Chapter 2

And China’s groves of vegetable gold.

She smiled and went on:—“The American plant, I speak of, is no longer curious, nor high in price, though it is in value. Can you guess what it is, Bertha?—it is a native of Peru, where, however, it does not seem to grow with half the luxuriance that it does in Europe.”

“I believe, aunt, you mean the potatoe.”

“Yes,” said my aunt, “the potatoe. It wasfirst brought to England by a traveller, more as a specimen of the vegetable productions of other countries, than with any view of bestowing an extensive benefit on society. And thus it is, my dear, that all things really useful are diffused over those parts of the globe to which they are at all suited. While man is occupied in gratifying his love of conquest, his curiosity, or his avarice—while he is searching after the hidden treasures of the earth, or trafficking for the sake of gain, Providence employs those worldly passions and pursuits to dispense blessings and comforts to all nations.”

“I suppose, aunt,” said I, “that when people settle in new countries, all that is useful amongst us is gradually introduced there.”

“Yes, my dear,” said she, “both the moral acquirements and the natural productions of the parent countries are spread throughout the world by colonies. Emigrants of different nations meet and blend those customs in which some are superior to others; and thus proceeds the slow but sure improvement of the great families of the earth.”

I said that it would be amusing to trace the gradual changes of those great families, and the progress of nations from one country to another by the similarity of customs.

“Nothing could be more useful or entertaining than such an inquiry,” replied my aunt; “butin consulting the historian on those subjects you must take the traveller to your assistance: they each throw light on the other; and each becomes doubly interesting, when we read with the view of comparing the past and the present, and of tracing the progress or the failure of arts and civilization.”

And now, dear Mamma, I smile when I think of your reading this philosophic page in my journal. So, adieu, for this day!

17th.—In these fine evenings there is a soft calmness in the air that is delightful; last night we enjoyed it till the sun’s last faint rays had retired, and not even a streak of red appeared in the west. Before we came home I had the pleasure of seeing the glow-worms light their little lanterns—

Stars of the earth and diamonds of the night.

But, I must say, our fire-flies of Brazil are much superior to them in brightness. Indeed, all the productions of nature here are less brilliant; the birds, insects, and flowers of Brazil are quite dazzling, compared with the dull things that I see in this country. But I am told that this deficiency in beauty is more than made up by some greater merits. For instance, the singing of the birds here in spring is said to be so sweet and so various, that I feel a little childishimpatience for their singing time to return, that I may hear them. I am, however, already acquainted with the robin redbreast. I have repeatedly heard its plaintive autumn song.

I never rightly understood till now that the glow-worm is the female fire-fly, though it looks just like a worm, and does not fly. My aunt showed me to-day that this insect, though it possesses neither wings norelytra, and differs but little in appearance from a caterpillar, is, notwithstanding, an insect in the last or perfect state: the head andcorseletare formed exactly like those of the male, who is furnished with both elytra and wings. My aunt also showed me that under the last ring of the body there are two very small reservoirs of a thick oily fluid of the nature of phosphorus, which, if the animal is killed, continues to give light till it becomes dry. It is a slow-moving creature I am told, and seems to drag itself on by starts or slight efforts.

My uncle says that in thePhilosophical Transactionsfor 1684, there is a paper by a Mr. Waller describing an English flying glow-worm, which he observed at Northaw, in Hertfordshire, the light of which was so vivid as to be plainly perceived even when a candle was in the room.

Mary put a common glow-worm into a box of transparent paper with some grass and moss, two days ago, and when we went to examine it lastnight we saw its beautiful light illuminating every object within a small space around it.

When I saw the glow-worm shining on its mossy banks, I amused myself in imagining how many other living creatures were perhaps lighted by its soft beams. The various beetles, which seem at all hours running to and fro; the slugs, which are for ever in one’s path; and the numerous family of spiders, who are so industrious, that they must, I suppose, work “by midnight lamps.” The moth tribe, also, who seem to love light only at night, can please themselves at this little lamp, without injuring their delicate wings; and I must not forget the little airy beings, of whose histories I am so fond—the fairies—who say so prettily—

And when the moon doth hide her head,The glow-worm lights us home to bed.

Frederick and I were devising various expedients for making the light of the glow-worms and fire-flies useful; when Mary, who heard us, told me that at Cape Comorin there are certain birds that build pendulous nests; and that it is a fact that these nests are lighted, at night, by fire-flies: the bird fastens a bit of clay to the top of the nest, and sticks a fire-fly on the clay, as if to illuminate the dwelling, which consists of two chambers; but the real object is, probably, to deter the bats from approaching, as they killthe young of these birds. This is mentioned in the life of Dr. Buchanan, who says that the blaze of light dazzles the eyes of the bats. A friend of my uncle’s has written some lines on the glow-worm, which I will copy here.

TO THE GLOW-WORM.

Thou little gem of purest hue,That, from thy throne o’erspread with dew,Shedd’st lustre o’er the brightest greenThat ever clothed a woodland scene,I hail thy pure and tranquil lightThou lovely living lamp of night!Thy haunt is in the deepest shadeBy purple heath and bracken made:By thee the sweetest minstrel sings,That courts the shady grove;O’er thee the woodlark spreads his wings,And sounds his notes of loveCompanion of the lights of heaven!Thine is the softest breeze of even;For thee the balmy woodbine lives,The meadow-grass its fragrance gives.And thou canst make thy tranquil bowerIn Summer’s sweetest, fairest flower.The hour of peace is all thy own;Thy lamp is lit for one alone;Shedding no transitory gleams,No rays to kindle or destroy;Constant, innocuous—still it beamsThe light of life, of love, of joy.

My aunt has been so kind as to permit me to make an extract from my cousin Hertford’s last letter to her. I enclose it with my journal, which my uncle is going to dispatch to-morrow.

“At last I have overcome every obstacle; and have visited Staffa and its curious caves.

“The natural columns of basalt, near the landing-place, lie in so many different directions that I cannot give a clear notion of them—erect, oblique, and horizontal; and sometimes in each of these positions they are curved. In the first cave which occurs, the columns are bent in such a manner as to have given rise to its name of thescollop; but I think they look still more like the inside of the timbers of a ship. On the other side, the wall which leads into the cave, is formed by ends of columns, which make it appear something like a honeycomb; and immediately beyond this cave, the broken ends form a sort of stairs to the causeway, and up to the great cave. Beneath this part of the cliff is situated a single rock, calledBuachaille, (the herdsman) a name commonly applied in the Highlands to remarkable mountains and rocks. There is a very striking coincidence between the Gaëlic and the Greek languages, not only in this, but in other words; and my companion, who is well acquainted with the Gaëlic, thinks that they must have had a common origin.

“Of the three caves in the south-west side of the island, the westernmost is called the cave of Mackinnon; who seems, from the number of places to which he has given his name, to have been a hero of considerable celebrity. Its height is 50 feet, and length 224 feet; but although grand and sublime in general effect, it has notthe beautiful regularity so remarkable in the cave of Fingal; which I will now endeavour to describe.

“The opening into this celebrated cave finishes above, in a sort of Gothic arch, which is 66 feet above the surface of the water. The breadth, at the entrance, is 42 feet; the whole length of the cave, 227; and the height within, from 40 to 50 feet. The sides, like the front, consist of groups of columns; and the ceiling, at least towards the middle, is composed of the sections, or broken ends of columns, which give it a very architectural appearance. The sea never ebbs entirely out, and, therefore, forms the only floor of the cave; but the broken range of columns which produces the exterior causeway, is continued on each side within, and admits of access over the broken summits to the farther end, if the water be not too high.

“After all, it is so impossible to describe this cave, that the very attempt is presumptuous.—The more it is studied, the greater is the admiration of the beholder. The richness arising from the multiplicity of the parts—the great extent—the twilight gloom—the varying effects of the reflected light—the transparent green of the water—the echo of the surge rising and falling—and the profound solitude of the whole scene, must make a strong impression on any mind atall sensible to beauty, in art or nature. I only wish you could all have seen it, my dear friends.”

18th.—This has been a most charming day; the mild calm dry feel of the air reminded me of the lovely weather that we are accustomed to at Rio. Here the days are very changeable; but then the nights have not that extreme chilliness that they have in Brazil.

It was resolved, at breakfast, in order to shew me a little of the country, that we should take a long walk—visit a farmer who lives about a mile and a-half from this—and then return by a different way, through a hamlet, inhabited by some of the poorest class.

We were all ready at one o’clock, which was the appointed hour.—My uncle dislikes very much that people should not be ready in time, and really considers it a fault not to be punctual; he says, it shews a selfish disregard of the wishes of others, and besides, that a great deal of time is wasted—melted away by waiting for each other.—I hope I shall learn to be more exact than I used to be, when with my indulgent mother.

We walked through several fields; but they all had a confined appearance, from being so much more fenced than the open country to which Ihave been accustomed. Some were all life and bustle; the reapers cutting the corn with their sickles, and dexterously laying it in a line, so that the binders who follow them can tie it up into sheaves without delay; several of these are then made to stand endways, in a little tight group, called a shock. In another place, horses and waggons were engaged in drawing home the corn which had been reaped first, and was now dry enough to preserve it, to the farmyard, where it was to be stacked; and they were succeeded by many little girls, who were gleaning the scattered ears. Farmer Moreland was in his farmyard, overseeing the stacking of his corn, and I could not but admire the neatness and regularity with which the sheaves were placed, with the tops pointing towards the centre, all being made quite firm, and the outside of the stack kept perfectly even. My uncle made me also observe that open passages, for the circulation of the air, were left in the stack, to prevent its fermenting orheating, which would spoil the grain. What a curious thing it is that decaying vegetables, when thus pressed together, without a free passage of air should produce such a chemical change, as to cause them to take fire!

After we had rested ourselves in Farmer Moreland’s comfortable house, we looked at his garden, where I observed several rows of large sunflowers, with the seed of which he feeds hisfowls; and we then left him and Dame Moreland, as we saw they were very busy.

In the nice smooth green fields which we passed through, there are no beautiful flowers, like those which spread a brilliant carpet over our plains; nor is there any of that rank grass, nearly the height of a man, so common in some parts of Brazil. The hay was all made up some weeks ago, so that I cannot see the delicate flowers of the grasses, nor their slender stalks orculms. My aunt says, that grass contains a great deal of very nourishing sugary juice; and if the hay is cut and made up early, before that juice is exhausted by maturing the seed, it becomes much more strengthening food than when mowed late.

Nor are there any herds of wild cattle here, like those in parts of our country; and, therefore, the Brazilian custom of catching the cattle by a noose is not in use. I described to Wentworth the dexterity with which thepeonsfling the noose, orlasso, over the head of any animal, even in full gallop. Here the cattle are in small numbers, and submit readily to the restraint of being confined in fields. The person who takes care of them has comparatively little trouble; and though he does not live on beef for every meal, like the peon, yet he is in fact more comfortable. We saw some very poor people in the hamlet by which we returned home, and found them civil in their manners, and contented with their employment. As to their houses, they are very different, indeed, from the peon’s hovel of upright posts, interwoven with branches of trees, and plastered with mud, thatched with nothing but long grass, and a hide stretched on four sticks, by way of a door.

I was surprised to see with what docility a number of cows allowed themselves to be driven home by a little boy to Farmer Moreland’s. My uncle told me, that it is a great relief to them to have their milk taken away; and that were the fields open, they would go home at the regular hours to be milked. I had imagined that cows had but a small portion of sense or instinct; but my uncle told me several instances of their sagacity, and among others, one which he read lately in travels in Norway and Lapland.

The author frequently saw cows feeding close to precipices several hundred feet high, where an English cow would have but little chance of escape; but the Norway cows, turned out amidst the mountains to procure their subsistence, become as nimble as goats, and climb the rocky crags with the greatest ease.

The manner in which instinct has taught them to descend the mountains is curious. Sitting on their haunches, they place their fore-feet close together, and in this way slide down places, which from their steepness would appear quite impassable with safety.

We went into several cottages belonging to the poor labourers. They are either built of brick, or of frame-work filled in with bricks and plaster, with good doors and glass windows; and inside, every thing, though shewing poverty, gave the idea of comfort. The walls papered, or nicely white-washed, the floors scowered and sprinkled with sand; plates, cups, and saucers displayed on shelves; beds with clean patchwork quilts; and in two of the houses, wooden-clocks to call the people up to their business. And to all of them there was a detached shed for the pig, unlike the filthy place left, between the posts, that support the floor of the Brazilian huts. In the last cottage we visited, we found that the hospitable people it belonged to had contrived to make room for a poor traveller and her child. She had come there on Saturday evening, when they gave her lodging for charity. On Sunday, she begged permission to remain, because she did not think it right to travel on that day; and on Monday she grew ill, and has been in bed ever since. These good people seemed so kind and generous to her, though very poor themselves, that my aunt is much interested for them.

How gratifying it is to see the poorest people assisting each other, even when really distressed themselves, but the most delightful thing of all, dear Mamma, is that there are no slaves here;every body is free, and may work or be idle as they like; but if they prefer idleness, they must of course want the comforts possessed by the industrious;—for industry, as you used to say, brings comfort and happiness.

19th.—This forest of Deane is very extensive, I find, for it is nearly twenty miles long, and ten broad. Here, at the south-east, it is bordered by the Severn, and on the north-west it stretches to the Wye; so that it forms the chief part of the western district of Gloucestershire. It was once the chief support of the English navy; but the timber is much diminished in consequence of the iron works in its neighbourhood, which it supplied a long time with fuel. My uncle says, however, that it has more the appearance of a forest than almost any other in England; and it still contains many noble old oak and beech trees, besides birch, holly, and underwood.

Here and there a few acres, surrounding cottages, have been cleared and cultivated, which make a beautiful variety. These cottages, and some farm-houses which stand upon the forest land, are free from taxes, and belong to no parish.

My aunt says, it is quite remarkable for the quantities of primroses and lilac wood-sorrel that are every where found. There are a few deerin some parts of the forest, but I have not yet seen them.

20th.—What a difference between this country, and that which I have left! I scarcely know which to call my own: should it not be that where I lived during my happy childhood with my dear Mamma? The kindness and affection of all my friends here will, I am sure, soon make this country dear to me also; but beautiful I can never think it, when I recollect Brazil, and all its various charms, and all the innumerable flowers and trees that are at this moment in brilliant beauty; while here, the principal flowers are all gone by, and symptoms of the decay of autumn already appear.

It was just about this season that you used to take us to the cottage you had on the Lagoa de Bodingo Freitas. What various amusements we had there! The road along the slope of the mountain was so pretty, among myrtles,begonias, andpaullinias; and there we were always sure of finding the diamond-beetle; and then when gradually descending from the hill, we drove along the banks of the sea covered with lofty ferns; and when you used to allow us to stop on the shore and search for sea-stars, urchins, shells, and plants. Oh, those were happy times! Or when we used to go with you to thelow grounds near the lake, and lose ourselves in the thickets ofmangrovetrees, while gathering their curious seeds, and wondering at the long roots they shoot out to the ground, and while you were searching for marsh plants and fern bushes. Indeed, I never, never can forget those days; nor the still solitude of that valley, the beauty of the rock of Gavia, covered with the bluegloxinia, and the wild mountain stream that came tumbling down into the lake; nor the poor fishermen who used to look so happy when you gave them a fewreals.

Though we live here on the borders of a forest, it is quite unlike that forest near which the Senhor Antonio Gomez lives, and where we used sometimes to spend a few weeks so pleasantly. I miss several little things that seemed to me to belong to a forest, and which used to amuse Marianne and me so much—the howling of the monkeys in the wood, that wakened us in the mornings, and the deep noises of the frogs and toads, with the chirp of the grasshoppers and locusts, like a monotonous treble mixed with that croaking bass.

And then when playing about in the wood after the mists of the night had been dispelled by the rising sun, and when every creature seemed to be rejoicing in the return of day, we had such delight in chasing the pretty butterflies. Nothing at all here like those great butterflies that used toflutter from flower to flower, and hover among the bushes under which we sat; or that sometimes collected in separate companies on the sunny banks of the little stream that ran through the valley near the Senhor’s house. None of those great owl-moths sitting quietly on the trees waiting, with their wings spread open, for the approach of evening. Alas! I see none of those beautiful creatures here; nor the long nests of the wasps hanging from the trees; nor the beetles sparkling brightly on the flowers and fresh leaves; nor the beautiful little serpents, equal to flowers in splendour, gliding out of the leaves and the hollows of trees, and creeping up the stem to catch insects.

I have just been describing to Mary those woods which seemed actually alive, when the monkeys came leaping and chattering from tree to tree, and enjoying the sun; as well as all our birds with their bright plumage, whose various notes formed such extraordinary concerts. Theurapong, which makes the woods resound with a noise like the strokes of a hammer on the anvil. The showy parrots of every colour, and themanakin, whose melodious morning song you loved, because it was so like the warbling of the nightingale; and which Mary tells me is called theorganiste, in St. Domingo, on account of the compass of its song, as it forms a complete octave. And besides all these, the dear little busyorioles, that my sister and I have so often watchedcreeping out of the little hole at one side of their long bag-shaped nests, to visit the orange trees, while their sentinels gave them notice by a loud scream of the approach of strangers.

Mary smiled when I told her, what I am sure Marianne remembers—how we used to like to listen to thetoucanrattling with his large hollow beak, as he sat on the extreme branches, and calling, in plaintive notes, for rain; and how sometimes, when he was sitting comfortably and almost hid in the nest which he had scooped in the stem of a tree, we used to pretend to alarm him, that we might see how instantly he prepared to attack the invader with his bill.

But these are all passed away. Dear Mamma, forgive this list of pleasing recollections: describing them to you makes me feel as if I was again enjoying them in your company. There is such a glowing splendour, as I told Mary, in the sunny days of Brazil, when the glittering humming-birds dart about, and with their long bills extract the honey from the flowers, that I cannot avoid perceiving how gloomy every thing appears here; but pray do not think me discontented.

Mary, to whom I had been describing all these past delights, came back to me just as I had written so far; and, seeing the tears in my eyes, she seemed to feel with me, and to think it quite natural that I should every moment perceive the difference between two countries so opposite inclimate and in every thing; though she laughed a little at my repeating to you all that you see continually; but you know, Mamma, you desired me to write all I thought, and you may well suppose how constantly my thoughts turn towards the country in which you live.

Mary said she should have been surprised if I had not felt the change. “But indeed, Bertha,” said she, “you must not forget how well balanced are our blessings. If Brazil has a climate, and various beautiful productions which England does not possess, England, on the other hand, has far more substantial comforts; and, by her commerce, she has the means of enjoying those of all other countries. We have not your brilliant flowers and birds, but you will find that we have many which are more useful, and which will interest you, who love natural history. Our birds have no pendent nests, because they are in no danger from such depredators as your monkeys and snakes, and therefore their instinct does not lead them to contrive such means of defence; but you will see, amongst both our birds and insects, many whose habits are equally curious.”

I said that I believed, as you, Mamma, have often told me, that there is no country which does not possess much to attach its inhabitants to it, and to interest an observant mind.

“And it is in the mind,” she replied, “that our real happiness will always be found. Itrests on our own disposition and thoughts, much more than on those outward circumstances which appear coloured by our feelings; just as objects appear the colour of the glass through which you look at them. But,” added she, “I came not to moralise, but to beg of you to come out and walk.”

Out we went; and my thoughts soon turned from the scenes I have been lamenting, to the satisfactory feeling of having, in both my countries, such dear and good friends.

21st.Sunday.—In the course of a conversation this morning about the Sabbath day, a lady, who is here on a visit, remarked that it was the idea of some people, that the Sabbath, having been instituted at the time that the Israelites received the Ten Commandments, is not binding on Christians, any more than the other Levitical institutions.

In order to show what a mistaken idea that is, my uncle read to us the extract which I am going to copy here.

“It is a great mistake to consider the Sabbath as a mere festival of the Jewish church, deriving its whole sanctity from the Levitical law. The religious observation of the seventh day is included, in the Decalogue, among our first duties; but the reason assigned for the injunction is general, and has no relation to the particular circumstances of the Israelites, or to the particular relation in which they stood to God as his chosen people. The creation of the world was an event equally interesting to the whole human race; and the acknowledgment of God as our Creator is a duty, in all ages and countries, incumbent on mankind.

“The terms of the ordinance plainly describe it as an institution of an earlier age—‘Wherefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day, andset it apart,’ which is the true meaning of hallowed it. These words express a past time. It is not said, Wherefore the Lord now blesses the seventh day, and sets it apart, but, Wherefore hedidbless it, and set it apart in times past; and he now requires that you, his chosen people, should be observant of that ancient institution.

“In confirmation of this fact, we find, by the 16th chapter of Exodus, that the Israelites were already acquainted with the Sabbath, and had been accustomed to a strict observance of it, before Moses received the tables of the law at Sinai. For, when the manna was first given for their nourishment in the wilderness, they were commanded to lay by, on the sixth day, a sufficient portion for the succeeding day. ‘To-morrow,’ said Moses, ‘is the rest of the holy Sabbath unto the Lord: on that day ye shall not find it in the field; for the Lord hath given you the Sabbath, therefore he giveth you on thesixth day bread for two days.’ He mentions the Sabbath as a divine command, with which the people were well acquainted; for he alleges the well-known sanctity of the day, to account for the extraordinary supply of manna on the preceding day. But the appointment of the Sabbath, to which his words allude, must have been earlier than the appointment of the law, of which no part had yet been given. For this first gathering of manna was in the second month of the departure of the Israelites from Egypt; and they did not arrive at Sinai, where the law was given, till the third month.

“An institution of this antiquity and importance could derive no part of its sanctity from the authority of the Mosaic law; and the abrogation of that law no more releases the worshippers of God from a due observation of the Sabbath, than it cancels the injunction of filial piety, or the prohibition of theft or murder.

“The worship of the Christian church is properly to be considered as a restoration of the patriarchal church in its primitive simplicity and purity; and of the patriarchal worship, the Sabbath was one of the noblest and simplest rites. As the Sabbath was of earlier institution than the religion of the Jews, so it necessarily survives the extinction of the Jewish law, and makes a part of Christianity.

“It differs from all other ordinances, of similar antiquity, and is a part of the rational religion of man, in every stage and state of his existence, till he shall attain that happy rest of which the Sabbath is a type.

“Let us remember, always, that to mankind in general, and to us Christians in particular, the proper business of that day is the worship of God in public assemblies. Private devotion is the Christian’sdailyduty; but the peculiar duty of the Sabbath is public worship. Every man’s conscience must direct him what portion of the remainder of the Sabbath should be allotted to private devotion, useful duties, and sober recreation. And, perhaps, a better general rule cannot be laid down than this—that the same proportion of the Sabbath, on the whole, should be devoted to religious exercises, public and private, as each individual would employ, on any other day, in ordinary business.”

22d.—I have just been made very happy, dear Mamma. I was sitting in my aunt’s dressing room, labouring through a difficult question in arithmetic, which Mary had given me, when my uncle came in; and, after a little conversation, he said to my aunt and cousins, “I am very much pleased with this good girl. I have not judged of her hastily—I approve of her as acompanion for my daughters; and she has my free permission to be with them in this room and every where, as much as she pleases.”

It is a great satisfaction to add, that my cousins looked as much pleased at this as I did; but they could not feel the delight that I felt, when he continued,—“Bertha, my dear, when you write to your mother, I desire that you will say I am highly pleased with her education of her little daughter. Separated from her friends and country by ill health, with little of good society, and labouring under many disadvantages, she has not sunk into indolence or indifference—she has preserved her good sense and energy, and has made you a gentlewoman in mind and manners; and I rejoice to see you so much what the child of my excellent sister ought to be.”

My beloved mother, this little message to you gave me such heartfelt delight, that my eyes very nearly overflowed.

My kind uncle afterwards said, “But, Bertha, do not imagine that I think you have no faults.”

“No, dear uncle,” said I, “that never came into my head; but I am sure you and my aunt will be so good as to assist me in conquering them.”

“Most readily I will,” said he: “indeed I will write myself to your mother, and tell her how much I like her Bertha, who deserves to be the companion of my daughters; my sister knows how particular I am about their intimacies and early friendships.”

Though I know his letter will be a most welcome one to you, I could not resist the pleasure of telling you all this myself, dear Mamma. I shall feel much more bright and cheerful now, than I have felt, since I left you.

23d.—I can walk much more here than I could in our own hot country, so I am out a great deal every fine day.

Yesterday, we all set out on a ramble through the forest, that I might see some of its wildest parts; and the morning was so fine, that we went much farther than my cousins had been for a long time. There is but little of it that answered to my ideas of a forest; some parts are quite cleared away, and in others, the trees are spoiled by being copsed. I must confess, that some of the oaks are fine trees; but how insignificant the best of them would appear by the side of our noblebombax, or of our tall palms, which spread their leaves like immense umbrellas. And besides, the green of the foliage is so dull, when compared to the vivid tints of the trees in Brazil! We found, however, some very nice and smooth grassy paths through the wood, of which I might say—

All around seems verdure meetFor pressure of the fairies’ feet.

As we walked along one of these, we were surprised by the appearance of smoke curling through the trees; and we soon after came to a little cottage, in a very solitary part of the forest. Frederick ran on, “to discover,” he said, “whether it contained a giant, ready to devour us withfee, fau, fum, or some hermit who had retired to this sequestered spot, to expiate his crimes in solitude and silence.”

We soon followed, and instead of either giant or hermit, there was a poor man almost blind, employed in making a basket, while his daughter, a pretty looking young woman about twenty, sat within, engaged in needlework; and the house, though one of the poorest that I have seen, looked clean and airy. But as it is built against a sloping bank, it must be damp, I think—and his daughter has rather a delicate appearance, and looks pensive, as if she was not in good health.

I was very much interested in observing the method by which he made his basket. It was not made of willow, which I thought was always used; so we inquired what the material was, and I was surprised to find that it was oak. He splits the wood into long strips when it is quite fresh, or after it has been soaking in water for some time; these strips are about an inch broad, and being only a tenth of an inch thick, they are so pliable, that he weaves them without difficulty. The shape of his basket was circular, with a flat bottom. A sort of skeleton frame is made first, of stronger slips of wood; then the long thin pieces are woven in and out, close together; and the ends are neatly fastened under each other. It seemed a tedious work; he is to have half a crown for the basket he is now making, for a washerwoman; and as it is more than two days’ employment, his gain is but very small.

He lost his sight many years ago in the mines, and though never idle, he cannot easily support himself. I believe his wife is dead. He says he has lived in that place several years; and I understand that the inhabitants of the Forest of Deane have certain privileges in regard to taxes, that make it a very desirable residence to a poor man.

My uncle is to go in a few days to bespeak some of those baskets, and I hope to walk there with him: it will have been very happy for this poor man that we found him; for my uncle and aunt will certainly be of use to him. They assist the industrious very much; and all they do for the poor, is done in such a kind and cheerful manner, that it doubles the favour.

24th.—This morning brought another letter from Hertford—it has been delayed on its road, for it was written several weeks ago. Here are some extracts from it: perhaps they may entertain you, as he describes his visit to the little island of North Rona.

“It is accessible in one spot only, and that with difficulty. The landing place is on an irregular cliff, and you must watch for the moment to jump out on the first ledge of rock to which the boat is lifted by the waves. It is a perilous operation to remove sheep from this island; the animal being slung by the legs round the neck of a man, and thus carried down the face of a rock, where a false step exposes him to the risk of being either strangled or drowned.

“The violence and height of the waves, which in winter break over the island, are almost incredible. The dykes of the sheep-folds are often thrown down; and stones of enormous bulk are removed from their places, at elevations of 200 feet above the high-water mark. It is inhabited by one family only, who cultivate it, and tend about fifty sheep. Twice in the year that part of the crop which is not consumed on the farm, together with the sheep’s wool, and the feathers obtained from the sea-fowl, which these poor people are bound to procure, are taken away by the boat to Lewis, and thus some little intercourse with the external world is preserved. But they are so little accustomed to the appearance of any one but the proprietor of the island, that when we appeared, the women and children were seen running away to the cliffs to hidethemselves, loaded with whatever moveable property they possessed, while the man and his son began to drive away the sheep. A few words of Gaëlic recalled the men, but it was sometime before the females ventured from their retreat, and when they did, the impression they made on us was not very favourable to the progress of civilization in Rona; the mistress of the family would have ill stood a comparison with Iliglaik, whose accomplishments are so well described by Captain Lyon.

“Not even the solid Highland hut can withstand the violence of the wind in this region. The dwelling is, therefore, excavated in the earth, the wall requisite for the support of the roof scarcely rising two feet above the surface, and the whole is surrounded with turf stacks to ward off the gales. The entrance to this subterranean retreat is through a long winding passage, like the gallery of a mine, commencing by an aperture not three feet high, and very difficult to find. Were it not for the smoke, the existence of a house could never be suspected; indeed, we had been talking to its possessor for some time, before we discovered that we were actually standing on the top of his castle. Like a Kamtschatkan hut, it receives no other light than that from the smoke hole; it is floored with ashes, and festooned and ornamented with strings of dried fish. Its inmates, however, appeared tobe contented and well fed, and little concerned about what the rest of the world was doing; they seemed to know of no other world than North Rona, and the chief seemed to wish for little that North Rona could not supply. The great object of his wishes was to get his two younger children baptised, for no people are more zealous in the observance of their religious duties than the Highlanders; and even in that dreary solitude, this poor man had not forgotten his.”

I am quite established now as one of the dressing-room party. A nice little table has been allotted to my use, and I shall be very comfortable as well as happy.

In the library, I was frequently interrupted in drawing or reading, by morning visiters—but into this charming retired room no visiters are admitted, and we shall seldom be disturbed. My aunt has given me just such a nice little table as each of my cousins has: the top serves as a desk for reading, or writing, or drawing, and can be raised to any slope, as it is joined by hinges at one side; while on the other side there is a light frame, which supports the book or drawing I am copying; and which, when not wanted, folds in under the top. It has places for pens, ink, and knife, and two drawers, besides many other conveniences. Indeed, I must be happy in this room, where a variety of usefuland agreeable things, and much gaiety too, are always to be found.

I wish, Mamma, you could know your nieces. There is a nice mixture of gaiety and steadiness in both. Mary would be almost perfect, if she were not too timid. Caroline is the handsomest; she has such a fresh, bright complexion, and such pretty waving ringlets; yet she never seems to think of herself or her beauty. She is very active and very useful; always punctual, and ever ready to oblige and assist others, to walk out or stay at home with them—to search for a book, or to hunt out a passage in it—to converse or to remain silent. Yet she contrives to have time for all her own employments, and to lay up stores of knowledge, which are always ready when called for. Her temper is so mild, and her feelings are so much under her own controul, that one does not at first see exactly how much she enters into those of other people; but every day, her character has opened more and more to my observation.

Grace is a dear, little, animated creature—very obedient in general, very intelligent, and my uncle’s play-fellow, but never spoiled. What a pity you cannot see all these children of a brother you love so much. My aunt often expresses her anxiety for your return; she says, that if my uncle and she had their dear sister within reach of them, their family happiness would be complete.

I told you before, I believe, that my uncle, and my aunt too, though she does not say much, are not pleased, if we are not punctual—and must I confess it?—yes, I must acknowledge, that several mornings I have been rather late for breakfast; my uncle has been very patient however, and says he will make allowance a little while for the indolent habits I have acquired by living in a warm climate, and with “too indulgent a mother.”

So good night; I have been writing when I ought to have been in bed.

25th.—There was a good deal of conversation about salt and salt mines to-day. My uncle asked me, if there were many such salt marshes in Brazil as abound in North America, and of which cattle are so fond. I forgot at first, and said very foolishly, that I could not tell—I was in a silly fit, till at last I recollected myself, and told him I had heard that there were some, though they are obliged to import a great deal of salt. What an extraordinary appearance a salt plain must have, where the salt is open and uncovered! When we went up stairs, Mary showed me Mr. Salt’s description of one in Abyssinia.

He says, that some of his party and Mr. Coffin “stopped at the edge of an extensive salt plain to refresh themselves, under the shade ofa group of acacias, near some wells of fresh water. At this place they were provided by the natives with a sort of sandal, for walking on the salt, made of the leaves of a dwarf palm.

“The plain lies perfectly flat, and is said to be four days’ journey in length. The first half mile was very slippery, and the feet sank at every step into the mud. After this, the surface became strongly crusted, resembling, in appearance, a rough coat of ice, covered with snow.

“On theAssa Durwaside of the plain, a number of Abyssinians were engaged in cutting out the salt, which they accomplished by means of a small adze. The salt lies in horizontal strata, so that when the edges are once divided, it separates without any great difficulty: that which is immediately under the surface is exceedingly hard, white, and pure; but as the workmen advance deeper, it becomes of a coarser quality, and much softer. In some places it continues tolerably pure to the depth of three feet, below which it becomes mixed with the soil, and consequently unfit for use.

“This salt plain, from which the whole of Abyssinia is supplied, is infested by a cruel race, who make it a practice to lie in wait for the individuals engaged in cutting it. These poor fellows, in the absence of their guards, lie down flat on the surface, when working, that they may escape the observation of their barbarous enemies, and on the approach of a stranger, they run in alarm to the mountains.”

When we had finished reading this extract, Mary said, that since I was so much amused by it, she would find a description of some curious salt cliffs on the banks of the Indus.

“Near Callabaugh, on the banks of the Indus, the road is cut out of the solid salt, at the foot of salt cliffs, which in some places are more than 100 feet high above the river. The salt is hard, clear, and almost pure; and would be like crystal, were it not a little streaked and tinged with red. Several salt springs issue from the rocks, and leave the ground covered with a crust of the most brilliant whiteness. The earth is blood red, and this, with the beautiful spectacle of the salt rocks, and the Indus flowing in a deep and clear stream, through lofty mountains, presented a most singular scene.”

I have copied these for Mamma, for I am sure you have neither of the books.

26th.—I have been out till very late this lovely evening, which was so calm, and still, and fragrant, that it made me think of some of our own evenings; and the brightness of the stars, and the clear blue sky, increased the resemblance. While walking, I described to Mary and Caroline the country-house of the Condéde San Lourenço, on the slope of the hills which extend from the city towards the south-west; and the fine view, from that spot, of the city and part of the bay. I endeavoured to make them understand the beauty of our evenings, after the sultry day, when themimosas, that have folded up their leaves to sleep, stand motionless beside the darkmanga,jaca, and other trees; or if a little breeze arises, how it makes the stiff, dry leaves of theacaju[2]rustle, and the myrtles drop a fragrant shower of blossoms; while the majestic palms slowly wave their crowns over all.

My cousins appeared so much interested, that I endeavoured to complete my picture of a Brazilian evening. I described to them the shrill cries of the cicada, and the monotonous hum of the tree frog. The singular sound of the little animal called themacue, which almost resembles a distant human voice calling for help. The plaintive cries too of the sloth; and the various noises of thecapuira, the goat-sucker, and the bullfrog; along with the incessant chattering of the monkey tribe; while myriads of fire-flies, like moving stars, complete, as you used to say, the beauty of our evenings. I did not forget to mention those palms, whose flowers suddenlyburst out in the evening, and join their fragrance to that of the orange groves. Indeed, all these things were so strongly pictured in my mind, that I could almost have thought myself walking amongst them.

Caroline, in her ardent manner, expressed a wish to visit this interesting scene; but quiet Mary repeated a few stanzas of a poem supposed to be written by a European in South America. Two of them are worth sending you.

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