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/* THE PENNY MAGAZINE
OF THE
Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
17.] PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY. [<sc>July</sc> 7, 1832.
- /
THE CAPE BUFFALO--BOS CAFFER.
/# [From a Correspondent.]
- /
[Illustration: [Cape Buffalo]]
Of the South African buffalo I had not many opportunities
for personal observation during my residence in
that part of the Cape Colony of which this animal is
still an inhabitant; but, living among people by whom
he is frequently and eagerly hunted, I heard a good
deal of his character and habits, which may be comprised
in the following sketch.
The Boors and Hottentots describe the buffalo to be, what his aspect strongly indicates, an animal of a fierce, treacherous, and cruel disposition. Even when not provoked by wounds or driven to extremity in the chase, they say he will attack, with the utmost ferocity, his great enemy man, if he happens to intrude incautiously upon his haunts; and what renders him the more dangerous is his habit of skulking in the jungle, when he observes travellers approaching, and then suddenly rushing out upon them. It has been remarked, too, (and this observation has been corroborated by the Swedish traveller Sparrman,) that if he succeeds in killing a man by goring and tossing him with his formidable horns, he will stand over his victim afterwards for a long time, trampling upon him with his hoofs, crushing him with his knees, mangling the body with his horns, and stripping off the skin with his rough and prickly tongue. This he does not do all at once, but at intervals, going away and again returning, as if more fully to glut his vengeance.
Although I have no reason to question the truth of this description, it ought to be qualified by stating that though the buffalo will not unfrequently thus attack man, and even animals, without any obvious provocation, yet this malignant disposition will be found, if accurately inquired into, the exception rather than the rule of the animal's ordinary habits.
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The bos caffer is no more a beast of prey than the domestic ox, and though much fiercer as well as more powerful than the ox, and bold enough sometimes to stand stoutly on self defence even against the lion, it is, I apprehend, nevertheless his natural instinct to retire from the face of man, if undisturbed, rather than to provoke his hostility. The proofs that are adduced of his vicious and wanton malignity arise chiefly from the following cause. The males of a herd, especially at certain seasons of the year, contend furiously for the mastery; and after many conflicts the unsuccessful competitors are driven off, at least for a season, by their stronger rivals. The exiles, like some other species of animals under similar circumstances[A], are peculiarly mischievous; and it is while skulking solitarily about the thickets, in this state of sulky irritation, that they most usually exhibit the dangerous disposition generally ascribed to the species.
It is, nevertheless, very true that the Cape buffalo is, at all times, a dangerous animal to hunt; as, when wounded, or closely pressed, he will not unfrequently turn and run down his pursuer, whose only chance of escape in that case is the swiftness of his steed, if the huntsman be a Colonist or European. The Hottentot, who is light and agile, and dexterous in plunging like an antelope through the intricacies of an entangled forest, generally prefers following this game on foot. Like all pursuits, when the spirit of enterprise is highly excited by some admixture of perilous adventure, buffalo hunting is passionately followed by those who once devote themselves to it; nor do the perilous accidents that occasionally occur appear to make any deep impression on those that witness them. The consequence is, that the buffalo is now nearly extirpated throughout every part of the Cape Colony, except in the large forests or jungles in the eastern districts, where, together with the elephant, he still finds a precarious shelter.
It was in this quarter that the following incident in buffalo hunting, which may serve as a specimen of this rough pastime, was related to me by a Dutch-African farmer, who had been an eye-witness of the scene some fifteen years before. A party of Boors had gone out to hunt a troop of buffaloes, which were grazing in a piece of marshy ground, interspersed with groves of yellow wood and mimosa trees, on the very spot where the village of Somerset is now built. As they could not conveniently get within shot of the game without crossing part of the valei or marsh, which did not afford a safe passage for horses, they agreed to leave their steeds in charge of their Hottentot servants and to advance on foot, thinking that if any of the buffaloes should turn upon them, it would be easy to escape by retreating across the quagmire, which, though passable for man, would not support the weight of a heavy quadruped. They advanced accordingly, and, under cover of the bushes, approached the game with such advantage that the first volley brought down three of the fattest of the herd, and so severely wounded the great bull leader that he dropped on his knees, bellowing with pain. Thinking him mortally wounded, the fore-*most of the huntsmen issued from the covert, and began reloading his musket as he advanced to give him a finishing shot. But no sooner did the infuriated animal see his foe in front of him, than he sprang up and rushed headlong upon him. The man, throwing
[Footnote A: The elephant, for instance. See Menageries, vol. ii. p. 71.]
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down his empty gun, fled towards the quagmire; but the savage beast was so close upon him that he despaired of escaping in that direction, and turning suddenly round a clump of copsewood, began to climb an old mimosa tree which stood at the one side of it. The raging beast, however, was too quick for him. Bounding forward with a roar, which my informant (who was of the party) described as being one of the most frightful sounds he ever heard, he caught the unfortunate man with his horns, just as he had nearly escaped his reach, and tossed him in the air with such force that the body fell, dreadfully mangled, into a lofty cleft of the tree. The buffalo ran round the tree once or twice apparently looking for the man, until weakened with loss of blood he again sunk on his knees. The rest of the party then, recovering from their confusion, came up and despatched him, though too late to save their comrade, whose body was hanging in the tree quite dead.
ON THE IMPORTANCE OF A PUBLIC DECLARATION
OF THE REASONS OF DECISIONS
IN COURTS OF JUSTICE.
While a cause is pending I admit that all publications,
and all the little arts of popularity, tending to
raise the prejudices or to inflame the passions, are
highly improper, and ought not to be permitted. But,
after the decision of a cause, the freedom of inquiry
into the conduct and opinions of the judges is one of
the noblest and best securities that human invention can
contrive for the faithful administration of justice.
It is for this very purpose that it has been established in this country, that judges shall give their opinions and decisions publicly,--an admirable institution, which does honour to Britain, and gives it a superiority in this respect over most of the other countries in Europe.
Laws may recommend or enforce the due administration of justice; but these laws are of little avail, when compared with the superior efficacy of the restraint which arises from the judgment of the public, exercised upon the conduct and opinions of the judges.
It would be extremely fatal to the liberties of this nation, and to that inestimable blessing, the faithful distribution of justice if this restraint upon judges were removed or improperly checked.
The public has a right, and ought to be satisfied with regard to the conduct, ability, and integrity of their judges. It is from these sources alone that genuine respect and authority can be derived; and an endeavour to make these the appendages of office, independent of the personal character and conduct of the judge, is an attempt which, in this free and enlightened country, most probably never will succeed.
This freedom of inquiry is not only essential to the interests of the community, but every judge, conscious of intending and acting honourably, ought to promote and rejoice in the exercise of it. It is a poor spirit indeed that can rest satisfied with authority and external regard derived from office alone. The judge who is possessed of proper elevation of mind will, both for his own sake and that of his country, rejoice that his fellow-citizens have an opportunity of satisfying themselves with regard to his conduct, and of distinguishing judges who deserve well of the public, from those who are unworthy. He will adopt the sentiment of the old Roman, who, conscious of no thoughts or actions unfit for public view, expressed a wish for windows in his breast, that all mankind might perceive what was passing there.
If these considerations are of any force for establishing the justness of the principle, the only objection I can foresee against this freedom of inquiry is, that it may happen sometimes to be improperly exercised.
This is an objection equally applicable to some of the
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greatest blessings enjoyed by mankind, whether from nature or from civil institutions. It is no real objection to health or civil liberty, that both of them often have been, and are, extremely liable to be abused.
When the freedom of inquiry now contended for happens to be improperly used, it will be found that the mischief carries along with it its own remedy. The most valuable part of mankind are soon disgusted with unmerited or indecent attacks made either upon judges or individuals; the person capable of such unworthy conduct loses his aim; the unjust or illiberal invective returns upon himself, to his own disgrace; and the judge whose conduct has been misrepresented, instead of suffering in the public opinion, will acquire additional credit from the palpable injustice of the attack made upon him.
/# [**3*] From 'Letters to Lord Mansfield, by Andrew Stuart, Esq.'
- /
ON THE HOT WIND OF AFRICA CALLED THE
CAMSIN.
"On my route from Suez to Cairo," says Rüppel, " I
had an opportunity of observing a meteorological phenomenon
of a very curious nature, which possibly may lead
to some interesting results. In the year 1822, May the
21st, being seven hours distant from Cairo, and in the
desert, we were overtaken by one of those violent winds
from the south, about which many travellers have told
us such wonderful and incredible stories. During the
night there had been a light breeze from the north-east;
but a short time after sun-rise it began to blow fresh
from the S.S.E., and the wind gradually increased till
it blew a violent storm. Clouds of dust filled the whole
atmosphere, so that it was impossible to distinguish any
object clearly as far off as fifty paces; even a camel
could not be recognised at this distance. In the mean
time, we heard all along the surface of the ground a
kind of rustling or crackling sound, which I supposed
to proceed from the rolling sand that was dashed about
with such fury by the wind. Those parts of our bodies
which were turned towards the wind were heated to an
unusual degree, and we experienced a strange sensation
of smarting, which might be compared with the pricking
of fine needles. This was also accompanied by a
peculiar kind of sound. At first I thought this smarting
was occasioned by the small particles of sand being
driven by the storm against the parts of the body that
were exposed. In order to judge of the size of the
particles, I attempted to catch some in a cap; but how
great was my surprise when I found I could not succeed
in securing a single specimen of these supposed little
particles. This led me to conceive that the smarting
sensation did not proceed from the small stones or the
sand striking the body, but that it must be the effect of
some invisible force, which I could only compare with
a current of electric fluid. After forming this conjecture,
I began to pay closer attention to the phenomena
which surrounded me. I observed that the hair of all
our party bristled up a little, and that the sensation of
pricking was felt most in the extremities and joints,
just as if a man were electrified on an insulated stool.
To convince myself that the painful sensation did not
proceed from small particles of stone or sand, I held a
piece of paper stretched up against the wind, so that
even the finest portion of dust must have been detected,
either by the eye or the ear; yet nothing of the kind
took place. The surface of the paper remained perfectly
unmoved and free from noise. I stretched my arms
out, and immediately the pricking pain in the ends of
my fingers increased. This led me to conjecture that
the violent wind, called in Egypt Camsin, is either
attended by strong electrical phenomena, or else the
electricity is caused by the motion of the dry sand of
the desert. Hence we may account for the heavy
masses of dust, formed of particles of sand, which, for
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several days, darken the cloudless sky. Perhaps we may also go so far as to conjecture that the Camsin may have destroyed caravans by its electrical properties, since some travellers assure us that caravans have occasionally perished in the desert; though I must remark that in all the regions I have travelled through, I never could hear the least account of such an occurrence. At all events, to suppose that such calamities have been caused by the sand overwhelming the caravans, is the most ludicrous idea that can be imagined.
"The Camsin generally blows in Egypt for two or three days successively, but with much less violence during the night than the day. It only occurs in the period between the middle of April and the beginning of June, and hence its Arabic name, which signifies, 'the wind of fifty days.'"
FORKS.
/# [From a Correspondent.]
- /
The interesting extract in your Magazine of the 26thMay, on forks, induces me to send you a few scraps on
the history of forks.
The word fork occurs only once or twice in the Bible; once in the Pentateuch, where mention is made of "flesh forks," evidently invented to take the meat out of the pot; the other instance is in an account of the riches of Solomon's temple, where, singularly enough, the Vulgate has the word furca, which the English translation renders by spoon. Athenæus mentions also the word fork; but it does not appear whether it was a bident (with two prongs), or a trident (with three prongs), and it is quite certain that the Greeks were ignorant of the use of forks in eating. At that time even Lucullus was not acquainted with that luxury; a two-branched instrument or two were found at Herculaneum, but it seems clear that they were not used at table in any period of the Roman history. The first instance that history records of the use of forks was at the table of John the good Duke of Burgundy, and he had only two.
At that period the loaves were made round; they were cut in slices which were piled by the side of the carver, or Ecuyer Tranchant (Cutting Squire). He had a pointed carving-knife, and a skewer of drawn silver or gold, which he stuck into the joint; having cut off a slice, he took it on the point of the knife, and placed it on a slice of bread, which was served to the guest. This ancient custom of serving the meat on the point of the carver is still general throughout the continent of Europe. A leg or a haunch of mutton had always a piece of paper wrapped round the shank, which the carver took hold of with the left hand when he carved the joint, and such is still the custom in Lower Germany and Italy. We, who always imitate, and often without knowing why, have imported the custom of ornamenting the shank, but the penetration of the fork is a decided improvement. Pointed knives are still general on the Continent, it being so difficult to leave off old customs, even after the occasion that gave them birth has ceased. It is only since the peace, when every thing English became fashionable, that round-topped knives have been adopted at Paris.
Before the revolution in France it was customary, when a gentleman was invited to dinner, for him to send his servant with his knife, fork, and spoon; or if he had no servant, he carried them with him in his breeches-pocket, as a carpenter carries his rule. A few of the ancient regime still follow the good old custom, because it is old. The peasantry of the Tyrol, and of parts of Germany and Switzerland, generally carry a case in their pockets, containing a knife and fork, and a spoon.
Few use a fork so gracefully as an English lady. The Germans grasp it with a clenched fist.
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THE WEAVER'S SONG.
/# [From 'English Songs, and other Poems, by Barry Cornwall.']
- /
/* Weave, brothers, weave!--Swiftly throw
The shuttle athwart the loom,
And show us how brightly your flowers grow,
That have beauty but no perfume!
Come, show us the rose, with a hundred dyes,
The lily, that hath no spot;
The violet, deep as your true love's eyes,
And the little forget-me-not!
Sing,--sing, brothers! weave and sing!
'Tis good both to sing, and to weave
'Tis better to work than live idle.
'Tis better to sing than grieve.
Weave, brothers, weave!--Weave, and bid
The colours of sunset glow!
Let grace in each gliding thread be hid!
Let beauty about ye blow!
Let your skein be long, and your silk be fine,
And your hands both firm and sure,
And time nor chance shall your work untwine;
But all,--like a truth,--endure!--
So,--sing, brothers, &c.
Weave, brothers, weave!--Toil is ours;
But toil is the lot of men:
One gathers the fruit, one gathers the flowers,
One soweth the seed again:
There is not a creature, from England's King,
To the peasant that delves the soil,
That knows half the pleasures the seasons bring,
If he have not his share of toil!
So,--sing, brothers, &c.
- /
<tb>
Dances: the Tarantula.--"The Peccorara and Tarantella are the dances of Calabria: the latter is generally adopted throughout the kingdom of Naples. The music accompanying it is extravagant and without melody: it consists of some notes, the movement of which is always increasing, till it ends in producing a convulsive effort. Two persons placed opposite to each other make, like a pair of savages, wild contortions and indecent gestures, which terminate in a sort of delirium. This dance, originating in the city of Tarentum, has given rise to the fable of the Tarantula, whose venomous bite, it is pretended, can be cured only by music and hard dancing. Many respectable persons who have resided for a long time in the city of Tarentum, have assured me that they never witnessed any circumstance of the kind, and that it could be only attributed to the heat and insalubrity of the climate, which produce nervous affections that are soothed and composed by the charms of music. The Tarantula is a species of spider that is to be found all over the South of Italy. The Calabrians do not fear it, and I have often seen our soldiers hold it in their hands without any bad effects ensuing."--Calabria, during a Military Residence
<tb>
Property.--The advantages of the acquisition of property are two-fold; they are not merely to be estimated by the pecuniary profit produced, but by the superior tone of industry and economy which the possessor unconsciously acquires. When a man is able to call his own that which he has obtained by his own well-directed exertion, this power at once causes him to feel raised in the scale of being, and endows him with the capability of enlarging the stock of his possessions. A cottager having a garden, a cow, or even a pig, is much more likely to be an industrious member of society than one who has nothing in which he can take an interest during his hours of relaxation, and who feels he is of no consequence because he has nothing which he can call his own. The impressions which have been produced upon the minds of the peasantry, by affording them the means of acquiring property and of possessing objects of care and industry, are great, unqualified, and unvaried. In every instance the cottager has been rendered more industrious, the wife more active and managing, the children better educated, and more fitted for their station in life.
<tb>
A Golden Rule[** missing dot]--Industry will make a man a purse, and frugality will find him strings for it. Neither the purse nor the strings will cost him anything. He who has it should only draw the strings as frugality directs, and he will be sure always to find a useful penny at the bottom of it. The servants of industry are known by their livery; it is always whole and wholesome. Idleness travels very leisurely, and poverty soon overtakes him. Look at the ragged slaves of idleness, and judge which is the best master to serve--I<sc>NDUSTRY</sc> or <sc>IDLENESS</sc>[** .]
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WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
[Illustration: [Western Entrance.]]
This magnificent[** can't read this word on image] and venerable pile, the second architectural
glory of our metropolis, is, like St. Paul's, the
last of several successive structures which have occupied
the same spot. The ground on which Westminster
Abbey stands was anciently part of a small island,
called Thorney Island, or the Isle of Thorns, formed
by a branch of the Thames. This branch, leaving the
main course of the river near the end of Abingdon
Street, ran in a westerly direction along the line of the
present College Street, and the south side of Dean's
Yard. It then turned northwardly, skirting the western
side of Dean's Yard, and, crossing Tothill Street, continued
its course along Prince's Street (then Long
Ditch). From thence it ran in an eastern direction
along Gardener's Lane, crossing King Street, Parliament
Street, and Cannon Row (formerly Channel
Row), and rejoined the river near the southern termination
of Privy Gardens. The hollow bed of this
water-course is still mostly preserved, forming part of
the sewers; and in the twelfth century, and probably
for a long time afterwards, the open stream was crossed
by a bridge at the place where it passed through
King Street. Originally, as was indeed the case with
the borders of the Thames along nearly the whole
of its course to the sea, the ground beyond this hollow
was probably to a considerable distance a mere marsh.
There is reason to conclude that this was the case
almost as far as the present Chelsea Water-Works
in one direction, and to the north side of St. James's
Park in another. The island itself may be supposed
to have been nearly in the same state. It is said
to have derived its name of Thorney from the quantity
of thorns with which it was covered. As our old
legends have placed a temple of Diana on the site of
the present Cathedral of St. Paul's, so they have conceived
it necessary to maintain the equal honour of the
Abbey Church by making it the successor of a temple
to Apollo; of the existence of which, however,
no traces ever have been found. Thorney Island,
nevertheless, is generally considered to have had its
Christian church as early as its rival in sanctity, the
mount on which St. Paul's is built. The account which
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has been commonly received is, that Sebert, King of Essex, having been baptized about the year 605, immediately afterwards, to give proof of the sincerity of his conversion, built a church here and dedicated it to St. Peter. It is certain that Sebert was in old times universally regarded as the original founder of the Abbey; no better evidence of which can be desired than the care which is known to have been taken on more than one occasion to preserve his remains and those of his queen Ethelgotha on the repair or reconstruction of the building, and to re-deposit them in the most honourable place within it. Some writers, however, have contended that this church could not really have had any existence till more than a century after the time of Sebert. According to other accounts, again, Sebert was not only the founder of Westminster Abbey, but also of St. Paul's Cathedral. So imperfect, obscure, and perplexing are the notices that have come down to us of those times.
A fable of no ordinary audacity was invented by the monks in regard to the first consecration of this Abbey. It was pretended that the ceremony had been actually performed by St. Peter in person. We need not repeat the circumstantial details of the story; suffice it to mention, that towards the middle of the thirteenth century the brethren of the monastery actually sued the minister of Rotherhithe for the tithe of the salmon caught in his parish, on the plea, as Fleta informs us, that St. Peter had given them this right at the time when he consecrated their church. After the death of Sebert, his subjects relapsed into paganism, and the church fell into decay. It was restored by the celebrated Offa, King of Mercia, but was again almost entirely destroyed in the course of the Danish invasions. King Edgar, instigated by St. Dunstan, in the year 969, once more repaired the establishment, and endowed it both with lands and privileges. But it was Edward the Confessor who, nearly a century after this, first raised it to the consequence which it has ever since maintained. This monarch, having fixed upon the Abbey for his burial-place, resolved to rebuild it from the foundation, and spared no cost in his endeavour to render the structure the most magnificent that had ever been erected in his dominions. He devoted to the work, we are told, "a tenth part of his entire substance, as well in gold, silver, and cattle, as in all his other possessions." It was completed in the year 1065, and the 28th of December, the day of the Holy Innocents, was appointed for its dedication. The King, however, was seized on Christmas-day with the illness which proved fatal on the 4th or 5th of January following; and he was not, therefore, present at the ceremony. On the 12th of January his body was interred with great pomp before the high altar; and the Abbey has since received the remains of many of his royal successors. Here also, on Christmas-day the year following, was performed the coronation of William the Conqueror; and in the same place has been crowned (with the single exception, we believe, of Edward V.) every prince who has reigned in England during the nearly eight centuries that have since elapsed.
The structure raised by the Confessor (which was built in the form of a cross, and is supposed to have been the first English church built in that form) remained without receiving any repairs or additions till the reign of Henry III. That king, finding the eastern portion of the edifice much wasted by time, took it down, and began to rebuild it in a style of still greater magnificence than before. Edward I. and succeeding monarchs continued the work which had been thus commenced; but, owing probably in great part to the distracted state of the kingdom, it proceeded so slowly that it was still incomplete when Henry VII. came to the throne, towards the close of the fifteenth century. Henry added the chapel dedicated to the Virgin, which is commonly known
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by his name, and which, admirably restored as it has recently been, may challenge competition, not certainly in magnitude or grandeur, but in elegance and richness of ornament, and in what we may almost call gem-like beauty and perfection, with any specimen of architecture which the world has elsewhere to show. The principal repairs or alterations that have been made since the time of Henry VII., are those executed by Sir Christopher Wren, under whose superintendence the western towers, which had been till then of unequal heights, were raised to the same elevation, and the whole building was strengthened and renovated. These, it must be confessed, are not in the best taste. Sir Christopher, who despised Gothic architecture, was not the most fit person to be employed in restoring such a structure.
The following wood-cut is a view of the Abbey, from St. James's Park, before the alterations of Wren. It is copied from a very rare print.
[Illustration: [Westminster Abbey and Hall.]]
It is impossible for us, within our narrow limits, to attempt either an enumeration of the various curiosities and objects of interest which this Abbey contains, or even any description of the form and architectural character of the building. What is properly the church is in the form of a cross; but its eastern end is surrounded by chapels, varying both in their shape and dimensions. Of these there were formerly fourteen; there are still twelve; and although that called Henry VII.'s stands out from the rest in richness and beauty, several of the others also display considerable luxury of decoration. Here, as probably all our readers are aware, is preserved the famous stone which was brought from Scone in Scotland, by Edward I. in 1296, and upon which our kings have since been crowned. But the principal attraction of Westminster Abbey to the generality of its visitors, arises from the numerous tombs which it contains, some of which are monumental erections of great splendour. Here, all around us, and under our feet, are the mouldering remains of kings, queens, nobles, statesmen, warriors, orators, poets--of those who have been most illustrious during the successive centuries of our history, for rank, power, beauty, or genius. This is surely a field of graves that cannot be trodden by any without emotion, or without many of those thoughts that make us both wiser and better. "I know," says Addison, in a paper on this subject, "that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations; but, for my own part, though I am always serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy; and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay and delightful ones. By this means I can improve myself with those objects which others consider with terror. When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the
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tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow; when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the bitter competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together."
<tb> [** smaller font] Perseverance.--King Robert Bruce, the restorer of the Scottish monarchy, being out one day reconnoitring[**original misspelling] the enemy, lay at night in a barn belonging to a loyal cottager. In the morning, still reclining his head on the pillow of straw, he beheld a spider climbing up a beam of the roof. The insect fell to the ground, but immediately made a second essay to ascend. This attracted the notice of the hero, who, with regret, saw the spider fall a second time from the same eminence, It made a third unsuccessful attempt. Not without a mixture of concern and curiosity, the monarch twelve times beheld the insect baffled in its aim; but the thirteenth essay was crowned with success: it gained the summit of the barn; when the King, starting from his couch, exclaimed, "This despicable insect has taught me perseverance: I will follow its example. Have I not been twelve times defeated by the enemy's force? on one fight more hangs the independence of my country." In a few days his anticipations were fully realized by the glorious result to Scotland of the battle of Bannockburn.
THE WEEK.
[Illustration: [John Hunter.]]
July 14.--On this day, in the year 1728, was born at
Kilbride, in the county of Lanark, Scotland, the celebrated
<sc>John Hunter</sc>, one of the greatest anatomists of
modern times. The early life of this remarkable man
formed a strange introduction to the scientific eminence
to which he eventually attained. His father having
died when he was about ten years old, he seems scarcely,
after this, to have received any further school education;
but was allowed to spend his time as he liked, till at
last he was bound apprentice to a cabinet-maker in
Glasgow, whom one of his sisters had married. After
some time, however, this person failed--an event which
was probably regarded at the moment as a severe
family misfortune; but it turned out a blessing in disguise.
Hunter's brother, William, who was ten years
older than himself, had, after overcoming the difficulties
arising from the expenses of a medical education at
the University of Edinburgh, shortly before this settled
in London, and was already fast bringing himself into
notice. To him John applied when he found himself
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thrown out of any means of obtaining a living. He requested his brother, who was then delivering a course of lectures on anatomy, to take him as an assistant in his dissecting-room--and intimated that if this proposal should not be accepted he would enlist as a soldier. His brother, in reply, invited him to come to London. This was in September, 1748, when he was in his twenty-first year. Never, perhaps, did any learner make a more rapid progress than John Hunter now made in his new study. Even his first attempt in the art of dissection indicated a genius for the pursuit; and such was the success which rewarded his ardent and persevering efforts to improve himself, that after about a year he was considered by his brother fully competent to take the management of a class of his own. His subsequent rise entirely corresponded to this promising commencement. It was not long before he took his place in the front rank of his profession, and had at his command its highest honours and emoluments. The science of anatomy, however, continued to be his favourite study; and in this he acquired his greatest glory. Not only the chief portion of his time, but nearly the whole of his professional gains, were devoted to the cultivation of this branch of knowledge. One of the principal methods to which he had recourse in order to throw light upon the structure of the human frame, was to compare it with those of the various inferior animals. Of these he had formed a large collection at his villa at Earl's Court, Brompton; "and it was to him," says Sir Everard Home, "a favourite amusement in his walks to attend to their actions and their habits, and to make them familiar with him. The fiercer animals were those to which he was most partial, and he had several of the bull kind from different parts of the world. Among these was a beautiful small bull he had received from the Queen, with which he used to wrestle in play, and entertain himself with its exertions in its own defence. In one of these conflicts the bull overpowered him, and got him down; and had not one of the servants accidentally come by, and frightened the animal away, this frolic would probably have cost him his life." The same writer relates that on another occasion "two leopards that were kept chained in an outhouse, had broken from their confinement, and got into the yard among some dogs, which they immediately attacked. The howling this produced alarmed the whole neighbourhood. Mr. Hunter ran into the yard to see what was the matter, and found one of them getting up the wall to make his escape, the other surrounded by the dogs. He immediately laid hold of them both, and carried them back to their den; but as soon as they were secured, and he had time to reflect upon the risk of his own situation, he was so much affected that he was in danger of fainting." Mr. Hunter's valuable museum of anatomical preparations was purchased by Parliament after his death for £15,000; and it is now deposited in the hall belonging to the Royal College of Surgeons, in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, where the public are admitted to view it on the order of any member of the society. This distinguished person died suddenly on the 16th of October, 1793, in the sixty-sixth year of his age.
THE LABOURERS OF EUROPE.--No. 1.
ITALY.
The condition of the Italian labourers varies in the different
states. The following accounts are from the best
authorities:--
/# "The labourers in Lombardy (the most fruitful region in Italy) have remained, throughout all the changes of government, what they were before 1796, the servants of those whose lands they work; none have become proprietors. Before the resolution of 1796 the greater part of the land was in the hands of the high nobility and the clergy. Now it is partly in the possession of a small number of shrewd speculators who have
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known how to take advantages of political changes to enrich themselves. But the peasants have not been benefited by the change. They are still, not by law but by necessity, bound to the soil, in a state of degradation, all their food consisting of a sort of bread made of Indian corn flour, of beans and weak sour wine; they seldom taste meat. Those who are employed on the rice-grounds are still more wretched. They are obliged to remain for hours with their legs in marshy water, and this engenders a cutaneous disease known by the name of pellagra, which they generally neglect until they lose the use of their limbs and are obliged at last to go to the hospital where many of them die[A]."
In the 'Letters from the North of Italy,' by Mr. S. Rose, the writer describes the following scene of misery,--one out of a thousand:--"A few days ago I saw a poor infant lying under a sack in the convulsions of an ague fit, and the next morning meeting another child whom I knew to be his brother, I asked him 'How does your brother do?' to which he answered; 'Which brother, sir?'---' Your brother that has the fever.'--'There are five of us with the fever, sir.'--'Where do you sleep?'--'In an empty stable, sir.'--'Where are your father and mother?'--' Our mother is dead, and our father begs or does such little chance jobs as offer in the hotel.'--' And what do you do?'--' I get up the trees here and pick vine leaves for the waiters to stop the decanters with, and they give us our panada.' This is bread boiled in water with an infusion of oil or butter. Had my pecuniary means been adequate to my desire to diminish this mass of misery, how was the thing to be accomplished? I do not believe that I could have found a family that would have boarded these melancholy little mendicants, and am quite sure that no one would have had the patience to bear with the waywardness of sickly childhood. In England the parish workhouse, or some neighbouring hospital, would have offered a ready resource. There are hospitals indeed here, but these are so thinly scattered (except those in the Roman States which are both numerous and magnificent), and are administered on such narrow principles, exclusive of particular diseases and particular ages, and always turning upon some miserable question of habitancy, within very confined limits, that they are usually insufficient to the purposes I have mentioned." This was written from the Venetian States some twelve years ago, since which time workhouses have been introduced into some of the principal towns.
In Tuscany the peasantry are much better off. Labourers' wages are there between ninepence and a shilling a day, which, considering the low price of provisions. and the mildness of the climate, is comparatively a good remuneration. The women earn money by plaiting straw, out of which the Leghorn hats are made. The farmers are either small proprietors themselves, or, if tenants, share the produce with their landlord, who stocks the farm and provides half the seeds and implements. This mode of holding land by persons not possessing capital is very ancient;--and is now called by writers on political economy, "Metayer Rent.'[** P3 mismatched quotes]
Of the peasantry of the provinces of Bologna and Romagna, commonly called the Legations, and placed under the sovereignty of the Pope, we have the following interesting account in Simond's Travels in Italy:--"The peasants are not proprietors and have not even a lease of their farms, but hold them from father to son by a tacit understanding most faithfully observed. The same roof often contains thirty or forty persons,--different branches of the same family, with one common interest, and governed by a chief who is chosen by themselves and is the sole person responsible to the landlord. He directs all without doors and his wife all within; one or two other women take care of all the children that the fathers and mothers may go to work. We have lost a
[Footnote A: Amministrazione del regno d'Italia.]
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child during the night, said one of them who was not herself a mother. There reigns in general a most perfect harmony in this patriarchal family. When the chief becomes too old, or otherwise incapable, another is chosen who succeeds alike to the engagements and power of his predecessor. He gives half the produce to the landlord, and pays half the taxes. The landlord seldom takes the trouble to inspect the divisions; he chooses only between the heaps laid out by the tenant, and the grain is carried home. The same plan is observed with the hemp, which is not divided till it is pounded and put up into packets. As to the grapes, they are picked into large barrels, and an equal number sent to the farm-house and to the landlord, an operation generally intrusted wholly to the farmer. There are few villages, each farm-house being on the farm. These family associations live much at their ease, but have little money; they consume much of their own produce and buy and sell very little. They have a great deal of poultry for home consumption. The women spin and plait and can even dye. The country diversions go little beyond the game of bowls: they have no dances and no merry-meetings, but in lieu they have fine processions with music, discharge of cannon, and sometimes horse-races. Though wine is very plentiful, a drunken man is a rarity; there are few bloody quarrels, and few thefts, at least domestic ones. The roads are safer here than in the Milanese, notwithstanding the Austrian police of the latter, for there the farms are large and the work is done by poor labourers who have no tie; while here the tenants work for themselves, are at ease, and have no temptation. The education of the people is intrusted to the priests, who give themselves little trouble, and very few peasants can read or write. Each large family generally consecrates a son to the Church; they call him priest Don Peter, Augustin, &c, and he becomes the oracle of the family, but all intimate ties with him are broken and he is called 'brother' no more.
The hardy natives of the Genoese coast, hemmed in between the mountains and the sea, resort mostly to maritime occupations, in order to better their fortunes. Their voyages are generally short, being chiefly confined to the Mediterranean. By strict economy and frugality they save the best part of their earnings which they bring home to their families; who, during their absence, are employed in cultivating their gardens and lemon-trees, or in fishing. By these joint exertions, a numerous population is thriving on a barren soil; and the whole line of the Riviera, or shore, for hundreds of miles, presents a succession of handsome bustling towns and villages, inhabited by a cheerful, healthy, and active race.
Of the peasantry of Southern Italy and their condition we shall speak on a future occasion.
ART OF SWIMMING.
/# [Written by Dr. Franklin to a Friend.]
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"Choose a place where the water deepens gradually,
walk coolly into it till it is up to your breast, then turn
round, your face to the shore, and throw an egg into
the water between you and the shore. It will sink to
the bottom, and be easily seen there, if your water is
clear. It must lie in water so deep as that you cannot
reach it up but by diving for it. To encourage yourself
in order to do this, reflect that your progress will be
from deeper to shallower water, and that at any time
you may by bringing your legs under you and standing
on the bottom, raise your head far above the water.
Than plunge under it with your eyes open, throwing
yourself towards the egg, and endeavouring by the
actions of your hands and feet against the water to get
forward till within reach of it. In the attempt you
will find, that the water buoys you up against your inclination;
that it is not so easy a thing to sink as you
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had imagined; that you cannot but by active force get down to the egg. Thus you feel the power of the water to support you, and learn to confide in that power; while your endeavours to overcome it, and reach the egg, teach you the manner of acting on the water with your feet and hands, which action is afterwards used in swimming to support your head higher above water or to go forward through it. I would the more earnestly press you to the trial of this method, because though I think I satisfied you that your body is lighter than water, and that you might float in it a long time with your mouth free, for breathing, if you put yourself in a proper posture and would be still and forbear struggling; yet till you have obtained this experimental confidence in the water, I cannot depend on your having the necessary presence of mind to recollect that posture and the directions I gave you relating to it. The surprise may put all out of your mind. For though we value ourselves on being reasonable creatures, reason and knowledge seem on such occasions to be of little use to us; and the brutes, to whom we allow scarce a glimmering of either, appear to have the advantage of us. I will, however, take this opportunity of repeating those particulars to you, which I mentioned in our last conversation, as, by perusing them at your leisure, you may possibly imprint them so in your memory as on occasions to be of some use to you. 1st. That though the legs, being solid parts, are specifically something heavier than fresh-water, yet the trunk, particularly the upper part, from its hollowness, is so much lighter than water, as that the whole of the body taken together is too light to sink wholly under water, but some part will remain above, until the lungs become filled with water, which happens from drawing water into them instead of air, when a person in the fright attempts breathing while the mouth and nostrils are under water. 2ndly. That the legs and arms are specifically lighter than salt-water, and will be supported by it, so that a human body would not sink in salt-water, though the lungs were filled as above, but from the greater specific gravity of the head. 3rdly. That therefore a person throwing himself on his back in salt-water, and extending his arms, may easily lie so as to keep his mouth and nostrils free for breathing; and by a small motion of his hands may prevent turning, if he should perceive any tendency to it. 4thly. That in fresh-water, if a man throws himself on his back near the surface, he cannot long continue in that situation, but by proper action of his hands on the water. If he uses no such action, the legs and lower part of the body will gradually sink till he comes into an upright position, in which he will continue suspended, the hollow of the breast keeping the head uppermost. 5thly. But if, in this erect position, the head is kept upright above the shoulders, as when we stand on the ground, the immersion will, by the weight of that part of the head that is out of water, reach above the mouth and nostrils, perhaps a little above the eyes, so that a man cannot long remain suspended in water with his head in that position. 6thly. The body continuing suspended as before, and upright, if the head be leaned quite back, so that the face looks upwards, all the back part of the head being then under water, and its weight consequently in a great measure supported by it, the face will remain above water quite free for breathing, will rise an inch higher every inspiration, and sink as much every expiration, but never so low as that the water may come over the mouth. 7thly. If therefore a person unacquainted with swimming, and falling accidentally into the water, could have presence of mind sufficient to avoid struggling and plunging, and to let the body take this natural position, he might continue long safe from drowning till perhaps help would come. For as to the clothes, their additional weight while immersed is very inconsiderable, the water sup-*
File: 016.png---------------------------------------------------------
- porting it, though when he comes out of the water, he
would find them very heavy indeed. But, as I said before, I would not advise you or any one to depend on having the presence of mind on such an occasion, but learn fairly to swim, as I wish all men were taught to do in their youth; they would, on many occurrences, be the safer for having that skill, and on many more the happier, as freer from painful apprehensions of danger, to say nothing of the enjoyment in so delightful and wholesome an exercise. Soldiers particularly should, methinks, all be taught to swim; it might be of frequent service either in surprising an enemy, or saving themselves. And if I had now boys to educate, I should prefer those schools (other things being equal) where an opportunity was afforded for acquiring so advantageous an art, which, once learned, is never forgotten."
THE STORMY PETREL.
[Illustration]
[From 'English Song and other Poems, by Barry Cornwall.']
/* A thousand miles from land are we, Tossing about on the roaring sea; From billow to bounding billow cast, Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast: The sails are scattered abroad, like weeds, The strong masts shake, like quivering reeds, The mighty cables, and iron chains, The hull, which all earthly strength disdains, They strain and they crack, and hearts like stone Their natural hard proud strength disown.
Up and down! up and down! From the base of the wave to the billow's crown, And amidst the flashing and feathery foam The Stormy Petrel finds a home,-- A home, if such a place may be, For her who lives on the wide wide sea, On the craggy ice, in the frozen air, And only seeketh her rocky lair To warm her young, and to teach them spring At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing !
O'er the deep! O'er the deep! Where the whale, and the shark, and the sword-fish sleep, Outflying the blast and the driving rain, The Petrel telleth her tale--in vain; For the mariner curseth the warning bird Who bringeth him news of the storms unheard! Ah! thus does the prophet, of good or ill, Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still: Yet he ne'er falters:--So, Petrel! spring Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing!
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GOOD OLD TIMES.
/# [From 'Combe's Constitution of Man.']
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A gentleman who was subject to the excise laws fifty years ago described to me the condition of his trade at that time. The excise officers, he said, regarded it as an understood matter that at least one half of the goods manufactured were to be smuggled without being charged with duty; but then, said he, "they made us pay a moral and pecuniary penalty that was at once galling and debasing. We were required to ask them to our table at all meals, and place them at the head of it in our holiday parties; when they fell into debt, we were obliged to help them out of it; when they moved from one house to another, our servants
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and carts were in requisition to perform this office, and by way of keeping up discipline upon us, and also to make a show of duty, they chose every now and then to step in and detect us in a fraud and get us fined; if we submitted quietly, they told us that they would make us amends by winking at another fraud, and generally did so; but if our indignation rendered passive obedience impossible, and we spoke our mind of their character and conduct, they enforced the law on us, while they relaxed it on our neighbours, and these being rivals in trade undersold us in the market, carried away our customers, and ruined our business. Nor did the bondage end here. We could not smuggle without the aid of our servants, and as they could, on occasion of any offence given to themselves, carry information to the head-quarters of excise, we were slaves to them also, and were obliged tamely to submit to a degree of drunkenness and insolence that appears to me now perfectly intolerable. Farther, this evasion and oppression did us no good, for all the trade were alike, and we just sold our goods so much cheaper the more duty we evaded, so that our individual success did not depend upon superior skill and superior morality in making an excellent article at a moderate price, but upon superior capacity for fraud, meanness, sycophancy, and every possible baseness. Our lives were anything but enviable. Conscience, although greatly blunted by practices that were universal and viewed as inevitable, still whispered that they were wrong; our sentiments of self-respect very frequently revolted at the insults to which we were exposed, and there was a constant feeling of insecurity from the great extent to which we were dependent upon wretches whom we internally despised. When the government took a higher tone and more principle, and greater strictness in the collection of the duties were enforced, we thought ourselves ruined; but the reverse has been the case. The duties, no doubt, are now excessively burdensome from their amount, but that is their least evil. If it was possible to collect them from every trader with perfect equality, our independence would be complete, and our competition would be confined to superiority in morality and skill. Matters are much nearer this point now than they were fifty years ago, but still they would admit of considerable improvement."
<tb>
Arab Account of Debtor and Creditor.--Corporal punishments are unknown among the Arabs. Pecuniary fines are awarded, whatever may be the nature of the crime of which a man is accused. Every offence has its fine ascertained in the court of justice, and the nature and amount of those graduated fines are well known to the Arabs. All insulting expressions, all acts of violence, a blow however slight, (and a blow may differ in its degree of insult according to the part struck,) and the infliction of a wound, from which even a single drop of blood flows, all have their respective fines fixed. The judge's sentence is sometimes to this effect:--(Bokhyt and Djolan are two Arabs who have quarrelled and fought.)
Bokhyt called Djolan "a dog." Djolan returned the insult by a blow upon Bokhyt's arm; then Bokhyt cut Djolan's shoulder with a knife. Bokhyt therefore owes to Djolan--
/* For the insulting expression 1 sheep For wounding him in the shoulder 3 camels
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Djolan owes to Bokhyt--
/* For the blow upon his arm 1 camel Remain due to Djolan, 2 camels and 1 sheep.
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Burckhardt's Notes on the Bedouins and Wahabys.
<tb>
[**3*] The Office of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge is at 59, Lincoln's Inn Fields.
<tb>
LONDON:--CHARLES KNIGHT, PALL-MALL EAST.
Shopkeepers and Hawkers may be supplied Wholesale by the following Booksellers, of whom, also, and of the previous Numbers may be had:--
/* London, <sc>Groombridge</sc>, Panyer-Alley.
Bath, <sc>Simms</sc>.
Birmingham, <sc>Drake</sc>.
Bristol, <sc>Westley</sc> and <sc>Co</sc>.
Carlisle, <sc>Thurnam</sc>; and <sc>Scott</sc>.
Derby, <sc>Wilkins</sc> and <sc>Son</sc>.
Falmouth, <sc>Philp</sc>.
Hull, <sc>Stephenson</sc>.
Leeds, <sc>Baines</sc> and <sc>Newsome</sc>.
Lincoln, <sc>Brooke</sc> and <sc>Sons</sc>.
Liverpool, <sc>Willmer</sc> and <sc>Smith</sc>.
Manchester, <sc>Robinson</sc>; and <sc>Webb</sc> and
<sc>Simms</sc>.
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, <sc>Charnley</sc>.
Norwich, <sc>Jarrold</sc> and <sc>Son</sc>.
Nottingham, <sc>Wright</sc>.
Sheffield, <sc>Ridge</sc>.
Dublin, <sc>Wakeman</sc>.
Edinburgh, <sc>Oliver</sc> and <sc>Boyd</sc>.
Glasgow, <sc>Atkinson</sc> and <sc>Co</sc>.
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/*
Printed by <sc>William Clowes</sc>, Stamford Street.
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