anxiety to make his brethren forgive themselves, by shewing the
advantages that were ultimately produced by their conduct to him?”
“There is one thing,” said Wentworth, “that I do not understand--why
does Joseph say there shall be neither earing nor harvest, as if he
meant two separate things?”
“The word _earing_,” replied my uncle, “sounds as if it meant gathering
ripe ears of corn: but it is an old English term for ploughing, and is
used in that sense in two other parts of scripture.”
“I had imagined,” said Caroline, “that earing was mentioned in that
particular manner, in allusion to some blight, through which the corn
should no longer give such an astonishing produce as seven ears to one
stalk.”
“No;” said my uncle, “nor was that an unusual produce. A species of
wheat still grows in Egypt, which generally bears this number of ears,
and the stem is solid, that is, full of pith, in order to support so
great a weight. The stem of our own wheat is, you know, a mere hollow
straw. You see how necessary it is, my dear children, when you do not
perfectly understand what you read or hear, to have courage enough to
confess your ignorance, and to ask for explanation.
“Before we finish the subject of Joseph,” he continued, “I will explain
another small circumstance, of which perhaps Bertha at least may not be
aware. The ancient manner of eating was for each person to have one or
more dishes to himself; they were all first set before the master of the
feast, who distributed to every one his portion; and as a mark of
affection for Benjamin, Joseph sent him five dishes, while he only sent
one to each of the others. In Persia and Arabia, every dish that is set
before the master of the house is divided into as many portions as there
are guests, but those of the greatest rank have by far the largest
shares.”
_31st._--Mr. R----, a friend of my uncle’s, has been here for a few
days, and has amused us very much.
Yesterday he shewed us a Proteus kind of substance; it had at first a
milky transparency, and reflected a bluish white light, but when we
looked through it, it was yellow. He slightly wetted it, and then it
lost all transparency, appearing like chalk. He immersed it completely
in water, and the edges became more transparent than before, and at the
same time a little gas seemed to escape from it. A small white ball
appeared in the centre, but it gradually diminished in size, and the
transparency extended through the whole mass.
He afterwards put some of this substance into oils of different
colours--the colours it quickly acquired--and when it had completely
absorbed the oil it became transparent, but when partially it was
opaque. When steeped in oil, coloured with alkanet-root, it had quite
the tints of the ruby; from a preparation of copper it imbibed the
colour of the emerald; and from some acid exactly that of a Brazilian
topaz. He then shewed us that all these brilliant colours could be
discharged along with the oil, by exposing the substance to a strong
heat.
Fortunately for us, when Mr. R. called here he was on his way home from
London, where he had provided himself with these curiosities, and he was
so good-natured as to unpack some of his treasures for our
gratification.
I was much surprised at these cameleon-like changes; and at last I
learned that this substance is the _tabasheer_, of which I had read
something before. It is found in the cavities of the bamboo; while the
plants are young, it is fluid, but as they advance in size it hardens.
Mr. R. shewed us three specimens; the first was almost transparent, and
so tender, that in carelessly taking it up, I crushed it. He was so
kind as to say it did not signify, as he had some more; but I determined
in future to see without the help of my fingers, as you have often
advised me, dear mamma. The second piece was harder and more opaque,
having only a little transparency at the edges. The third specimen was
perfectly opaque, and looked like a bit of stucco; it was on this piece
that he shewed us the curious experiments I have mentioned.
Mr. R. endeavoured to make us comprehend the causes of all those changes
which have appeared so contradictory. “In the first place,” said he,
“tabasheer is a remarkably porous substance; now if one of the pores be
filled with air, a ray of light in passing through it suffers very
little refraction, and is therefore so little scattered, that the
tabasheer appears transparent, and objects can be partly seen through
it. This arises from the small difference between the refractive power
of air and of tabasheer. Next,” said he, “suppose a very small quantity
of water introduced into this pore, so as not to fill it, but merely to
line it with a film; then the light, in passing through the tabasheer,
the film of water, the air within, the film again, and lastly the
tabasheer, is so much scattered by these six refractions, that the
substance appears opaque. But when by complete immersion the pores are
filled with water, the multiplied refractions caused by the films and
the portions of air within, cease, and the light is more freely
transmitted.”
My uncle and Mr. R. talked a long time on the subject, and tried several
other experiments, explaining to us the reasons for each step they took;
but I have said enough to shew you that I endeavoured to understand what
they were doing, and this I am sure will give you pleasure. Indeed the
advantages of being able to comprehend something of the conversation of
such people is so great, that I cannot sufficiently thank you for having
given me a little taste for science. You used to say that there was
great danger of making girls conceited by giving them a smattering of
science; but I assure you that I shall keep a careful watch over myself
in that respect; the little knowledge I have is only a peep-hole through
which I see the boundless stores that I can never hope to possess--and
surely this can only make me more humble.
_Nov. 1st._--I had not time yesterday to say any thing of the plant
which produces the tabasheer; and perhaps Marianne might like to have
the particulars that we were told.
It is the bamboo-cane, which is of the same natural order as the
grasses; it grows in both hemispheres, almost anywhere within the
tropics, and very abundantly in the East Indies. The main roots are
thick and jointed, and from these joints spring several stems, which
are sometimes eighteen inches in circumference at the bottom. These
stems or culms are round, hollow, and shining; they grow quite straight,
and often to the height of sixty feet; and they are articulated, or
knotted; the knots being about a foot apart, and each armed with one or
two sharp spines. The leaves are narrow, eight or nine inches long, and
supported on short foot stalks; and the flowers grow in large panicles,
three or four together, from the joints of the stem.
The stalks of the bamboo, while young, are filled with a spongy
substance which contains a sweetish milky juice; but they become hollow
as they grow old, except at the joints, where they are crossed by a
woody membrane--such as I believe there is in the knots of all culms.
Upon that membrane the liquor rests, and concretes into the substance
called tabasheer, or sugar of Mombu--which was held in such esteem by
the ancients, that it was valued at its weight in silver. It had long
been used as a medicine all over the east, but was first made known in
Europe by Dr. Russell in 1790.
The young shoots are dark green; and, while tender, make a good pickle;
but the old stalks are of a shining yellow colour, and prodigiously hard
and durable: they are used in buildings, in all the farming tools, and
in all sorts of household furniture. By piercing the joints they are
often converted into water-pipes, and they make excellent poles by which
the porters carry casks, bales, and palanquins. In the island of Java, a
sort of palanquin is formed of bamboos, resembling a small house in
shape, and called a dooly. In short there are few plants which have such
a variety of uses.
_2nd._--This last summer is said by every one to have been remarkable
for the quantity of seed produced by almost all plants; and acorns were
particularly plentiful. Some were gathered for the purpose of sowing;
but an immense number remained under the oak trees in the lawn, till
within these few days, when they all disappeared, and what fell from the
trees in the course of one day, had vanished before the next. After much
puzzling about what could have become of them, Wentworth discovered that
the sheep eat them; he caught them in the act to-day. He also observed
that chaffinches and other birds eat beech-masts--but I do not wonder at
that, for I think them excellent; and my aunt tells me that on some
parts of the continent they are very much used as food by the poor
inhabitants. The oil which is previously expressed from them is of the
finest quality; and in Alsace, as well as all along the borders of
France and Germany, the peasants make a sort of cake with the remainder.
I saw the jay to-day for the first time; Mary shewed me several of these
pretty birds under a hedge. We watched them for some time, and I
actually saw one raise and depress the bunch of black and white feathers
on his forehead repeatedly; the wing coverts are beautiful. Jays are
very affectionate to their young, who remain with their parents during
all the autumn and winter months, instead of separating early, as most
birds do. In winter they are to be seen continually under high hedges,
or on the sunny side of woods and copses, seeking for acorns,
crab-apples, or for the grubs and worms to be found in fields where cows
have pastured. They are timid and watchful, and feed in silence; but
timid as they are, they are very destructive in summer to the gardens.
The Lumleys, you know, live in a very sequestered part of the forest,
and the jays seem to have established themselves in that undisturbed
spot. Miss Lumley told me that they make great havoc among the beans in
June; and though in general cautious and wary, at that season their
boldness is quite remarkable, and nothing seems to intimidate them. She
has frequently seen one of the parent birds descend from a tree into the
bean rows--they soon announce their discovery by a low but particular
scream, and then all the family hastened to join in the plunder.
Their throat is so wide that they can swallow beans, acorns, and even
chesnuts whole; and it is said they can imitate various sounds, such as
the bleating of a lamb, the hooting of an owl, the mewing of a cat, and
even the neighing of a horse.
They appear to be fond of each other, but to other birds they are very
troublesome, destroying their nests and eggs, and sometimes pouncing on
the young ones, to the great vexation of the Lumleys.
_4th._--Those poor travellers, whom more than a month ago I told you
that good Mrs. Ando had so generously taken into her own house, have
been obliged to continue there ever since; and my aunt has two or three
times driven to Newnham to visit them. They have, you know, one little
child, but the man seems to be dying, and his wife, a foreigner, nurses
him with the most tender care. They have told their history to my aunt,
and she has given me leave to relate it to you.
The young woman is a Swiss, her name is Madeleine, and her father was a
merchant of Geneva, where they lived in comfortable affluence till his
wife died. His affliction on this occasion was so violent that he
resolved to quit Geneva for ever, and remove to a city in the south of
France, where he might continue his business; but Madeleine was tired of
a town life, and persuaded her father to give up commerce and retire to
a little property he possessed in the district of Beaufort, in Savoy.
She had formed delightful pictures in her imagination of the occupations
of the farm, the vineyard, and the dairy, and she longed to realise
them.
Her indulgent father yielded to her wishes, and they removed from all
the comforts of Geneva to that remote and mountainous district. When
they arrived, and that she saw the change which she had persuaded her
father to make, she felt severe regret for having interfered; and would
then have persuaded him to return, but he had arranged every thing for
his residence in Savoy--he had made his decision, and he would not let
it be again shaken.
His activity in a short time made the house comfortable, and he employed
his time and his money in forming a garden and an extensive vineyard.
The industry which he had devoted to trade, he now directed to the
cultivation of the vine, and his unwearied assiduity was rewarded in a
few years by a profusion of grapes, of which he made excellent wine.
Every thing seemed to prosper, and Madeleine dearly loved a place where
they had conquered so many difficulties, and where they had seen
comfort and plenty rise out of a bare and rocky valley; a place which,
with their endeavours to shelter and beautify it, and with the ornament
of a remarkable group of fine old walnut trees on the hill behind the
house, was now quite picturesque. The poor around them had also reason
to like the change, for many a distressed family were now employed, and
many an ignorant child was taught as well as clothed by Madeleine. But
her father had laid out all his ready money on the vineyard and on a
large stock of cattle; so that every thing depended on the success of
his plans.
According to the custom of the country, their cattle were sent every
summer with those of the neighbours, to the fresh air and sweet pasture
of the mountains. They were all intrusted to the care of one person, who
during the season lived on the top of the mountain, in a little wooden
hut, called a _chalet_. There the milk of the cattle was collected; and
in eight days after the cows had been driven up to the common pasture,
the owners assembled, and the quantity of milk from each cow was
weighed. The same thing was repeated once in the middle of summer; and
at the end of the season the whole quantity of cheese and butter was
divided in due proportion. The cattle were then driven back to the
vallies, when there was a general festival, in which the whole _commune_
joined. All the young people used to assemble at the chalet on this
occasion in their holiday dresses, decorated with Alpine flowers; and
with all the gaiety of youth, and with songs and dances, they attended
the descent of their herds, which were also decked with ribbons, and
bells, and garlands. At intervals the party sung together the touching
song of the _Ranz des vaches_, or some of the pretty Savoyard airs.
On the morning of one of these festivals a traveller, who had missed his
way in crossing the mountain, happened to apply at the chalet for
assistance. The youthful crowd were actually setting out--the song which
announced the general movement had already commenced--when seeing that
the traveller was faint and in want of assistance, they stopped and
hastened to relieve him. They gave him such refreshment as they could,
and, unmindful of their own interrupted pleasures, they delayed their
march to give him time to recover. When he was sufficiently revived by
their hospitality, he accompanied the gay party to the village; and,
charmed by their simple manners, he joined as well as he could in their
happy and innocent festivity.
The traveller was an English officer, who had been wounded. He was then
enjoying the bracing air and wild scenery of Savoy; and though he
intended to winter in Italy, he wished to loiter a little longer among
the glens and mountains of this picturesque country. Madeleine’s father
was interested by his appearance of ill health, and pleased by the
manner in which he expressed his gratitude for the kindness he had
received, and therefore invited him, whenever his wanderings should lead
him that way, to take up his quarters at Beaufort. He came more than
once in the course of the autumn, and was always welcomed with warmth
and hospitality by the good old Swiss and Madeleine.
At length he bade them adieu, and pursued his way to Italy, leaving them
in happiness and prosperity. At the end of two years he again returned,
and found them sunk into poverty and misery. The overflowing of the
Doron, early in spring, had caused universal destruction in the valley:
houses, gardens, and vineyards were swept away, and even the cattle,
which were to have gone in a few weeks to the hills, were included in
the general ruin. All was gone--a few hours had reduced these amiable
people from affluence to absolute want. He who had been master
there--whose active head and industrious hands had planned so well and
executed so much, was now the passive object of his daughter’s cares.
The shock had irreparably injured his mind, for he had spent his whole
fortune in making this place for her, and he had now the melancholy
consciousness that both were beggars. But Madeleine’s energy rose above
misfortune. She turned her whole thoughts to the comforts of her father
and the means of procuring them; and she earnestly prayed for the
blessing of Heaven on her exertions.
As soon as they were settled in a very small cottage in the
neighbourhood, she determined again to try the cultivation of the
vine--but considerably higher on the side of the hill--so as to be
secure from a second inundation. She intended to have laboured at this
new plantation herself, with the assistance of one old and attached
servant, but numbers of people from the neighbouring villages, who loved
her and were grateful to her, insisted on being allowed to help. It is a
common custom in Switzerland to plant vines on very steep hills, with
alternate rows of dry stone walls, to preserve the soil about the
plants; and Madeleine resolved to accomplish such a vineyard. By the
assistance of these good-natured people, a small plantation was made:
while some were digging, others built the little walls; and Madeleine
herself guided the donkies which were laden with earth to make a
sufficient soil, or with her own hands disposed it round each vine
plant, and dressed the whole.
Though the vineyard was small, she hoped to derive an additional benefit
from it for her father, by planting a few useful vegetables, which might
perhaps interest him in his favourite occupation of gardening. But when
she tried to rouse his mind to this, he only wept at the loss of their
former pretty garden, for which they had both done so much.
The group of walnut-trees still remained; and, fortunately, they bore
remarkably well. The gathering of the fruit and the pressure of the oil
is one of the most important occupations of the Savoyards, and Madeleine
was again assisted by her kind neighbours. The walnut harvest commences
about September; the fruit is beaten off the trees with long poles, and
the green husks are taken off as soon as they begin to decay; the
walnuts are then laid in a chamber to dry, where they remain till the
end of Autumn, when the process of making the oil commences. The first
operation is of course to take out the kernel, and for this the
neighbouring peasantry collect. They are usually placed round a long
table; a man at each end of it cracks the nuts with a mallet, by hitting
them on the point; and as fast as they are cracked they are distributed
to the persons round the table, who take out the kernels and remove the
inner part. The Savoyards are so lively, that this employment is in
general accompanied by songs and various amusements. The day that
Bertram, their English friend, returned, Madeleine was thus occupied;
while her poor old father, placed in a chair beside her, was gazing
vacantly at what they were doing.
Though changed so much in circumstances, she did not appear
dejected--she had not sunk into despair, and though her countenance, as
he told my aunt, no longer expressed gaiety, yet even in her tears she
had the smile of hope and cheerfulness. He had always esteemed her, and
was now so charmed by her various merits, and so anxious to assist and
protect her, that he persuaded her to accept his hand. He wrote to his
father, who is a clergyman in Wales; he obtained his consent, and for a
few years lived happily with Madeleine in her cottage, enjoying those
pleasures that follow laborious industry, and taking part in all the
tender cares she bestowed on her poor father. His half-pay added to
their comforts, but still he was obliged to work--to labour sometimes
for the pleasure of making Madeleine’s father comfortable at the close
of his life, and he was rewarded by the success of their exertions.
But the severity of the climate in winter and his laborious life were
too much for his constitution, which had never recovered the effect of
his wounds. He felt that his strength was declining; and the poor old
father having died, last spring, Bertram became anxious to return to his
own country. They had no longer any tie to Savoy, and Madeleine
willingly acquiesced in his wishes and sold her little property; yet it
gave her many a pang to part for ever with the place where she had been
so happy with her father--a place so endeared to her by years of
cheerful industry, and by the sympathy and kindness she had received
from all the inhabitants.
Unfortunately, Bertram became so much worse on his journey, that they
were frequently obliged to rest, and by the time they arrived in
Gloucestershire they found their expenses had been so great that they
should not have sufficient means to accomplish the remainder of their
journey. Thus stopped by want of money as well as by illness, poor
Madeleine was looking for some humble lodging, when that kind-hearted
creature Mrs. Ando, prevailed on them to come to her house. He has
repeatedly written to request his father would come to him, but till
last Monday he received no answer. It appears that the old gentleman had
been also very ill, and all his letters remained unopened. He is now
expected every day--and a sad meeting it will be, for my aunt fears that
his son is too ill to recover.
Mrs. Ando sent a messenger yesterday to tell my aunt that her poor
patient very much wished to see her again. She instantly went, and they
had a long conversation on religious subjects, which gave her heartfelt
pleasure, his sentiments were so pious. He spoke in the most affecting
manner of Madeleine’s cheerful and tender care; and added that having
been separated from his father when very young, he had become careless
and indifferent about religion;--for a soldier’s life is rather
unfavourable to religious improvement; but that his excellent wife had
perceived this, and with prudent caution had gently led him to _think_;
her good sense and admirable example awakened his mind, and while he
taught her the English language, she taught him in return the
principles, the humility, and the practice of Christianity.
Still long she nursed him; tender thoughts meantime
Were interchanged, and hopes and views sublime.
To her he came to die, and every day
She took some portion of the dread away;
With him she prayed, to him her Bible read,
Soothed the faint heart, and held the aching head;
She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer;
Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear;
Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave
Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave.
_5th._--I was rather naughty yesterday, I did not walk out; and my uncle
reproached me for it this morning. “If you shut yourself up every cold
day, Bertha, you will never become more hardy than the stove plants from
your own country, which would certainly be more ornamental, and more
valuable, if they could be reconciled to our climate, and made to grow
here in the open ground. And you, too, would be happier as well as
stronger, if you were able to enjoy the out of door pleasures of winter
as well as those of the fire-side.”
“Yes, uncle, I wish to do so, but I delayed till the day changed in
hopes of having Caroline with me; the straight beech-walk is comfortably
sheltered from the north-east wind, but then the high ditch prevents one
from seeing any thing, and makes it a dull place without a companion.”