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And the sails were wet with the ocean's plash,

But the ship was anchor'd fast,
Till, at length, with a loud and fearful crash,

From her cable's strain she past.
14 Away she swept, as with instinct rise,

O'er her broad and dangerous path,
And the midnight tempest's sudden strife

Had gathering sounds of wrath;
Yet on board that ship was no sound of life,

Save the song of that captive swarth. 15 He


of his Afric's distant sands,
As the slippery deck he trod;
He feared to die in other lands

'Neath a tyrant master's rod.;
And he lifted his hard and fettered hands

In a prayer to the Negro's God.
16 He touched not the sail nor the driving helm,

But he looked on the raging sea,
And he joyed,—for the waves that would overwhelm,

Would leave his spirit free;
And he prayed, that the ship to no Christian realm

Before the storm might flee.
17 He smiled amidst the tempest's frown,

He sang amidst its roar;
His joy no fear of death could drown,-

He was a slave no more :
The helmless ship that night went down

On Senegambia's shore !


Cemeteries and Rites of Burial in Turkey.HARTLEY. 1 In Turkey, the places and rites of sepulture have an af

fecting prominence and solemnity connected with them, scarcely equalled in Christendom. In general, the dead are interred in very spacious cemeteries, contiguou towns and villages. There appear to be two cities I

side by side--the city of the living, and the city of the dead; and the population of the city of the dead far exceeds that of the city of the living. The Jews have covered the face of a very large hill, rising above the city of

Smyrna, with the stones which note the place where the 2 earthly remains of their deceased countrymen are deposit

ed. There is a desolation and forlorn appearance presented by this spot, unsheltered as it is by a single tree, which is in striking contrast with the thick shade and beautiful order of the Turkish places of burial. It shows that, evene in death, the Jew is not exempt from the contempt and oppression of which he could not divest himself whilst living.

The interment of a corpse according to the ritual of the English church, had always, to my mind, a striking solen

nity in Turkey. On passing throngh the streets 10 the 3 place of burial, innumerable eyes of strangers, of a diver sity of nations, gaze fixedly upon the scene.

All is still. The pursuits of business are suspended ; a lucid interval appears to be imparted to the delirium of folly and sin : and, when the muified drum and martial step, which accompany to the dust the body of an English sailor, add their interest : to the procession, the feelings of spectators are wrought up to no common pitch of excitement. During the reading of the burial service, more especially at Constantinople, where

the English burial-ground is in a place exceedingly public, 4 a solemn attention arrests all present, even though to few

the language is intelligible. Turks, Greeks, Armenians, Jews and Christians, appear to have forgotten their animosities, and, at the grave of death, to have recollected that a common fate awaits them all. However distinct they may be from each other in the enjoyments and attainments of life, and however they may differ in what is much more momentous—the prospects of immortality-still is there an awful uniformity, which unites in one inseparable communion the men of all ranks, of all ages, and of all religions : Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.

Very frequently, whilst you are silently engaged in your apartment, the stillness of a Turkish town, where no rum: bling of wheels is ever heard, is interrupted by the distant sound of the funeral chant of the Greek priests. As the voices grow more loud, you hasten to the window to behold the procession. The priests move first, bearing their burn


ing tapers, and, by iheir dark and flowing robes, give an idea of nourning in harmony with the occasion.

The corpse is always exhibited to full view. It is placed upon 6 a bier, which is borne aloft upon the shoulders, and is

dressed in the best and gayesi garments possessed by the deceased. I have sometimes seen a young female, who had departed in the bloom of life and beauty, adorned rather as a bride to meet the bridegroom, than as one who was to be the tenant of the chamber of corruption. The young man at Nain, who was restored to life by the command of our Savior, was doubtless carried on a bier of this kind. When our Loril intimated the design of interposing

in his favor, they-that bare him stood still. And when the 7 miraculoiis energy was exerted, he that was dead sat up, and began to speak. Í believe it is unusual for any of the Orientals to be buried in collins.

The closing part of the Greek burial service, commencing with the words, “ Come and impart the last embrace," is very affecting. The friends of the departod press for

ward from every part of the church, and kiss his cold and spallid lips, and weep over him. It is considered a very

peculiar mark of disrespect to neglect this last office of affection.


On Contentment.--ADDISON. 1 CONTENTMENT produces, in some measure, all those effects which the alchymist usual ascribes to what he calls the philosopher's stone; and if it does not bring riches, it does the same thing, by banishing the desire of them. If it cannot remove the disquietudes arising from a man's mind, body, or fortune, it makes him easy under them. It has indeed a kindly influence on the soul of man, in respect of every being to whom he stands related. It extinguishes all murmur, repining, and ingratitude, towards that Being

who has allotted him his part to act in this world. It de2 stroys all inordinate ambition, and every tendency to cor

ruption, with regard to the community wherein he is placed. It gives sweetness to his conversation, and a perpetual serenity to all his thoughts.

Among the many methods which might be made use of for acquiring this virtue, I shall mention only the two following: First of all, a man should always consider how much he has more than he wants; and secondly, how much more unhappy he might be than he really is.

First, a man should always consider how much he has 3 more than he wants. I am wonderfully pleased with the

reply which Aristippus made to one, who condoled with him upon the loss of a farm: “Why, said he, “I have three farms still, and you have but one; so that I oughta's rather to be afflicted for you, than you for me.” On the contrary, foolish men are more apt to consider what they have lost, than what they possess; and to fix their eyes, upon those who are richer than themselves, rather than those who are under greater difficulties. All the real pleas

ures and conveniences of life lie in a narrow compass; but 4 it is the humor of mankind to be always looking forward, and straining after one who has got the start of them in wealth and honor. For this reason, as none can be properly called rich, who have not more than they want, there are few rich men in any of the politer nations, but among the middle sort of people, who keep their wishes within their fortunes, and have more wealth than they know how to enjoy. Persons of a higher rank live in a kind of splendid poverty; and are perpetually wanting, because, instead of acquiescing in the solid pleasures of life, they endeavor 5 to outvie one another in shadows and appearances.

Men of sense have at all times beheld, with a great deal of mirth, this silly game that is playing over their heads; and, by contracting their desires, they enjoy all that secret satisfaction which others are always in quest of. The truth is, this ridiculous chase aster imaginary pleasures cannot be sufficiently exposed, as it is the great source of those evils which generally undo a nation. Let a man's estate be what it may, he is a poor man if he does not live within it; and

naturally sets himself to sale to any one that can give him 6 his price.

When Pittacus, after the death of his brother, who had left him a good estate, was offered a great sum of money by the king of Lydia, he thanked him for his kindness; but told him, he had already more by half than he knew what to do with. In short, content is equivalent to wealth,

and luxury to poverty ; or, to give the thought a more agreeable turn,“ Content is natural wealth,” says Socrates; to which I shall add, luxury is artificial poverty. I shall therefore, recommend to the consideration of those who are 7 always aiming at superfluous and imaginary enjoyments,

and who will not be at the trouble of contracting their desires, an excellent saying of Bion the philosopher, namely; “ That no man has so much care, as he who endeavors after the most happiness."

In the second place, every one ought to reflect how much more unhappy he might be than he really is. The former consideration took in all those who are sufficiently provided with the means to make themselves easy; this regards such as actually lie under some pressure or misfor8 tune. These may receive great alleviation, from such a

comparison as the unhappy person may make between himself and others; or between the misfortune which he suffers, and greater misfortunes which might have befallen him.

I like the story of the honest Dutchman, who, upon breaking his leg by a fall from the mainmast, told the standers by, it was a great mercy that it was not his neck. To which, since I am got into quotations, give me leave to

add the saying of an old philosopher, who, after having in9 vited some of his friends to dine with him, was ruffled by

a person that came into the room in a passion, and threw down the table that stood before him : “ Every one," says he, “ has his calamity; and he is a happy man that has no greater than this."

We find an instance to the same purpose, in the life of Doctor Hammond, written by Bishop Fell. As this good man was troubled with a complication of distempers, when he had the gout upon him, he used to thank God that it was not the stone; and when he had the stone, that he 10 had not both these distempers on him at the same time.

I cannot conclude this essay without observing, that there never was any system besides that of Christianity, which could effectually produce in the mind of man, the virtue I have been hitherto speaking of. In order to make us contented with our condition, many of the present philosophers tell us, that our discontent only hurts ourselves, without being able to make any alteration in our circum

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