though he shuns to make the vulgur his confessor; for they are the most uncharitable tell-tales that the burthened earth doth suffer. They understand nothing but the dregs of actions; and with spattering those abroad, they besmear a deserving fame. A man had better be convinced in private than be made guilty by a proclamation. Open rebukes are for magistrates, and courts of justice; for stalled chambers, and for scarlets in the thronged hall. Private are for friends; where all the witnesses of the offender's blushes, are blind, and deaf, and dumb. Public reproof is like striking of a deer in a herd; it not only wounds him, to the loss of enabling blood, but betrays him to the hound, his enemy; and makes him, by his fellows, be pushed out of company. Even concealment of a fault argues some charity to the delinquent; and when we tell him of it in secret, it shows we wish he should amend, before the world comes to know his amiss." KIRKSTALL ABBEY REVISITED. "The echoes of its vaults are eloquent! Long years have past since last I strayed The air around was breathing balm ; The river streamed away,- Steeped in a flood of glorious light, Type of that hour of deep repose, In wan, wild beauty on my sight, Thy time-worn tower arose, I climbed its dark and dizzy stair, Have sunk beneath the foot of Time, Me once to heights sublime, Ambition's dazzling dreams are o'er, And I may scale those heights no more! And years have fled, and now I stand Once more by thy deserted fane, Nerveless alike in heart and hand! How changed by grief and pain Since last I loitered here, and deemed Life was a fairy thing it seemed!" And gazing on thy crumbling walls, What visions meet my mental eye; For every stone of thine recalls Some trace of years gone by,- Aye, thoughts come thronging on my soul Hath seared my trusting heart since then; What clouds of blight consuming slow The springs that life sustain,- In youth and hope's unclouded hours! Yet still thy turrets drink the light Of summer-evening's softest ray, And calm and beauteous, as of old That made thee seem so more than fair,The aspirations wild and high, The soul to nobly dare, Oh! where are they, stern ruin, say? What thou wert long ago to mine; To guide the mourner through his tears, Than that my parting hour may be Sacred Melody. By Alaric A. Watts. There is a thought can lift the soul, Above the dull cold sphere that bounds it,A star that sheds its mild control Brightest when grief's dark cloud surrounds it, And pours a soft pervading ray, Life's ills may never chase away! When earthly joys have left the breast, And e'en the last fond hope it cherish'd Of mortal bliss-too like the rest Beneath woe's withering touch hath perish'd, With fadeless lustre streams that light, A halo on the brow of night! And bitter were our sojourn here In this dark wilderness of sorrow, Did not that rainbow beam appear, The herald of a brighter morrow, A gracious beacon from on high To guide us to Eternity! THE ESSAYIST. neatly worded, and interlarded with a few suitable quotations, such as, "O thou nymph WHEN we glanced at the title of the fol- with placid eye, &c."—or so long as Miss's' lowing communication, we were about to lines contained the requisite number of sylthrow down the paper in a discontented mood, lables, and jingled into something like but the first sentence induced us to proceed, rhyme, they were rendered perfectly and the result was satisfactory. The writer happy, and in their own estimation half treats his subject in a novel and original immortal, by the insertion of their lucubramanner,—we like his philosophy, and recom-tions in some country magazine. The schoolmend it to others.-Editor. + CONTENTMENT. Yawn not, I beseech thee, gentle reader, as thine eye, in search of something fresh and glowing, resteth on the somniferous word that stands as title to this essay: true it is, that this is no maiden theme-true it is, that it has been hacked and written upon from time immemorial; yet, notwithstanding, let not, as thou leanest back in thine easy-chair, with thy corporeal eye vacantly fixed on the chimney ornaments,-let not thy mental optics picture that this will prove like unto "a thrice told tale At fellows of the one party, and the sentimental embryo blue-stocking friends of the other, pronounced them of course to be "the most clever and elegant things that had ever been composed," and then, they and their fame passed away. These successes engendered another fry, and, as a subject seldom loses any thing,-as it would have been quite coming the same degree of praise as their mon-place to be contented with bestowpredecessors, the blessings and benefits of contentment, according to misses in their creased in a most amazing degree. The teens, and moralists in short jackets, inthing became catching: the church and stage lent it a helping hand: the divine lauded it "Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man:" from the pulpit, and the third-rate character but, if thou art (as I trust thou art) one of in a play, (generally a little poverty-stricken those beings whose ethereal mind, despising man in black) frequently took occasion, cold dull probabilities and realities, can pro- as he went off, to expatiate in a twelve-line perly "image to itself," imagine that thou speech or so, on the con-joined blessings of art on the point of perusing a new Waverly contentment and a clear conscience. novel, or one of Irving's beautiful tales, last its panegyrists became quite furious: or any thing else equally delectable-with they must needs "out herod Herod," with all the pleasurable anticipations such a vengeance,--they held it as part of our thoughts should call forth-the edge of thy" being's end and aim,”-a sovereign panacritical acumen taken off-and thy mind cea for all the evils of life,-as a thing syfavourably and attentively pre-disposed, nonymous with happiness-in short, as the "read, mark, and inwardly digest." ne plus ultra of human enjoyment, without Contentment is one of a large class of which nothing could be good, and with which words, to which a vague and unsatisfactory nothing could be ill. But what in sober sense meaning has long been attached; did all this amount to? why nothing. like "Happiness," "Poetry," &c. it has never Words are only words-poetry is not albeen clearly defined nor thoroughly under-ways truth-and declamation is not always stood: this has not been for the lack of pen, ink, and paper, wasted in its service, as it There is perhaps no sounder or more has ever formed one of the choicest themes generally acknowledged axiom than that for young magazine essayists and maiden the value of a thing is in proportion to its poets-a subject that intermeddles not with scarcity, and this may be one great reason any of the conflicting passions of society, why contentment has found such favour in that disturbs no man's preconceived opinions or prejudices-in short, a sort of neutral ground, on which every author who wished to write without fear of contradiction, adventured. So far so good; so long as master's essay was of a reasonable length, sense. the eyes of the multitude,--every one setting the highest value on what he had not, and indifferent to the praise which might be bestowed upon its virtues and efficacy, so long as he knew his neighbour no richer than himself. Thus it is, that this thing, whose intrinsic value (except in a very active, daring, enterprising spirits are to be I have lived in the world-I have mixed with mankind of all classes and descriptions, and yet it has never been my lot to meet but one thoroughly contented man; and, as Byron says, "private examples are as good as any," I subjoin the following sketch of what I could collect about him. Robert Easy was the only son of a per an. limited degree,) is not worth a cent, has, found? Is it among your men of bone and as a regularly be-praised subject, equalled muscle, or your men of fat and oil? how even Shakspeare's Works, Warren's black- many fat men are there on record that have ing, or La Fayette. Now I mean to say ever done a daring deed? Cæsar disliked that as far as the share contentment has in Cassius for his want of the aldermanic characthe enjoyment a man feels in eating his din-teristics. "That Cassius is too thin," he exner, smoking his cigar, or, after his daily claims,—and again, “although I fear him labour enjoying the comforts of his fire-side, not, would he were fatter." it is a good; but, I also say, that taken in any extended sense, it is an evil of the first magnitude. To be content is to be satisfied, to wish for nothing-to aim at nothing, but to rest satisfied in whatever situation you may be placed. Now look at the world as it exists; you will find little or no such thing, and well it is so. What is it that freights the ships-beautifies the cities- gentleman-farmer, who cultivated his own encourages the arts-and promotes the land to the value of about wealth, intelligence, and importance of a num. Even when a child his quiescent disfree and enterprising nation? assuredly not position was quite remarkable. He never contentment: it is a passive principle, and, cried for toys, like other children-played as such, man can have little sympathy with no mischievous pranks-eat when it was it: he is an active animal; his pleasures lie given to him, and slept whenever he could. not so much in the possession as in the pur- At school he never showed the least desuit. Is the merchant happier when, quit- sire to be distinguished, either at schoolting the din and bustle of the city, his ships, boy sports or learning: he plodded through his freights, and his speculations, he has his daily task, and "with hands in pouch," tens to the enjoyment of rural life, purcha-sauntered about his spare time. Growing too ses a beautiful villa, and looking around him, big for school, and, unlike other youngsters, says within himself "I am content." Is he so? no such thing! He must still busy himself with the news, the business, and the exchanges; or, let him look at home, every thing is wrong, every thing wants improving- a part of his house is misbuilt—his walks are badly laid out, or a clump of trees spoils his "He soundly slept the night away, prospect: these are mended, and this gives "And just did nothing all the day." rise to new wants, and fresh improvements. But, as may be easily imagined, Robert's So he goes on, and dies at last amid all the philosophic temper did not at all tend to mighty bustle attendant on the planting of the improvement of his worldly affairs: his an orchard-the cutting of a canal-or the servants did little or nothing, and were paid building of a green house. Perhaps the best for it: those that bought his stock, paid him personification of contentment is a fat Lon- less than any one else, and in return gave don Alderman, seated, after a plentiful din-him the character of a pleasant easy person ner, in his easy chair-his wine before him to deal with; his neighbours plundered his his pipe-his optics half closed, and not an fields, and said he was a good-natured man ; idea in his brain of either past, present, or his friends drank his ale, and admired the future. It is rather to be remarked that it contentedness of his disposition. is always confined to "fat, gross men:" contentment and corpulency go hand in hand: there is no analogy between it and leanness: a thin contented man is quite a paradox. Now look at its effects upon human nature: where is it that all your bold, fiery, manifesting no disposition to see the world, he was removed to his father's farm, where, taking root, in course of time he sprouted into a man. The death of his father soon after put him in possession of his estate: it made no alteration in his course of life, Robert sat at his ease, and smoked his pipe; he had to be sure some vague idea that all was not as it should be, but then he found great consolation in a favourite proverb of his, "that when things came to their worst they would mend:" this wound up all his own reflec tions in a satisfactory manner, and was the Look at its effects upon nations. Was the invariable reply to all who chose to favour free and fiery Spartan, or the noble Roman, him with their advice. A few more years famed for it? Or, to come to modern times, and a bad harvest put Robert's apothegm is it not notorious that it is to be found in to the test-things came to their worst, but the greatest degree among the degraded serfs unfortunately they did not mend :-his land of a Russian autocrat? there is not in the was sold he could not work— and so went world a more contented class of men, or to the alms-house. I know not if this touch-who have less wish to change their situation ed any dormant spark of pride; if it did, it than the Russian peasantry. It does and can was soon over, and he is now perfectly con- only exist with ignorance: where man is tented with his situation : provided with food free and in possession of his active faculties, and clothing, (coarse, to be sure,) he has no-it flies from him. And let us for a moment thing to care about, and the whole events of suppose what has been held as the height of his latter years may be summed up in two of human good by some, but which, thanks to Prior's lines "He eats, and drinks, and sleeps-what then? "He eats, and drinks, and sleeps again." "And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, an all-wise Providence, can never be, let us suppose contentment general,-that every one sat under his own vine and his own figBut let us have done with exceptions, and tree, what would be the result? True we again advert to what would be its effects should be freed from all the evils of war and upon mankind in general. The two main rapine, no one who was content would dream springs of the complicated mechanism of of aiming at the possession of another: so buman nature are the love of fame, and the far we would gain, and in return lose every love of wealth; these for the sake of concise-thing: the very distinctions between virtue ness we may class together under one de- and vice would be lost in the entire nullity nomination-the love of distinction: from this of the human character: man might rather principle springs all that is great, and much be said to vegetate than live; like other that is good in man. It is this principle animals he would pass from the earth without that spurs him to all noble and adventurous a single trace of his having existed;—not one actions; it is this principle that calls talent glorious emanation of genius, not one spleninto existence, that produces poets, painters, did action to transmit his name to future and historians; it is this principle that sends ages; generation would succeed generation, man to explore the frozen seas of the arctic die, rot, and be forgotten, circle, or traverse the burning deserts of Africa; and it is this principle that is the most diametrically opposed to contentment. In the long list of glorious names that history has transmitted down to us, or in the splendid annals of genius, how many men will be found in whom contentment has formed a prominent part of their character? Had Milton been a contented man, think ye the world would have been in possession of Paradise Lost; had Byron been so, would he have written Childe Harold; would a contented man have painted the Cartoons; or, had Columbus been so, would he have been the discoverer of America? No! were contentment to become in any degree general, its benumbing influence would spread itself over all the active principles of our nature. Can it be supposed that such a lethargic thing and the lofty aspirations of genius could exist in the same person? The mawkish nonsense of contentment and a cottage, cannot be applied to the world. Surely there are many degrees of happiness superior to such a state. THE COMBAT. C. They fled, for there was for the brave They fled, for she was by his side, Wounded and faint, essay'd to grasp At last they reach'd a secret shade But, hark!-'tis not the wind deceives, He of the charm'd and deadly steel, The dying chief sprang to his knee, L. E. L. Child screening a Dove from a Hawk. That dove will die, that child will weep,- Ever amid the sweets of life Some evil things must be. Ay, moralize,-is it not thus We've mourn'd our hope and love? L. E. L. FOR THE NEW-YORK LITERARY GAZETTE. TALES FROM CROSSBASKET. THE BRIDAL EVE.* And their bridal bed is a cold and bleak abed And the wild waves roar as they dash on the shore, But so calm and so lone, they are sleeping together, THE little village of Ardentine is situated on the shore of Loch Long, and the traveller, as he sails up that mountain-bound inland sea, remarks the beauty of the landscape: it does not even escape the observation of the hardy fisherman, as in his twomasted wherry, with bark-stained sails, he passes by to carry the fruits of his labour to the neighbouring market of Greenock, or still farther up the Clyde, to the muchfamed Glasgow. It is a delightful place: many a lyre has sounded in its praise; and the young enthusiast, as he fondly pictures to his imagination a lovely, sequestered, and sylvan retreat, never drew a more beautiful spot. Here, the mountains tower on each side, their basis resting, as it were, in the sea -raising their fir and heather clad heads in all the ruggedness and grandeur of nature, as if to kiss the clouds. Various and fantastic shapes present themselves to the poetic mind,and show, like pictures on which the eye delights to dwell, reminding the gazer of images he had before seen. Upon the sides of the mountains, patches of green herbage are discovered, as if the rough granite had stepped aside to give the highland shepherd some arable land to raise wherewithal to support him and his little ones; there is seen the thatched covered cot of the tenant, and the smoke curling gently up to heaven, seems to bespeak the lightness and innocence of the hearts within them. The village is situated in a small bay, where the wild mountains on each side had, Theatrical Anecdote.-On the night of shelter for it, and be its guardian spirits. Its as if by one accord receded, to make a the first representation of his Ayeux Chime-white-washed and thatched cottages are riques, J. B. Rousseau was seated in the pit, planted along the shore; and in the rear is next to a man who continued blowing a whistle during the entire of the first act. seen the beautiful seat of the Duke of In its sweet walks, winding as the As soon as it was over he turned to Rousseau; fertile Forth, I have often spent the summer "Sir," said he, "I am obliged to go out for a moment, may I ask you to take my whis-day fishing in the limped burn, which meanders through it, or listening to the many tle, and be my substitute in case they shall tuned birds, which find a shelter in its green begin before my return?" "With the shades. greatest pleasure, Sir," replied Rousseau; In one of these cottages dwelt the parents and accordingly, the moment the actors ap- of Helen Campbell: (this is the prevailing peared, he joined with all his might in damn ing his own piece. This reminds us of Aris-name in the romantic Shire of Argyle), they tides inscribing his own name on the Vote. * By my guest Mr. Auldlochtan. |