Chapter V: Part 5

“But, uncle, do you think that I have such a metaphysical head as to be able to discover what is going on in my imagination? A thought comes, and though it is easy to perceive the immediate circumstance that suggested it, I am sure my giddy mind could not trace it further back than the first step.”

“Whatever be the character of your mind,” he replied, “and whether you choose to observe them or not, those complex operations are habitually going on there; imagination rapidly selects from the materials presented to it by memory, and by its own creative power forms new trains of thoughts to pursue. The fine arts furnish innumerable instances of this process.--But imagination is not a simple effort of the mind:--tell me then, Bertha, if you can, what other intellectual faculties are engaged with it, besides conception, which you have rightly said, only exhibits the simple objects of our former perceptions, and from which we are to make a fresh selection?”

“I believe, uncle, there is first that power which enables us to separate from our conceptions those circumstances which are not wanted for our purpose--the name is----”

“_Abstraction._ It is one of the most important of our faculties, and is not less necessary to our general conduct in life, than for the most refined intellectual pursuits. It helps us to remove the glare which often dazzles and deceives our moral perceptions; it reduces our complicated ideas to their constituent parts; and it presents us with the means of considering certain qualities of an object apart from the rest; and, therefore, of classing them with others: in short, it is equally subservient to the power of reasoning and to that of imagination. But go on, my dear--what next?”

There was something so encouraging in my uncle’s manner of questioning me, that instead of frightening, it helped me to think. “Perhaps it is that which guides us in putting together the materials which we have been selecting;--or rather of arranging and suiting them to each other;--taste, I think.”

“Right, Bertha; _taste_ adapts and redisposes them in the best manner; and the more or less successfully as the _judgment_ is more or less consulted. Without taste and judgment, the imagination would jumble them all together at random, and would produce nothing but confusion and deformity. Paintings and poems may contain many beauties, and yet may totally fail in giving satisfaction; simply from the parts being ill-assorted--or, in other words, from a deficiency of judgment in their combination.”

“But is there not another quality which is essential in a poet?--I mean, uncle, the power of catching the resemblance of ideas;--that which produces those beautiful allusions that form the ornament of poetry.”

“You mean _fancy_--the power of quickly perceiving those delicate links, which connect the most remote objects; and which, however slight, are sufficient for poetical analogies. The more sober analogies, which suit the province of science, may be elicited by laborious reflection, or plodding perseverance; but fancy flashes them across the mind of the true poet, and, by a sort of inspiration, furnishes him with an exuberance of materials. But here again, Bertha, he must have recourse to taste and judgment, if he would make an agreeable impression on the minds of others. The ornaments of poetry, you say, are the allusions; but in order to please, the points of similitude must, on the one hand, be so obvious as to excite the immediate sympathy of the reader; and yet, on the other, they must be so disconnected as to display ingenuity by their comparison or contrast, and to surprise with their novelty.

---- Hope and fear, alternate, sway’d his breast,
Like light and shade upon a waving field
Coursing each other, when the flying clouds
Now hide, and now reveal, the sun.

“I think the conditions I laid down are both completely satisfied in these beautiful lines from one of Home’s tragedies. But if poetical allusions were merely employed for ornament, they would cloy the taste and encumber the sense--they must therefore help to illustrate and give force to those ideas that would otherwise be obscure, or which would be too rapidly passed over by the reader. For this reason they are generally taken from material objects with which our senses are most conversant, and are applied by the fancy to those parts of intellectual or moral subjects which require illustration, and on which the mind is invited to pause.”

Caroline concluded the conversation by repeating Warton’s lines on Fancy.

Waving in thy snowy hand
An all-commanding magic wand,
Of power to bid fresh gardens grow
’Mid cheerless Lapland’s barren snow;
Whose rapid wings thy flight convey
Through air, and over earth and sea,
While the various landscape lies
Conspicuous to thy piercing eyes.

_30th._--It is curious, that it has never been ascertained what becomes of swallows when they disappear in autumn. Some naturalists have supposed that they retire to hollow trees, old buildings, or caves, where they remain in a torpid state during the winter; while others affirm that they lie at the bottom of lakes and ponds. This last, my uncle says, is a most extravagant idea, for nothing can be more certain than that they would decay there in a short time; besides it is well known that they moult or change their feathers early in the year, and no one can imagine that this can be accomplished while they are torpid and under water.

Facts, however, have not been wanting, to support both these opinions; numbers certainly have been found in old dry walls, and cliffs, and several were taken out of the shaft of an abandoned lead mine in Flintshire, clinging to the timbers, and apparently asleep. They were startled by a little sand being thrown on them, but they did not attempt to fly or change their place; this happened about Christmas.

For the watery system, Kalm, the traveller, is a decided advocate: my uncle shewed me a part of his travels in America, in which there is a good deal on this subject; but I must say it does not clear up my doubts. From Spain, Italy, and France, Kalm admits that they remove to warmer climates; but in England and Germany, he says they retire into clefts and holes of rocks, and in cold countries immerse themselves in the sea, or in lakes. He gives several instances of their having been found in this state in Prussia; but even by his own account it does not appear that they could have been to any depth in the water--for all those which he mentions were caught with a net among the reeds and rushes growing on the borders.

“Besides,” said my uncle, “as they are lighter than water, they could not sink even if they tried to do so; and as the lungs of birds differ very little in their structure from those of quadrupeds, it is quite incredible that they could live for several months or for several minutes under water. Even diving birds come up exhausted, and would be drowned like any other animal, if retained under water beyond a certain time. Swallows and martins indeed sprinkle and splash themselves as they glide along the surface, but they never dip completely into the water for a single moment. At the season when they disappear there is no want of their insect food in the air; nor have any of those cold blasts come, which at a later period would benumb them; what, then, could induce them, particularly the young birds who have just begun to enjoy the use of their wings, to take a dreary plunge into a pond? Cold and scarcity may drive some animals to hibernate, like your little dormouse, Bertha, but I am satisfied that the whole tribe of swallows fly off, like other birds of passage, to distant countries.”

“To what countries?” I asked him.

“It is probable,” he replied, “that there is some general temperature that suits them best, or that is most productive of those insects on which they prey; and as the seasons change, that temperature can only be obtained by approaching the equator, or perhaps by passing into a corresponding latitude of the southern hemisphere. A circumstance mentioned by our friend Colonel Travers, made a strong impression on me:--when he was going up the Mediterranean, I think in the latter end of April, a great number of swallows settled on the yards and rigging of the ship; they began to alight there about sun-set, and before nine o’clock some thousands had collected; but in such an exhausted state that they immediately went to sleep, and allowed themselves to be handled without making any attempt to escape. At daylight next morning they rose, as if by a single impulse, and flew away to the northward; and several prodigious flights of the same bird were observed, at a great height in the air, pursuing the same course towards Europe.

“Poor creatures,” said Frederick, “they must have come all the way from the north coast of Africa. Can you tell me, father, in what part of the Mediterranean this happened, that I may measure on the map the distance they had flown?”

“I do not recollect,” said my uncle; “but if I am right in my ideas of their swiftness, the widest part of that sea would be the affair of a few hours. It has been estimated that a swallow usually flies a mile in a minute; and sixteen or seventeen hours daylight will give about a thousand miles for a single day’s journey at that velocity. Now when you recollect that here we see those birds continue on the wing the whole day without the least appearance of being tired, we can only account for the extraordinary fatigue of those which perched on the Colonel’s ship, by supposing their flight to have continued for several days; and thus three or four days’ exertion might have brought them from a country bordering on the southern tropic.”

I reminded my uncle of the account we had lately read in Dr. Brewster’s Journal of Science, about the rapid flight of the wild pigeons that cross America in search of food.

“Yes,” said he, “and there is a curious fact recorded in that paper, which satisfactorily demonstrates, that the sustained velocity with which some birds remove from one district to another, in search of food, is not confined to the instinctive energy which belongs to the time of annual migration, but that it is their habitual and daily practice. The circumstance to which I allude is this: pigeons have been killed in New York, whose craws were still filled with fresh rice, which must have been collected in Carolina; and, therefore, as the pigeon digests its food very quickly, they could have been but a few hours performing a journey of three hundred miles. But we need not go so far off for examples of the ease and rapidity with which pigeons go to great distances in quest of some favourite food; for it is well known that in the vetch season in Norfolk, the Dutch pigeons come over in the morning, and return to Holland in the evening.”

Mary shewed us a passage in the voyage of La Pérouse, which proves that swallows do go a long way to the southward. “A swallow of the common species, undoubtedly lately come from Europe, followed us for some time without alighting on the vessel, but soon directed its flight towards the African coast, where it was sure of finding the insects on which it feeds. We were in 28° N. lat., and 22° W. long.” Adanson also asserts that he witnessed the arrival on the coast of Senegal, on the 6th of October, in the evening, of real European swallows; and he ascertained that they are never seen there but in autumn and winter.

My aunt has often observed them collected in large companies on trees, and on the roofs of houses, previous to their flight in September; and the direction they take at that season is to the southward.

My uncle then told us, that his old and highly respected friend Dr. Jenner, who, you know, lived just on the other side of the Severn, used to remark, that if swallows really did creep into holes and crevices to hibernate, they would surely appear in a languid state when they came out again--in the same way that all those quadrupeds who pass the winter in a state of torpor, are very much emaciated when they revive. The hedgehog, for instance, at the approach of winter, retires to its nest covered with fat, which is entirely absorbed when it awakens on the return of spring; whereas when the swallows appear in April, they are plump and strong upon the wing.

Mary added, that swallows have two broods during the summer, and that she had somewhere read, that it was only the strong early brood that took flight to warmer regions; but that the young birds hatched late in the year, being incapable of distant migration, seek shelter in holes and hollow trees, and wherever they can lurk in safety in the winter.

Mary afterwards shewed me a passage about swallows in Latrobe’s Journal, a book which I have more than once mentioned to you. He writes from the settlement of Groenkloof, to the north of Cape Town.

“Every morning I am greeted by the pleasant chirping of two swallows which have a nest in the corner of my room, under the ceiling. There is hardly a room, kitchen, or outhouse, in the country, without these inmates, and it would be thought next to murder to kill them. They build their nests of clay in the shape of a bottle; they line them with the softest down, and, though they leave the country during the winter, the same birds always return to the same nests after their emigration. As the room doors usually stand open in the day, they go in and out whenever they please; but if the door is shut, they give notice of their wish to go abroad, by a gentle piping and flying about the room; and no one thinks it troublesome to let them out: indeed, I have often left my bed to open the door for them.”

I forgot to mention that my uncle told us there was no country in the world which was not visited by these little swift-winged creatures. They were seen, for a short time, even in the frozen regions of Baffin’s Bay and Melville Island; and Captain Franklin says, they made their first appearance at Great Bear Lake the middle of May, to feast on the mosquitoes and other insects that abound on the northern shores of America. Wentworth says, they may be literally called cosmopolites.

_31st._--After dinner yesterday, the conversation turned on the importance of the palm tribe in their native countries to the inhabitants. Sago, cocoa-nuts, dates, oil, and various other articles of excellent food which they produce, were all discussed; and each of us mentioned some of the many uses to which the stems, the leaves, and the fibrous parts were applied. Miss Perceval afterwards endeavoured to explain the botanic distinctions between palms and tree-ferns, which have so many points of resemblance in their mode of growth: but my aunt suggested, that her description would be much more interesting if we were looking at the plants; and she kindly proposed another expedition to those magnificent stoves of Lord S. that we had seen with so much pleasure last autumn.

Miss P. approved of this arrangement, and she has been exceedingly gratified to-day with all she saw; but none seemed to be more delighted with our visit than the old gardener. He perceived how well she could appreciate his difficulties and his success; and he listened with the greatest attention to all her remarks. Miss P., however, did not forget the circumstance that led to our visit, and she shewed us in several different palms, that the scales of the foot-stalks completely sheath the stem; and that after the decay of the leaf they form an entire ring, which has a very different appearance from the separate marks or cicatrices left by the fronds of the fern.

She had never seen so fine a collection of palms in this country; and she told us many circumstances of their history and habits. She made us observe, that in the leaves the fibres run parallel to the edges. There are two grand forms to which the leaves may all be referred; pinnated, as in the cocoa and date; and fan-shaped, as in the dwarf and fan-palms. In the dwarf which we examined, the breadth of the leaf is considerable, but from the direction of the fibres, and the manner in which it is folded, previous to developement, it may rather be regarded as composed of several leaves.

The flowers of palms are even more numerous than I thought, though I remember, at Rio, trying in vain to count those of the _alfonsia amygdalina_--it would have been a hopeless work, for Miss P. says one spathe sometimes contains sixty thousand.

Some palms are gregarious, forming large woods, and naturally spreading over whole districts; as the dwarf palm does in the South of Europe. She says, that the different species are never much intermixed; though their districts are small, they are generally distinct from each other. It is remarkable, that no palm of the old world is found in America, except the cocoa-nut and the oil-palm of the coast of Guinea; and that there is but one species common to Asia and Africa. The palms of New Holland, also, are peculiar to that country; and I believe that she said, those of the Mauritius only occur in those islands. The cocoa, the date, and the sago palms, are the most widely distributed; but the true home of the palms is the torrid zone; for, of 110 well known species, only twelve are found outside the tropics.

I asked Miss P. whether the leaves which are found lining the tea-chests, belong to a palm. Certainly not, she said, nor to any of the cane families, as is evident from the want of a mid-rib; it is generally believed that they belong to some of the grass tribes, and indeed very closely resemble the broad-leaved _pharus_.

My uncle pointed out to her several large and flourishing plants of the _ficus elastica_, or caoutchouc tree. They have succeeded so well for the last two years in a stove kept at a very low temperature, that some of them are now removed to the green-house, and even one or two are put out of doors. As we drove home, I asked my uncle at what time caoutchouc, or Indian rubber, was brought to this country.

“It appears,” said he, “to have been first introduced into Europe, about the middle of the last century; and is, I am sure you know, procured from two other South American plants, as well as from the ficus; I mean the _hævea_ and the _jatropha_. The juice, which is obtained by an incision in the bark, is made to spread itself in successive layers, over clay moulded into the form of a bottle, and when sufficiently thick, it is hung over the smoke of burning wood, which hardens, and gives it a dark colour: the clay is afterwards crumbled and thrown out. It is fabricated, by the inhabitants of its native country, into vessels to contain water and other liquids; and it is in some places used by the fishermen for torches.

“Caoutchouc is also procured from a climbing plant, _urceola_, a native of Sumatra. If one of its thick old stems be cut, a white juice, like cream, oozes out; by exposure to the air, a decomposition takes place, and while part of it concretes, a thin whitish juice is separated. Cloth well covered with this juice, becomes impervious to water; and the pieces so prepared are easily joined together by applying fresh juice to the edges.”

I asked my uncle, on our road home, if it was by means of that juice that the water-proof cloth, which he had seen in London, was prepared.

He answered, that he had seen some of the juice at the Royal Institution, where it had been brought from Mexico to be analysed; but that, in general, caoutchouc was imported in a solid state. “A cheap method,” he continued, “of dissolving it was discovered by Mr. Mackintosh; and his mode of applying it to cloth, linen, silk, or any materials of that kind, was equally ingenious and useful. When reduced to a fluid state, a sufficient coat of it is laid upon the cloth, and another piece being then spread over it and pressed together, they become permanently united as well as water-proof; but as the outside and the inside need not be similar, you may have the one of cloth, and the other of velvet; or a camlet cloak lined with silk, or any other combination you please.

“There are many other purposes to which this contrivance has been applied. _Hoses_ for conveying the water from fire-engines, when made of canvas and caoutchouc, and without seam, are much stronger, more durable, and more flexible than those made of leather. I have been told by a naval officer that a hose of this sort affords an excellent mode of filling the casks in a boat, from a well or stream near the shore, when a heavy surf prevents their being landed; for it is obvious that such a hose may pass through the sea, without the possibility of the fresh water it conducts being tainted by the salt. It is also well adapted to tilts for waggons and hayricks; it would make admirable military tents; and you may imagine what a comfort water-proof bags must have been in Captain Franklin’s expedition to the Polar Sea, in keeping the men’s clothes dry, notwithstanding the dismal weather to which they were so often exposed.

“There is only one more use which I will now mention. Any substance that is carefully coated with this gum is as impervious to air as to water: bags therefore made in the shape of cushions or pillows, which can be folded up and carried in the pocket, may be in a few moments inflated with the breath, by means of a small pipe; and even beds, which when empty would occupy but little room in a portmanteau, would often preserve the health, and greatly add to the comfort of travellers in certain countries, where a dry, clean, and soft bed is an unattainable luxury.”

Miss Perceval told us that in some of the forests of Guiana, a substance, called _dapicho_ by the Indians, is found in large masses under ground; and which, having all the properties of the recent gum, was long known by the name of fossil caoutchouc. But the indefatigable Humboldt, having at last succeeded in finding some of it undisturbed in the ground, at once perceived that it had oozed out of the roots of caoutchouc trees which were so old that the interior had begun to decay. It is white and brittle, till exposed to a strong heat; and when sufficiently beaten with a heavy club it acquires great elasticity. The Indians make their famous tennis balls of it; it is also cut into corks, which are very superior to those made of the cork tree; and it is worked up into enormous drum-sticks--the drum being merely a hollow cylinder of wood about two feet long.

“There is, however,” my uncle observed, “a species of fossil caoutchouc. It is, in fact, a bitumen, but flexible and elastic; and, as it has the property of cleaning off pencil-marks in the same manner as Indian rubber, it has been named mineral caoutchouc.”

I asked him if it might not be some of the dapicho, which had lain buried in the ground, long since the trees, from which it oozed, had perished?

“I have but two reasons, Bertha, to oppose to your theory. It is only found near Castletown in Derbyshire, and you know the English climate is not very well suited to those trees--and secondly, it is in the deep recesses of a lead mine, surrounded by spar and limestone.”

_June 1st._--You may remember, mamma, how much I was interested, last year, by my uncle’s illustrations of the Mirage and the Fata Morgana. The subject was often afterwards alluded to in conversation; and my aunt having incidentally mentioned it to her charming correspondent in Upper Canada, I was this afternoon agreeably surprised by her reading aloud the following passage in a letter which she had just opened:--

“Your young friend Bertha will be pleased to hear that last June I witnessed something very like that curious phenomenon which you say interested her so much. One morning I awoke just at the break of day, and accidentally directing my eyes to the window, which has a southern aspect, I was astonished to see--instead of the black monotonous forest by which we are surrounded--a wide, magnificent sheet of water, connected with a spacious river winding to a great distance, and confined by gentle slopes and grassy banks; and all this so distinct that the bright fresh green of the young leaves was beautifully contrasted with the dark foliage of the pine woods.

“I rubbed my eyes, and looked again--for it appeared to be exactly our lake near Peterborough, with the Otanabee River winding towards Rice Lake, except that the whole view was reversed. I wondered how all this could be seen over our lofty trees, and I went to the window and leaned out to look for objects which I knew--but nothing was to be seen except my beautiful and inexplicable landscape. I lay down--and still saw it from my pillow;--but my eyes gradually closed--and, when I again wakened, heavy mists had risen with the sun--and my fairy prospect had vanished.

“I now recollected the description I had long ago read of the Fata Morgana, and I was satisfied that this was no vision of my fancy, but the reflection of real scenery upon some peculiar vapour which only appears at that early hour of the morning.”

_2nd._--I spent a great part of this morning in examining the ingenious leaf-nests of some little caterpillars, which Mary says are the larvæ of the _tinea_ moths. She explained to me their construction. The caterpillar fixes a number of fine silken cords from one edge to the other of the leaf, and by pulling at them with its many strong feet, the sides are gradually forced to approach each other till they meet, when it fastens them together with short threads. Sometimes the large nerves of the leaf are too strong to yield to these efforts, and the clever little creature immediately weakens them by gnawing them half through, in different places. I could distinctly perceive those places in several of the leaves which we opened. Some species cut out a long triangular portion from the edge of the leaf, and form it into a conical roll, like a paper of comfits: in one spot, however, they let it remain attached to the leaf, by way of a base; and then, by fastening little cords to the point of the cone, it is actually pulled upright on the remainder of the leaf, where it stands like a tent. But there are other tineæ which shew still more dexterity in constructing their habitations. Some of them we found on the under sides of the leaves of the rose-tree, apple, elm, and oak; and Mary made me observe how nicely they form an oblong cavity in the interior of the leaf, by eating the pulpy substance between the two membranes composing its upper and under sides. The detached pieces are then joined with silk, so as to make a case or horn, which is cylindrical in the middle, with an orifice at each end, the one being circular and the other triangular; and the seam is so artfully made, as to be scarcely perceptible even with a glass. Were this case all circular, it would be more simple, but the different shape of the two ends renders it necessary that each side should be cut into a different curve.

But I should fill my whole journal, were I to tell you all the beautiful contrivances of these insects, and the instinct, or, I might say, the reason which appears in all their contrivances.

_3rd._--My uncle mentioned yesterday, that in returning a few years ago from Berwick upon Tweed, he was much surprised, as night came on, at seeing two immense fires near Newcastle. Upon inquiring, he found that they were the small coal which does not readily sell, and is therefore separated by screens from the larger blocks. Prodigious heaps are thus formed at the mouths of the pits; and from the decomposition of the pyrites, they take fire, and continue to burn for years. One of these huge mounds was but a few miles from the road; it was said to cover twelve acres of ground, and to have been burning for eight years.

As all that small coal might be made use of to produce coal gas, he says the legislature should interfere to prevent such a shameful waste, for not less than one hundred thousand chaldrons are thus annually destroyed on the banks of the River Tyne; and nearly the same quantity on the Wear. Beneath these burning heaps, he found a bed of blackish scoria, which resembles basalt, and which is used for mending the roads.

To the west of Dudley, in the great Staffordshire coal district, my uncle says that some of the collieries took fire spontaneously many years ago. The subterraneous conflagration spread to a great extent, and produced some singular effects; smoke and steam were seen to rise from the earth, the vegetation appeared to be hastened by the heat, and even the ponds were warm. What was still more remarkable, where the ignited part of the coal came near the surface, the argillaceous strata (or potter’s-clay) covering it have been converted, by the intense heat, into a species of porcelain jasper, which is sometimes beautifully striped; this last circumstance being caused by the various degrees of oxidation of the iron that is contained in the clay.

_4th, Sunday._--This morning--perhaps the last Sunday that we shall spend at Fernhurst for many months--my uncle finished explaining to us the three dispensations; and it made the more impression on me, as I fear that, on our journey, we shall not have any of those regular Sunday conversations, which have been so instructing and satisfactory.

“The object of the Christian Dispensation,” said he, “was to ratify the promises of redemption and of eternal life, through the merits of a divine mediator. What the former dispensations announced as _to come_, this concluding dispensation has exhibited in actual accomplishment. The long-expected Redeemer has been manifested; he has made the promised atonement for the sins of mankind; he has shewn himself as the mediator of the new covenant, and the doubts of ages have vanished before the light of the Gospel.”

I ventured to interrupt my uncle, to ask why it is called the _new_ covenant, as if it was of a different nature from the two former ones.

“It is so styled,” he answered, “not as being new in its nature, or different from those which preceded it; but merely as being new, or last, in order, and therefore superseding all others. The typical sacrifices of the two former were, you know, the symbols of the real victim who consummated the Christian covenant. In each of them provision was made for the reconciliation of fallen man; and the object of each being the same, the terms were the same: Jehovah graciously promising on his part to accept the meritorious death of the Messiah, as a full acquittal and satisfaction of all sin; but, on the two-fold condition, of faith, and of obedience on our part.

“The doctrine of atonement through the sufferings of the Mediator, forms the basis of each of the covenants, and is justly considered by all those who take their religion from Scripture as the corner-stone of the Christian dispensation. The proofs of this essential tenet are as numerous as they are clear and explicit; and in the last discourse which our Saviour held with his disciples, and which is fully recorded by St. John, you will find it very distinctly stated.

“A being of that transcendent dignity who could say, ‘All power is given to me in heaven and in earth,’ would scarcely have been sent for the mere purpose of communicating a clearer knowledge to mankind of their duty, or of setting before them an example of practical holiness. These, no doubt, were among the objects for which the Son of God became man; but they were only collateral objects. In order to appreciate the importance of his mission, we must compare it with the modes adopted on former occasions. When the corruption of mankind drew down the dreadful chastisement of the deluge; and when, after that catastrophe, the patriarchal covenant was renewed, and fresh blessings and privileges were offered to the posterity of the second father of mankind, the only communication of these signal events was announced through Noah. When God vouchsafed the second covenant, and established the Jewish religion by direct revelation, a mere human agent, Moses, was employed. And when the idolatries and wickedness of the Israelites induced the merciful Governor of the universe to interfere, Elijah and other mere prophets were sent to reclaim them.

“If therefore, when Christianity was revealed, the only intention had been to prescribe a purer mode of worship, and to withdraw mankind from their vicious career, why should not that mission have been entrusted to another prophet, instead of requiring the special interference of the Son of God?--Still more, if no other purpose was to have been accomplished by the coming of Christ, why was it ordained that he should suffer death, in attestation of his doctrines? Noah died a natural death; so did Moses, full of years and honour; and Elijah was distinguished by the privilege of not dying at all. From this comparison alone we might safely infer, that the sufferings of our Saviour were connected with some other momentous object--and in all parts of the Scriptures we find that object declared in the most express terms. I will point out to you a few passages which cannot be mistaken or perverted.

“‘He was wounded for our transgressions; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.’ ‘He was made an offering for sin.’ ‘He taketh away the sins of the world.’ ‘If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ.’ ‘Christ, our passover, is sacrificed for us.’ ‘We have redemption through his blood.’ ‘The Son of man came to give his life a ransom for many, a ransom for all.’

“These passages solve that great enigma, and explain in the most distinct language the sublime and merciful object of the Christian dispensation. And now let me ask you all, what are the impressions with which this view of it should fill our hearts? Should we not be overwhelmed with the magnitude of the mercy; and eager to exclaim with the Psalmist, ‘Lord, what is man, that thou so regardest him!’

“But in thus summing up the proof of this mysterious plan of redemption, it is highly necessary to remind you that it is _conditional_; that salvation is offered to you, not forced upon you; and that it is offered solely on the terms of implicit submission to the commands of our Redeemer. If you reject the Gospel; or if, persuading yourselves that you believe in its truth, you allow your actions to be in contradiction to its precepts; or if, in cowardly subservience to the fashions of the world, you seem ashamed of your Mediator and Substitute, then you can claim no share in his ransom. My dear children, the alternative is fairly set before you, and you must make your own choice.”

Mary asked her father whether this third dispensation did not materially differ from the Levitical, in its again embracing _all_ mankind in its offered benefits.

“Yes,” said he, “like the Patriarchal dispensation, it is universal in its object. Christianity is, in fact, but the completion of Patriarchism; the law having been a connecting chain between them. Under the Patriarchal dispensation all men were taught to look forward to the promised Deliverer; under Christianity all men are taught to rejoice in the actual appearance of that promised Deliverer, who has done and suffered everything that was predicted of him.

“Christianity has not yet become universal; but the purpose of the Almighty is still powerfully though silently working. In the appointed time, ‘the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord,’ and the Messiah will be universally acknowledged by Gentiles, Jews, and all nations. ‘Thus from first to last, under the Three Successive Dispensations,’ has God carried on one consistent and harmonious scheme of grace and mercy for the salvation of his fallen creatures.”

_5th._--This evening, in talking of the variety of representations that different historians give of the same facts, my uncle was lamenting the loss of the many ancient works which are alluded to in contemporary authors, but which appear to have perished; and he particularly regretted the 105 books of Livy’s Roman History, which originally consisted of 142.--“But,” he added, “there are some hopes that they may yet be recovered.”

Mary asked him if there was any chance of their being found among the Herculaneum manuscripts?

“Very little indeed,” he replied. “When those famous rolls of papyrus were disinterred nearly eighty years ago, great expectations were formed, of the literary riches they might contain. Their original number was 1700, but by far the greater part were found, on closer inspection, to be so mangled that there was not the least probability of recovering any portion of their contents. Of those that were in a better condition, many were destroyed by the first awkward attempts to unrol them; and, unfortunately, the remainder have suffered great additional injury from long exposure to the air.”

“I should have thought,” said Wentworth, “that having been partly charred by fire, they would be proof against air and damp; as we find old stumps of charred gate posts in the ground, which seem to have remained there an immense time, perfectly unchanged.”

“Your reasoning,” replied my uncle, “would not apply to this case, even if the papyri had undergone the action of fire, because it is since their exposure to the atmosphere that they have suffered. They have, indeed, all the appearance of charcoal, even the sticks on which they are rolled; and it was therefore very naturally supposed that this effect had been produced by the heat of the lava which overflowed that devoted city; but Sir Humphry Davy has proved, that they were protected from the heat by a thick bed of sand and ashes, and, in his opinion, their charred appearance has been the result of a gradual process of decomposition.”

“What means, uncle, could be taken to unfold and read manuscripts that were in such a state? Surely all the characters must have been effaced.”

“No, not quite: the characters are seen black and shining upon the black but not shining surface; just in the same way that a letter sometimes appears after we have burnt it, the traces of writing being still visible on the gauzy substance, while it flickers about in the smoke, at the back of the grate. To unrol them, many ingenious contrivances were invented; that which I saw, when at Portici, and which, I believe, has been generally adopted, is to glue some thin flexible material to the back of the papyrus, and then to raise it gently by a number of threads, while the folds are at the same time carefully opened by a pin. In this way a few of the most perfect have actually been restored, and published; but, to the great disappointment of the world, they are works of no value. One is a treatise on the inutility of music, in Greek; a few pages of a Latin poem, and some other fragments, but all equally uninteresting. One of the chief difficulties arose from the adhesion of the folds, as if they had been gummed together; and to conquer this Sir Humphry applied the resources of his profound chemical knowledge. He exposed some of the fragments to the action of chlorine, and to the vapour of iodine, and succeeded to a considerable extent in loosening and detaching the folds; but the jealousy of the Neapolitans prevented his further progress, and he left them to pursue their own plans. Unfortunately, the best specimens were operated on long ago, and those that now remain are in too mutilated a state to afford much hope for the future.”

“But,” said Caroline, “as they are rapidly unburying Pompeii, perhaps some manuscripts may be found there--and in a much more perfect state; for Pompeii was covered with mud and ashes, and not with burning lava like Herculaneum.”

“Several rolls of papyrus,” my uncle replied, “have been already found in the houses of Pompeii, but all in a far worse condition than those of Herculaneum,--having nearly the appearance of the white ashes produced by burning common paper.”

“Then, uncle,” said I, “to what quarter do you look for the lost books of Livy?”

“To the vast collections of vellum manuscripts,” he answered, “which have for centuries been accumulating in public and private libraries. It has been discovered, that many of these have been twice written upon, and some even three times. In the middle ages the art of reading and writing was almost entirely confined to the monks; and all true taste for literature being suspended, it was natural that they should consider the finest effusions of the ancient poets, or the most important records of profane history, as of little value, in comparison with the statutes of their own order, or the histories of their general councils. It appears, therefore, to have been a common practice of those times, to expunge the writing on the parchment manuscripts in their possession, in order to substitute copies of those works which they estimated so much more highly; and in some instances the former characters have been discovered, and successfully traced.”

“But, papa, if the original writing was expunged, how is it now legible?” Frederick asked.

“The ink,” said my uncle, “in general use among the ancients, was merely a mixture of lamp-black and gum; and, as that did not sink into the parchment, a wet cloth in the hands of a monk did the business as effectually and finally as your sponge, Frederick, annihilates your most elaborate calculations from a slate. But the injury to which writing, with such materials, was liable from damp and other accidents, had been long known, and various expedients were adopted to provide a remedy. Pliny says it was difficult to efface ink which had been made with vinegar; and it appears, that at a later period, some preparation of iron was added for the same purpose, as both of these ingredients sink into the parchment. In either of those cases, the lamp-black, or colouring matter, could be only partially removed by washing; so that it was necessary to scrape the surface, in order to obliterate the characters, or to rub it with pumice stone, in the same manner that it had been originally prepared for writing on; and to such a parchment or manuscript the name of _palimpsest_ was given, from a Greek word signifying twice scraped. But though the process that I have described apparently removed the writing, it could not draw out the infusion of iron which had been absorbed by the parchment; and as you all know that ink is nothing but a combination of iron with a solution of _galls_, it will readily occur to you, that by applying that solution with a light brush, to any of the palimpsest manuscripts, the original writing would be revived,--provided there had been any iron in the composition of the ink.”

“What a beautiful discovery!” exclaimed Caroline. “And when generally known, how zealously will all our antiquaries attack the hordes of manuscripts now dormant in the public libraries!”

“Yet,” said my uncle, “it is not a new discovery; the celebrated Montfaucon endeavoured to draw the attention of the learned world to these palimpsest parchments just a century ago; but antiquaries are not put into zealous activity quite so easily as you imagine. In that long interval, nothing very material seems to have been effected till the present accomplished librarian of the Vatican devoted himself to the subject; and the success with which his efforts have been already crowned, more than justify the sanguine hopes which I expressed. Other industrious labourers are also in the field, and what has been already achieved is only a pledge of the rich harvest that will distinguish this age.”

_6th._--In conversing about our approaching journey, and the fine mountainous tracks that we are to see in Wales, Wentworth asked the meaning of the word _pen_, which is prefixed to some of the Welsh names, as Pen-man-mawr, for instance.

“It is an old British word,” my uncle told him, “signifying head or summit; and it is joined to the names of several of those hills, amongst the inhabitants of which much of that ancient dialect is still to be found.

“It is singular that this term appears to have been used in the same way among the Romans; for we find that the crest of the Alps near Mount St. Bernard was anciently called _Alpes Penninæ_; and that the very same name was also applied by them to the central chain of mountains which extends from the borders of Scotland to the middle of Derbyshire. This Penine chain traverses the great northern coal district; and many of its hills retain the old British term pen, as, Penygent, Pendle hill, &c.”

“There are several wild and very picturesque views,” said my aunt, “in that Penine chain; and its caverns, precipices, and torrents, have all a singular character, particularly the sublime and curious scenery of _The Peak_. I am sure, Caroline, you recollect a beautiful description of the banks of the Greta in Yorkshire, in your favourite poem of Rokeby.”

Caroline immediately repeated these lines--

“Broad shadows o’er the passage fell,
Deeper and narrower grew the dell;
It seemed some mountain, rent and riven,
A channel for the stream had given,
So high the cliffs of limestone grey
Hung beetling o’er the torrent’s way,
Yielding along their rugged base
A flinty foot-path’s niggard space;
Where he who winds ’twixt rock and wave,
May hear the headlong torrent rave,
And like a steed in frantic fit,
That flings the froth from curb and bit,
May view her chafe her waves to spray
O’er every rock that bars her way.”

“I have lately read two facts,” Mary said, “which shew the depth of those remarkably abrupt ravines that intersect these craggy mountains in the moorlands of Staffordshire. In Narrowdale, the sun is never seen by the inhabitants for the three winter months; and even when it is visible, it does not rise to them till one o’clock in the afternoon. The other circumstance is this--at Leck, the sun at a certain time of the year, seems to set twice in the same evening: for, after it sinks beneath the top of a high intervening mountain, it again breaks out from behind the steep northern side before it reaches the horizon.”

_7th._--My uncle shewed me to-day a hard black substance of very close grain. I did not know what it could be, for it evidently was not coal, nor flint. He told me, that the soil which covers the great northern coal-field appears to be alluvial, and that it contains masses of all the different rocks that compose the whole district; and among them, portions of this hard black _basalt_ are found every where in abundance.

“I shew you this,” he said, “because the ancient inhabitants of Britain formed the heads of their battle-axes, which are commonly called _celts_, from this stone. They resemble in shape the tomahawks of the South Sea islands. Barbed arrow-heads, neatly finished, and made of pale coloured flint, are also frequently picked up on the moors, and are called _elf-bolts_.”

I asked, if those things were often found in other parts of England, as they must be very interesting in tracing the history of our early ancestors.

“Yes,” said he, “in all parts of Great Britain; and not only weapons, but various utensils; besides other articles, of which the uses have not been ascertained. For instance, at Kimmeridge, on the coast of Dorsetshire, where there are beds of a kind of stony coal, there has been found on the tops of the cliff’s, what the country people call ‘_coal money_.’ The pieces are round, and about two inches and a half in diameter, by a quarter of an inch in thickness; one side is convex, with mouldings, and the other is flat and plain, but with two, or sometimes with four small round holes in the surface. They are, in general, two or three feet below the surface, inclosed between two stones, set edgeways, and covered by a third; and the bones of some animal are always found along with them. A little deposit of this coal-money was also discovered in a shallow bowl of the same material.”

“And was coal ever really used as money, uncle? It would make rather a bulky currency.”

“Some people imagine that they were amulets; others, that they were connected with the ancient Druidical rites; and many suppose them to have been coin. Perhaps the cant, or vulgar expression, ‘down with your coal,’ which means ‘pay your money,’ may assist you in choosing which of these hypotheses you like best.”

_8th._--The back gate of the garden is not often unlocked, and to-day when the gardener was going to open it, the key-hole appeared to be so stopped up, that he took off the lock, and finding a little nest in the inside, he brought it to my uncle.

It proved to be the nest of a species of bee, called _apis manicata_. The cells are formed of two or three layers of a silky membrane, which seems to be composed of a kind of glue secreted by the insect; it resembles gold-beater’s-leaf, but so thin and transparent, that you can distinguish through it the colour of the smallest object. As soon as each cell is completed, I am told that the bee deposits an egg in it, and then nearly fills it with a mixture of pollen and honey; and so proceeds till all the cells are finished and filled. As the situation is rather cold for the grubs, we found the cells plastered over with the same composition, and even a warm outer coating of wool was stuck to this paste to preserve them from any change of temperature. The wool appeared to be the down of some plant; and my uncle says, they have been observed to scrape the down from the leaves of the woolly hedge-nettle, and the common rose campion, with their mandibles; while with their fore legs they roll it into a little ball and carry it to the nest.

I have been excessively busy putting my garden in order before we set out. Indeed, I have become so wonderfully active, that you would scarcely know your little indolent girl; and I am often inclined to sing the old nursery song to myself, “Sure this is none of I.” Among other things, I have performed a grand operation in my hyacinth beds. Lady Binning, you know, is a great florist; I heard her speak of the manner in which her gardener manages the hyacinths, for which her garden is remarkable; and I determined to try it. As soon as the leaves become all yellow, he takes up the bulbs, removes the loose skins and offsets and all the fibres that are decayed, and immediately replants them in a bed of fresh compost. Her ladyship told us, that when treated in this manner, they equal the Dutch hyacinths in strength.

All this was duly executed yesterday. I had been watching the leaves for some time, as I wanted them to be quite yellow; and I now flatter myself with having a very grand display next year.

I had also many cuttings to make, and seedlings to plant out, as well as layers of pinks and carnations, and various plants to trim and tie up; besides the daily occupations of weeding, watering, pruning, and earthing.