Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

used by the Christians, besides the unwillingness of the latter to appear as if celebrating the Judaic Passover, occasioned much confusion in the observance of Easter; so that we find in the year 387 and 577, some churches celebrated the Easter on the 21st March, some on the 18th April, and some on 25th April, in the same year. The Council of Nice, however, settled the arrangement to be, that Easter must always be kept on the 1st Sunday on or after the full moon immediately following the vernal equinox.

This regulation gives rise to great differences in the dates of the respective Easters in different years, so as to make its range to be from March 22, which is the earliest possible day, to April 25th, which is the latest, for the full moon and the equinox do not always occur at the same time, and the Easter must always be on Sunday: nay, if it even should occur that the moon be full on the 21st March, the day of the equinox, and although that day be Sunday, yet not being the Sunday after the fall moon, Easter is postponed till the month following. The same procrastination of Easter takes place if the moon should be full after 12 o'clock on March 22d, if that day should chance to be on Sunday, as it is considered the moon of that day, the lunar day being from 12 o'clock at noon to the following, as the solar day is reckoned from midnight to midnight.

From these preliminaries, it will very clearly appear, that the discrepancies continually occurring between the solar and lunar calculation must necessarily prevent the constant agreement of the period of the Christian Easter with the Jewish Passover, although in general according to principle, they occur about the same time: the difference is evident, that while the Christians calculate according to the solar year, they are obliged to regulate their Paschal festival by the moon; and while the Jews calculate by the lunar year, they are obliged to regulate their Passover by the course of the sun; a correction that proves mutually serviceable, and facilitates the ultimate agreement of years at the expiration of the several cycles.

The Passover of the Jews can never take place until after the commencement of the spring quarter, which beLore the year 1700 was calculated by

the Jews to occur about the 25th of March. But since, according to the Gregorian arrangement, the February of that year consisted only of 28 days (instead of 29, which, according to the regular order of Bissextile years, it ought to have been), March became anticipated a day, and that which, according to the regular arrangement, ought to have been March 25th, was by this means called 26th; consequently, that day is now considered as the commencement of the vernal quarter by the Jews, whose calculation of periods has remained undisturbed.

This difference of calculation by which the Christians fix the vernal equinox every year on the 21st March, without regarding the additional day of leap year, and the consideration by the Jews of the equinox not taking place before the 26th, is the principal ground of the discordance of the Easter and the Passover.

Besides this, a difference exists with respect to the calculation of the new moon, as attached to the lunar cycle of 19 years, which, according to the Julian period, was set down to consist of 6939 days 18 hours, but according to the Judaic arrangement of 235 lunar months consists of 6939 days 16 hours 32 minutes. By this error in the Julian calculation, the day of new moon was made to anticipate the truth by one day in 312 years; and, in fact, we find, that in the year 331 the golden. number was 9, and the new moon was marked on the 25th of March; whereas in 1623, the golden number being also 9, the new moon was calculated as being on the 21st of March. This irregularity induced Pope Gregory to reject the golden number as a guide whereby to calculate Easter, and substituted a scale of epacts for this purpose: but as these are regulated by complete numbers, and cast off 30 days without regard to fractional parts, they cannot be esteemed completely correct.

From what has been so particularly detailed, the arrangement by which Easter is fixed, and its agreement or non-agreement with the Jewish Passover, can be made clear in few words; viz. that whenever the full moon occurs between the 22d and the 26th of March, Easter must always precede the Jewish Passover by nearly a month, as neither of them can be celebrated but in the vernal season, which the Christians fix

the commencement of on the 21st of March, and the Jews on the 25th or 26th. A consideration of the minutia heretofore laid down will give a correct idea of the usual discrepancies of these festivals.

The precise circumstance of the dates of these festivals in 1818 occurred in 1693, when the Christians celebrated Easter on the 22d of March, while the Jews kept the feast of Parim; but the Abib not being considered as having arrived until the 25th, the year was intercalated, and Passover observed on the 21st of April.

According to calculations made on these premises, it will be found, that during the nineteenth century, from similar causes, but with dissimilar dates, Easter will precede the Jewish Passover nearly a month in the following years; viz. 1807, 1815, 1818, 1826, 1837, 1845, 1858, 1856, 1864, 1872, 1875, 1883, 1891, 1894, each of these years being either the 8th, 11th, or 19th of the Jewish lunar cycle and embolismal year, of which the Christian epacts will be found to be 20, 23, or 22.

SOUTHWARK BRIDGE. To the Editor of the European Magazine.

SIR,

ANY public animadversions have
Vauxhall

and Waterloo Bridges; but I have never yet seen any on the Southwark Bridge, now so nearly finished. Permit me to state my opinion, in your publication, which is open to all parties

In the first place, why was the principle of that bridge similar to the ironbridge at Boston, with all its faults, as the same engineer who executed the one is employed in the other, which, if any body will take the trouble to inquire, will be found, I believe, to be split in nearly forty places, and the money expended in its repairs, it is said, to fall little short of its original cost; this in-› formation I obtained during my last Journey through Lincolnshire.

Of this I am certain, that both structures are hanging their dreadful heavy weights of iron on their buttresses, and should this weight thrust them away, they must inevitably fall into the river, as did Staines Bridge into the Thames, and one at Yarm, in Yorkshire, into the river Tees. Another disadvantage is, the contraction and expansion of the

[ocr errors]

iron by heat and cold when confined be tween buttresses, which is found very sensibly to affect bridges with small arches, and how much more must it large ones. Are there not principles upon which iron bridges may be built to counteract these defects? There certainly are. Or is this bridge to be a sort of second edition, in point of expense, similar to one lately completed by the same principal operator, which the purses of many yet severely feel.

A deceptive idea has been held out as an apology for the Southwark Bridge, stating, that when completed London Bridge will be removed. But this, as a citizen, I deny: for what then will become of the property on Fishstreet-hill, Bishopsgate street, and lanes and streets leading to London Bridge? No, no, London Bridge, bad as it is, must either be patched up or rebuilt, with a temporary bridge alongside of it, whilst executing. I am one that acknowledge. the bad and decayed state of London, Bridge: neither can any person deny it, who will look at the engraved plan of the surveys made for the select committee of the House of Commons, by Mr. Dodd, the engineer, as they will see the whole of the south pier of the great arch split in two places, and only held together with bars of iron. As it is the revenue of all bridges that pay their erection, I

see how the Southwark Bridge is to pay without a direct North and South road, and which it can never possess without pulling down our ancient Guildhall of London: besides, it being so nearly situated between two free bridges, viz. Blackfriars and London, aud being but little more than a quarter of a mile' from the latter, surely no one would prefer paying, when they may so readily cross the river free of expense; and although I am a great friend to bridges, I like to see them placed where they will be useful to the public.

By inserting this in your valuabie
publication, you will oblige,
Your constant reader,
A CITIZEN.

King-street, Cheapside,
Nov. 15, 1817.

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

RECOLLECTIONS.

"Man has another day to swell the past, And leads him near to little but his last." BYRON'S "Lara,"

“IN slow and gradual decrease the time-glass has exhausted its numerous sands, and in inverting its position to trace the course of another hour, a new year has opened, and brings along with it a thousand Recollections, many of which Memory would gladly efface from her tablet, whilst few, if any, she can now dwell on with unmixed satisfaction."-Such was Eunomio's exclamation upon the close of the last, and commencement of the present year. The feelings which attended it he would gladly have exchanged for any others, which, even of a more poig. bant nature, would, he thought, perhaps have been more tolerable. For the one he had experienced, the other he could only anticipate. To sketch Eunomio's character would be more than a

difficult task, as few, if any, knew it intimately. It was, to draw a brief outline, a compound of virtue and vice, of candour and dissimulation, of good principles and perverted action. He possessed a feeling heart, which would Bot willingly disturb another's peace: yet if that heart sustained an injury, be exulted in the gratification of the malice of revenge. The worm will turn in writhing agony against the foot of its beedless destroyer. He would listen to the undisguised tale of woe, and, if his means afforded it, dispense the humble pittance of his purse; but to the feigned wailing of assumed dis tress, he turned away with deaf and

obdurate ear

“In him inexplicably mixed appeared Much to be loved and hated, sought and

feared."

BYRON.

To return, however: in reviewing his course of life during the last year, much occurred to harrow up bis inmost soul, while little appeared to tranquilise or saften the review-yet he shrunk not from the task he had voluntarily impowed upon himself; it might speak a salatary lesson to his future conduct; Europ. Maz. Fol. LXXIII. Jan. 1818.

at any rate it could not be wholly
unproductive of good. And here it
may be remarked, how short a time
does the circle of a year seem to be,
when retracing its finished course-but
how fearfully long when looking for-
ward to the conclusion of the next.
This has generally been admitted to be
one of the greatest blessings afforded
to man, that he can recur so summarily
to past pleasures, while the future are
held in abeyance, and only bestowed
from day to day, to confer a more last-
ing and real joy on their unexpectant
possessor. Yet how few are there but
have silently sighed to break the ber-
metical seal of futurity, and bound over
her immensurable plains, in all the wild-
ness of present ecstasy and delight, lit-
the dreaming how soon that radiant sun

which now enlivens would be over-
shadowed with the clouds of darkness,

fraught with “ danger and distress."
The sacred Evangelist hath expressed
this in words which speak more to the
feelings than the most studied language
or ornamented style could have done,
"sufficient unto the day is the evil
thereof." This truth, however, did
not bear upon the thoughts of Eunomio
at the present time, for it was in the
contemplation of the future that he
recalled the past. An opportunity had
presented itself, in the commencement
of the preceding year, to stimulate his
ambition, to rouse his exertions, and
call into action his intellectual facul-
ties. But bad his ambition been im-
pelled forward, had his exertions gained
energy, or his intellectual faculties
strove to obiain the reward held out
to their reach? No-tainted by false
actions, deluded by specious argu
ments, he had spurned the means of
his aggrandisement in literary fame.
He had deemed it the reward only
of the most servile drudge, the prize
only of the meanest book-worm. He
had heard, and fancied he had seen
it verified, that the honour extended
not beyond the precincts where it was
confined; that it was a short-lived
reputation, which was not adequate
to the risk hazarded in its acquire-
ment. How far such a conclusion was
justified, he did not then stop to con-
sider-He did not give himself the
trouble to fathom the sophistry of the
argument, or weigh quietly and dis-
passionately its component parts. He
did not consider by whom it was up-
held, or the materials upon which its

E

4

foundation was reared. He never suspected that disappointment would strive to undervalue the reward, and incapacity exert its utmost influence to keep down all others upon the same level with itself. It appeared plausible on a first view, and as such fixed his determination. Subsequent reflection has, however, shewn him the fallacy of such reasoning. He has disappointed the fondly-raised hopes of affectionate parents, and defeated their most sanguine expectations. Yet if these were the only results, time might wear away the recollection of them. But can he, while he thinks as a man, or as a sensible being, ever forgive himself such unwarrantable inanity of character ? Is it not the peremptory duty of every man to soar above mediocrity, to strive in competition for the foremost prize, to aim at the victor wreath. If indi. vidual gratification cannot urge onward to the attempt. ought not the pride of family and kindred to assert a claim irresistible? It unquestionably ought; for where exists such honour as that acquired by talent and genius? Where such fame as that adjudged to merit, or bestowed on learning? For this purpose was man endowed with reason, for this was it given him to explore the hidden treasures of unrevealed science-And this Eunomio had relinquished, had considered beneath his notice. Strange infatuation! which could hold captive the mind in such weak and slender chains. Confined in this thraldom then, he suffered to escape an opportunity of signalizing himself, which can never be recalled. Yet let it not be supposed that Eunomio indulged in slothful idle ness, or despised literature. On the contrary, he was greatly addicted to reading, and enjoyed the intercourse of clever men. But his present regret was, that he had not strove to obtain honour and reward when the oppor. tunity offered; that he had not aimed at distinction, but had suffered himself to be numbered in the herd of the numerous many. Such was the circumstance that marked the commencement of the preceding year in distinct characters upon his mind's memory. The words of a great master may here be applied to Eunomio's conduct, "Contempt previous to investigation." Time now wore on, and Eunomio changed the still silence of science and literature for the busy scenes of pleasure

and dissipation. Nothing is more pleasing to the youthful mind, in entering upon life, or more seductive in appearance, than the caresses of acquaintance, and respect of strangers. An universal introduction to society is the first wish and object of a young man, which the former may be willing from kindness to shew, while a personable exterior, easy address, and ready flow of conversation, may wrest it from the latter. Eunomio was not now, however, beginning life, as, from certain circumstances, in an earlier period, he had entered the world. He had seen society, he had indulged in pleasure's revelry, and if not one of the foremost, was at least not the most unresisting of her votaries. Still, however, he experienced that the circle of his acquaintance was increasing, and that he was sailing on a more expansive sea of gaiety and fashion. Though he floated with the tide, yet his spirits did not always rise in equal buoyancy. The method and course of life was not wholly congenial to his feelings. Each night of pleasure brought back its kindred day of ennui, and, like spirits to the habitual drunkard, each added draught seems only to exhilarate, to create afterwards a weightier depression. In this state of life and temperament of mind, an incident occurred, by whose consequences, if persisted in with all the ardour Eunomio commenced it, his best prospects would have been marred, his future happiness would have been for ever blighted and destroyed. This escape, so fortunate, he cannot attribute to his own foresight, or assign to his own caution and wisdom. Led on by visionary schemes, he painted to himself, in glowing and vivid colours, scenes, which, if prudence had possessed any sway, or reason held any control over his thoughts and actions, would have instantly declared delusive, and imaginary.

At first view, all seemed fairy land, peopled with subjects of his own arbitrary creation; but upon closer inspection, fertility yielded to barrenness, beauty dwindled into deformity, deceit resumed her station, which had only momentarily been usurped by candour, and the creatures realized by fancy, washed into the empty void of nothingness. Motives of delicacy compel the restraint of any direct exposition of the nature of the circumstance which is referred to, and which must form a sufficient excuse for ›

any ambiguity in which the relation is clothed. This clear insight into the nature of the affair in which he was about to engage, has been already said, was not produced by his own unassisted discernment, or foresight. Prejudice and misconception cannot, therefore, be alledged to have caused this change in his sentiments, neither can caprice be brought forward in evidence against him. Suspicion had sometimes invaded his thoughts, but the hatred and aversion in which he held that most odious of human passions, always impelled him to summon to his aid, the utmost efforts he could master, in the combat of such an illiberal feeling. This liberality of sentiment however has almost become an outcast from the catalogue of human virtues. In the modern day when dissimulation forms the constituent ingredient of nearly every cha racter, it may reasonably be questioned, whether candour and sincerity are not mistaken notions, or mere words, wholly abstracted from human practice. To tread the same level with society, the same habits must be adopted, the same actions enter Lained, and rather than become the dupe and cheat of others, first exercise upon them the experiment of your own machinery. That a frank and ingenu ous disposition should only be gradually developed, and not reveal itself imme diately, is a truth which once would have staggered the most credulous disciple. But all man's second nature, now readily admits the force, and daily habit confirms the reality of the position. Had Ennomio pursued this line of conduct he would not now have had to record this circumstance. Had he studied human nature, and followed her through all her dædalean cireuits, and windings, had he not considered hunself the standard by which he should try the essay of others, he would not so sensibly discovered the alloy which was intermixed with the metal. But he bas gained a valuable experience; and though, perhaps, bought at the price of much feeling, yet the satisfaction he now derives, and still expects to derive, will amply repay the dearest purchase. Throughout the

whole he never has had cause to re

Froach himself, except for his too. ready credulity, a pardonable error. If any reproach is uttered, it must recoil apon the author of the con. trivance. Scheming contrivance will

sometimes succeed beyond the most sanguine expectations of its employer; yet more frequently defeats its own intentions, and while preparing to encircle the unsuspecting victim in its intricate toils, entangles itself in diffi culties, which require more skill, aud ingenuity than it is master of, to remove. Then, if ever, is the time, it must feel its own weakness, must too plainly perceive the dark and disgraceful turpitude of its own ineffectual efforts. Then must the parent author loathe the nature of its production, and turn with aversion and disgust from the offspring of its baseness. Duplicity may wear the form of honest candour, and even for a while impose its smiles of ingenuousness, but when the mask falls, all its hidden deformity appears more odious from its former concealment. To support the character requires a more than common address, and intimacy with mankind. It does not admit of suddenly launching out into extremes, or privately receding into retirement. Its step must be continued and unvaried, experiencing no change, liable to no alteration. It demands time, and place, and action, as its subservient ministers, and skill and device as its directing counsellors. Can it be wondered then that its success should be so wholly disproportionate to its at tempts. That the main springs of the engine should so often clog and refuse to perform their functions? It indeed cannot, for these defeats ought to be calculated on and guarded against.Happy then are they who, doomed to be the victims of its machinations, are released by its own inconsiderate folly, and avoid the destructive ruin into which it would plunge them by its own intemperate impetuosity. Like the angler who, at the first nibble, snatches his line with excessive eagerness, loses his expected prey, so scheming, contrivance, and deceit, rapidly pursuing their first success, betray too manifestly the object of their intentions, which it was otherwise their dearest interest to conceal. Such Eunomio in the present instance discovered to be the case; and darkened indeed must have been his visual organs had they not admitted the ray of light which burst upon them. To retire was then a duty imperatively imposed upon himself. He was already liberated by every rule of honour, by every principle, of rectitude. Feeling could therefore no longer be permitted

« ZurückWeiter »