of from ten to a hundred they frequent the small uninhabited islands,
holms, and skerries, where the tideways are strong, but the ocean
swell not great; and they do not seem to stray far from such favourite
haunts, resting for several hours each day from the commencement of the
ebb-tide on small outlying rocks, or stony beaches on the lee-side of
the little islets, but almost always in such a position as to command a
pretty extensive view, in case of surprise. Their food consists chiefly
of piltocks and sillocks—vernacular for the young of the saithe or
of the coal-fish—small cod, flounders, and crustacea. In June, they
bring forth their young, never more than one at a birth, and in the
same season, on the low flat rocks close to the sea, and immediately
lead them to the water, where they seem at once perfectly at home,
disporting themselves amongst the waves with ease and grace equal to
their seniors. For some time previous to this, the sexes separate into
different herds; and during the two succeeding months in which they
suckle their young, the females affect a somewhat solitary life. After
that, they again become indiscriminately gregarious. The adult common
seal sometimes attains the size of six feet, measured from the point of
the nose to the end of the tail. It is obviously a mistake to measure
to the end of the hind flippers, as is sometimes done. The males
are considerably larger than the females, but I have never seen one
exceeding six feet.
On the other hand, the haff-fish grows sometimes to eight or nine
feet, and such venerable ocean patriarchs will weigh from six to seven
hundredweight. This species is much less numerous than the tang-fish.
They appear to be monogamous, and are not gregarious, being commonly
met with in pairs. They frequent the wildest and most exposed of the
outlying rocks and skerries along the coast where there is free and
immediate access to the ocean, and are very seldom seen in the bays
or amongst the islands, which are the haunts of their less robust
congeners. They seem to luxuriate in the roughest sea, and delight
to sport in the broken water and foam at the foot of steep rocks and
precipices when the waves are dashing against them. They bring forth
their young in caves, open to the sea—called in Shetland _hellyers_.
These hellyers are natural tunnels in the lofty precipices, running
or winding inwards, sometimes two hundred yards, into darkness, and
generally terminating in a stony or pebbly beach. Some of these
hellyers can be entered by a small boat, but only when the sea is
perfectly smooth; others are too narrow for such a mode of access; and
the openings to others are entirely under water.
It is in these wild and for the most part safe retreats that the
female haff-fish, about the end of September or beginning of October,
brings forth her young; and here she nurses it for about six weeks,
all the time carefully and affectionately attended by her lord and
master. Not till the baby haff-fish is nearly two months old does it
take to the water. If thrown in at an earlier age, it is as awkward
as a pup or kitten in similar circumstances, and does not seem to
have the power of diving. In these respects, the two species differ
markedly. Nor is the haff-fish so often seen basking on the rocks; and
when he does take a rest on shore, he does not appear to mind what is
the state of the tide or wind. But probably his usual and favourite
resting and sleeping place is his hellyer, where he will feel secure
from intrusion. His principal food is cod, ling, saithe, halibut, and
conger-eel. Both species are exceedingly voracious, but can endure a
very long abstinence. A tame one we once had never tasted food for
three weeks before he died. They always feed in the water, never on
land, tearing large pieces off their fishy prey, and swallowing it
without almost any mastication. They do not migrate, but remain in the
vicinity of their breeding-places throughout the year. Formerly, seals’
flesh used to be eaten by the natives of Shetland, but not now. I have
eaten a part of a seal’s heart, and found it by no means unpalatable.
It was offered to me as a special delicacy by an old gentleman who
could not have been induced to taste a crab or lobster. By-the-bye, why
is it Shetlanders won’t eat these delicious crustacea? I once put the
question to an old fisherman, and his reply was: ‘They’re unkirsn—they
eat the human,’ meaning the dead bodies of sailors and fishermen.
(Unkirsn is the vernacular for unclean, in the sense of being unfit for
food.)
I believe seals’ flesh is still sometimes salted and eaten by the
Faroese and Icelanders; but if one may judge from the very strong
coal-tarry smell of the carcass, it cannot be particularly savoury.
It is different, however, with whale-flesh, that of the bottlenose at
least. Shetlanders don’t eat it; but the Faroese do, and esteem it
highly. I remember, many years ago, being in Thorshavn shortly after a
shoal of about twelve hundred bottlenoses had been driven ashore, and
the houses of the little town were all covered with long festoons of
whale-flesh hung up to dry and harden in the sun. The natives call it
_grind_, and regard it as excellent, palatable, and nutritious food. I
ate some of it. It looked and tasted very much like good coarse-grained
beef, and had no unpleasant, fishy, or blubbery flavour.
Seal-hunting is splendid sport—superior, I confidently affirm, to
every other species of sport in this country at least, not excepting
deer-stalking and fox-hunting. The game is a noble animal, large,
powerful, exceedingly sagacious, intensely keen of sight and hearing,
suspicious, shy, and wary. You have to seek him amid the wildest and
grandest scenery, where you will sometimes encounter danger of various
kinds. To be a successful seal-hunter you must be acquainted with the
habits of the animal. You must be cool and cautious, yet prompt and
fertile in expedients, a good stalker, a good boatman, and a good
cragsman; and you must be at once a quick and a steady shot. It is not
enough to strike a seal; you must shoot him with a bullet through the
brain, and thus kill him instantly, or you will in all probability
never see him again. He may be lying basking on a rock within forty
yards of you; you may put a bullet through his body; he plunges into
the sea and disappears. But a seal’s head is not a large object at any
considerable distance; and if he is swimming, you have probably only
a part of his head in view. If you are in a boat, your stance is more
or less unsteady, however smooth the sea may be. Then, however close
he may be to you, it is needless to fire, if, as is usually the case,
he is looking at you; for he is quite as expert as most of the diving
sea-birds in ‘diving on the fire,’ or rather throwing his head to a
side with a sudden spring and splash. Further, if you kill him in the
water, the chances are at least equal that he instantly sinks, fathoms
deep, amongst great rocks covered with seaweed, where dredging is out
of the question; and other expedients that may be tried, equally, in
nine cases out of ten, fail. At other times, however, a seal shot in
the water will float like a buoy. It is not very clear why one seal
should float and another sink. It is certainly not referable to the
condition of the animal. Fat seals sink as readily as lean ones; and
lean seals float as readily as fat ones. Probably they float or sink
according as their lungs are or are not inflated with air at the moment
they receive their death-wound.
Besides a thoroughly trustworthy weapon, the seal-hunter requires
to provide himself with a ‘waterglass,’ a ‘clam,’ and a stout rod
twelve to twenty feet long, with a ling-hook firmly lashed to the
end of it, making a sort of gaff. These are for use in the event of
a seal sinking. The waterglass is simply a box or tub with a pane
of glass for its bottom. Placed on the surface of the water, it
obviates the disturbing effect of the ripple. Looking through it with
a great-coat or piece of cloth thrown over the head after the manner
of photographers, you can see down as far as sixty feet if the water
is pretty clear; and even to a hundred feet or thereby if it is very
clear. The ‘clam’ is an enormous species of forceps, with jaws of from
two to three feet width when open. Two stout lines are attached—one for
lowering the clam with open jaws; the other for closing the blades over
a dead seal that, by help of the waterglass, has been discovered lying
at the bottom, and hauling him to the surface. Many a seal is secured
in this way, which, but for these simple appliances, would inevitably
be lost. The long-handled gaff is used for raising a seal that may have
sunk in very shallow water where the rod can reach him, and sometimes
is found very useful when he is just beginning to sink, if you have
shot him from your boat. For a few seconds after being shot, he usually
floats. Instantly, you pull up to him, but find him sinking slowly—only
as yet, however, a foot or two beneath the surface. You at once and
easily gaff him, and then he is safe enough.
The largest haff-fish I ever shot I lost from not having a seal-gaff
in the boat. I was not seal-hunting, but shooting sea-fowl along the
lofty precipices on the east side of Burrafirth, in the island of Unst.
Suddenly a big haff-fish bobbed up close to the boat, but instantly
disappeared with a tremendous splash. Seals are very inquisitive
animals; and as he had not had time to gratify his curiosity, I thought
it very likely he might show face again. We always carried two or three
bullets in our pocket, to be prepared for such chances. One of these
I quickly wrapped round in paper and rammed home above the shot, with
which my fowling-piece—a long, single-barrelled American duck-gun—was
charged. Again selkie broke the surface of the water, this time at a
more respectful distance, but still within easy range. After taking a
good look at the boat, and at me doubtless, who just then covered him
with the sights, he turned fairly round and gave a contemptuous sniff
of his nose skywards, preparatory to making off. Fatal and unusual
hardihood; it cost him his life, for just then I pulled the trigger,
and sent the bullet through his head. I was in the bows of the boat.
‘Pull men, pull hard!’ I shouted. As we came up to him, I saw he was
beginning to sink. A rod there was in the boat, but it had no hook at
the end. I seized it, and stretching forward, got it under him, and
raised him close to the surface. I tried to keep him up, but he slipped
and slipped several times, and at last sank. I could have secured
him easily enough, had there been a hook on the end of the rod. The
water was very deep, and not clear; and although I spent that evening
and the next day searching for him with the usual appliances, I was
unsuccessful. All these conditions, contingencies, and uncertainties
make the sport of seal-hunting surpassingly exciting and captivating.
OVER-EDUCATING CHILDREN.
A singular question has arisen within the last few months in reference
to the education of young children in our public and National Schools,
and that is the somewhat startling query: Is not the present system of
‘cramming’ very young children not only inexpedient, but dangerous to
brain and life, in trying to force too much ‘book-learning’ into small
minds ill fitted for its reception? Many thoughtful people have of
late given much attention to this interesting question; but the whole
subject has at last been forced upon the notice of the public in a
manner as tragic as it was unexpected. Two young children have lately
suffered miserable deaths in consequence of overwork, in other words,
over-education. One of these children, in the delirium of brain-fever,
continually cried out, with every expression of pain and distress:
‘I can’t do it—I can’t do it!’ alluding, of course, to the difficult
sum or long lesson which had been given her; and so the poor little
overtaxed brain gave way, fever set in, and death speedily put an end
to her sufferings.
Now this is very sad, and surely need not, and ought not, to be even
possible. To put a higher and better class of education than was
meted out to our forefathers within the reach of all, is one of the
grandest systems of the present enlightened age—a system to which
no sane person could possibly object. But even this blessing may be
overdone, through the indiscreet zeal of teachers, until it becomes
a curse, instead of what it really ought to be, a blessing. The body
of man, acted on by the unerring laws of Nature, plainly rebels
against all overdosing, whether it be in food, drink, exercise, heat
or cold, and clearly indicates a limit—‘Thus far, and no farther.’ So
it is with the brain. Children are not all constituted alike, and it
is certain that all should not be treated in the same manner in the
training either of their bodies or their minds. One boy will develop
great muscular strength, and distinguish himself in athletic games
and gymnasium practice. But will it be pretended because A and B can
do this to their advantage, that C and D, who do _not_ possess the
physical requisites, should also be compelled to go through the same
course? What must be the consequence? An utter breakdown. So is it with
the mental organisation; a point which seems to be the last thing that
many teachers take the trouble to study, or even to think of. All the
children who attend the school—to use a homely but truthful saying—must
be ‘tarred with the same brush,’ no matter what their capacity or
ability. The weak sensitive mind, lacking both ready intelligence and
quick perception, is to be ‘crammed’ and overdosed with learning for
the reception of which it is unfitted; whilst no allowance is made for
want of ability. And all this in obedience to the Revised Code of the
Education Department, the principles of which have been denounced as
not seldom producing more evil than good, and serving only to degrade
the higher aims of true education. The consequences of this system,
when it is overdone, are that the mind gives way, and brain-fever and
death are the painful results. As far as the public have heard as yet,
only two deaths of children have been recorded as having been produced
by over-pressure of the brain in schools; but it is not improbable that
if two have occurred in this way, that these are by no means all. It
is also possible that a child may sicken and die from this overwork
without its parents at all suspecting the real cause.
The question is now fairly before the public; and a large and
influential meeting was held on the 27th of March last in Exeter Hall,
under the presidency of the Earl of Shaftesbury, ‘to protest against
the existing over-pressure in elementary schools.’ The most remarkable
resolution was moved by Dr Forbes Winslow, a gentleman who, from his
great professional experience, was well able to give a fair opinion on
a question of brain-work and brain-pressure. This resolution was to
the effect: ‘That, in the opinion of this meeting, a serious amount of
over-pressure, injurious to the health and education of the people,
exists in the public elementary schools of the country, and demands
the continued and serious attention of Her Majesty’s government.’ The
resolution then goes on to condemn the Revised Code, adding, that
‘if the recent changes even alleviate, they will not remove, this
over-pressure.’
Other resolutions passed at this meeting also referred to the
excessive brain-pressure exercised in schools, and deprecated the
Code generally, especially the inelastic conditions under which the
Education grant is administered, the excessive demands of the Code
itself, and the defects of inspection. The system of ‘classification’
was also severely condemned by one speaker, who added these remarkable
words: ‘Ingenious cruelty could not have provided a more ruinous
system than that of payment by results. All the children were ground
upon the same grindstone, without reference to their capacity; and
accordingly as they were ground up or ground down to the very same
level, so was the percentage of public money handed over.’ It was also
insisted that teachers should classify according to ability, and not
merely according to age; a wise and salutary suggestion, which, if
carried out, would undoubtedly save much useless over brain-work, for
it would follow that, where a child was found to be of a low order of
intellect, cramming and over-pressure would be futile, and therefore
not attempted, as being simply loss of time. But where children are
placed according to age only in one particular class, it follows that
all constituting that class—dull or bright—are to be crammed exactly
alike, whether they can bear it or not, and the consequence must be
that whilst the intelligent advance rapidly, the stupid break down
entirely. Such a system, added to the principle of payment by results,
can be productive of nothing but disaster.
The question has recently been before both Houses of Parliament; but
Mr Stanley Leighton unfortunately lost his motion by a majority of
forty-nine. His motion was to the effect, that children under seven
should not be presented for examination—that greater liberty should be
given to teachers to classify according to abilities and acquirements,
and not age only—and that a large share of the grant should depend on
attendance, and a smaller upon individual examinations. Mr Leighton
concluded by saying that ‘the existing over-pressure was killing not
only children, but teachers as well.’
As this important subject has at length been fairly ventilated, it will
probably not be allowed to drop until something has been attempted to
modify and re-arrange much that now exists in the objectionable Revised
Code. Nothing, however, will accomplish this much-desired result but
agitation and pressure in the right quarters, and public opinion must
make itself both heard and felt.
GAS COOKING-STOVES.
BY AN ANALYTICAL CHEMIST.
A short time ago, it was feared that the electric light would quickly
and entirely supersede gas as an illuminating agent; and whether it
eventually did so or not, there was no doubt that in the future it
would prove a formidable rival. Those who were most interested in
gas, foreseeing the inevitable change, whilst improving the positions
they occupied so prominently and so long, sought new fields for the
application of gas, in which they might hold their own, and probably
more than their own, against the conquering rival. The application of
gas to cooking purposes was one of the results, and, as experience has
since proved, was a very useful and beneficial one. The writer has
had a gas cooking-stove for some time in his possession, and offers,
therefore, for the benefit of others the results of personal experience.
The gas-flame used in gas cooking-stoves differs essentially from the
ordinary gas-flame used for lighting purposes. It is necessary to bear
this in mind, for some persons object to gas-cooking because they are
only acquainted with gas in the form used for illumination, in which
it is capable of giving off so much soot and other objectionable
products of combustion. In the gas cooking-flame the combustion is
more perfect, and consequently the temperature is very much higher, so
that by this simple change an extraordinary saving of gas is effected,
while the objectionable products before mentioned are almost entirely
eliminated. To effect this change, all that is necessary is to mix the
gas with a sufficient quantity of air before it reaches the flame, and
to subdivide the flame itself. This mixture of gas and air has been
for a long period in use for heating purposes in the laboratory of the
chemist under the form of the Bunsen burner, and also in the blowpipe,
and is almost indispensable to him.
The advantages which gas possesses over coal and peat for cooking
purposes may be summed up as follow: (1) It is always ready, and can be
turned on and off in a moment; (2) It is very clean, deposits no soot
if properly lighted; (3) The heat can be regulated to the requirements
of the occasion; (4) It requires no attention; (5) It is cheap and
economical; (6) It preserves the flavour of meat; and (7) It saves time
and labour.
Any person who considers the amount of labour and time expended in
connection with ordinary fires—the comparative difficulty of lighting
them—the frequent attention necessary to maintain them, and the waste
of fuel when not in use—the amount of soot they discharge about the
compartment, and deposit, more particularly in open stoves, on the
utensils used in cooking—the absence of any means by which the heat
can be properly regulated—cannot fail to be convinced that coal for
cooking purposes has a great rival in gas. That gas is economical
cannot for a moment be disputed, even when the question of labour
is not included. Of course the comparison will vary in different
localities; but wherever the price of gas is in proportion to the price
of coal—that is to say, wherever no exceptionally high price is charged
for the cost of manufacturing gas—the cost of cooking by the latter
will compare favourably with that of coal. A few figures taken from
actual trial will make this clear. A ton of Wallsend coals in London
costs twenty-six shillings, and will feed a small kitchen stove for two
months; making the charge thirteen shillings a month. To this must be
added one shilling a month for firewood, which costs in London three
shillings and sixpence per hundred bundles. This amounts to fourteen
shillings a month. The cost of gas for doing the same amount of cooking
amounts, at three shillings per thousand cubic feet, to, say, fourpence
a day, or ten shillings a month; to which eightpence a month for
rent of gas-stove has to be added. This amounts to ten shillings and
eightpence; making the saving per month upwards of three shillings.
Where stoves can be had for hire from the Gas Companies—and they
can now be had from most Companies—hiring is cheaper than purchase.
Moreover, the Company keep them in repair without extra cost.
The advantages of gas are felt chiefly in summer, when coal-fires are
not only not required for heating purposes, but when kept lighted all
day, are positively objectionable; and to the workers in the kitchen
almost intolerable. The atmosphere of a kitchen where gas is used at
this season contrasts strongly in temperature with that of one in which
coal is burned. When coal-fires are kept up only for the preparation of
each meal, the cost of relighting is somewhat considerable.
There are many objections offered to the use of gas for cooking. It
is very commonly said that an offensive smell is imparted to the
victuals cooked by gas—that gas is really more costly in the end—and
that the statements made by gas and gas-stove manufacturers in respect
to working cost are lower than can be obtained in practice. If the
stove be a good one, the victuals are generally better cooked than
by the ordinary method; there is no objectionable smell, and no
objectionable taste. The flavour of meat roasted or baked in a good
stove is superior, because it can be done quickly, and is not allowed
to toughen, as frequently happens before a low kitchen fire. That gas
is not more costly than coals is proved by the figures given above.