Chapter VII: Part 7

Groups of _rhododendron_, _azalea_, _kalmia_, and many more, which, as I have learnt from that delightful book, Miller’s dictionary, are suited to that soil and aspect, are to flourish there; and by Mary’s advice, they are to be mixed with some of the Scotch roses. These are rather scarce here; but Mr. Biggs has been so generous as to send me a small piece of the root of each of his own rose bushes. There are a few fibres on them, and he assures me they will sprout in spring--so it will be a good experiment at least. I shall also have a little grass plat, with a few small beds for choice flowers, which I expect will blossom very early in this little snug spot.

I have planted some of the _lobelia fulgens_, and a _hydrangea_, which is a native of marshy ground, near the edge of the pond--and when spring comes, I hope to execute many other grand plans which I have formed, from hearing Mr. Biggs. My cousins approve of them, and all help me, and Mary wonders she never thought of adorning the old quarry before.

I am now very busy in making a bed for _ixia_, _gladiolis_, _lachenalia_, and _oxalis_--they are usually in a greenhouse, but I hear that, if planted late in October, in a soil composed of peat earth, and sharp sand, and over this, if a layer of peat, eight inches thick, be laid, to prevent the frost from reaching them, they will be in beautiful blossom in spring. I will try this--my uncle encourages experiment; he says it is the high road to truth--and he assists all who wish to travel on it.

_23rd._, _Sunday._--I asked my uncle this morning to tell me the meaning of Noah’s prediction, “God shall enlarge Japhet, and he shall dwell in the tents of Shem.” In reply, he told us the opinions of a very learned person, for whose writings he has a high respect; and I will endeavour to give you the substance of what he said.

“The most obvious meaning of the expression is, that Providence would bless Japhet with a numerous progeny, which should not only spread over an ample tract of country, but that they would afterwards encroach on the territory of Shem’s descendants. And this sense of the words is supported by history; for the whole of Europe, and a considerable part of Asia, was originally peopled, and has been always occupied, by Japhet’s offspring, who, not contented with their own possessions, have repeatedly made encroachments on the sons of Shem; as, for instance, when Alexander the Great, with an European army, attacked and overthrew the Persian monarchy; when the Romans subjected a great part of the East; and still more, when the Tartar conquerors of the race of Genghis Khan destroyed the empire of the Caliphs, took possession of their country, and made settlements in all parts of Asia. Tamerlane also led his Moguls, who were another branch of Japhet’s progeny, into Hindostan; and their descendants gradually obtained possession of that immense country, a part of Shem’s original inheritance. These events, and others of the same nature, may be considered as the accomplishment of that prophecy; not only because they answer to the natural import of its terms, but because they have had great influence on the state of true religion in various parts of the world; so that in this interpretation we find the two circumstances which are the characteristics of a true interpretation,--an agreement with the facts recorded in history, and a connection of the particular prediction with the general system of the prophetic word.

“It would seem, however, that some amicable intercourse between parts of those two great families is implied by the expression, ‘Japhet’s dwelling in the tents of Shem’; for the settlements made by the Portuguese, English, Dutch, and French in different parts of India, which was a part of Shem’s inheritance, may be taken in this sense. And consequences cannot but arise of great importance, from such numerous and extensive settlements of Christians, in countries where the light of the Gospel has been for ages extinguished.

“There is still a third sense: but in order to make it more apparent, it will be proper to consider the precise meaning of Shem’s blessing--a blessing obliquely conveyed in this emphatic ejaculation, ‘Blessed be Jehovah, the God of Shem!’ This evidently implied that Jehovah was to be more peculiarly the God of Shem; and in the same sense that he afterwards vouchsafed to call himself the God of one branch of Shem’s progeny--of Abraham, Isaac, and of Jacob, and of their descendants the Jewish people. Although the universal Father of all the nations of the earth, he may be said to have more particularly adopted the descendants of Shem, in choosing them to be the depositaries of the true religion, while the rest of mankind were sunk in idolatry and ignorance. Among them he preserved the knowledge and worship of himself, by a series of miraculous dispensations; to them he confided the representative priesthood, the type of the Messiah; and when the destined season came, he raised the Messiah himself from among the offspring of that chosen family.

“But the expression, ‘the tents (or tabernacles) of Shem,’ alludes to the Jewish tabernacle, which was one of the external means of preserving the worship of the true God. The word in Hebrew is the same for both tent and tabernacle. This holy tent was Shem’s tabernacle, because it was entrusted to his descendants, and because none but them might bear a part in its sacred service. Now this tabernacle, and this service, were undoubtedly emblems of the Christian church and Christian worship. It appears, then, that in the mention of the tents of Shem, Noah was inspired to make allusion to the Jewish tabernacle, as the symbol of the Christian dispensation; and that the dwelling of Japhet in those tents of Shem, took place when the idolatrous nations of Japhet’s line became converted to the faith of Christ, and worshipped the God of Shem in Shem’s tabernacles; that is, worshipped God in the truth and spirit of revealed religion.

“This prediction, therefore, bears directly upon the general object of all the prophecies--the union of all nations in the faith of Christ. And the fact is notorious, that the Gospel has, from the beginning to the present time, made the greatest progress in Europe, where the early and wide-spreading conversions of the idolaters of Japhet’s line (among whom were our own ancestors) soon led to encroachments on the territory of Shem.

“How grateful should we be,” my uncle added, “to those learned men who thus elucidate the difficult passages in Scripture, and shew the beautiful harmony of the whole prophetic system!”

_24th._--I am reading “Bartram’s Travels in North America.” It is not a late publication, but very interesting to me, as I like to compare the productions of North and South America.

Among all the beautiful trees of our Southern regions, I do not recollect having seen or heard of the deciduous cypress, the majestic grandeur of which, he says, is surprising. It generally grows in low flat grounds, that are covered, part of the year, with water. The lower part of the stem, which is frequently under water, enlarges into prodigious buttresses; and they project on every side to such a distance, that several men might hide in the recesses between them. The stem is generally hollow as high as the buttresses reach, where it forms, as it were, another beginning, and rises, in a straight uninterrupted column, to the height of 80 or 90 feet. There it throws out its noble branches like an umbrella; eagles securely build their nests in them; they are the abode of hundreds of parroquets, who delight in shelling the seeds; and even the hollow stem is not untenanted, as it affords spacious apartments for the wild bees.

The trunks supply excellent timber; and, when hollowed out, make large and durable canoes. When the planters fell these mighty trees, they erect a high stage round them, so as to reach above the buttresses; and on these stages eight or ten men can work together, with their axes.

Another curious fact which I found in this book is, that the inhabitants of East Florida prepare, from the root of the China briar, a very agreeable sort of jelly, which they call _conti_. They chop the root in pieces, which are afterwards pounded in a wooden mortar; and, when washed and strained, the sediment that settles to the bottom dries into a reddish flour. A small quantity of this, mixed with warm water and sweetened with honey, becomes a delicious jelly, when cool; or, mixed with corn flour and fried in fresh bear’s oil, it makes very nice cakes.

_26th._--I have just found, in “Bartram’s Travels,” some particulars that I do not think we knew before, of that curious species of the _Tillandsia_, commonly called long moss.

It grows on all trees in the southern regions of North America; and any part of the living plant, torn off and caught on the branches of another tree, immediately takes root. Wherever it fixes, it spreads into long pendent filaments, which subdivide themselves in an endless manner, waving in the wind like streamers, to the length of twenty feet. It is common to find the spaces between the boughs of large trees entirely occupied by masses of this plant, which, in bulk and weight, would require several men to carry. In some places, cart loads of it are found lying on the ground, torn off by the violence of the wind. When fresh, cattle and deer eat it in the winter season; and when dry, it is employed for stuffing chairs, saddles, and beds; but to prepare it properly for these purposes, it is thrown into shallow ponds of water, where the outside furry substance soon decays: it is then taken out of the water and spread in the sun; and, after a little beating, nothing remains but a hard, black, elastic filament, resembling horse-hair.

There is a curious anecdote about the name of this plant, in “Harry and Lucy concluded;” but I need not mention it here, because my uncle has sent that delightful little book to you, and I am sure Marianne will have run through it with as much eagerness as I did.

_28th._--I have just found some more instances of those strange optical deceptions, which seem to be of the same nature as the Fata Morgana. My aunt thinks that the term mirage only applies to the deceitful waters of the desert.

Mr. Dalby writes in the Philosophical Transactions that, ascending a hill in the Isle of Wight, he observed that the top of another hill, of about the same level, seemed to dance up and down as he advanced; and on bringing his eye down to within two feet of the ground, the top of the hill appeared totally detached, or lifted up from the lower part, the sky being seen under it. This he repeatedly observed; and he adds, that as the sun was rather warm for the season, with a heavy dew, there was a great deal of evaporation going on.

Another very singular example of these extraordinary appearances in the atmosphere, is given by Dr. Buchan. Walking on the cliff, about a mile east of Brighton, in the latter end of November, just as the sun was rising, he saw the face of the cliff on which he was standing represented precisely opposite to him, at some distance in the sea; and both he and his companion perceived their own figures standing on the summit of the apparent cliff, as well as the picture of a windmill near them. This phenomenon lasted about ten minutes, when it seemed to be elevated into the air, and to be gradually dissipated; and he remarks, that the surface of the sea was covered with a dense fog many yards in height, which slowly receded before the sun’s rays.

How frequently it happens, when the curiosity has been awakened by any new subject, that chance leads one to some circumstance in books, or conversation, that exactly applies to it! By mere accident, I opened Scoresby’s voyage at the following passage, which I have just time to transcribe.

After describing the amusing spectacle of some distant ships, which were either curiously distorted, or inverted in the air, by means of this wonderful kind of refraction, he says, “When looking through the telescope, the coasts of ice, or rock, had often the appearance of the remains of an ancient city, abounding with the ruins of castles, churches, and monuments, with other large and conspicuous buildings. The hills often appear to be surmounted with turrets, battlements, spires, and pinnacles, while others, subjected to another kind of refraction, seem to be large masses of rock, suspended in the air, at a considerable elevation above the actual terminations of the mountains to which they refer. The whole exhibition is a grand and majestic phantasmagoria; scarcely is the appearance of any object fully examined and determined, before it changes to something else; it is perhaps alternately a castle, a cathedral, or an obelisk,--and then expanding and coalescing with the adjoining mountains, it unites the intermediate vallies, though they may be miles in width, by a bridge of a single arch, of the most magnificent appearance.”

_29th._--We have been visiting Franklin’s farm to-day, and have had a very pleasant walk, late as it is in the year. He is so diligent, that he has done a great deal to it since we were last there. Between it and the next land he has made a ditch, with a high firm fence of flat stones placed edgeways, in three rows, each row sloping a little, and all supported by a bank of earth behind them; between the two upper rows of stones, he has planted quick-thorns, and on the top of the bank a few young oak and elm trees. The deep ditch will serve to carry off the water from some drains that are to be made in a part of the ground which is wet and marshy. These drains are to be covered with earth; and something must be done to keep them from filling up. Some people line them with stone, but that is too expensive; and as he has just clipped some of his hedges, he intends, I believe, to put the branches of the thorn-bushes into the bottom of the drains, which will also prevent the sides from falling in.

Springs are formed in the bosom of the earth, my uncle says, by the rain water which sinks through the surface, and which, gently oozing, or _percolating_, as he calls it, through the sand or gravel, or through other porous strata, continues to descend till it is intercepted by some bed of clay or rock. No longer being able to descend, it follows the course of this impassable bed, and if thus conducted to the outside of the ground, lower down the hill, it forms then a spring. But if prevented by any obstacle from flowing freely out of the ground, it diffuses itself under the surface, and produces swamps and marshes. My uncle has been of great use to Franklin, not only by teaching him how to discover from the form of the ground where it is most likely to meet with and _tap_ these concealed springs, but by laying out the drains for him with a levelling instrument, so that they should have sufficient fall into the main ditch, or into a little rivulet which skirts his farm. I could not have conceived that science might be made so useful even in common agriculture.

Franklin is also ploughing a field for wheat--and is going afterwards to plough up another field that looks all rough and ugly--but which is to be left unsown the whole winter; he intends to plough it two or three times, and then in Spring, after it has lain fallow in this way, he will sow it with barley. Another grand operation is the preparing a piece of ground for an orchard; my uncle has promised him some nice young fruit-trees for it; and Franklin, very prudently, brought over some American apple-trees, which he says are very productive.

The blind basket-maker sometimes walks to the farm with the assistance of Bessy’s arm; and it is impossible to see the happiness of the whole family without feeling the strongest interest in their welfare. She now looks quite blooming and healthy; and she is so industrious that besides her in-door occupations, she has persuaded her husband to give her an acre of ground for flax, with which she hopes to do a great deal. This will be a very uncommon crop in this country, but I am sure, from what my uncle says, that it will be very profitable.

_30th._, _Sunday._--We had a conversation this morning on the character of Joseph, which my uncle thinks a fine example of all the Christian virtues. “If we follow him,” said my uncle, “from his youth to the height of his preferment, we see him, in every part of his life, virtuous and religious; patient and courageous under misfortune; modest and temperate in the greatest success. He suffered injustice from his master who imprisoned him, though he had been just and faithful; but under this great trial he had the comfort of knowing that he was innocent. He had the still greater comfort of confiding in the support of God, who, in his own good time, delivered him from prison, and permitted him to be raised to a high situation, where his integrity might be made manifest. Then, if we consider his generous forbearance towards his brethren, how highly does it raise our admiration of his truly amiable disposition! When they were in his power--in just resentment of their former cruelty, he thought it right to mortify and humble them--but no sooner did he see that they were penitent, than his anger ceased.--And when he discovered himself to them, with what kindness and magnanimity he endeavoured to make them less dissatisfied with their former conduct!

“‘Be not grieved nor angry with yourselves, that ye sold me hither; for God did send me before you to preserve life: to preserve you a posterity in the earth. So now it was not you that sent me hither, but God.’

“Can any thing be more touching,” added my uncle, “than his generous anxiety to make his brethren forgive themselves, by shewing the advantages that were ultimately produced by their conduct to him?”

“There is one thing,” said Wentworth, “that I do not understand--why does Joseph say there shall be neither earing nor harvest, as if he meant two separate things?”

“The word _earing_,” replied my uncle, “sounds as if it meant gathering ripe ears of corn: but it is an old English term for ploughing, and is used in that sense in two other parts of scripture.”

“I had imagined,” said Caroline, “that earing was mentioned in that particular manner, in allusion to some blight, through which the corn should no longer give such an astonishing produce as seven ears to one stalk.”

“No;” said my uncle, “nor was that an unusual produce. A species of wheat still grows in Egypt, which generally bears this number of ears, and the stem is solid, that is, full of pith, in order to support so great a weight. The stem of our own wheat is, you know, a mere hollow straw. You see how necessary it is, my dear children, when you do not perfectly understand what you read or hear, to have courage enough to confess your ignorance, and to ask for explanation.

“Before we finish the subject of Joseph,” he continued, “I will explain another small circumstance, of which perhaps Bertha at least may not be aware. The ancient manner of eating was for each person to have one or more dishes to himself; they were all first set before the master of the feast, who distributed to every one his portion; and as a mark of affection for Benjamin, Joseph sent him five dishes, while he only sent one to each of the others. In Persia and Arabia, every dish that is set before the master of the house is divided into as many portions as there are guests, but those of the greatest rank have by far the largest shares.”

_31st._--Mr. R----, a friend of my uncle’s, has been here for a few days, and has amused us very much.

Yesterday he shewed us a Proteus kind of substance; it had at first a milky transparency, and reflected a bluish white light, but when we looked through it, it was yellow. He slightly wetted it, and then it lost all transparency, appearing like chalk. He immersed it completely in water, and the edges became more transparent than before, and at the same time a little gas seemed to escape from it. A small white ball appeared in the centre, but it gradually diminished in size, and the transparency extended through the whole mass.

He afterwards put some of this substance into oils of different colours--the colours it quickly acquired--and when it had completely absorbed the oil it became transparent, but when partially it was opaque. When steeped in oil, coloured with alkanet-root, it had quite the tints of the ruby; from a preparation of copper it imbibed the colour of the emerald; and from some acid exactly that of a Brazilian topaz. He then shewed us that all these brilliant colours could be discharged along with the oil, by exposing the substance to a strong heat.

Fortunately for us, when Mr. R. called here he was on his way home from London, where he had provided himself with these curiosities, and he was so good-natured as to unpack some of his treasures for our gratification.

I was much surprised at these cameleon-like changes; and at last I learned that this substance is the _tabasheer_, of which I had read something before. It is found in the cavities of the bamboo; while the plants are young, it is fluid, but as they advance in size it hardens. Mr. R. shewed us three specimens; the first was almost transparent, and so tender, that in carelessly taking it up, I crushed it. He was so kind as to say it did not signify, as he had some more; but I determined in future to see without the help of my fingers, as you have often advised me, dear mamma. The second piece was harder and more opaque, having only a little transparency at the edges. The third specimen was perfectly opaque, and looked like a bit of stucco; it was on this piece that he shewed us the curious experiments I have mentioned.

Mr. R. endeavoured to make us comprehend the causes of all those changes which have appeared so contradictory. “In the first place,” said he, “tabasheer is a remarkably porous substance; now if one of the pores be filled with air, a ray of light in passing through it suffers very little refraction, and is therefore so little scattered, that the tabasheer appears transparent, and objects can be partly seen through it. This arises from the small difference between the refractive power of air and of tabasheer. Next,” said he, “suppose a very small quantity of water introduced into this pore, so as not to fill it, but merely to line it with a film; then the light, in passing through the tabasheer, the film of water, the air within, the film again, and lastly the tabasheer, is so much scattered by these six refractions, that the substance appears opaque. But when by complete immersion the pores are filled with water, the multiplied refractions caused by the films and the portions of air within, cease, and the light is more freely transmitted.”

My uncle and Mr. R. talked a long time on the subject, and tried several other experiments, explaining to us the reasons for each step they took; but I have said enough to shew you that I endeavoured to understand what they were doing, and this I am sure will give you pleasure. Indeed the advantages of being able to comprehend something of the conversation of such people is so great, that I cannot sufficiently thank you for having given me a little taste for science. You used to say that there was great danger of making girls conceited by giving them a smattering of science; but I assure you that I shall keep a careful watch over myself in that respect; the little knowledge I have is only a peep-hole through which I see the boundless stores that I can never hope to possess--and surely this can only make me more humble.

_Nov. 1st._--I had not time yesterday to say any thing of the plant which produces the tabasheer; and perhaps Marianne might like to have the particulars that we were told.

It is the bamboo-cane, which is of the same natural order as the grasses; it grows in both hemispheres, almost anywhere within the tropics, and very abundantly in the East Indies. The main roots are thick and jointed, and from these joints spring several stems, which are sometimes eighteen inches in circumference at the bottom. These stems or culms are round, hollow, and shining; they grow quite straight, and often to the height of sixty feet; and they are articulated, or knotted; the knots being about a foot apart, and each armed with one or two sharp spines. The leaves are narrow, eight or nine inches long, and supported on short foot stalks; and the flowers grow in large panicles, three or four together, from the joints of the stem.

The stalks of the bamboo, while young, are filled with a spongy substance which contains a sweetish milky juice; but they become hollow as they grow old, except at the joints, where they are crossed by a woody membrane--such as I believe there is in the knots of all culms. Upon that membrane the liquor rests, and concretes into the substance called tabasheer, or sugar of Mombu--which was held in such esteem by the ancients, that it was valued at its weight in silver. It had long been used as a medicine all over the east, but was first made known in Europe by Dr. Russell in 1790.

The young shoots are dark green; and, while tender, make a good pickle; but the old stalks are of a shining yellow colour, and prodigiously hard and durable: they are used in buildings, in all the farming tools, and in all sorts of household furniture. By piercing the joints they are often converted into water-pipes, and they make excellent poles by which the porters carry casks, bales, and palanquins. In the island of Java, a sort of palanquin is formed of bamboos, resembling a small house in shape, and called a dooly. In short there are few plants which have such a variety of uses.

_2nd._--This last summer is said by every one to have been remarkable for the quantity of seed produced by almost all plants; and acorns were particularly plentiful. Some were gathered for the purpose of sowing; but an immense number remained under the oak trees in the lawn, till within these few days, when they all disappeared, and what fell from the trees in the course of one day, had vanished before the next. After much puzzling about what could have become of them, Wentworth discovered that the sheep eat them; he caught them in the act to-day. He also observed that chaffinches and other birds eat beech-masts--but I do not wonder at that, for I think them excellent; and my aunt tells me that on some parts of the continent they are very much used as food by the poor inhabitants. The oil which is previously expressed from them is of the finest quality; and in Alsace, as well as all along the borders of France and Germany, the peasants make a sort of cake with the remainder.

I saw the jay to-day for the first time; Mary shewed me several of these pretty birds under a hedge. We watched them for some time, and I actually saw one raise and depress the bunch of black and white feathers on his forehead repeatedly; the wing coverts are beautiful. Jays are very affectionate to their young, who remain with their parents during all the autumn and winter months, instead of separating early, as most birds do. In winter they are to be seen continually under high hedges, or on the sunny side of woods and copses, seeking for acorns, crab-apples, or for the grubs and worms to be found in fields where cows have pastured. They are timid and watchful, and feed in silence; but timid as they are, they are very destructive in summer to the gardens.

The Lumleys, you know, live in a very sequestered part of the forest, and the jays seem to have established themselves in that undisturbed spot. Miss Lumley told me that they make great havoc among the beans in June; and though in general cautious and wary, at that season their boldness is quite remarkable, and nothing seems to intimidate them. She has frequently seen one of the parent birds descend from a tree into the bean rows--they soon announce their discovery by a low but particular scream, and then all the family hastened to join in the plunder.

Their throat is so wide that they can swallow beans, acorns, and even chesnuts whole; and it is said they can imitate various sounds, such as the bleating of a lamb, the hooting of an owl, the mewing of a cat, and even the neighing of a horse.

They appear to be fond of each other, but to other birds they are very troublesome, destroying their nests and eggs, and sometimes pouncing on the young ones, to the great vexation of the Lumleys.

_4th._--Those poor travellers, whom more than a month ago I told you that good Mrs. Ando had so generously taken into her own house, have been obliged to continue there ever since; and my aunt has two or three times driven to Newnham to visit them. They have, you know, one little child, but the man seems to be dying, and his wife, a foreigner, nurses him with the most tender care. They have told their history to my aunt, and she has given me leave to relate it to you.

The young woman is a Swiss, her name is Madeleine, and her father was a merchant of Geneva, where they lived in comfortable affluence till his wife died. His affliction on this occasion was so violent that he resolved to quit Geneva for ever, and remove to a city in the south of France, where he might continue his business; but Madeleine was tired of a town life, and persuaded her father to give up commerce and retire to a little property he possessed in the district of Beaufort, in Savoy. She had formed delightful pictures in her imagination of the occupations of the farm, the vineyard, and the dairy, and she longed to realise them.

Her indulgent father yielded to her wishes, and they removed from all the comforts of Geneva to that remote and mountainous district. When they arrived, and that she saw the change which she had persuaded her father to make, she felt severe regret for having interfered; and would then have persuaded him to return, but he had arranged every thing for his residence in Savoy--he had made his decision, and he would not let it be again shaken.

His activity in a short time made the house comfortable, and he employed his time and his money in forming a garden and an extensive vineyard. The industry which he had devoted to trade, he now directed to the cultivation of the vine, and his unwearied assiduity was rewarded in a few years by a profusion of grapes, of which he made excellent wine. Every thing seemed to prosper, and Madeleine dearly loved a place where they had conquered so many difficulties, and where they had seen comfort and plenty rise out of a bare and rocky valley; a place which, with their endeavours to shelter and beautify it, and with the ornament of a remarkable group of fine old walnut trees on the hill behind the house, was now quite picturesque. The poor around them had also reason to like the change, for many a distressed family were now employed, and many an ignorant child was taught as well as clothed by Madeleine. But her father had laid out all his ready money on the vineyard and on a large stock of cattle; so that every thing depended on the success of his plans.

According to the custom of the country, their cattle were sent every summer with those of the neighbours, to the fresh air and sweet pasture of the mountains. They were all intrusted to the care of one person, who during the season lived on the top of the mountain, in a little wooden hut, called a _chalet_. There the milk of the cattle was collected; and in eight days after the cows had been driven up to the common pasture, the owners assembled, and the quantity of milk from each cow was weighed. The same thing was repeated once in the middle of summer; and at the end of the season the whole quantity of cheese and butter was divided in due proportion. The cattle were then driven back to the vallies, when there was a general festival, in which the whole _commune_ joined. All the young people used to assemble at the chalet on this occasion in their holiday dresses, decorated with Alpine flowers; and with all the gaiety of youth, and with songs and dances, they attended the descent of their herds, which were also decked with ribbons, and bells, and garlands. At intervals the party sung together the touching song of the _Ranz des vaches_, or some of the pretty Savoyard airs.

On the morning of one of these festivals a traveller, who had missed his way in crossing the mountain, happened to apply at the chalet for assistance. The youthful crowd were actually setting out--the song which announced the general movement had already commenced--when seeing that the traveller was faint and in want of assistance, they stopped and hastened to relieve him. They gave him such refreshment as they could, and, unmindful of their own interrupted pleasures, they delayed their march to give him time to recover. When he was sufficiently revived by their hospitality, he accompanied the gay party to the village; and, charmed by their simple manners, he joined as well as he could in their happy and innocent festivity.

The traveller was an English officer, who had been wounded. He was then enjoying the bracing air and wild scenery of Savoy; and though he intended to winter in Italy, he wished to loiter a little longer among the glens and mountains of this picturesque country. Madeleine’s father was interested by his appearance of ill health, and pleased by the manner in which he expressed his gratitude for the kindness he had received, and therefore invited him, whenever his wanderings should lead him that way, to take up his quarters at Beaufort. He came more than once in the course of the autumn, and was always welcomed with warmth and hospitality by the good old Swiss and Madeleine.

At length he bade them adieu, and pursued his way to Italy, leaving them in happiness and prosperity. At the end of two years he again returned, and found them sunk into poverty and misery. The overflowing of the Doron, early in spring, had caused universal destruction in the valley: houses, gardens, and vineyards were swept away, and even the cattle, which were to have gone in a few weeks to the hills, were included in the general ruin. All was gone--a few hours had reduced these amiable people from affluence to absolute want. He who had been master there--whose active head and industrious hands had planned so well and executed so much, was now the passive object of his daughter’s cares. The shock had irreparably injured his mind, for he had spent his whole fortune in making this place for her, and he had now the melancholy consciousness that both were beggars. But Madeleine’s energy rose above misfortune. She turned her whole thoughts to the comforts of her father and the means of procuring them; and she earnestly prayed for the blessing of Heaven on her exertions.

As soon as they were settled in a very small cottage in the neighbourhood, she determined again to try the cultivation of the vine--but considerably higher on the side of the hill--so as to be secure from a second inundation. She intended to have laboured at this new plantation herself, with the assistance of one old and attached servant, but numbers of people from the neighbouring villages, who loved her and were grateful to her, insisted on being allowed to help. It is a common custom in Switzerland to plant vines on very steep hills, with alternate rows of dry stone walls, to preserve the soil about the plants; and Madeleine resolved to accomplish such a vineyard. By the assistance of these good-natured people, a small plantation was made: while some were digging, others built the little walls; and Madeleine herself guided the donkies which were laden with earth to make a sufficient soil, or with her own hands disposed it round each vine plant, and dressed the whole.

Though the vineyard was small, she hoped to derive an additional benefit from it for her father, by planting a few useful vegetables, which might perhaps interest him in his favourite occupation of gardening. But when she tried to rouse his mind to this, he only wept at the loss of their former pretty garden, for which they had both done so much.

The group of walnut-trees still remained; and, fortunately, they bore remarkably well. The gathering of the fruit and the pressure of the oil is one of the most important occupations of the Savoyards, and Madeleine was again assisted by her kind neighbours. The walnut harvest commences about September; the fruit is beaten off the trees with long poles, and the green husks are taken off as soon as they begin to decay; the walnuts are then laid in a chamber to dry, where they remain till the end of Autumn, when the process of making the oil commences. The first operation is of course to take out the kernel, and for this the neighbouring peasantry collect. They are usually placed round a long table; a man at each end of it cracks the nuts with a mallet, by hitting them on the point; and as fast as they are cracked they are distributed to the persons round the table, who take out the kernels and remove the inner part. The Savoyards are so lively, that this employment is in general accompanied by songs and various amusements. The day that Bertram, their English friend, returned, Madeleine was thus occupied; while her poor old father, placed in a chair beside her, was gazing vacantly at what they were doing.

Though changed so much in circumstances, she did not appear dejected--she had not sunk into despair, and though her countenance, as he told my aunt, no longer expressed gaiety, yet even in her tears she had the smile of hope and cheerfulness. He had always esteemed her, and was now so charmed by her various merits, and so anxious to assist and protect her, that he persuaded her to accept his hand. He wrote to his father, who is a clergyman in Wales; he obtained his consent, and for a few years lived happily with Madeleine in her cottage, enjoying those pleasures that follow laborious industry, and taking part in all the tender cares she bestowed on her poor father. His half-pay added to their comforts, but still he was obliged to work--to labour sometimes for the pleasure of making Madeleine’s father comfortable at the close of his life, and he was rewarded by the success of their exertions.

But the severity of the climate in winter and his laborious life were too much for his constitution, which had never recovered the effect of his wounds. He felt that his strength was declining; and the poor old father having died, last spring, Bertram became anxious to return to his own country. They had no longer any tie to Savoy, and Madeleine willingly acquiesced in his wishes and sold her little property; yet it gave her many a pang to part for ever with the place where she had been so happy with her father--a place so endeared to her by years of cheerful industry, and by the sympathy and kindness she had received from all the inhabitants.

Unfortunately, Bertram became so much worse on his journey, that they were frequently obliged to rest, and by the time they arrived in Gloucestershire they found their expenses had been so great that they should not have sufficient means to accomplish the remainder of their journey. Thus stopped by want of money as well as by illness, poor Madeleine was looking for some humble lodging, when that kind-hearted creature Mrs. Ando, prevailed on them to come to her house. He has repeatedly written to request his father would come to him, but till last Monday he received no answer. It appears that the old gentleman had been also very ill, and all his letters remained unopened. He is now expected every day--and a sad meeting it will be, for my aunt fears that his son is too ill to recover.

Mrs. Ando sent a messenger yesterday to tell my aunt that her poor patient very much wished to see her again. She instantly went, and they had a long conversation on religious subjects, which gave her heartfelt pleasure, his sentiments were so pious. He spoke in the most affecting manner of Madeleine’s cheerful and tender care; and added that having been separated from his father when very young, he had become careless and indifferent about religion;--for a soldier’s life is rather unfavourable to religious improvement; but that his excellent wife had perceived this, and with prudent caution had gently led him to _think_; her good sense and admirable example awakened his mind, and while he taught her the English language, she taught him in return the principles, the humility, and the practice of Christianity.

Still long she nursed him; tender thoughts meantime
Were interchanged, and hopes and views sublime.
To her he came to die, and every day
She took some portion of the dread away;
With him she prayed, to him her Bible read,
Soothed the faint heart, and held the aching head;
She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer;
Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear;
Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave
Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave.

_5th._--I was rather naughty yesterday, I did not walk out; and my uncle reproached me for it this morning. “If you shut yourself up every cold day, Bertha, you will never become more hardy than the stove plants from your own country, which would certainly be more ornamental, and more valuable, if they could be reconciled to our climate, and made to grow here in the open ground. And you, too, would be happier as well as stronger, if you were able to enjoy the out of door pleasures of winter as well as those of the fire-side.”

“Yes, uncle, I wish to do so, but I delayed till the day changed in hopes of having Caroline with me; the straight beech-walk is comfortably sheltered from the north-east wind, but then the high ditch prevents one from seeing any thing, and makes it a dull place without a companion.”

My uncle laughed at my wanting to have a view from my walk, and said, “Certainly it would have been pleasant to have had a companion; but for my own part, I often enjoy a solitary walk: it is, I think, a great advantage to accustom the mind to submit sometimes to solitude, and to look for pleasure from within. Suppose there be nothing to see, why should you be dull? Have you not memory and reflection for companions? Do not your various pursuits furnish you with matter for consideration? Study is absolutely useless, if you do not, by daily recalling what you have read, endeavour to class and arrange it in your mind; can you feel alone and dull when thus engaged, and is not that retired walk exactly suited for such employment? But, come with me, my dear,” he added, “and I will shew you sufficient to occupy both eyes and mind even in that dull place.”

A walk with my uncle is one of my greatest pleasures, dear mamma.--I was ready in a minute--and to the beech-walk we went; but it was no longer a dull walk; all he says is so delightful, and he listens so patiently to every question. After a few turns, in which I entirely forgot the North-east wind, he said, “There is no place, my little Bertha, that does not present some objects of interest to those who choose to open their eyes. For instance, even on this rough ditch, and on the old wall that joins it, you may see a curious variety of vegetation, which your finest embroidery cannot equal. Look at those mosses; they are among the meanest plants, yet there is not one that is not worth examining. The fructification is still to be seen on that tuft of _bearded thread moss_. Take your little magnifying glass and look at the cup which is so delicate, and yet so firm, its edge strengthened by that finely toothed ring, to which the slender conical lid is exactly fitted; its pointed top, you see, serves to attach that little shining scaly membrane, which is the principal defence of the flower and seed from the weather, and which is called the veil or _Calyptra_.

“Now, Bertha, look at this _silver thread moss_, here on the walk, with its diminutive leaves so closely pressed to the stem as to be hardly visible; it is now quite green, but in some weeks it will become of a shining silvery white, especially when dry; and this circumstance distinguishes it from all other mosses.”

I asked him the name of the moss that is so common on the roots of the trees, creeping through the grass round them, and growing in tufts of long crowded shoots;--he told me that those long crowded shoots mark that species, and he shewed me the brown fibres by which they cling to the trees; and the leaves which grow in double rows, ending in little crooked hairs; he called it the _trailing feather moss_. He seemed to take as much pleasure in explaining a thousand things about them as I did in listening. How stupidly I had walked up and down there, and never cast my eyes on the beautiful structure of these little plants! We then examined several lichens, some in tufts hanging from the branches of trees and bushes, or encircling them with their crisp flat leaves; others covering the stems with an odd white crust; while on the damp earth beneath we found the _cup lichen_ in deep sea-green patches, displaying its tiny cups like fairy wine-glasses.

“On those stones,” said my uncle, “you may trace the beginning of all vegetation, from the little black spots, which are scarcely discernible, to the larger lichens and mosses of different forms and sizes. Or, let us turn to the grassy bank, and you may there see a great number of herbaceous plants still green, mixing with that useful grass, the creeping bent, which throws out fresh pasture at this late season from the joints of its runners or _stolones_.”

He shewed me many of these plants; and more than once said, “Everything here is interesting to persons of observation, and particularly so to those who know something of botany. But they are not merely for momentary examination--the variety and the design, to be found in each, supply ample subject of reflection.”

Just at that moment I heard a shrill cry, and I interrupted my uncle to ask what it was.

He told me that it was the alarm-cry of the fieldfare, and pointed to a large tree at the end of the walk, where a number of fieldfares and redwings, lately arrived from a colder climate, had collected.

“You see,” said my uncle, “that even without any fine picturesque view, you may have abundance of amusement here, not only in observing the growth of mosses and plants, but in watching the habits of birds. You may see the little woodpecker, and the still smaller creeper running nimbly up the stems of the trees, and pecking insects and their eggs out of the crevices of the bark; or the fauvette and the friendly robin waiting on every spray for a little notice; while in the thickets to the left you may see the missel thrush, and may sometimes distinguish its note, though it does not actually sing at this season.”

As my uncle said this, we approached the tree on which the fieldfares were perched: they seemed at first unmindful of us; but, as we came nearer, one bird which I had observed sitting alone at the very end of a branch, rose suddenly on its wings and gave a cry of alarm, which was the same I had heard before. The moment this happened, they all flew off together, except one, which remained there till we almost reached the tree, when it repeated the same cry and followed the rest.

My uncle told me that this is the constant habit of these birds; they arrive late in autumn, and always collect in a flock, placing one on the watch to give the alarm. When they spread over a field in search of food, they never separate much, and fly off in a body at the first notice of their sentinel. The redwing sings sweetly in its native country, Sweden, though here it makes only a piping noise. As we walked along, he told me that fieldfares were formerly kept in aviaries by the Romans, who fattened them on bread and minced figs; during which process very little light was admitted, and all objects were excluded from their sight, that could remind them of their former liberty. We watched these birds for a long time; and as we returned home my uncle said, “But in suggesting these subjects of observation, Bertha, I do not mean that you should always stand still in the cold to examine them; nor do I suppose that in one walk you could attend to such a variety of objects. I only want to shew you how much amusement a solitary winter’s walk, even along a _dull_ straight high ditch, can supply for both eyes and thoughts.

“Besides all these, you, my little botanist, might have another endless subject for examination in our deciduous trees, on many of which you will find that, unlike those of tropical climates, the young shoots, leaves and flowers are formed in autumn, and cradled up in scaly buds, where they are secure from frost, till the following spring.

“Indeed, the comparisons you must be naturally induced to make between your two countries, might supply you with amusing and useful occupation; and the result will be, that in each you will discover how peculiarly every creature and every vegetable is adapted to the country where it has been placed.”

_6th_, _Sunday._--I asked my uncle this morning, why Joseph said that every shepherd was an abomination to an Egyptian; and also, why Joseph expected, that when Pharaoh was informed that his father and brethren were shepherds, he would order them to dwell in the land of Goshen?

“In the first place,” said he, “it is supposed that Egypt had been invaded and subdued by a tribe of warlike shepherds from Arabia, called Cushites, or sons of Cush. They were also called the Pali, or shepherds; and their leaders called themselves the Shepherd-Kings. Six of these Shepherd-kings are said to have successively reigned in Egypt, till at length the native princes, weary of their tyranny, rebelled, and expelled them. They retired into the land of Canaan, and established themselves at Jerusalem, and in other strong situations in that country, which, from them, obtained the name of Palestine, or Palis-tan--the country of the Pali. These people afterwards became the Philistines, who were such troublesome neighbours to the Israelites.

“The memory of their tyranny was still fresh in the minds of the Egyptians, at the time that Joseph’s family removed to Egypt; and it was, therefore, natural that every shepherd should be an abomination to the Egyptians. Cush, you know, was the eldest son of Ham; the Egyptians were descended from Mizraim, the second son of Ham, and Egypt is to this day called Mizr, by the Arabs and Abyssinians.