BEAUTIFUL SIGHTS AT SEA. HE most beautiful thing I have seen at sea- -all the THE more so I had never heard of it-is the trail of a shoal of fish through the phosphorescent1 water. It is like a flight of silver rockets, or the streaming of northern lights through that silent nether heaven. I thought nothing could go beyond that rustling star-foam which was churned up by our ship's bows, or those eddies and disks of dreamy flame that rose and wandered out of sight behind us. 8 ''Twas fire our ship was plunging through, Cold fire that o'er the quarter flew ; And wandering moons of idle flame Grew full and waned, and went and came, But there was something even more delicately rare in the apparition of the fish, as they turned up in gleaming furrows the latent2 moonshine which the ocean seemed to have hoarded against these vacant interlunar nights. In the Mediterranean one day, as we were lying becalmed, I observed the water freckled with dingy specks, which at last gathered to a pinkish scum on the surface. The sea had been so phosphorescent for some nights, that when the captain gave me my bath, by dowsing me with buckets from the house on deck, the spray flew off my head and shoulders in sparks. 4 It occurred to me that this dirty-looking scum might be the luminous matter, and I had a pailful dipped up to keep till after dark. When I went to look at it after nightfall, it seemed at first perfectly dead; but when I shook it, the whole broke out into what I can only liken 5 to milky flames, whose lambent silence was strangely beautiful, and startled me almost as actual projection might an alchemist. I could not bear to be the death of so much beauty, so I poured it all overboard again. Another sight worth taking a voyage for is that of the sails by moonlight. Our course was "south and by east, half south," so that we seemed bound for the full moon as she rolled up over our wavering horizon. Then I used to go forward to the bowsprit and look back. Our ship was a clipper, with every rag set, stunsails, sky-scrapers, and all; nor was it easy to believe that such a wonder could be built of canvas as that white, many-storied pile of cloud that stooped over me, or drew back, as we rose and fell with the waves. 1 Phosphorescent, shining in the dark from the presence of phosphorus. 2 Latent, lying concealed. Latent moonshine. This is, of 4 Luminous, bright; lit. full of light. TRUE ENJOYMENT OF LIFE. [RICHARD STEELE (born 1671, died 1729) was the originator of those periodical essays which appeared in the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian successively in the reign of Queen Anne. The Tatler was the first of these periodical papers, and was written principally by Steele. It contained sketches, anecdotes, and remarks on prevailing fashions and manners. It came out three times a week.] IT is an unreasonable thing some men expect of their acquaintance: they are ever complaining that they are out of order, or displeased, or in low spirits, and are so far from letting that be a reason for retiring to their own homes, that they make it their argument for coming into company. We ought to bring our proportion of good-will or good-humour among the friends we meet with, and not to trouble them with doleful complainings which must of necessity oblige them to a real or feigned affliction. Cares, distresses, diseases, uneasinesses, and dislikes of our own, are by no means to be obtruded upon our friends. If we would consider how little of life is spent with satisfaction, we should be more tender of our friends than to bring them our little sorrows which do not belong to them. I would establish but one great general rule to be observed in all conversation, which is this: "That men should not talk to please themselves, but those that hear them." There is no real life but cheerful life, and therefore whatever we do, we should keep up the cheerfulness of our spirits, and never let them sink below an inclination at least to be well pleased. Fortune will give us disappointments enough, and nature is attended with infirmities enough, without our adding to the unhappy side of our account by our spleen or ill-humour. To be anxious for nothing but what nature demands as necessary, if it is not the way to an estate, is the way to what men aim at by getting an estate. This temper will preserve health in the body as well as tranquillity of mind. A man of a contented and cheerful spirit sees the eager jostlings of the crowd in their anxious pursuit of wealth or pleasure with the same scorn that a sober person sees a man drunk. Such a man rarely suffers a disappointment, for he expects but little, and is satisfied with less. Since we cannot promise ourselves constant health, us endeavour at such a temper as may be our best support in the decay of it. Uranius, a friend of mine, has arrived at that composure of soul, that nothing but acute pains can give him disturbance, and against those too he will tell his intimate friends he has a secret which gives him present ease. Uranius is so thoroughly persuaded of another life, and endeavours so sincerely to secure an interest in it, that he looks upon pain but as a quickening of his pace to a home where he shall be better provided for than in his present apartment. Instead of the melancholy views which others are apt to take of death, he will tell you that he has ceased to think of himself as mortal, since death, he believes, is not the end of life, but only the passage to a better life. Health to him is more than pleasure to another man, and serious sickness less affecting to him than a slight indisposition is to others. I must confess, if one does not regard life after this manner, none but idiots can pass it away with any tolerable patience. It is certain that to enjoy life and health as a constant feast, we should not think pleasure necessary, and still less make it the main object of life; rather should we form our minds to know how to draw happiness from the absence of pain. But the ready way, I believe, to the right enjoyment of life is, by a prospect towards another, to have but a very mean opinion of it. A great author has set this in an excellent light in the following manner :— "For what is this life but a circulation of little mean actions? We lie down and rise again, dress and undress, feed and wax hungry, work or play, and are weary, and then we lie down again, and the circle returns. We spend the day in trifles, and when the night comes we throw ourselves into the bed of folly, amongst dreams, and broken thoughts, and wild imagi nations. Our reason lies asleep by us, and we are for the time as arrant brutes as those that sleep in the stalls or in the field. Are not the capacities of man higher than these? And ought not his ambition and expectations to be greater? Let us be adventurers for another world. It is at least a fair and noble chance, and there is nothing in this worth our thoughts or our passions. If we should be disappointed, we are still no worse than the rest of our fellow-mortals; and if we succeed in our expectations, we are eternally happy." A HAPPY LIFE. How happy is he born or taught, Whose passions not his masters are; Who hath his life from rumours freed; Who envies none whom chance doth raise, Who God doth late and early pray And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend. |