sacrifice of any one of them productive of the purest satisfaction; and
each victory will make the next struggle more easy. But, in doing this,
be careful to resist that most seductive propensity of all minds, the
looking back with too much complacency at the faults we have conquered,
or at the virtues we possess, instead of fixing our eyes on the sins we
have yet to overcome, and the improvement we have yet to achieve.
“And, lastly, arm yourselves with a determined resolution not to rate
human estimation beyond its true value. No one should affect a needless
singularity; but to aim at things which in their nature are
inconsistent, to seek to please both God and the world, where their
commands are really at variance, is the way neither to be respectable,
nor good, nor happy.”
_Fernhurst, for the last time._
_12th._--The corn fields are coming into ear, the hay harvest is going
on, new flowers are springing up; and all the walks, and gardens, and
shrubberies, are in the highest beauty, and yet we are going to leave
this dear place! To-morrow we are to quit Fernhurst and all its
happiness! But that is a silly feeling, for we all go together, and
surely we may make ourselves happy any where, even in Ireland. A year
ago I was just leaving my dear mamma, and the happy home to which I had
been so long accustomed, to place myself among strangers;--and now I am
going among still greater strangers--among the Irish. But my uncle says
they are a warm-hearted, hospitable people, and that the country is so
full of objects of interest, that I shall not have to regret the
employments of Fernhurst, nor even my favourite gardening experiments.
I am happy to tell you, that most of these experiments have succeeded
very well as yet: particularly one I have been trying on my dahlias, by
budding them on the roots. They have already produced some very
flourishing plants, and as the bearing buds were employed, they will
blossom this year. I must make you acquainted also with a little bower,
which we have all assisted in making in a charming spot; it is canopied
with woodbine, and lined with moss; and you might say of it--
Is this Titania’s bower, where fairies play
Their antique revels in the glow-worm’s light?
Moss and wild thyme are all the weeds which stray
To pave her palace with a green delight.
As we were taking our last walk late this evening, we saw the
goat-sucker, which is nearly allied to the swallow in its form and
habits; though generally larger in size. Frederick, who is my chief
preceptor in everything relating to the feathered race, tells me, that,
except on very dark, gloomy days, these birds are seldom seen till
twilight. That is the time the insects come out which form their
principal food; and, he says, it is probable that the extreme
sensibility of eyes calculated for that period of the day, could not
bear the dazzling light of the sun. Their mode of perching is singular,
as they place themselves lengthways on a branch, and not in a cross
direction like most other birds. The mouth is uncommonly large, fringed
with bristles, and moistened by a glutinous fluid, to which the smaller
insects adhere; and you may therefore conceive the destructive powers of
this bird, for it flies through their swarms with its voracious jaws
wide open, darts in every direction at its larger prey, and swallows
all, without ever closing its bill. It is in this last circumstance
that it chiefly differs from the martin, the swift, and the rest of the
swallow tribes; for they never open their bills, in flying, but to snap
at their prey, and they shut them with a sharp peculiar noise, which
every one must have observed.
There is no end to the variety of names which this bird has
acquired in different parts of
England--goat-sucker--goat-owl--fern-owl--churn-owl--wheel-bird--dor-hawk--night-jar,
&c. In most of these names there is some allusion to its peculiar
habits, its haunts, its motions, or its noises, except in the first,
which is the commonest and the most absurd of all, as if a goat would
allow itself to be sucked by a bird! And yet, however ridiculous, my
uncle shewed Frederick, in Aristotle and Pliny, that the ancients gave
it a similar name.
I understand that it is not a very common bird here; but we saw it for a
considerable time rapidly wheeling round and round a large oak tree, and
hawking among the branches in pursuit of the fern-chafer, its favourite
food. The hawking of this bird reminds me of an amusing passage in the
Persian Sketches:--
“At Shiraz, the Elchee (envoy) received a present of a royal falcon.
Before going out, we had been amused at seeing our head falconer put
upon this bird a pair of leathers, which he fitted to its thighs with
as much care as if he had been the tailor of a fashionable horseman. I
inquired the reason of so unusual a proceeding. ‘You will learn that,’
said the consequential master of hawks, ‘when you see our sport.’
“The first hare seized by the falcon was very strong, and the ground
rough. While the bird kept the claws of one foot fastened in the back of
its prey, the other was dragged along the ground till it had an
opportunity to lay hold of a tuft of grass, by which it was enabled to
stop the course of the hare, whose efforts to escape would have torn the
hawk asunder, if it had not been provided with the leather defences
which I have mentioned.
“The next time the falcon was flown gave us a proof of that
extraordinary courage which its whole appearance, particularly the eye,
denoted. It had stopped and quite disabled a hare by the first pounce,
when two greyhounds, which had been slipped by mistake, came up, and
endeavoured to seize its prize. They were, however, quickly repulsed by
the falcon, and with a boldness that excited our admiration and
astonishment.”
And now, dear mamma, I must go and pack up my pretty writing-box which
my uncle has given me; it holds paper, and pens, and ink, and pencils,
my journal and account-book, and every thing one can want; even a nice
little red leather case for colours, which Caroline made for me; and yet
it is not above two inches deep. It is quite flat--but I can make a desk
of the lid, and as it is to lie in the bottom of the carriage, under our
feet, I have put it in a green cloth cover. I was afraid it might be
troublesome; but my uncle and aunt know how to make every one
comfortable without inconvenience to others.
This is my last line from dear, happy Fernhurst!
_13th June, Worcester._
This morning, at seven o’clock, we set out on our journey. Everything
had been arranged and packed the day before, so there were no delays in
the morning; all were punctual, and I assure you, mamma, that I was
ready, and my work-box and travelling-book in my hands, before my uncle
gave the first summons for assembling. We have several books in the
carriage, but no loose parcels; and within-side it does not look as if
it was prepared for a long journey.
Poor little Grace has been left with the Maudes, in whom my uncle and
aunt have the most perfect confidence.
We have seen the fine old cathedral in this city, and the porcelain
manufactory, both of which I had intended to describe to you; but my
aunt recommends us to go to bed, as we are to be up very early to-morrow
morning, in order that there may be full time for seeing the carpet
manufactory at Kidderminster, on our way to Shrewsbury, where we are to
sleep. So, good-night, though it is scarcely yet dark. What charming
long days there are in this country compared with those of Rio.
_14th June, Shrewsbury._
Sweet is the dubious bound
Of night and morn, when spray and plant are drenched
In dew.
Everything was in that state when we set out early this morning from
Worcester; it reminded me of all my uncle had told me about dew, and I
took the opportunity of asking him if dew is formed in the morning--“it
continues to form in shaded places, after sun-rise,” said he; “but there
is a shorter interval between sun-rise and its ceasing to form, than
between its first appearance in the afternoon and sun-set; though Dr.
Wells thinks, that if the weather be favourable, more dew forms a little
before and a little after sun-rise, in shaded places, than at any other
time.”
My aunt remarked, that a few years ago, while in constant attendance on
a sick child from July to September, she rose every morning at
day-break; and had an opportunity of observing, that about an hour
before sun-rise the dew was particularly abundant. The window was
frequently kept a little open at night, when the room was close, and the
weather still; but the air became so chilly just as this heavy dew came
on, that she was always obliged to shut it; yet during the night the
chill was never perceived; which corroborates what Dr. Wells says, “that
the cold of the atmosphere is greater in the latter than the prior part
of the night.”
In the course of Dr. Wells’ observations, he found that dew does not
form readily on gravel-walks; and that if the atmosphere be clear,
neither the road or pavement are moistened with dew, though the grass on
the road side, and painted doors and windows, are frequently wet. He
found also, that wool, though highly attractive of dew, was prevented,
if placed on a gravel-walk, from acquiring as much dew as an equal
parcel of wool, if laid upon grass.
I asked why Dr. Wells used wool in these experiments, and my uncle told
me, that at first he had only compared the quantities of dew on bodies
having smooth surfaces; but that he found wool much better adapted to
collect dew from the atmosphere, as it readily admits the moisture
amongst its fibres, and retains what it receives very firmly.
Filamentous and downy substances are by far the most productive of
cold, such as wool, cotton, and flax, and still more fine raw silk and
swan-down; all these were more steadily cold upon clear nights than even
the grass; but swan-down showed the greatest cold.
“I have already explained to you,” continued my uncle, “that the surface
of the earth, and all substances upon it, radiate back into the sky, at
night, the heat which they receive in the day; and that, when this
radiation is unobstructed by clouds, the cold it produces is
proportionably greater. But the degree of cold is very much augmented
when the form or situation of these substances prevents their deriving
fresh supplies of heat from warmer bodies in contact with them, or in
their neighbourhood. Most of the substances which I have named are not
only naturally bad conductors of heat, but their form scarcely permits
them to transmit from fibre to fibre any heat they might acquire. This
is the reason why dew appears in greater quantity on shavings of wood,
than on a thick piece of wood; and why filamentous substances become
colder than all others.
“On a dewy evening the Doctor depressed a small tumbler into the soft
garden mould, so that the brim was level with the ground; and he placed
another standing on the surface of the mould: in the morning the former
was dry in the inside, while that which stood on the surface was dewed;
and the thermometer being applied to each, the heat of the depressed one
was found to be 56°, while the other was only 49°; for not only had the
upper glass more readily parted with its heat by radiation, but the
other had received a constant supply of heat from the surrounding earth.
In the same manner it may be explained, why the prominent parts of
bodies are often encrusted with hoar frost, while the more solid and
retired parts are free from it.”
I then inquired, why there is less dew of a windy evening; for one would
suppose, that wind, instead of preventing the radiation of heat, would
rather help to promote it.
He replied, “all bodies exposed in a clear night must undoubtedly
radiate as much of their heat during a storm as in the most perfect
calm; but, whenever radiation is going on, the air is more or less
warmed by it; and consequently wind, which is only air in motion, serves
to bring a continual stream of its warm particles into contact with
those bodies. This restores almost as much heat as they had lost, and
prevents the deposition of dew; for, you know, dew is nothing but the
moisture of the atmosphere condensed by meeting with colder substances;
and, therefore, whatever tends to equalize the temperature of the air,
and of those substances, must obstruct the formation of dew.”
We breakfasted at Kidderminster, and saw every part of the carpet
manufactory; but the chief interest of the day has been a magnificent
_inclined plane_ on the Shropshire canal, which my uncle was so good as
to go out of the direct road to shew us. It is a slope of 350 yards in
length, with a fall of 70 yards, connecting the canal on the high ground
with the canal on the lower level; and the boats, being placed in a kind
of cradle upon wheels, are allowed to roll gently down the inclined
plane, or are drawn up by the power of a small steam engine. By this
contrivance three great savings are effected, he said. First, the
prodigious expense of building twenty-one _locks_, which would be
required for that height; secondly, the time occupied in passing through
all those locks; and, thirdly, the quantity of water which is wasted
every time a lock is opened, and which, in some parts of the country, it
is very difficult to replace in a dry summer.
_Wood Lodge._
_16th._--So far our journey has been most agreeable in every way. My
uncle and aunt not only stop wherever there is any thing to see, but
they tell me what to observe, because they know that, through ignorance,
I might overlook the things which deserve the most attention. Only
think, mamma, of their having actually come into Cheshire, in order to
shew me a salt-mine. My uncle promised it many months ago, and he never
forgets a promise to any of us, even about a trifle. Some old friends of
theirs, Mr. and Mrs. L., live at this pretty place, where we arrived
yesterday evening. We were received with warm affection; and I was
considered as one of my aunt’s children, and treated with equal
kindness.
As soon as an early breakfast was over, we all drove or rode to
Northwich, about five miles from this; and between the fineness of the
day, the good nature of both new and old friends, and the complete
novelty of going down into a mine, it has been a delightful expedition
indeed. By the way, I must tell you, that there was some little
hesitation about the ladies going down: there are few mines, my uncle
says, that would be very suitable to such visits; but when it can be
effected with propriety, he approves of their learning the realities of
life. We are such imaginative beings, he says, that truth is necessary
to steady our minds.
By my uncle’s directions, I put on an old dress of one of the miner’s
wives, over my own, to prevent it from being soiled by the iron chain
and the bucket in which we were let down. By the time I was near the
bottom, I began to hear the confused sound of the people below, and to
see the indistinct flickering of candles; and on looking up, the day
light admitted from above by the opening through which we had descended
looked smaller than the moon. The walls, and pillars left occasionally
to support the roof of the mine, quite disappointed my imagination; for
they are of a dirty brown colour, instead of the brilliant white I had
expected. In a few places, indeed, they sparkled a little in the gleams
of the candles which we carried.
After walking about in various directions, and feeling as if in the
crypt of some large church, we came to where the men were working. They
were just going to light the train to blast off a rock of salt; and I
assure you it was very near the place where we stood; but we were
secured behind a projecting point. The roof, there, was not above twenty
feet high, and the sound was very grand, continuing to reverberate at
intervals for a minute and a half.
The salt lies in strata, from between which water is always trickling;
and the white salt used for eating is made from this water, which is
pumped up above ground, either by steam or horse power. It is then put
into what are called preparing pans, where it is brought to the degree
of heat requisite for separating the earthy impurities. These subside to
the bottom, and leave the brine clear, and ready to be afterwards
evaporated in the salting pans, which are shallow, and I am sure twenty
or thirty feet long.
Some years ago the excise duty was twenty-five times the actual value of
the salt; but that is now taken off, and therefore great additional
quantities are raised for agricultural or other purposes. I hope this
will benefit the workmen, who seem to be very poor, for their cottages
are very wretched; each of them, however, is surrounded by a nice little
garden; and my aunt made me observe, that the thrift, or sea-pink,
flourishes there, as well as where it grows naturally in the salt
atmosphere near the seashore.
I can write no more now. We continue here to-morrow, I believe; and the
next day we shall go on to Llangollen.
_Penrhyn Arms, Bangor._
_20th._--Our whole journey through Wales has enchanted me; the
mountains, rocky streams, and wooded banks, have more than realized all
I had heard and read of its wild and impressive scenery.
My uncle took us to see the celebrated aqueduct of Pontcysylte, near
Llangollen, which conducts the Ellesmere canal across the valley of the
river Dee, at a great height from the bottom; and therefore saves the
immense expense and loss of time that would have been occasioned by a
series of _locks_ on each side of the valley. It is one thousand feet
long, and supported on twenty stone piers, which rise to one hundred and
thirty feet above the bed of the river; and he shewed us that the
water-course, which in general is built of stone and made tight with
clay, is, in this aqueduct, composed of plates of cast-iron, that rest
on great iron ribs; the sides and bottom being screwed together, and the
joinings filled with cement.
Having arrived in good time at Llangollen, we all went out to walk, and
by some accident, my uncle entered into conversation with a very
intelligent Scotchman, who was erecting some power looms. Machinery was,
of course, the subject, and I think you will be amused by his
description of an improved method of singeing off the small fibres of
patent lace, so as to give it the proper _wiry_ appearance. He was so
good as first to explain to us the common mode of destroying the rough
knap upon calico.
There is a smooth iron cylinder set horizontally over a furnace, the
heat of which can be nicely regulated. A reel is so placed on each side
of it, that the cloth which is rolled round the one, when wound off on
the other, is lightly drawn over the cylinder, and comes in contact with
its red-hot surface, with just sufficient velocity to allow the loose
woolly filaments to be burned without injuring the cloth. The finest
muslins are made to go through this operation, and with such precision
as to be very seldom damaged. But in lace it is not enough to remove the
projecting fibres, all those that are inside the texture must also be
destroyed, as the beauty of the lace is greatly increased by the hard
crisp look of the main thread; and to effect this, the lace is usually
drawn over a line of gas flame, so as to pass a current of heat through
the open spaces. It has been found, however, that even the combustible
net-work of lace stops the ascent of the flame, in the same manner that
the wire-gauze in Sir Humphry Davy’s beautiful lamp prevents it from
communicating with the inflammable gas in a mine. In the new method, to
overcome this difficulty, a horizontal tube is placed a little above the
lace, with a narrow slit just over the line or sheet of flame; and an
air-pump being applied to the tube and rapidly worked, a strong draft is
produced into the slit to replace the exhausted air. This draft draws up
the flame along with it, in spite of the intervening meshes of the lace,
and thus singes away the useless fibres within, as well as without.
In the course of our journey from Llangollen to this place, my uncle
frequently made us observe the judgment with which the new road has been
laid out by Mr. Telford, the same engineer who constructed the
Llangollen aqueduct. In such a mountainous country it was impossible to
avoid all hills; but by gradually winding up their sides, or by cutting
the road out of the face of almost perpendicular cliffs, he has
preserved one uniform and easy slope to the top of the highest ground,
over which it passes; and yet at the same time he has shortened it by
several miles. And besides all this, he has shown so much taste in the
line he adopted, that my aunt says, one would think his only object had
been to display the romantic scenery of North Wales to the best
advantage.
We often went out of the carriage, and strolled about to look at the
pretty water-falls and rocky passes; and we stopped for some time at the
iron-bridge of Bettws. It is a single arch of more than one hundred feet
span. The iron work that supports the road-way, consists of the emblems
of the three kingdoms and Wales; the rose, thistle, shamrock, and leek;
and along the lower rib of the whole arch, there is the following
inscription in open iron letters, each of which is about two feet
high:--
“This bridge was constructed the same year the battle of Waterloo was
fought.”
All this road was new to my aunt; she admired some of the views
exceedingly, and was, I think, particularly struck by a very wild spot
where Ogwen Lake is pent up by a circle of dark, rugged, misty hills. In
approaching this town we were amused by the various uses to which slate
is applied--palings, stiles, gate-posts, tables, benches, troughs,
milk-bowls, and many others; and as the famous Penrhyn slate quarries
are within a few miles, my uncle proposes to remain here to-morrow, in
order to visit them.
_Penrhyn Arms, Bangor._
_21st._--Well, mamma, we have been to those famous quarries, and they
are indeed wonderful. But to me the most striking thing about them is,
that such prodigious excavations should have been made in so short a
period; for we were attended by an old man who actually remembers the
first opening of the large quarry. It also seemed astonishing that they
should have been the work of men who appeared so diminutive, when
compared with the huge blocks of slate round which I saw them clustering
and bustling like a colony of little ants round a straw.
Every thing is done here by a kind of task work. A piece of the rock is
bought by a party of men, who agree to work together; they convert it
into as great a number of slates as they can, and the overseer purchases
them at stated prices. Their first operation is to blast off a large
block: this is done by making a round hole about two or three feet deep,
with a pointed iron crow; a pound of gunpowder is then poured in, and
the hole is rammed full of clay or broken slate. A thick wire, which was
kept in the hole while the ramming was going on, is now withdrawn, and a
straw filled with fine powder is introduced into its place with a bit of
match-paper fixed to the upper end. All is now ready--a man calls out
with a loud voice that he is going to fire--the workmen scamper away and
hide themselves in the hollows of the rock--and he then lights the
slow-match, and escapes as fast as he can. I saw several of these
explosions, or “shots,” as they call them, each of them cracking the
rock to a great distance, and carrying up in the air a frightful shower
of fragments, which, my uncle says, reminded him of the stones he saw
thrown out of Mount Vesuvius, in one of the great eruptions. The masses
that were cracked by the explosion are now detached with levers and
wedges, and broken into pieces of a proper size, which are then split
into slates, while the blasters are preparing fresh materials; so that
no one is idle for a moment.