BERTHA’S VISIT.

Dec. 1st.—Colonel Travers, who every day tells us something curious that he has seen in his travels, has been describing the cultivation of the pepper vine in the East Indies. In July, at the beginning of the rainy season, from eight to twelve shoots are planted round some tree chosen for their support; as they grow up they must be tied to its stem, and in dry or hot weather they are watered. They begin to bear in six years; in ten, they are in full perfection, and continue so for twenty years more, when they die. When the fruit is intended for black pepper, it is not allowed to ripen, but collected while green. As soon as the berries become hard and firm, which happens between the middle of December and the middle of January, they are pinched off by the fingers, placed on a mat, and rubbed by the hands or feet till the seeds, several of which are contained in each berry, are separated. These seeds are then spread on mats; and at night they are collected in earthen jars, to preserve them from the dew. Two or three days’ exposure to the sun sufficiently dries them, when they are put up in bags, containing from 60 to 120 pounds, and are then considered fit for sale. When the berries are intended to produce white pepper, they are allowed to become perfectly ripe, in which state they are red. They are then well rubbed in a basket, and when the pulp is washed off, the seeds are white, and are immediately dried for sale. The vines, however, in this case are apt to die, and in the province of Malabar but little white pepper is now made.

A good plant produces about 32 pounds: this is the highest produce; 21 pounds is the average. The mango tree is preferred for supporting the pepper vine, as the fruit is not affected by it; but the fruit of the jack tree, which is also used for the purpose, is thought to be injured in flavour by the pepper being so near it.

The Colonel says, that the pepper plant is not a vine in reality, though the knotted stem when dry has much the appearance of a common grape vine. The leaf, too, is different, being pointed, and with deep veins in it, all meeting at the point.

2d.—Caroline amused us after dinner with a singular anecdote of a musician of the name of Davy; though she was at first unwilling to relate it, as she could not remember her authority.

He was the son of a Devonshire farmer, and when a little boy used to go continually to a neighbouring forge, where he seemed to be strangely interested in examining and sounding the horse-shoes.

After some time, the smith having frequently missed his shoes, began to suspect young Davy of stealing them; the boy was, therefore, watched, and one day he was observed to have separated two shoes from a parcel which he had been sounding for a long time. He took them up and went quietly off, but was followed, and traced to a loft, where he had formed a hiding-place for himself, unknown to any of his family. There he was found arranging his newly stolen treasure among a number of other horse-shoes which he had suspended with iron wires, so as to form a sort of musical instrument, on which with a small hammer he could play several tunes; particularly one with variations, which he had often heard chimed in the parish steeple.

The generous blacksmith not only forbore from punishing him, but joined in a subscription, by means of which he was apprenticed to a famous musician.—So much for genius.

4th, Sunday.—My uncle read to us this morning the account in Exodus of the institution of the feast of the Passover. It took place in the beginning of the sacred or ecclesiastical year, in the month named Abib, which signifies, he says, an ear of corn; but this month was afterwards called Nisan, which means the “flight,” in allusion to the escape of the Israelites. It was at this same season that our Lord suffered for our redemption; and it is a remarkable circumstance that there was always a tradition among the Jews, that as they were redeemed from Egypt on the 15th day of Nisan, so they should on the same day be redeemed from death by the Messiah.

My uncle then said, “many of the ceremonial laws of the Hebrews had a direct reference to the idolatrous opinions and rites of the neighbouring nations. For instance, some of the ordinances of the passover, which was, you know, a memorial of the deliverance of the Israelites, were strikingly in opposition to the most deep-rooted prejudices of the Egyptians. Amongst that people, lambs and kids were held in the utmost veneration, and never sacrificed; but the Israelites were instructed to sacrifice both. The Israelites were desired to ‘eat no part raw,’ which might appear a very unnecessary injunction, did we not know that it was usual to do so in the heathen festivals, as we learn from Herodotus and from Plutarch, who both mention it as being customary at the feasts of Bacchus, which had their origin in Egypt. Of the Paschal lamb, ‘no bone was to be broken;’ for on those occasions the heathens broke the bones, and pulled them asunder with frantic enthusiasm. Neither was it to be ‘sodden,’ as in their magical rites: but roasted by fire, and not by the heat of the sun, which was one of the chief objects of their idolatry. It was to be eaten along with ‘the purtenance,’ that is, the intestines, which the heathens reserved for their impious divinations. Lastly, ‘no fragments’ were suffered to remain, because the superstitious multitude had been in the habit of preserving them for charms; and they were, therefore, ordered to be burned.

“The lamb or kid was to be slain in the evening; the Hebrew expression is literally ‘between the two evenings;’—for among the Jews there was an early and a later evening; the first beginning at noon, as soon as the sun began to decline, and the second at sunset, which at this season of the year, the vernal equinox, took place at six o’clock. Thus the time ‘between the two evenings,’ when the passover was slain, was about three o’clock in the afternoon; and this was the very time of the day when Christ, the true passover, was sacrificed on the cross.

“What a striking analogy there is,” continued my uncle, “between that typical sacrifice of the Paschal lamb, and the grand sacrifice of Him who is called ‘the Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of the world;’—between the deliverance of the Israelites from bondage, and the deliverance of mankind from sin, by a final atonement, which for ever closed all other offerings and sacrifices.”

I asked why they were desired to eat unleavened bread at this feast; and my aunt told us that some authors suppose it was to remind them of the privations and hardships they had formerly endured in Egypt, as it is very heavy and disagreeable. “But,” she added, “I have also understood that, in the ancient figurative mode, of expression, leaven was the emblem of hypocrisy and artifice; and therefore that eating the passover with unleavened bread, implied the performance of the ceremony in sincerity and truth. They were commanded to eat it with ‘their shoes on their feet, and their staff in their hand,’ or, in other words, equipped for a journey. It appears to have been, and indeed is still, the universal custom of the inhabitants of the East to put off their shoes during their meals; not only because that is a period of enjoyment and repose, but because, to people who sit cross-legged on the floor, shoes would be troublesome, and would soil their clothes and their carpets. This solemn meal, on the contrary, which was intended to commemorate their miraculous and abrupt deliverance from Egypt, was to be eaten by the Israelites in the dress and posture of travellers, as if ready for immediate departure.”

My uncle gave us an amusing instance of the punctilious regard that the Jews pay to the letter of the law; which not only prohibits their eating leavened bread, but their having it at all in the house. In Exodus xiii. 7, it is written, “Neither shall there be leaven seen with thee in all thy quarters.” On the eve of the passover, the master of the family, attended by all his children and servants, formally search every corner of the house with candles in their hands; but why with candles?—because in the prophet Zephaniah i., 12, it is written, “I will search Jerusalem with candles.”

“This feast,” continued my uncle, “was called the Passover, because the destroying angel of God passed over the Israelites without smiting them; and to pass over is a literal translation of the Hebrew word pesach. From whence also we have the expression of the Paschal Lamb.

“The deliverance from Egyptian bondage was a specific type of our subsequent deliverance from the yoke of sin, which we commemorate in the sacrament of the Lord’s supper; and it is remarkable, that both the Jewish and the Christian rite were enjoined as memorials of events which had not yet happened. To all mankind the privileges of this great second deliverance are offered; and let us remember that, like the Israelites, we are but strangers and pilgrims here, hastening on to a land of promise.”

6th.—Mary asked Colonel Travers to-day why rice is called paddy in the East Indies. He told us that the wet lands capable of being cultivated for rice, are called, in the province of Malabar, padda land; and thence has the name paddy been given to the grain before the husk is beaten off. It is cultivated in all the low grounds which are periodically overflowed; or where the water can be regularly let in. Sometimes it is sown dry, on fields properly ploughed and moistened beforehand, and when the leaf is a certain height, the water is gently let into the furrows; but in many places it is sown very thickly, and afterwards transplanted. The general mode of preparing the seed is to steep it in water, and then to mix it up with earth in a shed, where it heats a little, and soon sprouts: when the shoot is nearly two inches long, it is carried in baskets to the field, and planted in rows.

The operation of cleaning rice is assisted by boiling for a short time; after which it is beaten in a mortar with a stick five or six feet long, the bottom of which is shod with iron. But the rice used by the higher class of Brahmins is not boiled, lest it should be in any way defiled: it is every morning cleaned dry by one of the family, the labour of which is very great, because the husk adheres so closely to the grain.

Paddy is often kept in small caves called hagay, the entrance to each of which is by a very narrow passage. The roof, floor, and sides are lined with clean straw, and the cave is then completely filled.

Colonel Travers is just like my uncle, he is so ready to answer all our troublesome questions; and you may suppose that some of us ladies asked him about the ottar of roses. He says that the rose from which that essential oil is made, grows only in the valley of Shiraz, where there are immense fields of it. The flower is small, and of a deep red, and quite a different species from the rosa indica. It does not thrive south of Shiraz, as the climate is too hot; and the plants which have been brought to Bombay have generally failed.

We have had several rainy days, on which it was impossible to walk out; though it seldom happens, my uncle says, in this climate that there is not some part of the day quite fair.

The gravel walks here dry quickly, but nobody seems to care much about wet or dirt, their feet are so well defended from damp; and my aunt has provided me with all the comfortable preservatives from wet that my cousins have, so I force myself to go out and to take long walks. Sometimes we visit the poor people, to whom a little sympathy and kindness seem to be a great comfort; and the school is so near the shrubbery, that, unless the rain is very heavy, Caroline contrives to go there every day.

When we are so much confined as we have been for the three last days, we take care to practise well at battledore and shuttlecock; yesterday evening I kept it up to three hundred. Sometimes four of us play at once without any confusion; and sometimes even my uncle joins us. My aunt encourages us to exercise ourselves with active plays; and if you and Marianne could peep at us, you would be amused at the vigour and emulation with which we perform Puss in the corner, and Friar’s ground, or “turn the blindfold hero round and round.” After luncheon is generally the time for these “laborious sports;” Grace, of course, delights in them, and my uncle and aunt seem fully to enjoy our glee and gaiety; for exercise and recreation, they say, should be mixed sufficiently with all our studious employments. You will smile when I confess that much as I like them now, I felt at first that these “romps,” as I called them, were rather too childish: my aunt told me to do as I liked; but, as I found that I only appeared conceited by sitting still, I soon conquered these silly feelings.

I have nothing more to say, except that I have begun to read Rollin’s Ancient History; for the purpose of comparing the sacred and profane parts, and because I have some idea of endeavouring to make an historical chart for myself, which shall combine those two objects.

7th.—Ducks were the subject of discussion this morning at breakfast. My aunt told us that the Chinese, by whom great numbers are consumed, usually hatch them by artificial heat. The eggs are placed in boxes of sand, upon a brick hearth, which is kept at a proper degree of warmth, during the process; and the ducklings are fed with boiled rice, crabs, and cray-fish for a fortnight. They are then supplied with an old stepmother, who leads them where they can find food; being first put into a boat which is to be their constant habitation, and from which the whole flock, perhaps three or four hundred, go out to feed, and return at command.

The masters of the duck-boats row up and down the rivers according to the opportunity of procuring food; and these birds obey them in an extraordinary manner. Several thousands, belonging to different boats, may be seen feeding in the same place, yet on a signal, each flock will follow their leader to their respective boats without a single stranger having intruded.

Colonel Travers told us, that in a description of the south coast of Asia Minor, which he had lately read, a duck of extraordinary beauty is mentioned. The plumage is white, with orange and dark glossy spots which are large and distinct, and in the males extremely brilliant. They fly in pairs, and their cry is loud and incessant. These ducks chiefly inhabit the cliffs of an island, and are peculiar to that part of the shore; and the author adds, what Colonel Travers considers to be a very singular fact—that, although the whole coast lies in nearly the same parallel of latitude, yet several species of the feathered race seem to be confined to particular districts.—For instance, at the western end, there were multitudes of the red-legged partridge; the middle of the coast was occupied by crows, and every hole and crevice in every rock had its family of pigeons; then came the ducks, and when they disappeared, the elevated cliffs seemed to be usurped by eagles. As he advanced still further to the eastward, even the common gull, which is so plentiful every where else, became scarce, but its place was filled by swarms of the noisy sea-mew; and at the furthest extremity of the coast, he entered a shallow bay which was covered with swans, geese, and pelicans.

8th.—Mary was quite triumphant to-day in our genius argument, and produced two examples on her side, which she said were very strong.

The celebrated Dolomieu, she told us, entered very early in life into the religious order of Malta; but having unfortunately resented some insult and killed his adversary, he was condemned to die, it being contrary to the rules of the order to use arms against any one but an “enemy of the Faith.” The grand-master, however, pardoned him; but the pardon not being immediately confirmed by the Pope, he continued in captivity nine months, before he was released. By this time, Dolomieu had become, as it were, a new man; the solitude and silence of his prison, and the necessity of dispelling his inquietude by occupation, had given him a habit of deep meditation; and he determined to devote the rest of his life to the acquirement of knowledge. He hesitated for some time between classical literature and natural history; but, at length, decided for the latter, in which he afterwards made so conspicuous a figure.

It cannot be denied, Mary says, that this is a proof that the mind may be led by circumstances to any pursuit. She then gave us some anecdotes of Baron Guyton de Morveau, as being still more favourable to her system.

“Guyton’s education was not neglected in the common routine of classical and theoretical learning; but his father, who had a passion for building, employed various artificers about his house, and young Guyton insensibly caught a taste for mechanics. This, which might have been considered as a natural inclination, was merely the effect of example; and it was further excited by a circumstance that happened during his vacation: at a public sale in the neighbourhood, an old clock had remained unsold, owing to its bad condition, and he persuaded his father to give six francs for it. The ardent boy soon took it to pieces and cleaned it; he even added some parts that were wanting, and put the whole in order without assistance. In 1799, that is, fifty-four years afterwards, this clock was purchased at a higher price than was given for the estate and house together where it had originally been sold; having during the whole of that time preserved its movement in the most satisfactory manner. He once undertook the same operation for his mother’s watch, and succeeded perfectly, though he was then only eight years of age. These details are sufficient to shew how impossible it is to predict, from the whims of childhood, the vocation likely to engage any individual at a more advanced period of life.—This little boy appeared to have a genius for mechanics, in consequence of circumstances attending his infancy—but no one has shewn less taste for mechanics than Guyton de Morveau, during his long and brilliant career as a chemical philosopher.”

9th.—My uncle told us to-day a curious mode of catching fish by diving, which is practised in the Gulf of Patrasso, in Greece, and which is, he believes, peculiar to that place.

The diver being provided with a rope, made of a species of long grass, moves his boat where he perceives there is a rocky bottom: this done, he throws the rope out so as to form a tolerably large circle; and such is the timid nature of the fish, that instead of rushing away, they never attempt to pass this imaginary barrier, which acts as a sort of talisman; they only descend to the bottom, and endeavour to conceal themselves amongst the rocks. After waiting a few moments till the charm has taken effect, the diver plunges in, and generally returns with several fine fish. As he seldom finds more than their heads concealed, there is the less difficulty in taking his prizes; and these divers are so dexterous that they have a method of securing four or five fish under each arm, beside what they can carry in their hands.

The effect of the circle formed by the rope reminded Frederick of the singular manner in which pelicans and cormorants catch fish in concert with each other. They spread into a large circle, at some distance from land; the pelicans flapping on the surface of the water with their great wings, and the cormorants diving beneath, till the fish contained within the circle are driven before them towards the land. As the circle becomes contracted, by the birds drawing closer together, the fish are at length brought within a narrow compass, where their pursuers find no difficulty in securing them.

One species of cormorant is so docile, Frederick added, that they are trained by the Chinese to fish for their masters. Sir George Staunton saw several boats with a dozen of these birds in each; at a signal they plunged into the water, and quickly returned with a prize in their mouths, which they never attempted to swallow without permission.

My aunt said that those birds were formerly kept in this country for the same purpose; but the English cormorants were not so tractable, for a thong was tied round their neck to prevent their eating the fish. Charles the First, she says, had his master of cormorants as well as his falconers.

11th, Sunday.—My uncle this morning repeated his advice never to allow ourselves to judge of detached phrases or single texts in the Bible, without carefully comparing them with similar passages in other parts; and he added, that it was very unjust to charge the Bible with the errors of its translators, or to ascribe the mistakes and inconsistencies of human learning to the inspired original. “The wonder is,” he says, “not that there are some mistakes, but that there are not many more, and that of those there should be so few of importance. It is, however, the duty of every body to make known those errors, slight as they are, and to try to remove all blemishes from a work of such high importance, as a correct translation in our own language. Words have now a much more definite meaning than they had a few centuries ago; and some words may then have fairly conveyed the original sense which is now greatly perverted by their continuance.

“For instance, in Exodus iii. 22, it appears that every woman is enjoined to borrow of her neighbour valuable jewels and raiment, and then to keep possession of them. But children,” said he, “should be taught that the Hebrew word, which our translators have rendered borrow, signifies to ask as a gift. It is the very word used in Psalm ii. 8,—‘Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance;’ and the fact was this: God told Moses that the Israelites should not go out of Egypt empty, but that every woman should ask her neighbour for certain valuable presents, and that He would dispose the Egyptians to give them. And all this seems to have been perfectly just, when you consider the slavery that the Israelites had been obliged to endure, and the hardships which had been inflicted on them, not only by the king, but by the people, who ‘made their lives bitter with hard bondage.’

“Josephus, the Jewish historian, represents this transaction agreeably to the true sense of the sacred text. He says, ‘the Egyptians made gifts to the Hebrews; some in order to induce them to depart quickly, and others on account of their neighbourhood and friendship for them.’

“As an additional confirmation of this being the true meaning of the expression,” my uncle continued, “we may recollect that the custom of giving, receiving, and even demanding presents is common to all parts of the East at this day; it is especially practised on the arrival or taking leave of strangers, and therefore may be well applied, in this case, to the departure of the Israelites. It seems to have been the same in all ages; for I need scarcely remind you of the ‘gold, and spices of very great store, and precious stones,’ that the Queen of Sheba gave to Solomon; nor of the magnificent gifts he presented to her when she was going away, even ‘all her desire, whatsoever she asked, beside that which Solomon gave her of his royal bounty.’ Nor is this exchange of presents looked upon as any degradation to dignity, nor any mark of a rapacious meanness.

“I have been the more desirous to explain that passage, because, from the ambiguity of one word the Israelites have been accused of cheating the Egyptians; and, what is of more consequence, it has been said that they were commanded to do so. But when the word is corrected, you see that these calumnies at once fall to the ground. And I would recommend you all to adopt a general rule in reading the scriptures, of which I have found the benefit. Whenever you meet with any expression that seems to be inconsistent with the moral justice of God—pause—compare the different parts where the same, or a similar phrase, occurs, and, before you come to a rash conclusion, study the acceptation that the words had at the period when the present version was made. If it requires a knowledge of the original language, apply to some learned person; not so much to reason for you, as to furnish the data on which to satisfy yourselves. However bounded may be our notions of the qualities of the Deity, and though his attributes far transcend our conception, yet it is certain that our ideas of justice must have been derived from principles implanted by Him; and no decree of His can ever be contrary to that justice—for the nature of God is immutable: He is ‘the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.’”

12th.—I am sure, Mamma, that you must feel very grateful to Colonel Travers for all the interesting things which I have picked up from him, and which I put in my journal for your amusement. To-day there was a conversation about our fisheries, and he related two facts which I am in hopes will be quite new to you.

You know that the great cod fishery which supplies almost all Europe with salt-fish, is on the sand-bank that extends from the island of Newfoundland. The water is from twenty to sixty fathoms in depth; and when the Colonel was returning from Canada with his regiment, he persuaded the Captain of the ship to stop for some hours on this bank, in order to catch cod for the soldiers. He saw a great many hooked with long lines and pulled up; and he observed, that when that was done very rapidly the air-bladder burst, and pushed part of the stomach out of the mouth. He explained to us that it is the air-bladder that enables fish to raise or lower themselves in the water, by taking in or letting out more or less air; but this they can only do gradually; and therefore when the air has been highly condensed at the bottom of the sea, the pressure of fifty or sixty fathoms of water, it expands the bladder more quickly than the fish has the power of giving it vent. The air-bladder is cured or salted with the fish, and is then called the sound.

This led the conversation to the different depths which are inhabited by different classes of fish. My uncle told us that turbots, soles, and other flat fish, are not furnished with an air-bladder, because they never quit the bottom of the sea; and Colonel Travers, to prove that some fish are not intended to sink very far below the surface, mentioned the following curious circumstance. When a whale is attacked by a sword-fish, he immediately dives; and the sword-fish, not being calculated by Nature to bear the enormous pressure of the sea at very great depth, is obliged to withdraw his weapon;—if he cannot speedily extricate it, he dies. My uncle said that this fact helped to explain the facility with which those great monsters are killed by our Greenland fishermen: when a whale is struck by a harpoon, he imagines it to be a sword-fish, and, as usual, dives; this he does with such velocity, that the harpooner is obliged to throw water on the part of the boat over which the harpoon-line runs, to prevent its taking fire; but the power of diving is probably limited even in a whale, and the length of line, perhaps a mile or two, which he has taken out and is obliged to drag through the water, at last tires him—he stops—and the men, by slowly pulling in the line, in fact haul the boat towards him; again he sets off—he is again tired—and is ultimately exhausted and killed by fatigue! If he ran straight out, near the surface, no line could be long enough, or strong enough, to check him—whenever a whale does do so, the line snaps, and he escapes.

13th.—The last thing that Colonel Travers told us—for I am sorry to say he is gone away—was a pretty little story that he learned at Ceylon.

When the pearl-fishing in Condatchy Bay is going on, which is, he says, a most lively, amusing scene, the Indians of the continent attend in great numbers, and being occasionally employed, they find ample opportunity to exercise their dexterity in sleight of hand, and every sort of roguery. A set of these Indians contrived an ingenious method of cheating the boat-owner who employed them to open his oysters. While one of them made a preconcerted signal, whenever any pearls worth stealing were found, another at the same moment pretended to conceal about him a few small ones, and while he thus attracted the attention of the superintendents and occasioned some bustle, the real thief was able to secrete his prize.

This contrivance was discovered by one of the poor Ceylonese who attended the washing of the pearls; he made it known to the master of the boat, and then, having reason to dread the vengeance of the thieves, he immediately fled. For some days he proceeded without shelter, till arriving at the hut of a farmer, who lived near a cinnamon plantation belonging to government, he supplicated him for relief and a lodging. This man was very poor; he had a large family, and could with difficulty shelter the fugitive for one night; besides, suspecting that the story was not quite true, and that it was the thief instead of the informer who told it, he was not willing to let him continue there, lest it should bring himself under suspicion. The Ceylonese was hurt at a doubt which he so ill deserved, and left the farmer early next morning, wandering he knew not whither, till he found himself, just when the sun was at its height, in a tangled and extensive forest; there he sat down to rest under a banyan-tree, whose self-rooted branches, entwined with creepers, had become nearly impenetrable;—and there he determined to remain, as long as the forest supplied him with fruit and wild honey. Fear had taken such possession of him, that he was afraid to venture back to the more inhabited parts of the country; and yet he was here in equal dread of the Bedahs, a race who live in the forests and mountains, and who refuse to associate with the more civilized Ceylonese.

It is supposed, Colonel Travers told us, that the Bedahs are descended from the original inhabitants; and that, having fled from the Ceylonese invaders, they have retained, with their ancient customs, their hatred and fear of the invaders. They live by hunting, they sleep in the trees, placing thorns and bushes on the ground round them to give warning of approaching wild beasts; and on every alarm a Bedah climbs the highest branches with the expertness of a monkey.

There are some tribes of the Bedahs in the southern part of the island who are rather less wild, and who even carry on a little traffic with the Ceylonese; but they are so afraid of being made prisoners, that when they want to procure cloth, knives, iron, or any thing of that kind, they approach the town where it is to be had, at night, and deposit in a conspicuous place a fair quantity of goods, such as ivory, or honey, along with a talipot leaf, on which they contrive to express what they want in exchange. On the next night they return, and generally find what they had demanded; for if their requests are neglected they seldom fail to revenge themselves.

Fruits of various kinds are so abundant in Ceylon, that for some time our poor fugitive was supplied with tolerable sustenance; and he often refreshed himself with the pure limpid water found in the Bandura, a most curious plant, whose leaves terminate in a kind of tube which contains nearly half a pint of water covered by a little valve. At last, anxiety brought on a low fever, his strength failed, and he lay under the banyan expecting to die of hunger. Early one morning he was roused from a sort of half stupor, by hearing the low growl of a dog; and on opening his eyes, he saw a man stooping to place something near him; he tried to speak—but the person had vanished. He had perceived, however, by his tall light figure and his copper complexion, that the stranger was a Bedah; and this would have been a very terrific idea, had he not smiled as he went away, and pointed to a little basket that he had left. Plantains and refreshing fruits were again within his reach; and the poor starving man ate thankfully, and felt as if he should live. Every morning he found a fresh supply in the same place; and as his strength began to return, the Bedah, besides the basket of fruit, added some more nutritious food. This was dried meat preserved in honey, to keep it from the air; and tied up in a particular substance which grows on the betel tree, at the root of each leaf; it somewhat resembles a tough skin, and is of so strong a texture, that it retains water. He wished to thank the Bedah, and frequently beckoned to him to stay; but the good natured savage shook his head, and disappeared.

When he felt himself quite recovered, and his strength restored, he resolved to procure employment, if possible, in the cinnamon groves. The grand harvest, which lasts from April to August, had begun, and he hoped that in some of the various processes of cutting, scraping, or barking, which are parcelled out among several classes of peelers, or choliahs, he might find work.

On his way from the forest, in passing by the same house where he had been permitted to lodge one night, he perceived that the farmer’s cattle had broken through the inclosure and made their way to the cinnamon trees, on which they were then feasting. This tree is such a favourite with cattle that they break down every fence to get to it; and most of the natives who live in the neighbourhood of those plantations are deterred from having cows, because all that are found trespassing there are forfeited.—This poor creature knew that, by giving information to the head officer, he might receive a reward which would relieve him from distress; but he had a more generous mind. He hastened to the farmer, and assisted him to drive back the cows and repair the fence, before they were discovered. The farmer was anxious to shew his gratitude, and he felt convinced that he had wronged him by his former suspicion. By his recommendation to the superintendent of the cinnamon groves, our wandering Ceylonese obtained employment, and in a short time felt himself so happy, that he had reason to reflect with satisfaction on his honesty and generosity.

As soon as he was able to save a little money, he purchased some few articles which he thought might be acceptable to the friendly Bedah; and by setting out in the night he arrived early in the morning at the forest, and deposited his offering on the very spot where, for so many successive days, the food had been placed which saved his life. In vain he delayed there in hopes of seeing the Bedah, till he was obliged to return to his work; but as he heard the well known growl at no great distance, he knew that he was observed, and that his present would be found. Colonel T. says, that the dogs of the Bedahs are remarkable for their sagacity in tracing game and in distinguishing the scent of different animals. On the approach of a stranger, or of any dangerous beast, they first put their master on his guard, and then help to defend him; and so invaluable are they to this tribe, that when their daughters marry, these dogs form their portion.

Our industrious Ceylonese had built a hut during his residence at the cinnamon plantation; it was formed from a single cocoa nut tree; the stem furnished posts; the branches supplied rafters, and the leaves formed a covering sufficient to repel both sun and rain. The Ceylonese huts are fastened entirely by withes of ratan, or by coya rope, which is made of the fibrous threads of the husk of the cocoa nut. They are sometimes strengthened with slender pieces of wood or bamboo, and daubed over with clay; and round the walls are benches to sit or to sleep on.

Colonel Travers took the opportunity of telling us, that the cinnamon twigs are first scraped with a peculiar kind of knife, convex at one side, and concave opposite; the bark is then slit with the point, and the convex side of the knife is used to loosen it, till it can be taken off entire; it appears like a tube in that state, and the pieces are laid one within another, and spread to dry. When quite dried they are tied up in bundles of about thirty pounds weight, and are carried by the choliahs to the cinnamon store-houses at Columbo.

Being no longer afraid of the pearl-gatherers, he returned to Condatchy; and as it is a usual practice to search for pearls which may by chance have dropped from the oysters while they lie in the pits, he also went to see how far his present good fortune would continue to befriend him. Those pits are dug about two feet deep in the ground, and lined with mats; and the oysters are left there to putrefy, as they are then easily opened without injuring the pearls. His search was successful beyond his hopes; he found a pearl of uncommon size, and joyfully carried it to the collector, who rewarded him with a large sum of money.

It is easy, dear Mamma, to guess the rest of the story. He bought cloth, axes, knives, and various useful things; and making his way once more to the banyan tree, he laid these offerings of gratitude in the spot so well known to him and the good Bedah—and again he heard the faithful dog growl his knowledge of his being there. He then visited the farmer, and found him in the greatest distress; for his cattle having again trespassed on the cinnamon grounds they had been all seized. The kind-hearted Ceylonese bestowed on him a sum more than sufficient to replace his cows, and it was difficult to say which felt the most happy—the farmer suddenly relieved, or the generous creature who relieved him.

16th.—We all petitioned my uncle to read the Tempest to us yesterday evening. He consented, upon condition that Mary should assist; and it was arranged that she should read the parts of Miranda and Ariel.

Mary is so timid, that she does not like even such a moderate exhibition: she complied, however, and they both read so delightfully, that every one perceived beauties in that play which they had never noticed before. At the end of each act we talked it over; and my uncle encouraged every one to give their opinions, which he says is the best way of compelling people to think.

My aunt said that none of Shakespeare’s plays are so perfect as to the time in which the action takes place, as the Tempest, or displays so much imagination; for, while he seems to leave one at liberty to wander through the wild and the wonderful, yet such is the correctness of his taste, that in this piece he never suffers it to pass the bounds of consistency.

Caroline was most pleased with the part of the “delicate” Ariel. “It is quite charming,” she said, “he is so well imagined: his qualities and offices and his expressions are so suitable to each other, and so nicely described by himself. Besides, he seems so amiable and good-natured to the shipwrecked strangers, that even while we consider him as the artful agent of the magician, he seems to have the qualities of almost a celestial being.”

I asked her which she liked best, Ariel, or the fairy sprites in Midsummer Night’s Dream. “Like you, Bertha, I delight in all Shakspeare’s fairy-land,” said she; “but I think Ariel in every way superior to Puck: even his tricks are more elegant and graceful, and he seems to sympathise with the people he is teasing; but Puck, however amusing, is a wild mad-cap, that revels in his antics, and ridicules the poor victims of his merry mischief. I like to think of Ariel as he ‘lies in the cowslip’s bell’—or ‘rides on the curled clouds, to do his master’s bidding,’ with such swiftness as to ‘drink the air before him.’”

My uncle praised the drawing of Caliban’s character. “Every time I read it,” said he, “I see fresh proofs of its complete originality.—Shakspeare could have had no model for such a creature—it could only be the work of his own extraordinary imagination, and it shews what powers of invention he possessed. Caliban is just what the offspring of a witch and a demon should be: he is a prodigy of cruelty and malice; and Shakspeare heightens the effect by giving him a language so poetical and yet so gross, that all he says, whether in brutal malice, or in uncouth kindness, is in perfect keeping with his general character. It expresses the instinctive barbarity of the monster; and the mind is throughout divided between the detestation excited by such a horrible being, and astonishment at the versatile genius by which it was conceived.”

“Miranda is my favourite,” said my aunt; “I am sure there is as little common-place in it as in either of the singular characters you have been praising; in hers, innocence and gentleness are the predominant features; while the union of the softest tenderness for Ferdinand with her candour and dutiful deference to her mysterious father, give it the most amiable finish; and I think the skill of Shakspeare in painting it is at least equal to that shewn in any other of the play; for the many beautiful little touches by which it is brought out, appear to me to shew more talent than when violence of passion and great strength of expression are used.”

I repeated these lines in Ariel’s song, and asked the meaning of “after summer.” “Some critics,” said my uncle, “have thought it should be after sunset, because Ariel speaks of riding on the bat; but commentators delight in deep and hidden meanings, and it has therefore been suggested, that as the fairy tribe dislike winter, Ariel, who is now to be restored to liberty, rejoices that he may follow summer round the globe; and therefore he is said to fly after summer.”

17th.—We have been reading the life of that delightful musician, Mozart; and he is claimed by each party. But I think he can give very little support to Mary; for though his father was a teacher of music, and early began to instruct him, his rapid progress and juvenile success seem to have gone far beyond the effect of circumstances, which in a hundred cases have been the same with other musical teachers, and other children. Mozart was but four years old when his great delight was seeking for thirds on the piano-forte. When five, he learned difficult pieces of music from his father so quickly, that he could immediately repeat them; and in the following year he invented little sonatas, which he played for his father, who always wrote them down to encourage him.—Music was introduced into all his sports, none of which were acceptable to him without it; and if sometimes a fondness for the usual occupations of childhood did influence his mind, yet music soon became again the favourite object.

Before he was six years of age, his father, observing him writing busily, asked what he was doing: the little boy said, he was composing a concerto for the harpsichord. The father took the paper, and laughed heartily at the blots and scribbles; but when he examined it with more attention, he shewed it to a friend with tears of delight, saying, “Look, my friend, every thing is composed according to the rules; it is a pity that the piece cannot be made use of, but it is too difficult, nobody would be able to play it.”

The progress of this wonderful child was equal to this beginning, and in various public exhibitions in Germany, and particularly at Vienna, he excited, at a very early age, the astonishment of all musical people by his science, by the correctness of his ear, and by his powerful execution.—At the age of thirteen, he composed his first opera; and you well know, Mamma, the numerous beautiful compositions which distinguished his short life; for he died at the age of thirty-six. Surely this was a genius!

18th, Sunday.—My uncle read to us this morning the chapters which relate the humbling of Pharaoh, and the going forth of the Israelites; he afterwards said, “In the wonderful judgments inflicted on the Egyptians, and in the miraculous institution of the Passover, when the destroying angel passed over the house of every Israelite, we see, my dear children, the operation of that Being whose will controuls the elements of nature, and directs the passions of mankind.

“No human force is exercised—no Israelite lifts the sword; yet the Egyptian monarch is humbled, his people are terrified, and both urge the departure of the Israelites; who even demand and obtain from their late oppressors silver and gold, as payment for their past labours. ‘Rise up and get you forth,’ said Pharaoh, and they immediately commenced their march before his hardened mind again repented of yielding to the decrees of the Almighty.”

Wentworth asked his father how the Israelites could carry their kneading troughs on their shoulders.

“It appears,” said my uncle, “from the accounts of various travellers, that to this day the Arabs, who dwell in the countries through which the Israelites passed, are in the habit of eating unleavened cakes; and that the vessels still used there for kneading them, are small wooden bowls; these you see could be very conveniently bound up in the kneading cloths, and tied on their shoulders. The Arabs have also, among their travelling furniture, a round thick piece of leather, which they lay on the ground, and which serves them to eat upon; round it there is a row of rings, by which it is drawn together with a chain: and it hangs by a hook at the end of the chain to the side of the camel, in travelling. In this leather, they carry their meal made into dough; and when the repast is over, they wrap up in it all the fragments that remain.”

“I wonder,” said Frederick, who was looking at the map, “I wonder, heavily laden as they must have been, that they did not take the shortest road to the promised land, instead of going round about by the Red Sea.”

“The regular route to the promised land,” my uncle replied, “was certainly along the coast of the Mediterranean, towards Gaza and the other cities of Palestine, which were a portion of Canaan, and at no great distance from the Lower Egypt. But the way by which it was the divine will to lead them, was through the Red Sea; as being not only impracticable for their return, but being eminently calculated to impress them with a sense of the miraculous power which guided and protected them through the ‘deep.’”

I asked my uncle then what was meant by the word wilderness. He said, “The word occurs in a great many places, both in the Old and New Testament, where it sometimes means a wild, uninhabited desert, and sometimes only an uncultivated plain: the wilderness through which the Israelites were conducted, partook of both these descriptions, being partly rocky, and partly a sandy, unproductive district. It occupied the space between the two branches of the Arabian Gulf, which was sometimes called in Hebrew, and is indeed at this day in the Coptic language, the ‘Sea of Weeds.’”

“Why, then, do we give it the name of the Red Sea?”

“We have borrowed the term from the Greeks,” said my uncle: “from whence they derived it is not so easily answered; certainly not from the colour of the water, or of the sand at the bottom. The most probable notion is, that it was originally called the sea of Edom, as it washed the coast of that country; and that, as Edom signifies red in Hebrew, the Greeks, not understanding the geographical allusion, simply translated it, just as the Romans and ourselves have done after them.”

A general conversation then ensued, about the passage of the Israelites through the sea; and I shall write here some of what I picked up, by way of exercise only, for I am sure, Mamma, that you are already well acquainted with all that is known on the subject.

The exact spot at which they quitted the Egyptian shore has been much contested among commentators; but the greatest number of opinions seem to be in favour of Clysma; a point several hours journey from the town of Suez, which stands at the head of the western gulf. The names that some of the places in the vicinity still retain, appear to confirm this supposition; for instance, the ridge of hills extending from the Nile to this part of the coast is called Ataka, which means deliverance; and the narrow plain to the southward of that ridge preserves the name of Wadi-et-tiheh, or the Valley of the Wandering. On the opposite shore of the Red Sea there is a headland called Ras Mousa, or the Cape of Moses; farther to the southward, Hammam Faraun, Pharaoh’s Baths; and the general name of this part of the gulf is Bahr el Kolsum, or the Bay of Submission. From these circumstances it may be concluded that the Israelites crossed the western arm of the Red Sea, about twelve or thirteen miles from Suez; and it appears from my uncle’s maps that the sea there is eight or nine miles broad.

My uncle says it is the opinion of some geographers that formerly the Red Sea did not stop at Suez; and modern travellers have described a large plain which is considerably lower than the surface of the sea, and which extends seven or eight leagues to the northward of that town. This plain is two leagues in breadth; and from the thick layer of salt, and the quantity of shells which are every where found under the soil, they say there can be no doubt that it was once the bed of the sea. I asked what could have driven the sea out, if ever it had been there? But he said there was no difficulty in that; for rivers and narrow seas are continually changing their boundaries by the sand which their tides and currents throw up; and as soon as ever the Red Sea had washed up a new barrier at Suez, evaporation in that climate would rapidly dry the part that had been cut off.

It has been asked, were there not ledges of rock lying across the Red Sea, on which, when the tide was out, the Israelites might have forded it. “But,” says my uncle, “if we do not believe the transaction to have been miraculous, we may as well not believe it all; for the event, as well as the miracle, rest on precisely the same authority. At the same time, do not suppose that I wish to discourage these inquiries; they are of considerable use;—they lead to the investigation of facts, and the more strictly the Bible is examined, the more we shall be satisfied of its truth. The attention of the celebrated travellers Niebuhr and Bruce was particularly directed to that question; and they distinctly assert that there are no rocks there whatever.”

My uncle concluded the conversation by saying, “Many of the Fathers have supposed it to have been the opinion of St. Paul, that the passage through the waters of the Red Sea was intended as a type of the Christian baptism, and of our conditional resurrection to eternal happiness. And it was this idea that probably induced the framers of our liturgy to introduce the history of that event into the service appointed for the day of our Lord’s resurrection.”

19th.—We amused ourselves for some time after dinner this evening with our favourite question-play, animal, vegetable, and mineral; Marianne is well acquainted with it.

I thought of sponge as a good puzzling thing: however, it puzzled me not a little, in the progress of their questions, to describe it satisfactorily. In the first place, I had heard some one tell you that sponge was a vegetable production—but I have since read that it is a substance formed by some species of marine worm; so when I was forced to give distinct answers to the questions, was it animal, or was it vegetable, I was divided between those two ideas. Then came questions as to what part of the world it was found in; and I set them all wrong by saying, only in the Mediterranean. In short, I found that even in children’s plays people may have to blush for their ignorance.

After I had puzzled in and out of the question, and that our play was ended, my uncle told me that sponges, of which there are now known more than a hundred different species, are found in a multitude of places, on the shores of both the old and new Continents. “Those most valued in the arts,” said he, “are inhabitants of the Mediterranean, and part of the Indian Ocean; two small kinds of sponge thrive even on the frozen shores of Greenland; and forty species have been discovered on the coasts of Great Britain. They are found equally in places that are always covered by the sea, and in those which it leaves dry with the ebb tide. They adhere to rocks, and spread all over their surface; in some places they keep possession of the most exposed cliffs, but they thrive best in sheltered cavities, and are found lining the walls of submarine caves, attaching themselves indifferently to mineral or vegetable, or even to animal substances.

“The size to which sponge attains is very uncertain; I lately saw an account of one found at Singapore in the East Indies, which was shaped like a goblet, and measured round the brim fifty-one inches; the stem was seventeen inches, and it contained thirty-six quarts of water! Naturalists have agreed to seven general divisions of form; so as to make something like an arrangement of this most singular class of organized beings.”

I interrupted my uncle here, to ask whether, in calling them organized beings, he meant the substance of the sponge, or the insects that are supposed to form it.

“It is curious,” replied he, “that two thousand years ago, the Greeks were occupied with this very inquiry; some endeavouring to prove the vitality of sponge, and others, to shew that it was merely the work of certain worms: and even so late as the year 1752, Peysonnel, the naturalist, communicated to the Royal Society a paper in support of this last opinion.

“Most naturalists, however, now agree in regarding sponge as a zoophyte, or a kind of animal approaching nearly to the form and nature of a plant; and Linnæus himself, latterly, classed it amongst animals. As the large orifices appeared to be the only means of entrance to the internal canals, it was supposed that the nourishment of this animal was drawn in through them; but later discoveries have shewn that, besides those apertures, there are minute pores over the whole surface; that through these pores the water is imbibed, by which the creature is nourished; and that the large round holes convey a constant stream of water away from the interior of the body. This stream carries off the particles of matter which are constantly separating from the interior, and which are not only perceptible by the assistance of the microscope, but may be occasionally seen by the naked eye, like small flakes. When a living sponge is allowed to remain a day at rest, in a white vessel filled with pure sea water, an accumulation of feculent matter is always found immediately under each orifice. If it is confined in the same basin of water for two days, the currents appear to cease; but, on plunging it again into water newly taken from the sea, they are renewed in a few minutes; and the continual circulation of water through the body, Dr. Grant, who appears to have studied this subject with great perseverance, says, he no longer doubts, forms one of the living functions of this animal.

“It would only burthen your memory,” continued my uncle, “were I to tell you all the various opinions which have been formed respecting the anatomy of the sponge. I will merely say, that Dr. Grant affirms, though in opposition to M. Cuvier, that the fibrous part of the sponge, which is insoluble in water, and forms a net work through every part of the body, is the skeleton of this zoophyte, serving, as in other animals, to give form to the body, and support to the softer organs.

“Sponge attaches itself sometimes to marine plants, so as to choak up their pores. Small bits of the same species will spread towards each other, and become one piece; and it is amusing to observe, says Dr. Grant, the growth of the young Spongiæ parasiticæ on the back and legs of a species of crab, where they frequently collect to the number of forty or fifty, interrupting the motion of its joints, and spreading like a mantle over its back, or perhaps rising in fantastic ornaments upon its head, which the crab is unable to remove.”

21st.—When I parted from Mrs. P. at Falmouth, my uncle, who was much pleased with her kindness to me, made her promise to pay a visit here in some little time. That time has, at last, come. We have her now actually in the house, and I have once more the pleasure of being with a friend who was so kind and tender to me when I left you, my beloved Mamma.—How many little circumstances are recalled to my mind by seeing her! She has just the same quiet composed look that she used to have; and, though always ready to converse and to impart the information she possesses, yet her countenance seldom loses a certain expression of sadness.

She arrived last night, and has promised to stay till after Christmas. I believe a few other friends are to be here also; but I am no longer such a fool about strangers.

Many a time, things which you have said to me, and which then I scarcely heeded, return to my mind. How often, for instance, you have told me that we lose much real enjoyment by that sort of fear or reserve which I used to feel at the sight of a new face; and now that I have learned to listen attentively to conversation, I see what amusement, as well as knowledge, one may gain from the mixture of characters to be met with in society. Indeed, every day shews me how much real goodness there is, though of various kinds, among people who at first sight seem only intent on their own affairs.

I am sure that I at least have received a great deal of kindness in my short life—and particularly since I have ceased to be what you used to call farouche.

23rd.—This day has been remarkably cold and wet, and stormy; nothing could appear more dreary; and when I looked out, I persuaded myself that I felt quite melancholy. We had, notwithstanding, been all as cheerful as usual, and had contrived plenty of amusements for ourselves, in addition to shuttlecock, which warms one so comfortably; but this very dark and gloomy day we could scarcely distinguish our little feathery plaything after three o’clock.

In the evening Mrs. P. taught us a new way of capping verses, which is a little more difficult, but I think much more amusing than the common method. Instead of each person being confined to a single line, as much of a poem is to be repeated as will complete the sense; and the succeeding quotations are all to allude, either to one general subject, or at least to something touched upon by the previous speaker.

I will give you a sample in which we all joined:—

December 24th.—

How happy every one looks in these good Christmas times! Besides those feelings of gratitude and hope, which now come home to every Christian’s breast, it is delightful to see the satisfaction the rich feel in this country in sharing their comforts with the poor.

I need scarcely tell you, who know my uncle and aunt so well, how much they enjoy the pleasure of giving food and clothing and blankets to those who are in want; while to the cottagers who do not require such assistance, they make some useful present, such as a book, or some little article, which is sure to be highly valued, as it marks the approbation of their landlord. Of course the Franklins and our old basket-maker have not been forgotten. My aunt says she likes to make the poor more than commonly comfortable now, that they may remember the season with pleasure.

Farmer Moreland, and two or three other rich farmers in the neighbourhood, are very considerate of the comforts of their labouring men at this season; and they have joined with my uncle and aunt in trying, by giving them constant employment, to enable them to struggle on by their own exertions without applying to the parish for support. Many have large families, some of which are taught, even while very young, to help their parents; and it is to these people that my aunt distributes the largest portions of her Christmas bounty.

In speaking of Christmas, my uncle told me that in the heathen times of these countries, and of the northern parts of Europe, a festival took place exactly at this season, which was dedicated to the sun, the chief deity of our heathen ancestor; and when they were converted to Christianity, it was thought prudent that they should continue to have their festival, although the object of it was of course changed. It was called Jol or Yule—a Gothic word, signifying a feast, and particularly applied to a religious one. Christmas is even still called Yule in many places in the north of England; and it is said that the custom of making a large fire on Christmas eve, on which great logs of wood are piled, is still kept up. These are called Yule clogs, and, before they are quite consumed, a fragment of them is taken out, and preserved safely for the next year.

This is probably one of the remnants, my uncle says, of the feasts of fire instituted by the worshippers of Bali, from whom there appears reason to think the Druids were directly descended; as a coincidence of customs, words, names, and ancient worship is in many instances observable.

Just as we had done tea this evening, while my uncle was talking on this subject, he was interrupted by a loud ringing at the hall-door, and it was scarcely opened, when there was such a noise in the hall, such singing, talking, laughing and dancing, that I was alarmed at first; but my aunt told me it was only the Mummers. We went to look at them, and I understood that they were acting St. George and the Dragon; but it was such a strange, confused medley, that I could only distinguish a word or two. They had all hideous masks, and were dressed up in the most grotesque way; and everybody was highly diverted except poor little Grace: she was so frightened by the bustle and strange figures, that my uncle was obliged to reason with her. A word or a look from him has unspeakable power over the minds of all the family, and indeed of all who know him.

The mummers’ song I could not understand, except one stanza, which they repeated always more distinctly than the rest, as a hint, I suppose, to my uncle:—

My uncle good-humouredly gave them a few shillings to get their “stout old beer,” and they hurried off to visit some other house.

25th.—We all met in health and cheerfulness this good Christmas morning, and in our heartfelt wishes for mutual happiness, yours, dear Mamma, was included as ardently, as if you had been present.

To the usual old fashioned expressions of kindness, my aunt added, in her impressive manner, a tender wish that we might receive such gracious aid from above, as would enable us to rejoice indeed on this great day.

After some general conversation, my uncle explained to us the 45th Psalm, which is appointed for the service of Christmas-day; and which, he says, like many of the other psalms, is constantly read and but little understood.

“It appears,” said he, “to be a song of congratulation upon the marriage of a great king; but, from a consideration of all the subjects on which it touches, there is no doubt that it prophetically alludes to the mystical wedding of Christ with his church. This was the unanimous opinion of all the Jewish expositors—for though prejudice prevented them from discovering the completion of the prophecies in our Saviour, yet they well understood their meaning, and all allowed that this psalm related to Him, and not to any earthly prince.

“This figure, of the union of a husband and wife, has been consecrated by our Lord himself, to signify his own union with his church, in the parable of the king making a marriage for his son. Some commentators have imagined that the marriage of Solomon with Pharaoh’s daughter was the subject of the 45th Psalm; but it is in many respects wholly inapplicable to that king. The hero of the poem is a warrior, who reigns at length by conquest over his vanquished enemies: Solomon, on the contrary, enjoyed a long reign of uninterrupted peace. He is also distinguished by his love of righteousness; whereas Solomon, during the latter part of his reign, fell far short of the excellence here described. But, above all, the king is addressed by the title of God in a manner which is never applied to any earthly king.

“The Psalmist begins with our Lord’s first appearance in the human form, and passing rapidly through the different periods of Christianity, makes them the groundwork of this mystic and inspired song, which may be divided into three parts.

“The first three verses describe our Lord on earth in the days of his humiliation. The second section consists of the five following verses, which relate to the propagation of the gospel by our Lord’s victory over his enemies; and this includes the whole period, from his ascension to the time, not yet arrived, of the fulfilling of the Gentiles. The sequel alludes to the re-marriage—that is, to the restoration of the converted Jews to the bosom of the true church.

“‘Thou art fairer than the children of men.’ Though we have no account in the gospels of our Saviour’s person, yet it is evident, from many circumstances, that there must have been a peculiar dignity in his appearance. But it was the sanctity of his manners; his perfect obedience to the will of God; the vast scope of his mind, which comprehended all knowledge; his power to resist all temptation, and to despise shame and to endure pain and death, to which that expression alludes—this was the beauty with which he was adorned beyond the sons of men.

“‘Full of grace are thy lips.’ This is put figuratively, for that perfect doctrine which he delivered, and which, if sincerely adopted, was to sustain the contrite, to console the afflicted, and to reclaim the guilty.

“‘The king’s enemies’ are the wicked passions of mankind, against whom he wages a spiritual war; and, the ‘sword and arrows,’ St. Paul tells us, mean ‘the sword of God.’

“The seventh and eighth verses shew the King seated on the throne of his mediatorial kingdom, where he is addressed as God, whose throne is everlasting, and as a Monarch whose heart is set upon justice and righteousness.

“In the first dispensation of the law through Moses, the perfumed garments of the priest were typical of the graces and virtues of the Redeemer, and of the excellence of his word; so the Psalmist describes the King, of whom the high priest was the representative, as scented with myrrh, aloes, and cassia.

“In the figurative language of scripture, ‘king’s daughters’ express peoples and nations, and here mean, that the empires converted to the faith of Christ will shine in the beauty of holiness, and will be united to the Messiah’s kingdom.

“The ‘Queen’ evidently represents the Hebrew Church, re-united by conversion in the fulness of time. The restoration of Israel to the situation of consort in the Messiah’s kingdom is the constant strain of prophecy; whole chapters might be quoted; but I think it will be an interesting employment to some of you to search for them yourselves. I will only remind you of that passage in the epistle to the Romans, where St. Paul says, that blindness is in part only happened to Israel, till the time shall arrive for the fulness of the Gentiles to come in; and then all Israel shall be saved.

“The Queen’s ‘vesture of gold’ denotes those real treasures, of which the church is the depository, the written word, and the dispensation of its gracious promises to mankind.

“‘Forget thine own people, and thy father’s house.’ This applies to the ancient Jewish religion, and its typical ceremonies and sacrifices, now no longer necessary. The remainder of the psalm alludes to the churches established under ‘the King’; to the simplicity and excellence of the Christian dispensation; and closes with an assurance that the children of the Queen Consort, that is, the church, after collecting the lost sheep of Israel, shall be, as their fathers were, God’s peculiar people.”

My uncle concluded by saying, that this beautiful psalm, which is written in such majestic language, and presents such cheering hopes to Christians, Jews, and Gentiles, has been a constant subject of discussion amongst our learned divines; and advised us to read with attention the excellent commentaries on it by Bishop Horne and Bishop Horsley.

26th.—This day is so calm and bright that it is not like winter; it almost brings to my mind some of our own days at home. Oh! mamma, if you were but here, all would be delightful.

We are all going to walk to Farmer Moreland’s, except Wentworth and Frederick, who are mounting their ponies to visit a friend just returned from Eton.

I am called—Yes, quite ready. Good day, dear mamma.

Well, mamma, evening has come, and I have but little to tell you about our Christmas visit to Farmer Moreland and his dame, which was happily accomplished; but a great deal to tell you about Wentworth and Frederick, and their adventures. When they had ridden about a mile, they were stopped by a little boy, who came running from a lane in the wood, crying piteously, “Mother, mother, oh! come to mother!” To all their questions he gave no other answer but “Come to mother; oh! do come, she is a dying.” The child was a very little creature, and seemed scarcely to know any other words.

My cousins, without hesitation, or any thought about their ride, determined to follow the child, who, though he could not say much, knew very well what to do. He led them along one of the green lanes a considerable distance into the wood, and there they found his poor mother lying, without any other shelter than that of a large spreading holly—without blanket or covering—her head resting on a little bundle, and looking deadly pale. The child ran towards her, and gently patting her face, cried, “Here, mother; look, look.”

As Wentworth approached, she opened her eyes, and seeing a benevolent countenance, smiled faintly. She tried to raise herself, but could not. In reply to his inquiries she made him understand that, having travelled two days with little rest or food, suffering much from grief, along with fatigue, she had grown so ill that she was obliged to stop there. Not seeing any cottage near, in which she could beg a lodging, and feeling totally unable to walk farther, she had lain there many hours, but had not seen any one pass, and fearing that the child would be starved, she had sent him in search of some kind-hearted person. She added that she was sure her illness was a fever; and as there was, therefore, little chance of her being admitted into any house, all she wished for was a shed to cover her, some water to drink, and some bread for her little boy.

My cousins, promising assistance, rode home instantly, in hopes of finding my uncle, but we were all at Farmer Moreland’s. They tried then to find some one who could erect a shed over the poor woman, but it was a holyday no labourers were at work; and the steward, who was the only person they found, had received orders not to leave the yards all day, because many idle people might be about. He told Wentworth he could easily supply materials for a shed, if there was any one to build it. Wentworth and Frederick looked at each other for a moment, and then both said together—“Let us do it ourselves, and give up the ride.” Each had been afraid of disappointing his brother by the proposal, but they agreed to it with equal good-will, and set about their new occupation so earnestly, that in a quarter of an hour the garden ass-cart was loaded with straw and stakes, and the necessary tools. Before they went away, they applied to my aunt’s housekeeper for bread and medicine; and she very good naturedly went herself to see what state the woman was in, and what could be done for her. She afterwards told my aunt that it was “a beautiful sight to see the kindness of the young gentlemen, just as careful, ma’am, not to disturb the sick beggar woman as if she was a lady, and they so happy, ma’am, and never seeming to cast a thought about their ride.” While they were at work, the housekeeper learned the history of the unfortunate creature; she thinks her dangerously ill, and has therefore procured a careful old woman to take care of her.

My cousins not being very expert in driving stakes into the ground, or in fastening on thatch, it was nearly dark when they reached home. We had long returned from our walk, and had been listening to the history the housekeeper gave. My aunt and uncle were very much pleased at hearing of the benevolence and the decision with which Wentworth and Frederick had acted; and they determined not to interfere with them till their task was completed.

The story of the poor woman can be told in a few words. When very young, only sixteen, she was tempted to leave her father’s cottage, and to go off secretly with an idle wandering man, belonging to a party of gipsies, to whom she was afterwards married. Her husband had lately grown very unkind, and last week he forsook her entirely. She heard that he had come to the forest of Deane, and without waiting to make further inquiry, she took her little son, and set off in search of her wicked husband. Her parents are dead, and she has no friends but the gipsies, among whom she has lived for several years; she says they are bad people indeed, and to leave her boy with them would be his ruin. Her only anxiety is about him; were she sure of his being in safe hands, she says she has no longer any wish to live.

The housekeeper inquired the name of the child; but his mother acknowledged that he had never been christened, as the people she was with did not attend to those kind of things. He has generally been called Quick-finger amongst them, because he was so clever at little thefts; but she had intended, she says, to have had him baptized, and to call him Charley, after her own father. She then fell into an agony of grief at the remembrance of her father and the time when she was happy and innocent, as well as at the wickedness her poor little boy has already been taught.

Dec. 28th.—During our passage from Brazil, Captain M. lent me one of your old favourites, Anson’s Voyage; and, next to Robinson Crusoe, it interested me more than any thing of that kind I ever read. You may guess then with what pleasure I have been looking over the account of a late visit to Juan Fernandez by Mr. Scouler, who was employed by the Hudson’s Bay Company to examine the natural history of the north-west coast of America. I think two or three little extracts will amuse you; and I must tell you, by the way, that Mr. Scouler seems to feel great admiration for our city of Rio, and the bay, and the view from the Corcovado, and all our beautiful plants, birds, and insects.

“Dec. 14, 1824.—The island of Juan Fernandez was approached with equal interest by every one in the vessel, but with different feelings; as classic ground by the seamen, and as a new field for research by the naturalist.

“We landed at a small bay at the northern extremity of the island. The level land near the coast had more resemblance to a European corn-field, than to a desolate valley in the Pacific Ocean, being entirely overgrown with oats, interspersed in different places with wild carrots. On penetrating through the corn-fields, we discovered a small cavern, excavated in the decomposing rock, and bearing evident traces of having been recently inhabited. A kind of substitute for a lamp hung from the roof, and the quantity of bones scattered about, shewed there was no scarcity of provisions. Near this, a natural arch, about seven feet high, opened into a small bay, bounded on all sides by steep perpendicular rocks, which afforded an inaccessible retreat to multitudes of sea birds.

“The next day, on approaching the landing place in Cumberland Bay, we were surprised by the appearance of smoke rising among the trees; and we had the pleasure of finding an Englishman there. When he first saw our boat, he was afraid it belonged to a Spanish privateer, and had concealed himself in the woods, as they had formerly destroyed his little establishment. He belonged to a party of English and Chilians, employed in sending the skins of cattle, which are now plentiful, to Chili. We were delighted with the beautiful situation where they had fixed their dwelling; close to a fine stream, and surrounded by a shrubbery of Fuchsia, mixed with peach and apple-trees, pears, figs, vines, and strawberries, rue, mint, radish, and Indian cress, besides oats, were all growing in the greatest profusion; and the sea abounded with fish.

“Our new friend had a little collection of English books; and one piece of furniture, which seemed particularly valuable,—an old iron pot, though without a bottom; but he had fitted a wooden one to it, and when he had occasion to boil any thing, he plunged the pot into the earth, and kindled a fire round its sides.

“We made an excursion to the interior, and found many beautiful plants and shrubs. The dry soil was covered by an evergreen arbutus, and a shrubby campanula, and every sheltered rock afforded a different species of fern, the greatest vegetable ornament of the island. We refreshed ourselves with strawberries, which were small and pale, but of a very agreeable flavour; and the vine plants were loaded with grapes; they were still unripe.”

I am quite disappointed at Mr. Scouler’s not mentioning the myrtle trees described in Anson’s Voyage, that tall wood of myrtles that screened the lawn where the commodore had pitched his tent; and which, sweeping round it, in the form of a theatre, extended up to the rising ground. I should like to have known what species of myrtle produced timber of forty feet in length. But above all, I felt disappointed at his account of the cavern; I was thinking of Alexander Selkirk, and could not help hoping that it was to prove the very one in which he had lived; or perhaps that some other romantic Selkirk was then its solitary master, instead of those Chilian cattle-killers.

29th.—There was a long conversation to-day on corals, corallines, and particularly on the formation of islands of that substance, which seems to take place so rapidly in some parts of the world.

Mr. Salt, the traveller, says that the islands in the Bay of Amphila are composed entirely of marine remains, strongly cemented together, and now forming solid masses; the surface of which is covered by only a thin layer of soil. These marine remains are chiefly corallines, madrepores, and a great variety of sea-shells, of species still existing in the Red Sea. Some of the islands are thirty feet above high-water mark; a circumstance which, he says, makes it difficult to account for the process of their formation. When a pillar of coral rises to the surface of the sea, birds, of course, resort to it; the decay of fish-bones, and other remains of their food in time produces a soil, which is followed by vegetation, and then it quickly assumes the appearance of a little island, covered with a solid stratum of earth. But in the present case, large pieces of madrepore are found, disposed in regular layers, far above the sea; and for this no satisfactory reason can be assigned, he says, except that the sea must have retired since they were so deposited; for this tribe of animals cannot work in the air.

There is nothing more curious, my uncle observed, than the changes produced on the face of the globe by the operations of the coral worm, a little creature so small as to be scarcely visible. New islands, he says, produced by its means, are continually rising out of the sea, and old ones are becoming united to others, or to the continent. In reading about something else, I met with a singular instance of this, in the account of Saugor Island, and Edmonstone’s Isle, in the Bay of Bengal, Edmonstone’s Isle appeared so lately as 1818; it is already two miles long, and half a mile broad, and the channel between the two islands is so shallow, that, in a few years, they will probably be joined together. Vegetation had commenced immediately on the most central and elevated part; saltwort, with one or two other plants, had given it a verdant tint, and by daily binding the shifting sand, were contributing to form the basis of a more durable soil.

Coral was formerly thought to be a vegetable, and even the celebrated Tournefort considered it to be a marine moss; but it is now known to be the production of a race of animals, of which it seems as much a part as the shell is of the snail. Most of the islands in the South Sea are coral rocks covered with earth. My uncle says that late voyagers have asserted that the bays and harbours of many of these islands have been observed to be gradually closing up, by the progress of these extraordinary creatures; and that it may therefore be supposed that these separate islands will in time be connected, and actually become a continent!

He told us, that M. de Peysonnel, of Marseilles, was the first who proved by experiment the animal nature of the coral; and shewed, that those bodies which former naturalists had mistaken for flowers, were, in fact, the insects that inhabited the coral. When the branches were taken out of the water, these supposed flowers, which proceeded from a number of white points in the bark, withdrew and disappeared; and when the branch was restored to the water, they were again perceptible. The white specks he proved to be holes in the outer surface, or bark, and corresponding with a series of cavities within; and secondly, he shewed that from these holes a milky fluid issued, which was an animal juice, and must, therefore, have proceeded from an insect. By immersing coral in strong vinegar, he could dissolve the calcareous bark to a certain depth, so as to shew the tubular structure of the interior uninjured.

Carbonate of lime, my uncle says, is the principal part of the substance of the whole tribe of corals and corallines; but where these minute insects, or rather polypi, obtain that material, or how they can decompose such an extraordinary quantity of it from sea-water, is one of those secrets of nature which philosophers have not yet discovered, although it is constantly in operation, and on an immense scale.

31st.—Frederick read to us, this evening, some of De Capell Brooke’s travels; and I ran away with the book afterwards, to copy for you this account of the cataract of Trallhätta, in Norway, which must be a singular scene.

“The whole water of the Gotha tumbles with fearful roarings down the rocky declivities, and in its descent forms four principal falls, the perpendicular height of which, taken together, is 110 feet. Yet the navigation is not obstructed; for locks with sluices, like those on navigable canals, have been cut in the solid rock, with incredible pains and labour; through them, vessels can be lowered to the level of the river below the falls, preserving their course with ease; and affording a strong instance of the power and ingenuity of man.”

In conversing about Norway, my uncle said, he thought the ingenuity displayed by the Norwegian peasantry was surprising. Living remote from towns, and scattered among their mountains, they become independent of assistance. The same man is frequently his own tailor, shoemaker, and carpenter, and sometimes even his own clock and watch maker. Most of them are very expert at carving, and the beautiful whiteness of their fir wood furnishes them with very pretty ornaments for their cottages. They work neatly in silver, brass, and other metals; and there are few things for the purchase of which they are obliged to have recourse to the distant towns.

Their methods of brewing and baking are very simple. The first consists in a simple infusion of barley, which, with the young shoots of juniper, produces a weak but pleasant beverage.—In making their flad bröd, or flat bread, they mix rye-flour with water, and when the dough is well kneaded, roll it out like a pancake, but not thicker than a wafer. As fast as they are made they are placed on a gridiron, and one minute bakes them. Prepared in this way, the rye loses its coarse taste, and the bread is agreeable.

You will not, probably, be inclined to imitate them, but I am sure you will admire the ingenuity of these people in the manner they employ the black ants to make vinegar. These creatures have gigantic habitations, which, in size and appearance, are not very unlike the gamme, or hut, of the coast Laplanders. The ant hills are five feet in height; and are composed of decayed wood, pine-leaves, and bark, mixed up with earth and strengthened by bits of branches, which must require the efforts of a vast number to move. Streets and alleys branch off in every direction from the main entrance, which is a foot wide; and outside, millions of the little negroes, as they are called, may be seen bustling along heavily laden. But now for the vinegar: a bottle half full of water is plunged to the neck in one of these hills; the ants speedily creep in, and are, of course, drowned; the contents are then boiled, and a strong acid is produced, which is used for vinegar by all the inhabitants of Norlanden.

January 1, Sunday.—My uncle read to us the “Song of Moses,” after the escape of the Israelites from Pharaoh and his host. He then said; as nearly as I can recollect, “This beautiful composition is not only a thanksgiving for their memorable deliverance, but it contains also precise prophecies of the downfal of the nations of Palestine, with the settlement of the Israelites in their room; and of the establishment of the temple on Mount Zion, with the ultimate destruction of all idolatry.

“It is the most ancient poem now extant, and shews the early connexion which subsisted between poetry and religion: it is also a fine example of that species of composition in which the Hebrews excelled; namely, that of expressing in hymns of triumph their gratitude to God for his glorious protection.

“‘The mountain of thine inheritance’ alludes to Mount Moriah, or Sion, where Moses knew that God would fix his sanctuary; and which is prophetically spoken of here as already completed.

“The whole army seem to have joined with one voice in this song; and Miriam and all the women re-echoed it with equal rapture; yet while almost in the very act of expressing their gratitude, this capricious people began to murmur because there was a scarcity of water in the wilderness through which it was necessary to pass; and, because when they did come to a spring, the water was bitter. What a beginning for the new life on which they were entering! Let us act more wisely, my dear children; and, grateful for the blessings of the past, let us endeavour to deserve their continuance through the new year on which we are entering.”

We endeavoured to trace the march of the Israelites, on the map. My uncle shewed us that the wilderness of Shur was a part of that great sandy desert which divides Egypt from Palestine; and which stretches from the Mediterranean to the head of the Red Sea on both sides. It is supposed by the late celebrated traveller Burckhardt, that the place called Marah, from the bitterness of its water, is the present Howara. Its distance from the Red Sea corresponds with the three days’ march of the Israelites; and there is a well there, of which he says, “the water is so bitter, that men cannot drink it; and even camels, if not very thirsty, refuse to taste it.” Irwin, another traveller, says that in travelling 315 miles in this desert, he met with only four springs of water.

My uncle says, that Moses does not mention every place where the Israelites encamped between the Red Sea and Mount Sinai, but those only where something remarkable occurred. Elim, with its refreshing wells and shady palm trees, must have been delightful in comparison with the desert they had passed. Dr. Shaw, who visited that country the beginning of last century, found nine of the twelve wells described in Exodus; the other three had been probably filled up by those drifts of sand which are so common in Arabia. But the palm trees alluded to by Moses had increased amazingly, for, instead of threescore and ten, there were then above two thousand. Under the shade of these trees he was shewn the Hammam Mousa, or the Bath of Moses, for which the inhabitants have an extraordinary veneration, as they pretend it was the exact spot where he and his family encamped. From this place the Doctor could plainly see Mount Sinai, or, as it is called in some parts of the Bible, Mount Horeb. This seems to have been the general name of the whole mountain, while Sinai was appropriated to the summit, which had three distinct elevations: on the western one, God appeared to Moses in the bush; the middle one, which is the highest, is that on which God gave the law to Moses, and is still called Gebel Mousa, or the Mount of Moses; and the third and most easterly is called St. Catherine’s Mount, from the monastery which has been erected there.