a stock of this food
dried, as we do herrings or pilchards, for future consumption.
The Bushman retains the ancient arms of the Hottentot race, namely, a
javelin or assagai, similar to that of the Caffres, and a bow and
arrows. The latter, which are his principal weapons both for war and the
chase, are small in size and formed of slight materials; but, owing to
the deadly poison with which the arrows are imbued, and the dexterity
with which they are launched, they are missiles truly formidable. One of
these arrows, formed merely of a piece of slender reed tipped with bone
or iron, is sufficient to destroy the most powerful animal. But,
although the colonists very much dread the effects of the Bushman's
arrow, they know how to elude its range; and it is after all but a very
unequal match for the fire-lock, as the persecuted natives by sad
experience have found. The arrows are usually kept in a quiver, formed
of the hollow stalk of a species of aloe, and slung over the shoulder;
but a few, for immediate use, are often stuck in a band round the head.
A group of Bosjesmans, comprising two men, two women, and a child, were
recently brought to this country and exhibited at the Egyptian Hall, in
Piccadilly. The women wore mantles and conical caps of hide, and gold
ornaments in their ears. The men also wore a sort of skin cloak, which
hung down to their knees, over a close tunic: the legs and feet were
bare in both. Their sheep-skin mantles, sewed together with threads of
sinew, and rendered soft and pliable by friction, sufficed for a garment
by day and a blanket by night. These Bosjesmans exhibited a variety of
the customs of their native country. Their whoops were sometimes so loud
as to be startling, and they occasionally seemed to consider the
attention of the spectators as an affront.
[Illustration: BUSHMEN.]
* * * * *
CHARACTER OF ALFRED, KING OF ENGLAND.
The merit of this Prince, both in private and public life, may with
advantage be set in opposition to that of any Monarch or citizen which
the annals of any age or any nation can present to us. He seems, indeed,
to be the realisation of that perfect character, which, under the
denomination of a sage or wise man, the philosophers have been fond of
delineating, rather as a fiction of their imagination than in hopes of
ever seeing it reduced to practice; so happily were all his virtues
tempered together, so justly were they blended, and so powerfully did
each prevent the other from exceeding its proper bounds. He knew how to
conciliate the most enterprising spirit with the coolest moderation; the
most obstinate perseverance with the easiest flexibility; the most
severe justice with the greatest lenity; the greatest rigour in command
with the greatest affability of deportment; the highest capacity and
inclination for science, with the most shining: talents for action. His
civil and his military virtues are almost equally the objects of our
admiration, excepting only, that the former, being more rare among
princes, as well as more useful, seem chiefly to challenge our applause.
Nature also, as if desirous that so bright a production of her skill
should be set in the fairest light, had bestowed on him all bodily
accomplishments, vigour of limbs, dignity of shape and air, and a
pleasant, engaging, and open countenance. Fortune alone, by throwing him
into that barbarous age, deprived him of historians worthy to transmit
his fame to posterity; and we wish to see him delineated in more lively
colours, and with more particular strokes, that we may at least perceive
some of those small specks and blemishes, from which, as a man, it is
impossible he could be entirely exempted.
HUME.
* * * * *
THE FIRST GRIEF.
[Illustration: Letter O.]
Oh! call my brother back to me,
I cannot play alone;
The summer comes with flower and bee--
Where is my brother gone?
The butterfly is glancing bright
Across the sunbeam's track;
I care not now to chase its flight--
Oh! call my brother back.
The flowers run wild--the flowers we sow'd
Around our garden-tree;
Our vine is drooping with its load--
Oh! call him back to me.
"He would not hear my voice, fair child--
He may not come to thee;
The face that once like spring-time smiled,
On earth no more thou'lt see
[Illustration]
"A rose's brief bright life of joy,
Such unto him was given;
Go, thou must play alone, my boy--
Thy brother is in heaven!"
And has he left the birds and flowers,
And must I call in vain,
And through the long, long summer hours,
Will he not come again?
And by the brook, and in the glade,
Are all our wand'rings o'er?
Oh! while my brother with me play'd,
Would I had loved him more!--
MRS. HEMANS.
* * * * *
ON CRUELTY TO INFERIOR ANIMALS
[Illustration: Letter M.]
Man is that link of the chain of universal existence by which spiritual
and corporeal beings are united: as the numbers and variety of the
latter his inferiors are almost infinite, so probably are those of the
former his superiors; and as we see that the lives and happiness of
those below us are dependant on our wills, we may reasonably conclude
that our lives and happiness are equally dependant on the wills of those
above us; accountable, like ourselves, for the use of this power to the
supreme Creator and governor of all things. Should this analogy be well
founded, how criminal will our account appear when laid before that just
and impartial judge! How will man, that sanguinary tyrant, be able to
excuse himself from the charge of those innumerable cruelties inflicted
on his unoffending subjects committed to his care, formed for his
benefit, and placed under his authority by their common Father? whose
mercy is over all his works, and who expects that his authority should
be exercised, not only with tenderness and mercy, but in conformity to
the laws of justice and gratitude.
But to what horrid deviations from these benevolent intentions are we
daily witnesses! no small part of mankind derive their chief amusements
from the deaths and sufferings of inferior animals; a much greater,
consider them only as engines of wood or iron, useful in their several
occupations. The carman drives his horse, and the carpenter his nail, by
repeated blows; and so long as these produce the desired effect, and
they both go, they neither reflect or care whether either of them have
any sense of feeling. The butcher knocks down the stately ox, with no
more compassion than the blacksmith hammers a horseshoe; and plunges his
knife into the throat of the innocent lamb, with as little reluctance as
the tailor sticks his needle into the collar of a coat.
If there are some few who, formed in a softer mould, view with pity the
sufferings of these defenceless creatures, there is scarce one who
entertains the least idea that justice or gratitude can be due to their
merits or their services. The social and friendly dog is hanged without
remorse, if, by barking in defence of his master's person and property,
he happens unknowingly to disturb his rest; the generous horse, who has
carried his ungrateful master for many years with ease and safety, worn
out with age and infirmities, contracted in his service, is by him
condemned to end his miserable days in a dust-cart, where the more he
exerts his little remains of spirit, the more he is whipped to save his
stupid driver the trouble of whipping some other less obedient to the
lash. Sometimes, having been taught the practice of many unnatural and
useless feats in a riding-house, he is at last turned out and consigned
to the dominion of a hackney-coachman, by whom he is every day corrected
for performing those tricks, which he has learned under so long and
severe a discipline. The sluggish bear, in contradiction to his nature,
is taught to dance for the diversion of a malignant mob, by placing
red-hot irons under his feet; and the majestic bull is tortured by every
mode which malice can invent, for no offence but that he is gentle and
unwilling to assail his diabolical tormentors. These, with innumerable
other acts of cruelty, injustice, and ingratitude, are every day
committed, not only with impunity, but without censure and even without
observation; but we may be assured that they cannot finally pass away
unnoticed and unretaliated.
The laws of self-defence undoubtedly justify us in destroying those
animals who would destroy us, who injure our properties, or annoy our
persons; but not even these, whenever their situation incapacitates them
from hurting us. I know of no right which we have to shoot a bear on an
inaccessible island of ice, or an eagle on the mountain's top; whose
lives cannot injure us, nor deaths procure us any benefit. We are unable
to give life, and therefore ought not wantonly to take it away from the
meanest insect, without sufficient reason; they all receive it from the
same benevolent hand as ourselves, and have therefore an equal right to
enjoy it.
God has been pleased to create numberless animals intended for our
sustenance; and that they are so intended, the agreeable flavour of
their flesh to our palates, and the wholesome nutriment which it
administers to our stomachs, are sufficient proofs: these, as they are
formed for our use, propagated by our culture, and fed by our care, we
have certainly a right to deprive of life, because it is given and
preserved to them on that condition; but this should always be performed
with all the tenderness and compassion which so disagreeable an office
will permit; and no circumstances ought to be omitted, which can render
their executions as quick and easy as possible. For this Providence has
wisely and benevolently provided, by forming them in such a manner that
their flesh becomes rancid and unpalateable by a painful and lingering
death; and has thus compelled us to be merciful without compassion, and
cautious of their sufferings, for the sake of ourselves: but, if there
are any whose tastes are so vitiated, and whose hearts are so hardened,
as to delight in such inhuman sacrifices, and to partake of them without
remorse, they should be looked upon as demons in human shape, and expect
a retaliation of those tortures which they have inflicted on the
innocent, for the gratification of their own depraved and unnatural
appetites.
So violent are the passions of anger and revenge in the human breast,
that it is not wonderful that men should persecute their real or
imaginary enemies with cruelty and malevolence; but that there should
exist in nature a being who can receive pleasure from giving pain, would
be totally incredible, if we were not convinced, by melancholy
experience, that there are not only many, but that this unaccountable
disposition is in some manner inherent in the nature of man; for, as he
cannot be taught by example, nor led to it by temptation, or prompted to
it by interest, it must be derived from his native constitution; and it
is a remarkable confirmation of what revelation so frequently
inculcates--that he brings into the world with him an original
depravity, the effects of a fallen and degenerate state; in proof of
which we need only to observe, that the nearer he approaches to a state
of nature, the more predominant this disposition appears, and the more
violently it operates. We see children laughing at the miseries which
they inflict on every unfortunate animal which comes within their power;
all savages are ingenious in contriving, and happy in executing, the
most exquisite tortures; and the common people of all countries are
delighted with nothing so much as bull-baitings, prize-fightings,
executions, and all spectacles of cruelty and horror. Though
civilization may in some degree abate this native ferocity, it can never
quite extirpate it; the most polished are not ashamed to be pleased with
scenes of little less barbarity, and, to the disgrace of human nature,
to dignify them with the name of sports. They arm cocks with artificial
weapons, which nature had kindly denied to their malevolence, and with
shouts of applause and triumph see them plunge them into each other's
hearts; they view with delight the trembling deer and defenceless hare,
flying for hours in the utmost agonies of terror and despair, and, at
last, sinking under fatigue, devoured by their merciless pursuers; they
see with joy the beautiful pheasant and harmless partridge drop from
their flight, weltering in their blood, or, perhaps, perishing with
wounds and hunger, under the cover of some friendly thicket to which
they have in vain retreated for safety; they triumph over the
unsuspecting fish whom they have decoyed by an insidious pretence of
feeding, and drag him from his native element by a hook fixed to and
tearing out his entrails; and, to add to all this, they spare neither
labour nor expense to preserve and propagate these innocent animals, for
no other end but to multiply the objects of their persecution.