Uncle.“Heap on more coals: the wind is chill;But let it whistle as it will,We’ll keep our merry Christmas still.”Aunt.Still linger in our northern climeSome remnants of the good old time;And still, within our vallies here,We hold the kindred title dear.Frederick.Decrepit now, December moves alongThe plashy plains.Caroline.Phœbus arise,And paint the sable skiesWith azure, white, and red;Rouse Memnon’s mother from her Tithon’s bed,That she with roses thy career may spread.Bertha.Sad wears the hour! heavy and drearCreeps, with slow pace, the waning year;And sullen, sullen heaves the blastIts deep sighs o’er the lonely waste!Wentworth.Who loves not more the night of JuneThan dull December’s gloomy noon;The moonlight, than the fog of frost?And can we say which cheats the most?Mrs. P.Mustering his storms, a sordid host,Lo! Winter desolates the year.Mary.Yet gentle hours advance their wing,And Fancy, mocking winter’s night,With flowers, and dews, and streaming lightAlready decks the new-born spring.
Uncle.“Heap on more coals: the wind is chill;But let it whistle as it will,We’ll keep our merry Christmas still.”Aunt.Still linger in our northern climeSome remnants of the good old time;And still, within our vallies here,We hold the kindred title dear.Frederick.Decrepit now, December moves alongThe plashy plains.Caroline.Phœbus arise,And paint the sable skiesWith azure, white, and red;Rouse Memnon’s mother from her Tithon’s bed,That she with roses thy career may spread.Bertha.Sad wears the hour! heavy and drearCreeps, with slow pace, the waning year;And sullen, sullen heaves the blastIts deep sighs o’er the lonely waste!Wentworth.Who loves not more the night of JuneThan dull December’s gloomy noon;The moonlight, than the fog of frost?And can we say which cheats the most?Mrs. P.Mustering his storms, a sordid host,Lo! Winter desolates the year.Mary.Yet gentle hours advance their wing,And Fancy, mocking winter’s night,With flowers, and dews, and streaming lightAlready decks the new-born spring.
Uncle.“Heap on more coals: the wind is chill;But let it whistle as it will,We’ll keep our merry Christmas still.”Aunt.Still linger in our northern climeSome remnants of the good old time;And still, within our vallies here,We hold the kindred title dear.Frederick.Decrepit now, December moves alongThe plashy plains.Caroline.Phœbus arise,And paint the sable skiesWith azure, white, and red;Rouse Memnon’s mother from her Tithon’s bed,That she with roses thy career may spread.Bertha.Sad wears the hour! heavy and drearCreeps, with slow pace, the waning year;And sullen, sullen heaves the blastIts deep sighs o’er the lonely waste!Wentworth.Who loves not more the night of JuneThan dull December’s gloomy noon;The moonlight, than the fog of frost?And can we say which cheats the most?Mrs. P.Mustering his storms, a sordid host,Lo! Winter desolates the year.Mary.Yet gentle hours advance their wing,And Fancy, mocking winter’s night,With flowers, and dews, and streaming lightAlready decks the new-born spring.
December 24th.—
’Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale,’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;A Christmas gambol oft could cheerThe poor man’s heart through half the year.
’Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale,’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;A Christmas gambol oft could cheerThe poor man’s heart through half the year.
’Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale,’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;A Christmas gambol oft could cheerThe poor man’s heart through half the year.
How happy every one looks in these good Christmas times! Besides those feelings of gratitude and hope, which now come home to every Christian’s breast, it is delightful to see the satisfaction the rich feel in this country in sharing their comforts with the poor.
I need scarcely tell you, who know my uncle and aunt so well, how much they enjoy the pleasure of giving food and clothing and blankets to those who are in want; while to the cottagers who do not require such assistance, they make some useful present, such as a book, or some little article, which is sure to be highly valued, as it marks the approbation of their landlord. Of course the Franklins and our old basket-maker have not been forgotten. My aunt says she likes to make the poor more than commonly comfortable now, that they may remember the season with pleasure.
Farmer Moreland, and two or three other rich farmers in the neighbourhood, are very considerate of the comforts of their labouring men at this season; and they have joined with my uncle and aunt in trying, by giving them constant employment, to enable them to struggle on bytheir own exertions without applying to the parish for support. Many have large families, some of which are taught, even while very young, to help their parents; and it is to these people that my aunt distributes the largest portions of her Christmas bounty.
In speaking of Christmas, my uncle told me that in the heathen times of these countries, and of the northern parts of Europe, a festival took place exactly at this season, which was dedicated to the sun, the chief deity of our heathen ancestor; and when they were converted to Christianity, it was thought prudent that they should continue to have their festival, although the object of it was of course changed. It was calledJolorYule—a Gothic word, signifying a feast, and particularly applied to a religious one. Christmas is even still called Yule in many places in the north of England; and it is said that the custom of making a large fire on Christmas eve, on which great logs of wood are piled, is still kept up. These are calledYule clogs, and, before they are quite consumed, a fragment of them is taken out, and preserved safely for the next year.
This is probably one of the remnants, my uncle says, of the feasts of fire instituted by the worshippers of Bali, from whom there appears reason to think the Druids were directly descended; as a coincidence of customs, words,names, and ancient worship is in many instances observable.
Just as we had done tea this evening, while my uncle was talking on this subject, he was interrupted by a loud ringing at the hall-door, and it was scarcely opened, when there was such a noise in the hall, such singing, talking, laughing and dancing, that I was alarmed at first; but my aunt told me it was only theMummers. We went to look at them, and I understood that they were acting St. George and the Dragon; but it was such a strange, confused medley, that I could only distinguish a word or two. They had all hideous masks, and were dressed up in the most grotesque way; and everybody was highly diverted except poor little Grace: she was so frightened by the bustle and strange figures, that my uncle was obliged to reason with her. A word or a look from him has unspeakable power over the minds of all the family, and indeed of all who know him.
The mummers’ song I could not understand, except one stanza, which they repeated always more distinctly than the rest, as a hint, I suppose, to my uncle:—
In Christmas time is foundThe best of stout old beer,And if it now aboundWe shall have dainty cheer;Then merrily dance we round,And so conclude the year.
In Christmas time is foundThe best of stout old beer,And if it now aboundWe shall have dainty cheer;Then merrily dance we round,And so conclude the year.
In Christmas time is foundThe best of stout old beer,And if it now aboundWe shall have dainty cheer;Then merrily dance we round,And so conclude the year.
My uncle good-humouredly gave them a few shillings to get their “stout old beer,” and they hurried off to visit some other house.
25th.—We all met in health and cheerfulness this good Christmas morning, and in our heartfelt wishes for mutual happiness, yours, dear Mamma, was included as ardently, as if you had been present.
To the usual old fashioned expressions of kindness, my aunt added, in her impressive manner, a tender wish that we might receive such gracious aid from above, as would enable us to rejoice indeed on this great day.
After some general conversation, my uncle explained to us the 45th Psalm, which is appointed for the service of Christmas-day; and which, he says, like many of the other psalms, is constantly read and but little understood.
“It appears,” said he, “to be a song of congratulation upon the marriage of a great king; but, from a consideration of all the subjects on which it touches, there is no doubt that it prophetically alludes to the mystical wedding of Christ with his church. This was the unanimous opinion of all the Jewish expositors—for though prejudice prevented them from discovering the completion of the prophecies in our Saviour, yet they well understood their meaning,and all allowed that this psalm related to Him, and not to any earthly prince.
“This figure, of the union of a husband and wife, has been consecrated by our Lord himself, to signify his own union with his church, in the parable of the king making a marriage for his son. Some commentators have imagined that the marriage of Solomon with Pharaoh’s daughter was the subject of the 45th Psalm; but it is in many respects wholly inapplicable to that king. The hero of the poem is a warrior, who reigns at length by conquest over his vanquished enemies: Solomon, on the contrary, enjoyed a long reign of uninterrupted peace. He is also distinguished by his love of righteousness; whereas Solomon, during the latter part of his reign, fell far short of the excellence here described. But, above all, the king is addressed by the title of God in a manner which is never applied to any earthly king.
“The Psalmist begins with our Lord’s first appearance in the human form, and passing rapidly through the different periods of Christianity, makes them the groundwork of this mystic and inspired song, which may be divided into three parts.
“The first three verses describe our Lord on earth in the days of his humiliation. The second section consists of the five following verses, which relate to the propagation of the gospel byour Lord’s victory over his enemies; and this includes the whole period, from his ascension to the time, not yet arrived, of the fulfilling of theGentiles. The sequel alludes to the re-marriage—that is, to the restoration of the convertedJewsto the bosom of the true church.
“‘Thou art fairer than the children of men.’ Though we have no account in the gospels of our Saviour’s person, yet it is evident, from many circumstances, that there must have been a peculiar dignity in his appearance. But it was the sanctity of his manners; his perfect obedience to the will of God; the vast scope of his mind, which comprehended all knowledge; his power to resist all temptation, and to despise shame and to endure pain and death, to which that expression alludes—this was the beauty with which he was adorned beyond the sons of men.
“‘Full of grace are thy lips.’ This is put figuratively, for that perfect doctrine which he delivered, and which, if sincerely adopted, was to sustain the contrite, to console the afflicted, and to reclaim the guilty.
“‘The king’s enemies’ are the wicked passions of mankind, against whom he wages a spiritual war; and, the ‘sword and arrows,’ St. Paul tells us, mean ‘the sword of God.’
“The seventh and eighth verses shew the King seated on the throne of his mediatorial kingdom, where he is addressed as God, whosethrone is everlasting, and as a Monarch whose heart is set upon justice and righteousness.
“In the first dispensation of the law through Moses, the perfumed garments of the priest were typical of the graces and virtues of the Redeemer, and of the excellence of his word; so the Psalmist describes the King, of whom the high priest was the representative, as scented with myrrh, aloes, and cassia.
“In the figurative language of scripture, ‘king’s daughters’ express peoples and nations, and here mean, that the empires converted to the faith of Christ will shine in the beauty of holiness, and will be united to the Messiah’s kingdom.
“The ‘Queen’ evidently represents the Hebrew Church, re-united by conversion in the fulness of time. The restoration of Israel to the situation of consort in the Messiah’s kingdom is the constant strain of prophecy; whole chapters might be quoted; but I think it will be an interesting employment to some of you to search for them yourselves. I will only remind you of that passage in the epistle to the Romans, where St. Paul says, that blindness isin partonly happened to Israel, till the time shall arrive for the fulness of the Gentiles to come in; and then all Israel shall be saved.
“The Queen’s ‘vesture of gold’ denotes those real treasures, of which the church is the depository, the written word, and the dispensation of its gracious promises to mankind.
“‘Forget thine own people, and thy father’s house.’ This applies to the ancient Jewish religion, and its typical ceremonies and sacrifices, now no longer necessary. The remainder of the psalm alludes to the churches established under ‘the King’; to the simplicity and excellence of the Christian dispensation; and closes with an assurance that the children of the Queen Consort, that is, the church, after collecting the lost sheep of Israel, shall be, as their fathers were, God’s peculiar people.”
My uncle concluded by saying, that this beautiful psalm, which is written in such majestic language, and presents such cheering hopes to Christians, Jews, and Gentiles, has been a constant subject of discussion amongst our learned divines; and advised us to read with attention the excellent commentaries on it by Bishop Horne and Bishop Horsley.
26th.—This day is so calm and bright that it is not like winter; it almost brings to my mind some of our own days at home. Oh! mamma, if you were but here, all would be delightful.
We are all going to walk to Farmer Moreland’s, except Wentworth and Frederick, who are mounting their ponies to visit a friend just returned from Eton.
I am called—Yes, quite ready. Good day, dear mamma.
Well, mamma, evening has come, and I have but little to tell you about our Christmas visit to Farmer Moreland and his dame, which was happily accomplished; but a great deal to tell you about Wentworth and Frederick, and their adventures. When they had ridden about a mile, they were stopped by a little boy, who came running from a lane in the wood, crying piteously, “Mother, mother, oh! come to mother!” To all their questions he gave no other answer but “Come to mother; oh! do come, she is a dying.” The child was a very little creature, and seemed scarcely to know any other words.
My cousins, without hesitation, or any thought about their ride, determined to follow the child, who, though he could not say much, knew very well what to do. He led them along one of the green lanes a considerable distance into the wood, and there they found his poor mother lying, without any other shelter than that of a large spreading holly—without blanket or covering—her head resting on a little bundle, and looking deadly pale. The child ran towards her, and gently patting her face, cried, “Here, mother; look, look.”
As Wentworth approached, she opened her eyes, and seeing a benevolent countenance, smiled faintly. She tried to raise herself, butcould not. In reply to his inquiries she made him understand that, having travelled two days with little rest or food, suffering much from grief, along with fatigue, she had grown so ill that she was obliged to stop there. Not seeing any cottage near, in which she could beg a lodging, and feeling totally unable to walk farther, she had lain there many hours, but had not seen any one pass, and fearing that the child would be starved, she had sent him in search of some kind-hearted person. She added that she was sure her illness was a fever; and as there was, therefore, little chance of her being admitted into any house, all she wished for was a shed to cover her, some water to drink, and some bread for her little boy.
My cousins, promising assistance, rode home instantly, in hopes of finding my uncle, but we were all at Farmer Moreland’s. They tried then to find some one who could erect a shed over the poor woman, but it was a holyday no labourers were at work; and the steward, who was the only person they found, had received orders not to leave the yards all day, because many idle people might be about. He told Wentworth he could easily supply materials for a shed, if there was any one to build it. Wentworth and Frederick looked at each other for a moment, and then both said together—“Let us do it ourselves, and give up the ride.” Each had been afraid of disappointing his brother by the proposal, but they agreed to it with equal good-will, and set about their new occupation so earnestly, that in a quarter of an hour the garden ass-cart was loaded with straw and stakes, and the necessary tools. Before they went away, they applied to my aunt’s housekeeper for bread and medicine; and she very good naturedly went herself to see what state the woman was in, and what could be done for her. She afterwards told my aunt that it was “a beautiful sight to see the kindness of the young gentlemen, just as careful, ma’am, not to disturb the sick beggar woman as if she was a lady, and they so happy, ma’am, and never seeming to cast a thought about their ride.” While they were at work, the housekeeper learned the history of the unfortunate creature; she thinks her dangerously ill, and has therefore procured a careful old woman to take care of her.
My cousins not being very expert in driving stakes into the ground, or in fastening on thatch, it was nearly dark when they reached home. We had long returned from our walk, and had been listening to the history the housekeeper gave. My aunt and uncle were very much pleased at hearing of the benevolence and the decision with which Wentworth and Frederick had acted; and they determined not to interfere with them till their task was completed.
The story of the poor woman can be told in a few words. When very young, only sixteen, she was tempted to leave her father’s cottage, and to go off secretly with an idle wandering man, belonging to a party of gipsies, to whom she was afterwards married. Her husband had lately grown very unkind, and last week he forsook her entirely. She heard that he had come to the forest of Deane, and without waiting to make further inquiry, she took her little son, and set off in search of her wicked husband. Her parents are dead, and she has no friends but the gipsies, among whom she has lived for several years; she says they are bad people indeed, and to leave her boy with them would be his ruin. Her only anxiety is about him; were she sure of his being in safe hands, she says she has no longer any wish to live.
The housekeeper inquired the name of the child; but his mother acknowledged that he had never been christened, as the people she was with did not attend to those kind of things. He has generally been calledQuick-fingeramongst them, because he was so clever at little thefts; but she had intended, she says, to have had him baptized, and to call him Charley, after her own father. She then fell into an agony of grief at the remembrance of her father and the time when she was happy and innocent, as well as at the wickedness her poor little boy has already been taught.
Dec. 28th.—During our passage from Brazil, Captain M. lent me one of your old favourites, Anson’s Voyage; and, next to Robinson Crusoe, it interested me more than any thing of that kind I ever read. You may guess then with what pleasure I have been looking over the account of a late visit to Juan Fernandez by Mr. Scouler, who was employed by the Hudson’s Bay Company to examine the natural history of the north-west coast of America. I think two or three little extracts will amuse you; and I must tell you, by the way, that Mr. Scouler seems to feel great admiration forourcity of Rio, and the bay, and the view from the Corcovado, and all our beautiful plants, birds, and insects.
“Dec. 14, 1824.—The island of Juan Fernandez was approached with equal interest by every one in the vessel, but with different feelings; as classic ground by the seamen, and as a new field for research by the naturalist.
“We landed at a small bay at the northern extremity of the island. The level land near the coast had more resemblance to a European corn-field, than to a desolate valley in the Pacific Ocean, being entirely overgrown with oats, interspersed in different places with wild carrots. On penetrating through the corn-fields, we discovered a small cavern, excavated in the decomposing rock, and bearing evidenttraces of having been recently inhabited. A kind of substitute for a lamp hung from the roof, and the quantity of bones scattered about, shewed there was no scarcity of provisions. Near this, a natural arch, about seven feet high, opened into a small bay, bounded on all sides by steep perpendicular rocks, which afforded an inaccessible retreat to multitudes of sea birds.
“The next day, on approaching the landing place in Cumberland Bay, we were surprised by the appearance of smoke rising among the trees; and we had the pleasure of finding an Englishman there. When he first saw our boat, he was afraid it belonged to a Spanish privateer, and had concealed himself in the woods, as they had formerly destroyed his little establishment. He belonged to a party of English and Chilians, employed in sending the skins of cattle, which are now plentiful, to Chili. We were delighted with the beautiful situation where they had fixed their dwelling; close to a fine stream, and surrounded by a shrubbery ofFuchsia, mixed with peach and apple-trees, pears, figs, vines, and strawberries, rue, mint, radish, and Indian cress, besides oats, were all growing in the greatest profusion; and the sea abounded with fish.
“Our new friend had a little collection of English books; and one piece of furniture, which seemed particularly valuable,—an old ironpot, though without a bottom; but he had fitted a wooden one to it, and when he had occasion to boil any thing, he plunged the pot into the earth, and kindled a fire round its sides.
“We made an excursion to the interior, and found many beautiful plants and shrubs. The dry soil was covered by an evergreenarbutus, and a shrubbycampanula, and every sheltered rock afforded a different species of fern, the greatest vegetable ornament of the island. We refreshed ourselves with strawberries, which were small and pale, but of a very agreeable flavour; and the vine plants were loaded with grapes; they were still unripe.”
I am quite disappointed at Mr. Scouler’s not mentioning the myrtle trees described in Anson’s Voyage, that tall wood of myrtles that screened the lawn where the commodore had pitched his tent; and which, sweeping round it, in the form of a theatre, extended up to the rising ground. I should like to have known what species of myrtle produced timber of forty feet in length. But above all, I felt disappointed at his account of the cavern; I was thinking of Alexander Selkirk, and could not help hoping that it was to prove the very one in which he had lived; or perhaps that some other romantic Selkirk was then its solitary master, instead of those Chilian cattle-killers.
29th.—There was a long conversation to-day on corals, corallines, and particularly on the formation of islands of that substance, which seems to take place so rapidly in some parts of the world.
Mr. Salt, the traveller, says that the islands in the Bay of Amphila are composed entirely of marine remains, strongly cemented together, and now forming solid masses; the surface of which is covered by only a thin layer of soil. These marine remains are chiefly corallines, madrepores, and a great variety of sea-shells, of species still existing in the Red Sea. Some of the islands are thirty feet above high-water mark; a circumstance which, he says, makes it difficult to account for the process of their formation. When a pillar of coral rises to the surface of the sea, birds, of course, resort to it; the decay of fish-bones, and other remains of their food in time produces a soil, which is followed by vegetation, and then it quickly assumes the appearance of a little island, covered with a solid stratum of earth. But in the present case, large pieces of madrepore are found, disposed in regular layers, far above the sea; and for this no satisfactory reason can be assigned, he says, except that the sea must have retired since they were so deposited; for this tribe of animals cannot work in the air.
There is nothing more curious, my uncle observed, than the changes produced on the faceof the globe by the operations of the coral worm, a little creature so small as to be scarcely visible. New islands, he says, produced by its means, are continually rising out of the sea, and old ones are becoming united to others, or to the continent. In reading about something else, I met with a singular instance of this, in the account of Saugor Island, and Edmonstone’s Isle, in the Bay of Bengal, Edmonstone’s Isle appeared so lately as 1818; it is already two miles long, and half a mile broad, and the channel between the two islands is so shallow, that, in a few years, they will probably be joined together. Vegetation had commenced immediately on the most central and elevated part; saltwort, with one or two other plants, had given it a verdant tint, and by daily binding the shifting sand, were contributing to form the basis of a more durable soil.
Coral was formerly thought to be a vegetable, and even the celebrated Tournefort considered it to be a marine moss; but it is now known to be the production of a race of animals, of which it seems as much a part as the shell is of the snail. Most of the islands in the South Sea are coral rocks covered with earth. My uncle says that late voyagers have asserted that the bays and harbours of many of these islands have been observed to be gradually closing up, by the progress of these extraordinary creatures; and thatit may therefore be supposed that these separate islands will in time be connected, and actually become a continent!
He told us, that M. de Peysonnel, of Marseilles, was the first who proved by experiment the animal nature of the coral; and shewed, that those bodies which former naturalists had mistaken for flowers, were, in fact, the insects that inhabited the coral. When the branches were taken out of the water, these supposed flowers, which proceeded from a number of white points in the bark, withdrew and disappeared; and when the branch was restored to the water, they were again perceptible. The white specks he proved to be holes in the outer surface, or bark, and corresponding with a series of cavities within; and secondly, he shewed that from these holes a milky fluid issued, which was an animal juice, and must, therefore, have proceeded from an insect. By immersing coral in strong vinegar, he could dissolve the calcareous bark to a certain depth, so as to shew the tubular structure of the interior uninjured.
Carbonate of lime, my uncle says, is the principal part of the substance of the whole tribe of corals and corallines; but where these minute insects, or ratherpolypi, obtain that material, or how they can decompose such an extraordinary quantity of it from sea-water, is one of those secrets of nature which philosophers have not yetdiscovered, although it is constantly in operation, and on an immense scale.
31st.—Frederick read to us, this evening, some of De Capell Brooke’s travels; and I ran away with the book afterwards, to copy for you this account of the cataract of Trallhätta, in Norway, which must be a singular scene.
“The whole water of the Gotha tumbles with fearful roarings down the rocky declivities, and in its descent forms four principal falls, the perpendicular height of which, taken together, is 110 feet. Yet the navigation is not obstructed; for locks with sluices, like those on navigable canals, have been cut in the solid rock, with incredible pains and labour; through them, vessels can be lowered to the level of the river below the falls, preserving their course with ease; and affording a strong instance of the power and ingenuity of man.”
In conversing about Norway, my uncle said, he thought the ingenuity displayed by the Norwegian peasantry was surprising. Living remote from towns, and scattered among their mountains, they become independent of assistance. The same man is frequently his own tailor, shoemaker, and carpenter, and sometimes even his own clock and watch maker. Most of them are very expert at carving, and the beautiful whiteness of their fir wood furnishes them withvery pretty ornaments for their cottages. They work neatly in silver, brass, and other metals; and there are few things for the purchase of which they are obliged to have recourse to the distant towns.
Their methods of brewing and baking are very simple. The first consists in a simple infusion of barley, which, with the young shoots of juniper, produces a weak but pleasant beverage.—In making theirflad bröd, or flat bread, they mix rye-flour with water, and when the dough is well kneaded, roll it out like a pancake, but not thicker than a wafer. As fast as they are made they are placed on a gridiron, and one minute bakes them. Prepared in this way, the rye loses its coarse taste, and the bread is agreeable.
You will not, probably, be inclined to imitate them, but I am sure you will admire the ingenuity of these people in the manner they employ the black ants to make vinegar. These creatures have gigantic habitations, which, in size and appearance, are not very unlike thegamme, or hut, of the coast Laplanders. The ant hills are five feet in height; and are composed of decayed wood, pine-leaves, and bark, mixed up with earth and strengthened by bits of branches, which must require the efforts of a vast number to move. Streets and alleys branch off in every direction from the main entrance, which is a footwide; and outside, millions of the little negroes, as they are called, may be seen bustling along heavily laden. But now for the vinegar: a bottle half full of water is plunged to the neck in one of these hills; the ants speedily creep in, and are, of course, drowned; the contents are then boiled, and a strong acid is produced, which is used for vinegar by all the inhabitants of Norlanden.
January 1, Sunday.—My uncle read to us the “Song of Moses,” after the escape of the Israelites from Pharaoh and his host. He then said; as nearly as I can recollect, “This beautiful composition is not only a thanksgiving for their memorable deliverance, but it contains also precise prophecies of the downfal of the nations of Palestine, with the settlement of the Israelites in their room; and of the establishment of the temple on Mount Zion, with the ultimate destruction of all idolatry.
“It is the most ancient poem now extant, and shews the early connexion which subsisted between poetry and religion: it is also a fine example of that species of composition in which the Hebrews excelled; namely, that of expressing in hymns of triumph their gratitude to God for his glorious protection.
“‘The mountain of thine inheritance’ alludes to Mount Moriah, or Sion, where Moses knewthat God would fix his sanctuary; and which is prophetically spoken of here as already completed.
“The whole army seem to have joined with one voice in this song; and Miriam and all the women re-echoed it with equal rapture; yet while almost in the very act of expressing their gratitude, this capricious people began to murmur because there was a scarcity of water in the wilderness through which it was necessary to pass; and, because when they did come to a spring, the water was bitter. What a beginning for the new life on which they were entering! Let us act more wisely, my dear children; and, grateful for the blessings of the past, let us endeavour to deserve their continuance through the new year on which we are entering.”
We endeavoured to trace the march of the Israelites, on the map. My uncle shewed us that the wilderness of Shur was a part of that great sandy desert which divides Egypt from Palestine; and which stretches from the Mediterranean to the head of the Red Sea on both sides. It is supposed by the late celebrated traveller Burckhardt, that the place called Marah, from the bitterness of its water, is the present Howara. Its distance from the Red Sea corresponds with the three days’ march of the Israelites; and there is a well there, of which he says, “the water is so bitter, that men cannotdrink it; and even camels, if not very thirsty, refuse to taste it.” Irwin, another traveller, says that in travelling 315 miles in this desert, he met with only four springs of water.
My uncle says, that Moses does not mention every place where the Israelites encamped between the Red Sea and Mount Sinai, but those only where something remarkable occurred. Elim, with its refreshing wells and shady palm trees, must have been delightful in comparison with the desert they had passed. Dr. Shaw, who visited that country the beginning of last century, found nine of the twelve wells described in Exodus; the other three had been probably filled up by those drifts of sand which are so common in Arabia. But the palm trees alluded to by Moses had increased amazingly, for, instead of threescore and ten, there were then above two thousand. Under the shade of these trees he was shewn theHammam Mousa, or the Bath of Moses, for which the inhabitants have an extraordinary veneration, as they pretend it was the exact spot where he and his family encamped. From this place the Doctor could plainly see Mount Sinai, or, as it is called in some parts of the Bible, Mount Horeb. This seems to have been the general name of the whole mountain, while Sinai was appropriated to the summit, which had three distinct elevations: on the western one, God appeared toMoses in the bush; the middle one, which is the highest, is that on which God gave the law to Moses, and is still called Gebel Mousa, or the Mount of Moses; and the third and most easterly is called St. Catherine’s Mount, from the monastery which has been erected there.
2d.—The poor wandering gipsy died in a very few days; and my aunt immediately put her son under the care of the Franklins and the old blind man. Charley is an intelligent little fellow, but will require great care and attention; he speaks a sort of incomprehensible gibberish, and understands but little of what is said to him. The housekeeper asserts that nothing can civilize those gipsies, however early they are taken in hand; but my aunt will try what mildness and steadiness can effect: she has desired him to be treated very gently, and his faults rather overlooked, till he can be made to understand the value of a good character. My uncle has written about him to some of his mother’s relations; but unless they are capable of taking care of him he will not abandon the child. Mary and Caroline have bought some clothes for him, and as just now I have no pocket money, not having managed my last quarter well, I begged to be allowed to contribute time and work.
What an extraordinary thing it is, that these odd people, the Gipsies, should have been wandering in the same unsettled manner about the world for three centuries; and always the same dishonest impostors. My aunt shewed us a passage in Clarke’s Travels, about the gipsies of Wallachia—where he says, though they are as well inclined to steal as the rest of their tribe, they are certainly of a more civilised nature. They are divided there into different classes: some are domestics, and are employed in the principal houses; others work as gold finers and washers; some travel about as itinerant smiths; some as strolling musicians, and others are dealers in cattle. They are skilful in finding gold, and smelt it into small ingots; using for that purpose little low furnaces, which they blow by a portable bellows made of a buckskin. The construction of the bellows is very simple; an iron tube being tied into the neck of the skin which is sewn up, and two wooden handles are fastened to the legs, by which it is worked.
I was very curious to know what could be the origin of these people—and why they have been always wandering about. My uncle told me, that ever since the beginning of the fifteenth century, when they were first noticed in Europe, the general idea has been, that they were Egyptians. It is said, that when Egypt was conquered by the Turks, several of the natives refusing to submit, revolted under one Zinganeus, and afterwards dispersed in small parties all over the world.—From their supposed skill in magic, they were well received; and being joined by idlers in every country, they became so troublesome, that measures were taken to expel them from England, France, and Spain. It is a remarkable coincidence, my uncle says, that in Turkey, the gipsies are called Tcheeganes; in Italy, Zingari; and in Germany, Zigeuner; all which seem to be derived from the name of their first leader in Egypt: but, on the other hand, they are sometimes found wandering about in that country, apparently a distinct race from the natives, and without the least affinity to them in features, customs, or language.
Attempts have been made to prove that they have come from India; and it is said, that near the mouth of the Indus there is a people called Zinganès. A learned German also has traced several points of resemblance between the common language of the gipsies, and the dialect of a district in Hindostan; for instance, all words ending injare feminine in both languages, and both add the article to the end of the word.
These extraordinary creatures, my uncle added, may be found in every country, from the western extremity of Europe to the easternmost parts of Siberia; and in all, preserve their wild strolling habits, their filthy modes of eating, their pretended power of fortune telling, their expertness in petty thefts, and their love of intoxication.—In each country too, they elect a chief, whom they dignify by some high-sounding title, such as king, count, or lord, though never very obedient to his will; and as one set off against their numerous vices, they are generally extremely fond of their children.
3rd.—Mrs. P. has been here now for several days, which have been happy days to all, for she is so pleasing and gentle, and so mild, that all like her.
She told me yesterday one thing, which, though it may look like vanity to repeat, yet I know will gratify you so much, my own dear mamma, that I cannot conceal it. She says, that she thinks me improved in many respects in the few months that have passed since I left her. “Very much in your manner and carriage; and above all,” she added, “you seem to have lost the appearance of indolence that you had. I am rejoiced to see that you have acquired that power of exertion, which is so useful both to young and old—and that you have the will, as well as the power, to conquer little habits that are disagreeable to your friends. I know,” said she, “you will excuse me for saying this; for I feel a real interest in your welfare, and I have myself suffered so much from a foolish indifference to the opinion of others about what I consideredtrifles, that I am always pleased when I seeyoung people endeavour to avoid the rock on which I split.”
I could not help shewing some surprise at this, for I thought it very unlike her character; and though I did not venture to express any curiosity, I suppose she saw a little in my countenance, for after some more conversation she said, that she would give me a little sketch of her life, because she thought I might derive some advantage from it.
We had not time to begin then—but I hope we shall to-morrow. In the mean time I must not forget to tell you, lest you should think I had lost all honourable principle, that I immediately informed Mrs. P. of the kind of journal which I send to you—and asked her permission to relate to you what she tells me; “but,” said I, “if you disapprove, I will not mention it.” She replied, “you are perfectly welcome to tell her every thing—for I very much disapprove of any confidence being made to a young person that is to be concealed from her mother.”
5th.—There was a lively little discussion last night, on the want of originality in poetical ideas; and on the manner in which the same thought is repeated by one author after another; each altering it, as my uncle said, in the same way that an object is seen through glasses of different colours. Or, said my aunt, with its original strength weakened by each repetition, like the successive reflections of the same object from a number of mirrors. And, though I did not venture it below stairs, you shall have my simile: like the Fata Morgana, where the objects reflected from the surface of the sea are again reflected from the clouds, but less distinct and generally inverted.
The conversation began by my uncle and aunt, and Mrs. P., and by degrees my cousins joined. A great distinction was made between gross plagiarism, and the borrowing a part only of an idea which the author weaves up with something new, and then places in a new light.
My aunt brought, as an example, these lines in the Lady of the Lake.
The sun, awakening, through the smoky airOf the dark city, casts a sullen glance,Rousing each caitiff to his task of care,Of sinful man the sad inheritance;Summoning revellers from the lagging dance,Scaring the prowling robber in his den;Gilding on battled tower the warder’s lance;And warning student pale to leave his pen,And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.
The sun, awakening, through the smoky airOf the dark city, casts a sullen glance,Rousing each caitiff to his task of care,Of sinful man the sad inheritance;Summoning revellers from the lagging dance,Scaring the prowling robber in his den;Gilding on battled tower the warder’s lance;And warning student pale to leave his pen,And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.
The sun, awakening, through the smoky airOf the dark city, casts a sullen glance,Rousing each caitiff to his task of care,Of sinful man the sad inheritance;Summoning revellers from the lagging dance,Scaring the prowling robber in his den;Gilding on battled tower the warder’s lance;And warning student pale to leave his pen,And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.
She said, these lines seemed to have been produced, perhaps unconsciously, by a speech of Shakspeare’s Richard II.
—— Know’st thou not,That when the searching eye of heaven is hidBehind the globe, and lights the lower world,Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,In murders, and in outrage bloody, here;But when from under this terrestrial ball,He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,And darts his light through every guilty hole;Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,The cloak of night being pluck’d from off their backs,Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.
—— Know’st thou not,That when the searching eye of heaven is hidBehind the globe, and lights the lower world,Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,In murders, and in outrage bloody, here;But when from under this terrestrial ball,He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,And darts his light through every guilty hole;Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,The cloak of night being pluck’d from off their backs,Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.
—— Know’st thou not,That when the searching eye of heaven is hidBehind the globe, and lights the lower world,Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,In murders, and in outrage bloody, here;But when from under this terrestrial ball,He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,And darts his light through every guilty hole;Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,The cloak of night being pluck’d from off their backs,Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.
In this case they all agreed that an author might insensibly dwell on an idea, alter, dress, and add to it, till he was no longer aware whence the original thought had come—as in a large company, a single word which happens to come to our ears from a group in another part of the room produces sometimes an interesting conversation, though none of the party engaged in it know well how it began.
Mrs. P. said that similar turns of thought and expression may be traced back through the whole chain of poets; and that if Homer appears to be an original genius, it is because we cannot now compare him with his predecessors. Few of our old writers were less exposed to the charge of borrowing than Spenser, and yet she could not help imagining that the Persian tale of Fadlallah was the origin of those pretty stanzas in the Faërie Queene, where the dove who watches over Belphœbe and her despairing swain, contrives that they shall once more be reconciled.
Mary said she thought it had more resemblance to the story of Camaralzaman, in the Arabian Nights, who was enticed from hill to hill in pursuit of the bird who had carried off the princess’s talisman. “That cruel bird,” said she, “leads Camaralzaman away only to separate him from his beloved princess; but the same idea in Spenser’s hands becomes a hundred times more beautiful. The dove is represented as the constant and tender companion of the youth who had long languished in grief for the loss of his Belphœbe; his ‘dole’ is soothed by the caresses and sympathy of the bird; and at last, in order to gaze at a ruby heart, which she had given him in happier times, he fastens it round its neck. Away flies the kind-hearted dove, who gains the notice of Belphœbe, and gently winning her forward in pursuit of the well-known ruby, succeeds in restoring the long-parted lovers to each other.”
Mrs. P. acknowledged that Mary’s opinion was more just than her own; and my aunt, looking at me, said, “I think I see in Bertha’s countenance that she has not read the Faërie Queene: suppose, Caroline, you were to refresh our recollections, and read those pretty stanzas for your cousin.”
Caroline did so; and as I know you have not Spenser among your books, and as his old-fashioned style will amuse Marianne, I will transcribe the two last stanzas, where Belphœbe, attracted by her jewel, follows the benevolent bird.