BERTHA’S VISIT. (continued 3)

“This night stars were seen for the first time during fifteen weeks, the sky being beautifully clear. The sea, as usual on such occasions began to freeze as soon as the sun descended within four or five degrees of the horizon, though the temperature of the air was considerably above the freezing point. Whether the heat of the water be radiated into the atmosphere, according to the theory of Dr. Wells, or whether a cold influence of the atmosphere be conveyed to the water, may be a doubtful question; but the fact, that the water more rapidly loses its heat when exposed to the full aspect of a cloudless sky, is certain. In cloudy weather no freezing of the sea ever occurs, I believe, till the temperature of the air is below 29°: but in the instance now alluded to, the freezing commenced when the temperature was 36°, being about 8° above the freezing point of sea water.”

5th, Sunday.—My uncle said to-day that, before we quitted the subject of the Jewish sacrifices, he had a few more observations to make, to which he requested our attention.

“In a worldly point of view,” he said, “the punctual performance of all those rites, and a strict obedience to the ceremonial law, were the terms on which the Israelites were to inherit the land of Canaan; and in a spiritual sense they were to be considered as the means of sharing the benefit of that great sacrifice of Christ which was to lead to the inheritance of the heavenly Canaan. The institution of animal sacrifice had continued until the giving of the law, no offering but that of an animal being mentioned in scripture up to this period, except that of Cain, which was rejected. But when the law was ordained, we find that the connexion between animal sacrifice and atonement was clearly and distinctly announced; and that certain prescribed offerings were to be accepted as the means of deliverance from the penal consequences of sin.

“He who presented a sin-offering was commanded to lay his hands upon the head of the animal, as a confession of his own guilt, and as an acknowledgment that the punishment he deserved was, by the gracious forbearance of God, transferred to the victim. On these terms the offering was accepted, and a conditional pardon granted. The Hebrew word for sin-offering includes the sense of cleansing, expiating, and making satisfaction; and therefore every sin-offering, 1st, implied contrition and repentance; 2dly, an humble hope of averting a just chastisement by this figurative retribution;—and 3rdly, a firm belief in the efficacy of the great final atonement. The Jews well knew,” added my uncle, “that none of these sacrifices had in themselves sufficient value to clear the criminal, or to procure his pardon; they knew that they were only instituted as a public avowal of his crime, and as a type of the perfect expiation to be afterwards made by Christ for the sins of mankind.

“It was indeed the object of all the sacrifices of the Mosaic ritual, to impress the people with the necessity of expiation, even for involuntary offences; and to fix in their minds that awful maxim, as St. Paul expresses it, that ‘without shedding of blood there is no remission.’ This lesson was inculcated in the earliest sacrifice upon record—when respect was had to Abel’s sacrifice of the firstlings of his flock, rather than to the husbandman’s offering of the fruit of his ground; and afterwards in the covenant with Noah, as well as in various parts of the Mosaic law, where blood was in the most absolute way prohibited to be eaten, as being a holy thing consecrated to the purpose of general expiation. This expiatory virtue, however, the apostles emphatically say, belonged not to the blood of bulls and of goats, but to the blood of Christ, of which the other was only a temporary emblem.”

My uncle then read to us the several parts of Scripture to which he had alluded; and he added, that though we are now ignorant of the particular object of the ceremonies and minute directions for the sacrifices and offerings, we may perceive that solemnity and reverence were strongly enforced in all, with an exactness of obedience to lesser regulations, which shews that neither must we neglect the smaller duties while we obey the ‘weightier matters of the law.’

6th.—A number of curious circumstances were mentioned at breakfast in a conversation on the force of habit, not only in animals, but in vegetables; and my uncle thinks it is a subject on which further inquiry would not be more interesting to the philosopher than useful to the farmer and gardener. I have only time to write a very little of what he said.

He told us that there are several plants, which have been naturalised in cold climates by bringing them there step by step. Rice he gave as one instance: it is a native of the East Indies, within the torrid zone, but was early cultivated in South Carolina, the Canaries, and the northern parts of Africa; and about a hundred years ago it was sown in Italy. It has ever since been creeping towards the north of Europe, and there are now very large plantations of rice on the banks of the Weser. It is, however, necessary in Germany to use the seed which has been ripened there; that of Carolina will not thrive at all, and Italian seed but indifferently, being destitute of that power of withstanding cold, which the German rice has acquired by habit.

Another example of the gradual effect of habit on plants my uncle learned from the late Dr. Walker. The Brazilian passion-tree is, you know, an evergreen in its native country; but when the Doctor was a boy in 1773, some plants of it near Edinburgh annually lost their leaves. During his life, however, they became gradually enured to the climate; and he says that in his latter years, in sheltered situations, they have retained their foliage through the whole winter.

I asked my uncle whether those plants, which have come from a warmer region, and are naturalised here, flower later in this climate than in their own.

“The times of the appearance of vegetables in the spring seem,” said he, “to be influenced by early acquired habits, as well as by sensibility to heat. That same Dr. Walker, whom I mentioned a few minutes ago, had some very singular ideas on this subject: his opinion was, that plants removed from one climate to another, generally observe their original season of flowering, unless prevented by some powerful cause. The climate of Spain and Portugal in December and January suits the flowering of the laurestinus; and you have seen that the cold of Gloucestershire in those months was not sufficient to deter it from following its old habits. In the northern parts of Scotland, however, it does not flower till April. Dr. Walker thought the flowering of any shrub in winter in this climate was an indubitable proof of its not being a native; and he therefore supposes the arbutus to have been a native of Iceland: in the fact, I believe, he is right; but, when the similarity of the climates is considered, it is rather a whimsical proof of his doctrine.

“He gives, however, several instances of plants brought from the southern hemisphere, which flower there at the time that the sun is in the tropic of Capricorn, and which adhere in this country to their old December rule, without obeying the influence of the sun when in Cancer.”

I afterwards met my uncle in the garden, where he showed me an immense quantity of buds on the peach trees, and took great pains in teaching me the difference between the flower buds and leaf buds—the former short, thick, broad and full, with a downy covering;—the leaf buds much less downy, longer, and not so thick. In a few weeks, he says, I am to see these trees in full flower, notwithstanding this wintery weather.

7th.—From all I had heard Colonel Travers say about rice, I imagined that its cultivation was almost confined to India; and I had no idea till yesterday that it grew in North America, and even in Germany. I renewed therefore the conversation to-day, and I now find that it is so much cultivated in Spain, particularly in the low parts of the province of Valencia, that a very large quantity is exported every year.

The ground is prepared for it there by first sowing beans; and when they come into blossom, which is about March, they are ploughed in for manure, and flooded with water to the depth of four inches. After a third ploughing the rice is sown; and when it comes up, it is transplanted to another prepared field, and again covered with water. Each stem produces about twenty-four fold. When ripe it is gathered in sheaves, and put into a mill, the lower grinding-stone of which is covered with cork, by which means the chaff is separated without bruising the grain.

My aunt tells me that rice grows wild in the swamps of Upper Canada; and that the shallow parts of Rice Lake, which is near the residence of Mrs. * * *, is full of it. Her letters describe it as having the appearance of reeds with long narrow leaves, and bearing clusters of flowers at the top of the stem.

It is curious that the plant chiefly cultivated in the Sandwich Islands for food is managed very like rice;—the taro, to grow in perfection, requiring irrigation. The fields are divided for that purpose, like the rice grounds of the East, into small squares which may be easily flooded, and the roots are planted in rows. The root of the taro when roasted resembles the yam; but it is usually pounded into a paste, and then mixed with water, so as to become of the consistence of porridge.

The Sandwich Islands are nearer to you than to England, and yet perhaps you do not know, dear mamma, that although the bread-fruit is the most important of all their vegetables, they have another very useful one, called Tee by the natives. The root is sweet, and produces a pleasant liquor, but a little intoxicating. The leaves woven together form a light cloak for the inhabitants of the mountains;—something like those formed of the palm leaves by the poorer natives of Hindostan, to shelter them while at work in the open fields. Fences are often formed by planting the tee roots close together; but what makes the plant particularly remarkable is, that a stalk of it is with them the symbol of peace, as a branch of olive is with us.

Of the bark of the paper mulberry that ingenious people manufacture very nice cloth; they make beautiful mats from the leaves of their palm trees; and you know what pretty cloaks and caps of feathers have been brought home from all those islands. They even stamp their cloth with patterns; and their weapons and bowls are highly carved. “This shews,” my aunt says, “that whenever people arrive at a certain point of civilization, that is, as soon as their food and other necessaries of life are surely and regularly supplied, the ornamental arts as surely follow.”

She afterwards added, that she thought it would be a very nice winter amusement for us to describe to each other the arts and luxuries as well as the principal natural productions of the different parts of the globe.

My uncle approved of this idea, and we are to try it sometimes as we sit after dinner round the fire. I fear I am quite too ignorant to attempt to bear a part; but I am sure I shall be delighted to listen.

8th.—The sun rose this morning so brilliantly, and the distant hills looked so remarkably blue and clear, that I was sure we should have a fine day and a long walk; but my uncle told me that, at this season, both of those appearances indicate rain; and he took me to the barometer, and shewed me, by his meteorological journal, that the mercury had been gradually falling ever since Monday night, and that it was very hollow on its upper surface. From all this he thinks there will be some days of continued bad weather. Accordingly, before breakfast was well over, the clouds began to collect about the mountain tops, and it is now raining. I have already made some progress in transcribing Mrs. P.’s memoir for my dear mamma; and if his prediction be correct, I shall have time to finish it before the return of dry weather.

Mrs. P.’s Narrative.

I am now going to fulfil my promise, Bertha, by giving you a sketch of my life; and as I shall begin by a detail of those early circumstances which have unceasingly influenced its happiness or misery, there will seldom be occasion to interrupt my narrative in order to point out their consequences. You will have no difficulty in perceiving how inevitably my errors led to their punishment; how certainly the heart is corrupted by selfish indulgence; and how pursuits that in themselves are laudable may become pernicious, if not controlled by a sense of duty.

I was unfortunately what is called a very promising child, quick in all my perceptions, and equally capable of retaining the knowledge I so readily acquired. My parents, delighted at my progress, were proud of their child; and by friends and visiters I was considered a prodigy. This injudicious praise had so powerful an effect, that when I was about twelve years old I determined to lay aside the common amusements of children, and to become a singular and distinguished character. My ambition was the more easily fostered, as in our retired situation we had but few neighbours; and, therefore, an occasional interview with their children, or a chance visit from my cousins, supplied me but scantily with opportunities of giving way to the natural activity of youth, or of having my pedantry successfully ridiculed by companions of my own age.

The pleasure which I had formerly taken in learning whatever was difficult, in order to astonish my mother, now became a real wish for knowledge; and as my ardour increased every year, I studied many subjects which are not in the usual course of female education. Though my mother would by no means have approved of such pursuits for other young ladies, yet so great was my influence, that I was not only uncontrolled by her, but even assisted by my father as far as his own powers permitted.

The attainments of either were very limited: they had amiable but narrow views of life; they were devoted to each other, and to their children; and to the poor around them, they were actively useful and benevolent. But their income was moderate, and my mother was obliged to practise the most indefatigable economy in order to ensure to her family those comforts which she thought they were entitled to enjoy, as well as to enable her to assist those whom she considered as dependent on her bounty; and at the same time to save something every year as a provision for her children. About all this I then knew or cared but little; I was insensible to the merit of her steady perseverance in these duties, and thought very lightly of the talents necessary for such management; or I thought of them, only to regret that intellectual creatures could waste so much of their existence upon such vulgar labours.

I have in latter years often wondered how my mother’s plain good sense could be so blinded by partiality, that she never even tried to conquer my absurd fancies, and, by forcing me into obedience, to teach me to be useful; indeed, it is most painful to me now to think of her generous but ill-judged forbearance.

While she was engaged in superintending her servants, or instructing my young brothers, or occupied in needle-work for us all during whole days, with scarcely the interruption of a walk, or the indulgence of a book, I was pouring over my high-flown studies; perhaps, reading Horace with one brother, or conquering mathematical difficulties with the other; or, seated under an old ilex-tree in the lawn, writing verses. Sometimes, to gratify my mother, I condescended to practise on the piano-forte; but this was one of the secondary employments which I despised; a thing for show; a silly waste of time; nothing that could benefit mankind by the developement of the human understanding.

When I was eighteen, my philosophical enthusiasm became so great, that every moment seemed lost which was not devoted to scientific pursuits. To waste that time and those powers which were given me for the noblest purposes, in the common nothings of life; to sit with my friends listening to the trifling gossip of the country, or to home-spun discussions, were sacrifices to which I would seldom submit, and I always broke away from them with undissembled scorn.

Many a lonely hour that she has passed repairing the clothes of which I disdained to take care, I might have cheered her by my company; or enlivened my father’s evenings by a little simple music, in which he delighted. But conceit and selfishness always accompany each other; and, what is more to the point, always lay the foundation of their own punishment; the very talents and pursuits which, under proper control, ornament and raise the female character, became by their abuse my incessant bane. I had the pride of human intellect; and prayed for knowledge: alas! I never prayed for wisdom, nor for humility.

I will give you an instance of my odious selfishness, because it shews how short the space is between right and wrong. I went one evening to the drawing-room in search of my brother, but he was not there. My father had a book open near him, though he was not reading; my mother was working, and both looking sad and anxious; I was quickly retiring out of the room, when my father, stretching out his hand, and drawing me gently towards him said, “Gertrude, my love, stay with us. We have had some unpleasant news to-day. Your poor mother and I are too low-spirited to amuse each other; and we want you, my dear child, to cheer us a little.”

“Yes, papa,” said I, “I will come as soon as I can,” and I hurried away.—I shall never forget his look of disappointment.—Can you believe it?—I was so callous to every good feeling that I coolly sat down to finish some mathematical question in which I had been engaged, before I condescended to return!—But you will ask—had I no principles, no sense of duty or religion to guide me?—Yes, I had principles, but they were always warped by some silly enthusiasm: I had religion, but it was that sort of highly wrought sentiment which produces no good fruits: it was very spiritual I thought, but it had little influence on my actions.

My mother was anxious to bring me more into the world; and I complained myself sometimes of the want of amusement; but I professed to despise company of all kinds: dancing was an absurd waste of life, and the stiff country dinners were tiresome. Had my vanity, indeed, been more gratified at the balls and parties to which I was taken, I should, probably, have liked them amazingly; but the truth was, the ladies thought me learned, and were afraid of me, and neither my appearance nor my conversation pleased the other sex; I therefore discovered that such occupations offered but little enjoyment to a cultivated mind.

When I arrived at the age of twenty-four, I was a strange compound of selfishness and sentiment, of folly and learning. Of every species of useful knowledge I was ignorant; to make or mend my clothes I considered degrading; and all the details of domestic economy I treated with contempt. My mother reasoned with me, but in vain; my father interfered, but it was too late; my habits were formed. My parents could not always conceal their feelings of disappointment, and I withdrew more than ever to my own ideal world of poetry and science, and to studies which, I cannot too often repeat, are praiseworthy only when kept in due subordination. My father once said to me with tears in his eyes, “The time will come, Gertrude, when you will feel your mistake,”—and it did indeed come.

Mr. P., a college friend of my brother’s, came to visit him about this time, and spent a week at our house. He was as enthusiastic as myself, ardent in science, and perfect in classical literature; he was, in a word, the most amiable and accomplished person I had ever known. Pleased with my conversation, he paid us repeated visits, and without sufficiently studying my character, he sought to win my hand. It was the most foolish thing that Mr. P. ever did!

The attentions of such a man were irresistible; he really gained my heart, and I soon consented; anticipating with delight, as I told my mother, a life devoted to him and to science. My father, however, entirely disapproved of the match, as Mr. P. had a very small fortune, and as it was too obvious that I was unfit to be a poor man’s wife. I exerted all my former influence to coax him into acquiescence; but the most I could obtain was that, instead of an absolute refusal, he insisted on our waiting for a year, that we might each have time to understand the duties and difficulties of a married life.

I had been accustomed, not merely to indulgence, but almost to deference. Gertrude’s opinion had always been consulted; her advice had always prevailed; and was she now, and in a matter of such importance, to be controlled like a child! “No, sir,” said I, “Mr. P. is my choice, and I will not risk my happiness by submitting to any delay.”

My father persisted, though there was a painful struggle in his affectionate mind; and my mother tried the effect of persuasion with me, but my passionate temper would brook no restraint. At length one of my brothers became alarmed and thought it right to intercede; he mildly opened their eyes to the conviction that my determined character was their own work, and that it was now too late to retrace their steps. He pointed out to them the dislike I had excited in the neighbourhood by my contemptuous and satirical conduct to everybody; and the ill effect that the reaction of that feeling might have in still further hardening my disposition; and he endeavoured to convince them that a husband’s influence was the only chance left of withdrawing me from the follies they lamented. He then urged the family, the education, and the manners of Mr. P., who had every thing but wealth to recommend him; and earnestly implored my father to relent.

He succeeded. Mr. P. was accepted, and settlements were now to be discussed; but scorning all inquiry into the income of one whom I loved only for his merit, I indignantly exclaimed:—

We were married—and went home to a sweet little place which Mr. P. had on the banks of Ulleswater.—The estate was small, but had been in his family for ages; the house was a two-story building of olden times with projecting windows; it was situated in a valley which was sheltered from every cold blast, and altogether looked as if it must be a happy home.

“You are mistress of this humble place, Gertrude,” said Mr. P.; “and over my purse you have unbounded power. Your wishes are moderate, and you well know that our expenses must be limited by discretion. This property has been sufficient for my father and my ancestors; I hope you will assist me in preserving it free from debt and incumbrance for my successors. Of few things I have a greater horror than the disgrace of debt. Remember then, dearest Gertrude, that in our present situation economy becomes an essential duty.”

I considered this speech as so very devoid of sentiment, that I did not deign to reply.

In a few weeks, my mother came to visit us; in her own kind manner, she assisted me in my domestic arrangements, with as much anxiety, I thought, as if matter of life or death; and having established me with good servants, and put into my head more ideas than I had ever admitted before on the subject, she left me in a very happy state.

The summer did pass happily. Mr. P. had such a variety of tastes, and so kindly adapted them to mine; we enjoyed so much our studies at home; our mineralogical and botanical rambles; and our sketching and boating parties, that our life glided away in real felicity. As autumn and winter advanced, we spent less time out of doors, and more was given to our visiters, who remarked that now there might be some chance of seeing us comfortably. But the house was never comfortable to visiters. My dinners were ill arranged, and every thing was irregular. An old gentleman, who had been intimate with Mr. P.’s father, and who continued the warm friend and counsellor of the son, used frequently to ride over of a frosty day to dine and sleep; or sometimes called upon us for luncheon after he had been shooting. But he always came at some unfortunate time; when our dinner was shabby, or ordered at some late hour: or perhaps there was no fire to warm him after a cold ride; the unswept hearth strewed with cinders; the room all littered, no one to receive him, and when I did appear, probably my dress untidy, and a frown on my brow. He had long had the habit of speaking his mind, and very mortifying things he sometimes said, which made me hate him.

“Why, madam,” (a beginning which, from him, always shewed displeasure,) “you seem to have a fresh cargo of new books every time I come here. Let me see—Chemistry, Botany, Geology, Italian Tales, and Scotch novels. All admirable food for the mind, to be sure; but we old fashioned folk are vulgar enough to like a little comfortable food for the body, also. Economy turned upside down.”

I had determined to make our little place a paradise. The garden, which was to be brilliant at all seasons, was therefore crammed with flowers, and the most beautiful shrubs were to ornament my new walks; a simple pleasure, thought I, to which no one can object. Every week matted parcels of treasures arrived by the coach, from distant nurseries; and as Mr. P. acquiesced in all my suggestions, we planted and worked together. In thus beautifying our place, we never imagined that we could incur any great expense; besides, when the thing to be done was good, I thought it a proof of a narrow mind to consider the cost. For the same reason, I paid no attention to the weekly accounts of my housekeeper. She understands managing much better than I do, and all those little particulars, of a few pence perhaps, are really beneath my notice.

At last we were blessed by the birth of a boy, and I thought my felicity complete.

I had sent to London for all my baby clothes, it seemed such a waste of time to work at them myself. They were beautiful, so was my boy; and so proud was I of him, that I was profuse in my generosity to all his attendants. I determined to nurse him, and to attend him night and day; and so completely was I engrossed by this new occupation, that I quite neglected Mr. P., whose inseparable companion I had been till then.

When I was so much away from him, he had more leisure to perceive the irregularity of the house. And when he went out and mixed with others, he could not help feeling the want of comfort at home. Still he could not bear to think that I was in the wrong.

In two years came another fine little boy, and with him fresh expenses. I just then began to feel that money was not always to be had; long accounts for dress, and fanciful furniture, for new books and scientific journals, for plants, shells, and mineralogical specimens, and a variety of other things equally necessary, came crowding in; and when I asked for money, there was none at command. My husband thought that I had paid for all these articles when I received them; and our ordinary expenses had already absorbed our income. With a blind confidence that almost amounted to weakness, he had trusted to my prudence, and made no inquiries into the household management: perhaps, he too had been a little inconsiderate in his farm and plantations; but far be it from me to shade my own errors by throwing blame on him.

I begged of the people whose bills I could not pay, to wait a little; and to keep them quiet I added debt to debt. But, at last, the crisis came, and these doubled and trebled debts, amounting to an enormous sum, appeared in dreadful array before Mr. P.

Then came demands from the country tradespeople who supplied our house; brewer, butcher, baker, &c.; and then, too, we discovered that the housekeeper, taking advantage of my foolish confidence, had never paid them; she had deceived me by false receipts, and had in every possible way betrayed her trust.

This shock awakened me; I understood the extent of my follies, and too late saw their consequences: I saw Mr. P. sink under the blow, and oh! Bertha, I did then, indeed, feel remorse. But, although wounded in the most sensitive of his feelings, and involved by me in what he had of all things most dreaded, he said he only reproached himself. His kindness never failed; but I saw that I had lost his respect, and that he could no longer rest his happiness on me. I became fretful and truly miserable, and a sort of reserve and mutual coldness gradually took place of that “boundless sympathy of soul” which we had till then enjoyed.

To be in debt, Mr. P. considered a state of actual disgrace, and he would have gladly sold his patrimony to emancipate himself from the load; but it was entailed. There were two other ways, either to raise money on mortgage; or, if his creditors would give him time, to devote the chief part of his income to a fund for the purpose of liquidating their full claims; and, in the mean time, to live on bread and water if necessary. He turned over in his mind also a hundred different schemes for employing his time and talents, so as to augment our means; for I could see, that though he dreaded the privations which I must endure, yet that one of his greatest difficulties was the doubt, whether I could conform to the rigorous parsimony that we were now called on to practise. Anxious for advice, he rode off to consult his old friend and counsellor Mr. Crispin, whom we had not seen for a long time; and I was rather surprised by his return the same evening, as he generally slept at the Hall, when he went there. He looked agitated, and though he treated me with more tenderness than usual, since our misfortune had burst upon him, yet he refused to tell me the result of his consultation.

In the evening, however, after a long silence he suddenly turned round to the table where I was actually endeavouring to discipline my fingers to the use of a needle, and said, “Gertrude, will you be contented to remain here in acknowledged embarrassment, shut up from the world, and endeavouring with me to save and to pay; or, will you for a time return to your father and mother? You know they will receive you with open arms; and you can there have the comforts so necessary to you and our poor little children. I really think it will be the wisest course to ask an asylum from them; for how can you adapt yourself to our present circumstances?”

“If you do not actually drive me from you, my dear Edward,” I replied, “if you will suffer me to remain with you, poignantly as I feel the reproach implied in your proposal, it will be my only consolation to share your difficulties, and to expiate my follies by a devoted economy.”

“I felt—I knew that would be your decision,” said he, as a tear stole down his cheeks. After a few days had passed, Mr. P.’s old friend came to see us; not by any means an agreeable surprise to me, for I dreaded his contempt and rebukes, and I was still but a wayward and only half-humbled creature.

“Well!” said he, entering the room, “I believe I was unreasonable in the plan I proposed; so I am come to try if we can do better. But what did you think of it, madam?”

I told him that it had not been confided to me.

“How so—did not Edward tell it you? How was that, Mr. P.?”

“I did not like to give my wife the pain of knowing that you could have thought so unkindly of her; and as I had no hesitation in regard to my decision, it was not necessary to suggest to her such a cruel idea.”

“It was very generous forbearance on your part,” said he, “for you left me full of indignation. I will tell you myself, Mrs. P. I have lately inherited an estate in Jamaica; I am unable to take possession of it in person, and I proposed that Edward should go as my representative, and manage it for me, as long as his affairs are recovering here. But I made it a positive condition, that he should give you over to your parents’ care, and quietly disencumber himself of a useless, extravagant wife. That, madam, was my scheme. You are shocked, and turn pale; but you must allow that it was very natural advice. However, I begin to think it not quite right to propose such separations, nor is it just to refuse you some trial of amendment. I have come now, therefore, to renew my proposal, without that condition, and to offer a salary double that which I first named. I will undertake the management of your property here; and for this house, I will allow you a fair rent. And now, madam, consider this well, and don’t let yourself be angry at me, for I am an old man who deals in plain truth and plain sense.”

Wounded, as I had often been, by the harsh things this old man had said to me, yet his blunt generosity now overcame every feeling but that of gratitude; and before he left us the next day, every thing was arranged with him for our immediate departure. The demesne and all our real improvements were to be kept up; the whole income was to be applied to the payment of the debt, which he undertook to discharge by regular instalments; and our books and some other extravagant purchases, on which I had lavished so much money, were to be sold, if he found it necessary.

In parting from us, he took my hand, for the first time since we had been acquainted, and said, “I do now believe that you are attached to your husband—I am glad you are going with him; and I trust the experience you have so dearly bought, will be of lasting use to you both. I have one word more, and I have kept it for the last, to make the deeper impression. Remember these rules, fix them in your mind, and repeat them daily.

“Buy nothing that you do not absolutely want; and never go in debt for any thing you do want, be it ever so necessary.

“Waste nothing.

“Let ORDER preside in every part of your house.

“Remember, that a drawing-room, though elegantly furnished, is disgusting, if untidy.

“It is no excuse for bad dinners and comfortless rooms, that the mistress is engaged in her laboratory mixing gases, and trying experiments that are known to every apothecary’s apprentice. Women, indeed, may store their minds with knowledge, but then their homely duties must not be neglected.

“Let me hear, that when your husband returns home, after a busy morning, he finds a cheerful house, and a smiling wife; or, as sweet Allan Ramsay would say, ‘a blazing ingle, and a clean hearth stane.’”

With heartfelt sorrow I quitted the place where I had spent the happy beginning of my married life. It seemed as if I was leaving every thing that was dear, and that I never could again enjoy the tranquil life Edward and I had led for six years. Next came the parting with my children and my parents! But I will not touch on the painful struggle between different duties; nor will I mention the distress of mind which my dear father and mother suffered, in consequence of my imprudence. I consigned my dear boys, rosy, smiling, little, lively creatures, to my good mother, and she has truly done them justice.

Our passage to Jamaica was most favourable. Mr. P. took possession of the San Pedro plantation, in the name of Mr. Crispin, and we were immediately settled in the dwelling house attached to it. It consisted of one story only, as most of the houses in that country are so built, to preserve them from hurricanes and earthquakes. A viranda extended along the west and south sides, ornamented with oleanders, African roses, grenadillas, passion flowers, and other lovely plants, trained to the pillars. To the north-west lay a flower garden, inclosed by a hedge of the Barbadoes flower-fence. At ten or twelve feet from the ground, the stem of this beautiful and extraordinary plant divides into several spreading branches, armed at each joint with strong crooked spines; and every branch terminates in a loose spike of flowers, which are something like carnations, and which combine the most glowing mixture of red, orange, and green, accompanied by a strong, but agreeable smell. I shall mention only one more feature of this charming spot: the garden was sheltered by a large Pimenta grove; and, as you are acquainted with this beautiful species of myrtle, which produces the allspice, you may imagine how delightful I must have found its fragrance, and its shade, in that sultry climate.

The violent resolutions I had made to abjure my former errors, and to devote myself to my household duties, now led me into the opposite extreme; I entered into every little detail with such indefatigable earnestness, and, ignorant of the manners and customs of the West Indies, I made such an infinite number of teasing regulations, that I completely worried my servants and slaves; and even Mr. P., I do believe, thought this extreme the worst. I became so fussy and so busy, that I thought I had time for nothing else, like the Norwegian ladies, whose whole lives are absorbed in domestic drudgery.

One circumstance, however, greatly annoyed my feelings—the being surrounded by slaves. Though they did not, in general, look unhappy, and though they enjoyed many comforts, yet the whole system excited my indignation. You know I had never learned to control or conceal my sentiments, and I now took every opportunity of expressing them with such silly enthusiasm, and so publicly, that I not only offended all the whites, but injured the poor negroes themselves. My imprudent sympathy not only made them feel their degraded situation the more acutely, but materially helped to inflame that spirit of discontent which, more or less, must always accompany slavery; and I really tremble in reflecting how much I may have been accessary to the events which afterwards happened. Yet you will be astonished, Bertha, when I add, that such was the perverse inconsistency of my character, that while overflowing with compassion for these poor creatures, I was a most arbitrary mistress to those who were among our domestics, and tyrannical over all who were under my influence. I had established an evening school for the slaves when their work was done; I did really pay it unremitting attention, and fancied that I found great pleasure in being useful; but I could not bear to have my benevolent intentions thwarted: those who were negligent in their attendance excited a stronger feeling than displeasure; and I blush in confessing that the task-master found it was his interest to treat those who had displeased me with increased severity.

One of the females who worked in the plantation had a very engaging daughter; she had a good figure, spoke English tolerably, and had a quickness and intelligence which particularly pleased me. I had a great wish to have this girl about my person, and at last obtained her, though against her mother’s will. She lived in the house, and was a most useful and good-natured creature; and the rapidity with which she acquired all the knowledge that I could teach, fully justified the high opinion of her that I had formed.

Sometimes, in the intervals of my economical fever, I amused myself in making little collections in natural history; and she endeared herself extremely to me by the zeal with which she entered into all my pursuits. Birds, insects, beetles, spiders, reptiles, were all caught by her dexterity; and the tenderest plants and flowers were laid on my table as fresh as when they were pulled; so that Mr. P. and I were able to examine, at our leisure, all the natural productions of the island. In short, during more than a year and a half, this blameless and innocent girl, Nanina, continued high in my favour, and was treated more like a daughter than a slave. She really loved me, and her efforts to please me were most assiduous. But I had a temper which had never been controlled in youth, and which was still unmanageable. Caprice alone governed it, and I began to grow tired of poor Nanina. Perhaps she might have been sometimes rather too familiar in her manner, but if so, it was my own fault. Always in extremes, I now became dissatisfied with everything she said or did. If she appeared hurt at this unaccountable change of conduct, I was still more angry; and one day, that she threw herself at my feet, and with tears in her eyes remonstrated against some unjust accusation, I barbarously spurned her from my chair, and ordered her never more to enter my room. Alas! how quickly does the spirit of injustice grow; the next day I missed a favourite ring, and I accused her of stealing it!—Yes, I suspected poor Nanina, who had been invariably faithful, and whose principles I well knew had been proof against many far greater temptations.

I learned that Nanina had gone to confide her griefs to her mother; and as she did not return, I became so incensed at her for leaving me, as well as at her family for encouraging her to stay away, and I spoke of them with so much bitterness to the overseer, that he lost no opportunity of treating them with rigour. No attention, however, was paid to my positive orders for her return: she was not with her family; to all inquiries about her, they preserved a stubborn silence; and it was notorious that the unjust harshness of the overseer to them all was the effect of my resentment. Several weeks elapsed without any tidings of her, and irritated by what I considered her obstinacy, I determined to communicate the whole affair to Mr. P., in order that he might enforce obedience to my commands. I did so, and never shall I forget the horror and astonishment he expressed at my conduct. At first I was vexed and mortified by what he said, but when he calmly retraced to me all the circumstances of the case, contrasting my professed sensibility with my real inhumanity, and dwelling not only on the capricious extremes of my affection and hatred for Nanina, but on the accumulated cruelty of suspecting her without cause, of punishing her without proof, and of revenging my quarrel with her on the whole family, I sunk into his arms, I saw and acknowledged all my odious errors, and would have done anything to compensate the poor girl for my base injustice, if she could have been found.

All this took place in the beginning of summer; and in the middle of the hottest part of that season Mr. P. was obliged to go to Spanish Town, which was fifteen miles distant, about business. The day passed heavily, the sultry air oppressed me, there seemed to be an unusual stillness everywhere; the slaves even appeared to work in sullen silence, and I scarcely heard a sound but the buzz of some insect, or the angry chirp of the humming-birds as they quarrelled about the flowers at my window. My thoughts turned mournfully upon my late conduct, and upon the severe but just expostulations of my husband. They did indeed oppress my heart; and in some measure to relieve myself, I went in the afternoon to the school, but I found it locked and no creature near it. There was a mountain path near the Pimenta grove, where we used sometimes to walk late in the evening to enjoy the land breeze; and taking a book which happened to lie on the sofa, I strolled through the grove and ascended slowly from the valley. The hills in that country are covered with woods which never lose their verdure; and after musing for some time on a magnificent group of the stately cabbage-palm, the tall cedar, and the wide spreading mahogany, I sat down under their shade. At length I opened my book, and the very first thing I saw was my long lost ring! I quickly recollected that many weeks before I had put it in there to keep the place open, and I felt myself so shocked at my unworthy suspicions of Nanina, and so angry at myself, that I was quite overcome. But gradually the breeze revived me, and I burst into tears. At that moment,

I was startled by the sound of hurried footsteps, and Nanina herself appeared before me. She stopped, hesitated—then seized my hand and pressed it to her heart. “Oh! joy, joy,” said she. “Nanina thought never more see you, and now me search for you, and no find you in house.” I was painfully glad to see her—I hastily rose to take her home, and began to express my feelings, but she interrupted me and said in the most urgent tone, “This day me make escape, and run to tell mistress not to stay in home to-night—they all rise this night, and go everywhere for mischief, but first kill mistress, or make her slave.”

However startled by this alarming speech, I immediately proposed to return home to save my husband’s papers and to tell the servants to escape.

“No, no, no,—too late,—come with me, me put you safe, but no talky now,—come quick,—come silent.”

As we hurried along through the forest paths, I could not help saying, “Nanina, I was unjust to you—I accused you of stealing;—how comes it that you are so kind to one who has used you so cruelly?”

“That is what me learn from the book you gave me, and taught me to know—me never lose that book;—that book say, forgive your enemy, do good to him that persecute you. Yes, you call me teef, but you be killed dead if Nanina no come save you, and Nanina forget all but that you were once good mistress.” She grasped the hand I had laid on hers, as she said this, and I felt her tears drop on it. Oh what an exquisite moment! I besought her to let me send intelligence to meet Mr. P., but the faithful creature had already sent a trusty friend to warn him of the danger, and to assure him of my safety. She hurried me on—it was dark when we reached the river, and no canoe was to be seen; but we walked along its banks for some distance, when to my great surprise it suddenly disappeared. I then recollected hearing that in one spot the San Pedro river dipped under ground; and there Nanina had purposely brought me, that we might cross to the opposite bank, without the assistance of a boat. At last, after many hours’ walking, and when I was scarcely able to move, we arrived at one of the reed huts which the negroes inhabit. A man and woman received us;—they said some words to Nanina which I could not understand, but they looked good-naturedly at me, and laid their hands on their hearts.

Now that we were apparently in safety, and that we could venture to speak at ease, Nanina told me what had happened during the long time she was absent. The day on which, in vexation, she had gone to complain to her mother, she found a stranger in the hut. This was the famous Apakong; he was one of the descendants of the Maroons, who had formerly been so troublesome, and he fully inherited their fierce, discontented spirit. He had instigated the slaves in our neighbourhood to rise against their masters. My injustice to Nanina and her family was an additional pretext, and fearful that her mother might suffer her to return to me, and thus, perhaps, betray their plans, he took her away as a hostage, and till that day had watched her closely; but a general muster of the insurgents had happily given her an opportunity of escaping from his less vigilant wife.

Nanina left me at early dawn, entreating me not to stir from the negroes’ hut till she returned. Hours passed in the most intense anxiety, and no tidings came. I knew not what the poor negroes said, but I saw they were deeply anxious, listening to every sound, and watching in every direction. They placed food before me, but I could not eat. They brought me a branch of a pimenta tree, which overhung the hut, to revive me by its smell; but it reminded me too strongly of the dwelling at San Pedro, which I had begun to love, and of my dear husband, whom perhaps I should never see again. My thoughts flew from that to my former home on Ulleswater, and then still farther back, to the home of my youth, and to those dear parents whose over-affection for me had been their only fault. Alas! thought I, how will they feel, if——. But this train of bitter reflections was suddenly interrupted by loud yells, which appeared to be rapidly approaching. I was preparing to meet my fate with resignation, when my two poor negro hosts quickly placed me in a corner of the hut, and, covering me over with reeds and palm leaves, made a sign of silence. An immense crowd surrounded the hut, and I heard many loud and angry voices inside; but it was Nanina for whom they asked; she was the object of their pursuit; and full of revengeful eagerness in their inquiries about her, they did not observe the suspicious heap of reeds.

They were not half an hour gone, when poor Nanina arrived, looking quite worn down by fatigue. She had gone to obtain intelligence, and having heard of the insurgents’ visit to the hut, and fearing their return, she came to remove me to a place of greater safety. How or when we arrived there I can scarcely recollect; and what took place afterwards I can still less remember, for I fainted more than once with fright and fatigue. I know that there was fighting close to me—the horrid yells are still in my ears; and I think I can remember clinging to Nanina when she was seized—a loud shout that was given soon afterwards—and then finding myself again in silence; and I well remember that Mr. P. himself came into a cave where I was lying, and took me home.

And what a scene presented itself there! The house partly burnt, the furniture destroyed, the gardens ruined, and every species of devastation committed, for which there had been time or means. My brain, which was already bewildered, now completely gave way. I thought I was the cause, not only of all this destruction, but of the death of Nanina my preserver, though she was then with me. Nothing could calm me; and I continued for a long time delirious.

I have since been told, that when Nanina’s messenger arrived in Spanish Town, there was such a general conviction that the insurrection of the slaves was a false report, that much time was lost; and before the military were detached, the rebel negroes had done incalculable mischief to the San Pedro and some neighbouring plantations. At last the troops arrived, and Mr. P. with them; and after a short skirmish, the negroes threw down their arms, and submitted. The ringleaders were taken; and one of them acknowledged to Mr. P. that they had been a long time secretly trying to excite a spirit of rebellion amongst the slaves; that they agreed not to do any mischief to the San Pedro plantations, because Mr. P. had always been lenient and considerate; but that afterwards they felt so much the harshness of my conduct, which became so different from what it had been at first, that their vengeance was particularly directed to our house.

My mind continued in such a state for many weeks, that Mr. P. determined to try change of air and scene; and as soon as the necessary measures had been taken to repair the losses at our plantation, he prepared to take me to Antigua. I was insensible to every thing, and can only tell you the circumstances since detailed to me. The voyage began well, but in a few days, a hurricane arose, which dismasted the vessel, and wrecked us on the coast of Hayti. The crew were saved with difficulty, but every thing else was lost, and we were in a lamentable situation, prisoners, absolutely destitute; and even Nanina and our man-servant were separated from us. When I missed her, my former conviction of her death returned with double violence; and I became still more unmanageable. She found it very difficult to convince the people of Hayti, that, though a slave, she did not wish for the liberty which they offered; but at last, after much explanation and entreaty, Mr. P. persuaded the government to let her return to our quarters. When she appeared, I knew her, and tenderly embraced her; I also knew my affectionate husband, who had so long been my only nurse. This momentary return of reason was of short duration; it was followed by a fresh access of fever, and all hope of my recovery seemed now to have vanished.

A favourable crisis, however, came. I awoke to restored consciousness; and the first sounds that I heard were from my husband, at my bedside, uttering his pious gratitude to heaven, in a low voice. I scarcely knew the cause of his emotion; but afterwards, when I witnessed his daily and fervent thanksgivings, and became sensible of the cloud which had darkened my understanding, I felt my heart more truly and more deeply touched by religion, than it had ever been, even in the period of my highest enthusiasm. I may, indeed, say, that “The Lord put a new song into my mouth, even a thanksgiving;” and I sincerely prayed that God would permit me to repent of my sins and follies, and that he would turn my whole heart to gratitude and humility.

My trials, however, were not yet over. Every day, indeed, made me more and more conscious of my former errors; and every day I felt more penitent; but I was now to act. Anxiety, want of rest, privations of every kind, and probably infection, soon shewed their effects on my faithful companions; and both yielded to the same horrid fever. Experience of their tender care, during my own tedious recovery, had taught me what to do; and duty, love, and gratitude, gave me strength. I who, till lately, had not known what bodily exertion meant, was now actually the only attendant on these poor patients; and I thank God my humbled spirit was heedless of all trouble.

A French physician, who had been allowed to remain at Hayti during the political changes there, was permitted to visit and prescribe for us. I never can forget his compassionate kindness; and it touched him so much to see me, still very weak, going through every menial work, that he promised to lend me one of his own servants; but government interfered, and for what reason I could never divine, forbade this act of generosity. I am glad of it; for a strong practical lesson was very useful in completing my reform. My anxious cares, however, were ultimately rewarded by the recovery of Mr. P., and of Nanina; and as soon as we were able to leave the miserable house where we had been imprisoned, our good physician obtained leave to remove us to a better situation; and he even ventured to supply us with money, for which we were sadly distressed.

After a long and painful detention, the same active benevolence obtained our release; and as soon as we could hire a vessel, we departed. My kind husband offered to take me to Antigua, and to let me reside there, in the idea that I might have a horrible impression of Jamaica; and he proposed to visit San Pedro himself, from time to time; but I would not consent: the days of folly and selfishness were past—I now knew and felt my duty. We landed in Jamaica, and there a fresh misfortune awaited us. The person who had been appointed to the care of the San Pedro plantation during our absence, refused to give it up; he alleged, that he had been acting under the direct orders of the proprietor; and more than one reference was made to Mr. Crispin, before all the tedious difficulties could be overcome, and before the law authorities would interfere to dispossess him. To us, who had no ready money, a lawsuit was difficult to manage; and a very long time elapsed before Mr. P. was completely reinstated.

A severe illness, under which Mr. Crispin had been labouring, was a great additional source of anxiety to us, and had materially helped to protract the above affair; but shortly after its termination, we received a most kind and fatherly letter from him, announcing his perfect recovery; but intimating, that he considered his illness as a warning to “set his house in order”; and inclosing a deed of gift to Mr. P. of the whole Jamaica property. He said he had always intended to bequeath it to him, but that he preferred giving it then, while Edward was on the spot, that he might make whatever arrangements he liked previous to his return to England. And this he hoped might be soon, as he wished, before he died, to see us once more, and to restore to Mr. P. his Ulleswater estate, which had nearly paid off all his debts. He also sent a considerable sum of money to reimburse our expenses in the lawsuit, and thus effected a sudden change in our circumstances, from poverty to comparative affluence.

It was long since we had had money at command; and the first use Mr. P. made of it was to enable me at once to visit the dear friends from whom I had been so many years separated, without waiting for the final arrangement of his affairs. I need scarcely tell you that the moment the property was ours we gave Nanina her freedom. I had intended to have proposed her remaining with me, but I learned that there had been a long attachment between her and a deserving young man; and before we left Jamaica I had the pleasure of seeing the faithful girl happily settled.

Just then the Phaëton was ordered to Brazil with despatches, and to proceed from thence to England. Captain M. was nearly related to Mr. P., and immediately offered me a passage, which, though much longer, was much more agreeable than if made in any other way. I need not tell you, Bertha, how greatly I enjoyed the time we remained at Rio, and how happy I was to have you for my companion during the remainder of our voyage.

Thank heaven, I found my dear father and mother well and strong; my children, too, had just come home from school for the vacation, and my happiness would have been complete had my dear Edward been with me. My boys have fine open generous minds, and I trust that in their education I shall take warning by my own early faults.

From this little history of my past life you will perceive, my dear Bertha, how much reason I have to be grateful for the afflictions with which Providence thought fit to correct me; and though your education has fortunately been very different from mine, still, this account of my follies and their consequences will point out numerous dangers to avoid, and new motives for continual watchfulness: every page of it will shew you the necessity of a vigilant self-control, and will, I think, amply demonstrate the value of homely virtues and of homely knowledge. Do not, however, imagine that I seek to depreciate the value of scientific or literary pursuits, or that my love for them has diminished;—far from it:—I would only keep them in their right place; for I have at last learned that the useful and the intellectual embellish each other; and that the female character is more or less imperfect if deficient in either.—G. P.

11th.—The dormouse seemed less inclined to sleep during the last return of frost, than before; and since the weather has become a little more mild and warm, it seems to have laid aside its sleepiness almost entirely. During one or two slight frosts, which lasted for only a day or two, it slept constantly; and I think I may say, from all our observations, that whenever the thermometer, which my uncle has attached to the cage, falls to 42°, the dormouse becomes inactive; and if it falls any lower, he remains insensible. When the warmth of the room rises to 47° he is affected by the slightest touch, and is sure to waken in the evening and to eat heartily of his store, which I keep supplied with nuts, biscuits, and a little milk and water. When he is too lazy to put his mouth down into the cup, he has a very amusing method of drinking; he dips his tail into the milk, and then draws it through his mouth. Last night he was so much alive that he very expertly repaired his nest, which had been a little deranged. On the whole, as my uncle says, it appears, that as soon as the necessity for sleeping is removed, by artificial warmth and plenty of food, the torpid propensity of this little creature vanishes.

My aunt remarked that there are many well-known facts of animals being compelled by circumstances to relinquish their strongest characteristics; for instance, the hyena lives on the roots of fritillary in the unfrequented parts of Africa, but in the neighbourhood of inhabited places he feeds on carrion:—and the pied flycatcher, which lives on soft seeds in this country, is well contented in Norway with flesh dried in smoke.

The rain, which was incessant for two days and nights, stopped yesterday, and a nice soft wind with a warm sun has so dried the ground, that we have been out almost all the morning. I find that spring is beginning to advance. The buds of several trees are visibly enlarging, though it will be many weeks before they burst; the catkins of the hazel, which appeared during the winter like little short green spikes, are now lengthened, and so much more open, that each floret is to be seen separately, though none are yet expanded. When we were rambling through the hazel thicket, Mary shewed them to me; and also the little buds which contain the flowers that afterwards produce the nuts, scattered up and down on the branches. It is curious that these flowers are so carefully preserved in buds, while the catkins are exposed without protection during the whole winter.

The flower-buds of the peach trees are much swelled, the scales are almost separating, and in some there is even a streak of red appearing.

The tufts of leaf and flower buds on the pear trees begin to shew themselves more distinctly; and on the larch trees, the little brown lumps are now growing larger, and preparing to let the nests of imprisoned leaves burst forth.

It is very odd how many interesting things are passed over and not observed. There was a young lady here last week who lives in the country, and yet had scarcely noticed any of these small circumstances in Natural History, which distinguish the changes of the seasons, though she diligently walked out every day for two hours round the garden and shrubbery.

Notwithstanding my love for the rich and beautiful vegetation of Brazil, I do like the seasons here, and the sort of feeling of expectation that winter, dark and dreary as it is, gives of the welcome return of spring with all its beauties.

12th., Sunday.—My uncle, in conversing this morning about the peculiar situation and circumstances of the Israelites, said that the beneficence which graciously condescended to detail all their smaller duties in the law, might be compared to the cloud which continued to be their daily guide in the wilderness, directing them when to halt, and when to advance; for the law was their sure guide to lead them blameless through the journey of life, could they but have been obedient to it, and restrained their unruly and stubborn dispositions.

“But, perhaps,” he continued, “there is not any where in the history of man a stronger proof of the corruption of his heart, and at the same time of the perfect free will bestowed on him, than in the simple facts recorded in the history of the journey of the Israelites across the desert; when at the very time they were under the immediate guidance of God, they so frequently murmured and even rebelled against his commands. Thus exercising their own will, notwithstanding the threats and prohibitions, as well as the promises, conveyed to them by Moses.

“The book of Numbers, you know, is so called because it contains an account of the two numberings of the people; the first of which took place in the second year after their departure from Egypt; and the second, in the plains of Moab, near the conclusion of their wanderings. It comprehends about thirty-eight years; but the principal historical events which it records happened at the beginning or the end of that period,—such as, the death of Aaron, and the very interesting narrative of Balak and Balaam’s insidious attempts. It also describes the consecration of the tabernacle, and recapitulates the forty-two journeys of the Israelites in the wilderness, under the miraculous guidance of the cloud.

“This book also contains several instances of the prompt severity with which God punished the rebellious murmurings and ungrateful seditions of the people. But amidst the exemplary terrors of those judgments, it sets forth on every occasion the continuance of his fatherly mercy and goodness, in providing for their wants, in protecting and defending them, in holding out the consoling offer of future restoration to his favour, and particularly in the beautiful and comprehensive blessing which he appointed to be pronounced by the priests, and to which, lest any body should despise it, because uttered by a mere mortal, he annexed this gracious and distinct promise, ‘and I will bless them.’

“The blessing[A] probably extended in its full meaning to after-ages, and seems to be capable of a more comprehensive interpretation than what appears in our translation. For it is very remarkable, that the name of Jehovah, which is three times repeated, has each time in the original Hebrew a different accent. Some commentators think that this refers to the three persons of the Trinity; and that it has a strictly parallel signification to the form of baptism which our Saviour established in ‘the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.’

“The three parts of this benediction, they say, will be found to agree respectively with the attributes of Three Persons. The Father being the source of all blessings and preservation, temporal and eternal. Grace and illumination coming from the Son, through whom we have the light of all true knowledge. And Peace, that is, the peace of conscience and inward tranquillity of mind, being essentially the gift of the Spirit, whose name, St. John says, is the Comforter.”

13th.—Every thing relating to the interior of Africa is so interesting now that such efforts are making to explore it, that I think you will be amused by a few lines from Mollien’s Travels about a kingdom called Fonta-diallon.

He says, that the villages are like camps; there are but few cattle, and those of diminutive size; horses are unknown, and the ass on which Mollien rode, spread terror through the country. There is not sufficient prey to invite the lion; and the surrounding mountains have never been crossed by the elephant: but hyenas and panthers are abundant; and monkeys people the woods.

The riches of the inhabitants consist in slaves, and they have some very singular establishments for them, which seem to shew a much greater degree of humanity than we find in any other part of Africa. I will copy Mollien’s own words.

“Les Rumbdés sont des établissemens qui font honneur à l’homme de l’humanité. Chaque village, ou plusieurs habitans d’un village, rassemblent leurs esclaves, en leur enjoignant de se bâtir des cases voisines les unes des autres; cette réunion s’appelle Rumbdé. On choisit un chef parmi les esclaves; ses enfans, s’ils en sont dignes, occupent sa place après sa mort. Ces esclaves, qui n’en portent que le nom, labourent le champ de leurs maîtres; et lorsqu’ils voyagent, les suivent pour porter leurs fardeaux. Jamais on ne les vend quand ils sont parvenus à un age un peu avancé, ou qu’ils sont nés dans le pays; agir autrement, ce serait causer la désertion de toute la Rumbdé; mais celui qui se conduit mal est livré au maître par ses camarades, pour qu’il le vende.”

14th.—It is only a fortnight since I first observed snow-drops pressing up through the snow. Now at every step I find the early spring-flowers displaying themselves; and myriads of gay crocuses, yellow, white, and purple, are bursting every day through the grass of the little lawn under the library windows. My aunt is going to paint a group of them, which I am to have the pleasure of gathering for her. Hepaticas, of all colours, are unfolding their little flowers which have been so long coiled up, waiting for the gentle influence of spring. Periwinkle, and even polyanthus, are beginning to blossom; and the sweet-scented mezereon bushes are thickly covered with the flowers which I saw quite formed in their little buds five months ago.

The weather has been for some days as soft and mild as it was cold and harsh a week since; and this has rapidly brought out both birds and plants. Even my little dormouse has been more lively.

I have been reading a description of winter, which gives a more melancholy idea of it than I think it deserves.

“Winter, season of death, is the time of the sleep, or the torpor of nature; insects without life, reptiles without motion, and vegetables without verdure. The inhabitants of the air destroyed; those of the water inclosed in prisons of ice; and even the terrestrial animals, in some countries, confined in caverns and holes.”

I do not think that, in the depth of winter, all the little living creatures were so torpid as they are thus described; but the author nicely says, afterwards, “The return of the birds in spring is the first signal of the awakening of nature.” I agree with him in that, as I have for some days observed, that several birds have been singing in an under voice, as if trying their powers; even a thrush, early as it is, warbled a few low notes, for Mary and me, this morning. But there is a little brown bird, with a bluish, ashy-coloured neck, that for two or three weeks I have constantly heard, as it sits on a fir tree near my window, loudly repeating its sweet, though unvaried song. It is the winter fauvette, or hedge-sparrow; which, however, does not belong to the sparrow tribe. The fauvette is described as a lively, amiable bird, very active, and to be found every where; in gardens, in thickets, and hedgerows.

Numbers of insects, too, may be discovered. In our walks last month, we found many under the bark of trees, or concealed in the moss; and Mary told me that some of these are scarce in the summer months. We have often brought home, in our pocket handkerchiefs, great tufts of moss from the roots of trees; and by shaking it over white paper, we have easily collected the insects.

I forgot to mention the golden saxifrage, or stonecrop, with which the shrubbery is bordered, and which is just beginning to flower; and in some of the hedges the sloe is coming into bloom. But, mamma, even in the depth of winter, there was no where that appearance of death described by that melancholy writer; for the bramble retained its leaves, and gave a thin scattering of green to the hedges; while the berries of the wild rose, the euonymus, and the hawthorn, along with the pretty red dog-wood, gave every thing a cheerful look.

I have often thought of the walk I had with my uncle in November, and of the quantity of things which he taught me might be found to observe, even in the worst seasons.

15th.—All this winter we have observed great numbers of the pretty little lady-bird, or coccinella, clustered together in a privet-hedge; they are generally collected at the joints of the branches, and at first I imagined they were red berries. Mary never observed so many before, and she therefore supposes that the aphis must have been uncommonly abundant last autumn. She tells me that the lady-bird is of great service—for in its larva state, it feeds entirely on aphides; and when these mischievous grubs are very numerous, the multitudes of their pretty little destroyers always seem to increase in proportion. In 1807, they covered the cliffs at Brighton in such swarms, that the inhabitants were almost alarmed, not being aware that they came from the neighbouring hop-grounds, where their larvæ had been usefully employed in preying on the aphis, which had committed such ravages among the hop plants, and which is there called the fly.—Their utility is so well known in France, that they are almost held sacred there; and, indeed, they are so pretty as to be favourites every where.

Just in the same manner as the locust-eating thrush accompanies the locusts, so the coccinellæ seem to pursue the aphides: whether the latter cross the sea is not known; but the coccinellæ certainly do, as they have often alighted upon vessels at sea.

17th.—I have just read a passage in Kalm’s Travels in North America, which seems, in some degree, to confirm that opinion of Dr. Walker’s, about the flowering time of foreign plants, which my uncle mentioned last week.

“The crab trees opened their flowers yesterday; whereas, the cultivated apple trees which were brought from Europe, had already lost theirs. The wild cherry trees did not flower till May 12th; but the European ones had opened theirs by the 24th of April. The walnuts of this country had neither leaves nor flowers, when the European kinds had both. Hence it appears that the trees brought over from Europe, of the same kind with the wild trees of North America, flower much sooner than the latter. I cannot say the cause of this forwardness, unless it be that they bring forth their blossoms as soon as they get the degree of warmth to which they have been used in their own country: it almost seems as if the native trees of this country are directed, by experience, not to trust to the first warmth of spring, while the flowers of the European trees are often killed by the late frosts.”

I read this passage to my uncle, and asked him if these plants did not seem almost to have instinct?

He smiled, and said, “I can give you another remarkable fact. The wild potatoe, from Valparaiso, flowers in the garden of the Horticultural Society in October, which you know is the spring of South America. All these curious circumstances are manifest proofs of the wisdom of Providence, who has impressed on plants and animals the habits proper to the situation in which he placed them.”

I afterwards asked my uncle if the American fruits were very late in ripening, as the blossoms are so long kept back by winter.

“No,” he said, “the summer is very warm, though the winter is long and severe; and, as animals become more sensible to heat, after being previously exposed to cold,—for the same reason that your hands glow on coming into the house after having been rubbed with snow—so vegetables seem to be excited to a greater degree of energy by the previous intense cold. Vines, in grape-houses which have been exposed to the open winter air, become forwarder and more vigorous than those which have been kept shut up in the house. In the northern latitudes, after the dissolution of the snow, the rapidity of vegetation would astonish you.

“Clarke mentions, in his travels in Scandinavia, that it is by no means uncommon for barley to be reaped in six weeks after it has been sown; for in summer the sun is so long above the horizon there, that there is scarcely any intermission of the warmth of the soil during the night.”

19th, Sunday.—“While we are engaged in considering the history of Moses,” said my uncle this morning, “I think we should dwell a little on a very striking part of his character, in order to imitate it, though, indeed, we can never be tried like him, in having the guidance of such a wayward and stiff-necked people. Bertha, guess to what quality I allude.”

“Perhaps to his meekness, which the Bible mentions as being remarkable,” I replied.

“Yes; meekness and spirit united. No man could have given more proofs of his courage than Moses. He slew the Egyptian who was killing one of his Hebrew brethren; he beat the Midianite shepherds though alone and unsupported: he boldly remonstrated with Pharaoh in his own court, and feared not all the power of Egypt; but more than all, when God commanded him to approach, he ventured amidst all the terrors of Sinai: and yet that spirit, which made and knew his heart, says ‘He was very meek above all men upon earth.’ Mildness and fortitude may well lodge together in one breast; it is not the fierce and cruel who are the most valiant.

“In the sedition of Miriam and Aaron, we see a beautiful example of his meekness, and of that true magnanimity which arises from it; and those very qualities are given as the reason why God avenged their ingratitude to Moses. Their trial must have been the more painful to him, because the enmity which he endured was from his own nearest relations. Yet he interceded for them, and God remitted the punishment which they had justly incurred. There, my children, is a pattern for you of that forbearance and generosity, which our Saviour afterwards so strongly commanded his disciples to exercise.

“If Moses himself excited the anger of the Lord at Meribah-Kadesh, by the distrust which induced him to strike the rock twice, as if doubtful of God’s omnipotence—if even he could be guilty of such weakness, or could be provoked by the people to ‘speak unadvisedly with his lips,’ how much more then do all of us require a continual watchfulness of our hearts, lest we give way to the same kind of ignorant and presumptuous scepticism!

“The punishment of Moses, by prohibiting him from leading his people into the promised land, was peculiarly mortifying; and afforded an exemplary lesson to all Israel of the necessity of obedience, faith, and humility, to secure the favour of God. How severely Moses felt this infliction, and how meekly he bore it, appears from his humble, and it would seem repeated supplications to the Lord to reverse the sentence; but it was reserved for a greater than Moses to teach His disciples how to pray on such an occasion: ‘O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt.’

“I think I have noticed to you, on a former Sunday, the perfect candour of Moses; in the present case it is again conspicuous. His offence, his punishment, and his entreaties are frequently alluded to in the Pentateuch, but are totally omitted by Josephus. In the original narrative they are mentioned as if necessary to explain the whole truth—they are expressed in sorrow and humiliation;—and the ingenuousness with which both the crime and the disgrace are recorded by himself, form a striking contrast with the suppression of those facts by that cautious historian in describing the character of the great legislator, to whom he looked up with so much reverence.”

20th.—Several insects of different kinds appear now on the fruit trees, and are already beginning to do mischief to the little buds—some to those containing the leaf, and some to those of the blossom. When I heard this, I said, that if they could be picked off the blossoms, it would not signify much if some of the leaves were destroyed; but my uncle reminded me that the leaves are necessary to the nourishment of the fruit; for unless there are leaves to prepare the sap for that purpose, the fruit withers away.

It has been found, he says, by his friend Mr. Knight, that where a peach branch had only flower-buds on it, the grafting a leaf-bearing twig to its extremity, so as to produce leaves, was of great benefit to the young fruit. Mr. K. having also observed that a melon plant began to decline, which apparently had sufficient foliage for the nourishment of its fruit, he examined the plant more carefully, and discovered that a runner had grown out of the frame at one end, with an additional melon on it. He took this one off, and the rest of the fruit again flourished.

My uncle is going to try a new wash, which can do no injury, and which has been much recommended to him, for destroying the various grubs and insects that are so mischievous to the fruit-trees. He sent yesterday to Gloucester, for some of the water through which coal gas had been passed; and he had three gallons of it mixed up to-day with one pound of flower of brimstone—to this was added soft soap, enough to make it adhere when laid on with a painter’s brush. It was mixed over the fire, and it may be done so with perfect safety, he says, as it is not inflammable.

Many insects deposit their eggs in the bark, or in the young buds; and it is their larvæ or caterpillars that do the greatest mischief. The aphides injure all the varieties of plum; and there is a coccus sometimes in such quantities on those trees, that in summer every twig is thickly beaded with little red, half-round specks. In spring, the larvæ exhaust the trees by sucking out the rising sap. The grub of a little brown beetle destroys the blossom of the pear-trees; and a saw-fly injures the fruit so as to cause it to drop prematurely. In short, almost every kind of fruit tree has its peculiar family of grubs, which, in their larva state, prey on the sap, the leaves, or the flower-buds; and it is to prevent this that my uncle is going to destroy them by that gas wash.

Among various enemies of the apple-tree, he shewed me in particular the apple aphis, or American blight, which was not known in this country till the year 1787. It is a very minute insect, covered with a long, cotton-like wool; and fixes itself in the chinks and rough parts of the bark. It has spread throughout the kingdom, and about fifteen years ago destroyed such numbers of apple-trees in this country, that it was feared the making of cyder would be quite at an end, if some mode of banishing those insects was not discovered. Spirit of turpentine, or smearing the branches with oil, were found to be useful remedies: but Sir Joseph Banks has succeeded completely by the more simple process of taking off all the rugged old bark, and then scrubbing the trunk and branches with a hard brush. My uncle has found this insect infesting two of his apple-trees; so he will try each of those methods as a fair experiment.

21st.—Caroline and I took advantage of a walk with my uncle this morning, to remind him of his promise to teach us something of geology.

“Are you prepared,” said he, “to learn the general classification? Though uninteresting till you know more, it is the necessary foundation to any knowledge of that science.”

“Oh yes, we are anxious to learn it, or any thing that you will be so good as to teach us.”

“Very well,” said my uncle; “we will begin at once. In examining the surface of the earth, a person would at first imagine that the confused variety of mineral substances he saw, was the result of mere chance; but if in different places he should find the same substances constantly linked together—if, for instance, in traversing the different coal districts, he were to find sand, clay, chalk, freestone, coal, limestone, sandstone, slate, and granite, succeed each other with tolerable uniformity, he would soon perceive that there was something like system in their arrangement. And on further examination, he would discover that this general series may be subdivided into several lesser series or formations, in which, also, considerable regularity may be observed. The order, then, in which these series are classed by geologists, is what I am now going to explain to my little girls.

“The first or upper series comprehends the mixed beds of sand, gravel, pebbles, and clay, which are frequently found covering the great chalk formation.

“The second class includes several different series more or less connected with each other: the most important of them are—1st, the chalk formation; 2dly, a series of sands and clays beneath the chalk; 3dly, a series of calcareous freestones, such as Portland and Bath stone; and, 4thly, beds of red marl and sandstone, sometimes containing alabaster and rock salt.

“The third general class comprises beds of coal and the limestones and sandstones on which they repose.

“The fourth or argillaceous class of rocks is characterised by their disposition to split into thin laminæ; such, for example, as the common roofing slate.

“The fifth, and lowest, contains all the varieties of granite and gneiss.

“These five series, or orders, have been named by one of our best geological writers, superior, super-medial, medial, submedial, and inferior. But the most general relation under which all these minerals present themselves, is that from which they have been named primitive and secondary. The primitive comprehend the lowest series of rocks, which serve as the bases upon which the others rest. They never contain any traces of former animals or vegetables, and may be supposed to have constituted the materials of the earth’s original surface.

“On the other hand, the different series which cover them, sometimes contain the remains of vegetables and animals imbedded in them; or sometimes they are made up of broken fragments of the primitive rocks, cemented together in a new form; and these are therefore considered to be of a subsequent and secondary origin. Geologists, however, having observed that between the primitive rocks, and those which exhibit most distinctly the characters of the secondary class, there are others partaking of the nature of both, and containing comparatively but few organic remains, have distinguished them by the title of transition rocks. And the rocks which are above this transition series, they call floetz rocks; a German term, implying their having been deposited in horizontal beds, or strata; while the strata of the older rocks were generally inclined at considerable angles. These floetz rocks were again subdivided into old floetz and new floetz; and to the new floetz other writers have given the name tertiary.

“Though the distribution into the five series or orders, which I gave you, is, I think, the arrangement best suited to the science, yet it is necessary that you should recollect these other terms, because they are alluded to in almost every work to which you will have to refer. But I have given you quite enough for your first lesson.”

As soon as I came back from our walk, I wrote down all I could recollect of what my uncle had told us; and I have transcribed it here, in hopes that it may interest dear Marianne: this, at all events, will fix it more firmly in my own head.

22nd.—My aunt has just had some small plants of the rosa Banksiæ put in the stove.—This rose tree grows in the most rapid manner out of doors, and is a great ornament to the conservatory, one end of which it covers entirely with its bunches of small white flowers tinged with pink. It produced some shoots last autumn, of nine or ten feet in length, which the gardener bent downwards, and laying them in the ground, he conducted them towards the adjoining wall, to which he nailed up the ends. They now look healthy and have fine swelling buds, as if they would soon be in a very flourishing state. He has found that the way to manage this rose is to plant it in a sandy loam, and to keep it very closely nailed to the wall, just like the Morella cherry.

I take great pleasure in watching the progress of the garden. The peach blossoms are really opening, and are lovely. The gardener has been very busy protecting them from the harsh winds, and from rain and hail, by woollen nettings stretched completely over them. But my uncle is always trying some pretty experiments; and one small tree is covered, or at least its blossoms are covered, by wool attached to the branches. Another is covered by small branches of birch, about two feet long, which were collected as soon as the leaves were full grown, in the end of June, and preserved under cover. There are studs in the wall, which project eight or ten inches, and to these the birchen branches are nailed with shreds. In order to try these experiments fairly, the trees which he has selected for them are on the same wall and in the same aspect.

We have been watching the tomtits, and find that they really do eat up the insects and larvæ that would be destructive to the blossoms; but I cannot say so much for the pretty, but mischievous bulfinch, which too often amuses itself in picking off the flower-buds.

What endless entertainment, mamma, there is in observing the operations of the birds! For some days we had heard a bird in the low wet grounds, for ever going on with two notes, like the whetting of a saw; and at last we traced it to a place by the river side, where there are some willow trees, and the remains of an orchard. We found it nestling in the decayed stems. Mary pronounced it to be the little black-capped marsh titmouse. We went two or three times to the old orchard, where we saw it very busy picking off little chips, in order to deepen a hole in a decayed willow tree for its nest; and I am told, that it makes the bottom much larger than the entrance.

The birds of passage which came here for winter are now all taking their departure; and others will, I suppose, soon replace them. Frederick often points out large flocks of them at a great height; but it is the charming singing birds that interest me: the blackbird, for instance, with his sweet whistle; and the thrush, who constantly varies his song. But still more, the missel thrush, the largest of the species, who, perched on a lofty tree, warbles a loud carol to the coming Spring, with a very strong note. This bird is eleven inches long, and Frederick shewed me that it is distinguished by its having the three outer tail-feathers tipped with white.—It goes as far north, he says, as Norway; and is common in Russia. It is welcomed here as the harbinger of spring, and yet the country people call it the storm cock, because it is sometimes heard in stormy weather, drowning the voice of the other birds. It is particularly fond of building in old ash trees overgrown with lichens.

23rd.—Franklin is going to have several hives of bees, and is preparing an enclosure for them, in which there will be some of their favourite flowers; it is placed near a rivulet, as they use a great deal of water. They are particularly fond of mignonette, thyme, mustard when left to go to seed, turnips, white clover, and beans of all kinds. These are their principal favourites; and it is said they afford the purest honey. Rosemary too is a favourite, but seldom produces much honey in this country, unless the season be warm and dry. It is worth cultivating, however, my aunt says, being one of the principal plants which gives the flavour to the famous Narbonne honey. She has had some planted in the warmest part of the bee enclosure, or Franklin’s apiary, as Frederick calls it. There are several lime, poplar, and berberry trees, planted round it; and a broom hedge is sown outside.

In a new swarm, their first care is to build cells to serve as cradles; and very little honey is collected, until an ample store of bee-bread has been laid up for their food. This is composed of the pollen or dust of the anthers of flowers, which the workers are constantly employed in gathering. They fly from flower to flower, to collect it in the little baskets formed of hair, with which their hind legs are provided; and having deposited their booty in the hive, they return for a new load. This bee-bread, after it has been received into the bees’ second stomach, is brought up again, changed into a whitish jelly; and with that substance, the young brood are diligently fed by other bees, till they change into nymphs.