1821, there was no appearance of vegetation among the flower-bearing
plants, except the gradual opening of the willow catkins. Early in June,
the first, or female band of reindeer passed to the northward of lat.
65°; their progress seemed to be regulated by the uncovering of the
lichens. When the thaw is much farther advanced, the lichens become too
tender and pulpy, and the deer resort to the swamps to feed upon the
grass, or rather hay, which having been frozen up in the preceding
autumn, retains its sap and nutritive qualities, when the snow melts
from around it in spring. In a few days, however, the stalks become dry,
and the seeds are shed; but the deer by that time have reached the
sea-coast, where other plants supply them with food, which, however, are
not so fattening as the lichens.
On Midsummer-day the dwarf birch opened its buds; a fortnight afterwards
the ice on the larger lakes broke up, and several plants flowered. But
on the 5th of September a storm set in, which clothed all the country
with snow for the winter; and in the beginning of October the party
again walked over the lakes which they had crossed on the ice in the
middle of June; an interval of only 116 days.
The sap of the trees and shrubs freezes there in winter; and the wood
becomes so hard that the chips produced by an axe flew off more like
splinters of stone than of wood.
In all those dreary districts there are no traces of the influence of
man over the appearance of the vegetable kingdom. Cultivation is
entirely confined to a few small gardens at the fur-posts; and the only
mode in which the arts and customs of the natives affect the vegetable
kingdom, is by their setting fire to the forests. These fires spread
rapidly in summer, and are only extinguished by heavy rains. Years
elapse before anything grows in the places thus laid waste. The
branchless trunks of the burnt trees are in a season or two stripped of
their bark and bleached, if not sooner thrown down by the wind. The
surface of the ground in time acquires a little verdure from a few
mosses and lichens; other vegetables take root; and, at last, the place
where a pine forest had been, is occupied by dense thickets of slender
aspens. The growth of this tree,--instead of a renewal of the pine
forest, which might have been expected,--is a curious circumstance, and
can be attributed only to its winged seeds favouring their dispersion.
I hope what I have written will amuse you, as in your last letter you
wished to hear something of the discoveries made by Captain Franklin’s
party.
_8th._--I have much to tell you, dear Mamma, of all that we have seen
and done this day; some of it quite out of our usual course, for we went
to see a magnificent place, about nine miles from hence, belonging to
Lord S----. My uncle, Mr. Lumley, and my cousins, rode, except
Frederick, who came in the carriage with the ladies. The grounds and
woods are extensive; but the gardens, stove, and conservatory, are
remarkably fine, and were our chief object. Few private gardens have
such a collection of the palm tribe, and of South American plants. I saw
many of my old Brazilian friends; and moreover many plants and trees
from Brazil, and the neighbouring countries, of which I was quite
ignorant.
The house where the palms are kept was built on purpose for them, of an
uncommon height; and Lord S---- has endeavoured to arrange the numerous
specimens, as well as he could, according to Humboldt’s division of the
tribe: the first, those which grow in dry places or inland plains, such
as the fan-palm; secondly, those on the sea coast, as the cocoa-nut,
&c.; next, the palms which flourish at the elevation of 1400 to 3000
yards above the sea, and which were unknown till Humboldt’s visit to the
Andes; and, fourthly, those of fresh-water marshes, as the Mauritia
palm. This is the sago-tree of South America; it extends along the
swamps as far inland as the sources of the Oroonoko, and supplies the
inhabitants with flour. In the season of the inundations, these clumps
of mauritia appear as if rising from the bosom of the waters. They serve
as habitations for a tribe of wretched Indians; and as they grow in
great abundance in the low grounds of the Delta, at the mouth of the
Oroonoko, strangers sailing up the river at night are astonished at
seeing the tops of the trees illuminated by large fires. The poor
natives suspend strong mats between the trunks of the trees, and fill
them with moist clay, on which they kindle the fire necessary for their
household wants. These people have preserved their independence, and
probably owe it to the quaking and swampy soil which they alone know how
to pass over, to their dwellings in the trees.
This mauritia palm is called the Tree of Life by the missionaries; for
it not only affords the Indian a safe dwelling, but supplies him with
food and wine, and cordage. Its fruit and farinaceous pith supply
food--its saccharine juice ferments into wine, and the fibres of the
leaf-stalks furnish thread fit for weaving hammocks, or twisting into
ropes. How very singular, Mamma, to see a whole nation of human
creatures depending on one single species of palm-tree for their
existence!
We had much conversation about the various species of palms which we
saw; and particularly the real sago-tree, which grows in the East, and
which exceeds all other plants in the quantity of nutriment it affords
to mankind. My uncle told me that a single tree, in its fifteenth year,
sometimes yields six hundred pounds weight of sago or meal; for the word
sago signifies meal, in the dialect of Amboyna. Mr. Lumley said that,
as these trees grow about ten feet asunder, an English acre could
contain four hundred and thirty-five of them; and, supposing their
average produce to be only one third of what my uncle mentioned, it
would amount to eight thousand seven hundred pounds yearly of meal, from
each acre. This, he said, was three times as much as would be considered
a good crop of corn in this country. Sago is collected from five
different palms, but not in the same abundance as from the real
sago-tree.
We then examined some fine specimens of the date-tree, so famous in all
our Eastern tales, and so delightful to all travellers. Mr. Lumley has
often seen it near Lisbon, where it grows well; but the fruit never
ripens perfectly in Europe. It is found in great abundance in Africa,
and particularly on the borders of the vast desert of Sahara, where the
parched sandy soil is so unfit for the production of corn. But the
date-tree supplies the deficiency, and furnishes the inhabitants with
almost the whole of their subsistence. Forests of this most useful palm
may be seen there, of several leagues in circumference: their extent,
however, depends on the quantity of water that can be procured, as they
require constant moisture. The Arabs say these trees are very long
lived; and there is scarcely any part of them which they do not make
useful. The wood, though of a spongy texture, lasts such a number of
years, that they say it is incorruptible; most of their instruments of
husbandry are made of it; and though it burns slowly, it gives out great
heat. The Arabs strip the bark and fibrous parts from the young trees,
and eat the substance in the inside of the stalk. It is nourishing and
sweet, and is called the marrow of the date-tree. They eat also the
young leaves, with lemon-juice; and the old ones are dried, and used for
making mats, baskets, and many other articles, with which they carry on
a considerable trade. From the stumps of the branches arise a great
number of delicate filaments, of which ropes, and even a coarse cloth,
are manufactured.
Indeed I believe all the palms are very useful, even the humble dwarf
fan-palm, which we saw also in this collection, and which Mr. Lumley
says is very plentiful in Algarve, the southern province of Portugal; it
seldom grows more than three or four feet high, though the stem is
thick: its fan-shaped leaves are used for making the baskets in which
the dried figs are packed; and its young shoots are eaten as vegetables.
But I was surprised not to see in this collection the silk-thread palm,
that celebrated tree which you and I have had the pleasure of seeing in
its own country, with its beautiful, long, serrated leaves, composed of
innumerable fibres, both finer and stronger than silk, and of which the
fishing-nets are sometimes made. How useful it would be if this tree
could be induced to grow in England--and how my uncle and aunt would
laugh at me if they saw this sentence!
We returned by a different road, and I enjoyed the day very much; the
drive was in itself so pleasant, and it is so satisfactory to see any
thing new with people who have real knowledge like my companions, and
who are alive to the pleasure of seeing what is curious. The Miss
Lumleys have seen very little, they have seldom been out of the forest
in their lives; yet they are not at all ignorant. They told me that they
have not much time for reading, but that what little knowledge they
have, has been acquired by the conversation of their father and mother.
Mrs. Lumley is rather silent in company; she seems to have much
tenderness, mixed with a firm mind--and though always cheerful, she
looks as if she had suffered a great deal. I imagine they are in
confined circumstances, for she said to-day that till the morning they
came here she had not been for many years in a carriage.
_9th._ _Sunday._--After breakfast this morning my uncle conversed a
little with us about the Epistles of St. Paul, which I had been saying
were very difficult to understand; he remarked, “that if we attended to
the long parentheses that St. Paul makes, and in which his energy and
warmth sometimes seem to carry him away, we might easily connect the
chain of his argument. But,” said he, “there are other causes of
occasional obscurity. One is the nature of epistolary composition,
leading the writer to refer to personal and local circumstances, and
particularly to conversations, which were well known to those whom he
addressed, and therefore not needing explanation to them. Another arises
from the many allusions to peculiar laws and customs that were familiar
to his readers, but requiring much research to comprehend them now.
There is a third, and a very important circumstance, which is a source
of frequent perplexity to commentators, and which, in some degree,
affects all the writings of the New Testament, particularly those parts
where doctrines are taught rather than facts detailed. Our great
philosopher, Locke, alludes to this difficulty: he somewhere observes,
that the subjects treated of in the Epistles are so wholly new, and
their doctrines so different from the notions that mankind had
previously adopted, that many of the most important terms have a
different signification from what the same Greek words bear in the
heathen authors. Indeed it is obvious that the common Greek language of
the day could not furnish accurate expressions for doctrines either
entirely new, or derived from the Mosaic law, and the writings of the
Jewish prophets. Hence the writers of the New Testament were obliged to
employ Greek words, whose meanings were determined rather by analogy,
than by their original derivation; and to combine them according to the
idioms of the Hebrew and Syriac languages, rather than by the natural
construction of Grecian phraseology.
“It is remarkable,” he continued, “that this circumstance is one which
some rash infidels have presumed to consider as inconsistent with the
idea of a divine interference in the promulgation of Christianity; and
yet on sober inquiry, it will be found materially to strengthen its
evidence. For if no phrase had been used which was not in conformity to
the purity of the Grecian tongue, we should lose one of the great marks
of authenticity in the New Testament--its peculiar language. You will
readily perceive that the Hebraisms and Syriasms by which it is
distinguished, and which could have proceeded only from men of Hebrew
origin, prove it to have been a production of the first century; for
after the death of the first Jewish converts to Christianity, we find
hardly any instance of Jews becoming preachers of the gospel: and as to
the Christian fathers, they were mostly ignorant of Hebrew. This
distinguishing mark is to be found in all the books of the New
Testament, in different degrees; nor have these idioms the appearance
of art or design, being exactly such as might be expected from persons
who used a language spoken, indeed, where they lived, but not the
dialect of their country.
“Obscurity, from this cause, more particularly applies to St. Paul’s
Epistles, because they were designed principally for the Jews. St. Paul,
indeed, was born at Tarsus, and his native language was therefore Greek;
but having been a very zealous Jew, it was natural that his language
should be tinctured by Hebraisms; and it is probable that had he studied
to avoid the air of a Celician Jew, in speaking or writing, his language
would not have been so well adapted to his purpose, and would have made
far less impression on the multitude.”
_11th._--I have made such a discovery! I long to tell you, Mamma, though
I dare say you have already guessed it. I have discovered that Mr.
Lumley is the very person whom my uncle met at the harvest home, and
whose history I wrote to you. But I never heard my uncle speak of him by
any other name than Fitzroy, which I now find is one of his Christian
names.
This evening we happened to be speaking of accomplishments, and Miss
Lumley said that she had none to boast of.--“I believe you know,” said
she, “that since we left Strath Morton, a place I shall never forget,
though I was then very young, we have been obliged to employ ourselves
in what was useful only; and, until very lately, to assist mamma even in
the menial work of the house. I do not feel ashamed to mention this,”
she added; “for it is really gratifying to think and speak of all that
my dear mamma was able to do; I only wish you could have witnessed the
cheerfulness that accompanied all her exertions.”
She described their little cottage as it was at first, and their way of
living; and then continued--“We were anxious to save mamma from some of
the drudgery there must be, even in the smallest family; and, though
often against her will, my sister and I shared, as much as children
could, in her laborious occupations.
“She and my father gave us the best of all knowledge, that of
religion--they taught us to feel well the weakness of our nature, and to
look up with trust to that Power, who gives assistance to the humble.
Their leisure was devoted to giving us solid instruction, to the
cultivation of our minds, and even to directing our taste to literature.
“If sometimes we amused ourselves with a pencil, or tried to sing one of
Mamma’s songs, she was delighted to encourage and assist us--and instead
of lamenting that we could not do more, it raised her spirits to see
even our childish attempts. Indeed, she has often said that the delight
of seeing us gay, open-hearted, and good, was all she wanted; and when
we danced merrily to our own singing, or made a scratchy drawing of a
tree, she used to reward us with one of her sweet encouraging smiles,
and would say, ‘Perseverance will do much; and as music and drawing are
useful accomplishments, when kept in their right places, your attempts
give me pleasure; but I value your cheerful dispositions, and grateful
hearts still more.’
“And indeed Mamma was right, for never were there happier creatures than
we have been, though enjoying but few of what are called comforts. Our
gardens, our forest plays, and the pains we took in watching the habits
of birds and insects, were our never-failing amusements; and we desired
no more, if we were but sure that Papa and Mamma were pleased with us.
To the constant visits of Mr. Benson, our good old clergyman, we are
indeed indebted for much of what we know; he speaks to us so kindly, and
he often reads with us, and removes our difficulties by his clear
explanations. He has always approved of our acquaintance with the
creeping and flying inhabitants of the forests, for he says, natural
history is not only a most entertaining occupation, but well suited to a
religious mind.”
_12th._--My aunt, in the course of the last week, frequently turned the
conversation on Mr. Lumley’s travels: and he told us many interesting
things that he had seen both in Italy and Portugal. First about the
vine. In one of the Minho vallies, not far from Oporto, the fields are
small, and surrounded by high oaks, chesnuts, and poplars; the ground is
artificially watered, and every tree supports a vine, which mounts to
the top, and hangs its clusters to the highest branches. In other
places, the vines are supported on rough trellises, so as to form shady
arched walks in summer. But neither of those methods is supposed to
produce as good fruit as when the vines are kept low; and as these are
planted in straight rows, corn and other vegetables are sown between
them. They are pruned down every year into the shape of a bush; and a
short time before and after they come into blossom, all superfluous
branches are removed, and some of the leaves are afterwards taken off to
expose the fruit to the sun. The ground is hoed before the leaves come
out in spring, and again before the flower comes. Rising grounds are
usually preferred for vine culture, and when they are very steep, the
earth is supported by dry walls, so as to convert the face of the hill
into a succession of narrow terraces, which prevent the heavy rains from
washing away the soil from the roots.
He then told us that when figs are gathered in that country, they are
thrown into a heap, in a building prepared for the purpose, and that a
syrup flows from them which is used for making brandy. They are then
spread to dry in the sun, and after some days, are pressed into small
baskets, made of the dwarf fan-palm, each basket containing 28 pounds
weight.
The carob tree is one of the most beautiful of European trees, according
to Mr. Lumley’s account; it attains a considerable height, and has a
wide shady top, with a graceful, evergreen foliage of small glossy
leaves. The wood is hard and red, and very useful; and the large pods of
seed when dry, make excellent fodder for cattle: this tree is also
called St. John’s bread.
But what made the greatest impression on me, was his description of a
forest of date palms, near the town of Elche in Valencia. The fruit
hanging on all sides, in large clusters of an orange colour, and the men
swinging on ropes to gather them, formed, he says, a very striking
scene. The trees were old and lofty; and their number was said to exceed
two hundred thousand. Many of them had their branches bound up to a
point, and covered with mats, by which process they became white; they
are then cut off and sent by ship-loads from Alicant, to various parts
of Italy, for the grand processions on Palm Sunday.
Mr. L. says, that the little chick pea forms a considerable part of the
food of the poor in Portugal; and even common lupines, when soaked in
running water to destroy their bitterness, are boiled, and sold in the
market-place, and the people eat them out of their pockets. They are
also used by the poor in Italy, but generally along with chesnuts, which
are bruised and made into a sort of cake.
In ascending the Apennines, Mr. Lumley came to a mountain village, of
very singular appearance; it gave him more the idea of a collection of
huts in some savage country; no streets, no gardens, no appearance of
cultivation, except a few great chesnut trees, that united their
branches over the miserable houses. The people have large flocks of
goats and sheep, whose milk supplies them with cheese, and whose wool is
spun by the women in winter, and manufactured into a kind of stuff.
Most of the inhabitants of the Apennines depend on chesnuts, pigeons,
bees, and milk, for their food; and like the natives of Auvergne, they
make all their own furniture and clothes. They earn, however, a good
deal by going every year to work, for the harvest season, in Lombardy
and Tuscany, and the money they gain there, they bring carefully home.
The summer pastures, for the cattle of the rich plains of Tuscany,
extend along the brow of the lower chain of the Apennine mountains,
where there are a few huts to shelter the wandering shepherds. Those
plains, he says, are scarcely habitable in hot weather, from the
pestilential effects of the _malaria_, which produces agues and fevers,
and which probably arises from the exhalations of the low stagnant
marshes. He also saw a vast number of goats; one flock consisted of
twelve hundred, and though apparently very wild, they come regularly to
their shepherds, twice a-day, to be milked, and are always rewarded with
a little salt.
He afterwards visited the vale of Arno, and travelled along the right
bank of that river, at the foot of the Apennines. He describes the
forests of chesnut trees, which appeared on the higher slopes of the
mountains, with their fresh and beautiful verdure, as forming a singular
contrast with the pale blue tint of the olive trees, which cover the
lower hills. The road was bordered on each side by pretty brick houses,
consisting of a single story, and separated from the road by a walled
terrace, on which are commonly placed stone vases, containing flowers or
orange trees, or aloes; and the house itself completely covered with
vines. At the doors, or seated on shady benches, were groups of young
female peasants, nicely dressed in white linen, with silk bodice, and
straw hats ornamented with flowers. They are constantly employed in
plaiting straw for the fine Florence or Leghorn hats; and they earn a
great deal of money, which they are permitted to lay by for their dower;
but out of this they pay a certain allowance to poor women, who do their
share of the farm work. He was assured that a crop of two acres would
supply straw sufficient for the whole manufacture of hats in Tuscany. It
is the stalk of beardless wheat, cut before it is quite ripe; and the
poverty of the soil, which is never manured, keeps it white.
Between Pisa and the sea, he passed through a forest of ilex. The leaves
of all these trees were bitten off at the same height--just twelve feet
from the ground; and, on inquiry, he found that they had been eaten by
camels. He soon after saw two hundred of these animals lying on the
sand, waiting to return into the wood as the day became hotter. He was
much amused by a group who rose up as he approached, and who, in
trotting off with their young, bounded and leaped about with a vivacity
which scarcely seemed to belong to their awkward-looking figure. It is
said that this Asiatic race of camels was brought into Italy, at the
time of the Crusades, by the Grand Prior of Pisa. Mr. L. says they do
most of the farm labour.
On this plain he saw also a herd of nearly two thousand cattle. The cows
are so wild and fierce, that it is impossible to milk them; and they
are killed by the torreadors with short lances, after a sort of hunt,
which affords great diversion to the country people. These Tartar
habits, he says, are very opposite to those of the vale of Arno, where
every thing has been brought to the extreme of art and civilization.
I have been so much interested in all these circumstances, that I have
sat up very late to write them for you; and though I have not got
through half of them, I will now go to bed like a good girl. One word
more: I must add that the shepherds in the neighbourhood of Rome, who
resemble Tartars, with their long pikes and wrapped in mantles, come
every evening with their flocks to seek an asylum within the walls of
the city; as they dare not sleep exposed to the noxious air of the
adjoining country, where there are no cottages, and where the water even
is infected. They take possession of houses and palaces which have been
abandoned by the inhabitants, who have been driven into the interior of
the city by the malaria.