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THE FOUR QUARTERS OF THE GLOBE, BT TBI Late Minitter of Mcucreen Churchy St. George's^ (Author of ** An Historical and Statistical Account of Sew Branswiok) British North America,'') IND FOR BOMl TIMB MI8SI0NABT IN THB OBKNBT ISLANDS. Anns gaoh Sgriobhadh biodh Cospiar, S,.' '.. lii -. .'.:. ■$ ? * '■ *.»' ii* ■■J' "Virs-iTj'jtT' 4-iia-KEX Hi, IMAWOlii'ilM IIU'TT BMim Uf- -%fee^:^kfM;fifcft-iWoh3{S rfti-R^ s^j. .ii.. w.> Vl PREFACE. The object of the present Work is to furnish a large amount of instructive and interesting informa- tion, collected not only from the writers of works on America, (in which place the Author has been for many years,) but from the works of seyeral of the most distinguished travellers of modem times. To the selection of the Extracts particular attention has ^^een paid, and the writer has confined himself ^^ntirely to the works of those whose descriptive talenf^ are not only great, but whose fidelity and veracity are undoubted. The Work comprises sketches of all parts of the world, embracing not only some of the most striking features of European interest, but likewise con- ducting the reader to many of the most remarkable remains of antiquity in eastern countries. Narratives of persona] adventure will likewise be found in its pages. The volume is now offered to the public in ihe hope that it will form an acceptable work for the perusal of all who may be led to feel interested in its contents, but especially to the young, who will find in it muah that is calculated to enlarge their ideas and improve their minds. .a2 / IV The reception the writer of these pages has received from the Nohility, Clergy, Professors, &c., in England, Scotland, and Wales, has stimulated him to exert himself in bringing forward the present Work, and he will always esteem it the happiest result of every literary lahour, should his efforts prove serviceable so the cause of vital Christianity, by inspiring sentiments congenial to its spirit and tendency. The Author requests that each subscriber will kindly overlook any errors that may appear : no doubt several orthographical ones have escaped detection ; these and any others that may be found in the Work, are rather the result of haste than of inattention or design. In conclusion — the Author ^ health not permitting him t^Qontinue his mk^sterial duties/ he feels that he would not fulfil the lot assigned to him by his Creator did he not endeavour to improve the public mind by disseminating every sentiment^ of feeling, piety, wisdom, and virtue, that his own mind is capable of diffusing, and indulging a hope that the present Work may enjoy the liberal patronage awarded to his former efforts. ffi'f <<\ i>\'fr PAXMENTIS ENOENOIUM GLORliE. t ¥55^117 i<} Bath Buildings f Gloesop RoaJ, Sheffield, July, 1860. . Ks .IV CONTENTS Chaftbb I. The Religious Philosophy of Nature; Beauty Language; Discipline. Pages i— 27. Chapter II. New Holland ; Origin of the South Sea Islands; Supposed Felicity of the Polynesians in a State of Nature; The Progress of the Gospel iu the South Sea Islands; New Zealand; The First Sabbath ; The Power and Goodness of God as manifested in Fruitful Seasons; The Olympic Games ; Christ the Refuge and Rock of his Church ; The Mineral Wealth of Great Britain, Pages 37— 74. Chapter III. The Spirit of True Scholarship ; The Poor Curate; The Country Schoolmaster; Public Pleasure Grounds Abroad ; A June Night ; The Natu- ralist's Walk. Pages 76— 1 10. Chapter IV. Australia: — Cotton and Sugar Cultiv ition by means of European Free Labour in Australia ; Africa ; The Cape of Good Hope ; A Palace in a Valley. Pages 113—163. Chapter V. British North America ; Quebec ; Montreal ; Nova Scotia ; Halifax ; The Duke of Kent's Lodge ; Clerical Modes in America ; Nkw Bkunswice.; Fredericton ; St. Johns; St. VI. Georges ; Mascreen ; The Bay of Fund y ; New Brunswick Coal Field ; The American Indians ; Places Mr. Atkinson officiated at. Pages 167 — 198. Chapter VI, Unitid States ; New York ; Washington ; Phil- adelphia ; Boston ; Pittsburgh ; Falls of Niagara; The Humming Bird ; Religion. Pages 199—2 10. Chapter VII. Scotland ; Edinburgh ; The Castle ; The Regalia of Scotland; Staffa or Fingals Cave; The Alphabet ; A Threefold Being ; The Orkneys ; The Pentland Frith ; Places Mr. Atkinson officiated at in the Orkneys. Pages 21 1—234. Chapter VIII. Memoir of Grace H. Darling ; The Fame Islands ; Hebrew Women. Pages 236—251. Chapter IX. The Mutual Dependance of Mankind ; Ezekiel's Vision of the Wheels. Pages 262—261. Chapter X. Solomon's Temple ; Table of Shewbread ; The Difference and Affinity of several Languages may be seen from Habakkuk, chap, ii., verse 4 ; The Importance of Punctuality ; An Important Truth ; The Resting Place ; Emblematic Pro- perties of Flowers; A Syrian Bishop. Pages 265—272. POETRY. The Deity; Hymn of the Universe; The Sun; Stanzas; Bright Crystal Water. Pages 273—280. \ r; New ndians ; 7—198. ; Phil- fiagara; J— 210. Regalia ; The 'kneys ; tkinson -234. slands ; sekiels The [uages 4; >rtant Pro- 'ages J80. THE AUTHOR HAS BEEN PATRONISED IN HIS WORE ON AMERICA BT THE FOLLOWING DISTINGUISHED PERSONS. His Royal Highness Prince Albert, K. 6. His Grace the Duke of Baccleuch, K. G. His Grace the Duke of Sutherland, K. G. Most Noble the Marquis of Breadalbane, K. T. The Earl of Eglinton and Winton. The Right Honourable the Earl of Amherst. The Right Honourable the Earl of Bathurst The Right Honourable the Earl of Morton, K. G. The Right Honourable the Earl of Romney. The Right Honourable the Earl of Roseberry, K. T. The Right Honourable the Earl of Strathmore. The Right Hon. Viscount Lord Melville, K. T. His Grace the Archbishop of York. The Right Rev. Lord Bishop of London. The Right Rev. Lord Bishop of Chester. The Right Rev. Lord Bishop of Ely. nr! The Right Rev. Lord Bishop of Exeter. The Right Rev. Lord Bishop of Gloucester. The Right Rev. Lord Bishop of Guiana. -»; ?ui. The Rif^ht Rev. Lord Bishop of Llandaff, (late). The Right Rev. Lord Bishop of Lich6eld. The Right Rev. Lord Bishop of Peterborough. The Right Rev. Lord Bishop of Worcester. Bishop of Aberdeen. Bishop of Edinbargh. Bishop of Glasgow. Bishop of Brechin (late). Lord F. Fitzclarence. Lord James Hay. Lord £. M. Reay. Lord Teignmouth. Lord Waterpark. Most Honourable the Marchioness of Bute. Most Honourable the Countess of Mar. Most Honourable the Countess of Middleton. Most Honourable Lady Lascelles. Most Honourable Lady Hopetown. BNOLISH DEANS AND ARCHDEACONS. «iT Very Rev the Dean of Bristol. Very Rev. the Dean of Exeter. Very Rev. the Dean of Hereford. Very Ke^« ^^ Dean of Lich6eld. Very Rev. the Dean of Peterborough. And upwards of two hundred of the Nobility, the Rev. Principid Professors of Aberdeen, Cam- l^ridge, Edinburgh^ Glasgow, liondon, Oxford, &c. EXTRACTS ON MORAL AND REUGIOUS SUBJECTS. CHAPTER I. THE BELI6I0US PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE. ** Nature if bat an image or imitaiioD of wied(mi, the laaft thing of the soul ; nature being a thing which doth 00I7 do, but not know/' Our age is retrospective. It builds the sepulchres of the fathers. It writes biographies, histories, and criticisms. The foregoing generations beheld God and nature face to face: we, through their eyes; Why should not we also enjoy an original relation to the universe ! Why should not we have a poetiy and philosophy of insight and not tradition, and a religion by revelation to ui, and not the history of theirs ? Embosomed for a season in nature, whose floods of life stream around and through ' us, and invite us by the powers they supply, to action pro- portioned to nature, why should we grope among the dry bones of the past, or put the living generation into masquerade out of its faded wardrobe P The sun shines to-day also. There is more wool and flax 8 in the fields. There are new lands, new men, .new thoughts. Let us demand our own works, and laws, and worship. Undouhtedly, we have no questions to ask which are unanswerable. We must trust the perfection of the creation so far as to believe that whatever curiosity the order of things has awakened in our minds, the order of things can satisfy. Every man's condition is a solution hieroglyphic to those enquiries he would put. He acts it as life before he apprehends it as truth. In like manner, nature is already, in its forms and tendencies, describing its own design. Let us interrogate the great apparition that shines so peacefully around us. Let us enquire, to what end is nature? ,tii^i i^^ ^^ I All science has one aim^ namely, to find a theory of nature. We have theories of races and of fuuc<- tions, but scarcely yet a remote approximation to an idea of creation. We are now so i&r from the road of truth, that religious teachers dispute and hate each other, i^nd speculative men are esteemed unsound and frivolous. But to a sound judgment, the most abstract truth is the most practical* Whenever a true theory appears, it will be its own evidence. Itft test is> that it will explain all phenomena. Now, many are thought not only unexplained but inexpli* cable ; as language, sleep, dreams, beasts, sex. Philosophically considered, the universe is com-* y. "X^ leory cpU- kom* posed of nature and the soul. Strictly speakings therefore, all that is separate from us, all whicK philosophy distinguishes as the if ot mb, that is, both nature and art, all other men and my own body, must be ranked under this name. Nature. In euumerat« iug the values of nature and casting up their sum, I shall use the word in both senses ; — in its common and in its philosophical import. In inquiries so general as our present one, the inaccuracy is not material; no confusion of thought will occur. Nature, in the common sense, refers to essences unchanged by man : space, the air, the river, the leaf. Aft is applied to tii;> mixture of his will with thsj same things, as in a house, a canal, a statue, a picture. But his operations taken together are so insignificant, a little chipping, baking, patching, and washing, that in an impression so grand as that of the world on the human mind, they do not vary the re8uU*i;gjK*^.s^(,,'5j: ■■m"^(^^^imifi '\JmMtili^;f^':n0^, ..^iMti-i??; To go into solitude, a man needs to retire as much from his chamber as from society. I am not solitary whilst I read and write, though nobody is with me. But if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars. The rays that come from those heavenly worlds, will sepi^r^tQ betweea him and Vjif Igar things. One, mi^ht think the atmosphere was made transparent with this design, to give man, in the heavenly bodies, the perpetual presence of the suBlime. Seen in the streets of cities/ how great lYwy are ! If the stars should appear one night in a thonsand years, how would men believe and adore ; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God, which had been shown. But every night come out these preachers of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile, ^^^■"firrf'^-''*^:^:^^!^'^'^*^^' . The stars awaken a certain reverence, because, though always present, they are always inaccessible ; but all natural subjects make a kindred impression* when the mind is open to their influence. Nature never wears a mean appearance. Neither does the wisest man extort all her secret, and lose his curiosdty by finding out all her perfection. Nature never became a toy to a wise spirit. The flowers, the animals» the mountains, reflected all the wisdom of his best hour, as much as they had delighted the simplicity of his childhood. When we speak of nature in this manner, we have a distinct but most poetical sense in the mind. We mean the integrity of impression made by manifold natural objects. It is this which distinguishes the stick of timber of the woodcutter from the tree of the poet. The charming landscape which I saw this '• momingf is indubitably made up of some twenty or ^ I >t' h this \, the a the i stars r how many God, le out iverse cause, sible ; !ssion, Mature s the iosity never the Dm of the have We lifold 3 the f the this tyor thirty fr^ms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and M ning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the laxfdscape. There is a property in the horizon which no man has, but he whose eye can integrate all the paits, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men's farms, yet to this, their land deeds give them no title.3^4 i^>^^ i To speak truly, few adult persons can see nature. Most persons do not see the sun. At least they have a very superficial seeing. The sun illuminates only the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and heart of the child. The lover of nature is he whose inward and outwai'd senses are still truly adjusted to each other ; who has retained the spirit of infancy, even into the era of manhood. His intercourse with heaven and earth becomes part of his daily food. In the presence of nature, a wild delight runs through the man, in spite of real sorrows. Nature s^ya, he is my creature, and maugre all his impertinent griefs, he shall be glad with me. Not the sun nor the summer alone, but every hour and season yields its tribute of delight; for every hour and change corresponds to and authorises a difierent state of mind, from breathless noon to grimmest midnight. Nature is a setting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning piece. In good health the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles,, at twilight, under a clouded fky> without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune* I have enjoyed a perfect exhila* ration. Almost I fear to think *how glad I am. In the woods, too, a man casts off his years as the snake Ms slough, and at what period soever of life, is always a child. In the woods, is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not. how he should tire of them in a thousand years. In the woods we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befal me in life, — no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Stan.ding on the bare ground, ^-my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space — all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eyeball. I am nothing. I see ^1* The currents of the universal Being circulate throng me ; I am part or particle of God. The name of the nearest friend sounds then foreign and accidental. To be brothers, to be acquaintances, master or servant, is then a trifle and a disturbance* I am the lover of uncontained and immortal beauty* In the wilderness I find something more dear and connote, than in streets or villages. In the tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon, man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature. The greatest delight which the fields and woods ay. ind luil Ithe I his )d8 minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm is new to me ind old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not miknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing rights ia^ ^r Mnms Yet it is certain that the power to produce this delight, does not reside in nature, but in man, or in a harmony of both. It is necessary to use these pleasures with great temperance. For nature is not always tricked in holiday attire, but the same scene wliich yesterday breathed perfume, and glittered as for the frolic of the n3rmphs, is overspread with melancholy to-day* Nature always wears the colours of the spirit. To a man labouring under calamity^ the heat of his own fire hath sadness in it. Then, there is a kind of contempt of the landscape felt by him who has just lost by death a dear friend. The sky is less grand as it shuts down over less worth in the population.v,5!;;?^.«^i^An- '^■^Wt tt^rf mAt , 4^., i,,-^,, m. ■>hvhich was never seen before, and which shall never be seen again. The heavens change every moment, and reflect their glory or gloom on the plains beneath. The state of the crops on the surrounding farms altera the expression of the earth from week to week. The succession of native plants in the pastures and road sides, which make the silent clock by which \ime tells the hours, will make even the divisions of the day sensible to a keen observer. The. tribes of birds and insects, like the plants, punctual to their time follow each other, and the year has room for all. By water courses the variety is greater. In July, the blue pontederia or pickerel weed blooms in dying, and the sun and moon come eaich and look at them once in the steep defile of Thenropylse; when Arnold Winkleried, in the high Alps, under the shadow of the avalanche, gathers in 'his side a sheaf of Austrian spears to break the line • for his comrades ; are not these heroes entitled to add the beauty of the scene to the beauty of the deed; when the bark of Columbus nears the shores of America; — before it, the beach lined with savages, fleeing out of all their huts of cane ; the sea behind ; and the purple mountains of the Indian Archipelago around, can we separate the man from the living picture ? Does not the new world cloth.e his form with her palm groves and savannahs as fit drapery ? Ever does natural beauty steal in like u air, and envelope great actions. When Sir Harry Vane was dragged ap the Tower-Hill, sitting on a sled to suffer death, as the champion of the English laws, one of the multitude cried out to him, — " Yon nctyer sat on so glorious a seat" Charles II., to in^ timidate the citizens of London, caused the patriot Lord Russell, to pass through the principal streets of the city on his way to the scaffold. " fiut, " to use the simple narrative of his biographer, " the multitude imagined they saw liberty and virtue sitt ji^ by his side." In private places, among sordid objects, im act of truth or heroism seems at once to draw to itself the sky as its temple, the sun as its candle. Nature stretcheth out her hands to embrace maUi only let his thoughts be of equal greatness. Willingly •does she follow his steps with the rose and the violet, «nd bend her line*} of grandeur and grace to the de- coration of her darling child. Only lei his thoughts he of equal scope, and the frame will suit the picture. A virtuous man is in unison with her works, and makes the central figure of the visible sphere. Homer, Pindar, Socrates, Phocion, associate themselves fitly in our memory with the whole geogrr » ,y >;iir! climate of Greece. The viable heavens pad r>;i ' jymp£ thise with Jesus. And in common life, whosoever bas seen a person of powerful character and happy ^>mus, will have remarked how easily he took ^1 ihki i(s along with him, — the persons, the opinions. and the day, anu nature became ancUliary to man. 3. There is still another aspect under which th« beauty of nature may be viewed, namely, as it becomes an object of the intellect. Beside the relation of things to virtue, they have a relation to thought. The intellect searches out the absolute order of things as they stand in the mind of God, and without the colours of affection. The intellectual and the active powers seem to succeed each other in man, and the excluave activity of the one, generates the exclusive activity of the other. There is something unfriendly in each to the other, but they are like the alternate periods of feeding and working in animals; each prepares and certainly will be followed by thr^ other. Therefore does beauty, which, in relation to actions as we have seen comes unsought, and comes because it is nnsought, remain for the apprehension and pur- suit of the intellect ; and then, again, in its turn of the active power. Nothing divine dies. AU good is eternally reproductive. The beauty of nature re- forms itself in the mind, and not for banren contem- plation, but for new creation«i''>rar7i9ti?^ ■^tfj -ii r n- All men are in some degree impressed by the face of the world. Some men even to delight. This love of beauty is taste. Others have the same love in such excess, that, not content with admiring, they seek to embody it in new forms. The creation of beauty is art. 16 .>'v The production of a work of art, throws a light upon the mysteiy of humanity. A work of art is an ab- stract or epitome of the world. It is the result or expression of nature, in miniature. For although the works of art are innumerable and all different, the result or the expression of them all is similar Knd single. Nature is a sea of forms radically alike and even unique. A leaf, a sunbeam, a landscape, the ocean, make an analagous impression on the mind. What is common to them all — that perfect- ness and harmony — is beauty. Therefore, the standard of beauty is the entire circuit of natural forms — the totality of nature; which the ItiUians expressed by defining beauty "il pin nell' uno." Nothing is quite beautiful alone. Nothing but is beautiful in the whole. A single object is only so far beautiful, as it suggests this universal grace. The poet, the painter, the sculptor, the musician, the architect, seek each to concentrate this radiance of the world on one point, and each in his several rank to satisfy the love of beauty, which stimulates him to produce. Thus is art a nature passed through the alembic of man. Thus in art does 'nature work through the will of a man, filled with the beauty of her first works. — ^ > » ^^^f^ w:*^% The world thus exists to the soul to satisfy the desire of beauty. Extend this element to the utter- most, and I call it an ultimate end. No reason can *T be B'^ked or given, why the soul seeks beauty. Beauty, in its largest and profoundest sense, is one expression for the universe. God is the all-fair. Truth, and goodness, and beauty, are but the different names of the same All. But beauty in nature is not ultimate. It is the herald of inward and eternal beauty, and is not alone a solid and satisfactory good. It must, therefore, stand as a part, and not as yet the last or highest expression of the final cause of nature. k«W''**''''«^v T^#a ^h'sim 2. Particular natural facts, are symbols of particular facts. ^ ^i ukrti^fifiitim vmitiiL :iii>«i 4ifejtei/iprirsiff^ 3. Nature is the symbol of spirits. - ^^ n*.M*«.,^.,i 1, Words are signs of natural facts. The use of natural history is to give us aid in supernatural history. The use of the outer creation is to give us language for the beings and changes of the inward creation. Every word which is used to express a moral or intellectual fact, if traced to its root, is found to be borrowed from some material appearance. Right originally means straight.; wrong means twisted f 18 tpirii primarily means mind; Iransgretsion the CfOSling of a line ; supercilious, the raising of the eyihrow* We say the heart to express emotion, the head to denote thought ; and thought and emotion are» in their turn, words boiTowed from sensible tilings, and now appropriated to spiritual nature* Moit of the process by which this transformation is made, is hidden from us in the remote time when language was framed; but the same tendency may be daily observed in children. Children and savages use only nouns or names of things, which they con- tinually convert into v^rbs^ and apply to analogous mental acts* ' 2. But this origin of all words that convey a spiritual impoit,*^so conspicuous a fact in the history of language's our least debt to nature. It Is not words only that are emblematic ; it ^s things which are emblematic^ Every natural fact is a symbol of some spiritual fact. Every appearance in nature corresponds to some state of the mind, and that state of the mind can only be described by presenting that natural appearance as its picture. An enraged man is a Hon; a cunning man is a fox; a firm man is a . rock ; a leamed man is a torch. — A lamb is innocence; a make is subtle spite ; flowers express to us the deli- cate actions. Light and darkness are onr familiar: expressions for knowledge and ignorance; and^ heAt for lo?e* Visible distance behind and before 19 us, is respectively our image of memory and hope* Who looks upon a river in a meditative hour, and is not reminded of the flux of things ? Throw a stone into the stream, and the circles that propagate them- selves are the beautiful type of all influence. Man is conscious of a universal soul within or behind his individual life, wherein, as in a firmament, the natures of Justice, Truth, Love, Freedom, arise and shine. This universal soul he calls reason : it is not mine, or thine, or his, but we are its ; we are its property and me^. And the blue sky in which the private earth is buried, the sky, with its eternal calm, and full of everlasting orbs, is the type of Reason. That which, intellectually considered, we call reason, considered * in relation to nature, we call spirit. Spirit is the Creator. Spirit hath life in itself. And man in all ages and countries embodies it in his language, as the Father, imi^v -^i ■mtiim& fM^-mmi i^Mmfi '.mmm^ It is easily seen that there is nothing lucky or capricious in these analogies, but that they are con- stant, and pervade nature. These are not the dreams of a few poets here and there, but man is an Alogist, and studies relations in all objects. He is placed in the centre of beings, and a ray of relation passes from every other being to him. And neither can man be understood without these objects, nor these objects without man. AH the facts in natural history taken by themselves have no value, but are barren like a d2 20 single sex. But marry it to human history, and it is full of life. Whole Floras, all Linneeus, and Bufibn's volumes are hut dry catalogues of facts ; hut the most trivial of these facts, the habit of a plant, the organs, or work, or noise of an insect, applied to the illustra^ tion of a fact in intellectual philosophy, or in any way associated to human nature, affects us in the most lively and agreeable manner. The seed of a plant-^ to what affecting analogies in the nature of man, is that little fruit made use of, in all discourse up to the voice of Paul, who calls the human corpse a seed, — " It is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body." The motion of the earth round its axis, and round the sun, makes the day and the year. There are certain amounts of brute light and heat. But is there no intent of an analogy between man's life and the seasons ? And do the seasons gain no gran- deur or pathos from that analogy P The instincts of the ants are very unimportant considered as the ants ; but the moment a ray of relation is seen to extend from it to man, and the little drudge is seen to be a monitor, a little body with a mighty heart, then all its habits, even that said to be recently observed, that it never sleeps, become sublime. .imi\^mmmmm Because of this radical correspondence between visible things and human thoughts, savages, who have only what is necessary, converse in figures. As we go back in history language becomes more picturesque, 21 until its infancy, when it is all poetry, or, all spiritual facts are represented by natural symbols. The same symbols are found to make the original elements of all languages. It has, moreover, been observed, that the idioms of all languages approach each other iu passages of the greatest eloquence and power. And as this is the first language, so is it the lasU This immediate dependance of language upon nature, this conversion of an outward phenomenon into a type of somewhat in human life, never loses its power to afiect us. It is this which gives that piquancy to the conversation of a strong-minded faimer or back woods- man, which all men relish. 4rt^ V, Tlius is nature an interpreter by whose means man converses with his fellow-men. A man's power to connect his thought with its proper symbol, and so utter it, depends on the simplicity of his character ; that is, upon his love of truth, and his desire to com- municate it without loss. The corruption of man is Cbllowed by the corruption of language. When sim- plicity of character and the sovereignty of ideas is broken up by the prevalence of secondary desires, the desire of riches, the desire of pleasure, the desire of power, the desire of praise, — and duplicity and false- hood take possession of simplicity and truth, the power over nature as an interpreter of the will, is in a degree lost ; new imagery ceases to be created, and old words are perverted to stand for things which are 22 not ; a paper currency is employed when there ia no bullion in the vaults. In due time the fraud is mani- festf and words lose all power to stimulate the under- standing or the affections. Hundreds of writers may be found in every long civilised nation, who for a short time believe and make others believe, that they see and. utter truths who do not of themselves clothe one thought in its natural garment, but who feed uncon- sciously upon the language created by the primary writers of the country, those, namely, who hold primarily on nature, vt^inm^ tk»r*t* ?«isu«i;;4**i -i.mi Avm*^ - :But wise men pierce this rotten diction, and fasten words again to visible things; so that picturesque language is at once a commanding certificate, that he who employed it, is a man in alliance with truth and God. The moment our discourse rises above the ground line of familiar facts, and is inflamed with pas*< Mon or exalted by thought, it clothes itself in images. A man conversing in earnest, if he watch his intel- lectual processes, will find that always a material image, more or less luminous, arises in his mind contemporaneous with every thought, which furnishes the vestment of the thought. Hence, good writing and brilliant discourse are perpetual allegories. This imagery is S|icntaneous. It is the blending of experience with the proper action of the mind. It is proper creation. It is the working of the Original Cause through the instruments he hat already made. V. \ 23 !#^Theso facts may suggest the advantage which the country life possesses for a powerful mind, over the artificial and curtiiiled life of cities. We know more from nature than we can at will communicate. Its light flows into the mind evermore, and we forget its presence. The poet, the orator, bred in the woods, whose senses have been nourished by their fair and appeasing changes, year after year, without design, and without heed, — ^shall not lose their lesson alto- gether, in the roar of cities or the broil of politics. Long hereafter amidst agitation and terror in national councils,— in the hour of revolution,— these solemn images shall re-appear in their morning lustre, as fit symbols and words of the thoughts which the passing events shall awaken. At the call of a noble sentiment* again the woods wave, the pines murmur, the river rolls and shines, and the catcle low upon the moun- tains, as he saw and heard them in hia infancy. And with these forms, the spells of p^vuasion the keys of power are put into his htoida^mm Umm/m i/^MAt^^ma 3.: We are thus assisted by natural objeets in the expression of particular meanings. But how great a language to convey such peppercorn informations ! Did it need such noble races of craatures, this profu- sion of forms, this host of orbs in heaven, to furnish man with the dictionary and grammar of his municipal speech ? Whilst we use this grand cipher to expedite th^ affairs of our. pot and kettle, we feel that we have .f.j 24 not yet put it to its use, neither are able. We are like travellers using the cinders of a volcano to roast their eggs. Whilst we see that it always stands ready to clothe what we would say, we cannot avoid the question, whether the characters are not significant of themselves. Have mountains, and waves, and skies, no significance but what we consciously give them, when we employ them as emblems of our thoughts ? The world is emblematic. Parts of speech are meta- phors, because the whole of nature is a metaphor of the human mind. The laws of moral nature answer to those of matter, as face to face in a glass. *' The visible world and the relation of its parts, is the dial- plate of the invisible." The axioms of physics trans- late the laws of ethics. Thus, " the whole is greater than a part ;" " re-action is equal to action ;" " the smallest Weight may be made to lift the greatest, the difference of weight being compensated by time;*' and many the like propositions, which have an ethical as well as physical sense. These propositions have a much more extensive and universal sense when ap- plied to human life, than when confined to technical In like manner the memorable words of history, and the proverbs of nations, consist usually of a natural fact, selected as a picture or parable of a moral truth* Thus ; a rolling stone gathers no moss ; a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; a cripple in the right 26 .rn. way will beat a racer in the wrong ; make hay whilst the sun shines ; 'tis hard to carry a full cw; ven ; vinegar is the son of wine ; the last ounce broke the earners back ; long-lived trees make roots first ; — and the like. In their primary sense, these are trivial facts, but we repeat them for the value of their ana«> logical import. What is true of proverbs is true of all fables, parables, and allegories. {« fiipowt riaiiv? Jhiq> " Can these things be, ati^^^^m^tim -. •,:.*„ And overcome ug like a summer's cloud, . . ,,. Without our special wonder P" * ^ for the imiviBrse becomes transparent, ancl the light of higher laws than its own, shines through it. It is the standing problem which has exercised the wonder and the study of every fine genius since the world began ; from the era of the Egyptians and the Brahmins, to that of Pythagoras, of Plato, of Bacon, of Leibnitz, of Swedenborg. There sits the sphinx at the roadside, and from age to age, as each prophet comes by, he tries his fortune at reading her riddle. There seems to be a necessity in spirit to manifest itself in material «^ tbnni ; and day and night, riv«r and storm, beast and bird, acid and alkali, pre-exist in necessary ideas in the mind of God, and are what they are by virtue of preceding affections, in the world of spirit. A fact is the end or last issue of spirit. The visible creation is the terminus or the circumference of the invisible world. " Material objects," said a French philpsopheiv " are necessarily kinds of tcorut of the substantif^ thoughts of the Creator, which must always preserve an exact relation to their first origin ; in other words, visible nature must have a spiritual and moral side.*' , ' This doctrine is abstruse, and though the j^iiages of" garment," *'score8," " mirror," &c., may sUmqlate the fancy, we niu^t summon ^he aid of subtler and more vital expositors to make it plain. " Every scripture is to be interpreted by the same spirit which gave it fortli," — is the fundamental Xhw of criticism. A life in harmony with nature, the love of truth and of virtue, will purge the eyes to understand her tfxt. By degrees we may come to know the prip^itive se&se of the permanent objects of ratvre, so that the worJid shall be to ns an open book, und every form signifi- cant of its hidden life and final cause, io ^its edt mort . A new interest surprises us, whilst^ under the view now suggested, we contemplate the fearlul extent and multitude of objects; since " every object rightly seen unlocks a new faculty of the soul." That which was imconscious truth, becomes, when interpreted, and; a >s It ^-^. 27 id«a8 in rirtue of K fact U Bation i9 invisible osopber, bstantia^ preserve ir words, 1 side/* e i^iiage^ idmulate »tler and '* Every it which riticism. ruth and \er text, ve se^se le world sigpifi- ro-:> the view tentand^ ^ \iy seen: lich waai »d, amd defined in an object, a part of the domain of know> ledge, — a new amount to the magazine of power. ^m(yy^U tm:^ u* _ discipline. .'^n',4k.''teif:,'w^ In view of this significance of natnre, we arrive ^t once at a new fact, that nature is a diticipline. 7his use of the world includes the preceding uses, aa Dkrts of itself '^*' *^^ ^^" l-*ti*i'-*— -5*^'»'< •^t*tl'»4"«*fm^ Space, time, society, labour, climate, food, loco-* motion, the animals, the mechanical forces, give us sincerest lessons, day by day, whose meaning is unlimited ; they educate both the understanding and the reason. Every property of matter is a school for the understanding, — its solidity or resistance, its inertia, its extension, its figure, its divisibility. The understanding adds, divides, combines, measures^ and finds ev^lasting nutrimient and room for its activity in this worthy scene. Meantime, reason transfers all these lessons into its own world of thought, by perceiving the analogy that marries matter and mind* "-' ^^ - '' ^^ '^^ i^Ui.u i i i inndi -^f 1. Nature is a discipline of the understanding in intellectual truths. Our dealing with sensible ob* jects is a constant exercise in the necessary lemons of difference, of likeness, of order, of being and seeming, of progressive arrangement, of assent from 28 particular to general ; of combination to on« end ; of manifold forces. Proportioned to the importance of the organ to be formed, is the extreme care with which its tuition is provided, — a care pretermitted in no single case. What.tedious training, day after day, year after year, never ending to form the com- mon sense; what continual reproduction of annoy- ances, inconveniences, dilemmas; what rejoicing over us of little men ; what disputing of prices, what reckoning of interests, — and all to form the hand of the mind ; — to instruct us that " good thoughts are no better than good dreams unless they be executed !*' The same good office is performed by property and its 6 Hal systems of debt and credit. Debt, grinding debt, whose iron face, the widow^ the orphan, and the sons of genius fear and hate ;— debt, which consumes so much time, which so cripples and disheartens a great spirit with cares that seem so base, is a preceptor whose lessons cannot be for- gone, and is needed most by those who suffer from it most. Moreover, property, which has been well compared to snow, — " if it fall level to day, it will be blown into drifls to-morrow," — is merely the sur- face action of internal machinery, like the index on the face of a clock. Whilst now it is the gymnastics of the understanding, it is hiving in the foresight of the spirit, experience in profounder laws. The whole character and fortune of the individual H }%'A '29 is afTecteil by the least inequalities in the culture of the underslandinpf; for example, in the perception of differences. Therefore is Space, and therefore Time, that man may know that things are not hud- dled and lumped, but sundered and individual. A bell and a plough have each their use, and neither can do the office of the other. Water is good to drink, coal to bum, wool to wear ; but wool can- not be drunk, nor water spun, nor coal eaten. 1 he wise man shews his wisdom in separation, in gradation, and his scale of creatures and of merits, is as wide as nature. The foolish have no range in their scale, but suppose every man is as every other man. What is not good they call the worst, and what is not hateful, they call the best ^■^ In like manner, what good heed, nature JTorms in us ! She pardons no mistakes. Her yea is yea, and her nay, nay. ^^ii Vh.:f.Aii e^*^' ut^i, yjA >» .i\i..* »>( :'- The first steps in agriculture, astronomy, zoology, (those first steps which the farmer, the hunter, and the sailor take,) teach that nature's dice are always loaded ; that in her heaps and rubbish are concealed sure and useful results. ff Huif^s rD .,1.1 >tif*fas^^if n How calmly and genially the mind apprehends one after another the laws of physics ! What noble emotions dilate the moital, as he enters into the councils of the creation, and feels by knowledge the privilege to be! His insight refines him. The ,s< 30 beauty of nature shines in hi.9 own breast Man is greater than he can see this, and the universe less, because time and space relations vanish as laws are Known* 4f';»F»' «»^'»*«.*»« *»»!»*•«' jtT-^init.-t^ y^/iit &»!»»«.»« jti.n.\^t^,^^i:X7*: ^ Here again we are impressed and even daunted by the immense universe to be explored* " What we know« is a point to what we do not know." Open any recent journal of science, and weigh the problems suggested concerning light, heat, electricity, magnetism, physiology, geology, and judge whether the interest of natural science is likely to be soon exhausted.^ -^': (5?'^4)ii - .f*^*iMyf^ ^-k - -^^ ;*^if#»*^-^# ,pt^.ii^-:^ «?.t ^^' Passing by many particulars of the discipline of nature, we must not omit to specify two. ^ '*****' The exercise of the will or the lesson of power is fiiagbt ill every event. From the child's successive possession of bis several senses, up to the hour when he saith, " thy will be done," he is learning the secret, that he oail reduce under his will, not only parti- cular events, but great classes, nay, whole series of events, and so conform all facts to bis character. Nature is thoroughly mediate. It is made fo serve. It receives the dominion of man as meekly as the ass on which the Saviour rode. It offers all its kingdoms to man as the raw material which he may mould into what is useful. Man is never weary of working it up. He forges the subtle and delicate air into wise and melodious words, and gives them 31 \ wing as angels of persuasion and command. More and more, with every thought, does his kingdom stretch over things, until the world becomes, at last, only a realized will> — the double of the man. 2. Sensible objects conform to the premonitioi» of reason, and reflect the conacienoe. All things are moral ; and iti their boundless changes have an iinceasing reference to spiritual nature. 1 herefere is nature glorious with form, colour, and motion> that every globe in the remotest heaven, every che<» mical change from the rudest crystal up to the laws of life, every change of vegetation, from the first principle of growth in the eye ofn leaf to tlie tropical forest and antediluvian coal mine; every animal function, from the sponge up to Hercules, shall hint or thunder to man, tbe laws of right and wrong> and echo the ten commandments Therefore is nature always the ally of religion : lends all her pomp and riches to the religious sentiment. Prophet and priest; David, Isaiah* Jesus, have drawn deeply from this source* •^•r^t!''!*' ^f* ^nwrvt t^dltirAiltf ilriiiiiB iaiil aitl ei rThis ethical character so penetrates the bone and marrow of nature, as to seem the end for which it was made. Whatever private purpose is answered by any nn^nber or part, this is its public and uni- versal function, and is never omitted. Nothing im natvre is exhausted in its first use. When a thin^ ^n^ryiHlL^n end to the uttermost, it is wholly new .<;■"' ''■I ■>t»# .' 'iff ^ itf 32 for an ulterior service. In God every end is convert- ed into a new means. Thus the use of Commodity regarded by itself is mean and squalid. But it is to the mind an education in the* great doctrine of Use, namely, that a thing is good only so far as it serves; that a conspiring of parts and of efforts to the pro- duction of an end, is essential td^any oir^g. The fint and gross manifestation of this truth, is our inevitable and hated training in values and wants, in com and meat. -^ ^ ^ - f It has already been illustrated in treating of the fignificance of material things, that every natural procefla it but a version of a moral sentence. The moral law lies at the centre of nature, and radiates to the circumference. It is the pith and marrow of every aubstance, every relation, and every process. All things with which we deal preach to us. What if a farm but a mute gospel. The chaff and the wheat, weeds and plants, blight, rain, insects, sun, — are sacred emblems from the first furrow of spring to the last stack which the snow of winter overtakes in the fields. But the sailor, the shepherd, the miner, the merchant, in their several resorts, have each an experience precisely parallel and leading to the same conclusions. Because all organizations are radically alike. Nor can it be doubted that this moral sentiment which thus scents the air, and grows in the grain, and impregnates the waters of 3d the world, is caught by man, and sinks into his soul. The moral influence of nature upon every individual is that amount of truth which it illustrates to him. Who can estimate this ? Who can guess how much firmness the sea-beaten rock has taught the fisher- man P how much tranquility has been reflected tc man from the azure sky, over whose unspotted deeps the winds for evermore drive flocks of stormy clouds, and leave no wrinkle or stain P how much industry, and providence, and affection we have caught from the pantomime of brutes ? What a searching preacher of self-command is the varying phenome- non oi nealtn r insff-ttr .iv !^*VrtV-i:>'V5-i -in.,i. ,.5.Y!)^ijpffjFi^,.;.s» I' Herein is especially apprehended the unity of nature — the unity in variety — wiiich meets us every- where. All the endless variety of things make a unique, an identical impression. Xenophanes com- plained in his old age, that look when he would, all things hastened back to Unity. He was weary of seeing the same entity in the tedious variety of forms. The fable of Proteus has a cordial truth. Every particular in nature, a leaf, a drop, a crystal, a moment of time is related to the whole, and par- takes of the perfection of the whole. Every particle is a microcosm, and faithfully renders the likeness of the world. isi,Tf?i5i«ji 't'?>jtm.f-«.:.iit •f^'yt*.!^;?^ ?.'»• iK>ii»:#f 15 Not only resemblances exist in things whose analogy is obvious, as when we detect the type of 34 the human hand in the flipper of the fossil saurus, but also in objects wherein there is great superficial unlikeness. Thus architecture is called " frozen music/' by De Stael and Goethe. " A Gothic church/' said Coleridge, '' is a petrified religion/' Michael Angelo maintained that, to an architect, a knowledge of anatomy is essential. In Haydn's oratorios, the notes present to the imagination not only motions, as of the snake, the stag, and the elephant, but colours alsa; as the green gross. The granite is differenced in its laws only by the more or less of heat from the river that wears it away. The river, as it flows, resembles the air that flows oVer it ; the air resembles the light which traverses it with more subtile currents ; the light resembles the heat which rides through it with space. Each creature is only a modification of the other; the likeiiess in them is more than the difiPerence, and their radical law is one and the same. Hence it is that a rule of one art, or a law of olie organization, holds true throughout na- ture. So intimate is this Unity, that, it is easily seen, it lies under the uiidermort garment of nature, and betrays its source in universal Spirit For, it pervades Thought also. Every universal truth which we express in words, implies or supposes every other truth. Omne vsrum veto consonat. It is like a great circle on a sphere, comprising all 35 possible circles; which, however, may be drawn, and comprise it in like manner. Every such truth is the absolute Ens seen from one side. But it has innumerable sides. ■ The same central unity is still more conspicaoas in actions. Words are finite organs of the infinite mind. They cannot co^er the dimensions of what is in truth. They break, chop, and impoverish it. An action is the perfection and publication of thought. A right action seems to fill the eye, and to be related to all nature. "The wise man, in doing one thing, does all ; or, in the one thing he does rightly, he sees the likeness of all which is done .rightly.**f« >^ i^i^s cl/f^wi4ii'#-;iii -^im gkws ■^:. ,; jbi^jMii '' Words and actions are not the attributes of mute and brute nature. They introduce us to that sin- gular form which predominates over all other forms. This is the human. All other organizations appear to be degrations of the human fo tn. When this organization appears among so man^ that surround it, the spirit prefers it to all others. Ii says, " From such as this have I drawn joy and knowledge. In such as thisj have I found and beheld myself. I will speak to it. It can speak again. It can yield me thought already formed and alive." In fact the eye, — the mind, — is always accompanied by these forms, male and female ; and these are incomparably tho richest informationa of the power and order that \m- lie at the heart of things. Unfortunately every one of them bears the marks as of some injury ; is marred and superficially defective. Nevertheless, far dif- ferent from the deaf and dumb nature around them, these all rest like fountain-pipes on the un fathom- ed sea of thought and virtue whereto they alone, of all organizations, are the entrances. >*- *' i»*.i*« It were a pleasant inquiry to follow into detail their ministry to our education, but where would it stop ? We are associated in adolescent and adult life with some friends, who, like skies and waters, are co-extensive with our idea ; who answering each to a certain affection of the soul, satisfy our desire on that side; whom we lack power to put at such focal distance from us, that we can mend or even analyse them. We cannot choose but love them. When such intercourse with a friend has supplied us with a standard of excellence, and has increased our respect for the resources of God who thus sends a real person to outgo our ideal ; when he has, more- over, become an object of thought, and whilst his character retains all its unconscious effect, is convert- ed in the mind into solid and sweet wisdom, — it is a sign to us that his office is closing, and he is com- monly withdrawn from our sight in a short time, ^ii \ f ■■ m his ert- isa ■^m^hm^iy^M^- CHAPTER ]I. e^sa " M.^ ^ ,. -■-■' J:*.-*, .ju. ..i -< ORIGIN OF THE SOUTH SEA ISLANDERS. i, M•»•.#. *^^ The numerous isles of the Pacific are peopled by two races of men, who, although possessing many characteristics in common, exhibit numerous traces of distinct origin. This clearly appears in their physical conformation, colour, and language. The one race is allied to the negro., having a Herculean frame, black skin, and woolly or rather crisped hair; while the hair of the other is bright, lank, and glossy, the skin of a light copper-colour, and the counte- nance resembling that of the Malay. The latter inhabit Eastern Polynesia, which includes the Sandwich, the Marquesan, the Paumotic, the Tahi- tian and Society, the Austral, the Harvey, the Navigators, the Friendly Islands, New Zealand, and all the smaller islands in their respective; vicini- ties; while the former race, which we may designate the Polynesian negro, is found from the Fijis to the coast of New Holland, which, for the sake of dis- tinction, we shall call Western Polynesia. It will appear, then, that the natives on the eastern part of New Holland, and the intertropical islands within V 38 thirty degrees east of it, including New Guinea, New Britain, New Ireland, the Archipelago of Lonsiade, Solomon's Isles, New Caledonia, the New Hebrides, and the Fijis, differ essentially from the copper coloured inhabitants of the other islands. In tracing that of the copper-coloured Polynesians, there is no difficulty. Their physical conformation, their general character, and their Malay counten- ance, furnish, I think, indubitable evidence of their Asiatic origin. But to these proofs must be added the near affinity between the caste of India and the tabu of the South Sea Isles, the similarity of the opinions which prevailed respecting women, and the treatment they received in PoIyne»a and Bengal, more especiaJlly the common practice of forbidding them to eat certain kinds of food, or to partake of any in the presence of men ; their inhuman conduct to the sick; the immolation of the wives at the funeral of their husbands, and a gi-eat number of games and usages. These, I think, are clear indications of the Asiatic origin of tliis people. ;Xhe natives of the South Sea Islands, those specially which /all under the denomination of the Eastern or Farther Polynesia, were found by the first discoverers in a state of great simplicity, and, as it might seem, in possestiion of more than the usual share of human happiness. The climate ha» al' the charms which belong to the fairest scenes of poetical \ f 39 fancy. A mild sky sheds ddwn apon the inhabitants the sweetest influences of the atmosphere ; the earth yields to them at al* masons a plentifal supply of the necessaries of life, and even offers, at the expense of little labour, a great variety of luxuries. There, the richest verdure is contrasted on one side with precipitous rocks of a dark hue, and on the other with the ever'-changittg face of the vast ocean which dashes its long waves on the coral beach. Otaheite» in particular, appeared to the eyes of the first Europeans who landed on its shores as an earthly^ paradise, the abode of contentment and repose, the asylum of all those mild virtues which had fled from the disputes and rivalry of civilized nations. But simplicity of manners, and even a gentle disposition are not always accompanied with innocence. It was accordingly soon discovered that the vices imd'^ dent to society every where else, were not unknown even in those primitive communities, among whom^ it might be imagined, the more turbulent paasion» could find no excitement, and where the artificial wants of life woiild not as yet have roused either avarice or ambition. Like all savages they were much addicted to thefl, which they seemed to con- sider in the light of an ingenious dexterity, rather than as a practice that any one could justly con- demn. Influenced by a feeling similar to that ^ which was made a part of education in rncient; m Sparta, they set more value on a thing they had suc- ceeded in stealing, though of no utility, than upon a useful article if obtained as a gift, or in the ordi- nary process of barter. Their worst actions, too, like those of uneducated children, were perpetrated without any warning from conscience that they wore doing wrong ; and though, as in the case of infanticide, reflection on an atrocious deed might bring regret, it never created any compunction. The usages of their fathers stood in the place of a moral law; and whatever had been done in the old days, might, they concluded, be done again with perfect impunity. Their emotions, on all occasions, appear to have been quid:, but exceedingly transient. A rebuke reached their hearts, chased away the smile from the countenance, and made them assume for a moment an attitude of the utmost seriousness ; but, having no depth of reflection, they could not long suppress their merriment, nor preserve the decorum which they might feel due to the presence of their visitors.' ■■- ji^fh(im^^mim0am'.mh}hfs^.:-bhjm yij:' ri^^:f'k$'m ■r^nwff: SUPPOSED FELIC^TT OF THE POLYNESIANS IN A STATE No picture is more deceitful than that which ex- hibits the supposed innocence and delights of savage life. The child of nature is usually represented as 41 W^. ex- age as \ iHi'wg free from envy and all the factitious passions of civilized existence ; a strang^er to covetousness and ambition ; happy in the enjoyments of those around him ; content with his present lot, and havinjs^ no apprehension in regard to the future. Oppressed by no care, burdened by no toil, tormented by no restless desire, seldom visited by sickness, his wants easily satisfied, his pleasures oflen recurring:, the Ota- heitan was conceived to pass his days in uninterrupt- ed felicty, under the magnificent sky of the tropics, and amid scenes worthy of paradise. But a closer view disclosed a very different state of things. The lower classes were unmercifully plundered and op- pressed by their superiors ; domestic happiness, in its proper sense, was unknown ; the females were reduced to the greatest debasement, not being allowed to par- take of the same food with their husbands and bro- ther, and not even permitted to dress it at the same fire, or place it in the same basket. It is farther as- serted, that they were, generally speaking, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful, and that under the dominion of the worst of propensites, they often acted more like fiends than human beings. " That there should," says Forster, " exist so great a degree of immorality in a nation, otherwise so happy in its simplicity, and in the fewness of its wants, is a reflection very disgraceful to human nature in general, which, viewed to ills greatest advantage 42 here, is nevertheless imperfect" That this immo- rality did exist is not denied by one of the most ardent admirers of the Polynesian, who to the obser- vation of a philosopher could add the advantage of a repeated residence amongst them. — True it is, that man^ who have ceased to do evil, after the manner of their unconverted countrymen, have not yet learn- ed to do well, to the full extent of their christian obligations. Where sins are gross and shameAil, the first step is more easily taken than the second ; and hence the missionary finds less opposition when he denounces a flagrant iniquity, than when he en- joins a needful virtue or becoming grace. Those who read with attention the Epistles of St. Paul to his converts, in the most refined parts of the Roman empire, will perceive that though they had abjured the abominations of heathenism and the useless cere- monies of the Mosaical law, their conduct did not in all cases throw a suitable light on the purer princi- ples they had openly professed. The fifth and sixth chapters of his first letter to the Corinthians prove but too clearly that the licentiousness of pagan manr ners did not yield, all at once, to the holy precepts of the gospel, nor to the instructive example of its self-*denied teachers. ;^ ^ jj, ^jt^ji^rvfurtiif to ^iigsb The most ardent patrons of missions to Poly- n^ia will not maintain that in no instance has zeal overstepped the bounds of prudence, or that pearls have not occasionially been thrown before 43 swine, who tried to turn again and rend their bene* factors. But to justify th« use of the means which have been employed, they point with satisfaction, and «ven some deg^ree of triumph, to the effects which are already produced. They can assert, that where- «ver Christianity has been received, however impet'- fectly, the habits of the natives are improved, their fierce tempers have been mollified, and a respect for human life hassncceeded to that thirst for blood which formerly occaisioned the most deplorable catastro- phes. In all the islands where the missionaries have succeeded in establishing a settlement, security is now afforded to the mariner of every nation, who either seeks refuge from misfortune, the intercourse of trade, or the gratification of a liberal curiosity. At other places, on the contrary, where the mild spirit of the gospel has not yet been felt, scarcely a year passes in ^ hich we do not hear of murderous quarrels betwenfi the inhabitants and those by whom they are visited. At some of the Marquesas, till very lately, a trading vessel scarcely dared to anchor. In the Friendly Islands, according to the statement of a recent author, while the chiefs wero manifesting the strongest attachment to Captain Coo^,they plan- ned the assassination of himself and all his ofScers, and with this view invited them to an entertainment by torch-light. Even on the shore of Otaheite, when Bligh's vessel arrived, the people cut the cable -:■:--- '■ ■ '" G 2 - - :\:-. 44 in order that, being drifted on the beach, she might fall into their hands as plunder. Some years after, the Society Islanders seized an English brig, mur- dered the officers, killed or disabled the crew, and took possession of her; but since the lessons of the christian teachers have been given, every ship that has touched there, or at any other in the adjacent groups, has been as safe as in the Thames or the Weser. ^ Before the light of the Gospel, even the licentious depravity in the South Sea Islands has given way. — On this important point where reformation was the most hopeless, success has been the most com- plete. No sooner was the authority of the Redeemer recognised, even through the somewhat obscure medium in which his character and offices were con- veyed, than the more offensive of the abominations disappeared ; the rirtue of chastity was inculcated and maintained ; christian marriage was instituted, and the inviolable obligations of the bond piously acknowledged. This charge, it is added, has been under the Divine blessing, effected entirely by the exertions of christian missionaries, not only without any external assistance, but in the face of the deter- mined opposition of many from whom they might have expected both countenance and aid. <^dttiHn ia The object of Missionary exertion in Polynesia is unquestionably important; and no means, separted from religion, seem adequate to the accomplishmei^t \ \ il- 45 ih*i (■-♦ IS led nt ■■■^^, v. \ ■'.'-. \ of it Simple instructioD in letters and the arts will not suffice. The mind must be roused and alarmed by revelations which respect the eternal state of man ; the 8avag;e must be made to feel that the eye of heaven is upon him ; and that there is a powerful hand ever stretched out to punish or to protect. To effect these ends, the Jearned and refined are not the best qualified, for there is a delicacy of feeling induced by literary habits, which shrinks from the familiar descriptionb and bold remonstrances indis- pensable to the success of the missionary. An illite- rate a^iisan, if animated with zeal, and not ignorant of the first truths of religion, is, for breaking up the ground of pagan superstition, an instrument better suited than the brightest ornament of a university, or the most eloquent expounder of doctrine in the city pulpit. Such men as went forth in the Duff act as pioneers : they prepare the way for the advance of a more regular force ; they cut out a path in the wild thicket or morass by which their successors may proceed to complete the work begun with so much labour ; they sow the seed, with an unskilful hand, perhaps, and on ground little cultivated, but whence, at no distant day a crop will spring to enrich and beautify the whole land. The missionary in due time is followed by the churchman, who systematizes the elements which the other has created. Like a wise master builder, the latter polishes the materials, 46 already in soine degree prepared to his hand, and erecta with them an orderly edifice, complete in all its partly and having for its foundation the lively •tones of an apostolical priesthood, qualified to offer the ohlation of a spiritual sacrifice. — We must look to the next generation for the full effects of the exer- tions made in the present. The warmest advocates of Sovth Sea missions are most ready to acknowledge that the work is still imperfect ; that much evil is yet to be corrected, and all that is good still needs im- provement* But it must not thence be denied, that # great benefit has been conferred, in which the christian and philanthropist may rejoice. The leaven of the gospel, indeed, has not hitherto leavened the whole population, so that many are still found who profess not to believe in it, and amongst those who 4o, numbers are christians only in name, and by their ^conduct frequently dishonour their calling. Who that 4s at all acquainted with the progress of our holy fttth in past ages, could expect it to be other- wise? The directors of missions are not such >enthusia8ts as to look for miracles. Regarding the Progress ot the Gospel in the South ^« Nothing in the history of the human race can appear to the reflecting mind more gratifying or ex- traordinary than the establishment of a mission under ihc auspices of the chiefs in the islands of the South 4% in »x- er th Sea for the propagation of the gospel. It may be granted that their notions of the christian system were far from being enlightened, while their motives un- questionably retained a strong mixture of earthly ingredients. That this was the case to a very con- siderable extent, is not concealed by their instructors, who, in reference more especially to the two clusters of the Society Archipelago, describe the religion of the greater part of the people as bdng at first merely nominal ; and that at the time they assumed the pro- fession of Christianity, they knew little more of it than that it enjoined the worship of one God instead of many, requiring no human sacrifices, no offering incept prayer, and abstinence from labour every ^v i nth day. The change applied almost solely to the oiitward observance, and had not yet reached either the decisions of the understanding or the feelings of the heart. Still it was a most important revolution, which must necessarily be followed by a movement in ad^ vance. Idolatry could not again resume its empire ; the qhain of the captive has been broken ; and the appetite for new views both in human arts and divine knowledge would necessarily seek gratification at all hazards. The result corresponds in no small degree with this anticipation ; the tree planted among them by the missionaries has brought forth fruit both good and evil; tares have grown up with the wheat, but the land is no longer a desert ; and the 48 ample prcduce denotes at least the inherent poweri of the soil.- '• i«, qi4tfM^4F4»-'«ff*-*f:*' Enlightened by the experience of many years, the christian philanthropist mi^st now he convinced, that success in proportion to the extent of the means emplc ^d ; and, moreover, that the path, in mose cases, has led to a triumphant issue, was opened by a circumstance which, to the human eye, appeared entirely accidental. Generally speaking, conversion among the South Sea Islanders has been preceded by a deep excitement arising from suffering or fear ; by the ravages of war or famine ; or by a bold innovation on the part of the chiefs, who had already opened their minds to infidelity relative to the power of their national gods. It seems absolutely necessary that, before his conscience can be affected with the sense of guilt, the spirit of the savage must be agitated by some external cause ; and it is a singular fact, attested by evidence which cannot be questioned, that the first intercoure of Europeans with the natives of Polynesia has usually been fatal to the latter. Fever, dysentery, or other diseases which carried off great numbers of them, have in most cases attended the introduction of our people into all the groups ; and at Rapa, more especially, about half ^ the population were by such means swept Jiway. These painful losses induced reflection among the survivors, who, in many instances were disposed to forsake their ancient folih* •I 40 either because their gods were unable to protect them in the presence of white men, or were utterly indifier* ent to 2heir interests. Hence, under the direction of Divine Providence, a way was paved for the mission- aries, who laboured to withdraw their confidence from the 'lying vanities' in which they had formerly trusted, and to raise their thoughts to the contempla- *• \ tion of the Great Creator. V'"-" ■«*> «ji.*i^»'.> iiK.vr-^j** f.m*i rjlil U) mUm ^^- NEW ZEALAND*^© n.-^ bm* ,>','ml0m fe^»^>l*-|t««f'^"fSv ^r , -.,. . ,_ ''■' ■ '■'■'•'-■■■'■:{ uThe country of KeW ^lieaiand is divided into tWo principal islands by the straight which still bears the name of Capcain Cook. The northern one is called by thto natives Eaheinamanwee, the southern, Tavai Poenamoo ; contiguous to which last there is a smaller body of land which has not yet risen into any con- sequence. The whole are situated between lat 34^ and 47'' S., and long. 166° and 180^ £. Tho appearance of the coast is bold and rocky ; in some parts the general aspect of the land is rather rugged ; and several of the mountains in Poenamoo are covered with perennial snow. In the other island, where the Europeans have established their principal settle- ments, the soil is in many parts extremely fertile, and capable of a, very high degree of cultivation; 60 suited, it is supposed, not only to the growth of wheat and other grain, hut also to the more delicate fruits and varied productions of the most genial portion of the temperate zones. The potato has heen cultivated with great facility and advantage. Though hut lately introduced hy foi'eigners, it furnishes a valuable addi- tion to the means of subsistence enjoyed by the natives, and also an article of sea-store to the numerous ships by which New Zealand is annually visited. Cattle, sheep, and poultry, are also reared in abundance, proving at once a source of wealth to the poorer settlers, and an agreeable variety to the tables of the more wealthy. Moreover, the coasts are well stocked with several species of fish, which European skill has taught the inhabitants both to catch more plentifully and to cure with greater success. The climate is described as being both pleasant and salubrious. In Eaheinamanwee, the thermometer ranges from 40° to 80^ ; being a pleasant medium between the heat of the tropical regions and the sudden colds which affect the nkore variable sky of the temperate latitudes. 'vrr« The geographical features of both islands seem to justify the peculiar mode of settling which the New ]2Iealand Company have adopted ; for, being long and narrow, the line of seacoast is necessarily very great in proportion to the extent of service. There are at short distances some splendid harbours, in the neigh-* bourhood of which the Europeans have generally A'- i ii mm 61 V-rJ I established them^elvee ; but the limited space be^ tween tbe central hills and the ocean preclndes tLe possibility of large rivers, though some are said to be well adapted for internal navigation. Port Nicholson, if allowed to derive the full advantage from its situation and fine haven, will, it has been predicted, make Wellington the great commercial metropolis, not merely of New Zealand, but of our whole Australian possessions. The Bay of Islands has been long partially settled, bat not under such favourable auspices, having been indebted for part of its population to a class of adventurers whose circumstances imperatively required a change of scene. The Company have resolved to form another settlement, to be called Nelson. The extent of land alloted for it is two hundred one thousand acres, divided into one thousand allotments of one hundred and fifty rural acres, fifty suburban acres, and one town acre. The price of each allotment is £300, so that the total sum placed at the disposal of the Company is £300,000, which will be thus distri- buted: £1^0,000 for the emigration of young couples to this particular settlement; £60,000 to defray the cost of surveys ; and £60,000 for public purposes, such as the establishment of a college, religious endowments, the encouragement of steam navigation, and similar objects. Captain Hobson has selected the harbour of Waitemata, on the Firth -.,.":, ' H 2 52 of the Thames, as the seat of his government, where he has also made preparations for the building of a town, to be named Auckland. And although, under the fostering influence of the chief ruler, it will doubtless incrc. ^, " it must ever remain insignificant compared with the commercial capital, Wellington.*' To that and the other settlements separate munici- palities will be given; with which view suitable appointments have been made, and officers properly qualified have been sent out. 'iin>i^tm\\ %>iv>i i4tw^> m«h« ^ THE FIRST SABBATHm-^^mmih Twice had the sun risen on the earth, and during these two days he beheld some of the magnificent operations which were then going on. But on the third day of his rising, the seventh from the first creation^ all around was silent and still : no little flower sprung up at once by the river side : no tall trees lifted their heads anew from the mountains, as escaping from confinement from the darkness be- neath ; no new flocks browsed on the hills : no new fishes glistened in the waters : no new birds or insects glanced in the sunbeams : no second Adam and Eve appeared in another paradise, to hail, with their eyes turned toward the east, the first rays of the sun. But the same flowers blushed in the deep valleys. ,1 63 •• Inew [ects Eve :J Iheir mn. ■ the same waviug trees looked down from their lofty thrones; the same sheep, the same cattle, the inhabi- tants of air and water were seen, seeming, by their peaceful silence, to partake the universal rspose of nature. And the same man and w'>man, sovereigns of the new made world, were seen sitting under Ihe shady bowers of Eden, prolonging the conversation of the previous day, and occasionally interrupting the geneisl silence of creation by their songs of praise. ^ ' Oh, how sweet, how peaceful was the firsi Sabbath ! No want, no pain, no fear; and above all, no sin cinld disturb ha hallowed tranquility. Happiness, with steady and gentle light, beamed on every hill and valley, on every lake and river, on every lifeless and every living thing, but chiefly on those two favoured beings who, gifted with intelligence greater than that of brutes, possessed a pleasure superior to that of every other creature. Oh, could we have seen the countenances of that happy pair, on that glorious day, what peace, what joy, what a heavenly radiance would have been reflected there. For how could they fail to be supremely happy, when they looked around on the earth covered with beauty, above on the heaven filled with divine glory, and within on their own hearts, which r^^ere inhabited by - every holy feeling, and even the chosen dwelling place of the Spirit of God.wf- *"*is'A»«iJ wf -^mi^.^^- 64 ON THE POWER AND GOODNESS OF GOD, . AS MANIFESTED IN FRUITFUL SEASONS. "QnxmnA Pnondibas germinare faoit et herbaa ad usum hoininam."^Psalm oiv. 14. ^^ "A " • ' « v>, • ; - i The Almighty is concealed from the eyes of his t creatures. We perceive the gifts distributed to sup- ply their wants — not the hand which confers them ; the change effected by his power — not the power itself; the instruments which he employs in the operations of nature — not the arm which wields them. But as the motions and actions of the human body suggest that it is animated by a living principle, mysteriously and intimately conjoined with the por- tion of matter — so the course of nature demonstrates to every mind, which is not divested of reason, or l>linded by prejudice, that there is a grand First Cause, by whom the universe is govenied. "All things,'* says the heathen poet, " are full of God." True philosophy confirms the observation, and piety extracts from it some of its consolations* '<^'r'^ f>'vn^<[ ^rt Not a span'ow falls to the ground, not a pile of gitiss springs up in the fields, not a pebble on the shores of the ocean, without the agency of God. To him who is renewed in the spirit of his mind, who is a true believer in Christ, it is a most delightful exercise to trace the Creator in his surrounding "works, and to observe in the varying scenes new )f ^0 * i- proofs of his existence, and new displays of his glory. i The regular succession of day and night, the revo- lution of the heavenly hodies, the generation and corruption, the growth and decay of animals and vegetahles, and the vicissitudes of the seasons,-— furnish matter for reflection and refined entertain- ment to a mind which, rising from the effect to the cause, from the structure and operations of the machine to the consideration of the artist, contem- plates, through the medium of the universe, the imcreated source of beauty and goodness. Ad- monished b^' the reason, when every object which strikes the eye is calculated to awaken joy in the heart, let us indulge in an impression of gratitude to the preserver and benefitter of mankind. *< Never- theless," said Paul to the inhabitants of Lystra, " he left not himself without witness, in that he did good,, and gave us rain from heaven, and fruitful seasons,, filling our heasTt^ with food and gladn?sa."-rTA6t» Xiv., 17. ■ ' . :. '. ^' ...... i:.. ...,.../, The interposition of second causes often conceals God from the intellectual eye, at the very moment when we are experiencing the effects of his care and beneficence, as the sun is hidden by a cloud while the atmosphere is enlightened by his beams. A rich harvest seems to be not only the reward but the effect of the skill and industry of man. The earth in our climate yields few spontaneous fruits; man 66 therefore must earn his bread by the sweat of his brow ; he must plough and dress the soil, clear it of stones and weeds, and cast seed into its bosom, and perform a variety of operations before its produc- tive powers will be fully exerted. But who taught him the art of agriculture ? who taught him to extract from the earth a variety of fruit, — some for the nourishment of the body, some for his clothing, and some for ministering to the innocent pleasures and gratifications of life ! Was it not God who gave man more understanding than the birds of the air ? Who imparted to him the noble gift of I'eason, which is the parent of so many sciences and arts ? '* Give ye ear, and hear my voice," says the Prophet, " hearken and hear my speech. Doth the plough- man plough all day to sow P doth he open and break the clods of his ground P" &c.. Is. xxviii., 23, 26. The philosopher who hath studied the system of the universe, proud of his scanty portion of science, pretends to explain the production of vegetables by the agency of the elements. The sun warms the bosom of the earth in which the husbandman hath deposited the seed ; the earth communicates to it the juices with which it is impregnated ; the air nourishes the rising plant ; the rain and dew of heaven refresh it. But the gi'owth of plants, which is so familiar to the eye, is one of the most wonderful and mysterious processes in nature^ Tb^ science of the naturalist \ ^■"'V 67 amounts only to the knowledge of some facts which do not lie open to the superficial observation of the ▼ulgar. He may describe the structure, the form, the food, and the qualities of vegetables, but he is as unable as an illiterate peasant to explain how a seed, instead of rotting under the clods as many other sub- etances do, sends up a stem with leaves, and flowers, and fruits, precisely of the same kind with that which was sown. Who made the earth a ^ receptacle for the seed, a genial womb in which it is quickened , not, as prior to experience, we would have supp<.ed, a grave in which it is putrified ? Who endowed the i!r with virtues to nourish it ? Who rendered th^" beama of the sun and the waters of the sky fit ureati.^ to increase its bulk, adorn it with colours, and perfect its fruit ? Ah, how little do we know ! An ear of com, a blade of grass, a grain of sand, present mysteries as incomprehensible as any of those which fill the minds of some men with so many objections against the truths of religion^ We can advance but a little way in the study of nature, till '"a find ourselves involved in darkness. We know few iMttgs concern'^ ing the laws by which the operations of the material world are constructed, but we are soon obliged to risd above all second causes to the contemplation of Hitti^ who worketh all things according to the counsel of hi^ will. The laws of nature are the will of God, or thd'^ modes in which he exerts his power for the produc'^f 58 tion of natural effects. A field of corn raised by t skilful husbandman, under the influence of fine sea- sons, appears to a man of sound reason and reflection to be as really the work of God, as the grass, the herbs, and the trees, with which his creating voice v' adorned the new formed earth. In the preservation V of the fruits of the earth, as well as in their produc- tion, the providence of God is conspicuous to the ; devout spectator of his works. Insects may blast the hopes of the husbandman, or frost may arrest the progress of vegetation, or the winds may scatter the precious seed on the earth, or the rain may turn the harvest into " a heap in the day of grief, and of des- perate sorrow." Man, who can make fire and air^ and even the stormy oeeah minister to his purposes, hath not yet learned the art of regulating the changes of the atmosphere^ of binding up the clouds, and restraining the fury of the winds. Many an anxious thought arises in the mind of the farmer when hd reflects on the inconstancy of the elements, and con- siders that in one night the labours of the year may be destroyed. He knows he cannot guard his fields against their desolating rage; but they are guarded < by ithe lord of the elements, who promised after the fl(H>d that, " while the earth remains, seed-time and .- harvest shall not fail." Let him, therefore, " fear the . Lord his God that giveth rain, the former and the "-. latt^ rain in his season, and wlio reserveth unto us 69 id 16 IS ■fm the appointed weeks of harvest." (Isaiah, v. 24.) — The atheist is reproved and confounded hy the herbs of the field which he treads under foot. The superfi- cial observer gazes on the face of nature with ati' intelligent eye, but the enlightened mind perceives evidences of the existence of God flashing from every stalk which rises from the ground, from every shrub and from every flower. Let us recollect what was the appearance of the earth in winter, when it was covered with snow, or bound up with frost ; — what a delightful change do we behold in spring! — ^The mountains and valleys decreed with green pasture for flocks and herds. The fields skirted with trees and shrubs in full foliage, and clothed with waving harvest, which invite the sickle of the reaper. God stands confessed to every eye. Though his essence cannot be perceived by our senses, yet we see the wonders of his wisdom and power, and are constrained to exclaim with admiration,— " Behold, this hath God wrought !"''5«3icii','®.d*.iffiirfiitifiij-_ffe|, ?,^4.i»*--4wfv9f--'wb ^Hmbm : ^^^ holy, just, and true..| •invhif I*i?^>#lt5il^ 62 liH) i f,l: jwrs: .a^fj'rf)! His meroy and Lis righteousnesg, '>o Ml Lethea»en and earth proclaim j.^<|.,j.jk^4, g^,^jg^ His works of nature and of grace, ^^^.^^^ :^^ Reveal his wondrous name.'' io. iXiUi^'i K>\l-Aj. ,. ^. 'NATURE'S MUSIC. '^«*'f"'**^ ' y ; ! /; fff All thy works shall praise thee, Lord," ^'jjiVyi)^ "''Reader, did you ever imagine, when walking alone and meditating, perhaps/ upon the glorious manifesta- tions of a divine mind, as you perceive them in the ■ beautiful works of creation around you, — did you ever ibiagine that not only are they a language in them- selves by which God often speaks to us, bat they a?© also invested with a voice haimonious in its varied tones, and with which they are permitted to speak their Maker's praise ? ■ « .,.„...., , , . ^ 'Let us go into the woMs in"a 's\iWifter*s'day,lih^^ seating ourselves upon some moss-grown rock, listen to the wind as it sweeps through th-^ leaves and branches of the lolly trees around u9 awakeuipg their voice. Now it commences low, a gentle breathing, and gradually gaining strength as it passes onward, deepens and deepens till it becomes like the roar of the ocean. Surely this is nature's music, and is it not beautiful ! And does it not seem as if those mighty " forest sentinels" were praising with their thousand voices the power of Him who created them^ and who \1 \ ■'■ i- 311 \d r of lot ty id i has permitted them to stand in their verdant beauty for years, unscathed by the lightning and unharmed by the violence of the tempest hm^-mim^t^-mmti^K^ •^f Follow this small rivulet as it goes bounding over the roots and obstructions in its course. Listen — do you not hear, if I may so spenk, under the noise of its bubblings, a low murmuring sound which soothes you by its very gentleness ! Is it not music P And we may consider it a sweet song of praise to Him who has given it its sparkling waters and its joyous freedom, f f*r .M^^'^t ^' ^**^^ h« f4*l ^it. j, . Watch those heavy clouds arising in the west, growing darker and darker as they advance. Mark that sudden flash, — a transient beam of heaven's glory; and now hear the thunder rolling and crashing above our heads. This is the lightning's voice — a voice sounding the greatness and might of the Author of its grandeur, and, terrible as it is, there is music in it — music solemn and sublime; and the emotions which it causes are emotions never experienced at any other time. A shrinking feeling comes over us, and our souls bow instinctively before th Majesty of heaven. It is not terror, it is awe — awe caused by a deep sense of God's omnipotence, a more vivid perception of his omr*, ;osence, and a strong belief that he is near at hand. --^^ ' ^^ c, ii' Should 'we not learn from nature how much we ought to praise our Creator P And if the inanimate y 64 works of bis bands gl/e bim constant songs of tbank- fuUiess, should not we, upon wbom be bas bestowed 80 mucb greater bonour, adore bim coEstantly too P And we e^m wben we are out alone and iktei^iog to tbeir barmony, join in witb tbem, aixd tlii.u silent, worsbip s?itb the music of bearty prayers. 1..4 Sa« r. .jijj^ 5£yM¥1C GAimr ■V,;i?|jf^«f ;^:-?i,. -u^-s (. 'i ; i a ^''t'^^'min i St. Faol tbe A postle, in writing to t lie Corintbiaxi,\ vtry 3ii.;5|Mij mid appiopriately drawn from the Olympic gn^n^,, which were celebrated in ttieir ^ tevfiimy, imitges that were calculated to impress them with a lively sense of the duties of v*-bose who run the €hnsti&n mce. This is peculiarly observable in i Cor. ix, 24-»27. The solemn games of Greece have, indeed, furnished historians;, orators, and poets, of all ages and nations, with sublime imagery* iThe most celebrated and magnificent of these so* lemnitles were the Olympic games, which were celebrated every fifth year by a concourse of people • from almost all parts of the world. During these games hundreds of victims were offered to the gods ; and Eiis was a scene of universal festivity and delight. So great waF the estimation in which these games were held, that the kings o; Macedon, Ihe princes of Asia Minor, and subsec ily even ^ 65 id u the inipeiiiil tna8ter» of Rome, contended fdr th^ envied palm ; judging^ themselves to have reached the very summit of human greatness and glory, if they could entwine the Olympic garland with the laurels acquired in stern coDtest^aDd At the expense oftheirblood'>>- ''^-^-^ ^"'^ '^'- i;-r-t;r-r-^ t -m . ,; The games which the Romans established (W ▼i(riou8 cities and towns in Italy, were doubtlessly instituted in imitation of those of the Greeks ; to which however, they were greatly inferior, on account of the brutal nature of their combats, every crown won in them being literally the price of blood. The Olympic exercises principally consisted of ftinning, wrestling, and chariot-races. None but freemen, and persons of good morals, were to be candidates. They were obliged to submit to a rigidly regulated regimen, and certain preparatory exercises. When they had given in their names as candidates to be enrolled in the list of competitors; they were required to reside at Elis thirty days previous to the commencement of the games. During this period their regimen and exercises were prescribed by authority, and closely inspected by persons appointed to that duty, in order that the combatants might acquit themselves in the conflict in s • lauier w^.rthy of their country, of the solemn ^r isaon, and c^' the notice of the illustrious specta- tors by whoTi their exer ions would be witnessud. K VifWi 66 Tbe ttameB of those who had submlited W ihit preparatory discipline, together with the combat is ^ ivhich they were to engage., were, on the day of the celebration, publicly proclaimed by the herald^ or crier. I'hey appeared as their names were called^ and were examined as to their citizenship and character. In order effectually to prevent any and thus secure the envied palm, and the applause of the assembled multitude. f^-w.^ -^^,^ , r,,^^i The next sport was boxing, which, the hands of the combatants being armed with a sort of gauntlet, called the cestus, sometimes proved fatal to one or other of the combatants. According to Thucydides, the combatants in all the athletic exercises contended naked J and their bodies were rubbed all over with \ \1 ^i* '^i'^ of [et, or ie», |ed ith i 67 oil, or with an ointment oompoeed of wax and duet, mixed in dae proportion : this ointment Wbb called ceroma. By some aothora the use of this ointment is said to be peculiar to the wrestlers, whose combats were thereby prolonged and rendered more raried ; rendering it difficult for the combatants to get a' ftrm hold et each other. The victory in wrestling was adjudged to him who g^ve his adversary three' falls. i Upon the (fiiy of the chariot races, the chariots; upon a certain signal being given, entered the <^ourse according to the order before settled by lot, and were drawn ; o in a Kne. The dullest reader will readily imagine how great a noise, bustle, and* confusion, twenty, or, as in some cases, forty chariots must have made, darting all at once from the bf^ <'>^ier at the sound of the trumpet. To excite the coca petitors to the greatest possible exertions, the crowns, the rewards of conquest, were laid upon a tripod or^ stand, and placed in the middle of the stadium. Branches of palm also were exposed, and delivered to the victors with their crowns, and carried by them in their hands as emblems of the vigour of theif< bodies and minds. Near the goal was a triboBtu cu . which sat the Hell^inodics, who were the arbiters and judges of the contest, and whose duty it was to award^ the crowns with impuitiality. The conquerors were^' soon ' ^ved to the uibunal of the Hellanodics, 68 where a herald plficed a «rowD upon the head of each conqueror, and presented him also a branch of palm, and led him , all thus, adorned along the stadium; pro'-uvi:!?. ,7 the name, parentage, and country of t^ach ; and specifying the contest in which each had gained the victory. Different degrees of merit were rewarded with different degrees of honour; and obtained uiffcrc :., .^LOwrri.*,*iSfMHn ?•♦*«/ These particulars of the games held sacred by thti Grecians explain many parts of the writings of the apostles, in whose time these games were held in liigh estimation, and from which they borrowed many metaphorical allusions of great beauty, energy, und sublimity. ? h ^m^ v(M tttt^iinu ifyfimm'U¥^ ■ fi :1., <*■ ■Tl' CHRIST THE ftEFUGE AND ROCK OF ,.••,. /f 1 1 «f> alii. ,«*< ' xi TO p HTTRP IT ' ' ■^ ^^^*' *^'' '**^'-' '"^'-'^i **A man ahall be an hiding place from the wind," &9» \^^ Isaiah xxxii, 2. , . ^ i. » _ „«i The leading ideas suggested to us in the com- parison here employed, ^re those of shelter anii security* :'• ^'U-t^ tHif^ -^l^^i t«.'W,i --.»y*.iisil|j«Wr«»'*-.jHr-<-ivi Let us endeavour to fepresCiit to ourselves, the scene intended to be C rib ;d. The prophet seems to have had in view, the condition of a traveller, who, in those countries, would often be compelled \ m be to journey OYer wide undl cireary wasUs» where no provision was made for his accommodation and protection* Suppose, then, that as he was pursuing his exposed and solitary way, suddenly the clonds should gather, the winds should rise, and every thing should portend an approaching storm* Alarmed at his situation, he anxiously looks round for some place of refuge, but looks in vain. No shelter offers itself to his enquiring eye. In the meantime, the danger awfully increases, blackness totally overspreads the sky. The thunder begins to roar, the lightning's gleam around. The affrighted traveller redoubles bis pace, the rain and the hail already begin to overtake him. When just at the very moment, in which he expects to be overwhelmed by thf) fury of the tempest, he discovers the opening of a friendly cavern, which offers him the protection for which he was earnestly looking. With heartfelt pleasure, he flies to this place of refuge, and within its deep recesses reposes in safety, and escapes the storm. >rm ,H^ ^J^fit'^^ifi'^ ^ ' \ Secure in the shelter thus afforded him, his fears .subside; he hears the tempest roar without dismay, and thankful for the peace which he ecjn^a, calmly waits till the returning light announces that the storm is past, and invites him to resume his journey. Such, may we suppose, is thes(«ue, which pre- * s^tied itself to the prophet s mind. Such, then, as this .(«* 70 •etkvtm, this place of reftige was to the ezpotec^ %nd trnprotected traveller, such is Christ to all his people, lie is a hiding place from the wind, and a covc^rt from the tempest They, like the traveller, are exposed to furious storms, which often arise and cross their road, and thunders, too, overtake and overwhelm them. While naturally, like him, they are unprotected, and have no means of avoiding the ipithering danger. But in Christ they find shelter and security. He opens to them a place of safety, and protects them from the fury of the storm. The Saviour screens them from the Divine wrath, and from the fury of an offended God« His wrath, like a gathering storm, once threatened to destroy them. Christ is the only true refuge for poor sinners. He not only screens, but he also protects them from the assaults and fury of the world, and from the malice and rage of the powers of darkness, and against spiritual wickedness in high places (or wicked spirits). - •» hnn '....-Ats^ijfta, m ^m^^f*f^t ■ f»}M!ssL4Wtt'.- ^ j^ Safe into the haven guide, ^ ^^. ^ ^^ ^^^^^ receive my soul at last.'' aA'::^^:. MINERAL WEALTH OF GREAT BRITAIN. 5^' ■' T" "^ ,, ■-■'/.■■■ ^ ,;-"••£ FT- ♦ ■■■- r -" 1 ■_..,-. ^ ,,■,■■■ y..- .,. ; • ;. 7 r ri i , -^ -r-^ y ' ,■ , The average value of the annual produce of the mines of the British Islands amounts to the sum of ^20,000,000, of which about £8,000,000 arise from iron, and dS9,000,000 from coal. The mineral produce of Cornwall and Devon alone has recently amounted to £1,340,000. In this estimate the value of the copper is taken in the ore before fusion ; tbat of the iron, lead, zinc, tin, and silver after fusion, in their first marketable condition, f rri , .r ■«i./' tiifft'T.-i-^ ,<*'i'iii' ^^''"- ' '< '■'■■■ ^^rr^fifj 'fjn ^in -^v/ m' CHAPTER III. ;i*#-^M M mi'm'miHmi'i;^- v^. •«<^''iwJj'j'i''^«.'.^ . „ A*. .... THE SPIRIT OF TRUE SCHOLARSHIP. ^ Your true scholar is a great rarity. Nature laboureth long to produce such a one, and after many ineffectual strivings and rude abortions, gives birth to one in an age. A world's wonder. Let us contem- plate this strange genius, and enquire whence, and of what temper and elements it is, and in what it is different from other men, and stands thus aloof. It is neither his arrogance nor our servile fear that had placed him above the rest of us; but his native hugeness of stature overshadows us, and we reverence. We are of the earth — we creep along its surface — our sight is obstructed by its hills and mists. He is a clear intelligence; he partakes of the heavenly; in him reside swiftness and strength ; he overtops the mountains, and far above the cloud region, breathes the pure ether. Yet we do not worship. He is only our taller brother. The same spark is in us too. We may one day take long strides like him. THE SPIRIT OF THE TRUE SCHOLAR IS A SELF-DENTING < . f SPIRIT. t, . r , . God hath not given to every man to possess and enjoy all things. . Nature is never prodigal of her l2 76 A. favours. He may be rich^ if be will, or learned, or in honour, or indolent, but not all at once. The same sun that ripens the cotton platit^ scorches tLe grass. One tree bears otanges, anoilier the bread fruit, but not one bears both. Man may choose what he will be, and then by a laborious paying of the price which necessity exacts, he shall become thnt thing he has chosen. Would he be rich, then he si all work with callous hands, rise with the lark, feed scantily, save odds and ends, and suffer all the ills of poverty. Or gi*asping at stocks, become the associate and friend of the knave and outlaw, and the worn hat and threadbare coat will be an emblem of the leanness that is within. But the end is sure. He will be rich. He has chosen his part, which as the laws of nature are certain, " shall not be taken from him." Yet this man caouot become wise, or honoured, or beloved. ft; „; Such is our weakness that the visible excludes the ideal. Gold and silver take, in the judgments of men, the precedence, of the riches that are in the intellect of men. The voice of applauding multitudes is louder and more persuading than the low quiet breedings of the affections. A place in a faction is more desirable than in the immortal brotherhood of the good and wise. -..'.■.» -•■ '"'- - :,::;„;,. ■.'•■■ Yet all these influences of sense, and custom, and cofiivehtioiial judgment, which so temptingly allure all men, must the lover of true wisdom forego and I 77 I reject. They encumber and stifle him. Pythons are they, which need a Hercules to strangle them. Kay, they strangle the most of us. Yet he whom nature hath made a worthy scholar, ai:.d t^ whom the right spirit has been given, be he sunken never so deep in these oppressive waters, by a native subtleness, and upward pressure, emei'ges, and rises to his own pure element. The waves reach not him. Their roar is far below. He cares not to pamper the body. Like Erasmus^ his 6rst want is books ; then if he has money ' left, he will buy clothes. Pulse and spring water, a rude pallet and a map^e dish, are fare and furniture enough for him, who has fellowship with heroes and sages, who provides no expensive entertainments for the living, but himself feeds on the treasured wisdom of the dead. He does not need a garnished house; and a costly relinue. He would be himself a fit dwelling for the spirit of divine wis- dom, and has in the power of his knowledge all the principles of nature, as handmaids richly and spon- taneously ministering to his wants. He desires not the commendation of the unthinking ; for he is not of them. To the cheers or censures of the multitude he gives no heed, for he is of that noble society, selected fi«om the generous and the just, the heroic and devoted, the pure and wise, of all ages, who have been martyrs for the right ; and who have mused in silefnce, in obscurity, in scorn, on the beauty and excellence «^ 78 of truths till the flame has been kindled in them, and burns on consuming and inextinguishable. '^^i^ »^^ The power that made man has subjected him to toil. " By the sweat of thy brow," is the perpetual decree. The treasures that we covet, lie not upon the sui'face. Gems are in mines. The pearl dwells many fathoms down in the bosom of the sea. Truth too has her secret veins, which the rustic treads on daily and unwittingly. She lies in a deep well, to whose bottom only the stars look. He who searches for her with idle curiosity or vacant stare will not find her. She does not come in dreams. The scholar girds himself with a deliberate purpose. Whatever is needful, he does, and shrinks from no discipline. He plods, delves, watches, walks, runs, and waits. Thank- fully he receives the sudden light of an inspiration, or patiently spells out the mystic characters in which nature's laws are written. ^«««wf«*> ^ h t. .w^i.w. /.- THE SPIRIT OF THE TRUE SCHOLAR IS A SINCERE ^' ; SPIRIT. \^ ,. r' , ! . ijit has no sympathy with error, it disdains falsehood, it despises and defies deceit. Truth is its element, its life. It loves the light, and walks forth boldly in it, that itself may be seen, and that it may see all thingSi-,;-. ;.'^.^^ u:^ ;-..--, '-^ .:•■•/. ■ ./- . ^,,i;.UJ^>OI , \ : 79 ' The true scholar must be sincere not only in word and action, but in purpose and thought. There must be no seeming in him ; cant, hypocrisy, and pretension, are alien from his nature. He desires that only which truly is. The false show of things, which dazzle and blind, have no charm for him. He aims at a real knowledge and substantial worth. He has to do with substance and heart. Forms have no value for him who would apprehend the ** inwardness of all secrets." He who would be initiated in the hidden doctrine and rites of Eleusis must present himself as with a cleansed body, so with a sincere mind, without doubt or mistrust, hoping and looking with single aim for the wisdom to be revealed. So the student who would enter the temple of truth, and behold with his own eyes the mysteries of nature, must pass on with that sincerity of heart, which alone can give a serene purpose and a resolute step. The crackling salt offered with honest hands, shall be a more odorous offering than Sabaen spices. If the heartless lover who vows adoration to his mistress while he worships only her gold, is justly spurned and loses both his mistress and his gold — much more he who seeks an uneai'thly and spiritual good with low views and an earthly heart shall find himself perpetually baulked and disappointed. There is here no room for pal- tering, and double dealing. Every man gets what he deserves, not what he would seem to deserve. The 80 last of gold, however well disguised, cannot win wisdom, nor can the deftre of mere dignities, or that shameless passion which seeks only popular applause ; nay, they are doll orbs, ever near, and impenetrable, which stand forever between the soul's eye and the snn of truth. Is there one who loves truth, and seeks after wisdom ? To w'iiom they are in themselves more precious than gold and gems, priceless as light and the stars, more sustaining than the balsams of human affection and regard P Let him thank God, and take courage. That he desireth he shall yet have. He has now the key that unlocks every ward. His vision is already purged, that, in due time, he may gaze on the transcendent brightness. As the tree by its subtle alchemy rejects all noxious and pestilent exhalations, and transmutes the impalpable air into veined leaves, and spreading branches, and a solid trunk, so does the sincere scholar, refusing error and deceit, breathe only the pure air of truth, and is quickened in every impulse and affection by its living energy. . fv The sincerity of the true scholar is no ordinary attainment. It must be unmingled and undeliled ; not merely a single purpose, not one strain, however melodious, but the consent of all the harmonies of his being ; nor yet a rainbow union, where each hue is diverse while all are blended, but that perfect inter- mingling in which every separate colour is lost in the pure whiteness of their combination. To snch a one 81 science reveals itself a» [o a favourite son. That which others grope for is plain to bim. He enters the labrynth with a cine that shall never mislead, y .ijuTbis sini^. 1 y involve.s a judgment of the beart no lesa than of k^e bead. It is a moral appreciation. (Simple in itself, it loves simplicity and purity. Un- derstanding it values, and judging by a rigbt measure, it holds fast what it lovn?. '^'ansparent too is it with that liquid clearness in which the tunlight detects no floating mote, or staiiinK^ vapour^fjt 4 ;. ^^^^^vi, ,^vy THB SPIRIT OF T9E THUS SCHOLAR 18 A SOLITARY f'^ !< hrrn* nr nrrt -iPJlT lif' '.:'"'n v"'^-*"/:''*? - Doubtless he who looL: aright for wisdom, may ,^nd it everywhere. Her lessons are written on all material things, and are interwoven with the whole fabric of society. The t ••«> ^holar learns not less (from nature, and .from \m ^wn experience of life, than from books, " which are the records of other .Qiten's lives." Men talk much of the beauties of nature, wherewitb boys rnd maidens are oilen in raptures. Yet these bea"*i*^>i areof too fine an essence ,tp be discerned by gross and vulgar spirits, and Jie too deeply hidden to be reached by the frivolous .and unthinking. Invested with this beauty, and MiW^ te jjt to the ^qmmoaeye, lie still underneath. the laws and ]enotis of wtidom« Into this realm only the true scholar may enter. The harmony of the spheres ^s bis peculiar music. Tde |X>wer of elementary numbers none less can understand. The secret workings of life and the mysterious affinity which makes man a brother to the^dod are in some degree disclosed to him. In the loneli- ness of nature he is not alone. Trees, winds, watera, all have a voice. . " Airy tongues that syllable," are no longer a poetic fiction. The very shapes of what seems dead are emblems, and the gift of insight is bestowed on him. s4-*i Nor less does he gain from every hour of contact with social life. Every man he meets becomes his teacher, alike the wise man. and the fool, the toll- gatherer acd the chance wayfarer. In the market- place i.od In the court-room, the shop of the artisan and the hrJl of debate, the church, the fnneral, the wedding, the christening, in every bargain and sale, .in every theatre, caucus, and mob, wherever man is and acts, there is his study. Tbe kindling eye, the basty word, the rude gesture, the clumsy atti- tude of the rustic, and the swagger of the bully, each tells him something. Every social assembly is a museum of choice specimens, labelled and :ticketted, and offered to the inspection pf all who ^hink it worth their while to study them. The ungrateful yielding to necessity, the struggle against ti rt 83 want, the conferring a favour, — all the actioilt?, indeed, of daily intercourse teach us effectual lessons which, when we read them in books, we always forget. -^'^^"^ -"^ ■'' "^^fijon/j to xah t^mw^qhf In the scenes of nature and the hurrying tide of society, the scholar is _ solitary. Learning goes on in the depths ^^w .»wn mind, and the bystander sees nothing c rences, analogies, causes, effects, are a port. ae brood that are hourly begotten, and every sight multiplies itself into manifold new phenomena and relations. The business of the throng around is no hindrance or disturbance. Archimedes could continue his de- monstration while the soldiers of Marcellus were battering and sacking Syracuse. Xenophon philoso- phized among the Carduchian mountains. Nap6- leon was a student at Borodino and Versailles. Bodily presence neither lets nor aids the presence of the sDirit.''^ '"^*'^*' '''**'* *'''*'f** ''^ * im^k'r^.4.-<-.v-.'x.:-/,,iii ,i. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A 9 Itbe^ ; ^ttfir , Qf the Iw^ If, ^hci .work i* ever m^iom- pjished^fit isj^yrthe energies of the «oul wording .5^itl)ia itfelf- |^ Xkot tl!Lttfl^,d miaglo^th ulen, and bteome one of tfaeoK llife solitiide has £^W8 atod friekldis enoogk toageaibfrfthepast liretkerek Events that are no# passing, > ifliiif thbit shad6w«r intfl^ his sadetai^k •Homer tod Miltonr bardt, stere, heroes^ and pro*- pbeti am his eotfnseUors and inmatdk Still and nnobCrusivtt aire itbeyt aids* in no way incumbranoaa; .Th6 history^ of ages,! the ^perience of human heaita, ithe fich^SibflBan'e intellect ^re treasured in theil: few brief sentences. In such counsellors iawisdom^ /dl^nder^ high iin his soliltary « ainlc ia he« With acainty ihmitiifti Imd dimly b«juniing iamp^ The bi6By crow4 below pass to and fro on their various ertraadSk alike unheedivig. and unheeded. Yet rich audtrb^ght are Us visions* Forms of nneaclhly staAuM ai|d oC; Iceleatial beauty wait on his will. Select spirits of distant ages answer to hie call* He i converses with Ibe best and bravest. They bring m^aeagescff warning and refreshments He \ chinigcp to their MkeuMi and bocotufli partaker of th^r beauty. .,j'r i:&i>,>v. prob- and lhe$1r trith The out riell lar 'hey tm. ^ THS ttPIBlT 07 VBI tBUI MBOLaB 18 ▲ WltilW Off TRUtmrUL HOPC Why should not the true ichohur hope and trust ? He is a docile pupil of nature, he obeys her lawS| bis has pajTtaken of her spirit»and she who kno niggaid in her bestowments^ will give him his iui^ reward. He has much need of hope, for his die* dpline is severe^ Years of toil and watching avail not sometimes to gain the secret he wpuld know* Yet he may fed assured that silently it may be as tb<9 dawning, and^sure as that dawning^ that truth shall be revealed to htm ; or the globe of doud shall burst in some issi^ired moment, and the light he haft yearned for be given to him. , He has needof hope, for the object he aims at com^ not within the scope of ordinary syaa|N|thy and calisulation. It is distanli and the benefils o( it are still more distant, and few can see them. TLiere are few who oommend* Were not hope strong within him, he would mk by the way^side. ,, .^^.^till more sustaining is his living and perpetual trust. He has undoubting faith in the powers and 86 teaources of ths homim soul. He feels wUhin him that di?ine eueigy which links him to imttortsls. Himself is a partaker of the Infinite Reason. A reflecting, conscious spirit, with reason and free will, he has the consciousness of sovereignty. The realm of thought and feeling, the boundless uiuveise of knowledge is subject to him. All that was made for him, his title has no flaw, and he knows that if not now, yet one day he shall enter and occupy this vast inheritance. More perfect, if 'posfdble, is his trust in the good^ ndss of that wisdom, which is at once the au^r of hb own being and the source^f all truths and which has made them for each other, that his labour shall not be vain and without reward. As the seeing eye is an evidence before-hand of that light by which it may ^ee, so is his envying of knowledge an earnest and sufficient proof that truth is/ and is for him^ He who has created the desire and given the powc will not suffer them finally to mislead and disappoint With a charter thus heaven derived, he goes cheer- fully to his labour, apd wearisome and in^perfect as it may be, he is sure that the end will be attained, and the blessing be given. uiav ^Hfiehia> too, an unwavering faith in the worth of truth. He pursues no phantom. The prize he aims at may be unseen, but is not the less real. That which most men take to be real^the visible, tangible ^-.-- 87 of dmi tat nble form— 18^ but the husk and development of the tnii substance. That by which the crystal if differtnt from the pebble is not so much its form, as th« principle of accretion which brings every particle to its place, and is the origin and law of that form. The student of nature who reads aright, stops not at the outwaard appearance, but looks beneath to the living force. In society the phantasmagoria which passes before onr eyes, is, to the student, not an amusement, but a deep study, and developes to him the secret powers and principles which make society what it is-— as in books he reads not merely the printed characters, but the meaning of the writer ; not a bare alphabet of Greek or Hebrew^ bat tho mind of Sophocles or of Isaiah. Thus perpetually reaching after substance, his way is always to the heart of things. The knowledge he seeks is that which has life; and the life passes from it to him, and he too lives, and is a man. The fas|iion of this Worid passeth away, but the word of God abideth for ever. He who has well learned that word, which ii written alike in letters and in laws, has a possession which changes not. He can look forward to no dis- appointment. The true scholar will be a friend of man. Under^ standing the secret of their acts, he offers them wise guidance, or that they may be self-guided, reveals to them the principles which they unconsciously 88 obey. HU it no mytterioiis power over nature and man, bat a wise following and a tdmple-faearted ]km>wMgfi, which aaotfaer» though he may notdia- ^y«f i|» niay «se more akilfally thmi he. Thua die ikm%h^ w^h the .aeh<4ar has attained by long and fialient Mour, descend to the common miad, and 4ure the; pfoperty of aH. The light which was onoe ie«a only from the hiU topa». now shines down into :ibe vall^ye* and aU men zejoioe m k. ■■ -m-i ,t V ; u l^HB POOR GUitATE. ^fj^^ 4s .« phrate .T^lete with si|d |]^jQmiing» and when or whei^soever s^pol^en, the .inind i^ag^s to itself a paipfiil pprtnat^re. " Love Jn a cottai^" hi^ a pretty j^wpd.;rphiloic|pby in a tiiji^, biddu9g royalty to detdst £ropt int^ircepttngJits ^f^l^g l^bino* :inay g^ve us|i.lpftyi<^^ of ^higt, stern, m^d stoical indif)E|i;ence ^ v^vaojAs^e wf^i^ ,%)ie him^n jpiindis ci^pabla; but, un^ortttnately, thp espfstanceof ,t)ie first is somewhat apoc^hal (except jfi,ipk#gin|^ ^p or tbe p^es of r^mai^ee) ; a^d the oxfunpfci pf that testy old bachelor, Diogenes, is far from ia ,cpin- forting precedent ,to our ^ppor curate, who, be it remeinbered^ Js " B^nediclt, the munried in^,";«- ^herishing all the better , feelinga and refined afifeotions <^ our nature, and mingling with t^iem those bjg^ andv I (S? he bftf yt% Uf >€»jc njil^i njtffjy.jXijf. tbi? " a^aiifi||ifl; ij^tMli^ fhQ<;KB. tl^t fi)9nh Uheir to/' «nf| with a.p]ac^ mien, and beneath the garb of a ge^^leffifn^ to. nW9}^ a inip4 i|l at ea^», an^ wprai, i^p4. we^ifie^ by }i* ineefMut stirugfl^®^ P^ l^B jup that r^^ecUmHy, m»^ mali^u^n tbat ciemefM^f(^, whic|b bi^p^ hi^ »lf^tiQn,p^4, bpfer pfl^cas; i^e», l^^4[ that too f|:)^ic^ mi^lv^g ^ tl^^lflbour|M:i||,ii^t the younger brandhes^ tartf thci ibrloni hope of a place irom the patronage of 4' cUst^t titled ireltttife. ' Obr' einbryo pidrkm hath eairly emced a fMMkUh ttote; lind ishown a preptMsesdon for those qniet piiriliiits vhiefa are usui^y considered as characterising' die yotmg student. The gldomy stilhieM df hist other's libttiry, tind the ancient totbes whose qnainti bindings adome it« had far gMter attrluitions fbf him than the noisy gambols of his brethren.' He' hM( thet^ liDhiTi4ted in all this rich fancied ef Spenser, sighed over the phintive laye bf the noble Surrey, and d^wn " hiUge pleks4nce** froim the '^ metrie C6n4^ c0te^' of Hettiek i Biir Philip %diiey h^ been m bosom iUetidi ibrCl^cenor More his chbeeti^ conipisiiion, while n^iiny k pearl wa^ brbiig^r u^ ' ftoilai thd t^t^founder depths^ of BiUj6^*s wisdbdii And well has he loVed the gUiii trees Whfbh ^rdled ihd " ould house at home f^ blit Idved them' bnly'ibr the dee^i tihsidbw and the sdftenbd li^t whieh thehr de^ foliage shed Upon his beok As he< lay ^fret^^bed. benei^ the btoed bilun^iii^ and that bdwerfdl teintitatioiiii of a cbHej^ Hfb ; l^e )ili^ t^efv^a drdl^tSbii; successively a^p^itted A. B. di(d!AJ M.'to hii 'riaiiiie ; iaci^epted ifa^ tntHty ^r liiiLL; kn^r; ' afte^' WlBadib^ ^he ^ehtre dbjeet 6f hi^ fljibriy IbV^, Is settled iii his Mtiitile dbinicile ttt .''-^; a poor curate. 'Sti6li W ^ Mef dritliiife of-ihe suinm^ df iobr cuMte fiiUh tbefm. i •'•^^' ^<> Thfe veJiy'^;rofter whoifn 14(6 fiiViuk With' hit kanty ^ttbm, Ahd %ho contH^r^ to keep ajf^y and'thii^, tukl'Kve getitcliYy/is fi^ better ofiTihah i6hrpbor eudite. 'Hi^ biiiker, %ho attehds ev^ cri^^t4ri4teh and horse-race within twenty tnilM df th^ place, isln'ibiteh betiei^birc^mst^^iiMthtti'hts ^pirituAl pastor. The *b1^fffilrinwn benevolent countenance ; bis linen, albeit, , is /(jpltless both In hue and texture. ; pitiable indeed, would the condition pf is churoh. The liberal gift (offi^ring) at Easter ,an4 tl^J^' »''J There is nothing of imagination in this pictare— i^rthlng boyond mere matter-of-fact. The bright risions uf his boyhood have faded : the glowing hope* of his yonth, have, otie by one, been first chilled, and then utterly repressed. And now, in his "^sear and yellow leaf/' otir hero is still the poor curate, vegeta* ting on hb scanty income, and fulfilling all the piona dvties of his station with cheerfnlikess and caltn eon* emtent. Hay, there are occasional gleams of sunshine scattered on bis path. There are hours, when #hiii i9 his little study, a communion with the n^hty spirits of the oldeu time^ a penisalof thepredouA legacies which they have kift to us, and which have- sorrivid the tety traces of the cities wh^re they dweltk have gone far towards merging iki oblivion t&e- petky cares and anxieties of the outer world. Irheu, . too, there is much of consolation, much of thi- approyal of that ^stittsmiAl voioe^ within^ ariang from scenes into wMch the nature of his holy office leads him."''" ' ''■ * ^^iuiiitHk. r.^^KJi To I soothe Cm last h^um df a feAbw-mortal ; to' hay«: gradually weaned his thoughts from earth, and fixed his hopes upon a "better land," untd, at length, the parting spirit yeama for its etenlat homof to dry up the tears of the mourner; to lead m ehmtjf: tQ; tfal^ Klines, of piling wanti;-^tbe8«9 wUt cttttyri^li a,wb|i>l« hott of selfi?)^ troiuWe0»> and At$m the veil of forgetfulness over very, vwcy^mwy ot the miliar, ^fa^ir#nMnf,q(:Our brief lif^. -Uo^ «t v. mi'i' t- pa^j*[ i^MwxiMly exempli^ i^. theii cc^tage tone 0f;oi\f)p9or^cur«ite;; aiv^ry. e^o^ph^e o{f p^^ce s<9fim^ t«i«iwfpim4!a|i4rp^w*4ei it/; aq4 tl^^^gi|l . pQV€(rty i)5 ita i54weUer> j»l(ah^ ift HTmjre4 in ^^f^tgarh^ a]]i4 her aApefit) m^yi b«t e^m cheerful, Af4:MQoih to> lay, i(tlfl.il^pleMA»t 9pA .^n heard in ,the stilh^W of 1^ summer twiliighf« JuUii one intft lasspft dreamy rey«rie, and caU up siic^ ?llg$ie». faiiry-Iiliei thQught9« a^wwpuldk if indulged in* aJitogf)(li.Qr< nnfituid forithei ootmneiKse of; thift iworktday ipfdiit. T!lv«»)iai^: of. tiisti((i» viaLbUufdtUa it9>walU.; t|[f rei a^?, %, hnndred. little triflea . irhkh evince its e9ifa:eise, and innun^niUfi> epfidencei9;i oft the^, f^i^ 9|gp)9jtiain of the husband iandthja!)jSlthey by .%Qir' Irini^ ! inftionce, thei Alia lin^ic^ Uii ithoMc vhuMe )o|;r-l9iJ9^ b^ til^ latlerb/ jjjap. •'^iuriu.ii eat ^^iiJmiA :r. bitiThA framed) dira^gii dependent fromlhe'^ll»rrH \, / 91 the pictured chess-table, whose every dark square hath some quaint device or tiny portraiture impretsed Upon it — the screens, with their rich groups of flowers and birds — are each and all h0me»wrought« and serve As pleasant links between the living tenants of the chamber and inanimate occupiers. Nor must we overlook one especial friend^ whose tones are ever welcome, whose voice ever kindly, and whose com-^ panionship untiring — music. Our poor curate is & passionate lover of song, and witching airs, " wedded-, to immortal verse," can make that chamber like the; enchanted island of Prospero,— t'^oe iwu,y|i^,|3^a» y»ai mzx ^**™^*' "^ *''*®* ""» *^^ ^''^ delight.'* ,^^ ^^^^ 44knd in this home will his days be passed,, and ini the exercise of those duties the closing years of life will be spent. The old age of men of letters (or, at least, of those who have not occupied any prominent eminence in the republic,) unlike that of others who: h4ve played a busy part upon the great stage of life, is little disturbed by those stormier recollections which occasionally harass theirs. Nor is it a repose from toil or action. Their existence has been rather like the course of a gentle river, mirroring the clouds and sunshine of |heaven, cognizant only hy reflection' of what is passing on its banks, with ever and amm some passing shower shattering its clear surface, yet n calm again, gliklin|r ont»ihe music of its ow]iwater9# and at length stagnating into a quiet lake. To such may we assimilate the life of our poor curate. We will not denj but that ancient memories will sometimes haunt his mind^ and that dormant hopes will not occasionally be stirred witbw him. But these gradually die away, his thoughta take a loftier tone, his benevolence a wider scopo, and his ambition, if not a higher, yet a better aim ^ and as he becomes more and more identified with tho interests and weU^beiog of those around him — the con-t soler of tbeir sorrows, the soother of their griefs, i^ messenger of peace and good-will to all — ^he finds in contentment the truest wisdom, and that " he who wiu'- neth souls is indeed wise." And when he dies, " late may it be,'* he will have his grandchildren's love for epitaph, the sorrowings of many a poor man*s heart for re- quiem, and will be interred in the chancel of the village church, where a small rural tablet will perchance record the obituaiy of the poor curate. iH ai^^^jtokii^^ We have thus briefly pourtrayed some of the "lights and shadows" of a poor clergyman's chequered ex-^ istenoe^^a uvourable specimen of the class,, we admit ; but upon the bright traits in such a character^^tha nncompldnirg endurance of poverty unmerited, the noble self-sustaining sense of innate dignity, excel-* kncies which redeem much that is base in our fallen nature-flron these we would much rather dweU« than •'■V. a9 foat cient tW aim; ihtbe ) cott-' ,eff» 9, ids in ) win" iemay itapb* or M« rillage . ; * t f , : i " , Ugbts note the darker fp%turet in another**. That suck tiiere are — man ^ ^se principles widely differ from their profeaiions, and whose lives but ill accord with the doctrines they inenlcate* we cannot deny ; but leave the delineation of these to the pen of the sectarian* or the morbid and gloomy pencil of the misanthrope. H^ ■?^■^'-^t^''^^t^H"r'^■' '^-''^ -M V Thank God ! there are still many such as our {poor curate located in the mid>it of the village homes of merrie England, in her towns and in her cities^ carrying with them the gentle influences of a pure life and unassuming manners into the heart of her busiest scenes, and into the quiet hamlets of her most secluded vallies. / < It may not be impertinent, in this place, to qtidiU the following homely, yet graphic description of the poor curate, as it appeared in a work now but little known, and not easily consulted, called, ** The Groundw and Occasions of the Contempt of the Clergy Inquired into,** The book appeared in 1670, and is attributed to the pen of Echard* He says : — " For where the minister is pinched, as to the tolerable conveniences of this life, the chief of his care and time must be spent, not in an impertinent inquiry, consideiing what text of scriptures will be most useful for his parish, what instructions most seasonable, and what^ authors best to be consulted ; but the chief of his thoughts, and his main business, must be to study o2 rsfi*' N 100 how to live that week ; where he shall have briead for his family. He is not capable of doing that outward good amongst the needy, which is a great ornament to that holy profession, aqd a considerable advantage towards the having his doctrine believed and practised in a degenerate world. If there comes a brief to I town, for the minister to cast in his mite will not ' satisfy, unless he can create sixpence or a shilling to put into the box, for a state to decoy in the best of the parish : nay, he that has but £40 or £60 per annum, if he bids not up high as the best of the parish in all acts of charity, he is counted carnal and earthly- minded, only because he durst not coin, and cannot work miracles. And whatever beggars may come, ',,, half of these, I'll secure you, shall presently ask for the minister's house. 'For God,' say they, \ *> certainly dwells there, and has laid up a sufficient relief'* -fi^. :%^mi ^m^ H THE COUNTRY SCHOdtMASTER.^' ^ The Country Schoolmaster is one of the most marked characters of the country. Spite of the tingling remembrances of his blows, we have a real :lo^ for him, and sympathize with him in his sense of neglect. He complains, and justly too, that he has had the first moulding of the intellects of many 101 of the greatest geniuses which this country bat pro* ducedj yet what genius in his glory has looked back to his old dominie with a grateful recognition ? The worthy Sir Walter Scott is almost the only one. Dominie Sampson, Reuben Butlefi Jedediah Cleishbotham, schoolmaster and parish clerk of Gauderctleugh, and Peter Pattieson, are delightful proofs of the fact But Scott saw the world of peculiar character which lies in the Country School^ master, and disdained not to honour it as it deserved. Beyond this, little renown, in faith, has the village Dionysius won. Shenstone has done fitting honour to the village schoolmistress: but the master has been fain to shelter himself under the sole buth of laurel which the good-natured Oliver Goldimith has planted to his renown in "The Deserted Village." ■ iMM^mmi f^m'm^ii i Poor fellow! true enough are Oliver's words, " Past his all his fame." He has had a quiet and a flattering life of it, for many a generation ; the rustics have gazed and wondered \ ,i^.- , ,^^ t* '. " That one small head could carrjr all he knew." But the innovations of this innovating age have reached even him at last. He has built his cabin in an obscure hamlet, or, as in Ireland, set up his hedge-school under some sunny bank ; *e has re- treated to the remotest glens, and the fastnesses of lost unft'equent^ mountaitis, but even there the modein flpint of reform has found him out. He Bees a cloud of ruinous blackness collectings over his head, out of which are about . to spring ten thousand schoolmasters of a new-fangled stamp; and he knows that it is all up with him for ever. The railroad of national education is about to run through his ancient patrimony, and h^ shakes bis head as he asks himself whether he is to come in for equitable compensation. No ; his fame is past, aiid his occupation is going too. He is to be run down by tin act of parliament to set him up. He was the selector of his own location, the builder of his own fortunes. The good old honest stimu- lant of caring for himself led him to care for the education of his neighbour's children ; he needed no subscription to buy land and build a spacious school ; he opened his cottage door, and in walked all the lads of the hamlet and neighbouring farms^ with slates slung round their necks, books under arms, and their dinners in their bags. For foup- pence a week, reading and spelling, and sixpence for those who write and cipher, he gave them hard benches and hard blows ; and when he had as many stowed into his little house as were about enough to etlfle bim and one another, thought himself a lucky fellow, and looked round on the whole horde, with m^i^mmt' mm^^'- .-. CU?er Goldsmith has hit oSt some of his mosi striking features. The Country Schoolmaster, in his finest field of glory, the hamlet-^where, txoepi 104 |he clergyman, there are no "higher personages than old-fashioned farmers, who received their book' learning from himself or his predecessor — is a man of importance, in .his own eyes and those of others. He yet makes the rustics stare at his '< words of learned length and thundering sound ;" he can yet dispute with the parson, though he more t'equently is the profound admirer of his reverence: he looks upon himself as the greatest man m the parish, except the parson, whose knowledge he extols to the skies, and whose reading of the church services he pronounces the finest in the world. The villagers always link "our parson and our schoolmaster" in one breath of admiration. If the schoolmaster can quote a sentence of Latin, won- derful is then their wonder of his powers. He is always styled'* a long-headed fellow, as deep as the north star." As in Goldsmith's days, he can still ofben guage, and is the land-measurer of the district In the bright, evening nook of the public- house, where the farmers, and the village shop- keepers, and the blacksmith duly congregate, his voice is loud, his air is lofty, and his word is law: There he often confounds there intellects by some such puzzling query as " Whether the egg or the bird was made first P" "What man Cain expected to meet in the wilderness before there wasa man there ?" 0r*.« JSTho was theJiiUier of Zebedee's children ?*^ m . If he be self-educated, as he generally is, he hfif •peQt the best part of his life in studying Latin ; or he is deep in mathematics ; or he has dived into the mysteries of astrology ; has great faith ip Raphael's annual prognostications, and in **. Cu|i- pepper's Herbal." His literature consists of a copy of verses sent now and then to the neighbouring qeiir^paper, or solutions of mathematical problenM for the learned columns of the same. Perhaps he adventures a flight so high iisoneof the London magazines; and if« by chance, his lucubration should appear in the " Gentleman V* his pride is unbounded, and ^is reputation in his neighbpurhood made for life. His library has been purchased at the book-staU of the next market-town^ or he has taken it in at the door in numbers from the walking stationer. " Rapin's History of Englandt'* ." Jos^- phus," and " Barclay's Dictionary,*' in large quartos on coarse paper, and the histories with coarse cuts, are sure to figure amongst theih. He carries on a little trade in iuk, pens, writing paper, and- ot^r stationary, himself. If he be married, his wife is almost sure to drive a still brisker trade in ginger- briead) parby-and- Joans, toffy, and lollipops. As he is famous for his penmanship, he is. the great . letter-writer of the neigbboui:hood^ and iptiny ^a|e the love secrets that are confided tp his ear. j^%3f# ,^e letters sign-boards, and cart-boards, and coflli^- 106 |>Iate8 ; for who is there besides that can ? He makes wills, lind has in Ifortner days, before ithe lawyers hedged round their monopoly with the » jf>en^ty of illejgrality on sQch deiedii, drawn cbnrey- aiicto, knd wia the p^adefol practitioner in ilU tach tLWAtk for bis ileighbburbood. ^ ^^^^ »ji h| ^'-<0h1 multifatibtis aire the doings of the Conhtry Sclk>olmai^r, and aMtksmg ure their variety. What 'in alir of pedagdgoic poiki)) dliitinguisbes hiiA; hoi^ antiqi^ amus!% k histehdbl cdBtnitae often ; hoir liitich miore amdsiiig the pSebald patchworic df 'bis language. HCa address him fVeqiientt|y no litlllfe W inibe ancient Hi/fl'/ in it the Dioibiiiie hiis iid# long be^h 'hiMed to bis ifkir ihk, ^ho is tm pMty a liiile iHitxa ids any iti the "ebiilitry. Ae "wHtcis somethitig ih the |ybr&8^1d|^ df ii qtiiki^, but be is, in fact, the piirish cleric. ' (.<»< i Ht' I ,i>iiilf^hin-iili^ '•_ PUBLIC MiBAStTRE iGfftOtfNDS ABROAD. -iv. ShI 4>--M- ^6Ver the 'bb^tmtot Althb^t etery lal^g^e ' city dah ^b6ii^ df * thfem. AtFi^iikfort;thebld'fomfic^dtis "IfaVe'b^n' Ite^ell^ atid cbiiv^rt^d itlto |yuBfi^|jiir. «i^ Aiia 'ili^iiieki^^s^..'^ ^jceibplfflciitibbs ^'^e'^Vbgi'^ bi'iiiiblic dt)iiildh iVl!be a^^^ 107 of pefto^. Thcf Fmnkfprt prpmeDadcfl surrouod the city 00^ every tfde ex^cept tha^ ^ext the Mfuie. ThfB walka l^« chftripiDglj l^d OQt, and iur« a§ ViMy ^ ni^y kept ^9 if |hey wei?e the pirivate P^P^y pf ^ QoMenoan^ The mps^ prectons ^^werv a94 ^h|^¥ ^^^ ^ere, and i?m#in sacretl iMi4 un^oi^lifd. ft is f^ beaintiCi^ feiitQre in these pnh|ic g^r^enfy thx^t tfie 9ioft lovely an4 yaluable Ihii^i are open]|y exposed to view, witjiiout the ilighteit word of cautip^ m to their iojnry or pre? eer^^Miion. It shows l^Qifr mach trusting to the g^PHlncfs th^ is in human nature will do^ For, ^Qijihtlesii,. the ^% of ^ing freely admitted to these prices, of puVV<^ resort without prohibitipi^, or in- soltiiig pl^carcla, of "Caution" and *'Bewtae" produces n^poh of this rfspectfql eoodi^ct anc| deipeanoiMr. Tl^e '' charity thi^ thinketh nQ evil** never yet provoked a crime ; but can we si^y so much pf the si|Bpic|0|i whicb is never done telUi^ ucf of its man trapi^ an4 spring guns ? ;)!T, m^i» V) A JUNE NIGHT. if the (^ays (>f June are now warm, and bnlHant, and beautiful, oh ! how soft and bei^utiful is a Jui^e night ! Oh ! what is there that can equal its pleas- ing ob8curity,.which iji yet .9':-'.r* 108 can equal the calm, clear, lofty beauty of the tky, where the moon beams, like the celestial creature ibat «he if, and the evening ttar bum with th6 radiance of immortal youth. There is a balmy sbViness in the air. The trees stand in shadowy masses, and seem to bend in adoration to the still and musing sky above them. There is a soft gloom beneath the umbrageous hedges, or as you walk thix»ugh shrubberies and plantations, that is peopled with all the hopeful feeKngs of the present, and the tender memories of the past. What would waoiot give to go hand in hand again with those with whom we have enjoyed such hours, and talked of death, and wondered who should first explore its jnysteries— and they were those first; as we walk 6n through deepening shadows, and wonder what and where they now are. Hc\v every place and scene in this still and thou^htfnl night seems to iinlock its secret essence. Every spot has its 6wn sentiment and its own peculiar odour. Here the sweet aroma of the leafy trees, there the strong essence of the forest turf; here the earthy smell of deep, rich soil, and thiere the fragrant breath of the sweet briar, or delicious elfluvia from a clovr or bean field. Near the hamlet, the warm, richx>t!«*v^i of the peat, or wood fire, announces that the weary labourer hiis supped, and perhaps now sleeps, un- conscious o. *he cricket that sings in the garden 109 hedge, or the song of the uoctumal thrush in the old elm that over-canopies his dwelling. How deKghtful is the meanest sound of a sammer night; even the moth, dashing agu'nst the cottage pane« or fluttering amongst the garden leaves, enrichei the stillness ; with what a lordly boom the soaring cockchaffhr strikes the ear as he mounts iqto the flo«v» V line. How the smallest rivulet murmurs uiottd ; new palpably the mountain streams sound ub tt< y run along ; how deeply sonorous is the dis- tant waterfall or mill-weir. The frogs in the marbhes seem to be turning a thousand wheels ; and the dorhawk, the cuckoo, and the nightingale give to wood, meadow, and tree their different charms. The quails pipe from the green com, the curlews from the far moorlands ; and if you wander near the ocean, what a voice of majesty is there full of the meanings of ages and the poetry of the infi- nite. Aye, walk, happy youth, in the flush of thy happiness, along the dusky margin of that old, old sea. Mark the soft waves break in flames at thy feet; hear the stroke [of an oar somewhere in the dim obscurity ; list to the wild and shrill cries of the tf^m and plover, that never sleeping soundly, come wheeling past and plunge onward unseen: there is not a sound heard to-night that shall not mingle with thy thoughts and hopes of life, and many years hence, pierce through thy memory. no followed by an ocean oi tears. But, hush ! Uiere are voices, shrill and laughing voices; the musing young man springs onward, forgj^ng the poetry of the ocean and of night, in the a^ore vivid poetry of hope and love. Let him go on* To the yoiing,^ the old, to every human being that has a soul alive^ to the impressions of Godj, the Creator of nature^ the calm, the gloom, and every sound and sensa^ lion of a summer night are holy. {|i4o .^t>.i; r % THE N^TURAMST'S WALK, ,, ..,; ' The little excursions of the naturalist, from habit » and acquirement, become a scene of constant observa- tion and remark. The insect that crawls, the note of the bird, the plant that flowers^, or the vernal leaf that peops out, engages his attention, is recognised as an intimate, or noted for some novelty that it prer sents in sound or aspect. Every season has its pecu- liar product, and is pleasing or admirable, from causes that variously afiect our different tempera- ments or dispositions ; but there are accompaniments in an autumnal morning's woodland walk that call for all our notice and admiration : the peculiar feeling of the air, the solemn grandeur of the scene around us, dispose the mind to contemplation and remarks in ■ >^' aro nng €try »etry alive^ LtarQn ensar ■ Jpiil ^ir_. Theire is a til^ttcd in wlikh we hear everftlinig, a beautj^ that will be observed. The stump of an old oak is a very landsc^>e, with rugged Alpine steeps bursting through forests of verdant mosses, with some pale, denuded, branchless lichen, like a scathed oak, creeping up the sides or crowning the summits, llam'bling with unfettered grace, the tendi^s of the l)ridny (taiM^ cammunit) festoon with its brilliant berriies, green, yellow, and red, the slender sprigs of the hazel or the thorn ; it ornaments their plainness, and receives a support its own feebleness aenies. The agaiic, widi all its hues, fts shades, its elegant variety of forms, expands hs cone sprinkled with the freshness of the nioming: a transient ftdr, a dhild df decny, that '' sprang Up iti a^ght, and will perish in *k day.^* The squirrel, agile with life and timidity, gambolling found the fodt ef an ancient beech, its base everbrown with ihe dewberry (rubus casius),. blue with unsullied fVuit, impeded in His frolic sports^, half angry, darts up the silvery bole again, to peep and wonder at the strange intruder upon his haunts* The jay springs up, and screaming, tells of danger to- her brood : the noisy tribe repeat the call, are hushed, and leave its. The loud laugh of the woodpecker, joyous and vacant ; the hammering of the nuthatch (sitta Europaa), leaving its prize in the chink of some dry bough '; the humble bee, torpid on the disc 112 of Uie purple thistle, just lifts a limb to pray forb^r- aiMj^ of injury, to ask %pew5^a»«il M^u^ , ; , ,,,,,a *i|^)a «I^Tehiitt,lwvehiiiito/epaie.«^^ * *jM«^ ,\ The cinquefoil, or the vetch, with one lingering blos- som^ ^et appears ; and we note it for its loneliness. Spreading on the light foliage of the fern, dry and mature., the spider has fixed her toils, and motionless in ^^l\^^idst watches her expected prey, every th^'ead ana mesh beading with dew, trembling with the zephyr's breath. Then falls the " sere, and yellow leaf," parting from its spray without a breeze, tink- ling in the boughs, and rustling scarce audibly along, rests at our feet, and tells us that we too part. AU these are distinctive symbols of the season, marke4 in the sobriety and silence of the hour, and form, perhaps, a deeper impression on the mind than any afforded by the verdant promises, the vivacities of spring, or the gay profuse luxuriance of summer, ^^fj yt,ib ^rf4 .fio .biear- bios- ^ linesa. 'Y and V ionless thread ih the yellow T along, •t. AU marked form* an any itie8 of er. J CHAHKR IV. ^km ii^rit^i a\u ,is *. AUSTRALIA. ^^ ^ w V Australia, or New Holland, is situated in the Pacific Ocean, and forms the largest island in the world. Lying between 9 degrees and 38 degrees of south latitude, and 112 degrees and 153 degi'ees of east longitude, it forms an extent of land which, from its geojpraphical position, and its natural productions, abounds in interest both to the philosophical inquirer, and to all who wish to make it the place of their resi- dence. It extends from 2000 miles from north to south, and about 2,600 from east to west, cut near its centi'e by the tropic of Capricorn, — its northern portion is included in the Torrid zone, but all its southern region enjoys the saluhrious climate of the Temperate belt. ,, It has been divided into three principal parts, dis- covered at different periods, each possessed of a dif- ferent history, but all of them having been employed for the purposes of colonization by the over-crowded population of the Old World. It consists of New South Wales, or Eastern Australia, on the east; South Australia, in the centre ; and the Swan River 114 settlement, or Western Australia, on the west of its extra-tropical range. New Holland was discovered by Don Pedro Fernando de Quiros, a Spanish nobleman, in 1609. He appears to have made the land in the vicinity of Tones Straits, and named it Australia of the Holy Spirit; but it afterwards recei*;ed the name of New Holland, from a number of Dutch navigators by whom it was visited, and whose voyages, if not earlier made, seem either to have been the earliest recorded, or the most generally made known. The Spanish monarch at this time was too much occupied with the splendid acquisition^ made to his foreign dominions by the genius of Columbus, to attend to the progress of eastern discovery, and additional portions of this region of the globe, were successively made known by the spirit of commercial enterprise, or the good fortune of individuals. The correct and indefatigable Dampier was the first English navigator by whom the coast of New Holland was visited. He received his naval education among the buccaneers of America, and in a cruise against the Spaniards, he doubled Cape Horn, from the east stretched towards the equator, fell in with this continental island, made an accurate survey of its shores, which, on his return to England, he presented to Earl Pembroke, and which gained him the patronage of William 111. 5i to .mii^'tf lifcAfe t© But the illustrious Cooke was the first who gave na >f its Pedro 1609. aity of Holy f New r whom > iDade, , or ibe ftonarch splendid by the ffress of s region by the rtune of )atnpier coast of IS naval and in a e Horn, , fell in survey and, he Ined him ii^ii^Kj the gave the most extensive infunnation, and dispeUed many illusions regarding this extensive region, during hiH first and his third voyages in 1770 and 1777. Pre- vious to this, the eastern coast was almost entirely unexplored, but by him there was made known tho existance of a vast island, almost equal in extent to the whole continent of Europe. Since that time it has engaged much of the attention of the British government and people. Many experiments have been tried, and with varied success, until the tide of public approval has turned so entirely in its favour, that even the wealth and the comforts of home, the length of the voyage, and the distance of the scene, are held as nothing when compared with the health and the independence of Australia. iPHniif <»^t ^tftr*i ' ?/. Occupying a position considerably nearer to the south of the equator than England is to the north, the climate is consequently both warmer in summer arrd milder in winter than with us. The most remarkable feature attested by the report of all who have visited it, is the great uniformity of the temperature through- out almost its whole extent. It is not varied to a high degree even at different seasons of the year, nor liable to sudden transitions from cold to heat. So much is this the case, that invalids from India are now con- veyed there instead of being subjected to a tedious voyage to Europe', or a laborious over-land journey to the valleys of the Himmaleh. This peculiarity arises ire in great measure from the large proportion which sea bears to land in the southern hemisphere ; on this account the temperature of places at the same distance from the different tropics, north and south, is cooler in the latter than in the former, 3d degrees in the one having been found by observation to correspond with 37 degrees and 38 degrees of the other. For eight months in the year the weather is mild and unbroken. The sky is seldom clouded, and although refreshing showers frequently fail, it is subject to none of the periodical rains which deluge the torrid zone. The sun looks down during two-thirds of his annual course in unveiled beauty from the northern heavens, and for the remainder, the frost is so slight as but to re- quire the kindling of a fire for purposes of great warmth, morning and evening, while in Sydney, snow has been so seldom seen as to have endowed it with the name of white rain. ^->^^ \uu^i>^;i.<.^i^^ ^ ^.ivu^u.; ^' While this is the general characteristic, it must only be understood as the average of the whole, not as liable to no exception at any precise period, or at any particular place, which would of itself form one of the strangest excepticmi to the economy of nature ia every other portion of the earth's surface, that has ever been presented to the observation of man. The heat is greater in the interior than on the sea coast during summer, and the cold more intense in winter. At Paramatta, the thermometer rises 1 degi'ces higher in 117 summer, and falls the same number lower in winter, than at Sydney. But this is only at noon in luramer, when the coolness of morning and evening again restores the balance, and in winter* the contrast artedt from the more than European mildness of the one place, rather than from the excessive cold of the ^wm^r ■m^ %* * 4k-- -■!■ •'4tF''' (> These statements are made with more immediate reference to New South Wales, although applicable to the >^hole island. But in South Australia especially, the atmosphere is pure^ dry, and elastic ; even when the hot winds blow, which come periodically four timet every summer, and continue from twenty-four to thirty-six hours at a time, the lungs play freely, and no difficulty is felt in breathing. In the humid at* mosphere of England, such a degree of heat as that alluded to, would have been most oppressive, if not intolerable ; and hence arises our exceeding liability to cold and cough, and consumption, which in an exposure to all weathers, and even to those sleeping uncovered on the ground, are unknown in Australia. < ^ Being situated at the opposite extremity of the globe, its seasons are nearly the reverse of ours. Our December, January, and February, is summer there, when the atmosphere, however heated, only displays its power in spreading luxuriance over the face of nature, without producing any of its debilitating efTects upon the human frame. The heat only requires to be endured 118 for a few hours during the day, to be amply compen- sated for by the refreshment of the cooling breese that sets in in the evening. When it is winter there, it is our June, July, and August, which is rather a season of rain than of snow, with some slight symptoms of frost, which speedily disappear before the rays of the rising sun. Its being situated so much further east than England, equally affects the relations of time with regard to day and night, as to summer and winter. The sun rises ten hours later here than it does there ; accordingly, when it is six o'clock in th6 morning here, it is four o'clock in the afternoon with the Australians. Although this is a real difference, it icomes upon the emigrant so gradually during the Toyage, that its very existence is unperceived, and it leads to no practical tendency in its influence upon the business of life, ••li -u'^juu ii->iiu him^^^ :.-^^^ j,;i>uu;yi ^TifThe salubrity of the seasons is evidenced by the health of the inhabitants. They are liable to few diseases, and those which do occur, are represented as in every three instances out of four, the result of moral causes. Excess in the use of animal food, and i of ardent spirits are there, as everywhere else, the great gateway opened by the hand of man for the . entrance of disease and death. ; w^^^^M^fmmB^^fM'WM^ ' ,rf Temperance, both in eating and drinking, will be found by the emigrant the most effectual means for the preservation of health, while excessive indulgence. 119 fot ice, especially in the latter, is more likely than even at hame to undermine the constitution, and to hlast the prospects with more fearful and fatal rapidity. ^. ;^>i The general account given of the climate of Aus- tralia, as affecting the health of its inhabitants, is , strikingly applicable to the soil, the one being found mutually to act and react upon the other. As far as it hai yet been explored, a remarkable degree of uniformity is found to prevail in the quality of land, * supporting — at least south of the tropic — the same peculiar vegetation, and the same peculiar animals. From Moreton Bay, near the tropic on the east, through Port Jackson, Port Philip, the. Tamar, Nepean Bay, Port Lincoln, King George's Sound, and the Swan River, to Sharks* Bay, near the tropic on the west, notwithstanding their diversity of lati- tude, this peculiarity of sameness prominently appears. The discovery of a part of the coast ma- terially different from the rest, would astonish those who are acquainted with such portions as are at pre- sent known. That portion of the Continent of America which has been colonized by the Anglo- Americans is distinguished by its mighty rivers, with their tributary streams poured from magnificent mountains, Jlowing through valleys clothed by dense and boundless forests — their soil, enriched by vege- table remains, the accumulation of ages, and deriving every year fresh elements of fertility from the same 120 flource, while the climate and atmosphere correspond with these characteristic features of the country. Australia, on the other hand, has none of these pecu- liariries of physical conformation. It has no large rivers, and is comparatively thinly wooded. Exten- sive disUrictn are entirely free from timber. In the forest the trees stand far apart, and are scantily clothed with leaves. The foliage is not deciduous ; and being highly aromatic and antiseptic, adds nothing to the fertility of the soil, greatly as it con- tributes to the purity and healthfuluess of the atmos- phere, and with these peculiarities we have shown the climate to be in strict accordance, rri .4ij4i^>iiM The absrace of alluvial deposits from any very large rivers has formed a stripe of comparative steri- lity along the margin of the ocean. The soil of the coast does not on this account give a correct idea of that of the interior. Next the sea there is generally a belt principally of sand, bearing only stunted shrubs or brushwood, and varying in extent from two to twttity miles. Very fine land near the sea is a rare exception to this feature of uniformity. Nature seems to have peculiarly intended Australia for a pastoral country ; and this feature in its soil plainly indicates that agriculture and copamerce on a large scale must form ulterior steps in its progress to dviliaation. The extensive nndulating plaii^s of the island district, cleared by some natural process of IV ' 121 forest vegetfttion, clothed with nutritious grasses, stretch themselves out, prepared for the flock of the shepherd The possession of cattle facilitates the cul- tivation of land sufficient for more than domestic consumption, while the increase of inhabitants leads to the erection of towns, which in their turn encourage trade and lead to the extension of commerce ; a pri>- cess naturally and inevitably at present going on, and that first commencing with the natural advan- tages of the interior will eventually not only over- come the barrenness, but will draw out all the resources of the coast. The presence of a good har- bour in front of, and the existence of a productive people behind, even the most ungenial shore will speedily make it the site for a city of industry, and its suburbs the seat not only for producing the neces- saries of agriculture, but will cause it tp teem with the luxuries of the garden. ,„. ui jMr lli/, i.j ^;:i, Australia either produces oi can be made' capable of producing every grain and vegetable useful to man, with fruit in the highest perfection and of all varieties, from the currant and gooseberry of colder climes to the banana and pine apple of the tropics. In the immediate vicinity of Sydney, apples, pears, plums, strawberries, cherries, raspberries, mulberries, medlars, apricots, peaches, nectarines, figs, grapes, melons, oranges, lemons, citrons, loquots, olives, pomgranates, and in shelteied spots the guava and 122 the banana, are found growing intermingled, and producing fruit in the greatest abundance and of the richest flavour. Green peas are gathered in winter as well as summer, and the potato produces two crops in the year. Wheat in good soils averages from twenty to thirty bushela to the acre, weighing from sixty to sixty-five pounds the bushel. But in the very worst situations and under notoriously improvi- dent management on the farms of the smaller settlers •^hitherto the chief wheat growers —forty bushels per acre have been obtained. The seed time is from March to June, the harvest is in November and December. It is the same for oats and barley, but as yet these have been cultivated principally for fodder. Maize, the most luxuriant of grain crops, is sown in October and November, and ripens from March to June, producing from twenty to forty and fifty bushels nett to the acre, according to the quali- ties of the soil and the carefulness of the culture. So that there are two seed-times and two harvests each year at different seasons, and seldom has either been known to fail. The vine, the olive, and the mulberry thrive well. Vineyards and olive grounds have been already planted in vaiious districts, and very palatable wine produced. Tobacco of good quality is grown. Silk and dried fruits, with other useful and valuable articles, for the production of which the climate is favourable, will doubtless, by degrees, be abundantly introduced. 123 Ev^n to the •ouihward, m »uch districts as that uf Illawarra, in New South Wales, the vegetation it very pecaliar, and beam a stronger tropical character than in regions nearer the equator. This is sup- posed to arise from the shelter afforded from the westerly winds by the range of mountains which stretch along the coast, together with the nature of the 8oil# which bears strong marks of a volcanic origin. It is remarkable even up the sides of the mountains, where the variety of the vegetation con- trasts beautifully with the wildness of the scenery. The fern tree shoots up its rough stem, thick as the oar of a man4j >> ,o4 4mm ^ ,f:'* : talui) 0)la r.5ji^?i oi The serious things of life are its keenest mockeries. The things set apart for laughter are not half sa absurd as those marked out for tears, >q<|^: ^i ^^ 128 COTTON AND SUGAR CULTIVATION BY MEANS OF EUROPEAN FREE LABOUR *^>-IN AUSTRALIA. v>i-.*..^».«.. i;. u....^jai.i i^*i j^ . A certain writer observes : — 1 had occasion, during the year 1840, to visit several of the Slave States of North America, and in particular, the tobacco-growing States of Maryland and Virginia, and the rice and cotton-growing States of North and South Carolina ; and the result of my observation and inquiries in these regions was. a strong impression and belief, that the cause of negro emancipation in America had rather been retarded than advanced by our injudicious inter<^ ference, in endeavouring to force abolition upon the unwilling slaveholders of the United States. Besides^ as the growth of cotton, of which we are the principal buyers and consimiers, is the mainstay of slavery in America, it appears to me, that so long as we afford an unlimited market in Great Britain for that descrip- tion of produce, we are, in reality, in a false position in regard to American slavery — we; are in the position of those politicians who love the treason while they hate the traitor ; for, while we prcfocs, as it must be confessed we do ostentatiously enough, to detest the slaveholder, it cannot be denied, that we have no objection to participate with him in his dishonest gains. It appears to me, therefore, that in order to 129 -■i?; act with effect upon American slavery, we muit grow cotton by means of free labour somewhere else. ' I have also been three times in the Brazils— 'in the ports of Rio de Janeiro and Pernambuco— ^whero both cotton and sugar, especially the latter, are extensively cultivated by means of slave labour. The cultivation of cotton in that country is doubtles« of minor importance, as it is generally grown on the more elevated lands, at a disi^ance of from fifty to one hundred and fifty leagues from the coast ; for as it is uniformly brought down to the port of shipment on horseback, the cost of conveyance for so great a dis- tance scarcely leaves the Brasilian cultivator sufficient to remunerate him for the expenditure of his capitul and labour in its production ; especially as the cotton of the Brazils is of inferior quality in the European market. But the cultivation of the sugar cane in that country being conducted almost exclusivt y on the coast, where the charges of conveyance ti> the port of shipment are very light, and that cultivation being, at present, highly remunerative, I confess I have no hope whatever, either of the abolition of slavery or oft the discontinuance of the slave-trade in that country, bo long as it continues to enjoy a virtual monopoly, as it does at present, of the European mark^^. In short, to act with effect upon slavery and the slave-trade in the Brazils, we must grow sugar, by means of free labour, somewhere else; for. 130 in my humble opinion, an expensive African-cottst blockade, for the suppression of the slave-trade, is not merely a useless expenditure of British life and money, but worse than useless, as it tends rather to aggravate, than. to diminish the enormity of the slave-trade. '"><< Are we, therefore, to adopt the notable expedient of Earl Grey, recently announced in the House of Lords, to carry over whole ship loads of Kroomen, or free negroes, from Wcotem Africa to the West Indies, at the expense of this country, to grow sugar in the West India Islands, and to be carried back again to their own country, whenever they wish to return ? This, I conceive, were a measure exceed- ingly unwise on the one hand, and — especially in the present circumstances of this country — exceedingly unjust on the other. To tax the overtaxed people of England for such a wild-goose experiment as this, in the present period of national pressure, was monstrous in the extreme. '.«4^4^i ■^:*:,««*.iv^:.** In these circumstances it appears to me that Bivine Providence has, in a very remarkable manner, indicated the course of procedure which it is equally the interest and the duty of this country to pursue, in a matter of such transcendent importance, not only to the national welfare, but to the interests of humanity. Great Britain possesses, in her own Australian colo- nies, a tract of country of almost boundless extent, admirably adapted for the growth of cotton and sugar, if,-, ■ ^ _/' -' ■ ^ 131 hi and other tropical and mtertmr.' , European labourer, ,„d!l ~»^'"'«i«"' of .h. "nequalled in any other ' t^*" """S^'-on, perhap, y con,, of A„st„.H; wi ;t 1 """"' """s •"• "■e colony of New Sou I wl 7""' "■""• •"■ parallel of south latitude r.,,' """ "■" ^O* -booing a ra.,ge t , d? '7': "' ^""'-'•.• •Phere precisel/,;" ,;'"'/" "■; ^o^'hem Hen,i. «'««« '-<• Of 4,;^:.: TnC'rT''' '"- "ountry has recently been 03-ent fl rrr T '"' ''"»— «his country.and to growliUh " '" ''°^"''"^'"' "' "^i" be required in trtiT "»'•'»«" •hat «ome. Neither slave nor h, T^/ * oentuxy to '^"'•'e required for :hrp„tt'''or'"^'^"'' P'oved and povertv-s.ri.r """ ""em- "nmbler classes o 1 :;!".,.''"''"'''''- «' the --^or™ed,i„thou:::r,::~^7" "• - v/. 8 2 132 with perfect facility. I have myself seen and tasted sugar manufactured from the cane in that country, in a higher latitude on the east coast than any part of the tenitory of Cooksland, viz., at Port Macquairie, in latitude 31 i degrees south, and the cane grows at luxuriantly on the Brishane River, in Cooksland, in latitude 27^ degrees south, as it does either in the West Indies or in the Brazils. For, as Humboldt and Sir David Brewster have ascertained that the isothermal line, or line of equal temperature, crosses the meridian of this part of the coast of Australia in as high a latitude as 7 degrees south, the general temperature of Eastern Australia is considerably higher than the mere latitude of any particular locality on the coast would seem to indicate, and this is par* ticularly evident in the remarkable mildness of the Australian winter; for while the cotton plant is a mere annual in the United States, being destroyed every winter by the severe frosts of that country, it is b. perrenial in Australia, as it is also in Demerara, in the East Indies, in Egypt,' and in the Brazils. Besides, I have exhibited a specimen of the cotton (grown casually from American seed,) from the Briv bane River settlement, both in Manchester and Glasgow, and the opinion given of it in both these localities, by gentlemen of the highest standing in the cotton trade, is that "it is a very valuable kind, and would sell in the present state of the market (in man, o toil, th remark but fot none C6 itttion. 133 April, 1S47), at from elevenpence to a shilling per pound. *'i«ii> #d! fm~f>f i^^it^iii miliff f'l '" The Clarence River is situated in 29^ degrees sontb. It is about half a mile broad in the lower part of its course, and is navigable for steam-boaU seventy or eighty miles up, besides having several navigable tributaries. *» ,m«niwMH¥5 rf* i w-^^w o^" The plains on the banks of the Clarence River.** observes Mr. Fry» " are of various sizes, many of them extending along the river for miles ; the soil being a deep dark alluvial deposit, on a substratum of clay, covered at top by a layer of vegetable decom- position, the accummulation of ages, and so thinly timbered, that isolated acres may be found unen- cumbered by a single tree. The astcmshing vegeta- tion with which they are clothed is almost inconceiv- able, snch, indeed, as I have never witnessed elsewhere, save on the equally favoured regions of the Rich- mond (another of the navigable rivers of Cooksland, •itUAted only about forty miles farther north). It if impossible to imagine a country more worthy of having bestowed upon it the labour of the husband- man, or one more likely to remunerate him for his toil, than the localities to which I refer ; as they are remarkable not alone for the excellence of the land, but for being placed under a climate than which none can be more conducive to the process of vege- iation. . * * * -An almost complete realization 13i 'N. of Fenelon's conception, with teierence to Calypso's Isle, is exhibited in the climate on the Clarence ; as, without any degree of hyperbole, <> perpetual springy may he said to prevail during the entire year; for so mild are the seasons that vegetation remains un- checked, even in the midst of the so-called winter. * * * On the whole, a four years' residence in the district has confirmed me in the opinion that no country ever came from the hands of its Creator more eminently qualified to be the abode of a thriv- ing and numerous population than the one of which I have been speaking ; and, in forming this estimate, I have been uninfluenced either by prejudice or by interest, being no way connected ;nth it, save in that arising from my ofllicial capacity.''juc w- ^^.^^.^a^4lu;- Now the course of procedure I would recommend to my fellow-countrymen, with a view to the extinction of slavery and the slave-trade in both Americas, is flimply to form an agricultural settlement for the growth of cotton and sugar, and all other descriptions of tropical produce, by means of an intelligent, indus- trious^ and virtuous free emigrant British population, in the territory of Cooksland. The mere cultivation of the cotton plant and the sugar cane is the easiest process imaginable, and would present no difficulty whatever to an intelligent British faimer ; for, as I had the benefit of a practical education in agriculture myself, on a Scotch fann in Ayrshire, in my earlier cesi tun fun: cane meci from ical 1 for tbes< for a ingt of Jj whicl marki to CI ther« In cHmai door ]| the ti be p( 13d 11 iion i\e«t lUy 18 I Iture rlier life, and have since had opportunities of witnessing the processes of cotton and sugar cultivation in other countries, I know perfectly what an intelligent British faimer would be able to do in that cultivatioa in such a country as Cooksiand. The cotton plant and sugar cane, for example, are both sown or planted in drills, like beans; they are thinned out (this pro- cess, indeed, is not required for the sugar cane), like turnips, and hoed up, like patatoes — requiring nothing further until the cotton is pulled or gathered, and the canes cut down. Ihere is doubtless a subsequent mechanical process necessary, to separate the cotton from the seed ; anr^ a chemical, as well as a mechan- ical process of considerable delicacy, is also requiredl for the manufacture of sugar from the cane; but these processes can be carried on in central localities for a whole district by persons accustomed and devot- ing themselves expressly to that peculiar description of labour; and the facilities for steam navigation which the territory of Cooksland presents in so re- markable a degree, would render it quite practicable to carry the raw produce to these localities, to undergo the requisite processes, at the merest trifle of expense. i In regard to the ability of Europeans to stand the climate of Cooksland, and to pursue all sorts of out- door labour in that country, any person who will take the trouble to examine the evidence on the subject will be perfectly satisfied. In short, however incredible 136 it mty appear, it ia nerertheless the fact— and it is a fact of the highest hope and promise to outraged and oppressed humanity— that . Great Britain has a boundless extent of territory, possessing the finest climate and the greatest facilities of transport, in her own colony of New South Wales, in which a thoroughly British population can with perfect safety engage in the cultivation of cotton and sugar, and compete directly and, I believe, successfully with the slave- holders of the United States, of Cuba, and of the Brasils. I confess that when the idea first occurred to me, on observing the cotton plant and the sugar cane growing luxuriantly on the Brisbane river, in Cooksland, in December, 1845, I was almost over- powered with a transport of delight at the prospect which was thus opened up for the long and cruelly oppressed posterity of Ham ; and having considered the subject in every possible light ever since, I am decidedly of opinion that the cultivation of cotton and sugar by means of European free labour in Australia is not only practicable to any conceivable extent, but is the only effectual means of extinguishing negro slavery all over the world. » ,?!-5«*r2r.H3)?!<'>! ,."« „onh of ^Sappo«,g, u.e^ that the »« of f;^,;;;;. ';!:"' to be advanced, as a loan «. « '^^ **'" the setilewent of a ™th,„- *'""*•*'«<» ^ach, for i"g « the „a.„« of Str "''"''■•• '•"' ^""o"* ultimate repaT^J l*' '*"<•*" """M have of "ould purchir « » ^* """"Wo^d. therefore; rurenase, at a nnniiBum Price lonnn» «f land, to be «rfected on behalf !r I J ' '"^ ♦he banks of the navigaWe j^ : TC^'""' "" would aho be sufficient 1 ^""hsland. I, -lo-y of ,0.000 «.„. Lirr'" """"•« **'* ne« two years- and A. . ^ '■^' '"'"'"» *« «o- into fhe 7^:ty:o:^'^t'" ""^ ^•"""•■ «heva.„eof the Jd It ^^d ^^^'f -^-^e he readily p„rcha»d by th^t'nen "" """"'' e».i^... --a.lfaJ„?^;T;:^J'- «>^«he advance of 5s tipr « , ^ ^ ^^ ^^^^^^ a^ an fanaer:::;j;L;Tc:rr''T'"'"' thein for a portion of Z u '" '"' e-'^" T 2 140 X ]and, wiih the requisite ii4)pliance8 of farming iinple* ments aad fann stock. In this way, provided a proper selection of eqaignmti wete made for so interesting and important an experiment, the original advance could be tepldd^ with intereist, aik five years, with perfect facility. ^m-^mm^mmmm To insure this result, I wbuld stipulate ior the exclusive selection of the emigrttnts, with permission to fix the times and the ports of thcir embarkation. I would also have each cargo of emigrants selected, as much as possible* from the same locafity in the mother-country, and settled in the same locality in the land of their adoption ; and I would send out along with them ministers and schoolmastmrs, to settle with, them in their adopted country, and to maintain among them^ in full influence and opOration, the moral restraints and thb retigions observamtes of their native land. The pl^sical conformation of the teiTitory of Cookdland presents OxtraordiniEiry iaoilides for the formation of a series of agricultural settlemtents of the kind which those Arrangements would imply, and such settlements could be formed along the n^.vigable riverd of that territory in any cottceivabte number^ and without interfering with one anotherii^ct In the event of such an undertaking being carried outi a considerable expOnditure would have to be incurred in obtaining persons of experience in the cultivntiou of cotton and sugar, as well as in the > *■• 141 ply* the t .* rifed be ibe the i^bsequeAt processes which that cultivation requtresy from the United States of Aujierica ; and the creation ' of the requisite machinery io eanry oui these objects^ woidd also involve additional expeadituteb But as Earl Grey has i^ven me to understand, that, in the ' event of my getting the requisite arrangements made fbr ^^lanting the cokmy proposed, the Gdvemment would make allowanee In land for all such expenditure as would be indispensably necessary to demonstrate the practicability of cotton and sugar cultivation to British agriculturists, and to give them the requisite instruction in ihe processes required, it would not be necessary to take this expenditure into account, as it would 1;? . c> -19^ interfere with the othei- objects of the undertau^iiig, or letfsen the emigration fund. 4^1 '^^rrt :h The repayment of the sum to be advanced, as well and as cheaply as the negro slave, either in the United States or th Brazils, millions of the children of Africa will have reason to sing for joy. And why should it not be so as I anticipate P Is it not a consummation in every way worthy of him who is " wonderful in counsel and excellent in working ?"^' 143 ,#. THE CAKfi OF GOOD HOPE. -■ i 9 No apology is needed for our proceedinj^ at a bound from South Australia to the Cape of Good Hope. We are convinced that whilst the^e two colonies, taken together, rank perhaps higher than any others in the attractions they offer at the pre- sent time to intending emigrants, there are certain points wherein they respectively differ from and resemble each other. Indeed, as regards emigra- tion, certain grounds of rivalry exist between them, which, without entering into a direct comparison, will be best seen by considering them in a tort of juxtaposition. ^ ■■^fMy'^^^f«-,'«#i*f.:#^:.■*^<**■. ):**''**^^MhM ^<^^ere are few amongst those whose reading has had even a moderately extended range, who can be ignorant of the numerous interesting facts In the history of European maritime discovery which re- late to " The Gape.'* Its historical associations are of the most interesting character, extending through several centuries past, from that period when the common energies of the European nations, revolt- ing from the exclusively warlike pursuits of many preceding ages, received an impulse towards the advancement of commerce by the expioritig of undiscovered lands, and the opening out of new tracks for it amidst the ocean. The discovery of the Cape of Good Hope by Bartholomew Diass, in ^ y 144 1487, ivas the result of this new impulse which developed itself amongst the daring spirits of the age in dreams of untold wealth and fame to he realized from visits to regions altogether unknown, huj; invested with all the gorgeous hues of imagina- tion. These proved, in many instances, as " base- less** as "the fabric of a vision;" but not so the expectations of another Portuguese navigi^tor. Vasque? de Gama> who, after repeated unsuccessfijl trials by his countrymen, each defisated by the dan- gers of the passage, succeeded in doubling the Cape and sailing in triumph into the fndian ocean — thus ^opening up a route by s^ to the countless treasures of the east. The feat thus performed by Gama-— in ^.its beneficial effects upon commerce and the cause f'Of civilization — was second only to that of the dis- covery of. America itself, which took place almost simultaneously with it. Then^ are many interesting points in the subsequent history of the C^pe, whicl|, however, it is not necessary to the ol>jept we ha?e in view to .particularise.; rn^il •■. -t^r^tr -s^piTn.trmn 1nTr)7'">3 tfrTbe Cape is well known to form the southern extremity of the Continent of Africa. The area of the colony is supposed to be about one hrn- tdred and fifty thousand square miles, lying be- tween the southern ocean and latitude 29 S. — extending from near the Orange river on the west to beyond the Great Fish River on the east. T^ ton Alt wat The coui one pare trict abou 30 ir finest coun coura chars as th( The Stelic of th< Graaf hams portio: called r lU following general description of the colony is from Waterston's Cyclopffidia : — '** " The Cape territory is in general ragged and barren, and deficient in the means both of internal and external communication. Bui a poiiion of the E. coast is of a different character, more especially towards the N.E. frontiek, including the district of Albany, where the country is well wooded and watere ^, and favourable for agriculture and grazing. The W. coast, and a great portion of the rest of the country, consist of barren mountains and arid plains, one of which— the great Karoo Desert, a high parched table-land, separating the Cape Town Dii* trict from the finer country to the N.B.-oextends about 100 leagues in length, from E. to W., and 30 in breadth. The climate, however, is one of the finest in the world ; and were the aridity of the soil counteracted by irrigation, and the means of inter- course improved by the formation of roads, the character of the country would be very different, as the capabilities of the soil are naturally great. The only parts thickly settled are the Cape and Stelienbosch districts, which contain about 3'8ths of the whole population, some parts of Worcester, Graaf Reynet, and the British settlements at Gra- hams Town and Bathurst, in Albany ; the other portions are occupied chiefly by Dutch graziers called boors. Nearly 225,000 acres are under crop, 146 yielding annually about 540>000 bushels of wheat, besides smaller quantities of barley, oats, and rye ; the remainder of the prddactive surface is chiefly pasture land. The p** jcijial mercantile commodity 18 wine, of which about 12.000 leaguers {\fi\SjOOO imp. gals.) are made yearly, besides about 1,000 leaguers (126,630 gals.) of brandy. The Tine is grown chiefly in the Stellenbosch district, and within forty miles frdm Cape Town ; but the wines, except that nUade at Gonstantia^ neai Table Moun- tain, ate almost all of very low quality. Of late years, part of the capital which was embarked in the wine trade has been transferiied to the produc- tion of wool, ^bi<:h has thus risen into considerable importance; and a&the Merino breed of sheep has been introduced with suocesis, wodl will probably become ere long the chief staple of the colony. The fisheries might, nnder good management, be an important branch of industry, as the coasts are frequented by numerous whales; but at present the trade is almost entirely in the possession of the Amerif^ans. ^,-.^',,; 's-^,, f,;- '^m^, As regards its capabilities ad a field' of ^migfrti- tion» it is impossible ibr us to pass over in thiir place the fert^e spot, extending to forty^three thou- sand acifesi sdtected by Mr. George Robins, in this vast territ6ry, and kndwn as Slabbert's Poort — ii to be let rmi free for thefirnt year, and thenfw tevm 147 -J .i.ik „ m lit ytan at an§ ikilling p«r a&fif'pSf annum, and no taxe» — it is situate in south latitude 8.15 to 20, and longitude 23.13 to 15 east of Greenwich, and occu- pies a space of sixty-seven and a half square miles, or thereabouts. It lies 300 miles east of Cape Town, 70 miles south jf Beaufort, 150 miles west of Algoa Bay, and between 50 and 60 miles north of the mouih of the Knysna River and Pletten- btirgh Bay. There is a direct waggon road passing through the estate from Cape Town to Al^oa Bay, and this route forms a communication with the route branching off to Beaufort Should the road which is in contemplation of being formed by the Colonial Government, and at their expense^ be executed over the Spitskop height, which is an accessible part of that mountainous chain marked down on Arrowsmith's map as the Black Moun* tains, the communication from Slabbert's Poort to the Port of Knysna and Plettenburg Bay would be, as already stated, not more than about 50 miles ; the present route, which is round by the Paardekop, is mere than double the distance, so that, under the present circumstances, Algoa Bay is the nearest and most eligible seaport to Beaufort country. ^^' I'^toMj! The Capt Colony is thinly populated, as may be supposed, when one person is the holder of from 40,000 to 60,000 acres of land, while, at the same time, his whole force, when concentrated cannot 148 cultivate one hundredth part An increase of population is, therefore, devoutly to be wished for, and is alone wanting to place the Cape high above all contemporary colonies. In former days, when a Dutch farmer applied for a grant of land from the Government, he sent a memorial stating that be had selected a spot, and the grant issued did not state how many acres, but so much as could be traversed by a man on horseback, north, south, east, and west, in a given space of time. This accounts for the immense tracts of country in the hands of one individual* id-^i^iif^ Slabbert's Poort, we are infonued, hjfiS; been hitherto exclusively devoted to grazing purposes, with some part occupied with garden ground and vineyards. A sufficient quantity of arable land has been in cultivation to grow wheat, oats, and barley for the consumption of the residents and their stock ; with a view to proHt, much more will be done; and it must never be lost sight of, that the lands have not to be cleared, but are ready to commence all sorts of agricultural purauits forthwith. On the estate there is a house and buildings, suited to a farmer and his family, and the facility to erect more is manifest, as there is no want of materials for the construction of others on the spot. Persons pro* ceeding there would be sure to receive assistance and information from the neigh b2uting,||vr^%i,fn«|i,)^§ well housed quickly. # 149 The nearest town to Slabbert's Poort is Beaufort, but there are a great many valuable farffis in the neighbourhood. A Cape farmer is generally toler- ably independent, especially if he has sufficient force to cultivate his grounds, upon \vhich he should have plenty of cattle, sheep, pigs and poultry. Corn, oats, and barley he grows to the extent of his wants. His vineyards enable him to make wine and brandy, and dried raisins. His orchard produces apples, pears, peaches, figs, and apricots ; these are dried in the sun, and kept for winter stock. He finds his other wants supplied, either from some neighbouring village where there are well-stored shops, or from some traveUing merchant, many of whom are continually travelling through the country with waggons, containing all kinds of useful goods, besides sugar, tea, coffee, tobacco, &c., which they barter for wool, liides, sheep and goat skins, horns, aloes, and other produce, which may be collected on the estates. The produce raised on Slabbert's Poort would soon find its way to Algoa Bay for shipment, and thence direct to England ; but in the f^veut of the projected road being made, it would then be shipped either at Knysns^River or Plattenberg Bay. The pasturage over this estate will carry twenty or even thirty thousand sheep, and the Wool is nowhere |o be surpassed. , v, ^ ..<> *,..*, ,,fr ; :> v ?s. K The markets of the Cape are held at Zwellendam, \60 Worcester, George, Graff Reinit, Graham*s Town, and Port Elizabeth, for the disposal of produce. (All these places are marked down on the plan.) The merchants in these places are generally the purchasers, by whom it is forwarded to England. ^^ Cape Tou a and the neighbouring provinces^ which are«olely com and wine countries., derive their sup- , plies of sheep and cattle from the interior and grazing districts, of which Beaufort is one of the principal. The butchers in Cape Town employ confidential persons to go through the country to purchase bullocks and sheep from the farmers, for which they give draughts upon their masters in Cape Town. These draughts are sometimes paid six months before the butcher sees the cattle that has . been purchased. They are driven slowly through the country, resting and feeding on the road, by a couple of Hottentots, with three or fbur dogs. By this careful mode of driving, the cattle and sheep usually arrive in town in prime condition. The fat oxen of the Cape are from £4 to £6 each, and the common Cape sheep may be bought at about 4s. 6d. each. The Meriitos, or half-bred, are much more ^ valuable, eiii' account oftheir wool. From recent ' experience, it is pretty certain that the breed- ing of wool-bearing sheep is the most profitable ? mode for the employment of capital. In 1842 i the clip was 2,000,0001b8., the value of which is V. / 4 & m :VV \6\ 2 w ■ \i £100,000. Five years since, the export of wool was not £30,000. In five yeam more, the increase may be five times gpreater than it is at present ..; The progress of the Cape colony has of late years been somewhat impeded by the invasion of the N. £. frontier by the Caflres, and by the extraordinary emigration of about 20,000 of the Dutch colonists to Natal on the east coast, partly on account of the great fertility of that district, and partly from hostility towards government on account of the emancipation of their slaves. Those, however, who are best acquainted with the colony entertain hopes that the differences which have thus arisen will soon be honor- ably and amicably adjusted, when of course the colony may be expected to resume its career of proeperity. ^;.,;.^.;'v. ■■■ ,- _^;-,.__ .;,, V4i M Mr. Robins claims for the Cape the following self- evident important advantages, which he considers not a little refreshing to repose on, as compared with New South Wales : — Firstly, it is only half the distance; Secondly, the shearing time is the same ; the Cape wools can be brought to market two or three mo>vi' s before those from New South Wales. Thirdly, the freight is one-thii'd less, and also the irsurance. Fourthly, the land is to be obtained much more advantageously, and stock is much cheaper, so that a man of very moderate capital has here the chance to occupy and stock a large farm with the same sum 152 that would be required in New South Wales merely to purchase the land. While the increase in wool from Sydney and Tasiiiania was only 326^ per cent, in ten years, it amounted to 1022 per cent, in the same time from the Cape; this shows, that with similar advantages, the Cape is infinitely superior to the Australasian colonies for the growth of wool; By the last returns, the following were the statistics MWOiff ■>'^'* 3,043,183 491,127 314,183 60,000 'f"- vwm * i f Ij^Sil of live stock in the colony, viz : ■-•i'i Sheep ... Goats xiorses ••• ••• ••* *•• Thus making a grand total of 3,908,493 head o^ cattle, and most probably it is much under-rated. Of the shv9ep, we should consider that at present more than three-fourthf^ are of the old Cape breed, with hairy coats ; these in time, will be crossed with Merino and Saxon raras^ and the present original breed of Cape sheep (weighing from lOlbs. to 121bs. each) will eventually become quite extinct. The C^pe breed of horses is so much esteemed, that the Madras cavalry are principally supplied from thence. Strange that one whose opinion we neither respect nor admit, should yet have the power to wound. 153 DESCRIPTION OF A PALACE IN A VALLEY. •^iThe place which the wisdom or antiquity had des- tined for the residence of the Abyssinian princes, was a spacious valley in the kingdom of Amhara, surrounded on every aide by mountains, of which the summits overhang the middle parte The only pas- sage by which it could be entered, was a cavern that passed under a rock, of which it had long been dis- puted whether it was the work of nature or of human industry. The outlet of the cavern was concealed by a thick wood, and the mouth, which opened into the valley, was closed with gates of iron, forged by the artificers of ancient days, so massive that no man could, without the help of engines, open or shut them. «ijFrom the mountains on every side, rivulets de- scended that filled al] the valley with verdure and fertility, and formed a lake in the middle, inhabited by fish of every species, and frequented by every fowl which nature has taught to dip the wing in water. This lake discharged its superiiuities by a stream which entered a dark cleft of t e mountain on the northern side, and fell with dreadful noise from precipice to precipice till it was heard no more. The sides of the mountains were covered with trees, the banks of the brooks were diversified with flowers, eveiy blast shook spices from the rocks, and every month dropped fruits upon the ground. mn e': h; 154 All animals that bite the grass, or browse the shrub, whether wild or tame, wandered in this exten- sive circuit, secured from the beasts of prey by the mountains which confined them ; on one part were ilocks and herds feeding in the pastures, on another all the beasts of chase, frisking on the lawns ; and the sprightly kid was bounding on the rocks. All the diversities of the world were brought together, the blessings of nature were collected, and its evils ex- tracted and excluded* ,^;u..v, ^uj i^ii j-^',^.^i^^.-ff ^^p-^^-^-, ; t;The valley, wide and fruitful, supplied its inhabitants '• with tbe necessaries of life. All delights and super- fluities were added at the annual visit which the emperor paid his children, when the iron gate was opened to the sound of music; and during eight days, every one that resided in the valley was required to propose whatever might contribute to make seclusion pleasant, to fill up the vacancies of attention, and lessen the tediousness of time. Every desire was immediately granted; all the artificers of pleasure were called to gladden the festivity ; the musicians exerted the power of harmony, and the dancers shewed their ac 'vity before the princes, in hope that they should pass their lives in this blissful captivity, to which those only were admitted whose perfoim- ance was thought able to add novelty to luxury. Such was the appearance of security and delight which this retirement afforded, that they to whom it 165 '^■ w&s new always desired tbat it might be perpetual ; and as those on whom the iron gate had once closed were nevor suffered to return, the effect oi" longer experience could not be known* Thus every year ptoduoed new schemes of delight, and new competi- tors for imprisonment* • The palace stocJ on ati eminence raised &bdut thirty paces aboVe the surface of the lake. It was divided into many squares^ or courts, built with greater or less magnificence, according to the rank of those for whom they were designed. The roofs were turned into arches oi massive stone, joined by a cement that grew harder by time ; and the building stood from century to century, deriding the solstitial rains and equinoctial hurricanes, without need of reparation* "** '*''* -<"«^i»fT«n'<<^*» ii'fft!i:»i!ii.«7f • ^»- This house, which was so large as to he fully known to none bat some ancient officers who succtesively inherited the secrets of the place, was built as if sus- picion herself had dictated the plan. To every room there was an open and a secret passage ; every square had a communication with the rest, either from the upper stories by private galleries, or from subterra- nean passages from the lower apailments. Many of the columns had unsuspected cavities in which a long race of monarchs had deposited their treasures. They then closed up the opening with marble, which was never to be removed, but in the utmost exigen- w 2 156 cies of the kingdom ; and recorded thoir accumula- tions in a book, which was itself concealed in a tower, not entered by any but' the empei'or, attended by the '.prince who stood next in succession. Here the sons and daughters of Abyssinia lired only to know the soft vicissitudes of pleasure and repose, attended by all that was skilful to delight, and gratified with whatever the senses can enjoy. The sages who in- structed them informed them of nothing but the miseries of public life, and described all beyond the mountains as regions of calamity, where discord was U always raging, and where men preyed upon men to heighten the opinion of their own felicity. They were daily entertained with songs, the subject of which was the happy valley. Their appetites were excited by frequent enumerations of various enjoy- ments ; revelry and merriment were the business of every hour, from the dawning of mom to the close of eve. < pifi. ilifuVfi'fim'v -^$>-'iei ^s-^'mfmy-BM^m^wAui r >' These methods were generally successful : few of the princes had ever wished to enlarge their bounds, but passed their lives in full conviction that they had all within their reach that art and nature could bestow ; and pitied those whom fate had excluded from the seat of tranquillity, as the sport of chance and the slaves of misei H I of km^^;^m^ fmf':^^^' chapter v. M^ nf■-^^v''V^:-^ frr-" rr \'.^.\ ' n ry' nnr di HISTORICAL ACCOUNT OF BRITISH ■^%>i^*^wkkm'''^'^ ''^'*^ AMERICAr^.'**^^ .4'^4f»v*if "* yj;^ t^^This country was discovered by Christopher Colutn- bas, a Genoese, in the service of Spain. He tailed from the port of Palos, and on the 12th of October, 1492, arrived at the island of Guanahani, in the Weit Indies, which he found peopled with Indians, and this was the name they gavo the island; but he called it St. Salvador. It is situated in hit. W N« Ion. ' Americus Vespasius, a Florentine, sailed in the ser- vice of Spain in 1497, and made extensive discoveries along the east coast of the south continent; and having discovered a large tract of the country, be had the address to get it called America, aftr tiimself. These discoveries were made while endeavouring to get a westerly passage to China and the East Indies; and with the same intent' v. Henry VII. of England fitted out John Cabot, a Venetian, to di.> iover a north- west passage j who to his disappointment, was sur- prised with a sight of land on the 34th of June, 1494, which he called Newfoundland; and, after sailing ■'-i?',- "- " 158 along a considerable part of the coast, be returned to England. In the year 1409 Canada was discov&ied for Henry Vli. by Sebii^fiun Cabot, son of the farmer: consequently, Britain claims the honour of ditieovcr- ing Newfoundland and Canada, ui;^ i^. j Mi r ^i<^ Quebt^s is the capital of Lower Can^.ia. fhis city is situated on the north-^est side of the river St. Lawrence, four hundred miles above Cape Gaspe, which is on tlie soiit'i side of the river ai the ocsuii, m north lat. 4i>*' 48 30", west Ion. from GreewwiciJ;, 71* 17'. liktj €it; viad ij«s environs are divided into five di^Ierent \^q ibiit. That part which ia within iho waih in ca'lbd the ITpper Town, and can bo ap- proached solely by five gates. On the east, %i the head of Mountain Street, is the Grand Prescott Gate, through which passes the commercial business of the port. There are two avenues by which the wails caii be entered ou the north, Hope Gate, near the north-east extremitj^, and Palaee Gate, adjoining the AttiUery Barracks and the Intendant's Palace. These two gates are on that side of the city washed b}' the 8t« Charles river. On the south-west, wliieh is the land side, the city is appvoaohed by two entranees, naacaely, St. John's Gate and St. Louis's Gate. That ]»aft whicn is called the Lowe/ Town oecupi:? the epace between the foot of the rock and the r/ ex- tend mg from Woof' Yard on the north *^ I iiond Harbour on the so uva distance of two i.im-- rind a » t i^ led is lat 169 half. All that portion which lies west of the Wood Yard, and hounded on the north by the rirer 8t. Charles, is known hy the appelation of St Rooh's Suburbs. Adjoining 8t. John's Gate, and north to the Cote St. Genevieve, is denominated St. John's Suburbs ; and the buildings along the road jfrom St. Louis's Gate, are called the St Louis Suburbs. The whole stands on the peninsula between the rivers St Lawrence and St Charles, the junction of which forms a beautiful bay betwixt the city and the island of Orleans, a distance of four miles. The breadth of the river is two miles immediately below the town, but it expands towards the island, where it it much broader. The Grand Battery, on the east comer of the ramparts, commands a delightful view of the bay and tlie surrounding country. l*he Martello Towers on the land side of the town deserve notice : they are four in number, about half a mile from the fortifiea* tions, and each about one-third of a mile distance {xfffxi each other. They are forty feet in height, aii<| nearly as many yards in circumference at the base. These forts are sufficiently strong to resist a can- nonade, and the platform on the top is armed with great fy^s ta deknd and attack from the land side. Thf jfufications ^'•ound the Upper Town are very stiivng. The height of the rock on tha east adds greatly to the defence of the town, if attacked by water ; r/htlc- dor.ble walls protect the laud side. The '■'>: V - ■ A 160 highest part of the rock is the south point within the walls, iR^hereon the Gn^nd Fort is built ; and from this, the town has a considerable declivity to the north barrier, where the promontory is greatly in height. The circuit of the wall which encompasses the Upper Town, is two miles and three-fourths ; but a consider- able portion of the interior is taken up with the religious and military establishments; t»»ii As there is a daily market here, a stranger soon finds his way, thither. The Upper Town market- place is a large irregular square, bounded on the east by the Catholic cathedral, and on the west by the barracks, which was formerly the monastery of the Jesuits. The hay-market extends t6wards the south, and. is the street leading from the market square to St. Anne Street. The Lower Town market is similar to the other, but the plot of ground where it is held is too small to contain the necessary supplies. < > 4«^v- There is in Quebec a French cathedral, an Epkeo- pal church, St. John s and Trinity chapels, a Pres- byterian kirk, and two Methodist chapels. . A^ . • , ' .; I ;-'■;■, --^rfT i' I- . 'ff f>" . '^/^,«te« . : -,|y^:^ V 197 mn fiV/o' ' MONTREAL. ■'*■:■ :ilH,it-f^. -^^.M c) 'ifUs OQ imx orfj ''^r. This city stands on the South side of the ^'land of Moiitreal, one huadred and eighty miles il^>vi^i 161 'res- 4t.r idol. Quebec, anfl five hundred and eighty miles above Cape Gaspe, at the ocean. It is two hundred and forty miles from Albany,and four hundred from the city of New York. The island is about thirty-three miles long, and, at its extreme breadth, nine miles broad. The town extends along the banks of the St. Law- rence about five miles in length, and is one mile broad at the middle. This settlement belonged to the French, but it was taken by the Generals Amherst and Murray, on the 8th of September, 1760, without firing a gun. According to capitula- tion, all the French forces were to be sent to Old France ; consequently, Montreal became subject to the British Crown, one year after Quebec. The buildings are mostly constructed c ' stone, and gene- rally arranged on regularly disposed but narrow streets. However, about the skills of the town, a great number of the streets are unpaved. There are some very handsome buildings in this ciiy, but being of so many different elevations, little of them appear without the defacing aspect of irregularity. During the time of the French administration^ this town w^^ encircled by a stone wall, which, by the sanction ol' government, was some years ago entirely demolished and tlie buildings of lat3 have increased considerably. Montreal i? nbout the siz^^ f Aberdeen, in Scotland. At presei. 'j i» the largest .^nd most populous city in Canada, and mo/d mercantile busmess is transacted in 4&.^ 162 it than in the seaport and capiu). The extendi appearance of Montreal is more modernized than Quehec; but, w-^h h^ ption of the mountain, the eity and surrc^uading iaadseape are comparatively ]ow and level. Hatwithstanding this, Montreal combines various objects deserving the attention of the stranger. The mountain of Montreal, fro* * ,. .^loht*-© city takeft its name, is situated at the north west end of the town. This beautiful woodland mountain gives a pleas' ig relief to toe city, and has a fine effect when;, vievved from the vessels arriving in port. The summit of the mountain is two miles and a half from the river; and about ^-^ven hundred feet in perpendicular height. From this spot the visitor has a commanding view of the city and surrounding country. The tTa:ck along the south side of the mountain, for about half way up« has been selected for the favourite residence of private gentlemen, who^e elegant white mansions among thei exuberant orchards and gardens, appear in charming graphic relievo, T^hich gives to the scene a feature of momentary enchantment. Several of the public edifices, with their tin roofs and glitterinp; spires, have a bold and brilliant appearance. Besides the cathedral, there are three other Catho'ic chuT..hes, an English and a Scotch church, a i' ^thrdist and a Baptist chapel. Most of these axe handsome edifices, pa^- iculai'ly the English and Scotch churches, dach of which is surmounted by an elegant spire. iulk tenor than I, the lylow ibines inger. takes V )f the ires A I when, ammit \ B river, tieight. dew of along ay up, mvate gthe ling ure of nhlie , have edrai, glish aptist pa**- ch of KOVA SCOTIA. 'mHt That portion of the cuntineut known under the name of Nova Scotia, is conneeted with the body of North America by a narrow isthmus, and is bounded on the north by the strait of Northumberland, which separates it from Prince Edward's Island; on the north east by the Gnt of Canseau, which divides it from Cape Briton ; on the south and south east by the Atlantic Ocean, and on the west by the Bay of Ftmdy and New Brunswick. It lies within the forty*third and forty-sixth degree of north latitude, and between the sixiy-firat and sixty-rseventh degree of longitude, west from the Greenwich meridian, and is about three thousand miles in length, but of unequal width, embracing a superficies of 15,617 s>|uare miles, or 9,994,880 acres. The face of the country is agreeably diversified by hills and dales, but, though undulated, is not mountainous, the sum- mit of the highest hill being not more than six hundred feet above the level of the sea. Theve are several ridges of high land, which are here c^h'l mountains, although they by no means deserve the appellation, on account of their altitude. These generally run north and south, branching off into irregular and hilly land, terminating sometimes in high cliffs on the coasts, and sometimes losing them- selves in gentle declevities in the interior. In x2 104 scenery, therefore, it partakes not of the sublime;^ but its numerous and beautiful lakes, its harbours studded with islands ; its rivers, brooks, and streams, of which it boasts a great profusion, enliven and embellish the country. The appearance of the sea coast is generally inhospitable, presenting a bold, rocky shore, and a poor and sterile soil, clothed with a thin and stunted growth of birch and spruce. The harbour of Halifax is one of the finest in Amerida. A thousnnd vessels may ride in it in safety. It is accessible at all seasons of the year, and is to bd prized for the facility of its entrance, general situa- tion, and proximity to the Bay of Fundy, and all the interior settlements of the Province. It is situated in latitude 44** 40" north, and 63° 40" west longi- tude. It lies nearly north and south, extending about sixteen miles in length, and terminating in a beautiful sheet of water called Bedford Basin, within which are ten square miles of safe anchorage. The entrance is marked by Sambro Island, on which a lighthouse was erected, soon afler the settlement of Halifax by the English. M'Nab's Island forms two entrances to the harbour — the eastern and western passage. At the mouth of the former is Duggan's or Macnamara's Island, which is well wooded, and compoi?ed of a deep, good soil. This passage, which gradually contracts in width to a quarter of a mile, is obstructed by a sand bar, and is only used by IS \66 small vessels. The north end of this strait is pro- tected by a stone tower, called the Eastern Battery. The beauty and safety of this harbour attracted the notice of speculators at a very early period, and many applications were at different times made for a grant of the land in its vicinity. It is now divided into three towns — Halifax, Irish Town (south suburbs), and Dutch Town (north suburbs). h Halifax is situated on the western side of the harbour, on the declivity of a commanding hill, whose summit is about 256 feet above the level of the sea. Few places present so pleasing an aspect as Halifax, when viewed from the harbour. Its streets are laid out with regularity, its spires have a picturesque and even magnificent effect, and the trees which are scat- ^ tered throughout it, give it an appearance softened r and refreshing. Halifax has a meat, vegetable, and fish market, all of which are extremely well supplied. The latter in particular deserves notice, on account . of the quality and variety of fish, the low price at which it is sold, and the importance of the establish- ment to the poorer classes of the community. There are two Episcopal churches, two places of worship r for the Church of Scotland, one for the Methodists, and two for the Baptists. The colonial buildings are Government house, the Province Building, and the Court House. The first is built of brown, free- stone, and is occupied by the Lieutenant Governor 166 v> of the colony. The Province Building is also com- posed of the same kind of materials, and is the best built and handsomest edifice in North America; its dimensions are 140 feet in length, 70 in width, and 42 in height. It ccmtains all the various provincial offices — ^the secretary's, surveyor's, general'st trea- surer's, prothonotar}''*s, collector of excise, &c., &c. ; also apartments for the Coimcil, House of Assembly, and superior Courts- It is situated in the centre of the town, in the middle of the square, the whole of which is enclosed with an iron fence. The writer has been in the above building several times. .^ v,/,i r i Afler leaving Halifax, the road to Windsor winds for ten miles round tho margin of Bedford Basin, which is connected with the harbour by a narrow |>assage at the dockyard. It is an extensive and niagni6cent sheet of water, the shores of which are deeply indented with coves and well-sheltered inlets of great beauty, uu s^^ /lycT^w;. ij^k.irj,ij:!,i,i{^ jk. -luii'ii, ss. .v:, i At a distance of Meten miles from the town is a ruined lodge, built by His Royal Highness the late Duke of Kent, when commander-in-chief of the forces of this colony, once his favourite summer residence, and the scene of his munificent hospitalities. It is impossible to visi^, this spot without the most melan- choly feelings. The tottering fences, the prostrate gates, th<^ ruined grottos, the long and winding avenues, cut out of the forest, overgrown by rank gress 167 and occtsional ihrubs, and the silence and desolation' that pervade ever} thing around* all bespeak a rapid and premature decay, recall to the mind the untimely fate of its noble and lamented owner, and tell of fleeting pleasures, and the transitory nature of all earthly thincrs* *'^^''''' ■''^■'^'^*'"''-*?"^''^'"^**'»*'^'**'*«'^*^^^ '^ A modem wooden ruin is of itself the least interest- ing, and at the same time the most depressing, object imaginable. The massive structures of antiquity that are everywhere to be met with in Europe, exhibit the remains of great strength, and, though injured and defaced by the slow and almost imperceptible agency of time, promise to continue thus mutilated for ages to come. They awaken the images of departed gene- rationii, and are sanctified by legend and by tale. But a wooden ruin shows rank and rapid decay, con* centrales its interest on one family, or one man, and resembles a mangled corpse, rather than the monu* ment that covers it. It has no historical importance^ no ancestral record. It awakens not the imagination^ The poet finds no inspiration in it, and the antiquary no interest It speaks only of death and decay, of recent calamity, of vegetable decomposition. The very air about it is close, dauk, and unwholf^ome. It has no grace, no strengtii, no beauty, but looks de- formed, gross, and repulsive. Even the faded colour of a painted wooden house, the tarnished gilding of its decorations, the corroded iron of its fastenings, and 168 its crumbling materials, all indicate recent use and temporary habitations. It is but a short time since this mansion was tenanted by its royal master, and in that brief space how great has been the devastation of the elements ! A few years more, and all traces of it will have disappeared for ever. Its very site will soon become a matter of doubt The forest is fast reclaiming its own, and the lawns and ornamented gardens, annually sown with seeds scattered by the winds from the surrounding woods, are relapsing into a state of nature, and exhibiting in detached patches a young growth of such trees as are common to the C0Untr\'. rft^'Wt 'jifSrVrh "e^rmpTfWt^ ff^^ tv^U'^h As I approached the house, I noticed that the windows were broken out or shut up with rough boards, to exclude the rain and snow; the doors supported by wooden props instead of hinges, which hung loosely on the panels; and that long, luxuriant clover grew in the eaves, which had been originally designed to conduct the water from the roof, but becoming chocked with dust and decayed leaves, had afibrded sufficient food for the nourishment of coarse grasses. The portico, like the house, had been formed of wood, and the flat surface of its top imbib- ing and retaining moisture, presented a mass of vegetable matter, from which had sprung up a young and vigorous birch-tree, whose strength and freshness seemed to mock the helpless weakness that nourished it. / 169 b- of 3SS it. A Hinall brookj which had by a skilful hand been led over several precipitous descents, periorniing it^ feats alone and unobserved, and seemed to murmur out its complaints, as it hurried over its rocky channel to mingle with the sea; while the wind, sighing ihrouglk the umbrageous wood, appeared to assume a louder end more melancholy wail, as it swept through the long vacant passages and deserted saloons, and escaped in plaintive tones through the broken casements. The offices, as well as the oiiia^ mental buildings, had shared the same fate as the house. The roofs of all had fallen in, and mouldered into dust ; the doora, sashes, aud floors had disap- peared ; and the walls only, which were in part built Oif Btone, remained to attest their existence and use. The grounds exhibited similar effects of neglect, in a climate where the living wood grows so rapidly, and the dead decays so soon, as in Nova Scotia. An atbour, which ha^ been constructed of lattiqe" work for the support of a flowering vine, had fallen, and was covered with vegetation ; wUle its rooC alone remained, supported aloft by limbs of trees, that, growing up near it, had become entangled in its net- work. A Chinese temple, once a favourite retreat of its owner, as if in conscious pride of its preference, had offered a more successful resistance to (he wcAdier, and appeared in tolerable preservation ; while Qiiiesmall, surviving bell, of the numerous ones that 170 ■.<■' once ornamented it, gave out its solitary and melan' choly tinkling as it waved in the wind. How sad was its mimic knell over pleasures that '.^ere iied for ever ! The contemplation of this deserted house is not without its beneficial effect upon the mind ; for it Inculcates humility to the rich, and resignation to the poor. However elevated man mny be, there is much in hi? condition that reminds him of the infirmities of his nature, and reconciles him to the decrees of Providence. " May it please your Majesty," said Euclid to his royal pupil, " there is no regal road to science. You must travel in the same path with others, if you would attain the same end." These forsaken grounds teach us in similar terms this con- solatory truth, that there is no exclusive way to hap- piness reserved even for those of the most exalted rank. The smiles of fortune are capricious, and simshine and shade are unequally distributed; but though the surface of life is thus diversified, the end is uniform to all, and invariably terminates in the i ^t ii-* _ <* . grave. " • • " ■ " ' "" "" '-'rnn^yi „ ,, " Pallida mors cequo pulsat pede pauperum tabemasWf^il i Kegumque torres." :V-t 4l(iv' V. Ruins, like death, of which they are at once the emblem and the evidence, are apt to lose their effect from their frequency. The mind becomes accustomed to them, and the moral is lost. The pii^^uresque / 171 hap- alted and but ewi the i-} JT^ ■rv. le the jffect )med jsqiie alone remains predominant, and criticism luppliet the place of reflection. But this ie the only ruin of any extent in Nova Scotia, and the only fpot either associated with royalty, or set apart and coiisecrated to solitude and decay. The stranger pikuses at a sight so unusual, and inquires the caute; he leams with surprise that this place was devoted exclusively to pleasure; that care and sorrow never entered here ; and that the voice of mirth and music was alone heard within its gates. It was the temporary abode of a prince — of one, too, had he lived, that would have inherited the fii*st and fairest empire in the world. All that man can give, or rank enjoy, av;-'''«d him ; but an overruling and inscrutable Pro- vidence decreed, at the very time when his succession seemed most certain, that the sceptre should pass into the hrnds of another. This intelligence interests and excites his feelings. He enters, and hsari at every step the voice of nature proclaiming the doom that awaits alike the prince and the peasant. The swallow nestles in the empty chamber, and the sheep finds a noon-day shelter in the banquetting-room, while the ill-omened bat rejoices in the dampness of the mouldering ruins. Everything recalls a recollec* tion of the dead ; every spot has its record of the past ; every path its footstep ; every tree its legend ; and even the universal silence that reigns here has an awful eloquence that overpowers the heart. Death y2 »-^ 'U 172 ;/; is written everywhere. Sad and dejected* he tuias and seeks some little relic, some small memorial of his deceased prince, and a solitary, neglected garden Bower, struggling for existence among the rank grasses, presents a fitting type of the brief exist- ence and transitory nature of all around him. As he gathers it, he pays the silent but touching tribute ySof & votive tear to the memory of him who has "; departed, and leaves the place with a mind softened and subdued, but improved and purified by vfhtX he '\ f^ ,■<.'■#, ,a»fc/^rn ^1 has seen* 1^4 luVi ^^-jj ej-..ii ,u ,.. In the Duke of Kent, the Nova Scotians ioit a kind patron and a generous friend. The loyalty of the people which, when all America v/as revolting, remained firm and unshaken, and the numerous 't)roofs he received of their attachment to their king aiid to himself, made an impression on his mind that was neither effaced nor weakened by time or distance. He was their patron » benefactor, and friend. To be a Nova Scotian was of itself a sufficient passport to his notice, and to possess merit a sufficient guarantee for his favour. Her Majesty n^igns, therefore, in this little Province in the hearts of her subjects, a dominion of love inherited from her father. Great as their loss was in being thus deprived of their only protector, her faithful people of Nova Scotia still cling to the hope that Providence has vouchsafed to raise up one more powerful and equally kind in Her 173 Mujesty, whoj following this paternal example, wil be graciously pleased to extend to them a patronage that courtiers cannot and statesmen will not give* While, therefore, as proteges of her royal bouse, they claim the right to honour and to serve the Sovereign of tlie empire as " their own Queens" they flattef themselves her Miyesty, for a similar reaaon, will condescend to regard them as '' the Qusen'i own** CLERICAL MODES IN AMERICA. " The Presbyterian churches in America have no pulpit, properly so called. They have merely a platform anda reading desk. This arrangement is certainly much more favourable for oratorical eflbct, but I never got used to it." ** The. clergy, with very few exceptions, wear neither gowns nor bandi, I disliked this, I confess; but what I disliked itill more, was to see some of the younger clergy officiat- ing with black silk cravats, so that the clergyman was not distinguishable in attire from a haberdaaher's shop-boy. This was a great deal too republican for all my ideas of propriety." '•' .,^5 < .^ '^ It is strictly in keeping with the fine tdne of tii elevated character, to be beforehand with expectation, and thus show in the most delicate and e/Tectnel manner, that the object of attention even when absent from us, has been the subject of kind and aflfectionate solicitude, i 4 t^^ •> 174 NBW BRUNSWICK. mhf' Fredericton is about seventy miles from St. John, and is the seat of the Provincial Government, and 18 situated at a place formerly called St. Ann's, having been settled since a.d. 1 785. Here is the residence of the Lieutenant-Governor, and the legislature holds its sittings here. Fredericton, though at the head of a sloop navigation on the St. John, and from that circumstance, is doing considerable business with the inhabitants of the surrounding country,— presents none of the bustle of a trading town, but wears rather the aspect of a country village. It stands on an extensive and level plain, about a mile in length, and half a mile in rear, with high ground in the rear, and on either side. It has evidently been the bed of a former lake, and was probably laid bare when the retiring waters of the St. John made their last abrupt escape, and fell to their present ordinary level. i' ; is^H*^ * The streets are regularly laid out, being all at right angles. The principal building in Frederic- ton, and perhaps the finest architectural structure in the province, is the University of King's College, - which occupies a commanding position on the hill in the rear of the town. The College building, , besides excellent lecture-rooms and a chapel, aifordf , ample accommodation for professors and student!, 176 at * ic- ire lill [d» its two stories and basement being devoted to these purposes. The size of the building is 170 feet long, by 160 feet wide, with a handsome portico to the main ent/ a; ce. It is built of dark grey stone, cup'ously intermingled here and there with narrow lines of brick, the use of the last being, in my opinion of unquestionable taste in so massive a structure. The College has "U;«i. Iberally endowed by the province. The Province Hall, a most unpretending edifice, for thr sittings of the legisla- tive bJies, having, on either si >, smaller buildings approt^i'iated as the office of the Secretary of the Province, and the Commissioner of Crown Lands. The residence of the Lieutenant-Governor is at the upper part of the town, and in a delightful situa- tion, commanding a pleasant view of the river : it contains Madras and other schools. The other buildings which attract attention a e — the Baptist Seminary, two stories high, 6C c't by 35 wide, attended by nearly one hundred pupils of both sexes ; the Episcopal Church is a neat building ; the Presbyterian Church stands near the Baptist Seminary, and this last year has been greatly enlarged— (the writer of this i»m '.^tcd in the above church, on Sabbath-day, September 30th, 1837.) There is also a large Baptist Chapel, which was built in 1840 ; a Roman Catholic Chapel, and a Methodist Chapel, are the several places of divine ■^:^ 176 worship in the place. A Reading-room has also been established ; and there is a well-selected public Library. There are also three banks, an a^'ns- boose, and excellent barracks; a branch cf lite iconiniisutTiat is also stationed here, and Frederic- Ion has been military head-*'^'^/'r'f tiau itt naimtiik ■hi-.m. Fredericton was formed by Oovemor Carlton, sliortly after the teparartion lof the province from Nova Scotia. From tliis place, ais from a centre, roads diverge to the different parts of the province, which are of ejusier access from Fredericton than .^ora any other point whatever. The principal places, such as St. John's, St. Andrew's, Cumber- land, Chatham, BiKthurst, and Madawaska, lying iti a broken circle round it. '" • "^ ' ' a- As a militorj position, it is oaequalled — as from the contiguity of the different important parts of •the Province, th»jy could be sooner obtained from 4hris place than any other. It also forms a connect- ing link between the Aidiantic colonies and Canada, and is a safe and convenient place for forming magazines, and equiping troops on tbeir route from ^be wa board to Quebec. The importance of thk place for those purposes, was well realized during ithe last war (in 1837 — 36) and should not be lost aight of. The river St John appears to have been the old and usual route of the French and Indians 177 I p m ins in passing fruin Cuuuda to Novu Scotia, aud New England, long before New Brunswick wus settled ; and Frederic-ton and tbe villages near it, no doubt, were among the principal Indian stations, long before the country was known to the French or English. According to Douglas, this was the most direct route from New Englar^ '^anada, and was taken by Colonel Livings! -4 the Baron Custine, in ad. 1710, when the^ ,reat haste to acquaint the Govemor-Geuerai t.iai. .Arcadia had fallen into the hands of the British. '? i The natural advantages Fredericton possesses, from its recent position, became every year more important, and it is only to be desired that the time is not far distant when her inhabitants will avail themselves of those facilities afforded by the prox- imity of water-power, to establish manufactories and machinery. Indeed, a spirit of enterprise appears to be rapidly spreading in thi^^ place (Fredericton), which cannot fail, if properly di- rected, to produce the most beneficial results. '| i. Thus eligibly situated, it certainly is to be regretted that it is not more distinguished for enterprise, and that it is destitute of those useful institutions which exercise so beneficial an effect upon society, and lyithout which, its members must be deficient of that intelligence and liberality that characterize the present agfe, but which are almost invariably tte z IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I g5.o *^^ R^HI Hi Hi 1^ 12.0 us ■u IL25 HIU li U4 ^ ^W' 7a >* Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80 (716) 872-4S03 * 178 rjesiiU of intellectual, improvement. It is also, a misfcirtnne for the f>l»ce, thatseffortsane not made t(> AJirest a large portion ; of tbe tcade of the opper piirt; of ,tbe .proylnce on its way to St. Jfdm^ibMtbe marielj^nt^ generally speftking, proeare Ibeif .sDip^ plif^ p^BnUsli>iWe«t IndiinQ* and other goods (roin the:ci|(y;v s^nd as Dtenmer^ run twice ia day between Di|l|,;plf stated; Incomes, and otben whp C8^9 a#3trdi ,itjt pfocure the principal ipart^ of, their supplies and clqtbi^g frpm Halifax <;NjS.)i that city^ i^nd even from England and ihe United 1^^;, although %}me» abMndaiicei of t'ttltivated an^; excelieiit land in Ihe; vMnity DfLthe town, foid ^et^ements^ ajie ri^g up qontinuall^ iat Ao great ^ diff^^^^fSri^bpve andi^ronnd it, 1 siaoilt lo mtAmmmii . Qwjypg tP the luinbering puisqite in which ithe people: pn this n^er, as well as in other places, bf^^^e; ei^aged, and- . tp ; which toilsome and semi* Sfiyage fjife they are upaccoun:tably prone^a krg)e amount J ^f property ii^ under mortgage \o the sup? plyi^ mercfhants, who haveto eecure themsdves i^ thigtway for provisions, and articles advanced to i»nf^]t>le, parties to pulque <^i^ occupation attended i^i^h very gr^t ri,sk. And, as from various causes, |pd}yid^als lyho .lu'e not involyed have farm^ to dis- 1^ Qfrr^jemjigrants, or others having f^ small qapital .^If conimand., and being desirous of settling in the ^ 17d country^—can have no difficulty . in procorifig ^K- gibl^tfliHuaitiond in any part of the pro^io^e i( a mbdelrate prices ' ' '^ > 5 J 1 i 1 I'l n a ijrc >: Fredeiicton, wblich has bebn for soMe tliobteTtli^ extreme ptofiit to whkh steafti navi|;»tioti has^ ^ ttrnt^-^inhen!. We ' consider that It is a plac^ Mit^ the fhhlU: dffil^es &re' fiituated, and the beadi df depMit^ntS' reside, and is surrounded hf'tii Well settlM:t^ottzitl^-^it is ti^ral to infer that itl^ tbtk o^Maath iihportliiice, knd thttt there woukf tie ^m^ plbymeiiC for a'cbnsiderable numberof pertibnktbf var^o^ piirsdiis. By' ti» return made itf l#4^j it ap^r^ that t^ere is a- population in the pari^^ ilbiie,^iimoiiTrting to-4000 souls. '» ' '^ " X^Air the objett I have in tiew is to point odt {itades wb^re the matt df property may invest his caifiltal iiai^e pftfrchase of lands, the' mechiitiic and iabdtirer fittd employment; and the emigrant a Settli6m^ti^, it will be proper that I should sta^ «^itli' candour any difficulty ihat exists in this plirt As "to serVants-^a- class of persons on whoM tt^e domestic order attd comfort of a family prinelpalljr de]^ted-^tbose of a godd description are mtich Wanted; but it is in vain td expect them, in the absence of those wholesome laws and regulations that prevail in the mother country. He^e domes- ticiis are hired by the month, without any regard to character or' qualification, merely to meet the a2 180 exigencies of the pretent moment ; and the result is, a Ruccessioi of changes is continnally taking place, and complaint is the order of the day* As to the laboaring men, and the mechanics, the wages they obtain pirje high, but the mode of payment {chiei)y out of the shop) reduces it prQbably t4> its proper l^vei, aJlhQugh it acts nnjustly upon those whp are not disposed, or are not so situated as to pi^y in this wiiy. Tbe result is> that great difl|iculty exists ip Jiaving work of imy kind completed promptly ; and in this respect, as well as others, Fredericton exhibits a state of society not to be equalled in N^rth America. Persons complaining of those whom they employ, and others who are employed being dissatisfied with their emp^yioent ; a remedy for aU this is to be found only in a resort to casb pt^yment^. When \ individuals «re hired, they fibpiild be paid (or their labour in cash, c^nd allowed jo purchase i^ny articles tbey m&y requirt hen tbftt can be done to the best advan^ge. It thfise who, reside in the neighbourhood of the place h^ye any debts to piiy, or agdcultural prodjuce to dis- poi^ of, instea v^i«si«|s.^ m4^- ■ h^ \ f j'Sff^ii A As respects the man of property, however, he can obtain land under cultivation in the vicinity of Fredericton, at a moderate pri^, and can have the advantage of good society, and excellent means of educating the juvenile branches of his family^ Inhabited houses in Fredericton, m 1840, were 489; ^milies. 708 ; houses building, twenty-nine ; houses uninhabited, twenty; Males above sixteen^, IQ^l; J.^^if. '■ V, m under sixteen^ 829 ; Femalee aWts d^xben, 1666; under ^ixteen^ 798. t^tople of dolouif i meAtfi ftbo? e sixteen, 98^ under Eiixteen, 43; femaks abotrd fiit-' t^ien, 48; under sixteen/ S^. Toll&I pem(in6[ 4002.' AcF^ ^^^lifared kM^ 1696^; Ivors^s, 248; tt^i Cht&t, «24 ; 84ieep>, S80 ; dW^e; 642; '^'^ ^^i '^'*^ '"^ V'F^edericton, by land/iB 60'knileff ^r<$tal>Sb Jdliti | Inn the eaist side of the jfiver, 86. to St Andre^*ii; by tb<9 Neripsra. 160; to Oliatbaih (Mir^inichi); tl'4i; tftQnebec, by the Oii^Afad Palls, 34&| to HaH^ fkf/ 'Novae Scotia> by the Bend of iFetitc^nu;^ Dorchester, and Attihersft, 308. r;'«^ ^> «^ ^ mU '^tS!tbe scebefy aboijind^ Sll Johti <^dl^ie8ite6'i!N>^i»|f iiidica^Vc^' of the fertil4^ regions td ^ Whieh it Idadfti This ^iti^^as first inhabited id a.d. 1 783^ by a bund Of f>i[itrib^ nrho, ;a« the dose of the Anfei^n revb-( iulS^Hry war, abandon^ their homes; their friiend», and property in' the revoltbd coloniedi' i»ith a lux^ portion of civilized lifei Uiait they migbt^ preserve unsullied their loyalty to the British Sov«Mgntyi and breathe the puife air of freWoin imder'the patieni^ proteutioft of the monarch vthoin they revered, amd guarded by the meteor fliag Of England^, which, for a "thousand y^ars has braved th«; battli^' a»d t^e bi^eze."^ The spot where the flou^^hihg cirystttnds wa^/siitty weight years ago^ a mere%ild^ ness; and, istrange as it may appeair; the jourwej^ from the Market-slip to the Jail-hiU, ^vhich ii» notIL lad *«it t% ({Uttrter of a mile, would occupy, ai the above period^ bidf a day, but now only five minutes. Then no previous vestiges. of the labours' of civUized man ware pr^raented > to viow to ; diversify the gloomy prospect* ' Th^ obstaoles that were to be mdtat eveiy step, would have caused men less imbued; with the spirit of loyaUy/ to turn with disgust from the. uapropitious. aeener.'inid letnute their steps to the land ^f plenty Which^ they had left behind. Bat no hardships, however great — no privations,, however sof ers'-^no difficulties, however appalling, were saffi- eielit to> defter firom theiir purpose, the lion-hearted founders of ihe oity, rvnthout :a roof to shelter their defenceless heads, surroun4ed by a pathless forest* AIM) frowned Upon by Ihe rugged rock$, in a cduittry then . unfaivouiablei ; (.beoattsei : unprepared ) '. for the operatlonst ofi ihe plough, and ^suligect to % . long and xlgovous winteii J lYet jthe prospect of all these accnmu^ lated difficulties And :|mvationsw^e uiiable ta impair tMi^ loyalty, or swerve them from the path of datyi 3ttt bow dtfierealt is that scene at the present idiy ? ThO'jQity has a populatioti of 30^000 souls, which the enterprise and activity of the inhabitants, and the liberolily of the capitalists, are doing everything to increase. : St John is incorporated, and the city compfehends botih sides of the harbour, four wards being in St, John, and two: in Carlton, opposite ; .each represented by lan alderman and assistant Uder- ■'m- 184 AIM i ih9 tnajror is i^pointed by the executiF^ ilmong th« new edifices it a building (at an exv oh«Dgt# • reading-room, a po)ice^officc, and a market -^tlM loweet fmtt of the building is oeeapied as a natketi tlieresc as above stated^ The biulding if highly ehMiitable to the town. The St John Comaieroial Bank^ a new and heautiral building; eonetnieted of the Shelbum stonor is the best and handienieit building in theeity^ The fiiont is my beauliAil* ' ■ im The St John's Mechanics' Institute, (incorporated hf ' m Act of the General Assen^ly,) erected a btdlding, and devoted the same to the promotion of Sdenee and the Arts, and the d^sicm of useful knowledge. The comer^stoiie was laid on the 27th day of Mey, in the third* year of the reign of her Ifott Gradons Mijesty Qneen Victoria, by his Exeollency MajofwOeneial Sir Jn^ Harvey, K.G B*, and K«G.H«« loentenant-Goveimov and Commandor- In-Chief ol the Provisce of New Brunswick, &c. lS4a The IntHtute was established in December, 1838!, and the irst President was Beverly Robinson, Esqyi 'flA new Cttstom^Hoase has been buik m Bince WUUam Btveeti Th& plan and the towns adjacent Some of the best ships in the world are biult in this port» loaded with timber, and sent to different porta of England, Ireland, and Scotland, and the West Indies. The < city contains several places of worship :— two Episcopal, two Presbyterian, two Wesleyan Metho^* dist, two Baptist^ and one Catholic churches. - i>! (^ iThe revenues of. the city i<» the year 1840 were ^88^671 4s. 6d« The Commercial Bank of New tBvunswiok (in 8t John), incoq>orated by foyal charter^capitai ^150,000, with power to iaorease to £300,000; President, Lewis Bums, Esq. Bank ofNew Brunswick^ in 8t John~«apital£ 10(^000; President, Thomas Leavitt, Esq. . Inhabited house8> north and south, 14 IS; families, 2662; individuals 2 B 186 of both 86X08, in St. John— north, 9616; south, 9766; acres of clelired land, 1071. The Barracks are in a delightful position, overlooking the harbour. The spring tides at St John rise from 24 to 28 feet; the body of thd river is about 17 feet abovto low water mark. The ordinary tide of the harbour rises 26 feet, while above the Falls it only rises about 18 inches ; therefore, the height of the FaUs might be estimated at 24^ feet But this estimate will not be received as correct, when it is considered that the entrance of the river at the Falls is too narrow to allow the sea to flow in freely ; and, therefore, there is a fall inwards at high water, and a fall outwards at low water, and the time for passing for vessels is fixed at three quarters of an hour each tide, and when the sea and river have assumed the same level, the Fall outwards we have estimated at 20 feet, and at high tides the Fall inwards at high water is 16 feet, making the whole height of this double Fall, 36 feet. St George, or, as it is called by many, Magagua- davic, is situated to the eastward of St Andrew, with St Patrick's interposed. Its two principal settlements are placed, the one at the upper, and the other at the lower Falls of the Magaguadavic, a fine stream flowing through the county and parish, which issues from a series of fine large lakes of the same name, about twenty miles from the sea. The upper and smaller settlement is seven miles distant from the lower. 187 which again is situated at the head of the tide, four miles above the junction of the river Mascreen. . Few places in the province afford a more singular and beautiful spectacle than the Magaguadavic Falls. The river, after descending from the mountains northward, passes through a level and wide plain of intervale, and when it reaches the village, is about 100 feet above the bed of the river below ; and the main Fall of the water descends by five successive steps, in the distance of 500 yards, through a chasm averaging about 35 feet wide, and 100 feet deep. Through this narrow gorge, the whole contents of the river is poured out with a fury that defies descrip- tion. The industry and ingenuity of man have considerably modified the appearance of this remark- able spot. It still, however, remains a most extra** ordinary hydraulic spectacle^ and affords a power for turning machinery beyond computation. Having swept slowly along the valley above, the water is accumulated at the bridge over the top of the Falls, it is thrown by its own weight into the deep and narrow opening below, whero, spouting from cliff to ^liff, and twisting its foaming column to correspond .with the rude windings of the passage, it falls in a torrent of froth into the tide below, or passing beneath the mills, its fury seems, abated as it mingles with the dense spray floating above. There are six saw-mills huddled together at this spot, and they appear like 2b8 188 Migleii' nesU clinging to the rocks on each tide. A conriderahle sum of money has been expended in their erection, and they are now in fall operation. The deep catities in the rocks are overhmig with the alder and creeping evergreens, which seem to be placed there for the purpose of deeorating one of nature's wild performances. The low roofs of the mills are strongly contrasted wttli the massive rocks they occupy, and where they hold a precarious sittiatian. The shelving piles of deals seem te mock the violence of the boiling pool beneath. S»ch is the power of hahit — the sawyer, careless of danger, crosses the phmk aofoss Ihe gorge^ and ventures where his life depends upon an inch of qpace. Of this, I have frequently been an eye-witness (my house being near i^e Falls). These Falls, if the scenery in its neighbourhood possessed no other charm, would amply repay die admirer of nature for any expense or mconvenience he might incur in visithig them, and in England, this village wonld be a place of annual and crowded resort. There are three places of divine worship at the village, and one at the Upper Falls. The parish contains, including the Le Tang, lA Tete> and Masereen settlements, 369 inSiabited houses; 380 ftim^s; and persons, 24S2 ; and aeres ^of cleared land, 4097. ■#« ««'i*4wi t^^u 'About three miles up thetiver, there is a settlement, clueily agricultural, named Maecreen, and consistilig 189 Hr '.V- principally of Scottish Highlanders, from P«rtb, Sutherlaiul, and Caithnaas-shires, and their rainifica- tiona. It is situated at, and near the mouth of the river, stretching for several mOes along the south side of the Bay« and terminating one of its inlets, called Le Tete Passage. In this settlemeni there haa been a neat church eireeted ; in June 1839, it remained in a very unfinished state, only heing rough boarded. At this time the inhabitants were un- expectedly visited by the Rev. Christopher Atkinson, (missionary) from the King*a County, twenty-eeven miles from . the city of St. JcIml Inasmueh as this people had not been favoured with more than six sermons during the last year, they gladly engaged Mr. A. ibr one year, at the end of which period* the whole of the people uuanimottsly came lerward and not only chose, hot appointed Mr. C, Atkinson to be their pastor, with a promise of iSlOO per annom. ^;The Bay of Fundy mins between New Brunswick and Novia Scotia, and is indented with numerous headlands and promontories, some of which stand out to a considerable distance into the aea or bay- Nuiiieioiiaislands,al80,are scattered along the month of this Bay,iat shoit distances, forming a sort of ehain nearly ^uite across it. These are ahnoat inoessanlly envelc^ed in dense fogs, during the ^nng and sum- mer months ; but occasionally, when these become scattered by the intense rays of a summer's. sun, and i^: \ 190 I ^ the winds have ceased to agitate the waters, the broad glassy surface of this vast sheet, of a hundred miles in length, and sixty or eighty in breadth, lying in quietness, is seen t&ickly scattered over with sea fowl,— some on the wing, soaring aloft, and traversing the Bay, in various directions ; others in the water, either swimming or screaming, or floating on the chips and fragments of wood and bark that have drifted out to sea from the various rivers and small inlets of the lumber districts bordering upon the shores." ' ' f> J ;.To observe a gull or duck navigating one of these puny vessels, standing erect on his frail bark, as if watching his own reflected image in the glassy surface beneath, while thousands of his fellows are busily engaged around him in gathering the floating sea weed and ofial that aredrifting with the tide,is tnily laughjetble. On a still day, when the tide is retreating from the Bay, and the sun is resting on the surface of the water, numerous shoals of porpoises and grampuses are seen spouting, and blowing, and sporting, now rising to the surface in quick succession, and now retreating into the depths below; while at intervals, at a distance, the huge whale is heard to pour forth his smoking breath like the discharge of a steamer, raising in broken spray and foam the calm smoothness or gentle ripple of the ocean, and sometimes lying half exposed to view floating^a huge, black, un- shapely mass — on the surface. \ 191 The small boatsj pink sterns, and larger crafts are seen at anchor, while tlie fishermen are busily plying the lines and raising at every moment some finny inhabitant from the watery element below* ^ ^.v.^^^w <^ Coasters and merchantmen are seen crossing the Bay in dififerent directions, and at divers distances ; some departing for the West Indies and Europe, with high piled decks of lumber, and some returning from their voyages, laden with foreign commodities for the use of the inhabitants of the provinces. . .,*,| ,.,^,^1^1^ From the middle of the Bay, may be seen at one coup d*-ni-^ j Having given a brief outline of the gem itself, with its various qualities, I shall proceed to the mine out of which it can be obtained. t^*->*'^^?^'*^"''^* '^wt AiJiUirmf The gi'eat coal>mine of the province of New Bruns- wick, which 1 am about to explain, is situated between the primary rocks in the county of Charlotte, and the King's County, on the Straits of Northumberland, on the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Only the south and south-east sides of this coal-field have yet been explored; the west, the north, and the north-east sides still remain to be examined, and the limits thereof in the latter directions, yet remain unknown. 195 ins- Iween and [land, and I been east limits wn. The division of this coal-field, situated southward of St. John, is the segment of a large circle described between the Keswick, above Fredericton, and the Ocnabog, below Grangetown, and touching at Shin Creek, and the head of the Oromocto. Its south' eastern side extends along the trap and syenite rocks of Springfield, and the dividing line between King's, Queen's, Westmoreland, and Kent Counties, to the Straits of Northumberland, from one of the branches of the Oromocto to the St. John, and from thence eight miles eastward of the entrance of the Washade- moac. This coal-field extends in a northerly direction to Bathurst, a distance of one hundred and twenty miles, and from Bathurst along the coast to Shediac, which may be estimated at seventy miles. >i Until the north-east side of this vast coal-track is explored^ it would be impossible to give an accurate account of its area ; but it may for the present be considered equal to five thousand square miles ! This track may, perhaps, bear the reputation of being one of the largest coal fields ever discovered on the globe. This vast expanded track in every part abounds in tropical plants, many of which have evidently been changed into enduring beds of coal, while others have been converted into difierent kinds of mineral matter, and form the most faithful record of the changes this earth has undergone since it first came from the bands of its Supreme Architect. M r ?;» ' Cf.MYi' 2c2 196 ^^^^^ NORTH AMERICAN INDIANSJ^^^^^ ^ ^^ These nnfortanate people have greatlj degene- rated, and are fast hecoming extinct* This i« not from any ill usage, or want of kindness and conside- ration on the part of their more civilized brethren. They are every where, in these provinces, on the most friendly terms with the white inhabitants, who always accost them with the term, <* brother" or " sister," and perform towards them many acts of unobtrusive charity. They are a harmless people ; (I have had conversations with several, and I believe them to be such,) and are much attached to the British government, and the inhabitants of these pro- vinces. Any person may confidently trust him or herself to the care and attendance of his or her Indian guide, penetrate with him into the most remote and almost impervious forest, and rest secure on his integrity and knowledge of the country which he may be traversing. Various attempts have been made to induce these people to adopt the modes and habits of cultivated humanity, but content with the freedom they have long enjoyed, they roam through the couutry at pleasure, sitting down near some favourite hunting ground, or fishing stream, on the margin of a lake, or iu some dense forest, shel- tered from the wintry blast, they there satisfy the wants of nature, which are few, and remove when 197 tired of the monotony of the place, or the appearance of warmer weather, or the approaching scarcity of food. Thus liying a life of seclusion and indepen- dence, they care not for events that are happening around* f?,?-'Vii**u' utvii r.i:' i i^jM ^;'ii) ^T^ -I'- ^.u-fi'^i Hi'-'.. .^'j:^^-^}^ ■ in i^ '* £nough for them, in ignorance bred, , Night yields to mom, and snn to rain. That Nature's pulse, in winter dead. By spring rekindled throbs again." The Indians are deeper sunk in misery and super- stition than they are generally supposed lu be* They are, in fact, an ignorant, selfish, and degraded class of people; true, they eat, drink, sleep, and think as other human beings, but their ideas of the future state of existence beyond the grave are as erroneous and present no more cheering prospect than does the miserable subterfuge on which the untaught Hindoo rests his hope for another world* "^' Kor are they less tenacious in the observance of rites and ceremonies than the poor Hindoo is of retaining caste. Their ideas of Deity are grovelling in the extreme, being associated with creatures most repugnant to our feelings ; which, together with their manner of conducting religious worship, renders them no less idolaters than those who bow down to gods of wood aad stone — the work of their own hands. Deity exists in the form of a great snake, % 198 who is the former of their persons, the sustainer of their bodies, and the giver of all good things. Evil •pints also exist in the form of snakes, who dispense judgments, send bad fruits, bad success in hunts, bad animals, and bad plants. They hold converse with the dead, furnish food for their hungry spirits, and per- form numerous unmeaning ceremonies over their graves. Honesty in dealing with each other and their white neighbours, they are generally regardless of. The following are the principal places Mr. Atkin- son officiated at during his residence in New Bruns- wick : — Fredericton, St. Paul's Church ; St. Mary's, Sheffield, Jemseg, English and Irish settlements, Belleisle, Springfield, Upper, Middle, and Lower Mill Streams, Sussex, Sussex Vale, Londonderry Settlement, Dutch Valley, Shepody Road, Quaco, Teignmouth, South Stream, Upham, Salt Springs, Norton, Little River, Black River,- St. John's, St. Andrew's Church ; Portland, Carlton, Pennfield, St. George's, Le Tang, Mascreen, St. Patrick, St. Andrew's, Deer and Indian Islands, Annapolis (Nova Scotia), East Port (Moose Island), Calais, Milltown, and Baring (United States). „ ,,,^,^„,,,,, " Half our forebodings of our neighbours are but wishes, which we are ashamed to utter in any other ibnn. W / w .r-kiJmx -^'Ivi^ilj Mw^mn CHAPTER VI. * *»*>il>njs ^if- * -f •^'" '" "^ THE UNITED STATESf^''''^ f '^' NEW TORE, WASHINGTON^ AND PHILADSLPHXAr'^ The first appearance of the city of New York, as approached from the sea after passing the Narrows, is unquestionahly one of the most picturesque that can he imagined. This arises more from its situation in the most beautiful hay in the world, than from any prominence of architectural elegance in the city itself. New York, though rather ancient, has not had the henefit of a municipal government long enough to compete in every particular with London or Liverpool ; though the changes during the past fourteen years afford a good earnest of what may be expected. One of the principal streets is called Broadway; about two-thirds of its length is lined with shops, many of which vie with the largest estab- lishments in Fleet-street or Holboiii, though inferior in size and outward splendour to the shops of the West-end. The rest of Broadway consists of private residences, several of which, as well as numerous . houses in the North or Court-end of the town, through which it passes, are elegant Jind sumptuous dwellings. The streets in this quarter are well 200 built, and present tn air of great neatness and cleanli- ness. There is a great difference between New York and London, in the regulations of side walks for pedestrians. The > difference appears to be de- cidedly in favour of London, as people can manage to get along tbe pavements of that city. The prin- cipal churches in this city are St. Paul's and St. John's. -^*'^'^ In i):!/* i^ifj- ]rj'ft-ir)*i::ti.v»t;r5-it j^-.r< *<.fVV ^ The cafntol of Washington is well worthy of its national design, bckig the finest builf seventy offices lor committees. Congress officers, refreshments, &c. The grounds round this !IH)1 ,95 and mth res. a I roof. and Irt of IS, this noble pile of buildings cover more than twenty acreSi tastefully laid out in walks and shrubberies. ^ ,viom\j Philadelphia has, perhaps, move historical associa- tions which make it more interesting to a foreign visitor, than any other city or town in the union. One of the first objects which a stranger seeks is the State House, in which the first Congress of the United States held its deliberations, and from which the declaration of independence was read to the people, on July the fourth, 177G. The building is aboat a century old — a plain brick structure, greatly venerated by the citizens. The extensive garden behind it is now laid out as a public square, and with its gi'avel walks and avenues of trees, aflfords a delightful and favourite promenade. Chesnut-street, on which the State House and several other public buildings front, is the present fashionable street of Philadelphia. The pavement, trottoir, and shops are superior to that of any other. It runs, like many parallel streets from river to river, but Broad-street crosses it a little more than half its entire length. Broad-street promises to fo^m a grand ornament to the city : it runs from north to south through its centre, and is 113 feet wide. The Merchants' Exchange forms a conspicuous ornament in the busi- ness suburb of the city. The front elevation is^ semi-circular, with Corinthian columns resting on a high basement. The principal entrance opens into a ' 2d 202 J* vestibule, which communicates with the City Post Office, and public departments. A double staircase leads to a landing which opens to a splendid semi- circular apartment, richly embellished with paintings and fresco work ; the roof is supported by Corinthian pillars, and the floor composed of Mosaic stone. Adjoining this hall is a large rending room, contain^ ing all the leading papers of the country, including the London periodicals. This noble structure wae erected by the city at an immense cost, the material being of the finest marble. • ' |- * • » ' .F ■ ' *.» - trHf'^in': ■' ir'iT..'j/> 'u r BALTIMOBE, BOSTON^ AN]> PITTSSCTROa. »)r The fine city of Baltimore lies at the bead of Patapsco Bay, fo^teen miles from the Chesapeak, and two hundred from the s^a. It i» justly admiredj for its situation and DunQ£;ix>us architectural beauties. Its size is the same as 6oston«.and less than half the size of Philadelphia. The principal places of interest in the city are more numerous, considering the size of the place than in New York and Philadelphia, and give evidence of greater tasta apd regard, to elegance than the latter, o^ which the. mo^uiix*;?:!?^ public fountains, and various architectural c^i^aii^ent^,, which meet the eye in dUTerent parts of the city, a^ord ^^nst^t evidence of the former. The colossal fi03 id of eak« iredj ies. the. erest size; ihia,, d to, city, lossal Matue of Washington, hv Causici.on a Doric column and iNise, 180 feet high, is a superh work of art, and gives a character to he whole city, as seen from neighbouring elefation^. Ihc fountains are also clasaically embellished with basins and temples of marble ; aad the architecture uf private residences, some o( which are truly princely, also show a preva- hnite oi individual taste, to which the Philadelphiana tub tw.iul strangers. Boston is another city which presente, to an Englishman on first entering it, a striking and pleas- ing similitude to home. The streets, the architecture of the houses, the very looks of the people abroad, , and the general aspect of almost everything that the «eye encounters, all contribute to remind him that, though in the new world, he is in the metropolis of that particular section of it appropriately styled •'' New England." This English aspect which marks everything in Boston, is nowhere more strikingly seen than in the churches, whose sombre coloured walls and oaken woodwork, with the dark rich shade of drapery, and the curtained or stained medium, enbdues the effect a transatlantic sky communicates, that *'dim religious light" in an instant carries the English worshipper back to the glorious fanes of his native land. Boston, to be seen to the greatest advantage, should be approached from the sea. European, visitants by the mail steamers will meet 2d2 204 with few sights in their whole tour tlirough the United States to surpass the spectacle which is pre- sented on passing Nantasket. The voyager enters a harbour eight square miles in extent. The eye is filled with the changing scene of enchantment, till the Massachusetts metropolis appears in sight. The dome of the State House rises higher than any other object ; the foundation of the building being more than a hundred feet above the level of the water. Around the city, which is almost insular, are extensive piers and wharfs ; and as ships of the largest class can ride securely in the harbour, Boston is incomparably better situated for commerce than New York. The quarter of Boston fa.niliarly known as " The North End," embraces all that part of the peninsula on which the city is built, lying north of Fancuil Hall. Like the east end of London, it was once the abode of wealth and state. In the centre of this neighbourhood old Christchurch rears its lofty spire, and the brick tower on which it is based, which contains a fine ring of bells, is regarded by the inhabitants with an affection truly filial. A winter in Boston would be very agreeable but for the extreme cold ; there is frequently a fall in the ther- mometer of twenty degrees below zero. . Boston possesses more schools than any other place of its size in the word, which fact has, doubtless, acquired for it \\Le titl^ of "The Literary Emporium" of the u \i 205 western world. The Historical Society, the Athen- aeum, and the Academy of Fine Arts, are well- endowed, substantial buildings, each possessing an extensive library. There are other minor societies for the promotion of literature, besides ten daily and about thirty weekly newspapers, thirty monthly or semi-monthly magazines, &c. Sixty periodical prints are regularly issued in a city with scarce a hundred thousand inhabitants. :isjzi:;i n nris- {,: ;i, ^ The city of Pittsburgh is the capital of the Western Pennsylvania, the seat of a university, the see of a Romanist Bishop, and " the Birmingham of America." The latter appellatioi , if understood as signifying the largest iron and greatest hardware manufacturing town in the United States, is correct enough ; and there is every prospect of its rivalling our own Birmingham in population, size, and the amount of its manufactures, before many years. There are about a dozen handsome factories and rolling mills, each sending out from four to seven hundred weight of goods per annum, worth collec- tively about £60,000. Fourteen foundries annually make 3,000,000 tons of metal into castings ; there are also six brass foundries, forty steam engines, a number ofcoppersmiths*, blacksmiths' and silversmiths' shops; cutlery, tinware, and cotton manufactories; extensive glass works, tanneries, and steam flour mills. The estimated annual value of the manufac- 206 torieA of tbis Western Birmingham hare heen stated at npwards of four millions of dollars. Nothing oould he finer or more advantageous for trade than Ihe situation of Pittshurgh. It occupies the point of land at the junction of the ri^^ers Alleghany and MonoBgahela at the head of steam hoat navigation. Cfial and iron ahomid all round it, and are daily augmenting its wealth. The inhahitants of Pitts- hurgh are a mixture of various nations — Germans, French, English, Scotch, Irish, and native Americans, and are famed for their spirit of industry and economy. A universal toleration of differences of creed prevails, and no one i-ace pretends to arrogate any superior distinction to itself. Its population is nearly sixty thousand. 0' -■• • '^ ' ■ ^:i-A' I \'" V <:>{^t VfUh ,m'^rr. A ,' iv^ir- :^^m-r FALLS OF NIAGARA. n There is no village or dwelling here hut the hotel alone. It is a haudsome frame huilding, of ample dimensions, three stories high, with piazzas on hoth sides, and stands on the east side of the road which leads to Fort Erie, within half a mile of the Falls. The approach from the hotel is through a forest, which conceals the prospect till close at the place, when the scene instantaneously hursts forth with astonishing grandeur ! The place at which the visitor aiTives hy 207 this route is Table Rock, so denominated from its being extrem^y level. It extends from the sheet of water several roads down the Canada side, and projects some yards over the pathway which leads under the Falls. This rock makes a circular bend where it crosses the stream, and the river pours over the verge of the precipice in the form of a crescent. The sheet of water is separated by a small island, situaied on the brink, of the precipice* and called, Goat Island. This leaves th& grand Fall on the Canada sid^ about six hundred yards broad, and the high Fall on the American side, about three hundred. Between: Goat Island' and the American Shore is another smaller island, about twenty yards in* width, which leaves » small sheet of water on the east of Goat Island,, from eight to ten yards broad. The Fall on the Ameriean side is one hundred and sixty-four feet higk; and drops almoot perpendicularly,^ presenting a. large white sheet. The Grand or Horse Shoe Fall, on.. These Falls are situated on the Niagara river, foutteen miles from Lake Omario, and twenty-one from Lake Erie. This strait, which unites the waters of these two lakes together, is thirty- five miles long, and varies little more than one- fourth of a mile to six miles in breadth between Lake Erie and the Falls The banks are from one to two hundred feet in height, and here the course of the river is north-west by west ; but below the Falls, it takes a northerly direction to Lake Ontario. The scenery along the Niagara is allowed to vie with the prettiest landscape in Upper Canada, and stands unrivalled for its grandeur and magnilicence. f THE HUMMING BIRD. There is, in most parts of America, a bird called by the English the humming bird ; by the Spaniards, tominicius. It is of a most excellent shining colour, and veiy resplendent; it resembles many of our English drakes' heads. The humming bird inhabits some of the colder parts of America, as well as the warmer. It is the least of all birds that I have seen, its leg and foot together are but half an inch; its entire weight is about a tenth part of an ounce avoirdupoise. Their nests are made of cotton wool, in the form and size of the thumb of a man's 2 E 210 glove, with the taper end downwards. Their eggs are about the size of a pea, and of oval form. They feed by thrusting their bills and tongues into the blossoms of trees, and sucking the sweet juice and honey from them ; and when feeding they bear up their bodies with a hovering motion of the wings. An Indian soggamore is not in his full pomp and bravery without one of these birds in his ear for a pendant. It is called the hum bird or humming bird, because some say it makes a noise when it flies like a spiniii!3g-wheel. But I have been very near them, when they were on the wing, and I never heard it; besides, their bodies and wings are too small to strike air enough to make any noise. But of this I shall not be positive, because several authors think different from me. tji s- tli 'if ■'?•■- ^ Rbligiok. — Of all the definitions of religion, I fined none so accurately descriptive as this : that it is such a belief of the bible as maintains a living influence in the heart and life. Men may speculate, criticise, admire, doubt, or believe the Bible ; and yet no one can truly be called a religious man who does not so believe it as ever to caiTy in his mind a habitual, practical sense of its truths, as ever to live by them in his life. . . m^ , I it')**/? ill :Vdj '^ CHAPTER vil!" ''■'^ i,i*r' n . i •••(■. EDINBURGH. ^ '' ii i^r. f^i' ...It ifliiv Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland, occupies an exceedingly romantic but incommodious situation, within two miles of the south shore of the Firth of Forth, and above a day's journey from the borders of England. The latitude of its observatory is 66° 67"; its longitude, west, 3° 1' 40". Its distance from London is 392 miles. More than thirteen hundred years since, no part of the ground now covered by the city was occupied by human hab- itations. Although, according to the opinions of ieveral writers, the rock of Edinburgh was chosen as the site of a fort by the Garoeni or Ottadini long before their subjugation by the Romans. The etymology of the word Edinburgh has excited fully more anxious inquiry and discussion than that of Lothian ; there being, as some think, a doubt whether the word be of British or Saxon origin. Aneurin, the Ottadonian poet, who wrote during the sixth century, speaks of Dinas Eidyn, the city of Eidyn, but it is quite uncertain that he meant the place now called Edinburgh. The oldest name that can now be discovered as applicable to this forte, is May dyn ; and Mai-din in British, or Maghdun 2 E 2 212 in Garlic, which may either signify the fortified mount in the plain, or the good fort; but when the English language came into use, some busy body with monkish fancies conceived that Mai-dun was the same as maiden, and hence the barbarous title of " Castrum Puellarum," and the fable that it had been a residence for the daughters of the British kings. It is a curious circumstance, that for many centuries the fortress went both by the name of Castrum Puellarum and Edensbruch. The first wae invariably the diplomatic and literary name, (be second was esteemed only the vulgar appella- tion. Some wiiters have affected to doubt if ever the fortress of Edinburgh was entitled Castrum Fuellarnm in regular records : among others, the late Lord Huiles. But, besides the different in- itttnces in which it is named in the learned correspon- dence of the middle ages, it cannot be satisfactorily ihown by a chart of Radulphus, abbot of Newbottle, of the date 1253, that the phrase was current The name occurs thus : ** Parle vie regie et publice que ducet a monasterio Newbotle versus Castrum Puellarum," &c. Frequently it is called Castrum Paellarum de Edinburgh, and in a number of instances it is designated Oppidum Puellarum. Not understanding the meaning of the word Mai dun, Camden and others have been led to suggest that in early times the castle had been t^e 213 )on- )rily mt. )li€e Irum [ruin of ^ord to ilie residence of certain young maidens of royal blood. Having examined the mass of evidence touching on the etymology of the present name, we have come to the conclusion that it is of Saxon origin. Subsequently to the year 449, 634. the appella- tion Edwins-burgh must have been introduced. The Garlic designation of Edinburgh, from the period in which Edwinsburgh came into use, has been Dun Edin, signifying the hill or strength of Edwin, and having no connexion with the original British or Celtic name. Dun Edin rarely occurs as a written name, for the reason, perhaps, that there is no Celtic literature. That it was used, however, is certified by the register of the priory of St. Andrew, in recording the times of Edgar, i 107, in these words : ** Mortuns in Dun Edin et sepultus in Dunfermling." In modem times Dun Edin is used on the title pages of books in the Garlic tongue, printed in Edinburgh. Edina is its euphonius and poetical appellation, first used by Buchanan^ and sanctified by the muse of Bums. According to the account of Simon of Durham, Edinburgh must have been a considerable village in the year 854 ; wherefore its origin may be traced to about the era of Edwin, who so much distinguished it by his residence, from the period of the cession of Lothian to the Scots (1020). <- !•; i, m' :tjHys 214 u THB CASTLE OV EDINBURGH, AND THE REOALIA OF SCOTLAND. K< ••'iThis venerable fortress owes its orifi^in as a regular place of defence to the Anglo-Saxon dynasty towards the end of the fifth century; but, in the present day its fortifications appear to be of com- paratively modern date. The rock on which the Castle is situated rises to a height of three hundred and eighty-three feet above the level of the sea, and its battlements may be seen in some directions for upwards of fifty miles The rock is precipitous on nil sides but the east ; here it is connected with the upper part of the city by an open esplanade, called the Castle-hill, measuring three hundred and fifty feet in length, by three hundred in breadth. On the western extremity of this parade ground, which was once a favourite walk of the »;if,iT:e*:8, are advanced the outer wooden barriers of the fort, beyond wbich there is a draw-bridge flanked by low batteries. Within these the road winds past a gus^d-house, and passes under an arched gateway secured by strong gates ; overhead is built a house which is used as the state prison of Scotland. Passing through this entrance, on the right is the Argyle Battery^ mounting a number of guns which point towards the New Town, and from thence the road leads past the Arsenal, the Governor's 216 house^ and a huge pile of buildingg used as Barrack^ by a semi-circular sweep and gradual ascent, to the iuaer and upper vallum of the fort. This entered by another strong gateway, and within are situated the chapel, storehouse, and other buildings, forming the main habitable part of the fortress. Among these tenements on the south side, is a lofly pile or range of buildings with a court in the centre. The houses on the east side and a palace were partly built by Queen Mary, in 1565, and partly in 1616, In a small apartment on the ground floor, in the south-east comer of the edifice. Queen Mary was delivered of James VI. on the 10th of June, 1566. The roof of this little room is divided into four compartments, having the figure of a thistle at each comer, and a crown and the initials M. R. in the centre. As this interesting apartment is now part of the canteen or tavern of the Castle, it is accessible to visitors. In the same part of the edifice is situated the Crown Room, a very small vaulted apartment on the second floor. The Regalia of Scotland was lodged here on the 26th of March, 1707, immediately after the act of union had passed, and remained in a state of seclusion and repose for a hundred and eleven years. The Scottish nation had for a long period believed that these ensigns of royalty had been moved secretly to London. In order to allay the rumours which were 216 propagated to that effect, certain comiuissionerH were appointed to examine the contents of the Crown Room, which they did on the dth of Feb., 1818. A large oaken chest was found in the apart- ment, firmly secured with locks, which, being forced open, the regalia was discovered, carefully wrapped in fine linen cloths. The articles exposed were the crown, sceptre, sword, sword of state, and the Lord Treasurer's rod of office. The crown is of gold, of small size, and elegant formation. On the lower part, above the fillet for fitting the head, are two circles, chased and adorned with twenty^two precious stones, mixed with large oriental pearls. The upper circle is surmounted by ten crosses, ileury, with small points terminated by large pearls. Four advanced arches rise from the upper circle and close at the top, on which is a globe and cross- pattee. The diameter of the crown is nine inches, and its height to the top of the cross not more than six inches. The cap or part suited to the head is of crimson velvet, turned up with ermine and adorned with pearls. James VII., in 1685, changed the cloth from purple to crimson, the former having been tarnished during the vicissitudes of the civil wars. It is understood that the crown is not more ancient than the reign of Robert Bruce, while the surmounting arches are known to have been added bjj James V. The sceptre is a small silver doubler 217 gilt rod* altogether thirty-four inches in length, and of a hexagonal foiin ; it is embellished and termi- nated by figures of the Virgin Mary, St. Andrew, and St. James, from whose heads a crystal globe is supported ; under the figures are the letters J. R. V. This rod of state was carried by the Lord Chancellor, and when bills had passed the Scottish Parliament they were touched with it, which was equivalent to the royal assent. The sword of state, which is of elegant workmanship, was a present from Pope Julius II. to James IV. ; the handle is of silver gilt, and the guard is wreathed in imitation of two dolphins. On the blade aro the letters Julius II. P. The scabbard is formed of crimson velvet, embellished with open filligreen work of silver. The Lord Treasurer's rod of office is of silver gilt, and of elegant workmanship. Viewing these symbols of Scottish royalty in connexion with the various great events and personages in the annals of the country, they must be productive of sentiments in the minds of Scotchmen of an interesting nature ; and it is credit- able to the taste of the supreme powers, that they should be peimitted to remain in an apartment so appropriate for their disposition. They are placed upon a table, which is enclosed from the roof to the floor by a barred cage. The crown lies on a cushion of crimson velvet, trimmed with gold ; and the whole are seen by the assistance of four lamps, which are 2f . ?ia fixed to the cage. The crown room is open daily to |he public. ^^ . .■_' ii i-l il , ;-ni i:.,i -j^^-^' ■' -• « , ,yr-.; Ai.'l! tJ O^^Ci' ■ ;1 J 'ii ■ .'.. 1 . "■ ?'i ? I STAFFA, OR FINGALS CAVE. .. Stafik, an island of the Hebride8> is remarkable ior its columnar stone formations, and having its Scandinavian name from the reseiliblance of those columns to staffs or staves. It belongs to Argyle- shire, bein^ situated about seven miles N. N.£. of Jura, and about five miles frooi the west coast of Mull, and seven miles north from Icolmkill. Its form is oblong and irregular^ about one mile in length, and half a mile in breadth, is noted for the basaltic pillars which support the major part of the island, and for the magnificent spectacle afforded by the Cave of Fingal, and is one of the most splendid works of nature. This wonderful island was unknown to the world in general, and even to most of th« neighbouring islanders, until the close of the last cen- tury. The basaltic pillars stand in natural colonnades, mostly above fifty feet high in the south-western part, upon a firm basis of solid unshapen rock j above these the stratum, which reaches to the soil of the island, varies in thickness in proportion ta the distri- bution of the surface into the hill and valley* The pillars are of three, four^ and more sides f but the 1 ;;; 219 number of those with five and six exceeds that of the others: one of seven sides measured four feet five inches in diameter. ' The beauties of Staffa are all comprised in its coast : yet it is only for a small space toward the south and south-east that these are remarkable, as it is here that the columns occur westward. The clifl^ are generally low, rude, and without beauty ; but in the north-east quarter there are five small caves, remarkable for the loud reports which they give when the sea breaks in them ^resembling the distant discharges of heavy ordinance. The northmost point is columnar, but it is nearly even with the water. The highest point of the great face is 1 12 feet from the high-water mark. It becomes lower on proceed- ing towards the west, the greatest height above M'Kinnan's cave being 84 (eeU On the west side of Stafia is a small bay, the place where boats usually land. In proceeding along the shore, the superb cavern of Fingal appears— for such is the denomina- tion given to it by the Highlanders, to whom it is known. It is supported on each side by ranges of columns, and is roofed by the bottoms of such as have been broken away. From the interstices of the roof a yellow stalactitic matter has exuded, which precisely defines the different angles ; and, varying the colour, tends to augment the elegance of its appearance. What adds to the granduer of the 2 F 2 220 scene is^ that the whole cave is lighted from without in such a manner that the fartliest extremity is plainly distinguished; while the air within, heing constantly in motion, owing to the flux and reflect of the tides, is perfectly dry and wholesome, and entirely exempt from the damp vapours to which natural caverns are generally suhject. The following are its , dimensions,:— ^..^iuj--. -,-. .-y^i ^m; v^; t,-- — • • '- ''"^■' '-FT. IN. Length of the cave from the rock without 371 6 ^jj^ji;,^!^ Do. yi.j.jr from the pitch of the earth 250 Breadth of ditto at the mouth z^? -v I i; , Do. at the farther end Height of the arch at the mouth Do. at the end Height of an outer pillar - >; ^ ^ c.i r, ; Do. at the north-west comer Depth of water at the mouth h jf -;?; Do. at the extremity As the sea never ehhs entirely, the only floor of this cave is the beautiful green water, reflecting from its white bottom those tints which vary and harmonize with the darker tones of the rock, often throwing on the columns the flickering light which its undulations catch from the rays of the sun without. — The island of StafTa, which has been visited by all the chief scientific travellers of Europe, as well as the most distinguished literary characters of Briton, is grassy \«-'f' JT-^l" 222 a 0? THE ORKNEY ISLANDS. f ) . The Orkney Islands, or Arcades, are a group of islands situated at the northern extremity of Scotland, from which they are separated by the strait of the sea called the Gentland Firth, and lying between the parallels of 58° 44' and 69° 25' north lat., and 0° 19' «ast and 0° 17* west Ion., including thirty-eight uninhabited islets or holms ; they amount to sixty- seven in number, and are scattered over a space of about forty>five geographical miles in length by twenty in breadth. The origin of the name is undoubtedly Teutonic, and is probably derived from orkin, a large marine animal, which has been applied both to whales and seals. Orkney, therefore, means a land of whales or of seals. The Orcades seem to have been esteemed of considerable importance in in the time of Constantine, as they are especially mentioned with Gaul and Briton as the patrimony of his youngest son. Little is known of the Orcades from that time, until the convulsions in Norway, which ended in the elevation of Harold the Fair- haired to the undivided sovereignty of that country. "^' The ancient inhabitants were the Picts, to whom are ascribed the conical towers found on various parfs of the coast of Scotland, one of which exists near Kirkwall. In the ninth century, the Norwegians, led by Harold Harfanger, reduced the Orkney, ',, ., r7-T:f-'" 223 Shetland, and Western is]es^ and in 920 he resigned these possessions to hid brother Sigismund the Elder, who became the first Earl of Orkney. Sigismund and his successors extended their sway over the neighbouring counties of Caithness, Sutherland^ and Ross-shire, but were occasionally defeated and de- prived of a portion of their conquests by the Kings of Scotland, and sometimes deposed by the Kings of Norway, of whom they held their possessions on the terms of feudal homage. The succession to the earldom was at length contested by two cousins, Hacon and Magnus. Hacon finally determined their dispute by murdering his rival a. d. 111(X This deed was perpeti'ated in the Isle of Eagleshay. The body of Magnus was removed to Christ's Churchy, in Birsa, where it was supposed to irradiate celestial light and wrought divers mu'adeis, in virtue of the canonization which the holy maft3nr had received; Hacon, seized by compunctions, endeavoured to- atone for his guilt by making a pilgrim ^e to Rom^ and Jerusalem, and washing himself in the river Jordan. About this period the Bishops of Orkney, who probably long exercised a spiritual jurisdiction in these islands previously are authentically men^ tioned. Ronald, nephew of St. Magnus, became Earl of Orkney, and in fulfilment of a vow built the cathedral q[ Kirkwall, in honour of the saint, and removed his 224 bones to this sacred asylum. The present edifice, with some additions made to it by the bishops, is the same which was then erected. The earldom became vacant ▲. o. 1379, and. was granted, on hard condi- tions, by the King of Norway to Henry Sinclair (or St. Clair,) and continued in his family till a period subsequent to the transfer of Orkney to the King of Scotland. This remarkable event in the history of Orkney occurred a. d. 1468. The Western Isles had been for some time subject to the Scottish sway ; and in this year Christian the First, King of Denmark, who governed Sweden, Norway, and Holstein, mort* gaged the Isles of Orkney and Shetland to the King of Scotland, in pledge for the payment of a considerable debt. The claim to these possessions may be deemed virtually, though not formally, abandoned by the Danish monarch. The Kings of Scotland did not retain peaceable possession of this remote province of their empire. In the year 1470, the second subsequent to the transfer, Sinclair, Earl of Orkney, resigned his earldom to the King of Scot- land. His son by a first marriage became Lord Sinclair, whilst his son by a second was created Earl of Caithness, an ancestor of the present earl. During the minority of James the Fifth of Scotland, the two brothers, deeming the opportunity for re- covering the surrendered inheritance favourable, invaded Orkney ; they were supported by Sinclair, I. 226 governor of Kirkwall, a natural Hon of their family, and were defeated in a pitched battle near the Stones of Stennis ; the earl was killed, and Lord Sinclair made prisoner. The feuds and troubles which con- tinued to disturb the islands, were allayed by the arrival of James the Fifth in person, who resided as guest to the bishop in his palace, a. d. 1636, and settled his government. Grants of the earldom were several times made and revoked ; the dukedom was constituted and conferi'ed by Mary on her favourite, Bothwell. During this period of uncertain rul«, the bishops are described as having exercised a mild and beneficent jurisdiction in spiritual matters. Robert Reid enjoyed the mitre A. o. 1540 : lie filled th« high ofBce of President of the Court of Session at Edinburgh, and negotiated and celebrated the marriage between Mary and the Dauphin of France. He enlarged and adorned the cathedral ; his effigy, with his name subjoined, is represented in relief on the tower of the bishop's palace. The earldom was granted to the Stewarts — Robert and his son Patrick — A. D. 1600; to these personages Orkney and Shetland are ir.debted for the principal renaming monuments of former granduer* Robert enlarged And embellished the palace of Birsa, which had been inhabited^ if not built, by the Earl Sinclair: his son Patrick erected the present palace of Kirkwall. But to defray the expenses of these structures, and 2 G 226 of the magnificence in whicli they indulged, the Stewarts levied arbitrary and oppressive taxes, and at length produced by their tyrannical conduct a revocation of the Royal -Grant. The government of the islands was intrusted to the bishop. On the abolition of the prelacy, the leases of the episcopal lands were granted to the chy of Edinburgh. These, together with the eai'ldom of Orkney and the lordship of Shetland, were, a. d. 1642, conferred in virtue of former grants to the Earl of Morton by King Charles the First. i) iMrr'i'Pi ■''tti' ;^Hl'' : During the usurpation, Cromwell's soldiers were quartered in the island. In 1669, the earldom was annexed to the crown, and erected into a stewardry. In the same year, the bishopric, having been tempo- rarily restored, was finally abolished. The Earl of Morton, having mismanaged his property, oppressed by the vexation which it occasioned him, sold it in 1766 to Lord Dundas, whose represantaiive, the present lord, receives the feu duties. The church lands reverted to the crown, and are subject to the control of the Exchequer. ;:uiThe Cathedral, standing in an open square, is freed from those encumbrances which too frequently not only obstruct the view, but deface the fronts of several of the English Minsters ; its architecture it a respectable specimen of the style of the twelfth eentury, and the plan on which it is constructed is 227 H e re uniform., as with tho exception of the eastern window and some other minor parts, it was the work of one period. The small size ^ the windows anr*. heavy character of the building, are characteristic of the age in which it was built. The length of the Cathe- dral from east to west is 236 feet; its breadth, d6 feet ; the arms of the cross or transept are 30 feet in breaulh ; the height of the roof is 71 feet, that of the steeple, 140. The roof of the nave is vaulted by Gothic arches, supported on each si(^:e by a triple row of columns ; the lowest tier consists of fourteen, each measuring fifteen feet in circumference. The tower is supported by four, measuring each twenty- four feet in circumference. The effect of the massy and regularly-formed columns is imposing : the nave is covered with monumental inscriptions, commemo- rating magistrates and other principal inhabitants of Orkney, and a few stone coffins are scattered about. The partial gleams of day admitted through the small discoloured windows which line the aisles, half choked with grass, augment the sepulchral appear- ance of this portion of the Cathedral. The original design of its builder, pushed beyond its scope by the culpable negligence of its present guardians, would incur the censure of those who object to the usual gloomy character of gothic minsters, designating them rather as mausoleums of dead men than as temples of the living God, But if we regard the 2 G 2 S23 nave as the vestibule of the choir, through which we pass from the restless scenes of this world to the peaceful sanctuary of another, assuredly the records of human mortality, and " the scrolls which teach us to live and to die," are by t^o means inappropriate appendages of its hallowed architecture ; nor has the epithet " religious*' been ill applied to the '' dim light" by which we peruse them. »t- ■>.♦ ,^« .{^.-1^.1 The choir, the only remnant of choral architecture whidi has survived the Reformation in Scotland, is kept with much care. It is furnished with stalls, and adorned by a very elegant east window. The service of the kirk is regularly performed iu it every Sunday. The expenses of the repairs of the Cathedral are defrayed partly by the Exchequer, and partly by the bequest of a pious ind^^idual for that particular purpose^ called in Scotland a mortification. The present state of the Cathedral at Kirkwall confirms the well^authenticated fact, that the tide of devasta^ lion which overthrew the ancient establishments of Scotland at the Rcfonnation, spent its fury ere it had reached Orkney ; and the prejudice against epis- copacy is said to be less violent here than in other parts of Scotland, •ffv^syiq >Tf ?'> •''';if'Ji-!J'i?''.uf '■■uianhi'' The palace of the earls is pleasantly situated at a short distance from the Cathedral. The carvings uudenieath the windows are well executed ; and there remains, besides several apartments and vaults, a hall 1 23S measuring 68 fed in length by 20 in breadth. The building iii in t ruinous and disguHtingly tilthy state. It was erected, as has been already mentioned, by Patrick Stewart. It is an interesting incident in its history that Montrose took refuge within iu walls, and here mnstered his last band of followers. .The episoopiil palace joins that of the earl's; it consists at present of a few mired apartments. A statue af Bishop Reid is sculptured on the exterior of tjlie tower. Near these ancient structures is a modem row of school houses. The residents, of Kirkwall form a pleasant 9«)ciety, and are hospitable to Ptrangers* (This the writer |cnows from experi- ence, having visited nearly the whole of the islands in 1826). The assizes aie held here^ A town so extensiro on the nortli sliore of Orkney, is an object of much interest ; and there is something pecdiarly striking and in)posing on each spot in the appearance of the maany pile and lofty towers of a catJiedral, and the more so when it is viewed as almost the inipidred specimeas of those stately monuments of ecclesiastical grandeur which adorned Scotland previous to the Reformation. On one side of the cathedral rise the venerable ruins of the ancient castle of the Earls of Orkney, and on the other those of the palace of the Bishops ; whilst the masts of the vessels clustered together In the harbour, indicate the present commercial importance of Kirkwall. The 230 mel'.*opoli8 of the northern isles is situated, like that of Corinth, between two seas. Its tranquil dignity exhibits a striking contrast to the turbulence of the waves, which beat the northern and southern shores of the isthmus on which it stands, ^u.^,^^ i^< i yi'm^h^ The principal street of Kirkwall is a narrow, ill-paved lane, of about a mile in length. A square, containing the Cathedral and other of the chief buildings, opens into it. There is a respectable show of shops, and two inns afford fair accommodation. ,•'.• Ji-i. m tvi ■'. 1.. ji- I ., I W I i J • ,H»t /'» ' V['' :^hr ''U« The perils of the Pentland Frith are allowed by the most experienced mariners to be formidable, though much exaggerated. The length of the passage from Dunnet Head, on the west, to Pentland Skenies on the east, may amount to about fifteen miles. The tide varies in rate between nine and three miles in the hour, according to the spring or neap. The spring tide rises eight feet — on extraor- dinary occasions fourteen ; the neap is from 3^ to 6. The flood flows from west to east, proceeding north- wards along the western coast of Scotland, directing its course to the Frith, and then southward along the eastern coast. But some degree of intricacy and consequent difficulty to navigators, arises from the 231 connter-currentfl, which areas rapid as the tide itself; by the strong eddies produced by the intervention of headlands, islands, rocks, and shoals ; and the whirlpools, sometimes formed by the confluence of currents, occasioned by such obstacles that, when raised by gales, are dangerous even to large vessels. The stream flows along the coasts of the Frith, in a direction opposite to that of the central and main current, and the change of tide is perceptible between two and three hours later on the shores than in the mid-channel. The encounter of such rapid tides with violent gales occasions tremendous conflicts: the awful magnificence of the sea, when the ebb-tide meets a storm from the north-west, baflles all description. ;* ,; .-n ,,:*;:.' ^i -.a; -• f;ii»!^' (>; iruir'wi « The greatest danger to be apprehended in the navigation of the Frith arises from calms, especially during a thick fog. Vessels piloted by foreigners, or persons unacquainted .uth the tides, have been known to drift along at the rapid rate of nine miles an hour, while those on board supposed the vessel to be stationary, and did not discover their error till on the point of striking on the coast — a disaster, under such circumstances, apparently inevitable, but often warded off by some friendly counte: iirrent which suddenly diverts their course, and hurries them away into the mid-channel. A difierent result must happen when vessels are drifted into bays 832 Vi or are driven upon sandy beaches. In this manner a large ship entered Dunnet Bay during a mist/ and was wrecked, while - the crew supposed themselves becalme«t on theFrith. The baok'>curpent, seconded by the breeze, which gradually increased, bears many rapidly along, till the ebb-tide, flowing at the rate of soven miles an hour, becomes apparent by the great increase of the swOlL i^^ *' <,ii>'v ..,. ,,..}y^cy.iu The coast of Gaithtie^«Bhire> to the eastward of Duii^ttet Headi is low. Near the shore stands Mey Castk, the sf^t of the Earl of Caithness, in the midst of iisfng plantations; whilst beyond Stroma appears Duncansby Head, the N* B» promontory of Scotland. Hie principal headlands of Hoy, in Orkney, the farthest of which is the Head, rise in fine perspective ote th6 Itft. The wav«s dash majestically high> and ttsmti to form a wall, iitversing tho Frith from coast tO^aSt, '.fOi'vU ti^^firjuq Kiwsir'M i jy,*ii A-m<.'. a vuttuh The waving of the oortt' fields and green pastures of th6 coaM of Hoy, between R^d Head and Cantick H^d, form a cheerful contrast to the lofty and '^eaddd precipices i^ the western fue« of the island. Swinnia, a small island, fam«d foi* the whirlpool pro- duced by the conflicting currents which surround it, callad the Wells of Swinnia, appear in si;fht. This island contains seventy inhabitants. Tho southern approach to the main land of Orkney, tho island of Pomona, is by a channel, several miles in breadth. has 233 interspersed with small islands^ dividing Hoy from South Ronaldsha, two principal islands of the Orkney group. The southern coast of Pomona is indented by two bays, one of which supplies an excellent roadstead for large vessels, and contains the harbour of Stromness, one of the safest in the British isles. On the left of the channel opens, in its full extent, the long and deep harbour of Long Hope, affording secure anchorage for any number of vessels of the largest size, — the best in the Orkneys, being superior in one respect to Stromness, as large vessels can clear out of it more easily. The navigation between the bold and precipitous coast of Hoy, and the many islands which obstruct the passage, is intricate. The only regular communication between Caithness-shire and the Orkneys is by means of a mail-boat, which passes three times a week, when the weather permits, across the narrowest part of the Pentland Frith, where the channel does not exceed twelve miles in breadth. The men employed in this navigation are so well acquainted with the tides, that, availing them- selves of the favourable moment for starting, they shoot across with little risk : and it is remarkable, that there is but one instance of the loss of a mail-boat having occurred during seventy years, so completely has skill converted that chief source of danger in the Frith, the rapidity of the currents, to its own advan- 234 taig6 ; and, such is the steady bearing of the little* bark, that, — m.^kfii(^ei 'hiin>":l'Ui ^v/^>, ^'rk^ • vi^ 'Ml 'fiiku:i^ The waves bouni) beneatb her as a bohie " J ' '^ ^^ That knows his rider.. v C/W,? ,%<; ti?' ^Mr. Atkinson officiated at the following places in the Orkney Islands, in 1826 :— Stroma Island, Swinnia Island, Flotta Island, Gramsay Island, Fara Island, Hoy Island, Walls; South Ronaldshay (Herston Widewell Sand wick), Burra Island, Stron- say and Stronsay P. Island, and North Ronaldshay, Island.. Calvik. — " Zeal, intrepidity, disinterestedness," siays Dr. Robertson, " W6re virtues which Calvin ]()osseBsed in an eminent degree. He excelled iti that Species of eloquence which is calculated to rouse and t6 infltime. Rigid and uncomplying himself, he l^dwed no indulgence to the infirmities of others, l^ote very qualities, however, which now render his character less amiable, fitted him for advancing the iieformation amotig a fierce people, and enabled him to fkce dangers and to surmount opposition, from wldbh a person of more gentle spirit would have be^n opt to shrflik back." He died in 1572. The Earl ^ Morton, who attended his funeral, pronounced the Ibllowihg eulogy upon him : — " There lies he who never feared the face of man !" ;wj sr. J* *.-»■.*;' .' K C-' -I ' ■i.'iO' nvfi^^ |) a *»e tlHAPTEIt VIIT. • ^ i;^JX:t \M juiiv MEMOIR OF .: n. «G RACE H0R8LEY DARHNG^I^ THE HEROINE OF THE fARNE ISLANDS. ■i'UU\ Her's is wann pity's sacred glow, From all her stores she bears a part^- And bids the stream of hope reflow, , ^ That languished in the fainting heart. .ma -t*> T^i'i records of both ancient and modem times afford li s^uerable instances of the' high-souled fortitude and generous heroism which the female sex is capable of displaying at the call of duty or affection. It may be doubted, however, whether there is any nation in ages past, or in our own times, whose history furnishes so many and such striking proofs of those qualities distinguishing the fairer portion of creation as are to be found in the public records and family muniments of our own land. And it is also worthy of remark, that such instances of female devotedness, exhibited amidst the perils of human strife and passion^— or elemental war — are equally characteristic of the daughters of the humblest as of the most wealthy' and dignified classes of society in Great Britain. With no desire to Over-rate the merits of 2 h2 %. 236 our heroine, we may yet be permitted to question whether, amongst the noblest of such displays of courage and humanity which our ountry women have shewn, there are any that are calculated to take a higher ? ice in the estimation of mankind than that which throws a lustre around her memory. There are, indeed, some circumstances which, duly con- sidered, rather tend to distinguish it amongst the class of heroic deeds to which it belongs. We may acknowledge the thrill of admiration excited by the name of England's high-souled queen — Elizabeth — whose personal intrepidity in the hour of impending danger, served to nerve afresh the aniiy and the nation whose destinies she wielded. We may deeply sympathize with and revere the power of endurance exhibited amidst the most crushing strokes of adver- sity by such as " StraJSord's daughter, Russell's wife" — and feel moved by the conjugal devotedness of the Countess of Nithsdale, as well as by the con- stancy and heroism amidst reverses which signalized the career of the ancestress of a family connected with our neighbourhood— the Lady Grizzel Baillie. But it will be found that in almost all these cases there was the excitement either of Iventitious cir- cumstances or of at least seme prospect of personal advantage to nerve the adventurers. The impulse was derived either from high-strung patriotic feeling or from a degree of natural affection which disdained 237 pvptry consideration but the honour or safety of tb^ object on whom it rested ; and that impulse— also, originating in such a source, may have been quickened by the consciousness that high birth and lofty station would of themselves throw a lustre around the sacri- fice in the world's estimation. But none of these motives of action can be traced in connection with tbe intrepid and generous deed which eimobles the name of Grace Darling. The only impulse which could have actuated her to the heroic conduct she displayed was that feeling of pity which is natural to a mind whose philanthropy is universal in its application, and the sole end and aim of which was to extend relief to suffering in whomsoever felt, or in whatsoever shape it presented itself. We cannot conceive that either ambition or the thirst for applause could have mingled in the slightest degree in the feelings by which she was prompted. The innate modesty and retiringness of disposition, which formed so strong a trait of her character forbid such an idea, and constrain us to believe that her only incitement must have been those feelings which the poet describes as universally characteristic of womaii. : j " As is both customary, and appropriate to our design, we commence with a brief outline of the history of one or two of the preceding generations of the family to which the subject of our memoir belonged. The following succinct statement upon this 238 head cannot but prove deeply interesting to our readers generally. Robert Darling, father to the present Mr. William Darling, was a Scotchman, originally located at Dunse, and was by trade a cooper. He came to Belford, where he began business ; becoming also acquainted there with his wife, who was sister to the late respected Mrs. William Brookes of that place ; and there, Mr. Wm. Darling informs us, his father's family of seven children were all born. Robert Darling left Belford to keep the lighthouse upon the Brownsman (one of the Fames), which was at that time only a coal light. With the exception of a short interval, he subsequently filled the situation of lighthouse-keeper until the time of his death. His son, William, the father of our heroine, succeeded him at his post, and has remained light-keeper ever since. He has been upon the island since his earliest •childhood. Mr. Darling was united in marriage to Miss Thomason Horsley, sister to Mr. George Horsley, of Bamborough, who has been for a long time gardener to the Trustees of Bamborough Castle. He transferred his abode from the Brownsman to the now celebrated Longstone lighthouse wh^iu it was first lighted. The lamented Grace Horsley Darling was the seventh child of her parents. She was bom at Bamborough, on 24th November, 1815, in a house situated within 100 yards of the spot where now res her mortal remains.-- • V^ • '"• - - o--^ 239 The incidents of Grace Darling's career previous to the calamity of the shipwreck with which her name is so remarkahly associated are very simple in themselves, though not without much that is striking to persons unaccustomed to contemplate tUe peculiar circum- stftiit^s of her situadon. ... . • s r i><*ii Grace, we helieve, was hahitually resident with her parents on the island, except on occasions when her duties in the management of the household, conjointly with her mother, required her to visit the mainland. The local peculiarities of their sea-girt residence will be noore appropriately described in connection with the incidents of the wreck. But it may here be remarked that the monotony of that island home, amidst the waste of waters, presents by contrast a peculiar idea to the minds of those accustomed to the lively bustle of existence on the crowJed shore»^ of our own island. Living on that lonely spot in the- midst of the ocean -with the horrors of the tempest Aimiliarized to her mind, her constant lullaby the sound of the everlasting deep and the shriek of the wild sea-gull, — her only prospect that of the wide- spreading sea with the distant sail on the horizon-^ Grace Darling was shut out from the active scenes of life, and debarred from those innocent enjoyments of society and companionship which, as a female, must have been dear to her, unaccustomed though she was to their indulgence. » > . , , . . _J. 240 The mental characteristics of Grace Darling are considered to be strongly reflected in her features as shown in her portrait. She had nothing masculine in either her habits, her appearance, or her tone of thought and feeling, although she had so stout a heart. On the contrary, she is described by her most intimate acquaintances as having been of a reserved and retiring disposition, with a strong religious tendency of mind. In person she was about the middle size — of a comely countenance — rather fair for an islander — and with an expression of btfnevolence and softness most truly feminine in every point of view. " When we spoke of her noble and heroic conduct," says one of her visitors, writing shortly after the wreck of the " Forfarshire," " she slightly blushed, and appeared anxious to avoid the notice to which it exposed her; she smiled at our praise, but said nothing in reply — though her look Uie while indicated forcibly that the consciousness of having done so good and so generous an action had not failed to excite a thrill of pleasure in her bosom which was itself no mean reward." ._ .f ji), " Her conscious heart of charity was warm.*' jTvj;^ Other visitors have expressed themselves as having been even still mora strongly impressed with the graces of her personal deportment. Mr. Howitt, the celebrated Quaker poet, in his '' Visits to Remarkable Places in Northumberland and Durham," speaks 241 thus of her : — " She is a little, simple, modest, young womau, I should say of five or six and twenty. She is neither tall nor handsome; hut she has the most gentle, quiet, amiahle look, and the sweetest smile that I ever saw in a person of her station and appearance. You see she is a thoroughly good creature ; and that, under her modest exterior, lies a spirit that is capahle of the most exalted devotion," &c. Alas ! who could have dreamed, at the penod these eloquent words were written, that in the space of five short years the energy of soul which humed heneath that modest demepnour would for ever he quenched in the darkness of the grave ! ' *^* ^'' ''^^'^^"^ ''''^' '■' The Fames, most of our readers know, are a group of islands on the coast of Northumherland, varying in numher from fifteen toahout twenty-five, according to the state of the tide, a numher of them being invisible at high water. The Fame or House Island (the principal in point of size) is situated about two miles and a half from the land, to which it presents a per- pendicular front of about forty feet in height. The Staple Island, or Pinacles, one of the most remarkable of the group, is characterized by three striking basaltic columns of rugged aspect, which rise perpendicularly from the sea, not far from each othe^, at a distance from the island of about twenty yards. The islands have for centuries been celebrated for the immense numbers 6f water-fowl by which they are frequented. 3i ua ..^ The " Forfarshire," a beautiful steam- vessel of 460 tons burden, and 200 horse power, left Hull for Dundee, on Wednesday, the 6th of September, 1838, in company with two Leitli steamers. She had a valuable cargo of miscellaneous goods, and the number of souls on board, both crew and passengers, including Captain Humble and his wife, was sixty-three, it appears that shortly after she left the H umber, her boilers began to leak, but not to such an extent as to exeite any apprehensions ; and she continued on her voyage. The weather, however, became very tem- pestuousj and on the morning of Thursday the 6th,. she passed the Fames on her way northwards, in a very high sea, which rendered it necessary for the crew to keep the pumps constantly at work. At this time they became aware of the alarming fact that the boilers were becoming more and more leaky as they proceeded. At length* when she had advanced a»^ far as St. Abb's Head, the wind having increased to a huriicane from N. N. £., the engineer reported the appalling fact that the machinery would work no longer. Dismay seized all on board; nothing now remained but to set the sails fore and aft, and let her drift before the wind. Under these circumstances she was carried southwards till about a quarter to four o'clock on Friday moiiiing, when the foam became distinctly visible breaking upon the fearful rock a-head. Captain Humble vainly attempted to avert V 243 the appalling catastrophe by running her between the islandt and the main-land ; she would not answer the helm, and was impelled to and fro by a furious sea. In a few minntes more, she struck with her bown foremost on the rock — (its ruggedness is such that at peiiods when it is dry it is scarcely possible for a person to stand erect upon it, and the edge which met the " Forfarshire's" timbers descends sheer down a hundred fathoms deep, or more.) The scene on board became heart-rending. A moment after the jfirst shock another tremendous wave struck her on the quarter, by which she was buoyed for a moment high off the rock. Falling as this wave receded, she came down upon the sharp edge with a force so tremendous as to break her fairly in two pieces, about midships, when, dreadful to relate, the whole of the after part of the ship, containing the principal cabin filled with passengers, sinking backwards, was swept into the deep sea ; and thus was every soul on that part of the vessel instantaneously engulphed in one vast and terrible grave of waters ! ' ' Of the crew and passengers, nine escaped by a boat, which was lowered at the momenf the vessel struck. After tossing about for some hours, they were picked up by the *' Margaret and Isabella" of Montrose. At the same instant that the boat was lowered, a party of eight or nine betook themselves to the windlass on the fore part of the vessel, this portion of her having 2 i2 li-' 244 been left upon the rock, owing to the ipecific gravity of the weight of machinery it contained having enabled it to resist the bufietting of the waves. There was one poor creature, Sarah Dawson, the wife of a weaver, whose sufferings are harrowing to the feelings. She, with her two young children, were passengers in the fore cabin, and they were left in the fore cabin when the vessel parted, the sea lashing upon them for several hours in succession. When aid at length reached them, the unfortunate woman was found with her children lying stiff dead beside her, and the vital spark all but extinct in her bosom ! Her life, how: ever, was preserved, although she was dreadfully bruised, and in a state of extreme exhaustion* ^ ^ v . The sufferers remained in their dreadful situation till day-break — exposed to the buffetting of the waves amidst darkness, and fearful that every rising surge would sweep the fragment of wreck on which they stood into the deep. Such was their situation when, as day broke on the morning of the 7th, they were descried from the Longstone by the Darlings, at nearly a mile's distance. A mist hovered over the island, and though the wind had somewhat abated its violence, the sea, which even in the calmest weather , is never at repose amongst the gorges between these iron pinnacles, still raged fearfully. At the lighthouse there were only Mr. and Mrs. Darling and their heroic daughter. The boisterous state of the sea is 246 sufficiently attested by the fact that at a later period of the day a reward of £6 offered by Mr. Smeddle, the steward of Bamborough Castle, could scarcely induce a party of fishermen to venture off from the main-land, ahityiimu vjuii lt«*a JmiJ iM ;i^«i#ki To have braved the perils of that terrible passage, then, would have done the highest honour to the well tried nerves of even the stoutest of the male sex. But what shall be said of the errand of murcy being undertaken and accompli8he<^ mainly through the strength of a female heart and arm ! Through the dim mist, with the aid of the glass, tl :<^ figures of the sufferers were seen clinging to the wre( I But who could dare to tempt the raging abyss ;Lhat intervened, in the hope of succouring th :iii ^ Mr* Darling, it is said, shrank from the attempt — not so his daughter. At her solicitation the boat was launched, with the assistance of her mother-^and father and daughter entered it, each taking an oar ! It is worthy of being noticed that Mr. Darling acquaints us his daughter Grace never had occasion to assist in the boat previous to the wreck of the '* Forfarshire," others of the fki^-i'dy being always at »>u In estimating the danger vt'hich the heroic adven- turers encountered, theie is one circumstance which ought not to be forgotten. Had it not been ebb tide, the boat could not have passed bet'.veen the k 246 islands ; and Darling and his daughter knew that ihe tide would be flowing on their return, when their united strength, would have been utterly insufficient to pull the- boat back to the lighthouse island ; so that had they not got the assistance of the survivors in rowing back again, they themselves "would have been compelled to remain on the rock beside the wreck until the tide again ebbed, ^uc''^. '^0 It could only have been by the exertion of great muscular power, as well as of determined courage, ihat the father and daughter carried the boat up to Ahe rock ; and when there» a danger-- greater even >tban that which they bad encountered in approach^ ing it— rose from the difficulty of steadying the boat and preventing it from being destroyed oh 4liose sharp ridges by the ever restless chafing and lieaving of the billows. However, the nine sufferers 'were safely rescued. The deep sense which one of the poor fellows entertained of the generous conduct of Darling and his daughter was testified by his eyes filling with tears when he described it. The thrill of delight which he experienced when the boat was observed approaching the rock, was con- converted into a feeling of amazement, which he could not find language to express, when he became aware of the .&ct that one of their deliverers was a female ! .The subsequenC events of Grace Daring's life 247 are soon told. The deed she had done may be said to have wafted her name through all Europe, and to have secured its perpetuity through future ages, alongside of those of the most renowned of her sex. Immediately on the circumstance becoming known, that lonely lighthouse became the centre of attrac- tion to curious and sympathizing thousands, includ- ing many of the wealthy and the great, who in most instances testified by substantial tokens the feelings with which they regarded the amiable young woman. The Duke and Duchess of Northumber- land invited her and her father over to Alnwick castle, and presented her with a gold watch, whicb she always aiterwards wore when visitors came. The Humane Society sent her a most flattering^ vote of thanks ; the president presented her with a^ handsome silver tea-pot ; and she received almost innumerable testimonials, of greater or less value^. from admiring strangers. A public subscription was rauwd with the view of rewarding her for her bravery and humanity, which is said to have amounted to about £700. Her name was echoed with applause amongst all ranks ; portraits of her were eagerly sought for; and tc such a pitch did the enthusiasm reach that a large nightly sum was offered her by the proprietors of one or more of the metropolitan theatres and other places of amusement,, on condition that she would merely sit in a boat for ■:V S48 a brief space during the performance of a piece whose chief attraction she was to be. All such offers were, however, promptly and steadily refused. It is indeed gratifying to state, that amidst all this tumult of applause, Grace Darling never for a moment forgot the modest dignity of conduct which became her sex and station. The flattering testi- monials of all kinds which were showered upon her never produced in her mind any feeling but a sense of wonder and grateful pleasure. She continued, notwithstanding the improvement of her circum- stances, to reside at the Longstone lighthouse with her father and mother — finding in her limited sphere of domestic duty on that sea girt islet a more honorable and more rational enjoyment than could be found in the crowded haunts of the main- land ; and thus affording by her conduct the best proof that the liberality of the public h^ri not been unworthily beistowed. c It is a peculiarly melancholy r^flectioti that one so deserving should have been struck down almost ere yet the plaudits excited by her noble deed had died away; that the grasp of death should have been fastened on her almost before enjoyment could have taught her to appreciate the estimate formed of her conduct. " Whom the gods love die young," 'twas said of old ; and unquestionably the fatality which often attends deserving youth, (and of which e I I I r r a tl I a r( 249 her fate presents so striking an instance,) originated the idea. Consumption was the disease to which she fell a victim. Having shewn symptoms of deli- cate health, she was removed from the Longstone lighthouse, on the recommendation of her medical attendant, to Bamborough, where she remained for a short time under the care of Mr. Fender, surgeon. Finding herself no better, she requested that she might be removed to Wooler for change of air. Her wish was complied with ; but, alas ! she found no relief, and at the request of her father she met him at Alnwick with a view to proceed to New- castle for further medical advice. The Duchess of Northumberland having heard of the arrival of the heroine of the Longstone lighthouse at Alnwick, immediately procured for her a comfortable lodging in an airy part of the town, supplied her with everything requisite, and sent her Grace's own medical attendant to give her the benefit of his medical advice. All, however, was of no avail. Her father was anxiously desirous that she should return amongst her family, and she was accordingly removed once more to Bamborough, where she arrived only ten days before her dissolution. On the day of her removal from Alnwick, her Grace the Duchess of Northumberland, without even a single attendant, and attired in a mo'ot homely manner, repaired to Miss Darlings lodgings for the purpose 2 K 250 of taking her last farewell, which she did with the most unaffected kindness. Shortly before her death, she expressed a wish to see as many of her relations as the peculiar nature of their employ- ments would admit of, and with surprising fortitude and self command, she delivered to each of them some token of remembrance. This done, she calmly awaited the approach of death, and finally, on the 20th of October, resigned her spirit into the hands of Him who gave it, without a murmur. The fuheral took place at Bamborough on the fol- lowing Monday, and was very numerously attended. The pall was borne by William Barnfather, Esq., from Alnwick Castle, Robert Smeddle, Esq., of Bamborough Cajstle, the Rev. Mr. Mitford Taylor, of North Sunderland, and Mr. Fender, surgeon, of Bamborough. Ten of the immediate relatives of the deceased, including her respected father and brother William, as mourners, followed by Mr. Evans, officer of Customs, Bamborough, ^ormed the funeral procession, which was accompanied by an immense concourse of persons of all ages and grades in society, many of. whom seemed deeply affected. The idea of commemorating Grace Darling's exploit by the erection of a (chapel on the largest of the Fame Islands, has been for some time before the public. Whatever may be the merits of this ^51 design, its appropriateness is peculiarly striking. The deed proposed to be commemorated was one originating in those feelings of mercy and benevo- lence which are most pleasing in the si^ht of the Supreme Being, as reflecting the Divine attributes; and how could it be more fitly commemorated than by the erection of a fane which, while it would pro- mote the glory of His name, would also do honour 10 the memory of the humble instrument by whom such characteristics were so strikingly manifested. ■I .' Hebrew Women. — Wherever the women of the Hebrews are to be found, (and where are they not ?) they still exhibit the type of that intellectual beauty which subdued Egypt and refonned the penal statutes of Persia ; and their fine heads are cited by science as models of the highest moral confirmation. Bright thoughts flash from their bright eyes, quick perceptions animate their noble lineaments; and if the force of circumstances is no longer directed to elicit the high qualities of an Esther or a Judith, the original of .be picture, drawn by the prophet king, of the virtuous woman " whose price is above rubies," may be fouiid among the Jewish women of moc^ern as of ancient times ; for " they eat not the bread of idleness," ai -i " the hearts of their husbands trust in them." 2k2 . ■;: ■ '-'■■■ .^_ ■■ ' ' . ■ V, V;i"/ ■ '.; ■■;/■'- ' '■ * ^- '?';|fii4l*i^: :^t^%fl, CH AFTER IX, -t-*'-^^* im0!r-h ^ii'* Sir^"l>ik.v tmwjivii^'^ > ■> *v^j rT .-n^^i^oit^o-q h'«^u>*ii'i' ■ -tvs'i«,Nf4#'fefi'Sf.i#t*mm • ': ' ii^'Mi.'t ns.'V!,(l;j',m'^i?r» THE MUTUAL DEPENDANCE OF MANKIND. "' Human nature is evidently endowed with a vanety of appetites and desires, adapted to ihe various objecti v/bich are capable of supplying its wants, or of fur- nif:hiiig it with pleasures. The body stands in need of coii:i3taRt sijpporr., which is not to be procured %vithout coU'uieraWp art and labour. This art and labour must be groatly increased, if not only the necessiaTie^, \mt d]so the cciveniences and elegancies of life are desired, and the refinements of sense con- sidered as objects of pursuit. The senses are not only inlets of pleasures merely corporeal, but of others, alao, of a more refined and delicate kind, of which the mind, under the infiuence of fancy, is the ciiief percipient. Hence they open a very extensive field of human enjoyment, and claim *he whole com- pass of nature to administer materials for the fine arts. The mind of man is eagerly desirous of know- ledge, and wishes to dis:;over the relations, the causes, ard the effects, of the various objects that are pre- sented to it. Not only corporeal wants and appetites, the senses of beauty, of harmony, and of magrtj'lrence, an I ihe love of knowledge, subject men to "jsities 253 which inust be supplied, or ofTer to him pleasures which he cannot but desire ; he is also actuated by various affections, some selfish, and some benevolent, which serve as constant spurs to action, and impel him into various tracks, according to the different complexions of their objects. . , ., >, ., .„_ .. ,y^ Such is the nature of man; and from what has been said above, as well as from other considerations on which I shall slightly touch, it is evident, that each individual is insufficient, not only for his own per- fection, but even for the supply of his most urgent necessities. The other animals are, by nature, provided with defence and covering, with subsistence and shelter. They soon attain full vigour and the complete exercise of their powers, and, without instruction or succour, can apply them with certainty to their respective ends. But man, as he enters into the world naked, defenceless, and unprovided with subsistence, so, without the assistance and co-opera- tion of his species, he must ever remain in the most abject and comfortless condition. The inclemency of the seuJORs, the sterility of the earth, the ferocity of savage anima' b, his natural imbecility, oppose to his comfortable existence so many and so powerful obstacles, as he could never expect, of himself, to surr ouit, H'; is assailed by evils which he cannot r- nei, subjtct to wantj* which he cannot supply, and surrounded by objects, iThioh he cannot, by his own 254 •treogth, convert to his use. Destined for society, be is immediately thrown on its care, and bound, by his own weakness, to contribute to its strength. Designed ito form the most intimate -union with his fellow-men, lie is constituted miserable and destitute without them ; but, constrained by this circumstance, to join his efforts to theirs, he derives the most astonishing acquired power from his natural imbecility. Fur- nished with capacities greatly superior to instinct, he at first exercises them in a manner greatly below it:; jand, formed for infinite vimprovement, he proceeds from the smallest beginnings ; but can neither begin nor proceed, without the co-operation of his fellow- ^men. •iiJ-A^'-,' ''i.' t. .-■.?. t' ^<^;If^fc:^i: ^^fi^^ What multiplication of ingenuity, what combination «of industry, what concunence of different abilities, ;are requisite not only to carry to perfection, but even ito invent and exercise, with any tolerable degree of ^dexterity, those mechanical arts and employments^ ^which exalt the citizen above the savage, which sweeten and imbellish social life, which furnish all that variety of convenience and pleasure we daily behold and enjoy, and which, from the most helpless of the animal creation, render man the lord of the world. Will the forest be felled and moulded into furniture, the quarry be dug and p^ lished into mate- rials for building, the marsh drained and converted into arable land, the overflowing river confined to its • 255 proper channel, the inferior creatures constrained to > succour human weakness by their superior strength, or their spoils be manufactured into clothing ? will the superfluities of one country supply the deficiencies of another, and navigation unite the most distant regions by the mutual and permanent ties of beneficial commerce P will all this, and much more, which I forbeai' to enumerate, be accomplished without the united and justly regulated efforts of the human species, and the equal application of the talents of each to the common interest P Will the secret springs be explored, and the laws which Bhe observes through all her diiferent provinces be investigated, unless time and op^ortimity are furnished to the acute and the ingenious, by means of a commodiouet subsistence provided for them, by the labour and industry of those whose faculties are less refined a'^tli eXalteU* -..i^fr-iTstr- -^iw^^ 1'-/.^ ::■;!■•■. i., r ''r.i^ ■ . trs / J^J',■';<'^^ i Thus, it appears that, as each individual is totally insufficient for his own happiness, so he must depend, in a great measure, on the asi^i&tance of others for its attainment ; and that, however much any one may contribute to the benefit of his fellow-men, by the excellence and splendour of his abilities, whether natural or acquired, he derives from them as mucii' .\^ he can bestow, and frequently much more than he If the union of all be necessary for the sustenance. k\ 266 :n. iose which are exercised in offices of power and authority. As reason, however, loudly dictates the institution of these for the common good of the human race, so she requires that they fall to the lot of those who are qualified to discharge them. When this actually takes place, the order of nature is observed, and all its happy consequences ensue. When this order is overturned, and the different departments of society, but especially those of the highest dignity and use, are committed to such as are incapable of discharging the 'luties of them, all the dismal effects of folly, injustice, and confusion are spread through the whole of the social frame, and the evils of that inequality, which the corruption and blindness of mankind have introduce.!, are severely felt. When the talents and " its )f men are allowed th^ir free course, are permiUed a fair field for their 2J7 exercise, and are not depriveJ of those rewards which are by nature annexed to the i, there can never be any ground to complain of inequality amonp; men. For, however unequal their abilities and opportunities may be in themselves, the most perfect equality exists in tlie distribution of the rewards and advan- tages annexed to each by the constitution of nature. The good effects of universal industry, and the proper application of the powers of every individual, so as to produce the greatest good upon the whole, are then felt through all the social body. Every person possesses that degree of wealth, of consideration, and of honour, to which he is entitled by his honest industry, or by his services to the public. The active and the noble minded exert all their powers for the common welfare, in the most efficacious and illustrious manner. The indolent and selfish are constrained, by the indigence and contempt into which they must otherwise fall, to contribute their share to it. But, when power and riches are employed to frustrate virtue oi the respect which is its due, abilities of the distinction and influence which they justly claim, and honest industry of its natural fruits, a most shocking inequality takes place, which can only subsist in con- junction with the most odious tyranny. In propoi cion as this oppression prevails, which throws the principal advantages of society into the hands of a few, — by no means the most respectable of its members, — and 2l 2^8 1 1 renders it a patrimony and inheritance, of which they may dispose at pleasure^ society is corrupted and miserable. In proportion ai that equality is main- tained, which the Creator has established, and which consists, not in all the members of the social body being placed on a level, but in mutual de})endan6e and parity of obligation among all, amidst a Tariety of distinctions, conditions, and ranks, society is happy, free, and flourishing, securing to each individual the full enjoyment of all his natural advantages, insuring to the public the complete product of the efforts of all, well-directed and justy>combined ; uniting all the members of the social body by the ties of mutual interest and benevolence, and preserving as much Uberjty as is consistent with dril union. /iM,»ki mmiiMifil' ^»i}fiHt'.H'm''.-LUv) f»ouj Hill ii.i\'rmik)t/ fi'^Mi.i.'ri».i 'n\\' ■i■m^l>ip^ RELIGION— NAT URAL AND REVEALED.' u Whatever difference of opinion may exist among mankind as to the value and abstract nature of religious principles and observances, one conclusion cannot fail to be admitted, even by that class of per- soBS who vauntingly boast of being beyond the reach of I any religious influence, namely, that if the general doctrines of religion be supported by such a degree of rational proof as their advocates allege, then theology must be confessed to be by far the most important ;*.. 369 'inquiry that can occupy the mind of a human being. in the short space which the limits of this work can allot to the consideration of this vital subject, it cannot be expected that we should even be able to give a bare enumeration df the principles of natnnd and revealed religion in fldl their ramifications and bearings. What is faitended here, is merely to make a few generd remarks which may guide the judgment of the reader when examining theological topics, and prevent him from entertaining false and erroneous notions in reference to the nature and degree of evidence by which they are supported. '*^''«^^'''"" *' "' Religion, with us, obviously divides itself into two ^dnds, natural religion and revealed religion. It is not our province to enter into nice aoid intricate discussions as to the boundaries of each, or to ascertain the point •at which one begins and the other ends. The division now made is agreeable to common ussge; and, like all usages of a sinrilar kind, must have had its origin in clear and well-defined distinctions in the nature of •things. ' '"• . ^1,--:- is...-^r.ni Natural religien includes "HHx primary notions as to the existence and attributes of a superior intelligent power ; our impressions of another state of existence after death ; and the doctrine of future rewards and punishments. The more circumstantial and minute our inquiries on this subject, the more clearly do we {)erceive th&t man comes into the world possessed of 2 l2 260 the elementai'y principles of religion, adoration and fear. To whatever spot of earth we direct our atten- tion, we there see the emhlems of a firm helief in some all-powerful and intelligent cause. We meet with priests and temples, rites and ceremonies, and a regularly et>tablished and organized system for the purpose of keeping up a religious intercourse with that being who is feared and adored ; and so common are these signs of religious worship in the different nations of the earth, that it may safely be affirmed that there is not one well-authenticated exception to the universality of the practice. It is perfectly true that the objects of religious veneration have been in all ages, and are at the present day, among heathen nations, exceedingly diversified and uniformly absurd ^ but still the vast importance which every country attaches to its own deity and its own peculiar mode of worship, fully warrant us in drawing the conclusion, that religion must have its foundation in the nature 'of man. 'IHf'HI )?fi=i«')mij*f^ M^n-^fvifvyw '^n*^ •f?f^?)'V»< Revealed religion may be regarded as including the doctrines and precepts of the Old and New Tes- taments. The fundamental principles of natural religion are here more fully illustrated and established; and the faint intimations of nature become invested with all the powerful vividness of reality. But in addition to the most complete confirmation of natural theology, the scriptures contain some peculiar doctrines 261 and precepts of which the constitution oi our nature gives us no intimation ; or, at least, if there be any such intimation, it is of such a weak and evanescent kind, is not to exercise any practical influence over our opinions and conduct. The eyidences for the truth of natural and revealed religion are of the most conclusive description,^'^ biif.(p:) /.dJ jjv imurtm ■ The writer intended to follow the genei'al and popular division of them in two kinds ; namely, the external and internal eviiences, but space will not allow lU .' f,rt' -J'rj* irViiUi' ;3«0.lT*»» :.;»* '•■» J . . i^^j^ii • -i.-i •■ " ♦-'' »i')li*,' \fitl>t^i f.iH^'ii'* u-^-tfT'-ifM EZEKIEL'S VISION OF THE WHEELS. . |/» i9i-.-v.| (fe-* •n7' - ' '^ id r »A;llt 'Hf'ii i •'(:. U l.. -.iV It is a strange thing, but so it is, that very brilliant spirits are always the result of mental suffering, like the fever produced by the wound. I sometimes doubt tears and often lamentations, but never the existence of tliat misery which flushes the cheek and kindles the eye, and makes the lip mock, with spark- ling words, the dark and hidden world within. oai* U-^^'^^"-*«vii^i"'i^ SOLOMONS TEMPLE. . ■ ■ vrij -i:u.iu.-. - ■ . ^. .: -• -ii ;:"tF-^y/; This magnificent edifice was bnilt on Mount Moriah, at Jerusalem^ The foundations wete laid in the fourth year of Solomon's reign, which was «^3 second after David's death, the 480th after the £xodus> and 1011 b. c. David had made great preparations ior building the temple, and had collected a vast quantity of gold and silver, and other metals and materials^ before his death. On Solomon's accession to the throne^ he immediately made contracts with foreign princes to furnish materials to carry on the stupendous work. He caused a census id be taken of all the Canaanitish and other slaves in Israel, that he might arrange his labours and send abroad for the most skilful artificers and the richest materials. He found 1^3,600 slaves; 70,000 of whom he appointed to carry burthens, 80>000 to hew timber and stone in the: mountains, and the rofnaining 3,600 as o'verseers. He also levied 30,000 men out of Israel,* and directed them to work in LebanoD one month in every three; 10,000 every month under the inspection of Adoniram. These it seems wene mere rough hewers of stone and timber ; for after-' wards the materials jmssed through the hands of the 2 M 266 Tyrian artificers^ and were conveyed to Joppa on floats, whence Solomon had them conveyed to Jeru- salem. Every piece was finished before it was taken to Jerusalem. The temple was completed in seven years. It cost near one thousand millions sterling, r THE TABLE OF SHEWBREAD. .,1/. rt; At the time of the conquest of Spain by the Arabs, the Moslem general, Taric, found Toledo, a rich precious table, adorned with hyacinths arid emeralds. Gelief Aledris, in his description of Spain, calls this remarkable piece of antiquity, " The Table of Solomon, Son of David.*' This table is supposed to have been saved by the Jews, with other precious and sacred vessels from the pillage of the temple by Nebuchadnezzar, and brought with those fugitives who found their way into Spain. Indeed some writers do not hesitate to assert that there is little doubt of this having been the original " Table of Shewbread" made by Solomon, spoken of in the Book of Kings and Josephus, and which, with the candlestick and altar of incense, constituted the three won- ders of the temple. That table which Titus brought with him on his triumphal retum to Rome was clearly not the same; for when the city and temple, after the destruction, were rebuilt by the order of Cyrus, the sacred vessels were made anew ; similar indeed to the old, but of inferior excell6;;ce. m: 267 U^v.Habakkuk, 2nd Chapter, 4th VBRsEimm IfOy fff ^' ?''♦!•* :^ Latin — Justus autum exfide suavi.' ■ v'^i- J' '^^ ^^'^t Arabic — Vaaile rninal aj manj jaccay.^- * ' ■ • ^^t^^ -i^*>v Chaldee — Vet zaddi kaiaa ekuske thonjith kai jer mum. French — Maisle juste vivra de safer. Garlic — Ach mair-iaham fireanbeo leachreid earn*. Irish — Dee yow e-en feerian flaw haumusle creddif. Welsh — Y cy fivion af ydd b jus tony fy is. ,.,{- ,.^yi ; v•',i^?J;; •• ■ .. „: .,:.». ,,. THE IMPORTANCE OF PUNCTUALITY. Method is the very hinge of Business; and there is no Method without Punctuality. Punctuality is important, because it subserves the peace and good temper of a family; the want of it not only infringes on necessary duty, but sometimes excludes this duty. The calmness of mind which it produces is another advantage of Punctuality. A disorderly man is always in a hurry ; he has no time to speak to you, because he is going elsewhere ; and when he gets there, he is too latefor his business, or he must hurry away to another before he can finish itt Punctuality gives weight to character. " Such a 2 M 2 268 man has made an appoiotinent — then I know he will keep it.'* And this generates Punctuality in you ; for, like other virtues, it propagates itself. Servants and children must he punctual where their Leader is lir Appointments, indeed, become dehti. I owe you Punctuality ; I have made an appointment with you, and have no right to throw away your time if I do my o^n* ;.«<'■■♦»'.» mJ jf*\f%i ' n ' ^r* I » IV > .'itido hi )k — ■AhM'ty i;i,f„ AN IMPORTANT TEOTH, ,_,:.ff He that is before all things is not a thing ; " '^""'^ And he that is not a thing is not a creature ; For every creature is a thing : And he that is not a creature must be the Creator ; And that this Creator is God, ^.j,.. :;=??= '-; '- : ! t FJUOWERS. r-i ^^ flowers, of all created things the most innocently simple, and most superbly complex — playthings for childhood, ornaments of the grave, and companions of the cold corpse ! Flowers, beloved by the wander- ing idiot, and studied by the deep-thinking man of science ! Flowers that unceasingly expand to heaven their grateful, and to man their cheerful looks — partners of human joy ; soothers of human sorrow ; Hi emblems of the victor's triumphs, and of the 269 young bride's blushes ; welc^ me U> the crowded hall»» and graceful upon solitary graves ! Flowers are in the Tolume of nature what the expression " God is love" is in the volume of revelation. What a desolate place would be i^ ^rorld without a flower ! It would be a &c without a smile--Hi feast without a welcome* Are not flowers the stars of the earth ! and are not our stars the flowers of heaven ? One cannot look closely at the structure ot a h^} ver without loving it. They are the emblems and manifestations of God's Ipve to the creation, uad ;hey are the means and mir^^trations of man's love -.^ his fellow-creatures: for they first awaken in his mind a sense of the beantiful and good. The very inutility of flowers is their excellence and great beauty ; for they lead us to thoughtl of generosity and moral beauty, detached from, and superior to all selfishness ; so that they are pretty lessons in nature's book of instruction, teaching man that he liveth not by brmd lione, but that he hath another than animal life. y.\' !-.;? •■• .•! 't,-f •"f'i :*i'n :ril-],iy> [f/fi; THE RESTING ^LACE. " So man lieth down, and risetn not till the heavens be no more ; they shall not wake, nor be raised out of their sleep." "'^" However dark and disconsolate the path of life may 270 seem to any man, there is an hour of deep and quiet repose at hand, when the body may sink into dreamless slumber. Let not the imagination be startled, if this . esting-place, instead of the bed of down shall be thr bed of gravel, or the rockv pave- ment of the tomb. No matter where the remains of wearied man may lie, the repose is deep and undis- turbed — the sorrowful bosom heaves no more; the tears are dried up in their fountains; the aching head is at rest; and the stormy waves of earthly tribulation roll unheeded over the very bosoms of the pale nation of the dead — ^not one of the sleepers heed the spirit-stirring triumph or respond to the rending shouts of victory. How quiet these countless millions slumber in the arms of their mother earth ! The voice of thunder shall not waken them ; the loud cry of the elements— the winds, the waves, nor even the giant tread of t'm earthquakes, shall be able to cause an inquietudf hi the chambers of death. They shall rest and pass away ! the last great battle shall be fought ; and then a silver voice at first just heard, shall rise to the tempest tone, and penetrate the voiceless grave. — For the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall hear his voice. 'U';V,.->Ji (.,: f • • :,'■? r ;:•.;; if.; '.h '■■ •f;!;r ,■ Circumstances form the character, but like petri- fying waters, they harden while they fonn. :?v/i' ji 271 EMBLAMATIC PROPERTIES OF FLOWERS. The fair lily is an image of holy innocence ; the purpled rose a figure of heartfelt love ; faith is represented to us in the blue passion flower ; hope beams forth from the evergreen; peace from the olive branch ; immor- tality from the immortelle; th(> cares of life are represented by the rosema^ , « victory of the spirit by the palm; modes he blue fragrant violet ; compassion by the p a^ andship by the ivy ; tenderness by the myrtle , affectionate remi- niscence by the forget-me-not ; German honesty and fidelity by the oak leaf; unassumingness by the corn-flower (the cyane), and the auriculas: "how friendly they look upon us with child-like eyes." Even the dispositions of the human soul are expressed by flowers. Thus silent grief is pourtrayed by the weeping willow ; sadness by the angelica ; shuddering by the aspen ; melancholy by the cypress ; desire of meeting again by the stai'wort; the night- smelling rocket is a figure of life, as it stands on the frontiers between light and darkness. Thus, nature, by these flowers, seems to betoken her loving sympaty with us; and whom hath she not often more consoled than heartless and voiceless men were able to do P I t Conversation derives its greatest charm, not from the multitude of ideas, but from their application. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A O '% .*t^ ^ is ^ /. Sf ^^ ^^ i 1.0 I.I 11.25 ■fo ^^" MBB m 1 2.0 Photographic Sciences Corporation 4s !1? V <^ ^. O^ 23 WHT MAIN tTRIIT WIUTIR.N.V. USM (716)I73-4S03 '^ ^A^ ,.^ . o^ *, •;.'k' ^BM'i 272 ^ WMJ A STRIIN bishop; The metropolitan with whom I lodged (Mutrui Isttl) WM a man of middU tige, with a lace full of ipood aatttre, and an agreeable diflpo«itioo» He lived in the most unofttentations and temperate manner^ as hecame, in the eyea of hia people^ the lanctiiy of his iiffice. Some of his prietta apt^giaed repeatedly ibr my humble accommodatkms, and reftninded me that I must not e^ipaet more in the house of a bishop. The honse itself, which be held rent free, had but three rooms. In one of them the bishop lodge^, another was occupied by a servant^ and the thiM asttgned to mor Motxan Isai suggested immediately upoD my arrival that I should proeuxe my food, and have it cooked without, as he had sot t^e means of pcoviding for me within. His domestic establishment waa iadeed of the most humble order* A few metidlic plateay a f(Nrk, a spoon, a dfinking''glas»and a napkin, coaatitttted the entkre fumitttve el hia table. He spent the day in his room, excepting the houra of morning and evening prayers* When these approached :h(e put on a neatly aritu^fod turban, with an ample daak^ and taking the croaier (simple silvM tipped staff) in his hand, walked slowly to the church, and commenced the services. His room was open to all, and I seldom found him alone. The poorest of his flock came and knelt before htai, and kidsed his hand ; and the aggiieved brought theh: complaints. S73 HYMN OP THE UNIVERSE. Roll od, thou Son ! for ever roU, Thou giant, rushing through the^heaven Creation's wonder, nature's soul ! Thy golden wheels by angels driven ; The planets die without thy blaze. And cherubim with star-dropt wing Float in thy diamond-sparkling rays. Thou brightest emblem of their King 1 i'H j{ Roll, lovely earth ! and still roll on. With ocean's azure beauty bound ffd$\ While one sweet star, the pearly moon, ■* snm'^> Pursues thee through the blue profound ; And angels with delighted eyes ,<,, ,/vm ,^, Behold thy tints of mount and stream, (^^1% From the high walls of paradise ; Swift whirling like a glorious dream. Roll, planets ! on your dazzling road. For ever sweeping round the sun ; What eye beheld when first ye glowed ; What eye shall see your courses done ? Roll in your solemn majesty, ' Ye deathless splendour of the skies; ^^ v^^iW High altars from which angels see ' The incense of creation rise. 2 N ^f f: T^'afj'.if' t 274 Roll comets ! and ye million stars; Ye that through boundless nature roam ; Ye monarchs on your flame winged cars ! Tell us in what more glorious dome, What orb to which your pomps are dim> What kingdom but by angebtrod— , Tell us where swells the eternal hymn Around His throne— where dwells your God. r*^ ,tM .#» THE SUN. ,nn Etb of thy maker, which hath never slept Since the Eternal Voice from chaos said "Let there be light T'^gtesA monarch of the day. How shall our dark, cold strain, fit welcome speak. Fit praise ?-*Lo ! the poor pagan kneeling, views Thy burning chariot, to the highest sky Roll on resistless, and with awe exclair [creed, "The god I— The god!"— And shall we blame his For whom no heaven hath op^n'd, to reveal '^ A better fiuth .^ Where else could be descry Such image of th^ Deity P— such power , With goodness blei;iding ? — ^From the reedy grass, Wiry and sparse, thl^tin the marshes springs. To the most tremulous and tender shoot Of the Mimosa^— from the shrinking bud, ] »d. ^ ik, m eed, his *'j iSS| 275 Nursed in the green-hoase, to the knarl'd oak« Notching a thousand winters on its trunk — All are the children of thy love, oh! Sun ! — And hy thy smile sustained. Unresting orh ! — Pursu'st thou, 'mid the labyrinth of suns Some pathway of thine own ? — say, dost thou sweep With all the marshaU'd planets in thy train^ | In grand procession on, thro' boundless space. Age after age, toward some mysterious point Mark'd by Uis finger, who doth write thy date, Thy " mene — mene — tekel," on the walls Of the blue vault that spans our universe-^ — But thou, who rul'st the Sun — ^tbe astonished soul Faints, as it takes thy name. Almost it feats To be forgotten, 'nrid the myriad worMs Which thou hast made^ "''^^,f- And yet the sickliest leaC ; The feeblest efBorescence of the moss. That drinks thy dew, reproves our unbeliefs The frail field lily, which no florist's eye .^ Regards, doth win a garniture from Thee, To kings denied. So, while to dust we bow, Needy and poor — oh ! bid us learn the lore Grav'd on the lily's leaf, as fair and clear As 0*1 yon disk of fire — to tm$l in Thtt, 2 n2 276 THE DEITY. j'fiij " Thy way is in Ihe sea, and thy paths in the great waters; and thy footsteps are not known." *''^ " Why hidest thou thy face from me?"— Pf. Ixxvii. 19. Tell me, ye seas that boundless roll« Ye ocean caves profound ; vs^^ -' 4 ;^iU ," Hold ye creation's mighty soul '^ ^^ "■ A captive, prison-bound ? 'mi^omqhtm^ til Are ye the dread abode ' *^^ ^^^^ ^ -''' Of him the present God ? ^^ *'^^ t«^ ^ ^^^f Hoarse murmured Ocean's heaving breast,— *ir^ *• He dwells not in our crystal caves—- ^_, He walks not in odr pathless waves : ^jyi' For him they flow, for him they rest: ; ^^f His they are, and are to be. Till Time o'ertake Eternity !"* Tell me, tfeti ^cdy-tohihfe wind. Ye cloudy halls on high ; Hold ye creation^s Sovereign Mind A captive in the sky ? Sits he in your dark abode. The thunder-crowned God ? Loud spoke the voices of the storm,— f^*| " No home hath here creation's King^lv Vr •-IJ jJaiflW I ■ 'If' 277 He rides the wind on fiery wing: The thunders free his dread right arm : For him they speak— for him are still » They own and work the Godhead's will !" Answer me, thou life-teeming earth, And ye bright worlds above. Who sang creation's dawning birth — Hold ye the Lord of Light and LoveP And are your burning rays His glory's shadowed blaze ? Forth shouted earth— forth sang each star, — " Not here the great Jehovah's throne—* Not here abides the Mighty One! We sing his praise from pole to pole,^ ' But hold not here creation's soul T^*^^^ Mysterious power ! unconfined By earth or heaven's decree: Ah ! how many mortals, frail and blind, Uplifl; their hope to thee? nw iiim, Thick darkness robes thee round : Where may'st thou, Lord, be found ? Then answered He, the Unseen Mi.id,— " Go, mortal !" span infinitude. Or grasp the sunbeam's blazing flood : Go ! stay the seas, or chain the wind ; They own, they work their Maker's will : Repent, adore, and be thou still!" 278 STANZAS. .li iJ yfIT There is a home of peaceful rest, To mourning wand'rers given ; There is a tear for souls distrest, A balm for every wounded breast, ^ Tis found above in heavenZ ' "'- There is a soft, a downy bed,,^ , ^^ ^^^^^^ Tis fair as breath of even ; , j, ^^ ^ A couch for every mortal spread^, , Where they may rest the aching head. And find repose in heaven. There is a home for [weeping souls, > ^ By fl&n and sorrow driven ; When toss'd on life's tempestuous shoals, When storms arise, ajad pceaA rolls, ^,^ |^ And all is drear but heaven. ^ ^ There faith lifts up the tearful eye, '^^ The heart with anguish riven ; • "nl<|l, , And Views the tempest passing by, %., . The evening shadows quickly fly, ■ ^ And all serene in heaven, .an mdT There fragrant flowers immortal bloom, And joys supreme are given ; *^ *^ There rays divine disperse the gloom. Beyond the confines of the tomb. Appears the dawn of heaven. '>t ^, '*H. » 279 .B BRIGHT CHRY8TAL WATER. ,'« f^-' Bright crystal water breaking From moflsy rock or hill. Like spirit whispers waking The marmurs of the rill! Thy doads and dews nurse flowers, Deck'd like an eastern queen. And give the woods and bowers Their lobes of smiling green. Thou mak'st the bloom of roses Rest on the healthy cheek ; The laughing eye discloses The joys that need not speak—- Friends thou hast never parted. Pure product of the sky. Nor left the broken-hearted To pine away and die. Come, sweet as morning breezes. Refresh the lowly laid ; Come, cool the beat that seizes Their lips and fever'd head — Go, banish the distresses Of wand'rers faint with thirst ; Where Afric's sun oppresses. Let streams and fountains burst U(j« j»li, I d80 'Mid Arab deterU weary, The drooping^ camels stand ; No tents nor palm trees cheery Bespot the burning sand. O, worse than death by slaughter^ The pilgrims on the plain : There is no living water, , , ,^ To bring to hfe again! ...... ^ Roll on, thou mighty ocean, ''^f^hak Thy treasure makes us Uest ; A thousand ships in motion Are sailing on thy breast Ye lofty rocks and mountains^ Send waters to the plain •»'^^snfil »ifr O swell, ye clouds, the fountains,^^^ And rivers to the main ! *^('*f^? ^ fT is in Xi'.«.Hl/ The wine that tunes the sweeti^ ^^ Of wild birds in their song, ^|q i>T '^« And gives the deer its fleetness That bounds its plains along-— ^0mi>C^ We drink, and feel no madness bii Steal wildly o'er the brain ; ^^ .s^m-'^: And without pain or sadness, ^ We drink, and drink again ImMd ,or) J. PKABOB, iVV.j PniMTKBy H10H>BTBEBT, 8HBFFIBLD. '"^^-fii^"^ ■--*■-