called the “Prairie-dog,” from a supposed resemblance of its cry to the
hurried barking of a dog. The habits of this animal are so social, that
they live together in burrows which are called “_Prairie-dog villages_,”
and which sometimes spread to the extent of many miles; the entrance of
each burrow is through a small mound of earth, of a foot or eighteen
inches high, on the summit of which the little animals sit and bark, and
flourish their tails; but they plunge in, on the least appearance of
danger. In winter, they become torpid, having first securely closed up
the entrance of their burrows, and made a nest of fine dry grass with a
small opening just large enough to admit a finger, and so compact, that
it might be rolled along the floor without injury. The burrowing owl is
said to inhabit these plains also, dwelling in burrows of the same
description as those of the prairie-dog.
_24th._--This day, our good friend, Mrs. P. left us--I am very sorry to
lose her; and, so indeed, is every person in the house.
She had promised, you know, to tell me her history, but circumstances
induced her to put it on paper, and I shall lose no time in transcribing
it for your amusement, my dear mamma.
She was anxious to return to her father and mother, as her boys spent
this vacation with Mr. Crispin, a very old friend.
To-morrow, as soon as the Lumleys go away, I shall begin to copy her
history.
_26th._--My indulgent uncle had requested the gardener, or any one who
happened to find a dormouse, to bring it to him; and Franklin, in
stubbing up an old hollow root of a tree, luckily found one of those
little fat creatures fast asleep. It is more plump, but very like a
common mouse; the nose is blunter, and its tail is not so pointed; it is
of a dun red all over, except the throat, which is white. It lay in a
most comfortable little nest of woven grass, which has not been
disturbed; and beside it there was a small collection of nuts and
acorns.
My aunt has lent me a cage, and we shall see whether the warmth of the
house can overcome its habit of sleeping during the rest of the winter;
but I shall not for some days put it into a warm room; it shall be
treated as if it had been frozen, and revived very gradually.
The same person, my uncle says, who tried the experiment on crickets,
which I mentioned to you a fortnight ago, shut up some garden snails in
a wafer-box, where he secluded them from food and water; but not from
air, for he made several small holes in the box. He also put a few
snails into a bottle from which all air was excluded; they, of course,
died; but those in the perforated boxes retired into their shells, the
aperture of which they closed with a thin membrane; and there they
remained apparently dead, as long as they were kept dry. On being
dropped into water of the temperature of 70°, they were found quite
alive in four hours, and sticking to the plate which covered the vessel.
One large snail was imprisoned for three years, and yet it revived on
being put into water.
I was told a most singular instance of the length of time for which life
may be suspended in those animals. Some snail-shells had for many years
formed part of a little museum; one night the window of the room was
left open; heavy rain beat into the case which had not been shut; and
the next day, what had been considered only specimens of shells, were
found crawling about the walls.
This faculty, however, is not peculiar to snails; for M. Socoloff, a
Russian, found that some flies and small beetles, which had been long
immersed in spirit of wine, had returned to life on being thrown into
warm wood ashes. He was astonished at seeing the flies start up, and,
after wiping the dust from their wings, fly away as if nothing had
happened.
_29th, Sunday._--My uncle told us this morning, that the book of
Leviticus was so called, because it describes the sacrifices and
services of the tabernacle, which were to be performed by the tribe of
Levi. He then read to us some of the chapters, and he answered in the
kindest manner the questions which we all put to him, about the
different offerings, and the regulations to be observed by the priests.
As he closed the book, he said, “The object of these observances has
passed away with the Mosaic dispensation, and it is now only necessary
to understand their general tendency. Sacrifices and offerings had been
established in the infancy of mankind, and, though perverted by folly
and idolatry, they continued to form a part of every worship in every
country. It was the universal belief that sins could only be expiated
by corresponding sacrifices of what was most valued; and gratitude for
worldly blessings and riches seemed to demand some proportionate
offerings.
“Sacrifices, offerings, and ceremonies were a kind of _representative_,
or figurative worship. Compared with the present state of the world, the
people of those days had few abstract ideas; even their arts, and
sciences, and particularly their religious systems, were in a great
degree described by allegories, types, and hieroglyphics; and though we
can with difficulty see the connexion now, it is probable that every
outward rite that was then enjoined to the Israelites, was really
typical of some inward principle of virtue, or of some distinct point of
faith. Taken altogether, it is certain that their object was to
discipline that stubborn people into obedience--to preserve them from
the surrounding idolatries--to keep them separate from all other
nations, as depositaries of the revealed truth--to train them for the
reception of a new dispensation--and, above all, they were designed to
prefigure the great and final atoning sacrifice of the Messiah.”
_30th._--The weather has been so soft and mild for the last week, that
it seems as if we had only dreamt of frost and snow. After the thaw, the
ground, and even the walks, were so wet, that we could not go out of
doors with any comfort, and as I had a little cold, I stayed in the
house for a few days; so I was the more surprised at seeing what a
change has taken place. The wheat-fields look greener than ever; the
buds of the lilac and sycamore are swelling, and the woodbine leaves are
actually bursting open. The flower-buds on the mezereon, which Mary
showed me last September, are now opening; and a few scattered flowers,
which are quite blown out, shew us their pretty pink faces, and promise
a delightful smell. But, more than all, the snow-drops have already
appeared, and in the sheltered spots there are many bunches of them
quite opened. It is the most innocent, modest looking little flower; and
with its pure and delicate white, forms a charming contrast to the dirty
appearance of the walks.
The snow-drop blooms
Ere winter’s storms are past,
As she shrinks below
Her mantle of snow
And trembling shuns the blast.
_Feb. 1st._--Dreary as this season is, I find it better than I had
expected; but, indeed, there is so much pursuit and rational occupation
in this house, that it is impossible to feel any day gloomy.
We have now a return of frost, and besides those birds which venture
into the house, there are several others which crowd round it in flocks
to seek for food. Sparrows, chaffinches, and yellow-hammers are to be
seen every day at the barn-doors, pecking what they can find; and Mary
has shewn me the larks, sheltering themselves in the stubble; and the
thrushes, blackbirds, and even fieldfares, nestling together under the
hedges, as if endeavouring to console each other.
While the ground was covered with snow, I saw the black-headed titmouse
come every day to a thatched shed in the yard, and with its back
downwards, draw out the straws lengthways from the eaves of the shed, in
order to seize the flies concealed between them; and I assure you, such
numbers came to one spot, that they quite spoiled the appearance of the
thatch, Mary says they are very useful in searching for the _larvæ_ of
the _tortrix_, those ingenious caterpillars, that disfigure the leaves
of fruit-trees by rolling them up for their houses. Gardeners, she says,
are very ungrateful to these birds; for, supposing that they attack the
blossoms, they are destroyed without mercy. They are, however, eaters of
bees, so that they must be considered somewhat mischievous.
They are easily tamed and taught little tricks, such as drawing up a
bucket. Mary placed some almonds yesterday on a sheltered bank; in a
short time one of these little black-heads came, and grasping the
largest of them in his claw, broke the shell by repeatedly striking it
with his sharp bill, and then dexterously drew out the kernel.
My uncle walked with us to-day to Farmer Moreland’s, that we might see
what out-of-door work was going on in this frosty weather. Besides
drawing manure into the fields, while the ground is hard, we found his
men busy in mending the hedges and fences; and now that the roads are
pretty smooth, he will employ his team in carrying hay and corn to
market. Afterwards, if the frost should continue, he says he will draw
coals, which will be no great trouble--there are so many coal-pits in
the forest. We heard the cheerful sound of the _flails_ as we passed his
barn;--he was threshing out all his barley to sell for making malt. As
we walked home my uncle told me the process of malting.
“Beer is, you know,” said he, “a fermented liquor, made generally from
barley after it has been converted into malt; as in its natural state it
would produce but an imperfect fermentation.
“The grain is first steeped for two or three days in water, that it may
soak and swell to a certain degree. The water being then drained off, it
is laid on the floor in a heap of about two feet high, when, with the
warmth of the house and the imbibed moisture, it begins to _germinate_,
and to shoot out its radicle; which is checked by spreading it out
thinner, and frequently turning it over with wooden shovels to cool it.
These operations require several days, and it is then thrown into the
malt-kiln and slightly baked. The time it is kept there, and the heat to
which the kiln is raised, depend on the kind of beer to be brewed, and
the required colour for the malt; it is however enough for you to know,
that from eight to twelve hours is sufficient; and that from 130° to
160° of the thermometer gives all the varieties of colour from pale ale
to the brownest porter. By this process the grain undergoes a material
change; it acquires a saccharine or sweet quality which it did not
possess before, and which is destroyed if either the germination or the
kiln-drying are carried too far. It also loses a large proportion of the
mucilage that it contained; which is the reason why the flour of wheat
that has been sowed in wet weather is generally bad; the grain partially
heats in the stacks, a tendency to germinate takes place, and there is,
therefore, a deficiency of that nutritious part, the mucilage. In this
case the flour is said to be _malty_.
“This accounts for the bad paste which your aunt had some days ago; it
was made of malty flour, and you know it had not the adhesive quality of
good paste.”
_3rd._--How pleasant it is to find some chance circumstance relative to
any subject about which we have been interested. Here is something that
I found in Scoresby’s Journal; and it seems quite to agree with my
uncle’s opinion.
“This night stars were seen for the first time during fifteen weeks, the
sky being beautifully clear. The sea, as usual on such occasions began
to freeze as soon as the sun descended within four or five degrees of
the horizon, though the temperature of the air was considerably above
the freezing point. Whether the heat of the water be radiated into the
atmosphere, according to the theory of Dr. Wells, or whether a cold
influence of the atmosphere be conveyed to the water, may be a doubtful
question; but the fact, that the water more rapidly loses its heat when
exposed to the full aspect of a cloudless sky, is certain. In cloudy
weather no freezing of the sea ever occurs, I believe, till the
temperature of the air is below 29°: but in the instance now alluded to,
the freezing commenced when the temperature was 36°, being about 8°
above the freezing point of sea water.”
_5th, Sunday._--My uncle said to-day that, before we quitted the subject
of the Jewish sacrifices, he had a few more observations to make, to
which he requested our attention.
“In a worldly point of view,” he said, “the punctual performance of all
those rites, and a strict obedience to the ceremonial law, were the
terms on which the Israelites were to inherit the land of Canaan; and in
a spiritual sense they were to be considered as the means of sharing the
benefit of that great sacrifice of Christ which was to lead to the
inheritance of the heavenly Canaan. The institution of animal sacrifice
had continued until the giving of the law, no offering but that of an
animal being mentioned in scripture up to this period, except that of
Cain, which was rejected. But when the law was ordained, we find that
the connexion between animal sacrifice and atonement was clearly and
distinctly announced; and that certain prescribed offerings were to be
accepted as the means of deliverance from the penal consequences of sin.
“He who presented a sin-offering was commanded to lay his hands upon the
head of the animal, as a confession of his own guilt, and as an
acknowledgment that the punishment he deserved was, by the gracious
forbearance of God, transferred to the victim. On these terms the
offering was accepted, and a conditional pardon granted. The Hebrew word
for sin-offering includes the sense of cleansing, expiating, and making
satisfaction; and therefore every sin-offering, 1st, implied contrition
and repentance; 2dly, an humble hope of averting a just chastisement by
this figurative retribution;--and 3rdly, a firm belief in the efficacy
of the great final atonement. The Jews well knew,” added my uncle, “that
none of these sacrifices had in themselves sufficient value to clear the
criminal, or to procure his pardon; they knew that they were only
instituted as a public avowal of his crime, and as a type of the perfect
expiation to be afterwards made by Christ for the sins of mankind.
“It was indeed the object of all the sacrifices of the Mosaic ritual, to
impress the people with the necessity of expiation, even for involuntary
offences; and to fix in their minds that awful maxim, as St. Paul
expresses it, that ‘without shedding of blood there is no remission.’
This lesson was inculcated in the earliest sacrifice upon record--when
respect was had to Abel’s sacrifice of the firstlings of his flock,
rather than to the husbandman’s offering of the fruit of his ground; and
afterwards in the covenant with Noah, as well as in various parts of the
Mosaic law, where blood was in the most absolute way prohibited to be
eaten, as being a holy thing consecrated to the purpose of general
expiation. This expiatory virtue, however, the apostles emphatically
say, belonged not to the blood of bulls and of goats, but to the blood
of Christ, of which the other was only a temporary emblem.”
My uncle then read to us the several parts of Scripture to which he had
alluded; and he added, that though we are now ignorant of the particular
object of the ceremonies and minute directions for the sacrifices and
offerings, we may perceive that solemnity and reverence were strongly
enforced in all, with an exactness of obedience to lesser regulations,
which shews that neither must we neglect the smaller duties while we
obey the ‘weightier matters of the law.’
_6th._--A number of curious circumstances were mentioned at breakfast in
a conversation on the force of habit, not only in animals, but in
vegetables; and my uncle thinks it is a subject on which further inquiry
would not be more interesting to the philosopher than useful to the
farmer and gardener. I have only time to write a very little of what he
said.
He told us that there are several plants, which have been naturalised in
cold climates by bringing them there step by step. Rice he gave as one
instance: it is a native of the East Indies, within the torrid zone, but
was early cultivated in South Carolina, the Canaries, and the northern
parts of Africa; and about a hundred years ago it was sown in Italy. It
has ever since been creeping towards the north of Europe, and there are
now very large plantations of rice on the banks of the Weser. It is,
however, necessary in Germany to use the seed which has been ripened
there; that of Carolina will not thrive at all, and Italian seed but
indifferently, being destitute of that power of withstanding cold, which
the German rice has acquired by habit.
Another example of the gradual effect of habit on plants my uncle
learned from the late Dr. Walker. The Brazilian passion-tree is, you
know, an evergreen in its native country; but when the Doctor was a boy
in 1773, some plants of it near Edinburgh annually lost their leaves.
During his life, however, they became gradually enured to the climate;
and he says that in his latter years, in sheltered situations, they have
retained their foliage through the whole winter.
I asked my uncle whether those plants, which have come from a warmer
region, and are naturalised here, flower later in this climate than in
their own.
“The times of the appearance of vegetables in the spring seem,” said he,
“to be influenced by early acquired habits, as well as by sensibility to
heat. That same Dr. Walker, whom I mentioned a few minutes ago, had some
very singular ideas on this subject: his opinion was, that plants
removed from one climate to another, generally observe their original
season of flowering, unless prevented by some powerful cause. The
climate of Spain and Portugal in December and January suits the
flowering of the laurestinus; and you have seen that the cold of
Gloucestershire in those months was not sufficient to deter it from
following its old habits. In the northern parts of Scotland, however, it
does not flower till April. Dr. Walker thought the flowering of any
shrub in winter in this climate was an indubitable proof of its not
being a native; and he therefore supposes the arbutus to have been a
native of Iceland: in the fact, I believe, he is right; but, when the
similarity of the climates is considered, it is rather a whimsical proof
of his doctrine.
“He gives, however, several instances of plants brought from the
southern hemisphere, which flower there at the time that the sun is in
the tropic of Capricorn, and which adhere in this country to their old
December rule, without obeying the influence of the sun when in Cancer.”
I afterwards met my uncle in the garden, where he showed me an immense
quantity of buds on the peach trees, and took great pains in teaching me
the difference between the flower buds and leaf buds--the former short,
thick, broad and full, with a downy covering;--the leaf buds much less
downy, longer, and not so thick. In a few weeks, he says, I am to see
these trees in full flower, notwithstanding this wintery weather.
_7th._--From all I had heard Colonel Travers say about rice, I imagined
that its cultivation was almost confined to India; and I had no idea
till yesterday that it grew in North America, and even in Germany. I
renewed therefore the conversation to-day, and I now find that it is so
much cultivated in Spain, particularly in the low parts of the province
of Valencia, that a very large quantity is exported every year.
The ground is prepared for it there by first sowing beans; and when they
come into blossom, which is about March, they are ploughed in for
manure, and flooded with water to the depth of four inches. After a
third ploughing the rice is sown; and when it comes up, it is
transplanted to another prepared field, and again covered with water.
Each stem produces about twenty-four fold. When ripe it is gathered in
sheaves, and put into a mill, the lower grinding-stone of which is
covered with cork, by which means the chaff is separated without
bruising the grain.
My aunt tells me that rice grows wild in the swamps of Upper Canada; and
that the shallow parts of Rice Lake, which is near the residence of Mrs.
* * *, is full of it. Her letters describe it as having the appearance
of reeds with long narrow leaves, and bearing clusters of flowers at the
top of the stem.
It is curious that the plant chiefly cultivated in the Sandwich Islands
for food is managed very like rice;--the _taro_, to grow in perfection,
requiring irrigation. The fields are divided for that purpose, like the
rice grounds of the East, into small squares which may be easily
flooded, and the roots are planted in rows. The root of the taro when
roasted resembles the yam; but it is usually pounded into a paste, and
then mixed with water, so as to become of the consistence of porridge.
The Sandwich Islands are nearer to you than to England, and yet perhaps
you do not know, dear mamma, that although the bread-fruit is the most
important of all their vegetables, they have another very useful one,
called _Tee_ by the natives. The root is sweet, and produces a pleasant
liquor, but a little intoxicating. The leaves woven together form a
light cloak for the inhabitants of the mountains;--something like those
formed of the palm leaves by the poorer natives of Hindostan, to shelter
them while at work in the open fields. Fences are often formed by
planting the tee roots close together; but what makes the plant
particularly remarkable is, that a stalk of it is with them the symbol
of peace, as a branch of olive is with us.
Of the bark of the paper mulberry that ingenious people manufacture very
nice cloth; they make beautiful mats from the leaves of their palm
trees; and you know what pretty cloaks and caps of feathers have been
brought home from all those islands. They even stamp their cloth with
patterns; and their weapons and bowls are highly carved. “This shews,”
my aunt says, “that whenever people arrive at a certain point of
civilization, that is, as soon as their food and other necessaries of
life are surely and regularly supplied, the ornamental arts as surely
follow.”
She afterwards added, that she thought it would be a very nice winter
amusement for us to describe to each other the arts and luxuries as well
as the principal natural productions of the different parts of the
globe.
My uncle approved of this idea, and we are to try it sometimes as we sit
after dinner round the fire. I fear I am quite too ignorant to attempt
to bear a part; but I am sure I shall be delighted to listen.
_8th._--The sun rose this morning so brilliantly, and the distant hills
looked so remarkably blue and clear, that I was sure we should have a
fine day and a long walk; but my uncle told me that, at this season,
both of those appearances indicate rain; and he took me to the
barometer, and shewed me, by his meteorological journal, that the
mercury had been _gradually_ falling ever since Monday night, and that
it was very hollow on its upper surface. From all this he thinks there
will be some days of continued bad weather. Accordingly, before
breakfast was well over, the clouds began to collect about the mountain
tops, and it is now raining. I have already made some progress in
transcribing Mrs. P.’s memoir for my dear mamma; and if his prediction
be correct, I shall have time to finish it before the return of dry
weather.
MRS. P.’S NARRATIVE.
I am now going to fulfil my promise, Bertha, by giving you a sketch of
my life; and as I shall begin by a detail of those early circumstances
which have unceasingly influenced its happiness or misery, there will
seldom be occasion to interrupt my narrative in order to point out their
consequences. You will have no difficulty in perceiving how inevitably
my errors led to their punishment; how certainly the heart is corrupted
by selfish indulgence; and how pursuits that in themselves are laudable
may become pernicious, if not controlled by a sense of duty.