chance companion to be a Dissenting parson, and his first words as,
having finished his tea, he drew a chair to the opposite side of the
fireplace, confirmed my surmise. Throwing his eye over my attire,
he remarked that he thought we were 'both in the same profession,'
and inquired if I were not a 'minister of the gospel.' And upon my
informing him that I was a clergyman of the Church of England, we were
soon in the midst of a polemical discussion, which lasted a couple
of hours and covered a large amount of ground; and which ended (at
least as far as I was concerned) in producing feelings akin to sincere
friendship.
The insignificant-looking, ill-formed, shabbily dressed Welsh minister
had interested and attracted me more than any man I had ever met in
my life. Endowed with a rich melodious voice, and with wonderful
conversational powers, he was possessed also of an excellent memory
and a keen intelligence. His reading, moreover, had been various and
deep, as I found when, later on in the evening, the conversation turned
upon other than ecclesiastical matters. But it was perhaps even more
to his imperturbable good-humour, and to the singular innocence and
candour which shone in his clear gray eyes and exhibited themselves in
every word he uttered, than to his rare natural gifts, that he owed
his ability to please. However that might be, I had certainly found
the Rev. Peter Morgan a most charming companion, and when, just as
we were about to separate for the night, I learned that he was going
upon the following day to Twellryst, a town I was myself intending to
visit, I eagerly proposed that we should make the journey together.
The suggestion met with a ready and pleased acquiescence from my new
acquaintance, and we then exchanged information as to the different
objects which were taking us both to this rather out-of-the-way place.
Mine was a very simple one, that of examining the ruins of an ancient
monastery in its vicinity. My friend's was a more business-like and,
as he laughingly said, a more agreeable errand. It was to receive
certain subscriptions which a friend of his, resident in the town, had
collected on his behalf. These subscriptions were to be applied to the
purpose of enlarging the chapel of which he was pastor at Pwlwyln, a
rapidly growing village on the northern sea-board. The money which I
had seen him count, the little man went on to state, was the fruit of
his own labours for the same cause. He had obtained it by travelling
about the country begging from town to town amongst the members of the
denomination to which he belonged, and had been engaged in this manner
nearly two months. The mission, he concluded, had been crowned with
much greater success than he had anticipated. With the subscriptions
he was to receive on the morrow, and those already in his custody, he
expected to be able to return home (as he was intending to do on the
day afterwards) with upwards of three hundred pounds in his pocket,
which, together with another hundred raised by his own very poor
congregation, would, he anticipated, be amply sufficient to cover all
expenses of the alterations.
'And how, sir, do you propose to get to Twellryst?' I inquired. 'As you
are no doubt aware, there is no railway line in that direction. I was
intending to _walk_ myself; but _you_ surely were not thinking of doing
so?'
'Indeed no, my friend,' he replied with the sunny smile which upon the
slightest provocation would break over his large plain features. 'At
upwards of sixty, one doesn't undertake a walk of thirty miles unless
it be under the pressure of stern necessity. No, no; I could walk well
enough at your age; but now, alas! the infirmities of age, &c. &c. So
if you please, we will go by coach. I have ascertained that one runs
twice a week from Abermeulth to Twellryst, passing through Lleyrudrigg.
To-morrow will be one of its days, though I do not yet know at what
hour of the morning it will arrive here. The landlord, however, will be
able to tell us that; and if you will kindly ring the bell, which I see
is on your side of the fireplace, we can make inquiries forthwith.'
In bending forward to obey this request, I noticed that a door
immediately behind my chair stood a little ajar, and it at once flashed
upon me that for some time I had been vaguely conscious of a slight
draught. The bell still in my hand, I remained for a moment after
ringing, with my eyes fixed upon the door. When last I had looked
in that direction it had, I felt quite sure, been closed; and as an
instant's reflection convinced me, no person had entered the room by it
throughout the entire evening.
Prompted by an unpleasant suspicion which had suggested itself against
my will, I advanced quietly, and throwing it more widely apart, peered
through. It opened into a small china-closet, connected by another
door with a long passage. Both passage and closet were flagged. I had
heard no sound of footsteps, yet there, within the latter, stood
the landlord. Upon seeing me, he looked, I thought, confused, but
immediately recovering himself, stepped into the room, as though he had
been coming that way in answer to the bell. I had certainly no proof
that he had been listening, but I felt, nevertheless, a moral assurance
of the fact, and wondering what could have been his motive in the act,
I eyed him sharply whilst he gave a not very satisfactory reply to Mr
Morgan's interrogations respecting the stage-coach. According to his
account, the vehicle in question was a most irregular and unpunctual
one, starting at hours varying from ten to twelve in the morning, and
being even less reliable as to the time of its return. This report
naturally was not agreeable to the minister; but expressing a hope
that the coach would be upon its best behaviour next day, he requested
that bedroom candles might be sent in; and the landlord departed to
order them. In a few moments, however, he returned, and made us a
proposition which had apparently just occurred to him. It was to the
effect that we should hire a horse and dog-cart belonging to the hotel.
The horse, its owner affirmed, was a splendid animal, and would carry
us to Twellryst in half the time it would take the coach to get there.
We should, moreover, he promised, have the conveyance for little more
than the amount of our coach-fares, since not only did the horse need
exercise greatly, but he had besides some business of his own in that
town, which could be transacted for him by a cousin who would drive us.
By adopting this plan, too, he concluded, we could see the Spike Rocks.
Everybody who came to these parts in the summer-time went to see the
Spike Rocks, and Jonathan should drive us round that way.
A question or two convincing us that the rocks referred to would be
well worth a visit, we gladly accepted the landlord's offer; and
waiting only to make arrangements as to the time of starting, bade each
other good-night and separated for our respective chambers.
CHILDREN'S TROUBLES.
If children occasionally turn out to be 'Torturations,' their parents
are not uniformly guiltless of bringing such a result on themselves.
What with over-indulgence or neglect, or it may be harshness of
discipline, there is little wonder that children fall short of
expectations. We have known a father who paid no end of attentions to
his girls, and let his boys grow up any way. We have also known the
greatest mischief arise from unnecessary severity and snubbing. Some
parents seem to imagine that they sufficiently perform their duty when
they give their children a good education. They forget that there is
the education of the fireside as well as of the school. At schools and
academies there is no cultivation of the affections, but often very
much of the reverse. Hence the value of kindly home influences that
touch the heart and understanding. Children need to be spoken to and
treated as if they were rational beings, and who are for the most part
keenly observant of what goes on before their eyes. Good example along
with gentle hints as to manners and conduct are consequently of first
importance. As children learn much from being allowed to listen to
conversations on subjects of interest, it is an unwise policy to turn
them out of the room when any useful information may be picked up. Of
course they must be taught to be discreetly silent, and not lend in
their word on subjects they know nothing about.
It is useless to speak of the terribly real suffering which selfish,
careless parents cause their children; but we shall advert to a few
of the common mistakes of well-meaning persons who, from want of
thought, prevent their children being as happy as they ought to be. How
much happiness and improvement do those children miss who are never
encouraged to observe the beauties and marvels of nature! Instead of
this, they are put to books, containing dull abstractions, far too
soon, and as a consequence they remain all their lives bad observers,
seeing everything through books--that is, through other men's eyes, and
ignorant of almost everything except mere words.
When a child begins to cross-examine its parents as to why the fire
burns, how his carte-de-visite was taken, how many stars there are,
and such like--grown-up ignorance or want of sympathy too often laughs
at him; says that children should not ask tiresome questions, and,
as far as it can, checks the inquiring spirit within him. 'Little
people should be seen and not heard,' is a stupid saying, which makes
many young observers shy of imparting to their elders the things that
arrest their attention, until they stop learning and overcome their
sense of wonder--the spur of all philosophy--from want of sympathy
and encouragement. And yet grown-up people should surely be aware
that Nature has implanted in us a desire to know and to communicate
knowledge, considering how very much most of us love to hear and to
spread gossip. Children 'would gladly learn and gladly teach;' but
if they are early snubbed, they will not be glad to do either in
after-life.
If we only reflected how 'queer' everything must appear to a mind newly
arrived on such an earth as ours, children's questions would not appear
at all foolish. During the first four or five years, which is occupied
in distinguishing and naming the commonest objects, perhaps children
solve more difficult intellectual problems than at any future period
of their lives. How keenly, then, must young children feel want of
sympathy and encouragement!
As an example of the physical misery which 'is wrought by want of
thought as well as want of heart,' we may allude to the 'Can't you be
quiet?' which puts young children to the unnecessary torture of sitting
still like 'big people.' Why do not parents reflect that it is almost
a physical impossibility for any young animal to remain quiet for more
than a few moments?
Then, as regards food; some are too prone to put in practice ascetic
theories in the rearing of their offspring, which they shrink from as
far as their own personal conduct is concerned. And yet, why should not
appetite be a good guide for childhood as it is for animals; as it is
for infancy; as it is for every adult who obeys Nature's laws?
We must, however, thankfully acknowledge that people are beginning
more and more to conform their education to children's opinion; that
is, generally speaking, to the promptings of Nature. It is found that
those turn out worst who during youth have been subjected to most
restrictions. 'Do children take to this or that?' is therefore a
common question. Good teachers now endeavour to make the acquirement
of knowledge pleasurable rather than painful. They study children's
intellectual appetites, in order to discover what knowledge they
are fit to assimilate. Disgust felt towards any information is now
considered a sign either that it is prematurely presented, or that it
is presented in an indigestible form.
We shall say nothing about the sufferings endured by boys at public
schools, because so many are the counteracting pleasures such places
afford, that most boys would prefer school-life to remaining at
home for a continuance. We are not sure, however, that the pains
of school-girls are counterbalanced by their pleasures. They have
not cricket, rowing, paper-chases, and the unequalled excitement of
bolster-fights to compensate for indifferent food, home-sickness, the
torture of 'deportment,' and the dreadful tread-mill exercise of the
hour's promenade. We do not advocate girls adopting boys' sports;
but surely they should have out-of-door games of some kind. Why will
schoolmistresses care so little for health and happiness as never to
allow the gardens of 'Establishments for Young Ladies' to ring with the
laughter and shouts of romping children? Do they fancy that a miserable
walk of one hour, during which the attention of the young ladies is on
the rack about the proper holding of themselves, is as health-giving as
out-of-door games in which the players can forget themselves?
In his book on _Responsibility in Mental Disease_, Dr Maudsley well
says: 'There is hardly any one who sets self-development before him as
an aim in life. The aims which chiefly predominate--riches, position,
power, applause of men--are such as inevitably breed and foster many
bad passions in the eager competition to attain them. Hence, in fact,
come disappointed ambition, jealousy, grief from loss of fortune,
all the torments of wounded self-love, and a thousand other mental
sufferings--the commonly enumerated moral causes of insanity. They are
griefs of a kind to which a rightly developed nature should not fall
a prey. There need be no disappointed ambition if a man were to set
before himself a true aim in life, and to work definitely for it; no
envy nor jealousy, if he considered that it mattered not whether he did
a great thing or some one else did it, Nature's only concern being that
it should be done; no grief from loss of fortune, if he estimated at
its true value that which fortune can bring him, and that which fortune
can never bring him; no wounded self-love, if he had learned well the
eternal lesson of life--self-renunciation.'
This may be called 'unpractical;' but we cannot help thinking that if
parents would sometimes reflect on such ideals, they would have less
of false and more of true ambition than they now have. They would wish
their children to turn out useful rather than brilliant, good rather
than clever. As it is, a dull child is too often snubbed and rendered
miserable because he does not give promise of shining in the world;
while his precocious brother, who will probably do far less (precocious
brains being often the worst), is lionised to strangers, and regarded
as a sort of Liebig's Essence for the support of the family. Perhaps it
is owing to this association of early ideas that at school the clever
boy who spends the shortest time possible at his books is considered by
his companions a far greater man than his less clever class-fellow who
wins in the long-run by working more conscientiously.
How much unhappiness then might children be spared if their parents
would goad them less and sometimes cheer up that dullness which has
fallen to the lot of most of us, by saying:
Be good, dear child, and let who will be clever;
Do noble things--nor dream them all day long;
And so make life, death, and that vast for-ever,
One grand sweet song.
If now we allow our thoughts to pass on from childhood to youth,
we shall find that in the case of many young men the choice of a
profession is attended with much anxiety and no little misery. Some
there are who take kindly to the profession which their friends advise
or which is cut out for them by circumstances. There is, however,
a class of young men for whom we have much sympathy, who find it
very difficult to get started in life, because they have no strong
inclination or pre-arranged reason which would induce them to choose
one profession rather than another. These are speculative rather than
practical men, who are better adapted for taking college honours than
for the struggle for existence. They do not wish to enter the clerical
profession; they may not have sufficient money to enable them to live
through the winter of discontented brieflessness at the bar; their
tastes and nerves are not such as would qualify them for the medical
profession; they may have no business connection. At last they begin
to fancy that they are _de trop_ in the world, and come to the very
erroneous conclusion that mankind has no need for their service.
To such we would say: Go into the profession you dislike least, and
habit will make it bearable. Remember that patience and conscientious
plodding, though sneered at by shallow young men, are the highest
virtues and synonymous with true genius. Life is too short to make
ourselves miserable over the choice of a profession, or to spend years
speculating about what is best to do, which would be better employed in
doing it. We must not seek for mathematical demonstration that the road
we propose to travel on is the right one, when we come to cross-roads
in life. A certain amount of probability is sufficient to make us take
either, especially if the wolf of Hunger be at our heels, or the nobler
incentive of a desire to be useful to our fellow-creatures is urging us.
In the choice of a profession, as of a wife, there must be a certain
venture of faith, and in this unintelligible world there is a rashness
which is not always folly. Young men cannot always adapt circumstances
to themselves, let them therefore endeavour to mould themselves to
circumstances.
Medical men tell us that at every great physiological change in our
systems the mind is apt to be for some time greatly out of tune. Now
this is especially the case when boys and girls are becoming youths
and maidens, and should not be overlooked when considering the sorrows
of youth. At this period they see everything as it were upside down,
and are sometimes tormented by strange fancies, which will vanish when
the tissues of their flesh and of their characters become firmer. Mr
Carlyle says that young men should be shut up in barrels and kept
somewhere out of sight until they have passed their twenty-fifth year,
because it is about this time that they 'attain to their maximum of
detestability.' Now we are quite sure that this was not said in a
cynical tone, for Mr Carlyle values the freshness and enthusiasm of
youth, as every great man must. And indeed it must be acknowledged
that some young men do make themselves very objectionable when they
speak and act, as though they fancied that nothing half so valuable as
themselves had ever been produced on this earth before.
Is it not probable, however, that young people would better attend
to the lessons which their elders can teach them if these elders
had more sympathy for their peculiar trials and sorrows, and were
willing to consider the originality and fire of youth as little
less indispensable to the movement of society, than is steam to the
locomotion of a railway engine? Youth may make itself absurd, but it
does not always become every old man to rebuke it. The old should
not speak disparagingly of 'inexperienced young men,' unless they
themselves make use of the experience they possess. One of the Earls of
Chatham was once taunted on account of his youth, and his reply was:
'Sir--The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honourable
gentleman has with such spirit and decency charged upon me, I shall
neither attempt to palliate nor deny, but content myself with wishing
that I may be one of those whose follies may cease with their youth,
and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of experience. Whether
youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I will not, sir,
assume the province of determining; but surely age may become justly
contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have passed away
without improvement, and vice appears to prevail when the passions have
subsided.'
We conclude these few random notes by saying that people should try
to be the friends and companions as well as the parents of their
children; for if true friends do not win their confidence, false ones
will. Nothing is more difficult than to understand a thoughtful child;
but if once you do so, you can bring him up in the way he should go.
Do not solve your child's nature or anything else too quickly, for
'there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your
philosophy,' or in mine, or in any man's. Certainly childhood ought to
be the happiest period of life; but it greatly depends on the sympathy
of parents whether it is so or not.
THE BECHE-DE-MER.
On the reefs of the Southern Ocean is found a kind of sea-slug termed
the Beche-de-mer. There are as many as sixteen different species
found in Fiji alone, and known all over the group by the generic name
of Dri (pronounced Endree); and this word we will continue to use
throughout this article, as being shorter and more definite than the
French term. It was the French who first came across the mollusc in
China; and in that country it is held in great esteem, and commands
a very high price, two hundred pounds a ton being paid for the best
sorts. The mandarins and the porcelain-makers cannot do without their
favourite dish of dri soup; and even in Paris it is coming into use;
and in Melbourne beche-de-mer is by no means an uncommon dish. When
cotton came down in Fiji from four shillings to one shilling a pound,
many a planter not knowing what else to do, turned to dri-fishing; but
several years ago, the price fell from one hundred and seventy pounds
to seventy pounds a ton, and the inferior sorts became unsaleable. Some
Chinamen say the fall was in consequence of the death of their emperor,
and while in mourning for him (a year), they were obliged to give up
their favourite soup; hence the fall. But some whites say that the
Europeans in Sydney bought inferior dri, and shipped it to China direct
on their own account in a leaky ship: the dri was all spoiled; the
merchants lost heavily, and refused to have anything more to do with
the article; and the Chinamen have the trade in their hands, and give
what they like, and that the price in China still remains the same.
However, it yet pays to fish for the two best sorts, the tit-fish[4]
and black-fish, which are now (1876) worth from sixty to seventy pounds
a ton in Levuka--ten or fourteen corn-bagsful making a ton.
The first thing required in dri-fishing is a good boat from twenty-five
to thirty feet long with plenty of beam; then a dri station is settled
on--an island, or on the coast close to the big reefs, as may be. The
next thing is to get thirty or forty girls and boys, and curiously
enough the girls are the best fishers and divers by far. At half-tide,
all hands sail off to the reefs. Sometimes you fish the day, sometimes
the night tides, according to the sort of fish you are getting and
the stage of the moon; the tit-fish being a day-fish, and the black
only coming out at night. When the tide is nearly low, you put your
labourers on to the reef, and anchor yourself in a deep spot. The water
on the reef is from six inches to three or four feet deep, according
to the moon and state of the tide; and your labourers walk about and
pick up the fish here and there, each having a basket and stick.
Sometimes a shark comes up, looking for a tit-bit, when he is pelted
off. If a black one (the most dangerous), it is hard to make him go;
and if the water is deep (three or four feet), they generally sing out
for the boat. You generally remain with the boat. Sometimes you go
overboard and fish for yourself; but three hours in three-feet water is
cold work, and if not accustomed to it one is apt to catch cold. The
labourers pick up shell-fish, crabs, &c. for themselves. At the end of
two or three hours, the tide begins to make fast; the boat is poled on
to the reef, and you pick up your fishers and start for home.
After measuring the 'take' in order to pay your fishers, the fish are
placed in large boilers. After being on the boil for half an hour they
are done, taken up, a stick driven through them to clean and knock the
water out; and are then taken to the smoking-house, where they are
put on large frames of reeds over a slow smoky fire. These frames are
technically called _vatas_; and they are left on the lower vata about
three days, and then removed to the upper, where they are left eight or
ten days longer. They are by that time smoked hard and dry; then sorted
carefully (one improperly dried fish will injure the rest), and put in
bags for sale.