and drooped away. A few weeks more, and she was unable to leave her father's roof; her parents beheld with feelings of the deepest anguish, their fair young flower verging to a premature grave. She who had been the joy and pride of their hearts torn from their arms in the bloom and gaity of youth. She died, and lies buried in yonder churchyard; her parents also sleep by her side. They did not long survive her death. Thus," said the old highlander when he had finished, "perish the frail hopes and expectations of human beings; to-day we are lifted up, to-morrow we are cast down." As the shades of night were fast advancing, I parted with my venerable companion, and directed my steps towards the glen.

LISBO.

Liverpool.

ADDRESS

Delivered at the Formation of a Widow and Orphans' Fund at the Rushcliffe Lodge, East Leake, Nottingham,

uses,

BY FRANCIS HARLEY, SURGEON,

OFFICERS AND BROTHERS,-In the formation and establishment of the contemplated Fund, which I am desirous of placing upon as sound a basis, and as correct a principle, as my humble ability enables me, I am aware that I shall labour under some peculiar difficulties, and perhaps incur some displeasures, from its appearing ill-timed and inconvenient through the adversity of some of the members of this Lodge; but, be this as it may, I feel persuaded that there is no hill but what can be ascended, no obstacle but what can be removed, and no difficulty but what can be overcome, by unflinching perseverance and correct moral example and precept. No human institution being in itself perfect, upon this ground alone I plead for indulgence and pardon for my ignorance. All I ask, all I require, is a firm support in the moral guides and senior lights of this Lodge, to carry out and mature my design, and without whom all efforts will prove abortive and unavailing, all my energies will become cramped and paralysed, and all my fond hopes will fall blighted and withered, even as the neglected and bestprized flower or the finest and best-nurtured plant. I invoke your patience, therefore, and entreat your mutual aid in establishing this most desirable and useful of all other institutes, an auxiliary to the already encouraging and flattering fund of this Lodge. In erecting my building, I entreat from you alone such materials as will stablish, strengthen, and model, not a temple to a Solomon, but one to and for your own intrinsic and, I trust and hope, to and for your own decided and satisfactory advantages and interests,-one, also, that shall be dedicated to yourselves, to your future offspring, to your present progeny, to the partner of your bosom, of your cares, of your woes, of your wants, of your sympathies, of your best interests, of your prosperity, and of your adversity,-one dedicated, too, to the fame and to the name of this Lodge, to and for its benefits, present and future,-increasing your respectability as a body, adding strength to strength, industry to industry, wealth to wealth, fame to fame, with a wreath of glory and with a crown of honour and of joy. The hapless, the disconsolate, and forlorn widow, the destitute, neglected, poor and unprovided-for orphan, will raise their hap. pier and most grateful voices to the Great Protector, the Mighty Jehovah, and hail and rejoice at the day to return into your hands "tribute to whom tribute, custom to whom custom" is due, and mete out the full measure of gratitude for the timely provision prepared by you, and for the bounty so unexpectedly and freely bestowed from your hands at the period of their real and eventful need. The highest consolation, the greatest satisfaction that you can experience, on quitting this vale of tears, is that of providing for adverse circumstances during life, and the more so when you reflect that such is intended for your surviving relict and for your once dear offspring,-'tis for them you are required to store the hive,-'tis for their support your mites are solicited, to rescue them from the trammels of a parish, and from the snares of evil-disposed and corrupt associates.

To "teach the young idea how to shoot" is at all times an object worthy of our most serious notice, and the more feelingly so when it is coupled with the pleasing satisfaction of supporting the orphan under that state of adversity from which, perhaps, it never

would or could be extricated, unless for the provision which I now solicit to be made at your hands, and in this I trust and hope I shall not supplicate in vain, but finally be crowned by a complete and satisfactory success. The motto of this valued, praiseworthy, and extensive institute being "Friendship, Love and Truth," they will equally bear upon the objects in question and the motives in our view. If based, as we are designated to be, by independency of action, by independency of principle, and by independency of spirit, as Odd Fellows, surely, you will not break through common rules, common order, and mar the name with which you are characterised, and with which you are associated, by neglecting any opportunity of superadding to your philanthropy, by increasing your benevolence, by extending your right arm, and lending all your aid to consolidate, enlarge, and more firmly establish the great and sacred principles of charity, and the mutual attributes of your Order, and this Lodge, your acknowledged fraternity. Friendship, a mighty link in the chain of this Order, will well apply in the contemplated formation of this fund, inasmuch as without it, Odd Fellowship is, and would indeed be, but a name, a mere pass-word among us; but when applied to the object before us, it dictates and directs that we should ever keep in view its cheering influence in order to maintain, in a pure and unbroken manner, the sacred words of the motto presented so repeatedly to our eyes and our thoughts, and by which we are bound to each other in holiness, in good-will, and in purity. Without friendship, the world, however constituted, would indeed be worthless and irksome in its passage; and as we are inhabitants during a probationary existence only, it is ever wise to seize time, to make the best possible use of it, and to turn it to its best and most interested purposes at every opportunity. Friendship also enjoins, that in the formation of this Fund, as a common act, that man would hereafter become more firmly rivited to each other, by erecting so good an institute, with charity for its leading character, and with purity and philanthropy for its moral guide, its final purpose and end. Morally speaking, pure friendship is an ingredient, a gem of the highest value and of genuine price;-'tis worth storing, 'tis worth notice,-'tis precious,-'tis inestimable; and to confirm your real friendship, to cement you all in a still firmer bond, cultivate this innocent, this diminutive plant more generally, more tenderly, and more cautiously amongst yourselves than you have been wont to do,-transmit it spotless to your posterity, but convey with it the memory, the lamentation of the hapless widow, the tale and the tear of the destitute and unprotected orphan,-that both may prize, that each may duly estimate the worth, the weight, the motive and design of their departed yet immortalised relatives and friends. The second portion of our motto, Love, the cementer of Friendship and Truth, is deserving of the most serious attention; it is the cementing watch-word of fidelity and of unity,-the very bond of peace,-the only genuine pledge of happiness. 'Tis love that binds effectually and virtually man to woman, woman to man,-the parent to its offspring, the offspring to its parent. 'Tis mutual love that secures and constitutes them as happy beings,-making life at once happy, their condition easy, their habitations comfortable and exhilerating, and their state honourable, crowning them with contentment and joy. "Tis death that ruptures these bonds,-'tis death that severs happiness, that rives contentment, and, regardless of persons, eventually destroys all hopes, mars all designs, immolates our best intentions, and uproots every human scheme, -prostrating in its career the rich, the poor, the naked and the clad,-paying no regard to person nor to circumstances-leaving in this chequered state, the poor, the rich, the abject, the august, in situations oftimes too painful, too pitiable, and too distressing to behold.

To ameliorate in some measure such unforeseen circumstances and vicissitudes,to ward off the amount of such impending disasters, surely, as parents, this alone will stimulate you, will warn you to be up and be doing; and if by your additional energies and trifling contributions you can avert the anticipated misfortunes, it is wisdom, it is justice, it is reason, that should prompt you to enter such a rank, and to co-operate most strenuously to rear so proud and so exemplary a monument, as a fund for the use of future ages, and for the benefit of a future generation. As life's thread is uncertain, so death's blow is sure. Thus, Love, with all its ties, is at once dissolved. Want perhaps imbitters the once cheerful, the once happy family, and gloom and woe pervade the chilling scene. To ward off and to prevent such misery, the wise parent ought to ensure such timely protection and provision as would place his offspring (as far as possible) above the cringing obligations of a narrow-minded world, and of the miseries of a parochial support.

VOL. 6-No. 7-3 B,

Truth, the test of Odd Fellowship and of man, is the last, but by much reason not the least, in our motto; and as its application to the object before us is inseparable from its companions, it ought ever to guide and to bind us in our various duties, both within these walls and in our out-door occupations and transactions; believing, as I firmly do, that without a strict adherence to truth is observed and maintained by us, and indelibly engraven on our hearts as well as on our lips, there is much reason and cause to fear the motives by which we were actuated at the time of our initiation. Truth is an ingredient of such purity and value, that we should ever hold it most sacred and sincere; it is meek-eyed, immutable, incontrovertible, imperishable, and unerring in its standard and its bearings; it is the ornament of our motto,-one of the very best ornaments of man's mind; it is ever trust-worthy, never-failing when pure,-ever indestructible, and, when sincerce, everlasting. In its bearing upon the question before us, I think a most forcible reason would strike every man of pliant mind, that without it the base and fundamental part of the intended fund would break down in its establishment, and shiver in its operation,-would dwindle, consume, and die in its workings, unless upheld, maintained, and fostered by unerring truth, emanating from which is real virtue, whose fruits are many, when honesty directs and sincerity prompts to action and to its final results. Friendship points, Love stimulates, Truth confirms. Friendship is the dial, Love the life, and Truth the index, of the machinery. Withdraw, separate, and unhinge its parts, the fabric is destroyed, confusion ensues, anarchy usurps peace, destruction enters, and ruin ends and crowns the scene. Separate your motto-spoliation in your society arises; preserve it as a trinity-peace reigns; preserve it, as at present, as a unity"concord and good-will will ever be its concomitants, will ever cement your fraternity, your opinions, and your funds, and lead you and direct you onwards to that haven of perfection so devoutly to be wished and fully consummated.

In concluding the remarks which I have been induced to make to you, I am prompted by no wish other than for your real welfare and interest. I implore you to receive them in the same good spirit and feeling with which I deliver them. By the adoption and sanction of the laws which I have submitted for the conformation and regulation of your fund, I hope you will not be misguided or deceived; and with a full and earnest desire that you will succeed, I cheerfully, and I hope safely, resign into your hands the trust, which I anticipate will not be abused or misplaced.

FRANCIS HARLEY, SURGEON.

Rushcliffe Lodge, East Leake, Nottingham.

THE YOUNG TRAMP.

A SKETCH Of our order, BY A MEMBER.

CHAPTER IV.

Mitford on his journey, and arrival at the Romantic Lodge.

MITFORD reached home, full of reflection on the Orphan's Wreath; and, bright as the Order might seem when gilded with the tinsel of worldly eloquence, yet brighter it was when crowned with the garlands which gratitude weaves for it in the heavenly hour of contentment and thankfulness.

How quietly passes along any one who has separated himself from the world, and walks in the paths of good men; no matter how useful or how good his intentions, if they are not thrust upon the world under the patronage of wealth, and approved and admired by the great. What a sad world we should have, was there no goodness or benevolence in it but that which greatness fostered and supported; and what a miserable world we should have, if there was no hand stretched out to help the needy but the hand that has plenty, and no home for the pennyless wanderer but the mansion of the great.

Tracklessly moves the spirit of our Order around this despoiled earth, while we only know its presence by the changes which it leaves behind: beings who had become inanimate from want, leap about as if in a fairy world,-homes which the blight of sickness had made gloomier than the grave, have become "mansions of peace," and destitute children made "subjects of content." It glides along in its unruffled course, neither wishing the smiles of the fortune-favoured, nor dreading the frown of the proud.

Mitford remembered, before he retired to rest, that he had one duty to perform-to reflect on the last few days, and to add, in his calendar of a young and quiet life, a few more of the many blessings which he had reaped from Odd Fellowship, and finishing a few lines to his mother, retired to rest.

Too few there are who think or believe what good would result were they only to look back and behold the last few days. Years have steadily passed away-months still come, and days are still here, and all their events are unnoticed and neglected. Trifling as may seem the keeping of a diary of life, it is not so trifling as we may think,-life itself seems a trifle,-all its events are trifling; but we forget, that when we have done with these trifles, they have not done with us. It is in after-years, when they might have been a source of delight, they only come before us in shapes to weary and torment,blessings and curses, dangers and escapes, opportunities and privileges, are all huddled together in memory's lumber-room.

Mitford was always found in a corner of the Lodge-room, whenever an opportunity presented itself; and when distress solicited the kindness of the members, his own mite was cheerfully added. One evening Mitford had seated himself beside a few members, who had been singing till they could sing no longer, and laughing till they could laugh no more, and were now in the element of good men-quietness;-at this time, Wilks, the officer, entered the Lodge, and after informing each other it was beautiful weather, because the sun was shining and all nature was colthed in its newest green, they became as quiet as could be. The noise of foot-steps on the stairs, and the sounds of various voices, indicated that a party were about to enter, who, after gaining admission, seated themselves beside Mitford.

The party consisted of all sorts,-some long and some short,-some could smoke a pipe beautifully, and could so gracefully curl the smoke, that one would think that pipes were the instruments in which the clouds were fancifully formed,—some could sing a good song, and others could give a good joke.

Jenkinson, for so one was called, was just filling a pipe, a very pretty pipe, nicely tipped with red, embellished with some celebrated event of the chase, with its maker's name in bold characters, his eyes stedfastly fixed on it, and the first finger of his right hand gently thrusting in the tobacco, and the thumb evidently sustaining the pipe's head, when something appeared to flash across his mind, which made him lift his eyes and shift his hand in a kind of automaton style, and then, putting his right hand on his right leg, and his pipe and left hand on his left leg, he said to the one beside him—

"Oh, I say, how did you go on last night?"

Bravely," answered the other; " but it is well our N. G. knows nothing about it. But the best of the fun was, when old Barlow, who was chairman, stood on his legs to go home, he went down like a button with a cork on the top. None of the rest could assist him,-when they tried, all went down in the same way. Some said they would gó home, and others would have it they were at home. Some went home, and others as far as they could, and were then picked up like stranded sailors."

"Well," asked Jenkinson, "what if the N. G. knew?"

"They'd be sure to get a reprimand, and perhaps deserve it," was the answer of Newman.

"What has he to do with it?—you were out of the Order,—it wasn't Lodge-night, nor yet Lodge-room," continued Jenkinson. "Wilks is noticing what we are talking about," said Newman. "Why, we may say he has nothing to do with it, but we were all Odd Fellows; and although we might spend a social hour together, we are not to do as we like,-something different is expected from us.'

"You are right," said Wilks, "and I am glad to hear that such is your opinion, something different is expected from Odd Fellows. Let us not be worse than other men, by talking like angels, and acting like opposite beings. Shall we assemble at our Lecture, and hear the thrilling picture of a good man's life, so exquisitely drawn by our Order, and so often presented to us, and no change be discernible in our conduct? But the same sun that adorns the valleys and beautifies the plains, falls forcelessly on the towering hills, on whose proud summit we might expect to trace nature's fairy finger, but only behold the outlines of her rough hand, her dark frown instead of her witching smile."

"What's that?" said the Noble Grand, who heard Wilks' reply; "we will have

no rencounters here; but it would argue much for the sincerity of the attachment to the Order of those whose zeal seems to make themselves happy only in its social privileges, were they to endeavour to make others happy by practising its principles. But I'll thank you for attention to the Lodge business." The parties, after this rebuke, sat in

good humour till business was over, and then went peaceably home.

Mitford had occasion once more to take the road in search of employment. The officers of the District failed in their endeavours to procure work for him; and, taking leave of them, he was soon on his way.

66

Onward walked Godfrey, his thoughts now and then running upon home, and now and then turning upon the scene around him. He could imagine his mother and sister seated around their quiet hearth-his mother wondering "where Godfrey is now ;" and his sister suggesting, perhaps on some wide road, moneyless and friendless." Then his mother indulging a more cheerful thought,-" May-be amongst Odd Fellows, who will share with him his sorrows, and he share with them their joys;" or his sister asking, "I wonder what he is doing now?" and his mother answering, peradventure he is writing a letter for us;" then his sister anticipating the contents," Methinks he will fail to tell the truth,—he will forbear to make our lot more unhappy, by informing us he is unfortunate." He could fancy he saw them retire to rest, and hear the soft orison for his welfare, given in the simplicity of faith; his mother indulging the hope that he would soon come home, and Gertrude wishing he was with them. He could picture all this, and picturing, wished he was there, and wishing, walked still farther from it. Then he would ruminate on the scene around him-the quietness of an afternoon-the heavy heat of the sun-labourers, who had borne the burden and heat of the day, sleeping on the hilly part of a meadow-the song of shepherds-the merry voices and laughing of children rolling down the little hills-the rushing waterfallthe unruffled gliding of the silver stream-the hum of bees-the song of birds-the lazy roll of a waggon-the crack of a waggoner's whip-the sound of a turned gate-the distant bark of a village dog-corn-fields full of sheaves, and meadows strewed with hay-mounds-the heavenliness of all around, and his solitary unquiet mind,- -a restless spirit, surrounded with grandeur, he was still incapable of enjoying a foretaste of heaven.

What a strange world we live in. Here is nature in her prodigality, clothing every corner with beauty, and blessing beauty with every good,—and there is man in his pride— and what a strange pride-forbidding such goodness to be for all. Here is one man with his heaps of wealth, and his wealth eating away his peace; and there want is wasting thousands. In this great city are passing in the midst of its busy habitants, hundreds on whom the light dawns only to mock their calamities, and darkness comes but to aggravate their misery. Here are crowded together extreme wealth and abject poverty, happy spirits and despairing hearts. Heaven, in kindness, making all earth to sing with gladness, while man, in a malicious perversion of his power, is obscuring all that is bright, and polluting all that is fair.

Mitford had walked some miles, and, full of thoughts like the foregoing, had missed his way, and now resolved to follow in the present direction, and then increased his pace. Following the present road, he reached a large fell, and, evening coming on fast, was fearful lest he might have the unpleasantness of spending a night in the open air; to avoid this he still hurried his pace. The road brought him to a neat little village, and on inquiry was shewn a public house, not far from where he was.

Many persons have to travel in search of employment, destitute of everything that would smooth the rough road, and pennyless and foot-sore, have taken shelter in old barns, and pillowed their weary heads on unhewn stones. It is not uncommon for individuals to travel many miles and not find a home, to see thousands of human beings, and not discover a friend, and are indebted to heaven alone for the streams to quench their thirst, and sleep to refresh their hunger-weakened limbs; but no Odd Fellow need do this. Odd Fellowship has not forgotten the traveller,-its lodges are the "cities of refuge” of our own country, -its members "the Samaritans" of our own land, where the wayworn may always rest, and from whom the traveller will always receive that kindness which the unfortunate should meet with from the fortunate.

On reaching the house before-named, he entered a room, and throwing down his bundle, seated himself beside a few individuals. His dusty appearance and other marks suggested to the company that he must be a traveller, Mitford ordered some refresh