were employed, and whose whole pleasure consisted in terrifying,
ensnaring, tormenting, and destroying mankind? whose superior faculties
were exerted in fomenting animosities amongst them, in contriving
engines of destruction, and inciting them to use them in maiming and
murdering each other? whose power over them was employed in assisting
the rapacious, deceiving the simple, and oppressing the innocent? who,
without provocation or advantage, should continue from day to day, void
of all pity and remorse, thus to torment mankind for diversion, and at
the same time endeavour with his utmost care to preserve their lives and
to propagate their species, in order to increase the number of victims
devoted to his malevolence, and be delighted in proportion to the
miseries he occasioned. I say, what name detestable enough could we find
for such a being? yet, if we impartially consider the case, and our
intermediate situation, we must acknowledge that, with regard to
inferior animals, just such a being is a sportsman.
JENYNS.
* * * * *
PETER THE HERMIT, AND THE FIRST CRUSADE.
It was in Palestine itself that Peter the Hermit first conceived the
grand idea of rousing the powers of Christendom to rescue the Christians
of the East from the thraldom of the Mussulman, and the Sepulchre of
Jesus from the rude hands of the Infidel. The subject engrossed his
whole mind. Even in the visions of the night he was full of it. One
dream made such an impression upon him, that he devoutly believed the
Saviour of the world Himself appeared before him, and promised him aid
and protection in his holy undertaking. If his zeal had ever wavered
before, this was sufficient to fix it for ever.
Peter, after he had performed all the penances and duties of his
pilgrimage, demanded an interview with Simeon, the Patriarch of the
Greek Church at Jerusalem. Though the latter was a heretic in Peter's
eyes, yet he was still a Christian, and felt as acutely as himself for
the persecutions heaped by the Turks upon the followers of Jesus. The
good prelate entered fully into his views, and, at his suggestion, wrote
letters to the Pope, and to the most influential Monarchs of
Christendom, detailing the sorrows of the faithful, and urging them to
take up arms in their defence. Peter was not a laggard in the work.
Taking an affectionate farewell of the Patriarch, he returned in all
haste to Italy. Pope Urban II. occupied the apostolic chair. It was at
that time far from being an easy seat. His predecessor, Gregory, had
bequeathed him a host of disputes with the Emperor Henry IV., of
Germany; and he had made Philip I., of France, his enemy. So many
dangers encompassed him about that the Vatican was no secure abode, and
he had taken refuge in Apulia, under the protection of the renowned
Robert Guiscard. Thither Peter appears to have followed him, though the
spot in which their meeting took place is not stated with any precision
by ancient chroniclers or modern historians. Urban received him most
kindly, read with tears in his eyes the epistle from the Patriarch
Simeon, and listened to the eloquent story of the Hermit with an
attention which showed how deeply he sympathised with the woes of the
Christian Church.
[Illustration: PETER THE HERMIT PREACHING THE FIRST CRUSADE.]
Enthusiasm is contagious, and the Pope appears to have caught it
instantly from one whose zeal was so unbounded. Giving the Hermit full
powers, he sent him abroad to preach the Holy War to all the nations and
potentates of Christendom. The Hermit preached, and countless thousands
answered to his call. France, Germany, and Italy started at his voice,
and prepared for the deliverance of Zion. One of the early historians of
the Crusade, who was himself an eye-witness of the rapture of Europe,
describes the personal appearance of the Hermit at this time. He says
that there appeared to be something of divine in everything which he
said or did. The people so highly reverenced him, that they plucked
hairs from the mane of his mule, that they might keep them as relics.
While preaching, he wore, in general, a woollen tunic, with a
dark-coloured mantle which fell down to his heels. His arms and feet
were bare, and he ate neither flesh nor bread, supporting himself
chiefly upon fish and wine. "He set out," said the chronicler, "from
whence I know not; but we saw him passing through towns and villages,
preaching everywhere, and the people surrounding him in crowds, loading
him with offerings, and celebrating his sanctity with such great
praises, that I never remember to have seen such honours bestowed upon
any one." Thus he went on, untired, inflexible, and full of devotion,
communicating his own madness to his hearers, until Europe was stirred
from its very depths.
_Popular Delusions._
* * * * *
FAITH'S GUIDING STAR.
[Illustration: Letter W.]
We find a glory in the flowers
When snowdrops peep and hawthorn blooms;
We see fresh light in spring-time hours,
And bless the radiance that illumes.
The song of promise cheers with hope,
That sin or sorrow cannot mar;
God's beauty fills the daisyed slope,
And keeps undimm'd Faith's guiding star.
We find a glory in the smile
That lives in childhood's happy face,
Ere fearful doubt or worldly guile
Has swept away the angel trace.
The ray of promise shineth there,
To tell of better lands afar;
God sends his image, pure and fair,
To keep undimm'd Faith's guiding star.
We find a glory in the zeal
Of doating breast and toiling brain;
Affection's martyrs still will kneel,
And song, though famish'd, pour its strain.
They lure us by a quenchless light,
And point where joy is holier far;
They shed God's spirit, warm and bright,
And keep undimm'd Faith's guiding star.
We muse beside the rolling waves;
We ponder on the grassy hill;
We linger by the new-piled graves,
And find that star is shining still.
God in his great design hath spread,
Unnumber'd rays to lead afar;
They beam the brightest o'er the dead,
And keep undimm'd Faith's guiding star.
ELIZA COOK.
* * * * *
QUEEN ELIZABETH'S ADDRESS TO HER ARMY AT TILBURY FORT, IN 1588.
My loving people! we have been persuaded by some that are careful of our
safety, to take heed how we commit ourself to armed multitudes, for fear
of treachery; but, I assure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my
faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear: I have always so behaved
myself, that, under God, I have placed my chief strength and safeguard
in the loyal hearts and good-will of my subjects. And, therefore, I am
come among you at this time, not for my recreation or sport, but being
resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live or die among you
all, and to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and for my people,
my honour and my blood--even in the dust. I know I have the body of a
weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart of a King, and the heart of
a King of England, too! and think foul scorn, that Parma, or Spain, or
any Prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realms; to
which, rather than dishonour should grow by me, I myself will take up
arms--I myself will be your general, your judge, and the rewarder of
every one of your virtues in the field. I know already, by your
forwardness, that you have deserved rewards and crowns; and we do assure
you, on the word of a Prince, they shall be duly paid you. In the
meantime, my Lieutenant-General shall be in my stead, than whom never
Prince commanded more noble and worthy subject; nor do I doubt, by your
obedience to my General, by your concord in the camp, and your valour in
the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over the enemies of my
God, my kingdom, and my people.
_English History._
[Illustration]
* * * * *
JALAPA.
[Illustration: Letter T.]
The city of Jalapa, in Mexico, is very beautifully situated at the foot
of Macultepec, at an elevation of 4335 feet above the level of the sea;
but as this is about the height which the strata of clouds reach, when
suspended over the ocean, they come in contact with the ridge of the
Cordillera Mountains; this renders the atmosphere exceedingly humid and
disagreeable, particularly in north-easterly winds. In summer, however,
the mists disappear; the climate is perfectly delightful, as the
extremes of heat and cold are never experienced.
On a bright sunny day, the scenery round Jalapa is not to be surpassed.
Mountains bound the horizon, except on one side, where a distant view of
the sea adds to the beauty of the scene. Orizaba, with its snow-capped
peak, appears so close, that one imagines that it is within a few hours'
reach, and rich evergreen forests clothe the surrounding hills. In the
foreground are beautiful gardens, with fruits of every clime--the banana
and fig, the orange, cherry, and apple. The town is irregularly built,
but very picturesque; the houses are in the style of the old houses of
Spain, with windows down to the ground, and barred, in which sit the
Jalapenas ladies, with their fair complexions and black eyes.
Near Jalapa are two or three cotton factories, under the management of
English and Americans: the girls employed are all Indians, healthy and
good-looking; they are very apt in learning their work, and soon
comprehend the various uses of the machinery. In the town there is but
little to interest the stranger, but the church is said to have been
founded by Cortez, and there is also a Franciscan convent. The vicinity
of Jalapa, although poorly cultivated, produces maize, wheat, grapes,
and jalap, from which plant the well-known medicine is prepared, and the
town takes its name. A little lower down the Cordillera grows the
vanilla, the bean of which is so highly esteemed for its aromatic
flavour.
[Illustration: TOWN OF JALAPA, IN MEXICO]
The road from Jalapa to the city of Mexico constantly ascends, and the
scenery is mountainous and grand; the villages are but few, and fifteen
or twenty miles apart, with a very scanty population. No signs of
cultivation are to be seen, except little patches of maize and chilé, in
the midst of which is sometimes to be seen an Indian hut formed of reeds
and flags. The mode of travelling in this country is by diligences, but
these are continually attacked and robbed; and so much is this a matter
of course, that the Mexicans invariably calculate a certain sum for the
expenses of the road, including the usual fee for the banditti. Baggage
is sent by the muleteers, by which means it is ensured from all danger,
although a long time on the road. The Mexicans never think of resisting
these robbers, and a coach-load of eight or nine is often stopped and
plundered by one man. The foreigners do not take matters so quietly, and
there is scarcely an English or American traveller in the country who
has not come to blows in a personal encounter with the banditti at some
period or other of his adventures.
* * * * *
CONDORS.
[Illustration: Letter C.]
Condors are found throughout the whole range of the Cordilleras, along
the south-west coast of South America, from the Straits of Magellan to
the Rio Negro. Their habitations are almost invariably on overhanging
ledges of high and perpendicular cliffs, where they both sleep and
breed, sometimes in pairs, but frequently in colonies of twenty or
thirty together. They make no nest, but lay two large white eggs on the
bare rock. The young ones cannot use their wings for flight until many
months after they are hatched, being covered, during that time, with
only a blackish down, like that of a gosling. They remain on the cliff
where they were hatched long after having acquired the full power of
flight, roosting and hunting in company with the parent birds. Their
food consists of the carcases of guanacoes, deer, cattle, and other
animals.
The condors may oftentimes be seen at a great height, soaring over a
certain spot in the most graceful spires and circles. Besides feeding on
carrion, the condors will frequently attack young goats and lambs.
Hence, the shepherd dogs are trained, the moment the enemy passes over,
to run out, and, looking upwards, to bark violently. The people of Chili
destroy and catch great numbers. Two methods are used: one is to place a
carcase within an inclosure of sticks on a level piece of ground; and
when the condors are gorged, to gallop up on horseback to the entrance,
and thus inclose them; for when this bird has not space to run, it
cannot give its body sufficient momentum to rise from the ground. The
second method is to mark the trees in which, frequently to the number of
five or six together, they roost, and then at night to climb up and
noose them. They are such heavy sleepers that this is by no means a
difficult task.
The condor, like all the vulture tribe, discovers his food from a great
distance; the body of an animal is frequently surrounded by a dozen or
more of them, almost as soon as it has dropped dead, although five
minutes before there was not a single bird in view. Whether this power
is to be attributed to the keenness of his olfactory or his visual
organs, is a matter still in dispute; although it is believed, from a
minute observation of its habits in confinement, to be rather owing to
its quickness of sight.
[Illustration: CONDORS.]
* * * * *
OMNISCIENCE AND OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY.
I was yesterday, about sun-set, walking in the open fields, till the
night insensibly fell upon me. I at first amused myself with all the
richness and variety of colours which appeared in the western parts of
heaven; in proportion as they faded away and went out, several stars and
planets appeared one after another, till the whole firmament was in a
glow. The blueness of the ether was exceedingly heightened and enlivened
by the season of the year, and the rays of all those luminaries that
passed through it. The Galaxy appeared in its most beautiful white. To
complete the scene, the full moon rose at length in that clouded majesty
which Milton takes notice of, and opened to the eye a new picture of
nature, which was more finely shaded, and disposed among softer lights,
than that which the sun had before discovered to us.
As I was surveying the moon walking in her brightness, and taking her
progress among the constellations, a thought arose in me, which I
believe very often perplexes and disturbs men of serious and
contemplative natures. David himself fell into it in that reflection,
"When I consider the heavens the work of thy fingers, the moon and the
stars which thou hast ordained, what is man that though art mindful of
him, and the son of man that thou regardest him!" In the same manner,
when I consider that infinite host of stars, or, to speak more
philosophically, of suns, which were then shining upon me, with those
innumerable sets of planets or worlds, which were moving round their
respective suns; when I still enlarged the idea, and supposed another
heaven of suns and worlds rising still above this which we discovered,
and these still enlightened by a superior firmament of luminaries, which
are planted at so great a distance, that they may appear to the
inhabitants of the former as the stars do to us; in short, while I
pursued this thought, I could not but reflect on that little
insignificant figure which I myself bore amidst the immensity of God's
works.
Were the sun, which enlightens this part of the creation, with all the
host of planetary worlds that move about him, utterly extinguished and
annihilated, they would not be missed more than a grain of sand upon the
sea-shore. The space they possess is so exceedingly little in comparison
of the whole, it would scarce make a blank in creation. The chasm would
be imperceptible to an eye that could take in the whole compass of
nature, and pass from one end of creation to the other; as it is
possible there may be such a sense in ourselves hereafter, or in
creatures which are at present more exalted than ourselves. We see many
stars by the help of glasses, which we do not discover with our naked
eyes; and the finer our telescopes are, the more still are our
discoveries. Huygenius carries this thought so far, that he does not
think it impossible there may be stars whose light is not yet travelled
down to us since their first creation. There is no question but the
universe has certain bounds set to it; but when we consider that it is
the work of infinite power, prompted by infinite goodness, with an
infinite space to exert itself in, how can our imagination set any
bounds to it?
To return, therefore, to my first thought, I could not but look upon
myself with secret horror, as a being that was not worth the smallest
regard of one who had so great a work under his care and
superintendency. I was afraid of being overlooked amidst the immensity
of nature, and lost among that infinite variety of creatures, which in
all probability swarm through all these immeasurable regions of matter.
In order to recover myself from this mortifying thought, I considered
that it took its rise from those narrow conceptions which we are apt to
entertain of the Divine nature. We ourselves cannot attend to many
different objects at the same time. If we are careful to inspect some
things, we must of course neglect others. This imperfection which we
observe in ourselves is an imperfection that cleaves in some degree to
creatures of the highest capacities, as they are creatures, that is,
beings of finite and limited natures. The presence of every created
being is confined to a certain measure of space, and consequently his
observation is stinted to a certain number of objects. The sphere in
which we move, and act, and understand, is of a wider circumference to
one creature than another, according as we rise one above another in the
scale of existence. But the widest of these our spheres has its
circumference. When therefore we reflect on the Divine nature, we are so
used and accustomed to this imperfection in ourselves, that we cannot
forbear in some measure ascribing it to Him in whom there is no shadow
of imperfection. Our reason indeed assures us that his attributes are
infinite; but the poorness of our conceptions is such, that it cannot
forbear setting bounds to every thing it contemplates, till our reason
comes again to our succour and throws down all those little prejudices
which rise in us unawares, and are natural to the mind of man.
We shall, therefore, utterly extinguish this melancholy thought of our
being overlooked by our Maker in the multiplicity of his works, and the
infinity of those objects among which He seems to be incessantly
employed, if we consider, in the first place, that He is omnipresent;
and in the second, that He is omniscient.
If we consider Him in his omnipresence; his being passes through,
actuates, and supports the whole frame of nature. His creation, and
every part of it, is full of Him. There is nothing He has made that is
either so distant, so little, or so inconsiderable, which He does not
essentially inhabit. His substance is within the substance of every
being, whether material or immaterial, and as intimately present to it
as that being is to itself. It would be an imperfection in Him, were He
able to move out of one place into another, or to draw himself from any
thing He has created, or from any part of that space which He diffused
and spread abroad to infinity. In short, to speak of Him in the language
of the old philosophers, He is a being whose centre is everywhere and
his circumference nowhere.
In the second place, He is omniscient as well as omnipresent. His
omniscience indeed necessarily and naturally flows from his
omnipresence. He cannot but be conscious of every motion that arises in
the whole material world which He thus essentially pervades; and of
every thought that is stirring in the intellectual world, to every part
of which He is thus intimately united. Several moralists have considered
the creation as the temple of God, which He has built, with his own
hands, and which is filled with his presence. Others have considered
infinite space as the receptacle, or rather the habitation of the
Almighty; but the noblest and most exalted way of considering this
infinite space, is that of Sir Isaac Newton, who calls it the _se
sorium_ of the Godhead. Brutes and men have their _sensoriola_, or
little _sensoriums_, by which they apprehend the presence and perceive
the actions of a few objects that lie contiguous to them. Their
knowledge and observation turn within a very narrow circle. But, as God
Almighty cannot but perceive and know everything in which He resides,
infinite space gives room to infinite knowledge, and is, as it were, an
organ to omniscience.
Were the soul separate from the body, and with one glance of thought
should start beyond the bounds of the creation, should it millions of
years continue its progress through infinite space with the same
activity, it would still find itself within the embrace of its Creator,
and encompassed round with the immensity of the Godhead. While we are in
the body, He is not less present with us, because He is concealed from
us. "Oh, that I knew where I might find Him!" says Job. "Behold I go
forward, but He is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive Him;
on the left hand, where He does work, but I cannot behold Him; He
hideth himself on the right hand, that I cannot see Him." In short,
reason as well as revelation assures us that He cannot be absent from
us, notwithstanding He is undiscovered by us.
In this consideration of God Almighty's omnipresence and omniscience,
every uncomfortable thought vanishes. He cannot but regard everything
that has being, especially such of his creatures who fear they are not
regarded by Him. He is privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxiety
of heart in particular, which is apt to trouble them on this occasion;
for, as it is impossible He should overlook any of his creatures, so we
may be confident that He regards, with an eye of mercy, those who
endeavour to recommend themselves to his notice, and in unfeigned
humility of heart think themselves unworthy that He should be mindful of
them.
_Spectator_.
* * * * *
THE MILL STREAM.
[Illustration]
Long trails of cistus flowers
Creep on the rocky hill,
And beds of strong spearmint
Grow round about the mill;
And from a mountain tarn above,
As peaceful as a dream,
Like to a child unruly,
Though school'd and counsell'd truly,
Roams down the wild mill stream!
The wild mill stream it dasheth
In merriment away,
And keeps the miller and his son
So busy all the day.
Into the mad mill stream
The mountain roses fall;
And fern and adder's-tongue
Grow on the old mill wall.
The tarn is on the upland moor,
Where not a leaf doth grow;
And through the mountain gashes,
The merry mill stream dashes
Down to the sea below.
But in the quiet hollows
The red trout groweth prime,
For the miller and the miller's son
To angle when they've time.
Then fair befall the stream
That turns the mountain mill;
And fair befall the narrow road
That windeth up the hill!
And good luck to the countryman,
And to his old grey mare,
That upward toileth steadily,
With meal sacks laden heavily,
In storm as well as fair!
And good luck to the miller,
And to the miller's son;
And ever may the mill-wheel turn
While mountain waters run!
MARY HOWITT.
* * * * *
ENVY.
[Illustration: Letter E.]
Envy is almost the only vice which is practicable at all times, and in
every place--the only passion which can never lie quiet for want of
irritation; its effects, therefore, are everywhere discoverable, and its
attempts always to be dreaded.
It is impossible to mention a name, which any advantageous distinction
has made eminent, but some latent animosity will burst out. The wealthy
trader, however he may abstract himself from public affairs, will never
want those who hint with Shylock, that ships are but boards, and that no
man can properly be termed rich whose fortune is at the mercy of the
winds. The beauty adorned only with the unambitious graces of innocence
and modesty, provokes, whenever she appears, a thousand murmurs of
detraction and whispers of suspicion. The genius, even when he
endeavours only to entertain with pleasing; images of nature, or
instruct by uncontested principles of science, yet suffers persecution
from innumerable critics, whose acrimony is excited merely by the pain
of seeing others pleased--of hearing applauses which another enjoys.