ページの画像
PDF
ePub

OLD HUMPHREY ON BIRTHDAYS.

Now is my time to write on this subject if 1 mean ever to write upon it at all, for it is my birthday, and my grey hairs tell me there must needs be some uncertainty as to its return. An hour ago, the postman gave his spirited double rap, and my table is tolerably well covered with letters and packages, the winged messengers of friendship and the kind offerings of affection. Every reader must have some interest in his own birthday, and in that of his friends; I will try, then, to be suitable in my remarks, and to teach both the merry and the mournful hearted.

A birthday in youth and prime is usually a sunshiny season; but as the sun of life declines, the returning period brings with it more earnest thought and more serious feeling. An old man can hardly avoid looking before and behind him; and thus, while young people on their birthdays, with their faces lit up with smiles, think only of the present, the aged on such occasions, with graver countenances, reflect on the past and the future. This is as it should

be. Age may be cheerful and yet thoughtful, and not to be the latter would supply a much more reasonable cause of regret than not being the former.

A birthday is oftentimes a harvest day of affectionate remembrances and tokens of goodwill. Would that on this day I could give to others half the gratification that others have given me. How kindly do I feel towards my several correspondents, whose communications are full of free-hearted desires for my welfare :

Wishing me happy hours in endless store,
True friends, good health, all honour; nay, yet

more,

That heaven-lit hope, and God-descended peace, Which still remains when all things earthly cease.

Birthdays include all days in the calendar, for there is not one in the revolving year that is not a high-day and a holiday to some rejoicing heart; or a day of mournful recollection to some sorrowful spirit, as the birthday of one estimated and loved. Parents exult in the birthdays of their children, and children in those of their parents. A fond mother remembers, with tears, that it is the natal day of a son who is abroad, perhaps tossing on the billowy deep, or settled in some distant locality; and an

affectionate father calls to mind with a sob, which he vainly tries to suppress, that it is the birthday of a dear daughter in heaven, a day which, though now shrouded with gloom, used to be kept with festivity and rejoicing. Our birthdays while we are here will be remembered by ourselves, and perhaps when we are gone they will be borne in mind by others.

Who is there that has not, on many occasions, wished that he could soar towards the firmament and look down on the manifold pursuits and occupations of mankind? Could I now see the yearly jubilee of others' birthdays, what a chequered scene would be spread out before me! Hundreds who win their bread by daily toil are too much occupied in the hard, every-day duties and cares of life to think much of their birthdays; while others are altogether absorbed by the return of a season which brings to them so much of pleasure.

Just now I see in my fancy what I have often seen in reality (and few who have witnessed it are likely to forget it), the bright, beaming, bustling birthday of the sovereign, as it used to manifest itself at the general post-office, when mail-coaches, instead of mail-carts, were in fashion. A life, a cheerfulness, a merriment prevailed around, and the "birthday" was visible in

every face. The procession with horses in new harness and gay riband rosettes, the coachmen and guards in their flaring red coats, and the postmen riding before, made London alive. St. Martin's le Grand, Cheapside, St. Paul's Churchyard, Ludgate-hill, Fleet-street, the Strand, and Parliament-street, seemed to be keeping holiday. And then it was an animating sight, when the busy crowd assembled at night, to see the mails take their departure, piled up with leathern bags, the guards, armed with their blunderbusses, strapping them firmly together. As one says, "There go the Plymouth and Canterbury coaches up the street, and there go the York, the Birmingham, and the Holyhead down the street, with a dozen others, hurrying and driving along in different directions; coachmen and guards in their red coats, whips cracking, horses prancing, wheels clattering, horns blowing, and mailcoaches and mail-carts rattling over the stones— one of the noisiest, the busiest, and the most cheerful sights in all London."

And now rises in my memory a birthday scene, in which a rosy band of cottage children were the happy actors. It was in a dreamy nook, a worn-out quarry, sheltered from the hot sunbeams; a peaceful place garlanded with woodbines and hanging plants, and where all day long were

heard the hum of bees and songs of joyous birds. Around it grew straggling brambles laden with blackberries. There, grouped together, the happy-hearted children enjoyed their mimic feast, their acorn cups before them. Just as I looked down upon them from the high banks above, a sister wreathed her arms about the neck of her chubby-cheeked little brother. Amid many fair things, those children were the fairest. Love reigned among them, and the kiss went round. It was a gladdening sight, for that childish revel had in it a more real pleasure

A joy more sweet, and innocent, and pure, Than wealth can buy or festive halls secure. Pleasant it is to see a bright, sparkling, lovable being, just mingling the girl with the woman, preparing her plans and marshalling her friends for her coming birthday. If she be a little interested in the new dress in which she is to appear, call it not by the ugly name of vanity. If for a season her heart is occupied in the varied amusements in which her guests are to engage, think her not of necessity either trifling or worldly minded. It is an accredited season of rejoicing—a privileged holiday. We of the grey hair are not to mould the world after our own antiquated fashion; we are not to

« 前へ次へ »