Page images
PDF
EPUB

CONTENTMENT.

Ir we consider the various pursuits of mankind after happiness, they will be found, in general, concentrated in that sovereign object,-riches. The statesman, whose motives would seem to tend wholly to the prosperity and welfare of his country, who makes the most solemn protestations of his attachment to its interests, and pretends to be ready to sacrifice his life and fortune whenever called upon, in the defence of it, will, as soon as the grand spring of his action is removed, be found as cool and inactive in support of the common cause, as he was a zealous promoter of its happiness. Self-interest precedes every other consideration, and a thirst after money often prompts the mind to actions of a base and dangerous tendency. The miser, whose insatiable avarice keeps pace with every other part of his character, knows no happiness but in accumulating wealth, and is as sanguine and diligent in the cause, as if the preservation of his life depended on the pursuit of it; his ambition knows no bounds, but like a greedy monster, he would rob the indigent of their support, and reduce them to the most abject servility, in order to enrich his own coffers. Contentment is a name he is not acquainted with; his chief pleasure consists in admiring his ill-gotten riches, and looking disdainfully on all beneath him. Yet after all, his riches seem only to torment him. Surrounded with all the superfluities of life, he murmurs in the midst of plenty ; and, by looking up to others in a prosperous situation, he not only envies the happiness they enjoy, but loses all relish for his own. When ambition fires the mind, and avarice petrifies the heart, a man may truly bid farewell to content. It is impossible for a miser to be happy; his name implies misery, and he deserves it: and the ambitious man, being of a restless disposition by nature, can never enjoy the blessings of repose.

The way to be happy is, to look down on those who suffer, and not to those who shine in the world; the comparison would then be so much in our favor, that we should cease to complain, and so far should we be from repining at the unequal distribution of fortune, that we should sit down contented with our lot, and be happy with the blessings we enjoy,—our pride would be humbled, and our peevishness turned into pity,-all our murmurings would be hushed at the sight of others. A little reason and common sense would point out to us the absurdity of our pursuit, and prove how dangerous it is to follow the deceitful track.

How happy then might people live, and what a figure might they make in the eye of the world, were they to manage the liberalities of fortune with common sense, and learn to despise the superfluities of it! From a want of this springs all the unhappiness of life; and from a careful observance of it proceeds every satisfaction we can wish to obtain.

If we reflect properly on the miseries with which the majority of mankind are hourly tormented, or the many crosses and disappointments they meet, and the difficulties with which they are embarrassed, we should, possessing health and a moderate competency, view without emotion, the magnificence of the great, and never sigh for the luxuries of the vicious.

There is less pleasure in the enjoyment of riches, than the idea of them presents us with; for the man, who, by virtuous industry, moves in a moderate sphere of life, tastes more real satisfaction than the courtier, with all his pomp, pride and greatness. "For godliness, with contentment, is great gain, having the promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.

[ocr errors]

Loyal Bromley Lodge, Newark District.

ON THE DEATH OF MY LITTLE BOY.

THE eye is closed that once shone bright,
His buoyant spirit's fled,

The object of my heart's fond hopes
Lies number'd with the dead.

How clay-cold now those once warm lips
Which mine so oft have press'd,
And silenc'd is that prattling tongue

In everlasting rest.

St. Olave Lodge, London, 1839.

TRUTH.

But three weeks back the boy I lov'd
Was smiling, blooming, gay;

But now the all-devouring grave
Lies gaping for its prey.

Like some fair flow'r, fresh bloomed in
Upon a sunny day;

[spring,

But night-frost came, and in the morn
It droop'd and died away!

J. MORGAN.

A SABBATH EVENING'S WALK UPON KERSAL MOOR,
NEAR MANCHESTER.

'Tis now the Sabbath,-and another week,
With all its lengthen'd catalogue of ills,
Is added to the mighty roll of Time!
And now no more is heard the busy hum,
By distance lessened, as when ocean laves
Some pebbly shore,-but all is still, and all
Seek to enjoy the rest the Sabbath brings :-
All, all, is rest! No more the pent-up hold
Contains the pallid cheek, the fireless eye,
Or care-worn look; its dizzy whirl has ceased.
The crowded mart, the bustling street, no more
The active merchants crowd,-one general rest
Pervades the whole,-e'en labour's self is still.
The man of business in the alley's gloom
Has closed his books, and turned the massy key,-
And, with the pale mechanic, freed from toil,
May wander through the fields, or careless stray
Far from their busy haunts, and seek for peace
In nature's calmest shades,-or on the hill,
Or in the lowlands, by the river's brink,
And feel his heart unfold itself, and strive
To throw off all its cares, each anxious thought,
And drink the sacred draught of hallow'd bliss,-
Chaste and extatic, such as Nature gives

To those alone who love her wildest grace,
And seek to know her charms through every brake,
And copse, and verdant hill, and grassy plain.
How lovely is this prospect! opening wide
Far as the eye can reach, or trace the bound
Of earth to heaven; united peace and joy
Smile o'er the scene, and kindle in the heart,
So sweetly softened by their genial sway,-
Such holy thoughts of gratitude and love,
To Him who gave this hallow'd day of rest.
Yet 'tis not silence all,-the rustling breeze
Speaks sweetest music to the pensive mind!
The evening bells in undulations soft
Float on its azure wings,-now high, now low,—
And shed their gentlest influence o'er the heart!
Before me far is spread the mighty vale
Which forms the home of industry and art.
Calm as a spirit, Irwell glides along,
While scarce a ripple or a bubble breaks
The glassy stillness of his placid breast;
Bright with the heavens above, reflected deep,
In golden splendour, far he winds around,
As though he wished to linger in this vale
Of quiet loveliness, nor sought to pass
His troubled waters through yon busy town.

Each breath of air fresh from the scented grove,
With balmy odours laden, steeps the sense
In all the bliss of sweets; meanwhile, the choir
Of feathered songsters, with increasing tongue
Warble sweet praises,-and the lowing herds
That wander far beneath, though scarcely heard,
Their voices join,-no inharmonious sound.
All nature sings for joy,-each leaf, each spray,
And every tree, and bush, the sod beneath,-

All teems with life,-one breathing, moving mass
Of happiness and peace; all breaking forth
In the rich beauty of their dress divine.
Yea, all around me pours in reason's ear,
In nature's language the enchanting strain
Of rapturous praise of heart-felt love and joy.
The feathered songsters from their leafy bower,
In warblings sweet with gladness never cease
To raise their tuneful voices in his praise,-
And every zephyr on its balmy wings
Wafts their melodious praises to His throne !
Whilst the enraptured soul with faith upborn,
Soars far above the pleasures of this world,—
Above its vanities, its care and toil,
And sublunary joys; and mounting high,
High as th' eternal throne, she gladly pours
The animated song of love and praise,-
The mighty theme to Him exalted there,
Who yet could stoop to our rebellious race!
What depths of love, unbounded mercy, beams
Through every glorious attribute on man!
Around, the host of heaven, in harpings sweet,
Proclaim the Mighty God,-the King of Kings!
Jehovah Uncreate! Before all worlds,-
Creation's God! Incomprehensible !

The mighty Centre of Eternity!

The sounds celestial vibrate through all space,-
While mighty spheres, and the stupendous host
Of golden orbs that wander round, return,
In hymnings high, their answers to the sound,—
The Lord, the Everlasting God,—is Great!
While thus entranc'd, th' enraptur'd soul forgets
All thoughts of earth; its sordid cares and joys
Cease to affect her, while with happy strains
Of heaven's high symphonies, celestial notes
That all th' unnumber'd host seraphic pour
From golden harps, her every power dilates :
And thus she swells unutterably full,-
Would gladly burst her prison-house, and plume
Her sparkling wings for heaven's supernal courts ;-
But that this earthly dross, as some dead weight
Still drags her down, and binds her to the earth;
Where she must toil along this nether life,
Until, at length, arrives the wished release!

I. A. H.

ON FREEDOM.-The natural bent of the human mind is to long for liberty, and delight in acting uncontrolled; but all the appearances of nature show us that every being depends upon another, and is influenced and modified in his operations by every object around him. This general law exerts its power, not only on living beings, but rules also the brute and material part of creation. It is not, then, in a blind state of liberty that we are to seek for happiness, but in sacrificing equally a portion of our independence to the good and comfort of society. There is a nobler freedom than that which erects its throne upon the degradation of human kind; it is that of the mind, by which we are enabled to shake off the fetters of the passions, and view the actions of men, and their respective merits, with an impartial glance. This is the most important, as it can only serve to foster virtue, to encourage the arts and sciences, and to increase the share of social and national felicity.

Noah's Ark Lodge, Newark District.

SENEX.

A VOYAGE TO, AND TOUR IN, NORTH AMERICA.

(ORIGINAL.)

IN January, 1836, I engaged myself to a family who were expecting to sail for North America, on a government mission; my master having been chosen by the government for that purpose was obliged to sail immediately on his appointment, and left his family to follow. After a delay of twelve months of anxious expectation, the news arrived that we were to set sail immediately; accordingly the 7th of January, 1837, was fixed for our departure from England, but owing to the tide the vessel could not be got out of the docks until the following morning, when we went on board the President, a New York line of packet ship.

Having parted with our friends, who were waiting with anxious and glistening eyes, with a tear at one corner, and a would-be smile at the other, we were hauled out of the St. Katherine's Docks into the Thames, and towed down the river by a steamer to Gravesend, which place we reached at five o'clock the same day; there being no wind, we anchored there for the night, and at daybreak set sail for Portsmouth, where we arrived on Wednesday, the 11th, at twelve o'clock. Having laid off about an hour and a half to take in the mail bags, passengers, and stores, we set sail again with a fair wind, which took us through the British Channel, and saw Land's End, (Lizard's Point) on the morning of the following Saturday; it was not until then that I saw the whole of our fellow-passengers, of which the following is a rough sketch. In the best cabin, which, (to a landsman who had seen nothing of the kind before) to look at would almost make him believe that he could spend his whole life there without a murmur, but how soon does the mind change when he begins to feel the effects of a rough sea, but to my story. In the best cabin there were no other passengers than our own family, which consisted of four ladies, one young gentleman, (about fourteen years of age) three female servants and myself; the passage for each of the ladies was thirty-five guineas, and for each of the servants twenty guineas, which included everything that was necessary for our use. In the mate's cabin were two young men passengers, whose passage was seventeen pounds each, and who lived with the mates. In the steerage, or forecabin, there were twenty-five passengers, who paid five pounds each, and found themselves every necessary; amongst them was an Englishman who had settled in one of the States of America, and had come to England expressly to buy some asses: he had bought nine of them, which he had huddled together in a small box on deck, for which he paid twelve pounds, and five pounds each for their passage, which, together with his own passage, would amount to upwards of seventy pounds, exclusive of the purchase. This unfortunate man (for such he really must have been) when asked what his motive was, and what his profit would be, answered that his ideas were, that as asses and mules were so very scarce there, he could make good profit of them, by breeding mules on his farm, and send them to different parts of the United States for sale, and to get almost his own price for them. What his ideas were on his arrival I had not an opportunity of knowing, but I should think they were considerably altered, for I am sorry to say, that at that time, he had only four of them left; the other five having died through the effects of the rough and stormy weather which we experienced : the rest of the passengers were mechanics and farmers who were going to settle. The remainder of the deck was occupied by one cow, four sheep, and four pigs, fowls, geese, and ducks for the ship's use. Having given a plain but faithful account of the passengers, I must now proceed with the voyage. The passengers who had hitherto been engaged in making themselves as comfortable in their new dwelling as they could, had now come up on deck, to take a last look, and bid adieu to their native land; and as the British shores receded from our sight, and the sea began to roll our vessel about, they began to despair below deck, and in the course of an hour after, the deck was clear, with the exception of one or two, "who were better seamen," and the crew of the vessel. After getting out to sea we had fair winds until the 17th, going at about six or seven miles an hour; after which we had head winds and squalls until the 27th, when we had a dreadful storm, which lasted until the 29th. This storm drove us back up. wards of fifty miles. However, on the afternoon of the 29th, we got a favourable wind, which took us one hundred miles that day; after which we had a calm for twenty-four hours, when head winds and gales attacked us again, and continued until the 14th of February, on which night we had another storm, which split and nearly carried away VOL. 6-No. 1-B.

our fore topsail. It being in the night, between twelve and one o'clock, the noise (which woke most of the passengers) appeared like some immense engine beating against the side of the vessel, which, together with sundry articles, breaking and rolling from one side of the cabin to the other, (at the first moment, I believe) made most of us think of preparing ourselves to meet our Maker; but after the first bustle on deck was over, we were told the particulars, and tried to reconcile ourselves to sleep, but in vain. After this storm abated we had head winds again until the 19th, but on the 17th we were very much alarmed by the cries of fire, from some of the steerage passengers, when all who were on the deck ran to that part of the vessel; the first thing I saw was an old woman, who was wringing her hands, and crying "fire!" We asked her where the fire was, as nothing was to be seen of the kind; she told us that it was in the hold, and knowing that there was a quantity of hay there, and having noticed one of the boys go down for hay with a light without any kind of lantern, we thought it very likely to be too true: however, whilst we were making preparations on deck for extinguishing it, the captain and two or three of the sailors came from below, and reported it to be a hoax, and nothing more than a little smoke which had found its way from the stove in the ladies' cabin, through a passage to the steerage. We had scarcely got over the effects of the alarm, when we had another of a similar kind, and which might have proved more serious to us; this was occasioned by the carelessness of the cabin boy, who was holding a cinder with the tongs for the captain to light his cigar with, and without noticing it, dropped a part of it through the skylight, on to the table in the ladies' cabin, which having some loose paper on set fire to it; but through Providence was seen by one of the ladies before any material damage was done, and as it was not so publicly known, did not create the alarm that the first report did.

From this time until the 28th we were driving about till we managed to get within ninety miles of New York; but on the afternoon of this day, we met a heavy gale, which drove us considerably back. The weather at this time was very severe, so much so, that if any of the sails were furled in the night, it was not until the middle of the next day that the sailors could get them unfurled again from the effects of the frost; and even the sailors' jackets, who had been on the night-watch, when taken off would stand on end; and for a consolation, the captain told us that would be nothing to what we should have to encounter in Canada, though he himself said that this was the severest passage he had ever made. Owing to the voyage being so much longer than was anticipated, (from four to five weeks being about the usual time) some of the steerage passengers fell short of provisions, and applied to the captain to sell them biscuits, (that kind which the sailors use, and which were black and mouldy, and many of them maggotty) for which the captain paid in New York at the rate of three cents, or threehalfpence per pound, and charged these poor creatures twelve cents, or sixpence per pound, and some of them had little or no money to land with, total strangers, in a strange land, and amongst an uncouth set of people. However, after a few more days driving about, we managed to get on shore on the 4th of March, at New York, and glad enough we were, after so long and rough a passage. Having friends at New York, they had previously engaged rooms for us at the North American Hotel, Broadway, to which place we all proceeded. Having more than one hundred packages (large and small) the first three days were taken up in removing them from the vessel to the store room of the hotel; the remaining few days that we stopped there, was spent in looking about the town.

The town of New York is, "for a new country," a large place, and one of the principal cities of the United States, and contains some fine buildings, generally red brick; and some of the latest built private houses have porticos, and steps of red and white granite. The trades peoples' houses are generally (except those in the main streets) all wood, and are called frame houses. The goods are generally hung on rails at the edge of the pavement in front of the shops; and as the country has the n ame of" independent," the trades people imbibe that notion in their minds, and some of them will scarcely give a civil answer to a customer, if they think he is an Englishman. Having to get a few articles which were wanted, I tried nearly a dozen shops, (or stores as they are called there) before I could find anything I wanted; in most of them I was accosted by the owner, or deputy, of the shop, with-"Well, what do you want?" "So and so," said I; the answer was,-" Well, I guess I hav'nt got any,' at the same time turning away from me, not caring whether anything they had would answer my purpose. Several I asked if they would please to tell me where it was likely

« EelmineJätka »