  I N D E X. The Numerals refer to the Volumes. BERTHA’S |
| INDEX. |
BERTHA’S VISIT.
April 1st.—The little buds of pear blossoms, which I told you had enlarged so much, have this day blown out completely. They are, I do think, a curiosity. They have been now about two months in water, but they had lain dry so long before, that one might have thought no life remained in them. The horse-chesnut leaves, which first came out, begin to droop; but on one of the twigs there is a nice young shoot, at least two inches long, which looks bright and fresh.
The lilac buds, I am sorry to say, have withered; but some of the ash leaves have opened out finely: three of them, however, were curiously twisted, and filled up with a cottony substance, which on examination was found to contain a little greenish insect. Mary thinks it is the aphis fraxina. What a long time the eggs must have remained there, for I do not think an aphis could have found out this branch in my room.
2d, Sunday.—Deuteronomy, the title of the fifth book of the Pentateuch, is derived, I find, from two Greek words, which signify the second law, or rather the repetition of the law. Mishnah, the name the Jews give it, has nearly the same meaning. “Moses, in this book,” said my uncle, “not only recapitulates the laws he had already ordained, but makes several explanatory additions, and enforces the whole by the most earnest and impressive appeals to the gratitude, the hopes, and the fears of the people. To them it is principally addressed, as most of what particularly related to the priests is omitted; and as it was drawn up in the last year of their abode in the wilderness, we may suppose that it was intended as a compendium for the benefit of the new generation, who had not been present at the first promulgation of the law.
“It is remarkable that, in the preceding books, Moses speaks of himself in the third person; but in Deuteronomy he drops the assumed character of an historian, and addresses himself to the nation in the animated language of a prophet, and with the authority of their chieftain and lawgiver. He begins by reminding them of the many circumstances since their departure from Horeb, in which they had experienced the Divine favour; and then contrasts the success and the victories that had marked their progress, with the disobedience and ingratitude that had provoked the Divine wrath. He frequently alludes to his own guilty conduct, and to the inexorable decree by which he was debarred from accompanying them to that land of promise, for which he had so zealously toiled. He dwells on every circumstance that could improve their hearts, and earnestly enjoins the succeeding judges of Israel to do strict justice, and to inculcate the principles of obedience and piety. He rehearses the commandments which he had delivered to the people direct from God; and exhorts them by every possible argument to fulfil the terms of that covenant, which the Lord had made with them. While he affectionately urges their future obedience, and severely reproaches their past misconduct, he loses no opportunity of unfolding the glorious attributes of Jehovah, and dwells on His mercy and compassion, and on His promised blessings. He then enters into a new covenant with the people; which includes that previously made at Horeb, and ratifies all the assurances long before given to Abraham and his descendants.
“The historical part of Deuteronomy contains a period of only two months; and concludes the life of Moses that truly great man and faithful servant of the Most High. His parting words to the people whom he had so long and so anxiously governed, were expressed in a hymn that is pre-eminent for the beauty and strength of its composition. It briefly but pathetically reiterates his warning exhortations, and ends with a repetition of the particular blessings promised to each tribe. His race being now run, we are told by the writer who finished this book, that Moses retired to the top of Mount Nebo, from whence he was permitted to behold the land which the Lord had declared the seed of Abraham should inherit; and he there died in the 120th year of his age, and in the year 2552 of the world.”
The coming of Messiah is more explicitly foretold in Deuteronomy, my uncle says, than in any other book of the Pentateuch; and the prophecies of that great event, as well as of many other circumstances in the history of the Jews, have been so fully and minutely realized, that they completely demonstrate the divine inspiration of Moses.
3d.—Besides the rocks which compose our five grand formations, there is another series, the trap formation, or overlying rocks; so called, because they are found in various places lying on almost every rock, from granite even to chalk. They sometimes traverse the other rocks in veins or dykes, and are sometimes found in immense shapeless masses, but never regularly stratified. It is evident from these facts, my uncle says, that their origin must be more recent than those rocks on which they repose; yet they are quite free from all organic remains—none, either animal or vegetable, having yet been found in any rock of this class in England, nor, he believes, in any part of the world.
These circumstances have given rise to much discussion as to the original formation of these trap rocks, whether by fire or by water; but that is a subject on which my uncle will not yet allow us to touch. Some species of this family have the appearance of crystallization; green-stone trap, for instance, has large distinct crystals of felspar; in others, every trace of distinct crystals vanishes, and the whole assumes a dull earthy appearance.
The famous basaltic rocks, of which there are such singular specimens in Scotland and Ireland, belong to this family; but I shall be able to tell you much more about them in a few months, my dear mamma, for my uncle says it will be necessary for him to visit Ireland, and he proposes to take us all with him to see the Giants’ Causeway. You will be surprised at this; but pray do not be alarmed; I assure you there is no danger now from the wild Irish. My uncle has been there already, and from what he says, I think some parts of that country must be very interesting. I am so full of the idea of our Irish travels that I can write no more to-day.
5th.—I have had another long walk to-day with Miss Perceval, and, therefore, another charming conversation. The infinite variety in the vegetable kingdom was our chief subject.
“Plants,” she said, “have not been thrown at random over the surface of the globe; in every region, we find those which are best adapted to each particular situation. Every climate, and every soil, has some peculiarity which influences its plants; and every plant seems to be subservient to some great and important object. From the brilliant profusion of vegetation in some countries, down to the stunted lichen, which just colours the rocks in others, every change points out the beneficence of the Creator; and those who endeavour to comprehend this beautiful order, and who trace these arrangements to the general system of Providence, can alone enjoy the study of botany in its full extent.”
She then told me a great deal about this distribution of plants, and mentioned many of the circumstances which appear either to fit them for the different regions of the earth, or to render them useful in supplying the local wants of the inhabitants. She began with the low plants whose small, close-set leaves resist the intense cold of high latitudes, or of stormy mountains; and tracing the gradual increase in the size as well as in the number of native plants through all the intermediate climates, she ended with the great stems, gigantic leaves, and splendid flowers of the torrid zone.
“A similar change,” she added, “may be observed in those adjective races of plants which depend upon others for support and protection. Instead of the dwarf mosses and lichens which clothe the bark of trees in colder countries, the luxuriant parasites between the tropics may be almost said to animate their trunks. Delicate flowers spring from the roots of the chocolate and calabash trees; and amidst the abundance of flowers and fruits, and the confusion of parasites and climbing plants, the traveller is at a loss to determine to what stem the leaves and blossoms belong. Humboldt describes a species of aristolochia, whose flowers are four feet in circumference; but Sir Stamford Raffles discovered a flower belonging to a parasite plant in the island of Sumatra, that was nearly ten feet in circumference. He brought home an exact model of it, which is now in the apartments of the Horticultural Society, and which your uncle told me he saw and measured when he was last in London. It has five petals of a deep red colour, and of a very solid fleshy substance, from a quarter of an inch in thickness at their outer lip to almost an inch at their base; and he understood that when the flower was first cut, it weighed fifteen pounds. The nectarium is so large and deep that he thinks it would hold eight pints of water; and the whole diameter of this giant flower he found three feet and two inches.”
I interrupted her to ask the name of this wonderful plant.
“It has been justly called, after its lamented discoverer, the Rafflesia. A model was an excellent method of making us acquainted with its appearance; for the northern nations can have but a faint idea of the majestic forms of tropical vegetation from mere drawings and descriptions; and still less can they judge of them from the sickly plants in our stoves and greenhouses.”
This is just what I have myself thought a hundred times, mamma. I then asked her about the Cactus tribe, of which we have so many singular-looking species in Brazil.
“It is, indeed,” she replied, “a most grotesque family; some with their round backs and spines resembling a hedgehog, while others appear like the pipes of an organ rising into long channelled columns. They are almost entirely confined to the New World, one species only being a native of the south of Europe. This is the C. opuntia, or prickly pear, which bears on the edge of its leaf an agreeably flavoured fruit. The melo-cactus has been named by St. Pierre the Vegetable Spring of the Desert: its shape is spherical, and though half concealed in the sand of the parched plains in South America, the animals, who are always tormented by thirst, discover it at a great distance, and notwithstanding its formidable prickles, greedily suck the refreshing juice with which it abounds.”
From the rich vegetation of America, we went to New Holland, and she told me that though but little of the interior has been yet explored, numbers of vegetables totally different from those of America, though in the same degrees of latitude, have been found there. “They seem to have quite a separate character; and those that are suited to the nourishment of man, are as rare in that country as they are common in America. The forests of New Holland, where the axe has never been heard, and where vegetation extends itself without restraint, are described as having a very singular appearance; the trees crumbling with age, and covered with mosses and lichens.—Among their most beautiful productions are the mimosÆ, the superb metrosideros, and the whole tribe of eucalyptus; many of which are from one hundred and sixty feet to one hundred and eighty feet in height.”
I asked Miss Perceval whether South America or India had the greatest number of plants. “India, I believe,” said she; “its inhabitants have been so long in some degree civilized that, in addition to its native vegetation, many plants must have been naturalized, and many varieties produced by culture; and India exclusively boasts of the perfume of the most precious spices.
“But there is another part of the world which we must not forget,” continued Miss Perceval, “where nature seems to delight in multiplying the species belonging to each genus. I allude to the Cape of Good Hope, where the silvery lustre of the innumerable families of the proteaceÆ gives to the woods an appearance quite unlike those of either Europe or America. The heaths are almost infinite in variety; the geraniums are scarcely less so, and the gladiolus, the ixia, and the whole order of irideÆ, decorate the fields and thickets of the Cape, with an exuberance unknown in any other country.
“To form a just view of vegetable nature, we must observe it in those countries where the ground has not been turned by the hand of man. Few such spots are now to be found in Europe, except on the summits of the Alps and Pyrenees. There mountains piled on mountains, rising above the clouds, form so many gardens, furnished with a vegetation of their own, and the character of which changes with the temperature at each degree of elevation. The same gradation takes place on all other lofty mountains; and in Frazer’s account of the Himālā chain, which separates Thibet from India, there is a long list of English plants that he found there, at the altitude which corresponds with our temperate climate; such as horse-chesnut, birch and apricot, strawberries, raspberries, lily of the valley, and many others; and still higher up, he even saw the famous Iceland lichen.”
6th.—Yesterday Mr. Lumley and Mr. Maude dined here; and in conversing about the new books which Mr. Maude has just brought from London, he spoke very highly of Sir John Malcolm’s “Sketches of Persia.” He mentioned several interesting anecdotes which he found there; and to entertain Wentworth, he related some of the exploits of Roostem and his wonderful horse Reksh; of which you shall have the following as a specimen.
“All countries have their fabulous heroes, and Persia had her Hercules in the renowned Roostem. He undertook the deliverance of his sovereign who was a prisoner in Hyrcania, and set out alone on his good horse Reksh. Fatigued by his first day’s journey, he lay down to sleep, having turned his horse into a neighbouring meadow. There Reksh was attacked by a furious lion: but after a short contest, he struck his antagonist to the ground with a blow from his fore-hoof, and completed the victory by seizing the lion’s throat with his teeth. When Roostem awoke, he was more enraged than surprised that Reksh, unaided, should have risked such an encounter. ‘Hadst thou been slain,’ said he, ‘how should I have accomplished my enterprise?’”
This story produced a grand discussion—some doubted the power of the horse to strike such a creature as a lion to the earth. Wentworth quoted different books of travels to prove that horses always trembled with instinctive dread at the sight of a lion; and even Mr. Maude, highly as he estimated the courage of a horse, did not seem to think him capable of such a noble effort. I thought to myself that it was perfectly suited to the other fabulous adventures of Roostem.
My uncle waited to hear everybody’s opinion, and then said, “I will tell you a singular circumstance which an old friend of mine witnessed, when he was at the King of Sardinia’s court, at Turin, about forty years ago. Perhaps it may convince some of my young sceptics, not of the truth of Roostem’s exploits, but at least of the strength and spirit of horses. The king had a remarkably fine charger, but so untameably vicious, that, after having killed two grooms, he was ordered by his majesty to be shot. It was suggested, however, that as he was to die, it would be a good opportunity of putting to the test the bravery and vigour of a horse whose spirits had not been subdued by being domesticated; and the king readily consented that he should be turned loose into a well-secured arena, along with a ferocious lion that belonged to the royal menagerie. Arrangements were soon made; and both these animals were allowed to enter at the same moment through opposite doors. They approached a few steps—then stopped as if to take a survey of each other—and again they advanced, but very slowly, till almost close. There was now a pause for a moment, after which the lion stooped a little as if meditating an upward spring, in order to fix his dreadful claws in the neck of his adversary; but the horse seized the opportunity, and making a slight but deliberate plunge with one leg in advance, he struck the lion on the head, and with such fatal force as to lay him dead at his feet.”
“The remarkable pause,” said Mr. Lumley, “which was made by those two noble creatures is, I believe, the practice of all combative animals when going to make their onset. I cannot give you better authority than that of our highly valued friend, Major R., who you know was not less remarkable in India for his scientific knowledge and military talent, than for his intrepidity. In the course of service he had frequently been sent with a detachment, to drive away from the wheat-fields and jungles the tigers that often prowl about the camps or even enter the villages; and he bears terrible marks to this day of the danger of such an employment. He has lately told me, that more than once he has owed his safety to that moment of observation, when the animal seemed as if collecting his force; for, as it always took place at a very short distance, he seized that favourable pause, while his foe was stationary and steady, to take a deliberate aim at a mortal spot.”
7th.—In describing the changes that have been produced by the action of the deluge, my uncle has often dwelt on the vast force of large bodies of water, when moving with rapidity. He supposes that most of the vallies have been scooped out by those means, and he divides them into two classes: longitudinal vallies, or those which lie parallel to the chains of hills; and the transverse vallies, which intersect the chains. Caroline and I frequently talk over what he tells us, and we agreed to ask him in our walk this morning, why the violence that tore out the vallies did not disturb the hills at the same time.
“Those mighty currents,” he replied, “naturally made their first impression on some weak part;—the fragments that were thus detached assisted in excavating a channel as they rushed forward; and the more the water was confined to a channel, the more powerful was its action. But the hills have also been disturbed more or less; for the upper strata appear to have been swept off from extensive ranges that they once covered. This is proved by the separated hills, which geologists call outliers; and which, having the lower strata exactly continuous with those of the adjacent range of mountains, but wanting the superior strata, shew that the same convulsion which broke through and carried away the connecting parts, must also have torn off their summits. Another proof is the great quantity of their debris, or broken fragments, which are found scattered over parts of the country far distant from their original positions. In the gravel beds near London, I have found pieces of basalt, though that species of rock is not known to exist within a hundred miles of the county of Middlesex.
“These fragments,” he continued, “must, therefore, have been transported by some agent that was equal to tearing up and carrying away the parent rock; and when it is considered that all gravel must have had its edges and angles rounded by the rubbing of stone against stone, you will perceive that this could only have been effected by the violent and long-continued action of currents of water; in short, by the tremendous surge and confused motion which accompanied a general deluge. That this deluge has been comparatively recent is clear from the fact, that fragments of primitive and secondary rocks are often found promiscuously mixed in the same bed of gravel. In one large bed, near Lichfield, may be found fragments of almost every rock in England, from chalk to granite; and many of the pebbles contain organic remains.”
We spent a couple of hours wandering up and down some of the vallies in the neighbourhood; and though a cultivated country is not the best theatre for a geological lecture, my uncle contrived to shew us so many corresponding circumstances on the opposite sides of one of the transverse vallies, that it was quite evident to both of us that the ridge had been formerly uninterrupted. We saw also many examples of the gravel he had mentioned, all more or less rounded and smoothed, and containing specimens of very different series. This was a delightful walk; for though one may acquire very fine ideas at home of the operations of nature, there is nothing like seeing them in their proper places.
As we returned home, my uncle told us that this water-worn debris, which covers many parts of the earth, is named diluvium, from that great and universal catastrophe by which it appears to have been formed. This name is meant to distinguish it from the more modern debris daily produced by rivers and torrents, to which the name of alluvium is given.
“Diluvial gravel is highly interesting,” he said, “not only as it assists in explaining the causes of the present state of the globe, but as it even indicates the direction of the great currents of the deluge. For instance—when, within a few miles of the neighbouring town of Gloucester, we see rounded pebbles derived from rocks, which are found only in the mountains of the north-west of the island, we may be sure that a branch of that current must have rushed to the southward. It has, therefore, been a favourite object of some geologists to trace these travelled fragments to their native masses; and to discover the apertures in the mountain barriers through which they had been swept.
“When the intervening country is nearly flat, there is no difficulty in ascribing the removal of the debris to the currents of which we have been speaking. But it is frequently found in situations that are separated by deep vallies from the parent hills from which it appears to have been torn. For instance, fragments of the primitive rocks that compose the Alps are found scattered on the sides of the Jura mountains, though, between those two ranges, the valley that contains the lake of Geneva is interposed. On the low hills, near Bath, we find the flints belonging to the chalk formation, though several deep vallies intervene. Many other examples might be given; and the way in which geologists obviate the difficulty is, by supposing that one set of currents tore off and transported these fragments, and that a subsequent rush of the waters excavated the vallies.”
My uncle ended by saying, that when the weather was more settled he would shew us a part of the country at no great distance from Fernhurst, which would make us more clearly comprehend this interesting subject.
8th.—The wonderful way in which the use of tobacco has spread into every country of the world, in less than three centuries since its first discovery in America, happened to be mentioned in conversation the day Mr. Maude spent here; and we were all amused by his account of the mode of smoking in Turkey. The sumptuous pipes in fashion there are so unlike the little cigars in everybody’s mouth in Brazil, that perhaps his description of them may entertain both you and Marianne.
The Turkish pipe, which is called a chibouque, consists of the tube, the bowl, and the mouthpiece, so that they are all easily separated and cleaned. The manufacturers of the tubes are seen at work every day in the shops of Constantinople, where there is a bazaar, or street of shops, entirely for their sale. They are made from the young straight stems of cherry tree or jessamine, on which the bark is carefully preserved; they are from two to six feet in length, and are nicely bored with a wire auger. The nursing these stems during their growth is often the support of a whole family, and requires a good deal of attention. To prevent the bark from splitting in the heat of the day, each stem is swathed with wet bandages, and the least tendency to become crooked is counteracted, either by a judicious application of the bandage, or by more copiously watering the plant on one side than on the other. A perfectly straight stem, with a uniformly shining bark, is, however, a great rarity, and sells for about two guineas.
The bowls are made of a clay called kefkil, found in Asia Minor, and in Greece. In its native state, it is soft and white, but when baked, it becomes hard; and, unlike the English pipeclay, turns to a black or red colour. These bowls are made of all sizes; the Turks do not like them very large; but those exported to Germany, where they are polished and finished with great elegance, are as large as a man’s hand. Mr. Maude says he was astonished by the piles of bowls in every shop of the bazaar.
The bowls are frequently ornamented with gilding, and the tubes with embroidery and jewels; but it is on the value of the mouthpiece that a Turk prides himself. None but the miserably poor would use anything but amber; and, though the common sort are cheap enough to suit all ranks, Mr. M. has seen some which have cost a hundred pounds, not from their size, but from some favourite tinge in their appearance.
“With such a pipe,” he says, “and with Saloniki tobacco, a Turk is supremely happy. Cross-legged on his Persian carpet, he enjoys it the whole day, and except to call for more tobacco, or for a cup of coffee, he seldom opens his mouth, as the smoke is emitted from time to time in long cloudy columns from his nose. Pipes take the lead in every visit, and are preliminaries to every conversation. The most flattering compliment a Turk can pay to his guest is to present him with his chibouque warm from his lips; and I shall never forget the mixed look of indignation and contempt which a Pasha of three tails threw at an Englishman, who unwarily wiped the superb amber mouthpiece before he introduced it between his own lips.”
9th, Sunday.—“Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord: and thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. And these words which I command thee this day shall be in thine heart: and thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down and when thou risest up.”—Deut. vi.
After reading the whole chapter, my uncle called our attention to the above verses, and said, “The characteristic excellence of the Mosaical law consists in the inward principle on which obedience to it was founded; in other words, on the love of God. This is fully unfolded in the admirable commentary of Moses on the commandments, where we see that the love that is expected from us must be accompanied with the full vigour of our feelings; and that it must be daily excited by a constant and grateful sense of the long-suffering and forbearance we have already experienced; of the blessings we still enjoy; and of the promises held out to us by a God of mercy, of goodness, and truth. This is the love which should be the principle of all our motives, and the guide of all our actions. This is the love which expands our hearts, not only into grateful adoration towards the Author of our being, but into benevolence towards our fellow-creatures. ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself; I am the Lord.’ This emphatic conclusion shews that we are bound to do so for the Lord’s sake; and throughout the Mosaical law you will find that the love of God was made the basis of the love of our neighbour, as well as of all our other duties. In the same manner our Saviour declares that on these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets; that is, the whole religion and morality of the Old Testament.
“It appears,” continued my uncle, “to be peculiar to the Jewish and Christian dispensations to have solemnly laid down the principle of the love of God, as a ground of human action: for though some wise and excellent heathens had certain elevated ideas of the Deity, none seem to have inculcated the love of the Deity as a governing motive of human conduct. This Moses did most expressly; and Christ not only adopted and ratified what the law had already declared, but singled it out and gave it pre-eminence over the whole body of precepts which formed the old institution.
“Let this noble principle then be pre-eminent in our minds; let us, who enjoy so many social comforts at home, and who have been happily taught to behold in our walks the beauties of this beneficent creation; let us, who can lie down to repose in health and security, and who can rise up refreshed to perform our duties; let us, my children, fill our hearts with the love of God; and let it purify our thoughts, direct our words, and govern our actions.”
10th.—I find great amusement in watching the young birds that are now coming out, and in observing the tender care with which their parents feed them. There are several nests in the tall trees near my window; and in a thick bush in my quarry garden, a favourite robin, who used to hop on my hand and feed there all the winter, has four young ones: I have named them after Mrs. Trimmer’s dear little red-breast family, which every child loves.
Robins seem less afraid than most birds of the human haunts; and my aunt says she has a friend, in whose bedchamber a pair actually built their nests, and brought up their young till it was time to fly away. The lady used to leave her window open all day; and often sat there to watch their manoeuvres and to listen to their sweet song. They seemed to be aware of their comfortable quarters, and fiercely attacked any other birds that intruded themselves.
She also mentioned a singular circumstance of a wren, a bird that is never very familiar. A gentleman having occasion to repair some paling that was attached to an old hollow yew tree, the workmen discovered a nest in a small hole in the stem, with nine little unfledged birds. He was fortunately on the spot, and had it placed on the window sill of his study. The old wrens soon followed; and even when it was taken into the room or held in the hand, they boldly did their duty to their offspring. They repeated their visits for sixteen hours daily, coming every two or three minutes with fresh supplies of food, which the little things greedily devoured. When this was told, I well remembered having heard grandpapa tell it of himself long, long ago.
This season, I suppose, must be remarkably forward, for we have had quantities of primroses and other flowers already, though Warton says of the first of April,
From the dark dell’s entangled steeps.
I should tire you with the long list of leaves or flowers opening or already burst out; but I have kept a very exact account of them in my naturalist’s calendar; and when you come home, mamma, you shall see it, and we shall be able to compare it with the advance of spring in some other year. Spring is really delightful; the great change from winter is so animating, and so full of interest to the gardener and farmer.
My hyacinth and jonquil beds are in great beauty; and, without vanity, my garden looks so well, that not only my cousins but even my aunt and uncle congratulate me on my industry and success.
Franklin is very busy now in every part of his farm; yet he pays constant attention to the workmen who are building his house, which is already far advanced: he says it is inconceivable how much waste he prevents by keeping his eye on them. Little Charles is beginning to be useful; his understanding is quick, and he already speaks plain English. The Franklins keep him always with them, without seeming to watch him; in hopes of breaking the habit of pilfering. His relations are not inclined to take him, so that my aunt will have a full opportunity of trying her benevolent experiment.
11th.—Caroline and I had a long walk, and a long conversation to-day with my uncle, about the alluvial changes on the surface of the earth. I wish I could tell you all he said; I can only give you a little sketch of it.
“Since the last great and general convulsion produced by the deluge, many gradual changes have occurred, and are every day occurring, from causes which we may easily trace. We see destruction going on in one place, and new formations in another; we find headlands and cliffs undermined and washed away by the incessant action of the waves; and we as often find the materials, thus carried off, thrown up again, and forming either extensive tracts of new land along the less exposed parts of the coast, or new banks and shoals in the adjoining sea. The action of frost and snow, and rain, have all a similar tendency: ice, by swelling in the rifts and crevices of the rocks, detaches small portions; the rain washes away the finer parts; the melting snow, which forms the winter torrent, carries down the larger fragments, and, dashed against each other, their angles are rounded off. The looser materials of the soil, through which these torrents pass, are still more easily swept away; and in this manner, year after year, the surface of the mountain is conveyed into the valley. As the torrent reaches the level ground, its rapidity lessens, the larger fragments proceed no farther, and only the earth and sand reach the river, where they subside to the bottom, and form alluvial flats, and push out the deltas which may be seen at the mouths of almost every river. Some of the prodigious deltas made by the great rivers of the continent, I think I mentioned to you in one of our earliest conversations, as well as the great deposit of new land on the coast of Italy.
“Fortunately, over a large part of the earth’s surface, these wasting causes have no influence; the green sward which clothes it is an effectual protection. The barrows of the ancient Britons, though above two thousand years old, retain their original outline, and the fosse surrounding them is still distinct. Even on the sides of mountains, where the causes which I have described are always more or less in operation, still there is a degree at which further waste will be checked; the abrupt precipice may in time be broken down into a slope; but vegetation will creep up, and that slope will then be defended by its grassy coat.
“Even the mighty action of the sea has a similar tendency to impose a limit to its own ravages; for it wastes its fury in vain on the barrier of loose stones which it had beaten from the cliff that they now protect.
“On some coasts, however, the agency of the sea does produce an injurious change. Where the shore is low, and consists of a flat, sandy bottom, the sand is thrown up by the surf; at every reflux of the tide, it becomes partially dried; the winds blow it higher up, and thus ranges of sand-hills are formed parallel to the beach. They encroach on the land so rapidly, that districts, which a few years ago were inhabited, are now become desert plains of sand. This takes place on a large scale, in many parts of the world; even in Norfolk it has been found that the only means of arresting the progress of the sand is to plant thick hedges of furze. On the east coast of Scotland, much property was laid waste by this destructive enemy, whose advance was occasioned about a hundred years ago, by the imprudent removal of the trees and the bent-grass which grew on the sand-hills. The effects were so alarming, that an act of parliament was made in the reign of George II. to prohibit the destruction of that useful plant, the sea bent-grass, which Providence has kindly formed to grow in pure sand, and to keep it firm. The Dutch may be said to owe their existence to it, as its spreading matted root fixes the sand on those great dykes or embankments, which alone preserve the country from the inundations of the sea. This grass is called murah, in the Highlands; on the coast of Lincolnshire, signs; in Norfolk, matgrass; and by LinnÆus, arundo arenaria. It has long, sharp-pointed leaves, and, fortunately, no cattle whatever will taste it. The sea eryngo and the creeping restharrow, contribute also to defend us against these almost irresistible sands.”
When we returned home, my uncle shewed me an extract of a letter from the unfortunate traveller Bowdich; containing an interesting account of a sandy plain in Madeira, about eighteen miles from Funchal. I must copy a part of it for my dear mama.
“From CaniÇal, by following a rough track, on the margin of shallow cliffs of alternate tufa and basalt, for about a mile and a half, we reached a depression, more like a basin than a plain, and covered with a deep bed of sand. This sand has, in some degree, been fixed by the numerous branches of the forest-trees which it has enveloped, and which are spread over the surface as well as beneath it, like a net-work of roots. Both the branches and the trunks are encased in a thick hard sheath of agglutinated sand; and in some instances, the wood having entirely perished, the envelopes are found empty, like tubes. Most frequently, however, the wood is still found within, where it has become a hard petrified mass.
“The trunks which remain in their natural position, have been broken off about a foot above the surface of the sand: how far they reach beneath it I cannot say, but there were two or three as thick as my body. They all appear to belong to the same species of tree, though of what family I do not think our present knowledge of the comparative anatomy of timber is sufficiently advanced to determine.
“This deposit of sand extends about three-quarters of a mile in each direction; and as innumerable fossil marine shells are mixed with it, as well as imbedded in the envelopes, it must evidently have proceeded from an irruption of the sea, although it is bounded by hills several hundred feet high, on which there is no trace of sand.”
12th.—My aunt was so kind as to take Mary and me with her this morning, to pay a visit to Mrs. B., who has always many pretty curiosities to shew. Her cousin, who is captain of an East Indiaman, has a constant commission to bring her any thing that is interesting. Fortunately for us, he arrived a few weeks since, and has lately sent her a collection of Chinese drawings of flowers and insects, which are most beautifully coloured. They are, however, amusingly defective in regard to proportion; for some of the flowers are much diminished, while the insects upon them are represented of their natural size.
He brought her, also, a few stuffed birds; one of which, the adjutant bird, is such a prodigious creature, that I scarcely looked at the others. It measures, from the crown of the head to the foot, five feet two inches; from tip to tip of the wings, fourteen feet; and the other dimensions are proportionably great. Its general colour is black, or slate blue, though a few of the small feathers round the neck, and on part of the body, are white.
It is called the hurgill, in Bengal. They say that when alive it majestically stalks along, and looks like an Indian; and when seen near the mouths of rivers with extended wings, might be taken for a canoe. There is a curious superstition among the Indians, that the souls of the Brahmins possess these birds. They are very ravenous, and have a most capacious stomach, as well as a large craw, which hangs down the fore part of the neck like a pouch. The captain told Mrs. B., that in the pouch of one which was killed, a land tortoise ten inches long was found, and in the stomach, a cat; even a leg of mutton, or a litter of young kittens, are easily swallowed. He heard of one that had been caught when young: he was easily tamed, and being always fed in the hall, he became so familiar, that at dinner time he stood behind his master’s chair; but the servants were obliged to watch him, as sometimes he would snatch a whole fowl off the table. He used to roost among the high trees, from whence, even at two miles distance, he could spy dinner carrying across the yard, when, darting home, he regularly walked in with the last dish. As he stood near the dinner table, he appeared as if listening to the conversation, turning his head alternately to whoever spoke.
The most curious thing about this species is the pouch. Dr. Adam, of Calcutta, supposes that it helps to sustain the birds in their great flights in the air, and also assists them in the waters in searching after their prey. From the structure of their limbs they cannot swim; and it appears that they have the power of distending this bag with air when they go beyond their depth. He says, that in the month of October, when the sky is not obscured by a single cloud, it is a beautiful spectacle to observe hundreds of these birds performing their graceful evolutions at a vast height above the earth; with a telescope, however, he could not perceive whether the bag was distended.
This huge bird occupied so much of our visit, that I scarcely recollect any thing else that I saw.
13th.—My aunt has been reading to us several interesting particulars of the Hottentots, from Latrobe’s Journal of his visit to South Africa.
There is a striking difference, he remarks, in the conduct of the uncivilized, and of the Christian Hottentots. All those who have been converted by the Moravian missionaries, have learned some useful trade, and, when they like their employment, work very industriously. They are naturally kind-hearted and obliging; and Christianity has had such a happy effect on them, that they live at the settlement of Gnadenthal united as brethren amongst themselves, and very grateful to their teachers.
The Hottentots have fine voices; they are fond of music, and are easily taught to sing. “One morning,” Latrobe says, “at four o’clock, I was awakened by the sweet sound of Hottentot voices singing a hymn in the hall before my chamber door. They had learned from some of the missionaries, that it was my birth-day, and I was struck and affected by this mark of their regard; nor was their mode of expressing it confined to a morning song. They had dressed out my chair at the common table, with branches of oak and laurel; and even the school-children, in order not to be behind in these kind offices, having begged of their mistress to mark on a large white muslin handkerchief some English words expressive of their good will towards me, they managed to embroider them with a species of creeper called cat’s thorn, and fastened the muslin in front of a table, covered with a white cloth and decorated with festoons of field flowers. This table, on which stood five large bouquets, I found in my room, on returning from my walk. The whole arrangement did credit to their taste. The words were, ‘May success crown every action.’”
14th.—I asked my uncle yesterday, whether a considerable change has not been produced in the level of the ocean, by the vast quantity of materials, which he had told us were carried into it by the rivers, and washed away from the coast by the waves.
He replied, that it was a very natural question, and shewed that we reflected on what we had learned. “But,” said he, “though the quantity of materials which has for ages been accumulating in the sea must be vast, yet when compared with the capacity of the whole ocean, its disparity is so obvious, that it probably can have had no visible effect in elevating the general level of the water. I say the general level, because it is possible, that in the mouths of large rivers, and in narrow seas, it may have had some effect in raising the level of the flood tide; for the actual volume of water rolled in from the sea continues the same as it was formerly, but the space over which it has to diffuse itself being less deep and less broad, it must, therefore, force itself to a higher level. Other causes, however, may lead to the permanent rise of the sea in certain places; for instance, it is possible that the current which unceasingly rushes into the Mediterranean, may in the course of centuries have gradually widened the entrance; and consequently a greater quantity of water now pours in. This, combined with the deposits from the Rhone, the Po, the Nile, and other rivers, may, perhaps, account for the well known fact of the eastern end of that sea being now higher than it was formerly; many foundations of houses and other vestiges of buildings being visible there several feet under water.
“But none of these causes will account for the extensive submarine forests which have been discovered on several parts of the English coast, for example, in Lancashire, and in the Bristol Channel, near Bridgewater. In excavating the West India docks, in the Isle of Dogs, near London, a complete stratum of decayed hazel trees was found: the wood and bark were quite soft and decayed, but the nuts were in tolerable preservation. Your aunt, I believe, has some specimens of them, which she will readily shew you. The remains of the submarine forests of Lincolnshire were examined not very long ago, by a gentleman who has published a paper on the subject in the Philosophical Transactions, and if Caroline will fetch the volume for 1799, she and you may read his account.”
I shall make a few extracts from it here for Marianne’s benefit.
This gentleman, having learned that there were several sunken islets along the coast where the remains of trees could be seen, took the opportunity of a very low tide, to land on one of them, near the village of Sutton; and he found that it was a mass of roots, trunks, branches, and leaves of trees, intermixed with aquatic plants. An immense number of the stumps were still standing on their roots, which, as well as the bark of the branches, appeared almost as fresh as if they had been just cut; and in the bark of the birch, even the thin silvery membranes of the outer skin were discernible. The wood, on the contrary, was decomposed and soft: but he understood that the people of the country had often found very sound pieces of birch and oak of which they could make use. He remarked, that the trunks and thick branches were flattened, as if they had lain under the pressure of a heavy weight; which is observable also in the surturbrand or fossil wood of Iceland, and of the Feroe Islands. Above the matted branches, he found a thick bed of decayed leaves, which were scarcely distinguishable at first; but after soaking a little in water, the leaves of holly and of other indigenous trees were easily separated.
In a well that was digging in the neighbouring village of Sutton, a similar stratum of decayed wood and leaves had been cut through at the depth of sixteen feet, and, therefore, very nearly at the same level with that of the islets: it extends through all the eastern parts of Lincolnshire, and has been traced as far as Peterborough, more than fifty miles to the south-west of Sutton. The fisherman informed him that islets of the same kind are found as far north as Grimsby, on the Humber; so that this great subterraneous forest was nearly eighty miles in length; and as there can be little doubt of the woody islets along the coast having been a continuation of it, the breadth must also have been considerable.
Dr. Correa de Serra, who wrote this account, says that a most exact resemblance exists between maritime Flanders and the opposite low coast of England, both in elevation above the sea, and in the internal structure and arrangement of their soil. They contain similar organic remains of marine animals, as well as of tropical plants; and they each have a stratum of decayed trees and compressed vegetable matter below the present level of the sea. He, therefore, concludes that the two countries were once continuous; and instead of supposing that the sea is now higher than formerly, he gives it as his opinion, that this part of the earth’s surface has sunk below its ancient level. That the epoch at which this catastrophe took place, must have been in a very remote age, he thinks may be proved from the sixteen feet bed of soil, which now covers the submerged forest; and because it appears from historical records in the Academy of Brussels, that no change of that kind has happened in Flanders for more than two thousand years.
But the uncovering of the woody stratum in the Sutton islets by the action of the sea, he refers to a comparatively recent date. The people have a tradition that their parish church once stood on the spot where those islets are now; and it is very probable that before the skilful embankments were made which at present restrain the stormy inundations of the North Sea, the soil was gradually washed away by the waves, and the trees were thus left exposed.
When we had done reading the above, my uncle told us that he had himself visited the little hamlet of Sutton. The tides unfortunately were not low enough to expose the islets, or rather the sandbanks, which the Doctor mentions; but he saw a great number of the stumps and roots of the trees, which the country people had obtained at favourable opportunities. One fine oak stem had just been drawn on shore: it measured forty feet in length, and five feet in circumference; and the wood, though rather soft on the outside, was sound within, though all black. He cut off a few chips with his knife, and was so good as to give me one of them. So, mamma, if the stratum of earth which now covers this submarine forest was deposited there by the deluge, it is clear that the tree my uncle saw was antediluvian; and that the oak chip in my possession was of the same growth of timber as that of which the Ark was constructed.
16th, Sunday.—A question, that Wentworth asked, about the object and meaning of the prophecies contained in Deuteronomy, led to some observations of my uncle’s, which I will endeavour to give you.
“The prophecies of Moses increase in number and clearness towards the close of his writings. He appears to have discerned futurity with more exactness as he approached the end of his life. To be convinced of this, you have only to compare the records of history with his prediction of the successes as well as the dispersions and desolations of the Israelites; compare the rapid victories of the Romans, and the miseries sustained by his besieged countrymen, with his denunciations; and particularly compare his prophecies relative to the future condition of the Jewish nation, with their accomplishment which is still going on under your own observation, and which, indeed, may be called a standing miracle.”
“But are we certain that some of these distant prophecies have not been added in later times?” Wentworth said.
“I am glad that you have made that enquiry,” replied my uncle, “because it gives me an opportunity of shewing you how impossible it is that any such addition could have been made to the Pentateuch. In the fourth chapter of Deuteronomy are these words: ‘Ye shall not add unto the word which I command you, neither shall ye diminish aught from it.’
“This prohibition preserved these books from the slightest alteration; for it was considered so binding, that no copies were allowed to be made by any persons but the Scribes attached to the synagogue; and as the Jews were commanded to read portions of them every Sabbath day in their families, and as at certain times the whole ‘law’ was publicly read to the congregation, it is evident that any alteration must have been noticed. There is a remarkable proof of the fidelity with which that injunction was obeyed, in this fact; that the Samaritans have preserved the law of Moses to this day, as uncorrupted as the Jews themselves have done; although they were irreconcileable enemies, and though they have been exposed to all the changes and revolutions that can befall a nation during the long interval of two thousand four hundred years. No opportunity could have been more tempting than when the ten tribes separated from the house of David, and when each kingdom was zealously supported by a rival priesthood; yet both parties religiously preserved the books of the law, without changing a letter.
“From the Christian era down to this day, the Jews, though dispersed into every country of the globe, continue to read the books of Moses and the Prophets every Sabbath day, in the original Hebrew; and, however they may differ from us, or among themselves, in the interpretation of various expressions, they have always considered the strict preservation of the original text as the most important of their duties. Those books have now been translated into so many languages, and cited by so many authors, and have been the subject of so much discussion from the times of the Apostles, that it is absolutely impossible that any fraudulent change can have taken place since that period. I may add, that the books of the Old Testament were translated into Greek by the command of Ptolemy Philadelphus, about three centuries and a half before that period; and they have therefore been for upwards of two thousand years in the hands of heathens and sceptics, who would have been eager to detect any alteration that might have been attempted.
“It is, indeed, a most striking circumstance, that notwithstanding the many corruptions which the Israelites fell into while they had the sole custody of these books, no omissions should have been made in the copies, nor any attempts to suppress those parts of the law which bore directly on their misconduct; and I think we may safely infer, that it was the will of Him who had given the law, and who had inspired the prophecies, that they should remain an indestructible ‘memorial to all generations.’”
17th.—The more I learn from my uncle’s kind geological conversations, the more I see the necessity of acquiring some knowledge of mineralogy, in order to understand them. In the mean time, Caroline and I find even the general views he gives us so interesting, that we seldom miss an opportunity of leading him to the subject. This morning he told us, that the debris of the hills which accumulate in alluvial districts usually continue in the loose form of gravel or sand, or mud, or clay, in which they were deposited. “Their visible transformation,” he said, “into stone is of rare occurrence; in some circumstances, however, especially on the sea coast, we may perceive the consolidation of the sand and gravel into thin strata. If a stream, impregnated with oxide of iron, should empty itself on the beach, it acts as a cement, and the process goes on rapidly. The northern coast of Cornwall affords some examples of this sort of petrification at home; and abroad it may be seen on a much larger scale on the shores of Greece, Karamania, Sicily, and the West Indies. Abundance of sea shells and other organic remains are found in it; and at Guadaloupe a human skeleton was discovered in the beach, imbedded in a mass of that description.
“Some springs of water are so highly loaded with calcareous particles, that the sediment they deposit soon hardens into stone; and the stalactites which I shewed you are formed in a similar manner, in the caverns and fissures of all limestone countries. Those were very small specimens, but in some places, for instance in the celebrated grotto of Antiparos, one of the Greek islands, they are found of enormous magnitude, forming rows and clusters of columns, that reach from the top to the bottom of that great cavern. The water in slowly dripping through the rock becomes saturated with lime; as the drops exude from the crevices, or trickle down the stalactites already formed, they are exposed to the air; the watery part then evaporates, and the lime forms a hard stony crust; in some cases assuming the shape of small crystals.”
When we reached home, my uncle obligingly laid M. De Choiseul Gouffier’s voyage on the table for us; and we all read with astonishment his description of that wonderful cavern, which is a thousand feet long, and full of these curious productions. The stalagmites that grow upwards from the floor, are equally curious. My uncle explained to us, that when the quantity of water that trickles through the roof is more than can be evaporated from the surface of the stalactite, the remainder falls on the floor, where the same process occurs; and thus the upper and lower concretions proceed till they meet each other and form an entire column. In the middle of the widest part of the cavern there is a stalagmite of twenty feet in diameter and twenty-four in height; and on this superb natural altar, another French nobleman had mass celebrated by his chaplain to more than five hundred people who surrounded it. The cavern was lighted by a hundred large torches and four hundred lamps; and the splendour of this illumination, reflected by the concretions which hung from the roof, or which lined the sides, is described as producing a very magnificent effect.
18th.—It will not be my uncle’s fault if I do not pick up some information in this delightful house, for every day he tells us something new. He has just been describing the method of casting plate glass; and I hope some day to see the whole operation myself.
The furnace for melting the materials is about eighteen feet long, and it is surrounded by ovens for annealing the plates of glass when made, that is, for cooling them slowly. The pots in which the materials are melted, are made of a sort of tough clay that is found at Stourbridge, in Worcestershire, as it has the property of standing the most intense heat; and they contain about twenty hundred weight of melted glass, or metal, as it is called by the workmen. The cuvettes, or cisterns, which convey the liquid glass to the casting table, are made of the same clay.
When the metal is sufficiently fluid, refined, and settled, which happens in about thirty-six hours, it is put, by means of ladles, into the cisterns, which are left in the furnace about six hours longer, till the little bubbles formed by this disturbance of the glass have all disappeared. The door of the furnace is now opened, and by a chain the cistern is drawn out upon an iron carriage, and conducted to the casting table. Here it is raised, by means of a crane, against two iron bars, which are so contrived as to incline the cistern, and empty the fiery torrent on the table.
This table is covered with a thick copper plate made very smooth on the surface; and it is supported on wheels, so that it can be moved from one annealing furnace to another. To regulate the thickness of the glass, two iron rulers are placed along the table, and on these rest the extremes of a very heavy roller, or cylinder of copper, which, as it moves along, drives the superfluous matter before it, and renders the two faces of the glass parallel. The iron rulers being moveable, serve also to determine the width of the glass plate, and to prevent the matter from running over the sides; the waste metal falls into a trough of water at the end of the table, and is reserved for the next melting.
As soon as the glass has cooled to a proper consistence it is examined; and if any bubbles or flaws are found, it is broken up and returned to the melting pot: but if it has a sound appearance, the table is rolled to the mouth of the annealing furnace, and the plate is carefully deposited there. The heat of this furnace is at first very great, but it is diminished every day for a fortnight, by which time the glass is sufficiently annealed. This process renders the glass less brittle; for, if suddenly cooled, my uncle says, it would fly into pieces when touched.
19th.—Much as we were all interested by the manufacture of plate glass, my uncle steadily refused to carry us any further yesterday than the annealing furnace: this evening, therefore, as soon as we were comfortably collected round the fire, after dinner, we reminded him that he was to describe both the grinding and polishing operations; and the following is the substance of what he said.
The annealing furnace generally contains six plates of glass; when they are withdrawn, they are cut square by a large diamond, which moves in a wooden frame, and they are then carried to the grinding room. There each plate is laid on a table, covered with a large slate or flag; and to keep the glass steady it is bedded on the slate in wet plaster of Paris, which you know has the property of setting, or becoming hard, in a few minutes. A smaller plate of glass is then laid on the larger one, and being properly loaded and drawn forwards and backwards, with a constant supply of fine sharp sand and water, the two glasses grind each other to a smooth even surface. A ledge round the lower glass prevents the sand and water from running off; and the upper or moveable glass has a strong plank cemented to it on which the weights are laid. An upright pin is fixed to this plank, to which a handle, like a coach wheel, is attached for the workmen to give motion to the glass, and much skill is required to vary this motion in every possible direction; for if they were frequently to repeat the same stroke, the glasses would grind each other into furrows. But no matter what pains are taken to vary this motion, the two surfaces have always a tendency to become slightly spherical, one convex and the other concave; and to prevent this, the upper glasses of the different grinding tables are occasionally changed, so that two convex or two concave plates mutually correct each other.
When by these means a true surface has been obtained, finer sand is used, and then emery of increasing degrees of fineness, till the business of grinding is finished, and the plate is given to the polisher, whose operations my uncle was obliged to reserve for another evening.
20th.—Within the last few days the swallow has returned to us; I remember seeing it last autumn, but I did not notice it much.
I have observed that its motions are very rapid, and that it sometimes perches on the house, where it makes an odd little twittering noise.—It is a very pretty bird; the back and wings are black, glossed with purple; and the breast white, with a spot of dull red upon it. I have often read of swallows in poetry, and I shall be glad to watch this little summer guest, as it sports in the sunshine, or skims along the surface of the water. This species is, I find, the house or chimney swallow, and is distinguished from the rest of the tribe by a small white spot on each feather of the tail, which is more forked than any other species.
Mary tells me that these birds generally appear in England about the middle of April, though some few may be seen a little earlier; and that they remain to the end of September. Their arrival, she says, is always considered to be the harbinger of summer, as they come here from warmer climates.