BERTHA’S VISIT. (continued 5)

Grace repeated that pretty stanza of Montgomery’s; and when I asked her if she knew what was meant by “its crimson gem,” she replied, “Yes, Mamma told me that the buds of trees are called gems, from the Latin word gemma.” My uncle added that here the term is poetically applied to the flowers while yet unclosed—though it is only leaf-buds to which botanists give that name.

I begged of my uncle to shew me the difference between the oats and wheat; for though there is a great difference in their appearance when in ear, yet I had not learned to distinguish the young plants.

My uncle pulled up a plant of each, and shewed me that the oat shoots upwards, with scarcely more than two leaves, which are much rounder at the end than those of wheat; but that the plant of wheat produces three or four pointed leaves, which, instead of being directed upwards, are, at first, inclined to spread. After my aunt had returned home, we walked into some of Farmer Moreland’s fields. He is very busy sowing late oats, and planting potatoes in drills, which are made with as much regularity, and the seeds dropped in as equally, as if the distances had been measured by compasses.

The bees have been about for some days, a sure mark, my aunt says, of the arrival of spring. They began to venture out of their hives about the middle of this month; and their coming abroad is a sign that the flowers from which they gather honey are already opening.

The gooseberry trees are growing green, and I can distinguish the flower-buds enlarging daily; so are those of the currant, which in autumn I saw closely folded up in little scaly buds. The larch trees are shewing their gay green tinge, the spurge laurel is in bloom; and every tree, and plant, and bird, are rapidly advancing toward the perfection of summer.

I said to my aunt this evening, that I thought the appearance of all nature wakening, as it were, from the torpor or death of winter, seemed to be peculiarly suitable to the hopes of that glorious change in ourselves which this period so forcibly brings to our minds. She replied, that it was one of those striking points of connexion between natural and revealed religion which must make a deep impression on every reflecting mind; and she agreed with me that nothing could afford a better subject for a hymn.

26th, Easter Day.—As soon as breakfast was over, my uncle said he was going to address a few words to us on the great Christian festival which we were going to celebrate.

“It is most satisfactory,” said he, “to know that whether we consider the number, the means of information, or the veracity of the witnesses, no testimony can surpass that which was borne by the Apostles to the fact of our Lord’s resurrection.

“That wonderful event was the accomplishment both of the ancient prophecies, and of his own predictions; it was a miraculous declaration on the part of God, that the great atonement was accepted; it was the Divine attestation to the truth of our Saviour’s doctrines; a full confirmation of the promises he had already held out to his followers, and consequently a perfect security to them for the ultimate completion of those further promises which it had been one great object of his mission to offer to mankind. We have reason, therefore, to be thankful that, in the first preaching of the Gospel, Providence ordained that a fact of such importance should be accompanied with irresistible evidence; evidence of such a nature as requires no nice examination to adjust, but such as imparts conviction to every one who can read the Bible.

“The Jews were disappointed that Jesus did not shew his power by coming down from the cross; but he shewed his power more fully, by rising from the grave. They saw him taken dead from that cross, and laid in a sepulchre, which was scooped out of the rock, which was accessible only at the entrance, and which was guarded by sixty soldiers. Yet while the soldiers watched, he burst those feeble barriers, and rose from his tomb, to shew his followers that those who die in Him shall rise, as he did, to triumph over death.

“After his resurrection,” continued my uncle, “there was a wonderful change in our Lord. Previously to this event, it was in power, and in wisdom, that he had shewed himself divine; but afterwards, every thing concerning him seems miraculous and mysterious. This first appears in the manner of his resurrection. He evidently had left the sepulchre before it was opened; the women who are named by St. Matthew, saw the angel appear, and roll away the stone; but he was already gone. ‘To Mary Magdalene,’ he said, ‘touch me not,’ as if there was that divine spirituality about his person which forbade the near approach of human frailty. And twice, when his disciples were assembled and the doors fastened, for fear of the Jews, he appeared in the midst of them; but to Him who had departed from the unopened sepulchre, it was no difficulty to enter a barricadoed house. From these, and other concurring circumstances, it is evident that his body had undergone a change, ‘the corruptible had put on incorruption;’ it was no longer the human body in its mortal state—it was the body raised to life and immortality, and united to the Deity.

“There was something about this divinity of his person, that was probably unsuitable to a more open display of himself to the public than he vouchsafed to make. He shewed himself, however, to all the Apostles; ‘he was seen of above five hundred brethren at once;’ in short, there were sufficient witnesses to attest his identity, and to publish the truth of his miraculous resurrection to all mankind. The Jewish people, in the rejection of our Lord, had filled the measure of their guilt; they had no further claim on him, and he no longer held his visible residence among them. When led to the cross, he had warned them that they would see him no more till they should be prepared to acknowledge his authority.

“The resurrection of our Saviour ensures resurrection to us also; it ensures to us a second life; but the complexion of that life depends on our faith, and our obedience in this. He ‘will change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body;’ but this transformation of our being requires a previous transformation of our mind.

“It is true that, as nothing has been distinctly communicated to us on the mode of existence after our resurrection, we can know but little of the precise nature of that future life; but there may be more analogy in it to our present state than we can now venture to affirm. There is some reason to believe that the employments of the good and wise, and the chief sources of their happiness in this world, have more or less relation to those which they are to enjoy in the world to come. The study of nature, the pursuit of knowledge, and the exercise of our faculties, when controlled by religion and virtue, may all, perhaps, assist in qualifying us for occupations and enjoyments in the ‘kingdom of the Father,’ infinitely more excellent and refined indeed, yet not entirely dissimilar.

“But whatever view we take of the mode of our future existence, it must revive and invigorate our minds to feel that the evidence of the resurrection of mankind is full and complete; and that we may, therefore, look forward, with perfect confidence, beyond these clouded scenes of mortality, to their final result. Let us now go, my children, and during the solemn service of this day, let us turn our eyes forward to that permanent happiness that we are taught to expect as the fruits of the discipline and vicissitudes experienced in the present life—and now, and always, let us keep our minds steadily and gratefully fixed on that glorious consummation of immortality, which our Lord has purchased for us, by his death and resurrection.”

27th.—A new world of knowledge has opened to me, dear mamma, since my uncle began to teach us a little geology. I know it is but an outline, the slightest sketch, as he says, of the science; but it is sufficient to give a general idea of the strata near the surface of the globe; and the specimens of the different series have made all he told us doubly impressive. He has no beautiful minerals and crystals, as they are very expensive, and not so instructive as his rock collection. Indeed, he considers his children in all that he does; and these drawers were, I believe, arranged purposely for their benefit.

He shewed us this morning another class of substances imbedded in the secondary strata; these are the pebbles or broken fragments of rocks which they are often found to contain, and which have evidently belonged to strata older than themselves. For instance, new red sandstone frequently contains pieces of the carboniferous limestone belonging to the order next below it, as well as of many still older rocks: it is, in fact, nothing but a mass of sand and gravel cemented together; and which sand and gravel are only the remains, or debris as they are called, of former rocks. My uncle says we may conclude, from this fact, that the rocks from which those fragments were derived must have been exposed to the action of violently agitated water, which tore off these masses, and rounded them by friction, before the newer rock, in which the fragments are now imbedded, was formed.—Another conclusion he draws from it, is this: these rocks were undoubtedly at some former period, beds of loose gravel; but loose gravel could never have been left by the water piled up in a highly inclined slope: we may therefore be sure, when new sandstone and other rocks of the same kind are found in nearly vertical strata, that this cannot have been their original situation, but that they must have been forced into their present position by some convulsion after their consolidation. These consolidated gravel beds are called conglomerates, breccias, or pudding-stones, according to the materials of which they are composed.

He told us that the remains of marine animals, such as we saw the other day, are found in two-thirds of the rocks that compose the surface of the globe; and even on the highest summit of the Pyrenean mountains in Europe, and of the Andes in America. From this important fact, it is ascertained, without the possibility of doubt, that those continents have not only been covered by the ocean, but that they are formed of materials which once gradually collected at the bottom of that ocean.

A long conversation followed, but I cannot trust myself to write it; it principally turned on the wonderful changes that have taken place in the level of the ocean. What extraordinary causes could have lowered it to its present level, or else have raised up the land out of its bosom?—If the land has really subsided, what can have become of the enormous quantity of water which once flowed round the tops of the loftiest mountains? These questions, he said, have long engaged the attention of philosophers, and many ingenious theories and fanciful suppositions have been advanced to solve them. He slightly mentioned some of them; but merely to gratify our curiosity, strongly advising us to repress our anxiety about causes till we were in possession of facts.

28th.—Canada Extracts.

“Loghouse, April 5th.—You can scarcely conceive, when I saw your handwriting, the thrill of delight it gave me—your letter was a real feast—I could not sleep that night, from the fulness of my head and heart.

. . . . . .

“The snow, I am told, continues later this year than usual; in some places it was three feet deep, and is still deep, though it has gone off rapidly within the last fortnight, as it thaws a little every day, while the sun is hot.

“The buds are all swelling, and I have heard one or two new birds of late—but they stay up in the high trees, and I have not been able to see them. We have numbers of dear little tomtits, and some sparrows and crows. I used to despise all these at home, but here I delight in them, they are like old acquaintances. When we first came here, I heard an eagle very often, but he has deserted us.

“I am surprised at the nice green herbage that is under the snow; by which, and the decayed leaves, it has been preserved from the frost. The children bring in plants every day; the mosses and lichens are all quite new to me.

“The deep snow has much delayed the clearing of our land; next week we are to have five men here to cut down trees, choppers as they are called; we have one at present, and it is astonishing with what dexterity and speed he fells these huge hemlock pines, nearly one hundred feet high. It is almost sublime to see them stoop their dark heads slowly, and then fall; very gradually at first, but soon increasing in rapidity—tearing off the neighbouring branches, shaking all the other trees, and coming down with a crash that makes the whole forest echo the sound. The Americans from the United States are employed to chop, as they are more expert than people from the old country, and can make the trees take the precise direction they choose in falling.

“We are much better off than most people are on first settling in the woods. There are some families here, who for the first six months had no food of any kind, except salt pork, for breakfast, dinner and supper, and without even bread; but we have good bread and peas, and sometimes turnips, with excellent milk. We brought barley and rice with us; and the arrow-root that you gave me is a great comfort to the children;—I never saw three more healthy creatures.

. . . . . .

“May 2nd.—Last week we were busily engaged in burning the fallen trees, which covered the surface of the ground that we had cleared.

“The branches were first piled up and burned; then the great stems, which had been cut into pieces about twelve feet long, were drawn together by the oxen, and with much labour raised into piles, and set on fire. This was a very dangerous operation, for some of them were very near our wooden house; and the whole surface of the ground is combustible, as for several inches deep it is composed of leaves and bark, and looks like a bed of peat earth. When this takes fire the flames rapidly spread, and are very difficult to extinguish; but we are now safe.

“The Indians sometimes walk into our house; but they are harmless and inoffensive, and ask only for whiskey, which they like better than any thing else. They bring baskets, and little bowls, and dishes made of the bark of the birch-tree, and are glad to sell them for spirits, flour, or pork. They come down the river in their canoes, and can paddle them across the rapids just opposite this house, where no European could venture in a boat.

. . . . . .

“June 5th.—Our first spring flowers were hepaticas, which actually carpeted the ground as daisies do at home; they were single, but very large, and blue, pink, and white. We had the pretty yellow dog-tooth violets in profusion; then white and crimson lilies; both of them handsome, but with an odious smell: there was another very elegant-looking plant, with a leaf like fumitory, the root a collection of reddish bulbs, and the flower something like a butterfly orchis.

. . . . . .

“We have now abundance of yellow, white, and purple violets, but the white only have a sweet smell. There is also a beautiful yellow lady’s slipper, and numerous other flowers, which I may describe some other time.

“Our shrubs are leatherwood, cranberry, dog-wood, Alpine honeysuckle without scent, and syringa. The trees are elm, maple, oak, beech, cedar, hemlock pine, hiccory, and lime. The oak grows tall and straight; but all the trees grow tall and straight in these forests. I spend what time I can spare in examining the trees and plants that are new to me; I wish my botanical friend Miss Perceval was here to assist me.—We have a great deal of the moss, or rather the tillandsia, about which you inquire; it hangs from almost every tree, and we saw it in quantities along the banks of the St. Lawrence, before we reached Quebec. The captain of our vessel told us it was used in the States to stuff beds; and that he had carried some home to his wife for the same purpose.

. . . . . .

“July 1st.—I must give you a sketch of the manner in which we pass our time. Mr. * * * goes out at five, and returns to breakfast at seven; he then works at his farm till twelve, when dinner is ready; after which he rests some time, and again works till eight, when I summon him to coffee. Household cares and preparations occupy me all the morning, and teaching the children, and working for them, the rest of the day. After they go to bed I have a nice hour for writing or reading.

“It is the custom for the ladies in this country to dress in the morning very plainly, and suited to the hard work in which we must all take a part; after dinner they put on silk gowns and smart caps, and either go out to pay visits, or stay at home to receive them. But we live in such perfect solitude in these woods, that we have no neighbours to go to, or to expect here. We are going on as yet with smiling prospects, and doing something every day that tends to our comfort; but we must be contented to advance very slowly.

“In spite of every effort, my thoughts too often turn to dear home and to former times, or sometimes they take a far stretch forward; but these are only airy visions which I do not encourage. Yet I cannot help praying that we may be permitted to meet again in a few years. I fear setting my heart too much on this, but I trust to the support of Providence under every disappointment, and under every trial. Trials we must have in all places, still more in these dreary woods.”

29th.—I heard lately that several of those greenhouse plants which are natives of swamps, if planted in a pond, the bottom of which never freezes, would grow as well as if in their own country: I have therefore asked permission to try this experiment, and my aunt let me have a plant of the long-leaved amaryllis, and one of the Ethiopian calla. We broke the pots they were in, that the roots might not be disturbed, and then put them into small open baskets, with a fresh compost round them. My uncle had places made in the bottom of the pond, which is about two feet deep, and the baskets were plunged into them, and the soil at the bottom drawn close round.

The gardener thinks the salt dross has been effectual in destroying the wire-worm in my carnation beds; so last week he added a small quantity of sharp sand, and then the beds were dug, and raked nicely for planting. Yesterday and this morning I have been busy planting out my layers, and as I stirred the ground with my scoop trowel, I could perceive no traces of my old enemies.

A few weeks ago I raked off half the layer of peat earth, with which I had covered my ixia, gladiolus, and oxalis beds, to preserve them from the frosts; I have now raked off the other half, and the beds being carefully forked up, I hope in May to have some nice flowers there.

This is a most busy time in the garden, forking and dressing the borders, mending the edgeings, earthing up peas and beans—continually watching and defending the blossoms of the wall fruit, pruning trees, preparing hot-beds, and sowing cauliflower, lettuce, onion, broccoli, radishes, &c. &c., and in our garden, planting out flowers and removing offsets; dressing and protecting the beds of spring flowers that are going to blossom, and sowing sundry annuals. In short, everything is alive, and everybody anxious not to lose a moment while the weather is so favourable.

30th.—I have been reading all the accounts I could find of ants; and am surprised to find how many curious circumstances there are in the history of some of the species of this country, and of France.

Frederick knew where there was an ant-hill, and took me there, when they began to revive on a sunny day, a few weeks since. We observed numbers coming out of the ground, as if roused by the warmth, and assembling in crowds on the top of their nest; they were in continual motion, walking over it and even over one another, and yet without quitting the spot. This lasted for a few days, and then they began to repair the upper stories of their dwelling, which had been spoiled by rain and snow. We frequently watch them, and they appear to be incessantly engaged at this work till it is quite dark.

They certainly give us an example of perseverance; but their foresight in laying up a store of grain for winter is now considered to be an unfounded idea; for they are nearly torpid during the winter, and do not require provisions. May it not be said, however, that they shew forethought and contrivance in regard to their friends the aphides, which I mentioned sometime ago in my journal?

The yellow ant, for instance, which seldom leaves its home, and likes to have its comforts within reach, usually collects in its nest a large herd of a kind of aphis, that derives its nutriment from the roots of grass. These are conveyed by subterranean galleries into the nest, so that, without going out, it has a constant supply of food. The ants bestow as much care on these little milch-cows as on their own offspring, and pay particular attention to their eggs, moistening them with their tongue, carrying them tenderly in their mouth, and placing them in the sun to be hatched. When Frederick opened one of the ant-hills, we observed a parcel of these little black eggs very near the surface; and the ants were so distressed at our visit, that they immediately began to carry the eggs to the inside of the nest. By hatching these eggs early, they provide future food for their own families; and I am sure that is shewing forethought. This aphis yields a great quantity of that sweet fluid of which the ants are so fond; it flows from two hair-like tubes, placed one on each side, and the ants, who watch for the moment when it is ready, suck it down immediately. It is said, that the ants can make the aphides yield this fluid at any time by patting them with their antennæ; and when they have milked one of their little cows, they go to another.

As to all the varieties of the tropical ants, the inhabitants of South America know but too much of them already; but I must tell you of a use to which, in another country, their nests have been applied, and which you could scarcely have guessed. In the southern part of Africa, they raise solid nests of clay, in shape like a baker’s oven. The Caffres, when first permitted to settle at Gnadenthal, one of the Moravina settlements, converted these tumuli into ovens. Having expelled the inhabitants by smoke, they scooped them out hollow, leaving a crust of a few inches in thickness; and then used them for baking their loaves. The clay of which these nests are formed is so well prepared by those industrious animals, that it is used for floors of rooms by the Hottentots, and even by the Dutch farmers.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.