LIFE'S SUNNY SIDE; OR, WHY NOT BE HAPPY? BY HELEN HETHERINGTON. LET us all look at life on the bright sunny side, And a tear for the sad, That will make the heart glad. Come! will you not join us? our joys we'll divide; As Time leads us on, let it be our delight On the ocean of life we will happily glide, But some we shall meet with, who sadly bewail As they see the approach of adversity's gale; "One and all" bear a hand, We shall soon reach the shore; In the harbour of happiness safely we'll ride, The heart's kindest feeling this lesson has taught. In their truth and fidelity still we confide, But here one has fallen! Pray give him your hand--- The pain he has known, Makes him wiser I'm sure, Give him friendly advice, and with Truth for his guide, He will yet look at Life on the bright sunny side! And here is another! weighed down by despair; Let Hope gently lighten his heart of its care. Though cloudy the morning, The day may be clear, The fears that hang o'er him will shortly subside, Let us banish hypocrisy, pride, and deceit, When the heart is oppressed, Have cherish'd those feelings which Hope has sup plied, WITH THE PLEASURE OF LOOKING ON "LIFE'S SUNNY SIDE !" TAKE THINGS AS YOU FIND THEM. BY J. BURBIDGE. THERE'S MUCH in this life, after all, But sure I am most of us make it. Believe that a smile is behind them. What have we we did not receive? Is the world not sufficiently roomy? Then why should we wish to believe We were sent into life to be gloomy? We may meet with some rubs in our day, But don't let us tremble for fear of themRather hope they'll not come in our way, And do all we can to keep clear of them. There are regions of quicksands and rocks, And our chart do no more than mislead us, Till we find that "each dog has his day," And a friend's all alive to succeed us. But there's much in this life, after all, Full sure I am most of us make it. BEAUTY IS DEAD. Snow-stormy Winter rides Morn meets no more the lark Nature mourns, dumb and dark- Sear on the willow-bank Winter brings shroud and tomb- Sweeter than summer-bird Sang from her bough! Music, the sweetest heard, Silent is now! Pale lies that cheek of woe A CUP OF TEA BY THE AUTHOR OF "A COLD." * 0, WINTER! ruler of the inverted year, I crown thee, WINTER-king of dear delights, COWPER. EADER! A WORD WITH YOU! WHAT IS COMFORT? A lounge by our fire-side, on a bleak, wintry night-a novel, gently wooing us into doziness -a snug seat in a post-chaise, or a game at cribbage with a mild old lady that never takes snuff. What is comfort?-a cup of tea, "with all appliances and means to boot?" Yes; this is a snatch of legitimate comfort; and his imagination must be very anti-social, that does not summon a thousand tea-table delights from the dead mass of joys that time leaves behind it, at the mention of a cup of tea. Around the tea-pot, unnumbered social sprites attend; and after wreathing the steam clouds rising from the urn, tinkling the spoons, and perching on the edge of the tea-cups, they place a smile on the lips, and a merry magic in the eyes of the company assembled. Reader! be thou downy cheeked, or manfully bearded-be thou fair and young, or old and stately, prithee, for a while, smoothen thy face into placidity, lay aside all Miltonic sternness of aspect, draw near the fire; and then, with its pleasing glare playing over thy features, thou mayest have a fair chance of relishing a few remarks on "a cup of tea." If the winds are whistling and waltzing along the streets, and the plashy pit-pat of pattens is heard on the sloppy pavements, so much the better. Discomfort without, will increase the comfort within. Lord Byron calls gin-and-water the true Hippocrene. Give me a good strong cup of tea!-one cup of this, in its sterling state, is worth all the spirituous liquors put together. It is very seldom that intoxication ensues from drinking tea: its influence is quite ethereal; it trickles down the throat in a most luscious stream of flavory richness, diffuses a comfortable warm vigor through the democratical part of the human frame, composes the temper, and makes the poorest personage feel himself a man. Nobody that dislikes tea ought to be ad *See Vol. I., page 172. VOL. III.-4. mitted within the pale of civilised society. If a man be pointed out to me as a tea hater, he immediately becomes a suspected person in my mind. He cannot, I fancy, be any thing approaching to "a right merrie fellowe." A regular, giggling tea-party, would not enliven him; he would sit down in silent sadness amid the busy clatter of their cups and saucers a mere automaton. Some people say, that tea is by no means wholesome, that it frequently occasions a nervousness, and is altogether unqualified for constant use. This is a most wicked accusation, and must have originated from some decrepid personage, who was malicious enough to ascribe the effects of youthful intemperance to tea; or, what is more probable, it arose from the mischievous spirit of innovation pertaining to the medical art. It really is quite melancholy to observe the influence of medical pedantry over some people; there is hardly anything upon the bountiful earth but what is unhealthy. Butter creates bile, milk and eggs are heavy, cold pie indigestible, meat unnecessary, and tea is guilty of occaA genuine cup of unsioning nervousness! adulterated tea will hurt no man living, who is If he feels in a sound state of health. nervous" after drinking it, he has no reason to charge the tea with the cause; the evil comes from some other quarter. Tea unwholesome! Place me before the tea-table; and I'll face the whole College of surgeons, in defence of its manifold virtues. They might batter me with learned compound words, and disquisitions respecting the fidgetty nature of the stomach, but they could never annihilate the fact of its being the national beverage for so many years. If tea were really so malevolently inclined as they would represent it, people would not have continued its constant consumption :—¡llhealth, a more influential argument than any in Mr. Abernethy's "Book," would have banished it from our tables. And I should like to know, what we are to substitute for tea!-black draughts and liquified pills! or those brick-colored, clammy looking cakes, christened chocolate and cocoa! or meagre sugar and water, such as they use in France! or that gritty, gravelly stuff, called coffee! That man's taste is not to be envied who prefers either of these to tea! Tea stands apart from all these, in proud and peerless dignity-like an ancient jug on a dresser, amid a crowd of modern smooth-faced rivals. From this devotion to tea, my opinion of those who can presume to offer their guest a weak and miserable cup, may be easily guessed. It is one of the most sinful acts that can be committed-for people, in good circumstances, to offer weak tea to their company. What! toprofane the beautiful, health-inspiring water with a niggard sprinkling of tea-to hand E this ignoble mongrel kind of mixture to a guest! Let the reader deeply consider the matter, and he will agree with me, that it is in the highest degree sinful. It is bad, sloppy tea that brings on nervousness; this is the foundation of those sickly influences frequently felt, after drinking tea, so denoted. My principal admiration for Dr. Johnson is founded on his affection for tea. There is something so amiable about this, that it makes one forget all his stern, uncompromising whims and tempers. Yes, I can easily picture the" Colossus of English literature," sitting at a well-furnished tea-table, under the reverent shadow of his wig; and complacently watching the golden stream of tea descending in a glittering curve from the tea-pot into his cup. The author of Rasselas-the grave and lofty-minded writer of the Idler and the Rambler-the Socrates of Britain-descending from his intellectual height for awhile, and smiling with as much naïveté as a laundress, over a cup of tea! tea; but, however dear in itself, comparatively, it certainly is cheap. A quarter of a pound of tea, with the addition of a few solids, will treat two or three small parties. Compare the price of the tea with the cost of spirits or wine, for the same hospitable purpose, and there will be a wide difference. In short, tea is altogether the most gentlemanly (or, if you will have it so, ladylike), accommodating thing in the world. It it; while it is a blessing to thousands of every offends nobody-not even those who dislike rank and fortune. A cup of tea is as convenient, too, as it is refreshing; it is an admirable addition to a casual invitation, and generally secures the sake of the tea, but because the mention your guest; not that he comes precisely for of it stamps the matter with a little importance. Were it not for tea, the life of a tonous than it now is. He could not expect bachelor would be ten times more monohis friends and acquaintances to sit in his The sound of approaching tea-things is al- chairs for six hours together, and favor him ways renovating to me; the rattle of the ble and drinkable to vary the scene. Now, with their converse, without something eatatray-the homely jingle of the spoons tumb-if there were no tea to be obtained, someling about among the cups-the whole bustle of the tea-arrangement, is truly agreeable. We all remember Cowper's lines on this subject; yet one circumstance escaped him-the hollow, but cheering, bubbling of the water, as it dashes from the "loud-hissing urn,' into the tea-pot, to uncurl the leaves and extract their essence. I am an enthusiastic lover of tea; and for many substantial reasons. Some of the hap piest hours of my life have been experienced at the tea-table; and now, when left fevered and fretful from hours of changeful study, my heart leaps up at the well-known music of the brittle ware. After the first cup of fragrant Souchong, the peevishness of study dies away; my heart gradually tranquillises, and I begin to think that the world may boast of containing something good, while it can afford me a cup of good tea. The tea-hour is moreover, a congenial time for reflection. While the faint fairy clouds of steam come swelling from the tea, and shed an imperceptible dew upon the face, a man very frequently repents of his faults -provided there be no danger of his toast cooling during the time. And how many a one, who sat down to tea with evil passions brewing in his brain, has gradually become ashamed of his purpose, and tapped them away with his spoon on the edge of his teacup! A principal reason for the popularity of tea beverage in this country, is its comparative cheapness. Many a one can afford to give a friend a good cup of tea, when a dinner would create a terrible sensation in his purse. Some will object to " cheapness" applied to thing else must be substituted for it; but, probably, his income is too limited for such a display of decanters as he may wish to in this dilemma? Why, he must debar himreceive his friends with. What is to be done self from meeting his friends! But, thanks to a cup of tea! the poorest among us may venture to invite a friend occasionally, and, by means of Souchong, improve the strength of his attachment without degrading the character of his own hospitality. Speaking of inviting a friend to drink tea with us-if the reader be as warm-hearted as I would have him to be, his memory will rouse at the mention of this, and recall the image of many a face, whose benevolent features have brightened round his winter fire, while tea, toast, and conversation inspired the hour with delight. One of my greatest pleasures, is to meet with an old school-fellow whom the hurly-burlies of life have separated, and secure his company to drink a cup of tea with me. Previous to his arrival, I take care to have my apartment in neat order. The writing desk is locked, all books are laid aside, particular orders are given to the servant respecting the management of the muffins, &c., &c. The hour for tea is fixed; and then I turn myself to the fire-place, rest my feet on the hobs (very ungenteel!), and await with the most delightful anticipations the arrival of my friend. Hark! that was his knock-I hear his well-known step on the stair-case-he taps at the door- 'tis he! and now for something like happiness. If the weather be stormy, so much the better. We are comfortably sheltered in a warm room;-let the sleet and the hail pepper the window panes; let the sullen winds bellow around the chimney-top, and the hissing flow of the street-drains come on our ear. We are unchilled by the tempest !-a blazing fire is crackling merrily before us; and the only wish we feel at present is-that everybody were as happy as ourselves. What delicious hours are these! One of them is worth the mock and formal pageantries of ten thousand balls and masquerade nights. All the treasured recollections of greener years; all those kindly fancies which flash across the hearts of friends during their absence from each other, are now brought forward, with unaffected truth. The soul unburdens itself of a load of fondness, and revels in the sweet release. The tricks, the perils of school-boy days, come in for their share of discussion; the changes that have occurred since that wild time are next regarded; and here, alas! we are sure to find sad gaps. There are many honest sighs to be heaved at the mention of some brave fellow, whose boyhood promised a manhood of glory; whose bright eyes have long been quenched by the damp of death. Still, there is a luxury even in this; the melancholy we feel serves but to temper the gladness of the hour, and hallow the emotions of the mind. The last subject is, generally, concerning our mutual fortunes. Each of us has met with some hard rubs in his way; nevertheless, we are still inclined to hold out a friendly hand to the world, forgive its injuries, and forget everything but its benefits. And thus the evening glides on, and the heart seems bathing in the delights of friendship.--He that cannot relish such a night is a Goth. ation; give the fire a powerful poke-and do your duty. With what a grateful smile you survey the room, and mark the morning sunbeam skipping about the walls, and tinting everything with its hue of gladness, while the hot crystal stream is prancing into your tea-pot! How pleasant are the tuneless murmurs of the street, after your long confinement to the mournful and monotonous silence of the sick chamber! How exquisite that stillbreathed prayer, exhaling from the very core of the soul-that prayer, whose fervency language could not translate-to the blessed God of all health and wisdom, for your recovery! In order to appreciate justly the delectable charms of a cup of tea, we have only to remember the joy with which we return to it, and taste it in the full perfection of its flavor, after a wearisome illness. During our malady, taste has been blunted by fever; and, principally, by the eternal and dismal operation of turning the throat into a morningtunnel for the conveyance of thick beetlecolored draughts, and similar liquids, industriously supplied by our anxious apothecaries. Of course tea, with its genuine effects on the nerves of the tongue, is out of the question while we are in this state. At last, the healthtints begin to bud on the cheek; the wan eye grows bright; the blood once more meanders unfevered through the veins, and the restored patient finds himself seated at the breakfasttable with the freshness of health clothing his limbs. Now is the time for a cup of tea; bring forth the tea-apparatus! Let the urn once more exhibit its august en-bon-point person; spread forth the rolls in all their crusty glory; let the eggs lift up their milky brows; draw your chair to its accustomed situ But I won't detain you; I hear the sugar hissing itself away in the bosom of your tea-cup; there is a rich and glossy brownness on the surface of your tea-enjoy it! "Strut and stare, and a' that," "perfumed like milliners," and talking like "waiting gentlewomen"--we have, at the same time, no little cause for gratulation and pleasurable reflection, in contrasting the present pastimes and amusements of the "uneducated" many, with those of the times gone by. In former days, they were wont to testify their devotion, and to assert their Christian principles, by deeds of barbarism and blood. Christian festivals were the high days of "Moloch, horrid king, besmear'd with blood," upon which clerics and laics appeared as if sedulously bent on giving new vigor to the worst passions of the human soul, and in gratifying them even to satiety, regardless of the miseries which they spread around. Upon Good Friday, when they celebrated the death of Him who" did no violence," but who breathed" peace on earth and good-will towards men," they wreaked their vengeance upon some unhappy Jew, whom they waylaid and stoned; and upon Shrove Tuesday, when they were required to humble themselves, by a confession of sin, that so they might become partakers of their master's sufferings and joy, they concluded their devotions with the barbarous practice of "hen threshing," or the equally cruel "sports" of "cock-fighting," and " throwing at the hen." These barbarities have happily passed away, E 2 and the harmless and child-loving practice of eating pancakes is all that remains of " the wisdom of our ancestors." Tuesday, February 8th inst., will be the day of which we speak; and it may not be unacceptable to some of our readers, if we devote a little space to its origin and former celebration. The word shrove, by which this Tuesday is distinguished in the calendar, is a corruption of the old Saxon word shrive, and signifies confession; this being the day upon which all the people were required by the Church to confess their sins to their respective parish priests. To ensure punctuality in their attendance, the curfew-bell was tolled at an early hour, and all servile work ceased. In Catholic countries, where the Carnival is celebrated, this is the last day of that festival-a period of dinners, balls, masquerades, and popular indulgence. On the nights of the Carnival, a general confusion takes place; masters are dressed as servants, valets as masters, the military as mechanics, and workmen as soldiers; every one puts on a strange dress, and plays the incognito under the favor of a mask; but the populace engross the remainder of the fete, by carrying through the streets an image called the Carnival or Shrove Tuesday; and, feigning grief and uttering piercing cries, they throw it into the river. We borrow, says Pasquier, many things from the Pagans; as, instead of the ancient Bacchanalia, we have introduced the Car. nival, full of insolence and bad examples. The Bacchanalia were festivals which the Greeks borrowed from the Egyptians, and were celebrated in honor of Bacchus, whom they believed to be the same with Osiris. One of the most essential parts of the festival was to appear covered with the skins of hegoats, tigers, and other animals; their faces being smeared with blood or wine-lees. A fine, handsome, well-fed youth was selected to personate Bacchus, who was placed in a car; and to give an air of the marvellous to the scene, the pretended tigers drew the car, while the he-goats and the kids gambolled about them under the form of satyrs and fawns. Those who followed and accompanied the car were called Bacchants and Bacchantes; that is, male and female mourners: last of all, appeared an old man, representing Silenus, riding on an ass, and distributing his jokes and gibes among the surrounding populace. Thus the balls and masquerades of the French may, perhaps, derive their origin from these religious ceremonies of their ancestors. On the last day of the Carnival, they celebrate the ceremony of the "Femmes folles, or foolish women; but this is the case only when any one has commenced housekeeping in the course of the year. The married wo men (not the youngest in the village) meet together, and disguise themselves by putting the front part of their caps behind, to which rags are suspended, and by blacking their faces: thus arrayed, they proceed dancing and singing, to the domicile of the new housekeeper. Having gained admittance, they leap, jump, and dance about, and sing couplets and songs adapted to the occasion, and to the music of the epistle at grand mass. The inhabitants of the house are bound to regale the actresses in this burlesque scene; and, if they refuse, the women make no scruple of taking away what furniture they like; and carrying it to the wine-house ( cabaret), it is there deposited as a pledge for the entertainment they may choose to order; and the proprietor of it must pay the cabaretier his bill, before he is allowed to redeem his effects. cakes on this day is an English one, and originated, early in the fifteenth century, with one Simon Eyre, a Lord Mayor of London, who made a pancake-feast for all the apprentices in London; and ordered that, upon ringing a bell in every parish, still called the pancake bell, these youths should leave work it is merely said, that on this day every for the day. In Pasquier's Palinodia' (1634) It is said that the custom of eating pan stomach "Till it can hold no more, Is fritter-filled, as well as heart can wish! But pancake-eating was not, as we have already intimated, the only pastime in which our forefathers indulged. Upon this day," says an old author, "men ate and drank and abandoned themselves to every kind of sportive foolery, as if resolved to have their fill of pleasure before they were to die." Football, and snow-ball--if the snow remained upon the ground-were amongst the sports of the festival; and the "city 'prentices," dear lads for a brawl, which they loved the better if it assumed the character of a serious riot-turned out "In Finsbury-fields ;-their brave intent To advise the king and parliament," whenever they took it into their wise heads that their advice was needed; and otherwise, when the day was spent in any other way that pleased their 'prenticeships. The shying at the hen was the worst" sport" indulged in. The poor bird was tied by its leg to a stake; and he who first broke its leg, by a large stick thrown from a certain distance, was entitled to the prize. The schoolboy practice of shying at leaden cocks, is doubtless a harmless imitatiou of this brutal pastime. The cock-fighting of this season is |