« ForrigeFortsett »
stated fast-days, to which they most religiously adhered. | lamity which was thus averted, when we reflect that And in modern times the same may be said of the Bra- the city was so immensely populous that it contained inins and the Chinese and numerous other nations that no less than six-score thousand persons who were so have never been favored with the superior blessings of young that they could not discern between their right Christianity. And, in addition all this, we are told hand and their left hand, and also much cattle. Other that so much importance was ascribed by Mahomet to examples to the same purpose might be brought forthe observance of the duties of this description, that he ward, if necessary; but this may suffice. was accustomed to say that fasting was the very gate If, then, solemnities of this kind may be rendered of religion, and that the fragrance of the mouth of him so highly beneficial to those who observed them, how that fasted was more grateful to God than that of musk. important is it that we should distinctly understand We mention these examples to show, that when the with what spirit, and in what particular manner they human mind is not entirely destitute of a sense of re- ought to be attended to, that God himself may condeligious obligation, it is naturally led to express its sor- scend to look favorably upon them, and to crown them row, in times of great public distress, by having re- with his heavenly bendictions. course to such solemn exercises as those in which the From a careful examination of the sacred Oracles, people of this country are now engaged. And I am we may safely conclude that the duties appropriate to strongly inclined to believe that no one, that is not a such a day as this are the following: First, abstinence professed or practical atheist, can look upon such a from food, as far, at least, as the state of our health will scene as this with indifference, or sullenly refuse to par- permit; secondly, devout and penitential confessions of ticipate in those acts of piety and patriotism by which our manifold sins and transgressions, both as individuit is characterized.
als and as a nation, with a full purpose of mind, But when we go to the sacred Volume, that “sure through Divine assistance, to reform what is wrong in word of prophecy, unto which we do well to take heed ourselves, and, as far as possible, to use our influence as unto a light that shineth in a dark place,” we are for the suppression of vice and irreligion, and for the furnished with the most conclusive evidence, that such diffusion of good morals and genuine piety throughout demonstrations of national grief are highly acceptable the land; thirdly, reverential acknowledgements of the in the sight of God, and, if performed in a proper spirit, wisdom and rectitude of the divine Being, in any afflicwill be instrumental in averting his judgments, and in se- tive dispensation that he may have been pleased to send curing a bestowment of his richest blessings upon those upon us, united with earnest supplications that his who thus humble themselves under his gracious and righteous judgments may not be continued and multiall powerful hand. A very remarkable example to this plied against us; and, fourthly, expressions of our hearteffect is recorded in the book of the prophet Jonah, in felt gratitude for past mercies, with fervent prayers that the following language: “And the word of the Lord God would graciously bestow upon us and our families, came unto Jonah a second time, saying, Arise, go unto and upon the whole country, such temporal and spirNineveh, that great city, and preach unto it the preach-itual blessings as may be most conducive to our weling that I bid thee. So Jonah arose and went unto fare, and the advancement of his glory. There is still Nineveh, according to the word of the Lord. Now another duty connected with such a day as this, which Nineveh was an exceeding great city of three days jour-I must not omit to mention, and that is, the cultivation ney. And Jonah began to enter into the city a day's of charitable feelings towards our neighbors, and, as far journey, and he cried, and said, Yet forty days, and our means will permit, and opportunity serves, contriNineveh shall be overthrown. So the people of Nine-buting a portion of our substance, for the relief of the veh believed God, and proclaimed a fast, and put on poor and the destitute. sackcloth, from the greatest of them even to the least The further indulgence of the audience is respectof them. For word came to the king of Nineveh, fully requested, while we offer a few observations, and and he arose from his throne, and he laid his robe from only a few, upon the several topics just enumerated, the him, and covered him with sackcloth, and sat in ashes. first of which we have stated to be abstinence from And he caused it to be proclaimed and published food, as far, at least, as the state of our health will perthrough Nineveh by the decree of the king and his no- mit. Those who are deeply and sincerely grieved, on bles, saying, Let neither man nor beast, herd nor flock, account of any thing that may have befallen themtaste any thing: let them not feed, nor drink water. selves, or their country, have no disposition, at such a But let man and beast be covered with sackcloth, and time, to indulge their appetites to the same extent that cry mightily unto God: yea, let them turn every one they ordinarily do. And hence it is that abstinence from his evil way, and from the violence that is in their from food is very properly recommended as one of those hands. Who can tell if God will turn and repent, and external signs by which we are expected to manifest turn away from his fierce anger, that we perish not?"|our sorrow, on occasions such as the present. This
In the conclusion of this account we are told that may be done by abstaining from one or more of our “God saw their works, that they turned from their evil) usual number of repasts, in the course of the day, or ways, and God repented of the evil that he had said hy taking a much less quantity at each of our meals, that he would do unto them, and he did it not." And than we are generally in the habit of doing. Nothing we may form some idea of the magnitude of the ca- || has a greater appearance of inconsistency than for a per
son to profess to be deeply grieved at any calamitous is that our papers are filled, to an extent never before event, and yet, at the same time, to manifest as much known, with instances of the most astounding and hueagerness as ever in the gratification of his appetites. miliating frauds, both of a public and private character, But without detaining you in reference to this particular, | plunging individuals and whole families from the most I will only add, that by restraining ourselves in this re- respectable walks of society into the lowest depths of spect, we bring our minds into a much better state for wretchedness and infamy, and illustrating, in the most serious and profitable contemplations, and thereby give deplorable manner, the truth of the Scriptural declaraan ostensible proof of our reverence for the memory of tion, that “he that maketh haste to be rich shall not be departed worth, and above all for the authority of God, innocent." And much to be lamented as are the pecuwhich cannot fail to prepare us to engage more accep- niary embarrassments of our country, I have frequently tably in the other and still more important duties to thought that these very embarrassments will be made which we are called on such an occasion as this. to operate as a salutary check upon that extravagant
An idea seems to prevail with many persons that all thirst for gain, which, for the last few years, has pervathat is requisite in the way of confession, on such a ded all classes of society, amounting to little less than day as this, is, that there should be a general acknowl- a national monomania. And much as may be done by edgment, on the part of the assembled multitudes, that wise legislation on the part of our state and general they are very sinful and unworthy in the sight of God, governments, towards the disinthrallment of the counwithout adverting, even in their own minds, to their try, I am fully persuaded that still more may be done by individual or personal delinquencies. But this, my a thorough reformation in the habits of the people. Let friends, is a very great and a very deplorable mistake. industry, economy, frugality, and an undeviating morThe aggregate or sum total of our guilt, as a nation, is al integrity more extensively prevail among the people, made up of the accumulated sins of all the various in all their various professions and avocations, and we individuals of which it is composed. And, therefore, may rest assured that the times will change for the beton such a day as this, each one should enter into a ter, as if by enchantment. Here, in my opinion, is the strict and important examination of his own manner principal seat of the disease—the habits of the people; of life, with an inflexible purpose to abandon, hence- and unless there is a radical reformation in this quarforward and for ever, whatever he may find to be in- ter, it is to be feared that the wisest legislation will not consistent with his obligations to himself, to his Ma- be sufficient to accomplish an effectual cure. Retrenchker, and to that country to which he is indebted for so ment and reform are, I doubt not, as much needed in many and such invaluable blessings and privileges. || the habits of the people, as in the affairs of governSuch a course as this, connected with a devout and ment; and instead of continually asking ourselves, as humble acknowledgment of our past misdoings, could heretofore, what do we want? what do we want? the not fail to secure to ourselves, individually, and to the great question should now be, what can we dispense whole nation, the benignant smiles of that almighty with? what can we do without ? and benevolent Being, “whose favor is life, and whose
(To be concluded.) loving kindness is better than life.” But if, on the contrary, we come before him in a cold, heartless, meaningless manner, making confession with our lips, while
POETS. our hearts are cleaving, every one to its own evil ways, All the poets are indebted more or less to those we may rest assured that our offerings will be spurned who have gone before them; even Homer's originality and frowned upon, as nothing better than a solemn has been questioned, and Virgil owes almost as much mockery, and will only serve to increase the black cata- to Theocritus, in his Pastorals, as to Homer, in his logue of personal and national sins that may now be Heroics; and if our countryman, Milton, has soared registered against us in the book of God's remembrance. above both Homer and Virgil, it is because he has sto
But when I speak of our national sins I refer more len some feathers from their wings. But Shakspeare especially to those which are the most prominent and stands alone. His want of erudition was a most happy prevalent among us, and to those also which are prac- and productive ignorance; it forced him back upon his ticed under the sanction, or, at least, under the culpable own resources, which were exhaustless. If his literary indulgence of the constituted authorities of the land. qualifications made it impossible for him to borrow from And here permit me to observe that, in my opinion, || the ancients, he was more than repaid by the powers of one of the most crying sins of the nation, is an all- his invention, which made borrowing unnecessary. In grasping avarice—a morbid ambition to accumulate, all the ebbings and the flowings of his genius, in his which, with an appetite as insatiable as the grave, is storms, no less than in his calms, he is as completely constantly saying, give! give! but never says, it is separated from all other poets, as the Caspian from all enough. An unwillingness to be satisfied, as our fath-other seas. But he abounds with so many axioms apers were, with the gradual but certain and substantial plicable to all the circumstances, situations and varieavails of patient and persevering industry, but hurry- ties of life, that they are no longer the property of the ing on from one acquisition to another, until, like a des- poet, but of the world; all apply, none dare approperate gamester, we determine to make our fortune or || priate them; and, like anchors, they are secure from consummate our ruin at a single throw. And hence it | thieves, by reason of their weight.-Lacon.
THE MOTHER AND HER SONS.
BY CAROLINE M. BURROUGH
wrong which a more powerful man would throw upon THE MOTHER AND HER SONS. a weaker one. And to the impositions, either public or
private, which the rich. would put on the poor, excite him at once—the antagonist spirit moves him, and he claims, by the force of nature, to be their defender and
their advocate. This he can do in his profession, withMother. James, since your father has permitted you out the imputation of impertinence or intermeddling. to attend the course on phrenology, I shall expect of His earnestness and quick conception of wrong, which, you more close attention to your lessons to make up in phrenological language, is called combativeness, the time spent there. What was the particular topic makes him eloquent and convincing. He is admired last evening ? Robert went, too, did he?
and respected, and he gains a great many suits. James. Ma, 'twas about those great lumps top o' the R. O, how I wish I was a grown man, and had a ears—that is, of some people.
profession! M. Tell what the lumps mean, son.
M. What, to show out and be admired, hey, son! Robert. Ma, they mean that a person's very cross R. O, mother, no! to help. Havin't I been well edand ugly humored.
ucated ? M. Did they show you any lump of interrupting M. Yes, son, so far you have; and I am happy that your brother and taking the words out of his mouth. you intend to respect your education. If you choose to R. No, ma, I only wanted to tell you.
do it, after a good many years of study, you may do as M. Perhaps so, son; but it's not polite nor proper to well as Mr. Pleadwell, and be as much regarded. interrupt your brother or any other person when speak R. Could I? O, mother, is it possible! ing, especially in a tete-a-tete.
M. Yes, I know you could; but it depends allogether R. And what's that, ma?
upon your own efforts. You know I always tell you M. I used the expression, to see if you recognized all our strength is in God, and we have it for the askthe French. Tete-a-tete means a conversation betwixting. At present you compare with Mr. Pleadwell only two persons only. The literal of the word means head in capability, and that, though you cannot do without it, to head, indicating a more close and interesting conver- || is almost the least thing in education. It is but the spark sation than a more general talk, and also more imper- of fire to combustion. What is that, unless you have tinence in a third person to interrupt it.
the fuel which piles the hearth—that is, your intellectual J. Ma, 'twas the organ of combativeness that Mr. industry, your lessons—and the activity which blows it C. lectured about, and he says those persons are sub-into a blaze, and that is your perseverance, and your ject to anger and revenge that have the mark.
hope, and your purpose—some skill in the construction M. And what did you think about it?
of your pile, and that is the cleverness which is always R. Please, brother, let me speak. Ma, when we the result of sufficient attention and observation; also, went to the logic lesson, I looked all around the room, docility, and endurance, and many more unshining qualand Mr. Pleadwell, the tutor, is a very bad, spiteful man. ities, which shall yet make a bright blaze-a fire that J. Why, brother?
shall warm and cheer yourself, and extend to others M. Not so fast, Robert. I thought you and James will surely make it, if rightly evolved. considered him a very fine, amiable man.
R. Mother, don't we earn every thing we have ? J. O! yes, ma, so he is. Ponto is very fond of him, M. Yes, son, our physical life is provided for by the and often the kitten sits on the arm of his chair, and necessity of its own condition. But every thing that he lets her stay; and he is kind to all the boys, too. is left to our own choice-all that is desirable in life,
M. Still he has large lumps above his ears, has he? | we do earn; and the occupation of earning it is almost that's conclusive, is it, Robert ?
the best part of the gift. But God gives us all the R. Well, ma, what else shall we make of it? materials, and if we are not obstinate and willful, he
M. I tell you, Robert, it is conclusive, perhaps, that shows us how to use them—all this of his free and exby nature he is quick of anger, and inclined always to cellent grace, only requiring us to live in this world, as resent; but mark me, both of you, it shows, in connec-if we thanked bim for them. tion with the outward character, the effect of education R. Mother, I love to talk with you—I mean for you in managing and directing the strong points of nature. to talk to brother and me. Mr. Pleadwell has naturally the disposition which you J. But, ma, Robert has beautiful lumps on his head, mention, but he gives his reason the first place in his hasn't he? I hav'n't got any, have I ? mind; and whilst piety directs his soul, that shows him M. No, little son, you hav'n't; but I care more for what use he can make of these strong tendencies. In- lessons than for lumps; and if you are bidable and dilstead of being a ruffian and a bravado, Mr. Pleadwelligent, you shall be just as smart a man as your brother. is liked and valued for his justice and goodness. He You know that if you can do all that he can do, you is a lawyer, you know, as well as your teacher of logic. may be as smart, though your head be as prominent as And in his profession he illustrates himself. He is not the camel's back. But it is time to go to school; and cruel or malignant, even to the smallest animals that if you do well all day, we shall feel very happy this can make no resistance. But he is keenly alive to the llevening when we again talk together.
MOUNT AUBURN CEMETERY.
BY PROFESSOR LARRABEE.
For the stores of wisdom brought us,
Can we give thee but a grave ?"
nues and paths intersecting each other at various angles On a late visit to the east, being detained a day or run in every direction over this city of the dead. Their two at Boston, and being tired of the heat and dust and names are derived from the vast variety of trees and noise of the city, I made an excursion to Mount Au- shrubs with which nature has adorned this remarkable burn, the city of the dead. The distance from Boston spot. There is Larch Avenue, Beech Avenue, Oak is about five miles, through a succession of villages of Avenue, Hazel Path, Catalpa Path, Jasmine Path, the New England style, with their neat shaded streets, Hawthorn Path, Vine Path, Iris Path, Linden Path, fine gardens, white cottages, and steepled churches. and so on through all the vegetable vocabulary. Of The most important village on the way is Cambridge, all places I ever visited, this is the most remarkable for the seat of the venerable Harvard University, rich in its diversified surface, and for its variety of vegetation. the associations of the past. About a mile west of There are hills, vallies, horse-back ridges, lakes, glens, Cambridge I came to a large gateway, opening into adells, and brooks, of every possible shape and variety. beautifully wild and romantic inclosure, containing On the small space of one hundred acres may be found about one hundred acres. Over the gate is written in growing spontaneously nearly every variety of tree, conspicuous characters, these words: “Then shall the shrub, and wild flower common in the north, with most dust return to the earth as it was, and the spirit shall of the exotics cultivated in the gardens of the vicinity. return unto God who gave it.” Entering by the gate, The mingling of wild and cultivated shrubbery, of inI passed down an avenue between rows of pines and digenous and exotic flowers in so rural and romantic a firs, to a small lake bordered by willows. Leaving the spot, produces a fine effect. I ascended a hill which lake, I passed on a few rods, and saw before me na-commanded a view of the grounds, and much of the tural mound, surmounted by a neat monument of very surrounding country. Here you may see, through the beautiful Italian marble. Being the first monument we openings of the trees, Cambridge, Brighton, Brookline, meet on entering the Cemetery, it naturally arrests at- Charlestown, Roxbury, Dorchester, and I know not tention and excites curiosity. We readily suppose it how many more of the beautiful villages in the vicinity may in many words record the history, describe the of Boston, and beyond them the towers and steeples of character, and extol the virtues of him who sleeps be the great city itself, with the blue waters of the ocean neath. On approaching, however, this beautiful mon- stretching away in the distance. Looking west you ument, I found inscribed on it but a single word—the may see the green fields, and orchards, and gardens, name of the philosopher and philanthropist, who came and white farm cottages, which form so distinguishing from a far country to visit our own fair land; who died a feature in a New England landscape. The scene here suddenly, far from his home and his friends, and was enlivened by the cheerful sounds of melody which for whom strangers had made a grave in this beautiful nature was pouring forth from the forest, the earth and spot. It was SPURZHEIM. How expressive appears the air. The robin was practicing his plaintive song that simple inscription, that single word, Spurzheim. from the top of a beech-the wren was twittering by His name alone is sufficient to recall to the mind the her nest in a hollow stump—the cuckoo was uttering history and the virtues of that great and good man, who her monotone at a distance—the sparrow was adding held so distinguished a rank in philosophy. At the in- her modest notes to the general symphony—the bobovitation of his friends and admirers in America, he had link was fluttering round full of music, and the northleft his native land across the ocean, bringing with himern mocking-bird was imitating them all from a willow a reputation as a lecturer on science and philosophy, by the brook. To this was added the chirp of the such as few men had ever attained. He had been in cricket in the grass, the ceaseless hum of the bee in the this country but a few days when he fell ill of a fever, air, and the sighing of the summer wind through the and died amidst the regrets of all who had ever heard pines. It was a lovely summer day as I stood on this his name. The following lines, written for the occa- hill, and cast my eye over this scene of beauty, and lission by the Rev. Mr. Pierpont, were sung at his grave. tened to these sounds of nature mingled with the faint “Stranger, there is bending o'er thee
hum of the distant city. The interest of the scene Many an eye with sorrow wet;
was heightened by the associations of the neighborhood. All our stricken hearts deplore thee;
I was in the early home of the pilgrims. I could almost Who that knew thee can forget ?
step on the rock of Plymouth where they landed. HarWho forget what thou hast spoken? Who thine eye, thy noble frame ?
vard University, founded by them, was in plain sight. But that golden bowl is broken,
So also was Bunker Hill, of glorious memory. LexIn the greatness of thy fame.
ington and Concord were close at hand. In the midst Autumn's leaves shall fall and wither,
of so much beauty, and so many associations of the On the place where thou shalt rest;
past, I could hardly believe myself in the city of the 'Tis in love we bear thee thither, To thy mourning mother's breast.
dead. But a glance through the trees exhibited in every For the lessons thou hast laught us,
direction the monuments which the living had erected For the charm thy goodness gave,
over the departed.
MOUNT AUBURN CEMETERY.
Where the noble tide
The ground is laid out in lots of sufficient size for of their teacher-one erected by the ladies of a neighcontaining the graves of a family. The proprietor, boring town over their pastor—one to Hannah Adams each for himself, incloses his lot with an iron fence, and by her female friends—and one by the Massachusetts ornaments it with shrubbery and flowers. In the centre Agricultural Society to Thomas G. Fessenden, who has of the lot is a monument on which are inscribed the done more, perhaps, for the promotion of scientific agri. names of those whose graves are made in the inclosure. culture than any other man. There is great variety exhibited in the style of the mon I looked in vain among these memorials of the dead uments, each proprietor consulting his own taste. for the name of one dear to myself—a name associated Some are of marble, some of sand-stone, and some of as it was in my mind with many recollections of the granite. Their shapes and sizes vary, some being plain past, and with such genius and goodness as rarely fall and neat, others gorgeous and extravagantly expensive. to the lot of man—the name of B. B. THatchen. I Some of the inscriptions are simple and beautiful, others know not as he was buried here. I felt, however, dislabored and in bad taste.
appointed, for I had reason to hope the world would Though nature has formed this place the most vari- not let such a man as Thatcher pass from among us edly beautiful that can well be imagined, and the re- without a stone to tell where he lies. I know not, howsources of ancient and modern taste have been freely ever, but his friends interpreted literally, and sacredly expended in adding to it the decorations of art, yet I obeyed his “last request,” published a short time before would not desire to be buried here. There is too much his death. pomp, and show, and circumstance about it. There is
“Bury me by the ocean's sidean apparent effort to carry the artificial distinctions of O give me a grave on the verge of the deep, this world to the grave. Let me not be buried in so
When the sea gales blow, my marble may sweep public a place, nor in the crowded city, where my body,
And the glistening surf hurried by the hired sexton through the busy streets,
Shall burst o'er the turf, must be consigned to the grave where the idle passer-by And bathe my cold bosom in death as I sleep. may disturb the loved one, that comes at night-fall to
Bury me by the deepdrop the tear of affection on the turf that covers me.
Where a living footstep may never tread; When I am dead, let me be borne from my cottage
And come not to weep
O, wake not with sorrow the dream of the dead, home on the shoulders of sympathizing neighbors to
But leave me the dirge the church where I was accustomed to worship. From
of the breaking surge, thence let me be carried to the rural burying-place. Let And the silent tears of the sea on my head. there the beautiful burial service be said over my poor
And grave no Parian praise; body, and a hymn be sung by voices that have loved
Gather no bloom for the heartless tomb
And burn no holy blaze me. There let me rest, where the sparrow may build
To flatter the awe of its solemn gloom ! her nest unscared, save when the foot of an affection
For the holier light ate wife, or a beloved child, or a valued friend, may
Of the star-eyed night, press down the wild flowers that grow on my grave.
And the violet morning my rest will illume:There is something peculiarly interesting to me about
Than of sorrow and love, shall be strown on my clay the old grave-yards of New England. You will some
By the young zreen year, times in traveling through the country unexpectedly pass With its fragrant dews and crimson array. a grave-yard, strangely populous for the place where it
O leave me to sleep is located. It may be near a small village, or it may
On the verge of the deep, be away from the present population, surrounded on
Till the skies and the seas shall have passed away.” every side by a forest of pines. There lie successive But Thatcher cannot soon be forgotten. His genius, buried generations. The old, dilapidated, moss-covered his modesty, his goodness, his purity of character, have stones, in many a quaint inscription, tell the story of embalmed his memory in the hearts of all who ever some old pilgrim of a generation long since past. You knew bim. He died in the vigor of youth, before the will often find in these ancient cemeteries many a name public had fully learned or appreciated his worth. May familiar to you—many a name highly honored in the our young men imitate his virtues. history of the country-many a name that is handed While I was thinking of Thatcher, I wandered along down from generation to generation, associated with over many a ridge and many a dale, and unexpectedly noble deeds. But it is not so at Mount Auburn. You came upon a scene that touched my heart more keenly find there the names of few known to the country. than any thing my visit had yet presented. On a neat There is little there to associate the present with the little mound rested a granite slab, surmounted by a past. The proprietors, with few exceptions, appear to marble table, standing on four small columns. On the be the merchants of Boston, known only in their own granite, protected from the weather by the table over it, business circles. There however, a few monuments rested'a sculptured marble couch, on which was reclinerected by societies and benevolent individuals over the ing the perfect figure of a child, a little girl perhaps four remains of those whose memory will long be cherished. or five years old, with her little hands folded on her I noticed particularly a neat little monument erected by breast, in all the sweet loveliness, and melancholy beauthe scholars of one of the Boston schools in memory lity which often so strikingly appear in the early dead.
And honors more dear