indeed, with no admiration of daring design or of fertile invention; but
it presents within its narrow limits a distinct and unbroken view of
poetical delightfulness. His descriptions and sentiments have the pure
zest of nature. He is refined without false delicacy, and correct
without insipidity. Perhaps there is an intellectual composure in his
manner, which may, in some passages, be said to approach to the reserved
and prosaic; but he unbends from this graver strain of reflection to
tenderness, and even to playfulness, with an ease and grace almost
exclusively his own; and connects extensive views of the happiness and
interests of society with pictures of life that touch the heart by their
familiarity. He is no disciple of the gaunt and famished school of
simplicity. He uses the ornaments which must always distinguish true
poetry from prose; and when he adopts colloquial plainness, it is with
the utmost skill to avoid a vulgar humility. There is more of this
sustained simplicity, of this chaste economy and choice of words, in
Goldsmith than in any other modern poet, or, perhaps, than would be
attainable or desirable as a standard for every writer of rhyme. In
extensive narrative poems, such a style would be too difficult. There is
a noble propriety even in the careless strength of great poems, as in
the roughness of castle walls; and, generally speaking, where there is a
long course of story, or observation of life to be pursued, such
excursite touches as those of Goldsmith would be too costly materials
for sustaining it. His whole manner has a still depth of feeling and
reflection, which gives back the image of nature unruffled and minutely.
His chaste pathos makes him an insulating moralist, and throws a charm
of Claude-like softness over his descriptions of homely objects, that
would seem only fit to be the subjects of Dutch painting; but his quiet
enthusiasm leads the affections to humble things without a vulgar
association, and he inspires us with a fondness to trace the simplest
recollections of Auburn, till we count the furniture of its ale-house,
and listen to the varnished clock that clicked behind the door.
CAMPBELL.
* * * * *
HAGAR AND ISHMAEL.
[Illustration: Letter H.]
Hagar and Ishmael departed early on the day fixed for their removal,
Abraham furnishing them with the necessary supply of travelling
provisions. "And Abraham arose up early in the morning, and took bread
and a bottle of water, and gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her
shoulder, and she went away." The bottle here mentioned was probably
made of the skin of a goat, sewn up, leaving an opening in one of the
legs to serve as a mouth. Such skin bottles are still commonly used in
Western Asia for water, and are borne slung across the shoulders, just
as that of Hagar was placed.
It seems to have been the intention of Hagar to return to her native
country, Egypt; but, in spite of the directions she received, the two
travellers lost their way in the southern wilderness, and wandered to
and fro till the water, which was to have served them on the road, was
altogether spent. The lad, unused to hardship, was soon worn out.
Overcome by heat and thirst, he seemed at the point of death, when the
afflicted mother laid him down under one of the stunted shrubs of this
dry and desert region, in the hope of his getting some relief from the
slight damp which the shade afforded. The burning fever, however,
continued unabated; and the poor mother, forgetting her own sorrow,
destitute and alone in the midst of a wilderness, went to a little
distance, unable to witness his lingering sufferings, and then "she
lifted up her voice and wept." But God had not forgotten her: a voice
was heard in the solitude, and an Angel of the Lord appeared, uttering
words of comfort and promises of peace. He directed her to a well of
water, which, concealed by the brushwood, had not been seen by her. Thus
encouraged, Hagar drew a refreshing draught, and hastening to her son,
"raised him by the hand," and gave him the welcome drink, which soon
restored him. This well, according to the tradition of the Arabs, who
pay great honour to the memory of Hagar, is Zemzem, near Mecca.
[Illustration: HAGAR AND ISHMAEL.]
After this, we have no account of the history of Ishmael, except that he
established himself in the wilderness of Paran, near Mount Sinai, and
belonged to one of the tribes by which the desert was frequented. He was
married, by his mother, to a countrywoman of her own, and maintained
himself and his family by the produce of his bow. Many of the Arabian
tribes have been proud to trace their origin to this son of the
Patriarch Abraham.
* * * * *
THE HOLLY BOUGH.
[Illustration: Letter Y.]
Ye who have scorn'd each other,
Or injured friend or brother,
In this fast fading year;
Ye who, by word or deed,
Have made a kind heart bleed,
Come gather here.
Let sinn'd against, and sinning,
Forget their strife's beginning,
And join in friendship now;
Be links no longer broken,
Be sweet forgiveness spoken
Under the Holly-bough.
Ye who have loved each other,
Sister and friend and brother,
In this fast fading year;
Mother and sire and child,
Young man and maiden mild,
Come gather here;
And let your hearts grow fonder,
As Memory shall ponder
Each past unbroken vow:
Old loves and younger wooing
Are sweet in the renewing
Under the Holly-bough.
Ye who have nourish'd sadness.
Estranged from hope and gladness,
In this fast fading year;
Ye with o'erburden'd mind,
Made aliens from your kind,
Come gather here.
Let not the useless sorrow
Pursue you night and morrow,
If e'er you hoped, hope now--
Take heart, uncloud your faces,
And join in our embraces
Under the Holly-bough.
MACKAY
[Illustration: THE HOLLY CART.]
* * * * *
THE UNIVERSE.
To us who dwell on its surface, the earth is by far the most extensive
orb that our eyes can any where behold; but, to a spectator placed on
one of the planets, it looks no larger than a spot. To beings who dwell
at still greater distances, it entirely disappears. That which we call
alternately the morning and the evening star, as in the one part of the
orbit she rides foremost in the procession of night, in the other ushers
in and anticipates the dawn, is a planetary world, which, with the
five others that so wonderfully vary their mystic dance, are in
themselves dark bodies, and shine only by reflection; have fields, and
seas, and skies of their own; are furnished with all accommodations for
animal subsistence, and are supposed to be the abodes of intellectual
life. All these, together with our earthly habitation, are dependent on
the sun, receive their light from his rays, and derive their comfort
from his benign agency. The sun, which seems to us to perform its daily
stages through the sky, is, in this respect, fixed and immovable; it is
the great axle about which the globe we inhabit, and other more spacious
orbs, wheel their stated courses. The sun, though apparently smaller
than the dial it illuminates, is immensely larger than this whole earth,
on which so many lofty mountains rise, and such vast oceans roll. A line
extending from side to side through the centre of that resplendent orb,
would measure more than 800,000 miles: a girdle formed to go round its
circumference, would require a length of millions. Are we startled at
these reports of philosophers? Are we ready to cry out in a transport of
surprise, "How mighty is the Being who kindled such a prodigious fire,
and keeps alive from age to age such an enormous mass of flame!" Let us
attend our philosophic guides, and we shall be brought acquainted with
speculations more enlarged and more inflaming. The sun, with all its
attendant planets, is but a very little part of the grand machine of the
universe; every star, though in appearance no bigger than the diamond
that glitters upon a lady's ring, is really a vast globe like the sun in
size and in glory; no less spacious, no less luminous, than the radiant
source of the day: so that every star is not barely a world, but the
centre of a magnificent system; has a retinue of worlds irradiated by
its beams, and revolving round its attractive influence--all which are
lost to our sight. That the stars appear like so many diminutive points,
is owing to their immense and inconceivable distance. Immense and
inconceivable indeed it is, since a ball shot from a loaded cannon, and
flying with unabated rapidity, must travel at this impetuous rate almost
700,000 years, before it could reach the nearest of these twinkling
luminaries.
While beholding this vast expanse I learn my own extreme meanness, I
would also discover the abject littleness of all terrestrial things.
What is the earth, with all her ostentatious scenes, compared with this
astonishingly grand furniture of the skies? What, but a dim speck hardly
perceptible in the map of the universe? It is observed by a very
judicious writer, that if the sun himself, which enlightens this part of
the creation, were extinguished, and all the host of planetary worlds
which move about him were annihilated, they would not be missed by an
eye that can take in the whole compass of nature any more than a grain
of sand upon the sea-shore. The bulk of which they consist, and the
space which they occupy, are so exceedingly little in comparison of the
whole, that their loss would leave scarce a blank in the immensity of
God's works. If, then, not our globe only, but this whole system, be so
very dimunitive, what is a kingdom or a country? What are a few
lordships, or the so-much-admired patrimonies of those who are styled
wealthy? When I measure them with my own little pittance, they swell
into proud and bloated dimensions; but when I take the universe for my
standard, how scanty is their size, how contemptible their figure; they
shrink into pompous nothings!
ADDISON.
* * * * *
ODE TO ST. CECILIA.
[Illustration]
Now strike the golden lyre again:
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.
Break his bands of sleep asunder,
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark, hark, the horrid sound
Has raised up his head,
As awaked from the dead,
And amazed, he stares around.
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the Furies arise:
See the snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in their hair,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Behold a ghastly band,
Each a torch in his hand!
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,
And unburied remain
Inglorious on the plain.
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew.
Behold how they toss their torches on high,
How they point to the Persian abodes,
And glitt'ring temples of their hostile gods!
The Princes applaud, with a furious joy;
And the King seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy;
Thais led the way,
To light him to his prey,
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy.
Thus, long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,
While organs yet were mute;
Timotheus, to his breathing flute
And sounding lyre,
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from the sacred store,
Enlarged the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown:
He raised a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down.
DRYDEN
* * * * *
SATIN BOWER-BIRDS.
The Satin Bower-Bird was one of the earliest known species in the
Australian fauna, and probably received the name of _Satin Grakle_, by
which it was described in Latham's "General History of Birds," from the
intensely black glossy plumage of the adult male. But, although the
existence of this bird was noticed by most of the writers on the natural
history of Australia subsequent to Latham, it appears that no suspicion
of its singular economy had extended beyond the remotest settlers, until
Mr. Gould, whose great work on the "Birds of Australia" is known to
every one, unravelled the history of the _bowers_, which had been
discovered in many parts of the bush, and which had been attributed to
almost every possible origin but the right one.
The bower, as will be seen by the Illustration, is composed of twigs
woven together in the most compact manner, and ornamented with shells
and feathers, the disposition of which the birds are continually
altering. They have no connexion with the nest, and are simply
playing-places, in which the birds divert themselves during the months
which precede nidification.
[Illustration: BOWER BIRDS.]
The birds themselves are nearly as large as a jackdaw. The female is
green in colour, the centre of the breast feathers yellowish; the
unmoulted plumage of the male is similar: the eyes of both are brilliant
blue.
* * * * *
THE POOL OF SILOAM.
[Illustration: Letter T.]
The fountain and pool of Siloam, whose surplus waters flow in a little
streamlet falling into the lake Kedron, is situate near the ancient
walls of the city of Jerusalem. Mr. Wild tells us "that the fountain of
Siloam is a mineral spring of a brackish taste, and somewhat of the
smell of the Harrowgate water, but in a very slight degree." It is said
to possess considerable medicinal properties, and is much frequented by
pilgrims. "Continuing our course," says he, "around the probable line of
the ancient walls, along the gentle slope of Zion, we pass by the King's
gardens, and arrive at the lower pool of Siloam, placed in another
indentation in the wall. It is a deep square cistern lined with masonry,
adorned with columns at the sides, and having a flight of steps leading
to the bottom, in which there was about two feet of water. It
communicates by a subterraneous passage with the fountain, from which it
is distant about 600 yards. The water enters the pool by a low arched
passage, into which the pilgrims, numbers of whom are generally to be
found around it, put their heads, as part of the ceremony, and wash
their clothes in the purifying stream that rises from it." During a
rebellion in Jerusalem, in which the Arabs inhabiting the Tillage of
Siloam were the ringleaders, they gained access to the city by means of
the conduit of this pool, which again rises within the mosque of Omar.
This passage is evidently the work of art, the water in it is generally
about two feet deep, and a man may go through it in a stooping position.
When the stream leaves the pool, it is divided into numbers of little
aqueducts, for the purpose of irrigating the gardens and
pleasure-grounds which lie immediately beneath it in the valley, and are
the chief source of their fertility, for, as they are mostly formed of
earth which has been carried from other places, they possess no original
or natural soil capable of supporting vegetation. As there is but little
water in the pool during the dry season, the Arabs dam up the several
streams in order to collect a sufficient quantity in small ponds
adjoining each garden, and this they all do at the same time, or there
would be an unfair division of the fertilizing fluid. These dams are
generally made in the evening and drawn off in the morning, or sometimes
two or three times a day; and thus the reflux of the water that they
hold gives the appearance of an ebb and flow, which by some travellers
has caused a report that the pool of Siloam is subject to daily tides.
[Illustration: THE POOL OF SILOAM.]
There are few towns, and scarcely any metropolitan town, in which the
natural supply of water is so inadequate as at Jerusalem; hence the many
and elaborate contrivances to preserve the precious fluid, or to bring
it to the town by aqueducts.
* * * * *
WINTER THOUGHTS.
[Illustration: Letter A.]
Ah! little think the gay licentious proud,
Whom pleasure, pow'r, and affluence surround--
They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,
And wanton, often cruel, riot waste;
Ah! little think they, while they dance along
How many feel this very moment death,
And all the sad variety of pain:
How many sink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame! how many bleed
By shameful variance betwixt man and man!
How many pine in want and dungeon glooms,
Shut from the common air, and common use
Of their own limbs! how many drink the cup
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of misery! Sore pierced by wintry winds,
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty! How many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse,
Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life,
They furnish matter for the Tragic Muse!
Even in the vale where Wisdom loves to dwell,
With Friendship, Peace, and Contemplation join'd,
How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop
In deep retired distress. How many stand
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends,
And point the parting anguish! Thought fond man
Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills,
That one incessant struggle render life--
One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate,
Vice in its high career would stand appall'd,
And heedless, rambling impulse learn to think;
The conscious heart of Charity would warm,
And her wide wish Benevolence dilate;
The social tear would rise, the social sigh,
And into clear perfection gradual bliss,
Refining still, the social passions work.
THOMSON.
* * * * *
BRITISH TROOPS IN CANADA.
[Illustration: Letter R.]
Really winter in Canada must be felt to be imagined; and when felt can
no more be described by words, than colours to a blind man or music to a
deaf one. Even under bright sun-shine, and in a most exhilirating air,
the biting effect of the cold upon the portion of our face that is
exposed to it resembles the application of a strong acid; and the
healthy grin which the countenance assumes, requires--as I often
observed on those who for many minutes had been in a warm room waiting
to see me--a considerable time to relax.
In a calm, almost any degree of cold is bearable, but the application of
successive doses of it to the face by wind, becomes, occasionally,
almost unbearable; indeed, I remember seeing the left cheek of nearly
twenty of our soldiers simultaneously frost-bitten in marching about a
hundred yards across a bleak open space, completely exposed to a strong
and bitterly cold north-west wind that was blowing upon us all.
The remedy for this intense cold, to which many Canadians and others
have occasionally recourse, is--at least to my feelings it always
appeared--infinitely worse than the disease. On entering, for instance,
the small parlour of a little inn, a number of strong, able-bodied
fellows are discovered holding their hands a few inches before their
faces, and sitting in silence immediately in front of a stove of such
excruciating power, that it really feels as if it would roast the very
eyes in their sockets; and yet, as one endures this agony, the back part
is as cold as if it belonged to what is called at home "Old Father
Christmas."
As a further instance of the climate, I may add, that several times,
while my mind was very warmly occupied in writing my despatches, I found
my pen full of a lump of stuff that appeared to be honey, but which
proved to be frozen ink; again, after washing in the morning, when I
took up some money that had lain all night on my table, I at first
fancied it had become sticky, until I discovered that the sensation was
caused by its freezing to my fingers, which, in consequence of my
ablutions, were not perfectly dry.
[Illustration: WINTER DRESS OF BRITISH TROOPS IN CANADA.]
Notwithstanding, however, this intensity of cold, the powerful
circulation of the blood of large quadrupeds keeps the red fluid, like
the movement of the waters in the great lakes, from freezing; but the
human frame not being gifted with this power, many people lose their
limbs, and occasionally their lives, from cold. I one day inquired of a
fine, ruddy, honest-looking man, who called upon me, and whose toes and
instep of each foot had been truncated, how the accident happened? He
told me that the first winter he came from England he lost his way in
the forest, and that after walking for some hours, feeling pain in his
feet, he took off his boots, and from the flesh immediately swelling, he
was unable to put them on again. His stockings, which were very old
ones, soon wore into holes; and as rising on his insteps he was
hurriedly proceeding he knew not where, he saw with alarm, but without
feeling the slightest pain, first one toe and then another break off, as
if they had been pieces of brittle stick, and in this mutilated state he
continued to advance till he reached a path which led him to an
inhabited log house, where he remained suffering great pain till his
cure was effected.
Although the sun, from the latitude, has considerable power, it appears
only to illuminate the sparkling snow, which, like the sugar on a bridal
cake, conceals the whole surface. The instant, however, the fire of
heaven sinks below the horizon, the cold descends from the upper regions
of the atmosphere with a feeling as if it were poured down upon the head
and shoulders from a jug.
SIR FRANCIS HEAD.
* * * * *
BALLOONS.
The idea of constructing a machine which should enable us to rise into
and sail through the air, seems often to have occupied the attention of
mankind, even from remote times, but it was never realised until within
the last sixty or seventy years. The first public ascent of a
fire-balloon in France, in 1783, led to an experiment on the part of
Joseph Mongolfier. He constructed a balloon of linen, lined with paper,
which, when inflated by means of burning chopped straw and coal, was
found to be capable of raising 500 pounds weight. It was inflated in
front of the Palace at Versailles, in the presence of the Royal family,
and a basket, containing a sheep, a duck, and a cock, was attached to
it. It was then liberated, and ascended to the height of 1500 feet. It
fell about two miles from Versailles; the animals were uninjured, and
the sheep was found quietly feeding near the place of its descent.
Monsieur Mongolfier then constructed one of superior strength, and a M.
de Rozier ventured to take his seat in the car and ascend three hundred
feet, the height allowed by the ropes, which were not cut. This same
person afterwards undertook an aerial voyage, descending in safety about
five miles from Paris, where the balloon ascended. But this enterprising
voyager in the air afterwards attempted to travel in a balloon with
sails. This was formed by a singular combination of balloons--one
inflated with hydrogen gas, and the other a fire-balloon. The latter,
however, catching fire, the whole apparatus fell from the height of
about three-quarters of a mile, with the mangled bodies of the voyagers
attached to the complicated machinery.
[Illustration: GREEN'S BALLOON, ASCENDING FROM VAUXHALL GARDENS.]
A Frenchman named Tester, in 1786, also made an excursion in a balloon
with sails; these sails or wings aided in carrying his balloon so high,
that when he had reached an elevation of 3000 feet, fearing his balloon
might burst, he descended into a corn-field in the plain of Montmorency.
An immense crowd ran eagerly to the spot; and the owner of the field,
angry at the injury his crop had sustained, demanded instant
indemnification. Tester offered no resistance, but persuaded the
peasants that, having lost his wings, he could not possibly escape. The
ropes were seized by a number of persons, who attempted to drag the
balloon towards the village; but as, during the procession, it had
acquired considerable buoyancy, Tester suddenly cut the cords, and,
rising in the air, left the disappointed peasants overwhelmed in
astonishment. After being out in a terrible thunder-storm, he descended
uninjured, about twelve hours from the time of his first ascent.
* * * * *
SIR THOMAS GRESHAM.
[Illustration: Letter A.]
Among the worthies of this country who, after a successful and
honourable employment of their talent in life, have generously consulted
the advantage of generations to come after them, few names appear more
conspicuous than that of Sir Thomas Gresham, the founder of Gresham
College, and of the Royal Exchange, London. He was born in that city
about the year 1518, the second son of Sir Richard Gresham, who served
the office of sheriff in 1531, and that of Lord Mayor in 1537. He
received a liberal education at the University, and is mentioned in high
terms as having distinguished himself at Cambridge, being styled "that
noble and most learned merchant." His father at this time held the
responsible position of King's merchant, and had the management of the
Royal monies at Antwerp, then the most important seat of commerce in
Europe; and when his son Sir Thomas succeeded him in this responsible
appointment, he not only established his fame as a merchant, but secured
universal respect and esteem. After the accession of Queen Elizabeth,
his good qualities attracted the peculiar notice of her Majesty, who was
pleased to bestow on him the honour of knighthood; and at this time he
built the noble house in Bishopsgate-street, which after his death was
converted to the purposes of a College of his own foundation.