nor do we often reflect upon its turpitude or malignity, till we happen
to feel its influence. When he that has given no provocation to malice,
but by attempting to excel in some useful art, finds himself pursued by
multitudes whom he never saw with implacability of personal resentment;
when he perceives clamour and malice let loose upon him as a public
enemy, and incited by every stratagem of defamation; when he hears the
misfortunes of his family or the follies of his youth exposed to the
world; and every failure of conduct, or defect of nature, aggravated and
ridiculed; he then learns to abhor those artifices at which he only
laughed before, and discovers how much the happiness of life would be
advanced by the eradication of envy from the human heart.
Envy is, indeed, a stubborn weed of the mind, and seldom yields to the
culture of philosophy. There are, however, considerations which, if
carefully implanted, and diligently propagated, might in time overpower
and repress it, since no one can nurse it for the sake of pleasure, as
its effects are only shame, anguish, and perturbation. It is, above all
other vices, inconsistent with the character of a social being, because
it sacrifices truth and kindness to very weak temptations. He that
plunders a wealthy neighbour, gains as much as he takes away, and
improves his own condition in the same proportion as he impairs
another's; but he that blasts a flourishing reputation, must be content
with a small dividend of additional fame, so small as can afford very
little consolation to balance the guilt by which it is obtained.
I have hitherto avoided mentioning that dangerous and empirical
morality, which cures one vice by means of another. But envy is so base
and detestable, so vile in its original, and so pernicious in its
effects, that the predominance of almost any other quality is to be
desired. It is one of those lawless enemies of society, against which
poisoned arrows may honestly be used. Let it therefore be constantly
remembered, that whoever envies another, confesses his superiority; and
let those be reformed by their pride, who have lost their virtue.
Almost every other crime is practised by the help of some quality which
might have produced esteem or love, if it had been well employed; but
envy is a more unmixed and genuine evil; it pursues a hateful end by
despicable means, and desires not so much its own happiness as another's
misery. To avoid depravity like this, it is not necessary that any one
should aspire to heroism or sanctity; but only that he should resolve
not to quit the rank which nature assigns, and wish to maintain the
dignity of a human being.
DR. JOHNSON.
* * * * *
THE OLIVE.
No tree is more frequently mentioned by ancient authors, nor was any
more highly honoured by ancient nations, than the olive. By the Greeks
it was dedicated to the goddess of wisdom, and formed the crown of
honour given to their Emperors and great men, as with the Romans. It is
a tree of slow growth, but remarkable for the great age it attains;
never, however, becoming a very large tree, though sometimes two or
three stems rise from the same root, and reach the height of from twenty
to thirty feet. The leaves grow in pairs, lanceolate in shape, of a dull
green on the upper, and hoary on the under side. Hence, in countries
where the olive is extensively cultivated, the scenery is of a dull
character, from this colour of the foliage. The fruit is oval in shape,
with a hard strong kernel, and remarkable from the outer fleshy part
being that in which much oil is lodged, and not, as is usual, in the
seed. It ripens from August to September.
Of the olive-tree two varieties are particularly distinguished: the
long-leafed, which is cultivated in the south of France and in Italy;
and the broad-leafed in Spain, which has its fruit much longer than that
of the former kind.
[Illustration: OLIVE TREES, GETHSEMANE.]
That the olive grows to a great age, has long been known. Pliny mentions
one which the Athenians of his time considered to be coëval with their
city, and therefore 1600 years old; and near Terni, in the vale of the
cascade of Marmora, there is a plantation of very old trees, supposed to
consist of the same plants that were growing there in the time of Pliny.
Lady Calcott states that on the mountain road between Tivoli and
Palestrina, there is an ancient olive-tree of large dimensions, which,
unless the documents are purposely falsified, stood as a boundary
between two possessions even before the Christian era. Those in the
garden of Olivet or Gethsemane are at least of the time of the Eastern
Empire, as is proved by the following circumstance:--In Turkey every
olive-tree found standing by the Mussulmans, when they conquered Asia,
pays one medina to the treasury, while each of those planted since the
conquest is taxed half its produce. The eight olives of which we are
speaking are charged only eight medinas. By some it is supposed that
these olive-trees may have been in existence even in the time of our
Saviour; the largest is about thirty feet in girth above the roots, and
twenty-seven feet high.
* * * * *
ACCORDANCE BETWEEN THE SONGS OF BIRDS AND THE DIFFERENT ASPECTS OF THE
DAY.
[Illustration: Letter T.]
There is a beautiful propriety in the order in which Nature seems to
have directed the singing-birds to fill up the day with their pleasing
harmony. The accordance between their songs and the external aspect of
nature, at the successive periods of the day at which they sing, is
quite remarkable. And it is impossible to visit the forest or the
sequestered dell, where the notes of the feathered tribes are heard to
the greatest advantage, without being impressed with the conviction that
there is design in the arrangement of this sylvan minstrelsy.--
[Illustration: THE ROBIN.]
First the robin (and not the lark, as has been generally imagined), as
soon as twilight has drawn its imperceptible line between night and day,
begins his lovely song. How sweetly does this harmonise with the soft
dawning of the day! He goes on till the twinkling sun-beams begin to
tell him that his notes no longer accord with the rising scene. Up
starts the lark, and with him a variety of sprightly songsters, whose
lively notes are in perfect correspondence with the gaiety of the
morning. The general warbling continues, with now and then an
interruption by the transient croak of the raven, the scream of the jay,
or the pert chattering of the daw. The nightingale, unwearied by the
vocal exertions of the night, joins his inferiors in sound in the
general harmony. The thrush is wisely placed on the summit of some lofty
tree, that its loud and piercing notes may be softened by distance
before they reach the ear; while the mellow blackbird seeks the inferior
branches.
[Illustration: THE LARK.]
[Illustration: THE LINNET.]
Should the sun, having been eclipsed by a cloud, shine forth with fresh
effulgence, how frequently we see the goldfinch perch on some blossomed
bough, and hear its song poured forth in a strain peculiarly energetic;
while the sun, full shining on his beautiful plumes, displays his golden
wings and crimson crest to charming advantage. The notes of the cuckoo
blend with this cheering concert in a pleasing manner, and for a short
time are highly grateful to the ear. But sweet as this singular song is,
it would tire by its uniformity, were it not given in so transient a
manner.
At length evening advances, the performers gradually retire, and the
concert softly dies away. The sun is seen no more. The robin again sends
up his twilight song, till the more serene hour of night sets him to the
bower to rest. And now to close the scene in full and perfect harmony;
no sooner is the voice of the robin hushed, and night again spreads in
gloom over the horizon, than the owl sends forth his slow and solemn
tones. They are more than plaintive and less than melancholy, and tend
to inspire the imagination with a train of contemplations well adapted
to the serious hour.
Thus we see that birds bear no inconsiderable share in harmonizing some
of the most beautiful and interesting scenes in nature.
DR. JENNER.
* * * * *
CHARACTER OF EDWARD VI.
Thus died Edward VI., in the sixteenth year of his age. He was counted
the wonder of his time; he was not only learned in the tongues and the
liberal sciences, but he knew well the state of his kingdom. He kept a
table-book, in which he had written the characters of all the eminent
men of the nation: he studied fortification, and understood the mint
well. He knew the harbours in all his dominions, with the depth of the
water, and way of coming into them. He understood foreign affairs so
well, that the ambassadors who were sent into England, published very
extraordinary things of him in all the courts of Europe. He had great
quickness of apprehension, but being distrustful of his memory, he took
notes of everything he heard that was considerable, in Greek characters,
that those about him might not understand what he writ, which he
afterwards copied out fair in the journal that he kept. His virtues were
wonderful; when he was made to believe that his uncle was guilty of
conspiring the death of the other councillors, he upon that abandoned
him.
Barnaby Fitzpatrick was his favourite; and when he sent him to travel,
he writ oft to him to keep good company, to avoid excess and luxury, and
to improve himself in those things that might render him capable of
employment at his return. He was afterwards made Lord of Upper Ossory,
in Ireland, by Queen Elizabeth, and did answer the hopes this excellent
King had of him. He was very merciful in his nature, which appeared in
his unwillingness to sign the warrant for burning the Maid of Kent. He
took great care to have his debts well paid, reckoning that a Prince who
breaks his faith and loses his credit, has thrown up that which he can
never recover, and made himself liable to perpetual distrust and extreme
contempt. He took special care of the petitions that were given him by
poor and opprest people. But his great zeal for religion crowned all the
rest--it was a true tenderness of conscience, founded on the love of God
and his neighbour. These extraordinary qualities, set off with great
sweetness and affability, made him universally beloved by his people.
BURNET.
* * * * *
THE HUNTED STAG.
[Illustration: Letter W.]
What sounds are on the mountain blast,
Like bullet from the arbalast?
Was it the hunted quarry past
Right up Ben-ledi's side?
So near, so rapidly, he dash'd,
Yon lichen'd bough has scarcely plash'd
Into the torrent's tide.
Ay! the good hound may bay beneath,
The hunter wind his horn;
He dared ye through the flooded Teith,
As a warrior in his scorn!
Dash the red rowel in the steed!
Spur, laggards, while ye may!
St. Hubert's staff to a stripling reed,
He dies no death to-day!
"Forward!" nay, waste not idle breath,
Gallants, ye win no greenwood wreath;
His antlers dance above the heath,
Like chieftain's plumed helm;
Right onward for the western peak,
Where breaks the sky in one white streak,
See, Isabel, in bold relief,
To Fancy's eye, Glenartney's chief,
Guarding his ancient realm.
So motionless, so noiseless there,
His foot on rock, his head in air,
Like sculptor's breathing stone:
Then, snorting from the rapid race,
Snuffs the free air a moment's space,
Glares grimly on the baffled chase,
And seeks the covert lone.
Hunting has been a favourite sport in Britain for many centuries.
Dyonisius (B.C. 50) tells us that the North Britons lived, in great
part, upon the food they procured by hunting. Strabo states that the
dogs bred in Britain were highly esteemed on the Continent, on account
of their excellent qualities for hunting; and Caesar tells us that
venison constituted a great portion of the food of the Britons, who did
not eat hares. Hunting was also in ancient times a Royal and noble
sport: Alfred the Great hunted at twelve years of age; Athelstan, Edward
the Confessor, Harold, William the Conqueror, William Rufus, and John
were all good huntsmen; Edward II. reduced hunting to a science, and
established rules for its practice; Henry IV. appointed a master of the
game; Edward III. hunted with sixty couples of stag-hounds; Elizabeth
was a famous huntswoman; and James I. preferred hunting to hawking or
shooting. The Bishops and Abbots of the middle ages hunted with great
state. Ladies also joined in the chase from the earliest times; and a
lady's hunting-dress in the fifteenth century scarcely differed from the
riding-habit of the present day.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
[Illustration: THE DEER-STALKER'S RETURN.]
* * * * *
JOHN BUNYAN AND HIS WIFE.
[Illustration: Letter E.]
Elizabeth his wife, actuated by his undaunted spirit, applied to the
House of Lords for his release; and, according to her relation, she was
told, "they could do nothing; but that his releasement was committed to
the Judges at the next assizes." The Judges were Sir Matthew Hale and
Mr. Justice Twisden; and a remarkable contrast appeared between the
well-known meekness of the one, and fury of the other. Elizabeth came
before them, and, stating her husband's case, prayed for justice: "Judge
Twisden," says John Bunyan, "snapt her up, and angrily told her that I
was a convicted person, and could not be released unless I would promise
to preach no more. _Elizabeth_: 'The Lords told me that releasement was
committed to you, and you give me neither releasement nor relief. My
husband is unlawfully in prison, and you are bound to discharge him.'
_Twisden_: 'He has been lawfully convicted.' _Elizabeth_: 'It is false,
for when they said "Do you confess the indictment?" he answered, "At the
meetings where he preached, they had God's presence among them."'
_Twisden_: 'Will your husband leave preaching? if he will do so, then
send for him.' _Elizabeth_: 'My Lord, he dares not leave off preaching
as long as he can speak. But, good my Lords, consider that we have four
small children, one of them blind, and that they have nothing to live
upon while their father is in prison, but the charity of Christian
people.' _Sir Matthew Hale_: 'Alas! poor woman.' _Twisden_: 'Poverty is
your cloak, for I hear your husband is better maintained by running up
and down a-preaching than by following his calling?' _Sir Matthew Hale_:
'What is his calling?' _Elizabeth_: 'A tinker, please you my Lord; and
because he is a tinker, and a poor man, therefore he is despised and
cannot have justice.' _Sir Matthew Hale_: 'I am truly sorry we can do
you no good. Sitting here we can only act as the law gives us warrant;
and we have no power to reverse the sentence, although it may be
erroneous. What your husband said was taken for a confession, and he
stands convicted. There is, therefore, no course for you but to apply to
the King for a pardon, or to sue out a writ of error; and, the
indictment, or subsequent proceedings, being shown to be contrary to
law, the sentence shall be reversed, and your husband shall be set at
liberty. I am truly sorry for your pitiable case. I wish I could serve
you, but I fear I can do you no good.'"
Little do we know what is for our permanent good. Had Bunyan then been
discharged and allowed to enjoy liberty, he no doubt would have returned
to his trade, filling up his intervals of leisure with field-preaching;
his name would not have survived his own generation, and he could have
done little for the religious improvement of mankind. The prison doors
were shut upon him for twelve years. Being cut off from the external
world, he communed with his own soul; and, inspired by Him who touched
Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire, he composed the noblest of allegories,
the merit of which was first discovered by the lowly, but which is now
lauded by the most refined critics, and which has done more to awaken
piety, and to enforce the precepts of Christian morality, than all the
sermons that have been published by all the prelates of the Anglican
Church.
LORD CAMPBELL'S _Lives of the Judges._
* * * * *
THE LONG-EARED AFRICAN FOX.
This singular variety of the Fox was first made known to naturalists in
1820, after the return of De Laland from South Africa. It is an
inhabitant of the mountains in the neighbourhood of the Cape of Good
Hope, but it is so rare that little is known of its habits in a state of
nature. The Engraving was taken from a specimen which has been lately
placed in the Zoological Society's gardens in the Regent's Park. It is
extremely quick of hearing, and there is something in the general
expression of the head which suggests a resemblance to the long-eared
bat. Its fur is very thick, and the brush is larger than that of our
common European fox. The skin of the fox is in many species very
valuable; that of another kind of fox at the Cape of Good Hope is so
much in request among the natives as a covering for the cold season,
that many of the Bechuanas are solely employed in hunting the animal
down with dogs, or laying snares in the places to which it is known to
resort.
[Illustration]
In common with all other foxes, those of Africa are great enemies to
birds which lay their eggs upon the ground; and their movements are, in
particular, closely watched by the ostrich during the laying season.
When the fox has surmounted all obstacles in procuring eggs, he has to
encounter the difficulty of getting at their contents; but even for this
task his cunning finds an expedient, and it is that of pushing them
forcibly along the ground until they come in contact with some substance
hard enough to break them, when the contents are speedily disposed of.
The natives, from having observed the anxiety of the ostrich to keep
this animal from robbing her nest, avail themselves of this solicitude
to lure the bird to its destruction; for, seeing that it runs to the
nest the instant a fox appears, they fasten a dog near it, and conceal
themselves close by, and the ostrich, on approaching to drive away the
supposed fox, is frequently shot by the real hunter.
The fur of the red fox of America is much valued as an article of trade,
and about 8000 are annually imported into England from the fur
countries, where the animal is very abundant, especially in the wooded
parts.
Foxes of various colours are also common in the fur countries of North
America, and a rare and valuable variety is the black or silver fox. Dr.
Richardson states that seldom more than four or five of this variety are
taken in a season at one post, though the hunters no sooner find out the
haunts of one, than they use every art to catch it, because its fur
fetches six times the price of any other fur produced in North America.
This fox is sometimes found of a rich deep glossy black, the tip of the
brush alone being white; in general, however, it is silvered over the
end of each of the long hairs of the fur, producing a beautiful
appearance.
The Arctic fox resembles greatly the European species, but is
considerably smaller; and, owing to the great quantity of white woolly
fur with which it is covered, is somewhat like a little shock dog. The
brush is very large and full, affording an admirable covering for the
nose and feet, to which it acts as a muff when the animal sleeps. The
fur is in the greatest perfection during the months of winter, when the
colour gradually becomes from an ashy grey to a full and pure white, and
is extremely thick, covering even the soles of the feet. Captain Lyon
has given very interesting accounts of the habits of this animal, and
describes it as being cleanly and free from any unpleasant smell: it
inhabits the most northern lands hitherto discovered.
[Illustration: SYRIAN FOX.]
* * * * *
MOUNT TABOR.
The Plain of Esdraelon, in Palestine, is often mentioned in sacred
history, as the great battle-field of the Jewish and other nations,
under the names of the Valley of Mejiddo and the Valley of Jizreel, and
by Josephus as the Great Plain. The convenience of its extent and
situation for military action and display has, from the earliest periods
of history down to our own day, caused its surface at certain intervals
to be moistened with the blood, and covered with the bodies of
conflicting warriors of almost every nation under heaven. This extensive
plain, exclusive of three great arms which stretch eastward towards the
Valley of the Jordan, may be said to be in the form of an acute
triangle, having the measure of 13 or 14 miles on the north, about 18 on
the east, and above 20 on the south-west. Before the verdure of spring
and early summer has been parched up by the heat and drought of the late
summer and autumn, the view of the Great Plain is, from its fertility
and beauty, very delightful. In June, yellow fields of grain, with green
patches of millet and cotton, chequer the landscape like a carpet. The
plain itself is almost without villages, but there are several on the
slopes of the inclosing hills, especially on the side of Mount Carmel.
On the borders of this plain Mount Tabor stands out alone in magnificent
grandeur. Seen from the south-west its fine proportions present a
semi-globular appearance; but from the north-west it more resembles a
truncated cone. By an ancient path, which winds considerably, one may
ride to the summit, where is a small oblong plain with the foundations
of ancient buildings. The view from the summit is declared by Lord
Nugent to be the most splendid he could recollect having ever seen from
any natural height. The sides of the mountain are mostly covered with
bushes and woods of oak trees, with occasionally pistachio trees,
presenting a beautiful appearance, and affording a welcome and agreeable
shade. There are various tracks up its sides, often crossing each other,
and the ascent generally occupies about an hour. The crest of the
mountain is table-land, 600 or 700 yards in height from north to south,
and about half as much across, and a flat field of about an acre occurs
at a level of some 20 or 25 feet lower than the eastern brow. There are
remains of several small ruined tanks on the crest, which still catch
the rain water dripping through the crevices of the rock, and preserve
it cool and clear, it is said, throughout the year.
[Illustration: MOUNT TABOR.]
The tops of this range of mountains are barren, but the slopes and
valleys afford pasturage, and are capable of cultivation, from the
numerous springs which are met with in all directions. Cultivation is,
however, chiefly found on the seaward slopes; there many flourishing
villages exist, and every inch of ground is turned to account by the
industrious natives.
[Illustration: FIG TREE.]
[Illustration: SYCAMORE.]
Here, amidst the crags of the rocks, are to be seen the remains of the
renowned cedars with which Lebanon once abounded; but a much larger
proportion of firs, sycamores, mulberry trees, fig trees, and vines now
exist.
* * * * *
UNA AND THE LION.
[Illustration: Letter S.]
She, that most faithful lady, all this while,
Forsaken, woful, solitary maid,
Far from the people's throng, as in exile,
In wilderness and wasteful deserts stray'd
To seek her knight; who, subtlely betray'd
By that false vision which th' enchanter wrought,
Had her abandon'd. She, of nought afraid,
Him through the woods and wide wastes daily sought,
Yet wish'd for tidings of him--none unto her brought.
One day, nigh weary of the irksome way,
From her unhasty beast she did alight;
And on the grass her dainty limbs did lay
In secret shadow, far from all men's sight:
From her fair head her fillet she undight,
And laid her stole aside; her angel face,
As the great eye that lights the earth, shone bright,
And made a sunshine in that shady place,
That never mortal eye beheld such heavenly grace.
It fortun'd that, from out the thicket wood
A ramping lion rushed suddenly,
And hunting greedy after savage blood,
The royal virgin helpless did espy;
At whom, with gaping mouth full greedily
To seize and to devour her tender corse,
When he did run, he stopp'd ere he drew nigh,
And loosing all his rage in quick remorse,
As with the sight amazed, forgot his furious force.
Then coming near, he kiss'd her weary feet,
And lick'd her lily hand with fawning tongue,
As he her wronged innocence did meet:
Oh! how can beauty master the most strong,
And simple truth subdue intent of wrong!
His proud submission, and his yielded pride,
Though dreading death, when she had marked long,
She felt compassion in her heart to slide,
And drizzling tears to gush that might not be denied.