happen what may; but as you speak so kindly, sir, I will tell you how
it is: Bessy Grimley, sir,” said he, “is not my daughter--I have none,
sir; but I will say no more of that. It was the will of God to take all
my own from me, and I won’t complain--but Bessy is as good a daughter to
me as if she had been my own. Some years ago, sir, her father was one of
my neighbours; he was Joe Grimley, that you may have heard of, who kept
the carrier’s inn, at the other side, near the town; I lived there at
that time.--Well, he broke, poor fellow, and had to go off in the night
to hide from his creditors--his wife was taken ill that same night,
because of the fright, I believe. She was put to bed, and had a fine
little girl; but she never did any good afterwards, and before a month
was over she was gone. The poor woman asked my wife to take care for a
while of her infant, till her husband was no longer under a cloud; and
we promised it, sir, and have kept our promise through all times, bad as
well as good. While we were well to do, she had her share of all that my
own had--and then, when times changed, we never forsook her. And now,
sir, you see she is every thing to us. When I lost my sight, poverty
came fast upon us--my wife soon after lost her health with grief, I
believe, and can now do nothing. Our sons went away to the wars, and
died in the field of glory--our two daughters worked too hard, I
believe--Alas! sir, one after another declined away and died. About
four years ago, while Bessy was still a young creature, for she is only
twenty-one now, a young man, a farmer’s son, fancied her, and wished to
marry her; but his father could not give him sufficient maintenance, and
the poor girl had nothing you know. Young Franklin’s love for her was of
the right sort; he got his father’s consent, and he went off to America
to make a fortune. He went to the States, sir, and there he found plenty
of work, and high wages; and though he was not naturally a thrifty lad,
he wisely laid by most of his earnings till he had saved altogether a
sufficient sum to buy a farm; and a few months ago, sir, Bessy had a
letter from him, long after, I believe, she had begun to think he had
forsaken her. He told her how he had prospered, and that he was going to
complete the purchase of his land, and that he hoped, if she was still
constant, she would go out to him--‘if you will not come to me,’ said
he, ‘I shall think that you never loved me, and I will try to think of
you no more--if I can help it; but if you will come and be my wife, I
will love and cherish you, and besides, you shall live like any lady in
England.’
“Well, sir, the dear child would not leave us--my last daughter, my poor
Jenny, had been taken a little before, and I knew not who to get to live
with us; but I pressed Bessy to go at any rate. ‘No, father,’ said she,
‘I owe every thing to you and to mother--you have nursed me and bred me
up, and you have taught me all I know;--never, never will I forsake you,
with your infirmity, or leave poor helpless mother to the care of a
stranger. No, no, dear father, God would not send his blessing upon me,
if I did so. Indeed, I never should be right happy with James, if I
forsook you:--and if James Franklin loves me, he will say I have done
right.’
“I will not take up your time, sir, repeating all the arguments I tried
with her; but I assure you, I did my best to make her take the offer. If
you could but know how for months and months she has tended
us--patiently assisting the poor old woman night and day, and bearing
with the crossness that a suffering creature will sometimes shew--often
watching by her half the night--always ready in the morning to prepare
our meals--many a time assisting me at my work--and besides, sharing our
want of comfort, sir, for often we be hard put to it for a meal. Sir,
she does it all with cheerfulness and kindness, and never did I hear a
word of complaint from her. She works hard with her needle, too, to help
to support us, and never seems to think of the riches offered to her.
But now, sir, mark this--I have lived long, and I never saw it happen,
that people who acted with a hearty desire of pleasing God, were left
without reward. The religion that makes us do what is good, that is,
what I call true religion, sir, always brings happiness, somehow or
other, with it.
“But I was a going to say, that this day my poor Bessy had a letter from
James, telling her, that from some delay in the business, he had not
bought the farm he intended when he received her refusal to go out to
him. He says, ‘he felt a little angry at first; but he found he could
not help loving her the better, and that he would bring his money to
England, and be content with a smaller farm, near her own friends, and
only work the harder for his excellent Bessy.’ He expected to be here
about this time; and what between this sudden news, and the hope of so
soon seeing him, and her joy at his constancy, she is a little
unsettled, sir, to-day. But I pray God to give them happiness together,
and reward her with children that will be to her, what she has been to
me.”
I have tried to tell you this story in his own words, as well as I
could. As soon as my uncle had bespoken the baskets, we came away; but
he desired to be told when Franklin comes. He was very much touched with
the poor man’s account of all Bessy’s goodness, so much, indeed, that
even in repeating it to my aunt, when we came home, his voice quite
faltered.
_30th._--I have just chanced to discover that the bird which Dr.
Buchanan described as fastening the fire-fly to its nest, is the Bengal
grossbeak. It is very common in Hindostan, where its Hindu name is
_baya_. It is remarkable for its sagacity, its pendent nest, and its
brilliant plumage[3].
It is described to be like a sparrow in shape, and in the colour of the
back; but the head and breast are yellow. These birds make a chirping
noise; but have no song. They associate in large communities, and cover
extensive clumps of acacia and Indian fig-trees with their nests; and
also the _palmeira_, or wild date, on the leaves of which the Bengalese
children learn to write. They prefer those trees which hang over a
rivulet: the nest is made of long grass, which they weave almost like
cloth, in the form of a large bottle. It is divided into three chambers,
and is suspended firmly to a flexible branch, with the neck downwards,
so as to secure the eggs and young from serpents, monkeys, squirrels,
and birds of prey. The eggs of this little bird resemble large pearls.
The baya is wonderfully sensible, faithful, and docile, and never
voluntarily deserts the place where its young were hatched. It is easily
tamed, and taught to perch on the hand of its master; and may be taught
to fetch a piece of paper, or any small thing that he points out; and so
great is its quickness and dexterity, that if a ring be dropped into a
deep well, the bird will dart down, with such amazing celerity, as to
catch the ring before it touches the water, and bring it up with
apparent exultation.
A singular instance of its docility was frequently witnessed by the
writer of this account. The young Hindu women, at Benares, wear thin
plates of gold, called _ticas_, slightly fixed, by way of ornament,
between their eye-brows. Mischievous young men train the _bayas_ to go,
at a signal given them, and pluck the pieces of gold from the foreheads
of the women, as they pass through the streets, and bring them to their
employers. They do not sing, but when assembled together, on a tree,
they make a lively din or chirping; their want of musical talent,
however, is compensated by their sagacity, in which they are not
excelled by any feathered inhabitant of the forest.
There is another species of this family, found in Madagascar, which is
sometimes called the _toddy_ bird; it is very like the one I have
described, and fastens its bag, or nest, which is made of straw and
seeds, in the same manner, to a branch, over a stream. Though it builds
a fresh nest every year, it does not abandon the old nest, but fastens
the new one to the end of the last; so that sometimes five may be seen
hanging one from the other. They build in society like rooks, five or
six hundred nests being often found on one tree.
Tell Marianne not to confound the tailor bird with these, as I did, for
it is quite different--of a different family, and very superior to the
_baya_ in beauty; it even resembles some of our humming birds in shape
and colour. There is the prettiest mixture in the male bird, of blue,
purple, green, and gold. In order to conceal its nest, it first selects
a plant, or bush, with large leaves, then gathers cotton, spins it into
a thread, by means of its long bill and slender feet, and sews the
leaves neatly together, as if with a needle; so that its nest is joined
to one leaf, and covered over by the other.
_31st._--Mary has been a very patient arithmetical mistress; I have
endeavoured to be very diligent, and we are both now rewarded, she says,
by my progress. I begin to understand the reason of each process, and
there is some hope, therefore, of conquering my difficulties. My uncle
said, I ought to trample on them--and I resolved to do so--like the boy,
without a genius, in “Evenings at Home.”
My uncle frequently puts arithmetical questions to us, which we work in
our minds, without the aid of pencil or paper. This requires some
exertion, and was very difficult at first; but I already perceive that
my attention is much more under command than formerly. Clearness and
quickness, in arithmetic, he thinks, are not only useful for the
management of our common domestic affairs, but improve and strengthen
our reasoning powers.
We pass our time here in a delightful manner--there is such a nice
mixture of amusement and useful employment. My cousins read a great
deal, and have much real knowledge. Accomplishments are not neglected;
but my aunt thinks that most people make them of too much importance, as
they should be the _ornament_, not the _object_ of our life. Mary says
she considers the various things she learns, not as tasks, but as the
means of enabling her to get through the business of life with pleasure
and success; and that were she to call them lessons, she should feel as
if they were to be laid aside with childhood.
That reminds me of what my uncle said just after I came here.--“At your
age, Bertha, all you learn must be voluntarily acquired, not
hammered into your head. Whether it be science, or history, or
languages--whatever you learn, try to feel an interest in it; you will
then apply with energy, and what is acquired in that way will always be
liked. Music and drawing are valuable pleasures; but they are only
pleasures: never forget that your mind is to be cultivated; and that if
a part of each day be not employed on objects of a higher and more
useful nature, you are only preparing yourself for a trifling, selfish
life.”
I shall think of this advice every day, but I assure you, dear Mamma,
that I will not neglect any of those things you used to encourage me to
learn.
My cousins have no governess, and yet my aunt says, she has never found
teaching them by any means laborious. She says, the chief part of
education is to make children comprehend the difference between right
and wrong--to teach them self-command--and to give them a love for
rational occupation; and then they do not require to be watched. You
would be surprised to see how much they accomplish in the course of the
day; and yet they always seem at liberty; every thing is done
methodically. Besides their regular employments, many things are done
privately without any show; such as visiting the poor--and attending a
school for poor children, which my aunt has established. It is in a
small white cottage, about five minutes walk from the shrubbery. My
aunt, or my cousins, visit it frequently--and I go there sometimes. I
forgot to tell you in the right place, that I sing every day. We are
all three, just now, learning the glee of “Hark the Lark,” that we may
sing it on my uncle’s birth-day. Caroline takes the tenor--she has a
very good voice.
_Sept. 1._--Last night, my uncle read a paragraph to us, from Ker
Porter’s travels, as a curious instance of the permanence of customs, in
countries where the indolence of the inhabitants and a despotic
government are continual obstacles to improvement.
“The Tigris is navigable for vessels of twenty tons burthen, only sixty
miles above Bagdad; but there is also a kind of float called a _kelek_,
having been in very ancient use, which carries both passengers and
merchandise, from Mosoul to Bagdad. Its construction is singular;
consisting of a raft in the form of a parallelogram. The trunks of two
large trees, crossing each other, are the foundation of its platform,
which is composed of branches of osier. To this light bottom are
attached several sheepskins, filled with air, and so arranged, that they
can be replenished at will. The whole is wattled and bound together with
wicker work; and a raised parapet of the same secures the passengers. It
is moved by two large oars, one on each side, and a third acts as the
rudder.
“When these machines reach their place of destination, and the cargo is
disposed of, all the materials are sold, except the skins, which, being
previously exhausted of air, are laid on the backs of camels, and return
to Mosoul with their masters.
“But the kelek is not the only vessel on these rivers, which may be
traced to antiquity. The _kufa_, so named from an Arabic word that means
basket, is still used there as a ferry-boat. Its fabric is of close
willow work, and a good coat of bitumen completely secures it from
sinking. Perfectly circular, it resembles a large bowl on the surface of
the stream; it holds about three or four persons, though not very
agreeably; and is paddled across with ease.
“Herodotus,” my uncle added, “exactly describes these boats; he notices
their circular form, the three oars, and their construction of willows
and skins, and he mentions, that on their arrival in Babylon, the owners
sold all the materials, except the skins, which were returned to Armenia
by land. And it is a very curious testimony to the truth of that
historian, that after the lapse of twenty-two centuries, we find the
same customs and the same implements that he described, still in use.”
“But is it not more extraordinary, uncle,” said I, “that the people of
those countries have not adopted boats like ours, which would convey
themselves and the rich merchandise of the east, so much more securely?”
“I do not think,” replied he, “that it is very extraordinary, for we
must consider, in the first place, that to build vessels like ours,
would be too hazardous an exertion for a people who are governed
despotically, and who can never feel secure of the possession of their
property. And as to your ‘rich merchandise of the east,’ you will not
find much of that in the neighbourhood of Bagdad at present; you read of
such in the Arabian tales--but nothing remains now, but the misery, the
decay, and the desolation, which were so often foretold by the
prophets.”
_2d._--I now perceive the meaning of the last part of Thomson’s
description of happy Harvest Home--
---------------- Thus they rejoice: nor think
That with to-morrow’s sun their annual toil
Begins again the never-ceasing round.
For no sooner is that event over, than the labourer begins the
preparations for a future harvest. The ploughs are all at work to-day,
and I see the fields which have but just yielded up their rich burden,
again prepared to receive the seeds of another crop. But this, my uncle
says, is generally of a different species from the last, in order to
make a change in the nature of the nourishment drawn from the soil. The
ploughing in of the old stubble enriches the ground, or some other
manure is added; and, indeed, I see it is, as he says, “a continual
chain of production and reproduction.” In some parts of the country,
wheat is not sown till early in spring; but this depends on the nature
of the soil. Oats are always sown in spring, but that grain is not
commonly cultivated in this part of the country.
“The rich soil, then, of Gloucestershire, is better suited to the food
of man, than to the food of horses?” said I to my uncle. “Yes,” he
replied, “if you mean oats, by what you call the food of horses; but I
assure you, that in a considerable part of Great Britain, the oat is the
chief food of man--and most happily for him, he can live on it. In the
cold hills of the Highlands of Scotland--and in the poor soil of parts
of England and Ireland, the oat thrives better than wheat, and not being
put into the ground till the depth of winter is past, it is less liable
to be injured by the effects of frost and damp. Barley, too, has this
merit of growing in poor or rather in light soils, and of supplying food
for numbers.”
I told my uncle that I was very desirous of learning something of
agriculture. He advised me to observe the various operations of
husbandry myself. “When you are interested in the progress of the work,”
he said, “you will find it easy to comprehend the principles; far
better than if I were to give you a lecture every day on the subject.
“Now is the time to begin. The harvest, you see, is safely lodged, and
that of the coming year is preparing. In the warmer regions of the
earth, a very slight degree of cultivation is sufficient; and the
natural sloth of man is encouraged by the small quantity of labour
necessary to till the earth. Here, however, that is not the case: our
climate is so uncertain, that constant labour is necessary to success;
and in every season of the year, some operations in husbandry are going
on. The farmer must be at all times alert, either to prepare for
something that is to be done, or to watch his growing crops, and help
their progress by hoeing, weeding, earthing, and many other processes;
but then he has, at all times, the enjoyment that labour brings with it,
and the happiness which arises from industry. His best feelings, too,
are excited, for he receives, with a grateful heart, the success with
which Providence blesses his labours; or, if they fail--if the season is
unfavourable, and blights his hopes, he learns to bear with humble
submission, and sees that even the best human skill requires aid from
Him who is Lord over the elements.”
_3d._--Another letter from Hertford rejoiced all our eyes yesterday. My
aunt is so pleased with his journal, that she is sure you will like it
too; and I have copied a large piece for you, dear mamma.
“The Isle of Sky has very much interested me. Sky is the Scandinavian
word for clouds. It is the Isle of Mist of the Gaëlic poet. The whole
island is extremely hilly, and in the north-east part of it the
mountains are very picturesque, the rocks and cliffs often assuming a
variety of forms, like castles and towers. One remarkable rock, which is
said to be 160 feet high, represents a spire so exactly, that it is so
called by seamen, to whom it is a well-known sea mark.
“The cliffs, on the eastern side of the promontory of Strathaird,
contain a number of caves, one of which has been celebrated in history
for having been amongst the places where Prince Charles concealed
himself. We visited another, which is called the Spar Cave. The entrance
is formed by a narrow fissure in the cliff, which, for the first hundred
feet, is dark and wet: then comes a steep acclivity; but that once
surmounted, the whole interior comes into view, covered with
stalactites, disposed in a variety of grotesque forms, and rising to the
height of upwards of forty feet. In the floor there are numerous little
pools, which are filled with groups of crystals, in a state of constant
augmentation, and which afforded us a gratifying opportunity of seeing
the process by which calcareous spar is formed.
“The coast scenery is, in many parts, very sublime. A series of columnar
cliffs stretches to Loch Staffin, presenting the general features of the
ranges of Staffa, but on a scale of five or six times the magnitude. In
one place, these rocks represent a circular temple, of Greek
architecture, so exactly, that the artist, in sketching it, might be
accused of forcing nature into the forms of art. The detached state in
which many slender groups remain, after the surrounding parts have
fallen away, is a singular circumstance, that sometimes occurs among
these columnar ranges. From their mode of wasting, the summits of the
cliffs are frequently crowned with pinnacles; and, in some instances,
single columns are seen, in front of the colonnade, appearing like the
remains of a ruined portico. One of the most remarkable appears to be
about 200 feet in height; its lower part clustered, and the pillars
terminating in succession upwards, till a single one remains standing
alone, for the height of thirty or forty feet, and apparently not more
than four or five in diameter.
“There is a cascade here, which is very striking, from the unbroken
manner in which it falls over a perpendicular cliff, not less than 300
feet in height; but when the squalls, which blow from the mountains in
this stormy region, are violent, very little of the falling water
reaches the waves below.
“We then visited Loch Scavig; and after passing the river which runs
foaming over a rock into the sea, a long valley suddenly opens,
enclosing the beautiful lake Cornisk, on the black surface of which a
few islands, covered with grass and juniper, form a striking contrast to
the absence of all verdure around.
“It is an exquisitely savage scene, and was to me particularly
interesting, because I had lately read again the Lord of the Isles; and
here I beheld the truth of its descriptions, and felt anew the sadness
and horror of the death of Allan. We often stopped, on our return, to
admire the effects of the storms. Stones, or rather large masses of
rock, of a composite kind, quite different from the strata of the lake,
were scattered on the rocky beach. Some lay loose, and tottering upon
the ledges of the natural rock, so that the slightest push moved them,
though their weight might exceed many tons. The opposite side of the
lake is pathless and inaccessible, and the eye rests on nothing but
barren, naked crags, though of sublime grandeur. Indeed, our favourite
Scott says, truly--
For rarely human eye has known
A scene so stern as that dread lake,
With its dark ledge of barren stone.
The wildest glen, but this, can show
Some touch of Nature’s genial glow.
But here--above, around, below,
On mountain or in glen,
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower,
Nor aught of vegetative power,
The weary eye may ken;
For all is rock, at random thrown,
Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone,
As if were here denied
The summer’s sun, the spring’s sweet dew,
That clothe, with many a varied hue,
The bleakest mountain-side[4].”
_4th._ _Sunday._--My uncle read some parts to us, this morning, of a
book which he likes very much--“Sumner on the Ministerial Character of
Christ.” I intend soon to read it. There was a curious fact mentioned in
the part my uncle chose, which, however, must be well authenticated, or
Sumner would not have given it.
In speaking of the gradual manner by which converts were taught the
truths and mysteries of the Gospel, he says that the _Catechumens_ were
not permitted to say the Lord’s Prayer till after they had been
baptised, and had therefore been thoroughly instructed in the Gospel.
The Christian converts, he says, were divided into the _Catechumens_, or
learners, and the _Fideles_, or believers; and there was a great
distinction maintained between these classes, in the primitive church.
The Catechumens were allowed to hear the Scriptures, as well as the
popular discourses upon them, and upon points of morality; but it was
not till after baptism, when those converts became Fideles, that they
were allowed to partake of the Lord’s Supper. Another privilege was, to
join with the ministers in all the prayers of the church. More
particularly, the use of the Lord’s Prayer was only permitted to the
Fideles; it was considered an honour, to be conferred only on the most
perfect Christians, to be allowed to use it; and it was therefore
called, by some of the Fathers, “the prayer of the believers.”
After my uncle had finished reading what I have only written here from
memory, we had some conversation on the subject of early religious
instruction; for a lady was present who disapproved extremely of not
teaching the Lord’s Prayer to little children, as soon as they could
speak, “It is so pretty,” said she, “to hear them lisp out prayer and
praise.”
“Yes,” said my aunt, “if they understand what they lisp; but if they do
not, I consider it as a sort of profanation.”
“And would you not teach children to pray while they are young?”
“I do teach them to pray,” replied my aunt, “but only in the most simple
manner, so that their little minds may accompany their words, and that
they may not acquire an early habit of inattention, from repeating
phrases which they do not comprehend.”
“You know, my dear Madam,” said my uncle, “that in education nothing
should be done without object. Let us consider the object of teaching a
young child to pray: is it not to give it an early feeling of devotion,
and to implant the seed of what we hope will grow and ripen with the
child’s increasing strength?”
“Oh! surely, that, you know, is what I mean,” said the lady.
“Therefore,” said my uncle, “I would endeavour to lead the little heart
to rational prayer, and to real piety, by teaching it only what suits
its comprehension, and never suffering it to repeat, by rote, what it
cannot distinctly follow.”
“Then I suppose,” said she, “that you would not take children to
church.”
“Certainly not, while their minds are still in an infantine state.”
“We have never taken any of our children to church,” said my aunt, “till
they had obtained a certain portion of religious knowledge. The
consequence has been what we expected; for I must say, that our children
are not only remarkably attentive to the service of the church, but do,
I believe, really join in it with their hearts.”