THE PENNY MAGAZINE
OF THE
Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
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2.] PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY. [April 7, 1832
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POMPEII.
[Illustration: Restored View of Pompeii.]
⁂ The volume on ‘Pompeii,’ lately published in the Library of
Entertaining Knowledge, contains every authentic detail of the
destruction of that city by an eruption of Mount Vesuvius, A.D. 79;
and the second volume, which will be shortly published, will
complete the description of the remains of public and private
buildings, and of articles of domestic use, which have been
discovered in the ruins. The following observations on this
interesting subject are from an intelligent correspondent, who has
had the advantage of visiting the spot.
It is certainly surprising, that this most interesting city should have
remained undiscovered until so late a period, and that antiquaries and
learned men should have so long and materially erred about its
situation. In many places masses of ruins, portions of the buried
theatres, temples, and houses were not two feet below the surface of the
soil; the country people were continually digging up pieces of worked
marble, and other antique objects; in several spots they had even laid
open the outer walls of the town; and yet men did not find out _what it
was_, that peculiar, isolated mound of cinders and ashes, earth and
pumice-stone, covered. There is another circumstance which increases the
wonder of Pompeii remaining so long concealed. A subterranean canal, cut
from the river Sarno, traverses the city, and is seen darkly and
silently gliding on under the temple of Isis. This is said to have been
cut towards the middle of the fifteenth century, to supply the
contiguous town of the Torre dell’ Annunziata with fresh water; it
probably ran anciently in the same channel. But, cutting it, or clearing
it, workmen must have crossed under Pompeii from one side to the other.
As you walk round the walls of the city, and see how the volcanic matter
is piled upon it in one heap, it looks as though the hand of man had
purposely buried it, by carrying and throwing over it the volcanic
matter. This matter does not spread in any direction beyond the town,
over the fine plain which gently declines towards the bay of Naples. The
volcanic eruption was so confined in its course or its fall, as to bury
Pompeii, and only Pompeii: for the shower of ashes and pumice-stone
which descended in the immediate neighbourhood certainly made but a
slight difference in the elevation of the plain.
Where a town has been buried by lava, like Herculaneum, the process is
easily traced. You can follow the black, hardened lava from the cone of
the mountain to the sea, whose waters it invaded for “many a rood,” and
those who have seen the lava in its liquid state, when it flows on like
a river of molten iron, can conceive at once how it would bury every
thing it found in its way. There is often a confusion of ideas, among
those who have not had the advantages of visiting these interesting
places, as to the matter which covers Pompeii and Herculaneum: they
fancy they were both buried by lava. Herculaneum was so, and the work of
excavating there, was like digging in a quarry of very hard stone. The
descent into the places cleared is like the descent into a quarry or
mine, and you are always under ground, lighted by torches.
But Pompeii was covered by loose mud, pumice-stone, and ashes, over
which, in the course of centuries, there collected vegetable soil.
Beneath this shallow soil, the whole is very crumbly and easy to dig, in
few spots more difficult than one of our common gravel-pits. The matter
excavated is carried off in carts, and thrown outside of the town; and
in times when the labour is carried on with activity, as cart after cart
withdraws with the earth that covered them, you see houses entire,
except their roofs, which have nearly always fallen in, make their
appearance, and, by degrees, a whole street opens to the sun-shine or
the shower, just like the streets of any inhabited neighbouring town. It
is curious to observe, as the volcanic matter is removed, that the
houses are principally built of lava, the more ancient product of the
same Vesuvius, whose later results buried and concealed Pompeii for so
many ages.
[Illustration: Implements of building found at Pompeii.]
In the autumn of 1822 I saw Pompeii under very interesting
circumstances. It was a few days after an eruption of Vesuvius, which I
had witnessed, and which was considered by far the grandest eruption of
recent times. From Portici, our road was coated with lapilla or
pumice-stone, and a fine impalpable powder, of a palish grey hue, that
had been discharged from the mountain, round whose base we were winding.
In many places this coating was more than a foot deep, but it was pretty
equally spread, not accumulating in any particular spot. As we drove
into Pompeii our carriage wheels crushed this matter, which contained
the principal components of what had buried the city: it was lodged on
the edges of the houses’ walls, and on their roofs, (where the
Neapolitan government had furnished them with any); it lay inches thick
on the tops of the pillars and truncated columns of the ancient temples;
it covered all the floors or the houses that had no roofs, and concealed
the mosaics. In the amphitheatre, where we sat down to refresh
ourselves, we were obliged to make the guides clear it away with
shovels--it was everywhere. Looking from the upper walls of the
amphitheatre, we saw the whole country covered with it--trees and all
were coated with the pale-grey plaster, nor did it disappear for many
months after.
Some ignorant fellows at Naples pretended the fine ashes, or powder,
contained gold! Neapolitans began to collect it. They found no gold, but
it turned out to be an excellent thing for cleaning and polishing plate.
This dust continued to be blown from the mountain many days after the
eruption had ceased. It once made a pretty figure of me! I was riding up
the Posilippo road when it came on to rain; the rain brought down and
gave consistency to the dust, which adhered to my black coat and
pantaloons, until I looked as if I had been rolled in plaster of Paris.
But it travelled farther than Posilippo, for a friend of mine, an
officer in the navy, assured me it had fallen with rain on the deck of
his ship, when between three and four hundred miles from Naples and
Mount Vesuvius. There is an old story, that during one of the great
eruptions of this mountain, or Etna, cinders were thrown as far as
Constantinople: by substituting the fine powder I have alluded to, for
cinders, the story becomes not improbable.
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VAN DIEMEN’S LAND.
[Concluded from our last.]
The island of Van Diemen’s Land lies immediately to the south of the
vast continent of New Holland, from which it is separated by the narrow
channel called Bass’s Strait. If New Holland be regarded as a great full
bag or sack, Bass’s Strait will represent the neck, where it is drawn
together and tied close, and Van Diemen’s Land the small bunch or
gathering made beyond the string by the mere lip of the sack. While New
Holland is rather more than half as large as all Europe, the extent of
Van Diemen’s Land is only about twenty-three thousand square miles,
which is not much more than two-thirds of the size of Ireland, or a
fourth part of that of the island of Great Britain. The one, in fact, is
about eighty times as large as the other.
One of the papers in the Van Diemen’s Land Almanac presents us with a
very full geographical description of the island. It was divided soon
after its settlement into two great counties, Buckinghamshire, embracing
the southern, and Cornwall, the northern portion of it. But the division
which is now chiefly recognised, is that made in 1827 into eight Police
districts, each under the charge of a paid magistrate. In the first of
these, occupying the south-west corner of the island, stands Hobart
Town, the capital, on the river Derwent, and about twenty miles from its
mouth. The river, however, is, even at this distance from the sea, of
considerable width, and the water is quite salt. The town stands upon a
gently rising ground, and covers rather more than a square mile. Its
streets are wide, and intersect each other at right angles. It contains
several government buildings, a parish church, and other places of
worship; a government school for the poor, and several Sunday schools;
two public banks; and several libraries. Among its manufactories Hobart
Town possesses a distillery, several breweries and tanneries, two timber
mills, several flour mills worked by steam and water, and two or three
soap and candle works. The population of the town and suburbs, including
the convicts and the military, is above seven thousand. This, we
believe, is about half the amount of the whole population of the island.
The other towns already founded in Van Diemen’s Land, are, Launceston,
on the river Tamar, about a hundred and twenty miles north from the
capital, containing about a thousand inhabitants; New Norfolk, or
Elizabeth Town, a place of considerable traffic, and also the centre of
a rich agricultural district, standing on the Derwent, about twenty-two
miles higher up than Hobart Town; Richmond, fourteen miles from the
capital; Sorell Town, or Pitt Water, and Brighton, two other townships
in the same vicinity; Bothwell, Oatlands, Campbell Town, Ross, Perth,
and George Town, all considerably advanced settlements. Many other
stations, however, have been marked out for towns, although scarcely yet
begun to be built upon. Numerous farm-houses, also, and other detached
residences, many of them standing in the midst of enclosed fields,
gardens, and orchards, have been built in all directions. A single
agricultural association, called the Van Diemen’s Land Company, possess
a continuous tract of above three hundred thousand acres, in the
north-west part of the island. About four hundred and fifty persons
reside on this property. There are two government settlements for
persons convicted of crimes in the colony, Macquarie Harbour on the west
coast, and Maria Island on the east.
The face of the country, though extremely diversified, is mountainous on
the whole, and, especially as seen from the south, presents a prospect
of singular sublimity; hills covered to the ridge with trees,
occasionally intermingled with a bare rocky eminence, appearing to rise
behind each other in endless succession. Some of the mountains on the
south coast are five thousand feet in height, and during a great part of
the year are covered with snow. Mount Wellington, or the Table Mountain,
a few miles to the west of Hobart Town, rises to the height of four
thousand feet above the level of the sea. The interior, however,
contains many extensive plains quite unencumbered with wood. Even the
western coast, where the scenery in general is bold and desolate,
presents many protected and fertile spots. The bays and harbours around
the coast are numerous and excellent. In this respect Hobart Town
especially is most favourably situated. The principal rivers are the
Derwent, the Huon, and the Tamar, all navigable. The Derwent, even at
New Norfolk, above forty miles from the sea, is as wide as the Thames at
Battersea. The scenery on both sides of this noble stream is described
as being of the richest beauty. The second-rate and inferior rivers are
numerous, fertilizing every part of the country, and falling into the
sea along the whole extent of the coast. In the heart of the island are
several lakes, from which many of the rivers take their rise.
Much of the native timber of Van Diemen’s Land is excellent for all
building purposes; and others of the woods are esteemed for ornamental
cabinet-work. All the trees are evergreens. The shrubs are of great
variety and beauty; but present as yet an almost unexamined field to the
botanist. As to fruits, none of any value have been found native to this
island; but on the other hand, every sort of fruit, herb, or vegetable,
that grows in England, grows still better here.
In respect of climate, Van Diemen’s Land enjoys the happiest medium
between the extremes of heat and cold, the thermometer rarely falling
below 40 degrees in winter, or rising above 70 degrees in summer. During
the winter months of June, July, and August, the frosts are sometimes
severe, and occasionally a good deal of snow falls; but it is seldom
that snow lies on the ground a whole day.
Coal has been found in various places; iron-stone is believed to be
abundant; lime-stone also exists in great plenty; and it is highly
probable that the earth is enriched with various other mineral
treasures. Of the native animals, the most formidable is the hyena, by
which many of the sheep are destroyed. Wild dogs and cats of different
species are also found in the woods. The kangaroo is now fast
disappearing, having, although a perfectly harmless animal, been much
hunted by the settlers for sport, or for the sake of its flesh and skin.
There are numerous species of birds, many of them of beautiful plumage.
Various descriptions of fish also abound in the bays and creeks; but,
except eels, the lakes and rivers supply very few that are valuable as
food. Of the reptiles found in the island, the principal are snakes,
some of which are extremely venomous.
Such is an abstract of what is most important in the paper before us,
which is followed by a more minute description of the parts of the
island that have been brought into cultivation, in the form of an
itinerary. We will now add a very few facts, selected from another
paper, on the agriculture and horticulture of the colony.
The first cattle were brought to Van Diemen’s Land in 1807. They were “a
coarse buffalo sort of animal:” but, about nine or ten years ago,
superior breeds began to be imported from England, and the colony now
possesses pure Devons, Herefords, Durhams, Holdernesses, Fifeshires, &c.
Horses were at first brought from New Holland; but, “in the same manner
as with neat cattle,” says this account, “they have since had the
benefit of very superior crosses of English importations, and the colony
can now boast as fine horses as even England itself. It has every sort,
perhaps, that is known in the mother-country, from the heavy dray-horse
to the diminutive pony, and including, what should by no means be passed
in silence, blood and bone upon which thousands have been depending at
Newmarket and other English race-courses.” Sheep, for which both the
climate and natural herbage of the country are well adapted, are now
numerous and rapidly improving in quality. Pigs and poultry, of every
description, thrive admirably. Most sorts of grain that are common in
England, grow at least as well here. The wheat is of excellent quality,
seldom weighing less than from sixty-two to sixty-four pounds per
bushel. Barley and oats produce well upon good land; but will not answer
on inferior soils. The average return yielded by the potato is not equal
to what it yields in England; but the cultivation of this root is yet in
its infancy. Turnips and mangel-wurzel are both found to do extremely
well. The same may be said of English grasses and pulses of all sorts.
The export trade from this colony has, as yet, been confined to the more
useful articles. Corn is sent to New South Wales, and to Swan River.
Wool is already exported in considerable quantities, and is likely to
become every year more and more the staple production of the island.
Whale-fishing and the manufacture of oil are rapidly becoming trades of
considerable importance. A good deal of mimosa bark, for tanning, is
also sent to England; and salt meats, hides, and dairy produce will
probably soon be added to the list of exported commodities.
The regulations at present in force for the disposal of land, by grant
or sale, were issued in 1828. The main principle upon which they are
grounded is, that “settlers should not receive a greater extent of land
than they are capable of improving, and that grants should not be made
to persons who are desirous only of disposing of them.” Lands are
accordingly granted in square miles, in the proportion of one square
mile, or 640 acres, for every £500 sterling of capital which the
applicant can immediately command. Of this capital, however, a portion
may consist of live stock and instruments of husbandry. Upon the land
thus granted a quit-rent is imposed at the rate of £5 per cent. on the
estimated value of the land, the payment to commence at the expiration
of seven years from the date of the grant, when the settler will also
receive his title-deeds. The smallest quantity of land granted in this
way to an individual is 320 acres, and the largest, 2560 acres, or four
square miles. Lands may also be obtained by purchase, being advertised
for that purpose, and sold to the person making the highest tender.
We will, in conclusion, mention a few of the more interesting
particulars, supplied by the various lists in the little volume before
us; these are indicative of the rapid progress of civilization. In
addition to the three banks in Hobart Town we find a fourth, called the
Cornwall bank, established at Launceston. There is at Hobart Town a
Mechanics’ Institute, of which the Governor is patron, and the Chief
Justice, president. Among the religious and philanthropic institutions
of this capital are, a Bible Society, of which the Governor is
president; a Presbyterian Missionary Society; a Wesleyan Missionary
Society; a Benevolent and Strangers’ Friend Society; and a Sunday School
Union, having four schools in its connexion, containing in all about 250
children. Besides the Government Gazette, there are three other weekly
newspapers published in Hobart Town, and a fourth at Launceston. The
Almanac closes with a Directory for Hobart Town; in which, besides
merchants, general dealers, official, clerical, and other professional
characters, we find the names of civil engineers, livery-stable keepers,
watchmakers, midwives, shoemakers, bricklayers, milliners, portrait
painters, and engravers, chemists and druggists, pastry-cooks,
confectioners, glaziers, plumbers, house and sign painters, hatters,
upholsterers, cabinet-makers and undertakers, coopers, boat-builders,
auctioneers, goldsmiths, and working-jewellers, music teachers, tailors,
butchers, brewers, hosiers and glovers, ironmongers, brass and iron
founders, tinmen and blacksmiths, printers, saddlers, bakers,
hair-dressers. It would be curious to compare this list with the
population of an English town of seven thousand people three centuries
ago!
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LOST CAMEL.
A dervise was journeying alone in the desert, when two merchants
suddenly met him: “You have lost a camel,” said he to the merchants.
“Indeed we have,” they replied. “Was he not blind in his right eye, and
lame in his left leg?” said the dervise. “He was,” replied the
merchants. “Had he lost a front tooth?” said the dervise. “He had,”
rejoined the merchants. “And was he not loaded with honey on one side,
and wheat on the other?” “Most certainly he was,” they replied; “and as
you have seen him so lately, and marked him so particularly, you can, in
all probability, conduct us unto him.” “My friends,” said the dervise,
“I have never seen your camel, nor ever heard of him, but from you.” “A
pretty story, truly!” said the merchants, “but where are the jewels,
which formed a part of his cargo?” “I have neither seen your camel nor
your jewels,” repeated the dervise. On this, they seized his person, and
forthwith hurried him before the Cadi, where, on the strictest search,
nothing could be found upon him, nor could any evidence whatever be
adduced to convict him, either of falsehood or of theft. They were then
about to proceed against him as a sorcerer, when the dervise, with great
calmness, thus addressed the Court: “I have been much amused with your
surprise, and own that there has been some ground for your suspicions;
but I have lived long, and alone; and I can find ample scope for
observation, even in a desert. I knew that I had crossed the track of a
camel that had strayed from its owner, because I saw no mark of any
human footstep on the same route; I knew that the animal was blind in
one eye, because it had cropped the herbage only on one side of its
path; and I perceived that it was lame in one leg, from the faint
impression which that particular foot had produced upon the sand; I
concluded that the animal had lost one tooth, because wherever it had
grazed, a small tuft of herbage was left uninjured in the centre of its
bite. As to that which formed the burden of the beast, the busy ants
informed me that it was corn on the one side, and the clustering flies
that it was honey on the other.”
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_Science preceding Art._--When the principles of any science are become
common to all the world, these principles lead to inventions, nearly, if
not altogether similar, by different persons having no communication
with each other. A remarkable instance of this is given by Judge Story,
in his address to the Boston Mechanics’ Institute:--
“A beautiful improvement had been made in the double-speeder of the
cotton-spinning machine by one of our ingenious countrymen. The
originality of the invention was established by the most satisfactory
evidence. The defendant, however, called an Englishman as a witness, who
had been but a short time in the country, and who testified most
explicitly to the existence of a like invention in the improved
machinery in England. Against such positive proof there was much
difficulty in proceeding. The testimony, though doubted, could not be
discredited; and the trial was postponed to another term, for the
purpose of procuring evidence to rebut it. An agent was despatched to
England for this and other objects; and, upon his return, the plaintiff
was content to become nonsuited. There was no doubt that the invention
here was without any suspicion of its existence elsewhere; but the
genius of each country, almost at the same moment, accomplished,
independently, the same achievement.”
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BRITISH ANIMALS.
[Illustration: A dormouse sitting on a tree stump.]
THE DORMOUSE
The little dormouse has now awakened from his fitful sleep. When the
winds of March sweep away the lingering fogs of winter,--when the tender
buds are first seen on the trees, and the primrose first shows its head
in the green banks--before the swallow comes to our shores, or the rook
has finished her nest--the dormouse rouses up from the bed where he has
slept for several months. His sleep, however, is not constant through
the cold season, like that of some other animals; for he wakes, at
times, to eat of the store of nuts and beech-mast which he has provided
for his sustenance in the autumn. The marmot, a quadruped inhabiting
some mountainous parts of Europe, makes no provision of this kind in his
subterranean galleries. He sleeps completely.
M. Mangili, an Italian naturalist, made some curious experiments upon
the dormouse and other animals which sleep during the cold weather. He
kept the dormouse in a cupboard in his study. On the 24th December, when
the thermometer was about 40°, that is 8° above the freezing point, the
dormouse curled himself up amongst a heap of papers and went to sleep.
On the 27th December, when the thermometer was several degrees lower, M.
Mangili ascertained that the animal breathed, and suspended his
respiration at regular intervals;--that is, that after four minutes of
perfect repose, in which he appeared as if dead, he breathed about
twenty-four times in the space of a minute and a half, and that then his
breathing was again completely suspended, and again renewed. As the
thermometer became higher, that is, as the weather became less cold, the
intervals of repose were reduced to three minutes. On the contrary, when
the thermometer fell nearly to the freezing point, the intervals were
then six minutes. Within ten days from its beginning to sleep (the
weather then being very cold), the dormouse woke and ate a little. He
then went to sleep again; and continued to sleep for some days, and then
to awaken, throughout the winter; but as the season advanced, the
intervals of perfect repose, when no breathing could be perceived, were
much longer, sometimes more than twenty minutes. The effects of
confinement upon this individual animal caused him to sleep much longer
than in a state of nature.
When a dormouse is discovered asleep, in his natural retreat, he is cold
to the touch, his eyes are shut, and his respiration is slow and
interrupted, as just described. Torpid animals, in general, when thus
found, may be shaken, or rolled, or even struck, without a possibility
of arousing them. But as the fine weather advances, the heat of their
bodies increases, as it decreases at the approaches of winter; till at
length they shake off their drowsiness, and are again the busy and happy
inhabitants of the fields and gardens, active in the search of food to
gratify their appetite, which is now as keen as it was dull in the cold
months. These movements of course depend upon the states of the
atmosphere, and are different in individuals of the same species.
THE SWALLOW.
The swallow, and other birds of passage--that is, birds who fly from one
country to another, as the weather becomes unsuited to their
natures--now begin to return to us. The swallow is a general favourite.
He comes to us when nature is putting on her most smiling aspect, and he
stays with us through the months of sunshine and gladness. “The
swallow,” says Sir H. Davy, “is one of my favourite birds, and a rival
of the nightingale; for he glads my sense of seeing, as much as the
other does my sense of hearing. He is the joyous prophet of the year,
the harbinger of the best season, he lives a life of enjoyment amongst
the loveliest forms of nature; winter is unknown to him, and he leaves
the green meadows of England in autumn, for the myrtle and orange groves
of Italy, and for the palms of Africa.”
Mr. White, a clergyman of Hampshire, who delighted to observe all the
works of the creation around him, has thus accurately described the
window swallow’s or martin’s mode of building:--
“About the middle of May, if the weather be fine, the martin begins to
think in earnest of providing a mansion for its family. The crust or
shell of this nest seems to be formed of such dirt or loam as comes most
readily to hand, and is tempered and wrought together with little bits
of broken straws to render it tough and tenacious. As this bird often
builds against a perpendicular wall without any projecting ledge under,
it requires its utmost efforts to get the first foundation firmly fixed,
so that it may safely carry the superstructure. On this occasion, the
bird not only clings with its claws, but partly supports itself by
strongly inclining its tail against the wall, making that a fulcrum; and
thus steadied, it works and plasters the materials into the face of the
brick or stone. But then, that this work may not, while it is soft and
green, pull itself down by its own weight, the provident architect has
prudence and forbearance enough not to advance her work too fast; but by
building only in the morning, and by dedicating the rest of the day to
food and amusement, gives it sufficient time to dry and harden. About
half an inch seems to be a sufficient layer for a day. Thus careful
workmen, when they build mud-walls (informed at first perhaps by this
little bird), raise but a moderate layer at a time and then desist, lest
the work should become top-heavy, and so be ruined by its own weight. By
this method, in about ten or twelve days, is formed a hemispheric nest
with a small aperture towards the top, strong, compact, and warm, and
perfectly fitted for all the purposes for which it was intended.
“The shell or crust of the nest is a sort of rustic-work, full of knobs
and protuberances on the outside: nor is the inside of those that I have
examined smoothed with any exactness at all; but is rendered soft and
warm, and fit for incubation, by a lining of small straws, grasses and
feathers, and sometimes by a bedding of moss interwoven with wool. They
are often capricious in fixing on a nesting-place, beginning many
edifices and leaving them unfinished; but when once a nest is completed
in a sheltered place, after so much labour is bestowed in erecting a
mansion, as nature seldom works in vain, the same nest serves for
several seasons. Those which breed in a ready finished house, get the
start in hatching of those that build new by ten days or a fortnight.
These industrious artificers are at their labours in the long days
before four in the morning; when they fix their materials, they plaster
them on with their chins, moving their heads with a quick, rotatory
motion.”
[Illustration: A swallow perched outside its nest.]
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THE WEEK.
April 7.--The day of the birth, and also that of the death, of Raffaello
Sanzio da Urbino, whom the universal voice of posterity has recognized
as the Prince of modern Painters, and designated by the enthusiastic
appellation of “the divine Raphael.” No rival, at least, has ever been
placed beside Raphael except Michael Angelo. Of the two illustrious
contemporaries the former may perhaps be appropriately styled the
Shakspeare, the latter the Milton of Painting. Dignity and imposing
grandeur of design are the reigning characteristics of Michael Angelo;
the highest dramatic power which has ever been displayed by the pencil,
and the representation of passion with all the force of life, are the
qualities that chiefly give their wonderful fascination to the works of
Raphael. Raphael was born at Urbino in 1483. By the time he had reached
the age of twenty-five he had so greatly distinguished himself that he
was invited by Pope Julius II. to paint in fresco the chambers of the
Vatican. From this time till his death, in 1520, at the early age of
thirty-seven, he was employed in the execution of a succession of great
works, chiefly for that pontiff and his successor, Leo X. His most
famous performances are, his picture of the School of Athens in the
Vatican, the Transfiguration, and his Cartoons on subjects taken from
the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles, which were brought to this
country by Charles I., and are now to be seen at Hampton Court, upon the
payment of a shilling for each party. Like Michael Angelo, Raphael was
an architect as well as a painter, and, among other buildings,
superintended the erection of part of the cathedral of St. Peter’s. But
his untimely death interrupted his prosecution of this and other great
works on which he was engaged; leaving him, however, although with a
glory gathered in comparative youth, with no living superior, and
followed by no equal in succeeding times.
April 10.--This is the birth-day of the celebrated Dutch writer, Hugh de
Groot, better known by his Latin name of Grotius, who was born at Delfft
in 1583. Grotius was a prodigy of youthful talent and acquirement. When
only fourteen he prepared an edition of a Latin author, Martianus
Capella, in which he showed extensive classical and historical
erudition. At the age of sixteen, having already made a journey to
France, and been presented to Henry IV., who honoured him with the gift
of his picture and a gold chain, he entered upon the profession of an
advocate at Delfft. From this time he continued till his death to take
an active part in political transactions; but still found leisure to
write a vast number of books, most of them distinguished for their
learning and ability. The book by which he is now principally known is
his famous treatise on the law of nations, entitled, ‘On the right of
Peace and War.’ It was first published at Paris in 1625. Another of his
productions, which is still very popular, is his treatise ‘On the Truth
of the Christian Religion,’ written, like the former, in Latin, but
which has been translated into every language of Europe. Grotius wrote a
great part of this work while confined by a rival political faction in
the castle of Louvestein, from which, however, after nearly two years’
detention, his wife contrived to get him conveyed away in a chest, which
she pretended was full of books. Grotius died in his sixty-third year,
on the 28th of August, 1645.
April 11.--The birth-day of the late Right Honourable George Canning,
who was born in London, in the year 1771. His father, an Irish gentleman
of good family, died the same year in which his son was born. At the
usual age young Canning was sent to Eton, where he soon distinguished
himself by the brilliancy of his talents. While there he made the first
public trial of his literary powers in ‘The Microcosm,’ a very clever
periodical work, which he carried on in conjunction with some of his
schoolfellows, and of which he was the projector and the editor. In 1787
he removed to Christ Church, Oxford, intending to adopt the profession
of the law. But while yet at the University, his reputation for ability
obtained for him the notice of Mr. Pitt, who brought him into Parliament
in 1793. Mr. Canning’s official career belongs to the history of his
country, and especially that period of it during which he was Secretary
of State for Foreign Affairs. The system of foreign policy with which
his name is associated has caused his memory to be held in honour; and
although he opposed Parliamentary Reform, as well as other popular
measures, yet his steadfast support of Catholic Emancipation for a long
series of years, and the protection he afforded to the cause of freedom
on the Continent, and in South America, are proofs of his attachment to
his celebrated toast of “_Civil and Religious Liberty all over the
World!_” In April, 1827, he was appointed Prime Minister by George the
Fourth, and continued to hold the offices of First Lord of the Treasury
and Chancellor of the Exchequer till his death, on the 8th of August in
the same year, at the Duke of Devonshire’s villa at Chiswick, after a
short illness. His death at so early a period after his accession to
power called forth a deep feeling of grief in his own country, and,
perhaps, a still stronger and more general feeling on the Continent,
where medals were struck in memory of the British Minister.
---------------------
THE BRITISH MUSEUM.
“The characteristic of the English populace,--perhaps we ought to say
people, for it extends to the middle classes,--is their propensity to
mischief. The people of most other countries may safely be admitted into
parks, gardens, public buildings, and galleries of pictures and statues;
but in England it is necessary to exclude them, as much as possible,
from all such places.”
This is a sentence from the last published number of the ‘Quarterly
Review.’ Severe as it is, there is much truth in it. The fault is not
entirely on the side of the people (we will not use the offensive term
populace); but still they are in fault. The writer adds, speaking of
this love of mischief, which he calls “a disgraceful part of the English
character,” that “anything tends to correct it that contributes to give
the people a taste for intellectual pleasures,--anything that
contributes to their innocent enjoyment,--anything that excites them to
wholesome and pleasurable activity of body and mind.” This is quite
true. We hope to do something, speaking generally, to excite and gratify
a taste for intellectual pleasure; but we wish to do more in this
particular case. We wish to point out many unexpensive pleasures, of the
very highest order, which all those who reside in London have within
their reach; and how the education of themselves and of their children
may be advanced by using their opportunities of enjoying some of the
purest gratifications which an instructed mind is capable of receiving.
Having learnt to enjoy them, they will naturally feel an honest pride in
the possession, by the Nation, of many of the most valuable treasures of
Art and of Science; and they will hold that person a baby in mind--a
spoiled, wilful, mischievous baby--who dares to attempt the slightest
injury to the public property, which has been collected together, at an
immense expense, for the public advantage.
Well, then, that we may waste no time in general discussion, let us
begin with the BRITISH MUSEUM. We will suppose ourselves addressing an
artisan or tradesman, who can sometimes afford to take a holiday, and
who knows there are better modes of spending a working day, which he
some half-dozen times a year devotes to pleasure, than amidst the smoke
of a taproom, or the din of a skittle-ground. He is a family man; he
enjoys a pleasure doubly if it is shared by his wife and children. Well,
then, in Great Russell-street, Bloomsbury, is the British Museum; and
here, from ten o’clock till four, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays,
he may see many of the choicest productions of ancient art--Egyptian,
Grecian, and Roman monuments; and what will probably please the young
people most, in the first instance, a splendid collection of natural
history--quadrupeds, birds, insects, shells--all classed and beautifully
disposed in an immense gallery, lately built by the Government for the
more convenient exhibition of these curiosities. “But hold,” says the
working man, “I have passed by the British Museum: there are two
sentinels at the gateway, and the large gates are always closed. Will
they let me in? Is there nothing to pay?” That is a very natural
question about the payment; for there is too much of paying in England
by the people for admission to what they ought to see for nothing. But
_here_ there _is_ nothing to pay. Knock boldly at the gate; the porter
will open it. You are in a large square court-yard, with an
old-fashioned house occupying three sides. A flight of steps leads up to
the principal entrance. Go on. Do not fear any surly looks or
impertinent glances from any person in attendance. You are upon safe
ground here. You are come to see your own property. You have as much
right to see it, and you are as welcome therefore to see it, as the
highest in the land. There is no favour in showing it you. You assist in
paying for the purchase, and the maintenance of it; and one of the very
best effects that could result from that expense would be to teach every
Englishman to set a proper value upon the enjoyments which such public
property is capable of affording. Go boldly forward, then. The officers
of the Museum, who are obliging to all strangers, will be glad to see
you. Your garb is homely, you think, as you see gaily-dressed persons
going in and out. No matter; you and your wife, and your children, are
clean, if not smart. By the way, it will be well to mention that very
young children (those under eight years old) are not admitted; and that
for a very sufficient reason: in most cases they would disturb the other
visitors.
You are now in the great Hall--a lofty room, with a fine staircase. In
an adjoining room a book is presented to you, in which one of a party
has to write his name and address, with the number of persons
accompanying him. That is the only form you have to go through; and it
is a necessary form, if it were only to preserve a record of the number
of persons admitted. In each year this number amounts to about seventy
thousand: so you see that the British Museum has afforded pleasure and
improvement to a great many people. We hope the number of visitors will
be doubled and trebled; for exhibitions such as these do a very great
deal for the advance of a people in knowledge and virtue. What
reasonable man would abandon himself to low gratifications--to drinking
or gambling--when he may, whenever he pleases, and as often as he
pleases at no cost but that of his time, enjoy the sight of some of the
most curious and valuable things in the world, with as much ease as a
prince walking about in his own private gallery. But that he may enjoy
these treasures, and that every body else may enjoy them at the same
time, it will be necessary to observe a few simple rules.
1st. _Touch nothing_. The statues, and other curious things, which are
in the Museum, are to be seen, not to be handled. If visitors were to be
allowed to touch them, to try whether they were hard or soft, to scratch
them, to write upon them with their pencils, they would be soon worth
very little. You will see some mutilated remains of two or three of the
finest figures that ever were executed in the world: they form part of
the collection called the Elgin Marbles, and were brought from the
Temple of Minerva, at Athens, which city at the time of the sculpture of
these statues, about two thousand three hundred years ago, was one of
the cities of Greece most renowned for art and learning. Time has, of
course, greatly worn these statues: but it is said that the Turkish
soldiers, who kept the modern Greeks under subjection, used to take a
brutal pleasure in the injury of these remains of ancient art; as if
they were glad to destroy what their ignorance made them incapable of
valuing. Is it not as great ignorance for a stupid fellow of our own day
slily to write his own paltry name upon one of these glorious monuments?
Is not such an act the most severe reproach upon the writer? Is it not,
as if the scribbler should say, “Here am I, in the presence of some of
the great masterpieces of art, whose antiquity ought to produce
reverence, if I cannot comprehend their beauty; and I derive a pleasure
from putting my own obscure, perishable name upon works whose fame will
endure for ever.” What a satire upon such vanity. Doubtless, these
fellows, who are so pleased with their own weak selves, as to poke their
names into every face, are nothing but grown babies, and want a fool’s
cap most exceedingly.
2dly. _Do not talk loud._ Talk, of course, you must; or you would lose
much of the enjoyment we wish you to have--for pleasure is only half
pleasure, unless it be shared with those we love. But do not disturb
others with your talk. Do not call loudly from one end of a long gallery
to the other, or you will distract the attention of those who derive
great enjoyment from an undisturbed contemplation of the wonders in
these rooms. You will excuse this hint.
3rdly. _Be not obtrusive._ You will see many things in the Museum that
you do not understand. It will be well to make a memorandum of these, to
be inquired into at your leisure; and in these inquiries we shall
endeavour to assist you from time to time. But do not trouble other
visitors with your questions; and, above all, do not trouble the young
artists, some of whom you will see making drawings for their
improvement. Their time is precious to them; and it is a real
inconvenience to be obliged to give their attention to anything but
their work, or to have their attention disturbed by an over-curious
person peeping at what they are doing. If you want to make any inquiry,
go to one of the attendants, who walks about in each room. He will
answer you as far as he knows. You must not expect to understand what
you see all at once: you must go again and again if you wish to obtain
real knowledge, beyond the gratification of passing curiosity.
In future numbers we shall briefly mention what is most worthy your
attention in this National Collection.
---------------------
POESIE.
[George Wither, born 1588, died 1677.]
Though I miss the flowery fields,
With those sweets the spring-tide yields;
Though I may not see those groves,
Where the shepherds chaunt their loves,
And the lasses more excel,
Then the sweet-voiced Philomel;
Though of all those pleasures past,
Nothing now remains at last,
But remembrance (poor relief)
That more makes, then mends my grief;
She’s my mind’s companion still,
Maugre Envy’s evil will.
She doth tell me where to borrow
Comfort in the midst of sorrow;
Makes the desolated place
To her presence be a grace;
And the blackest discontents
Be her fairest ornaments.
In my former days of bliss,
Her divine skill taught me this,
That from every thing I saw,
I could some invention draw;
And raise pleasure to her height,
Through the meanest object’s sight.
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least bough’s rustling;
By a daisy whose leaves spread,
Shut when Titan goes to bed,
Or a shady bush or tree,
She could more infuse in me,
Then all nature’s beauties can,
In some other wiser man.
By her help I also now
Make this churlish place allow
Some things that may sweeten gladness
In the very gall of sadness.
The dull loneness, the black shade,
That those hanging vaults have made,
The strange music of the waves
Beating on these hollow caves,
This black den which rocks emboss,
Overgrown with eldest moss,
The rude portals that give light,
More to terror than delight,--
This my chamber of neglect,
Walled about with disrespect,
From all these, and this dull air,
A fit object for despair,
She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight.
Therefore, thou best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesie, thou sweet’st content,
That e’er Heaven to mortals lent;
Though they as a trifle leave thee,
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee;
Though thou be to them a scorn,
That to nought but earth are born;
Let my life no longer be,
Than I am in love with thee.
George Wither, the author of the above lines, was several times
subjected to long and severe imprisonment for his political opinions.
While in the Marshalsea prison in 1613, he wrote his ‘Shepherd’s
Hunting,’ a pastoral poem, from which this is an extract. The verses are
not only beautiful in themselves, but they point out how a vigorous mind
will secure happiness under the most unfavourable circumstances. The
imagination of Wither was delighted to repose upon the most common
natural objects;--and in the same way, the man who possesses the least
of the outward gifts of fortune, if his faculties be awake to the
beauties which nature has so plenteously scattered around his path, may
possess in himself a source of pleasure of the purest kind. The rapture
which Wither expresses for ‘Poesie,’ may to some appear overstrained;
but let it not be thought that the poet attributed this power of
imparting delight to his faculty alone of _making verses_. The exercise
of his fancy, by which he could “raise pleasure to her height,”
consisted in presenting to his “mind’s eye” the infinite beauties of the
creation. The “daisy,” whose remembrance gladdened even his
prison-walls, brought to him images of the quiet and purity of the
“flowery fields.” Such images every body may enjoy, and may gradually
learn to associate the commonest appearances of nature with a high moral
feeling. We have many instances of this power of association in our
finest poets; let us take as an example the following lines by a writer
of our own day:--
TO A DAISY.
Bright flower, whose home is every where
A pilgrim bold in Nature’s care,
And oft, the long year through, the heir
Of joy or sorrow.
Methinks that there abides in thee
Some concord with humanity,
Given to no other flower I see
The forest thorough!
And wherefore? Man is soon deprest;
A thoughtless thing! who, once unblest,
Does little on his memory rest,
Or on his reason.
But thou would’st teach him how to find
A shelter under every wind;
A hope for times that are unkind,
And every season.
WORDSWORTH.
---------------------
ON THE CHOICE OF A LABOURING MAN’S DWELLING.
It seems, on the first view, somewhat odd to talk about choice of
dwelling to a labouring man. It may occur to such a person, that as he
has seldom more than two or three shillings per week to allow for rent,
he must be contented with the humble accommodations that can be afforded
for that sum. This is, to a certain extent, true; but it is not
therefore to be concluded that the exercise of a little prudence may not
put him in possession of some advantages with his two or three
shillings, which the want of that quality would exclude him from. There
are some dwellings so badly situated, in such ill repair, and altogether
so miserable, that a man exposes himself and his family to disease and
every other inconvenience by inhabiting them. Such hovels are usually
tenanted by people who are behind-hand in paying their rent, and so
cannot leave them; or who, being “steeped to the very lips in poverty,”
are indifferent to cleanliness and all other comforts. It is possible
that an industrious and careful family may, for some time, be obliged to
live in a wretched house; but it is their own fault if they continue in
it. In this country the poor are better lodged than in any other in
Europe; and within the last twenty years the increase of population and
of productive labour has caused a demand for cottages, which has covered
every parish, and particularly the neighbourhood of large towns, with an
amazing number of snug little houses, in which provision is generally
made for the comfort of those who inhabit them. Now while there is such
a _choice_ of dwellings, it is very much a labouring man’s fault if he
does not have a commodious one; and if he continue to be the tenant of a
damp, or ruinous, or badly ventilated hut, while the snug brick and
tiled tenement remains vacant, we should say that he is a blind and
stupid observer of an old proverb (which, however, has much sense in it)
that “three removes are as bad as a fire.”
We wish to offer a few plain hints to assist our readers in the choice
of a dwelling. And, first, of situation.
Whoever rambles through our villages must often see a pretty little
cottage, that realizes all that benevolence could wish for a labouring
man’s dwelling. We have seen many such; and the remembrance often occurs
to us, when we observe rich men unhappy, in large mansions, and amongst
splendid furniture. We then think of the contrast which the simplicity
and content of the “peasant’s nest” offers. Who has not looked upon the
whitened walls, half covered with roses and jessamine, and the neat
garden, where ornament is blended with utility,
And said, if there’s peace to be found in the world,
A heart that is humble may hope for it here!
But an agreeable dwelling is not always to be commanded; nor is the
_best_ situation always to be found. If a cottager have a house with a
northern aspect, he must pay a little more attention to his gooseberry
and apple trees, to make them bear as plentifully as those which are
trained in a southern sun. We are only desirous to caution him against a
house that is truly uncomfortable, and that cannot be easily rendered
otherwise.
We would first say, avoid, if it be possible, a low and marshy
situation. There are many dangerous fevers which are produced by the
vicinity of stagnant waters: and houses which from their site are
constantly damp expose those who inhabit them to rheumatism, croup,
ague, and other painful disorders. The same effects are produced by
dwelling-houses which are subject to occasional inundations of rivers.
To be driven in cold weather from the accustomed fire-side to shiver in
bedrooms which have probably no grate; to have two or three feet of
water running through the lower part of the house, destroying many
things and injuring more; and at last, when the inundations cease, to
find the whole dwelling damp and miserable for several weeks: this is a
visitation which no one would willingly seek. If a cottager has
therefore the choice of being on a hill-side, or by the bank of a river,
we think, if he were a sensible man, he would prefer the elevated
situation.
On the _construction_ of a dwelling, we have not much to observe. The
great requisite is the free admission of _light_ and _air_. _Dark_ rooms
are an inconvenience to the industrious housewife which we need not
describe; and rooms not properly _ventilated_ are more injurious to
health than may readily be conceived. Every sleeping-room should have a
chimney. In England, no sitting-room is, we apprehend, without one. But
in Ireland, the peasantry have neither window nor chimney to their
wretched hovels. The smoke of the turf which burns upon their hearth
forces its way out by the door; and the family sit and sleep in this
dark and dirty condition. This would be intolerable amongst the more
cleanly and richer peasantry of this country.
Of the appendages to a house, a good supply of water is one of the most
necessary conveniences. If the pitcher is to be carried a dozen times a
day to a spring or a well a quarter of a mile off, it is almost the
labour of one person to procure this supply; and that labour would
contribute as much to the family earnings as, in twelve months, would
dig a well. No cottager should be without a garden. A rood of land,
properly cultivated, will half maintain a careful family.
Of the _fixtures_ of a house we cannot be expected to say much. A
_copper_ and an _oven_ will enable the female to labour most profitably
for the general good. A cottager that can grow his own potatoes, keep
his pig, brew his beer, and bake his bread, has not many necessaries to
purchase of the shopkeeper, and is therefore, to a certain extent,
independent in the best sense of the word.
As to furniture, we would say, avoid _furnished lodgings_. The bed and
table, and two or three chairs, of these places, seldom cost more than
5_l._, the interest of which is only 5_s._ a year. The money annually
paid for the use of such things is almost as much as their prime cost.
There is a satisfaction, too, in knowing that what is about us is our
own. It is better to sit upon an old box or a block of wood than to pay
enormously for the hire of a chair; and we may sleep as soundly upon a
straw mattress as upon an expensive feather-bed. One secret, to be happy
in every situation of life, is this,--not to sacrifice real comfort and
solid independence to make a show. When the cottager has got ten pounds
in the Savings Bank, he may afford his wife a mahogany tea-table. An
American writer has given some judicious remarks upon this subject,
which apply to all classes:--
“If you are about to furnish a house, do not spend all your money, be it
much or little. Do not let the beauty of this thing, and the cheapness
of that, tempt you to buy unnecessary articles. Doctor Franklin’s maxim
was a wise one, ‘Nothing is cheap that we do not want.’ Buy merely
enough to get along with at first. It is only by experience that you can
tell what will be the wants of your family. If you spend all your money,
you will find you have purchased many things you do not want, and have
no means left to get many things which you do want. If you have enough,
and more than enough, to get every thing suitable to your situation, do
not think you must spend it all, merely because you happen to have it.
Begin humbly. As riches increase, it is easy and pleasant to increase in
comforts; but it is always painful and inconvenient to decrease. After
all, these things are viewed in their proper light by the truly
judicious and respectable. Neatness, tastefulness, and good sense may be
shown in the management of a small household, and the arrangement of a
little furniture, as well as upon a larger scale; and these qualities
are always praised, and always treated with respect and attention. The
consideration which many purchase by living beyond their income, and of
course living upon others, is not worth the trouble it costs. The glare
there is about this false and wicked parade is deceptive; it does not in
fact procure a man valuable friends, or extensive influence.”
---------------------
However small may be a man’s income, there is one very certain way of
increasing it--that is _Frugality_. A frugal expenditure will enable
almost every body to _save_ something; and as there are now established
throughout this country _Banks_, where the industrious may safely
deposit their savings, however little they may be, and receive the same
sort of advantage which the rich derive from their money, that is,
_interest_, there is every inducement to make _an effort to save_. Dr.
Franklin observes, in his usual forcible way, that “six pounds a-year is
but a groat a-day. For this little sum which may be daily wasted, either
in time or expense, unperceived, a man of credit may, on his own
security, have the constant possession and use of a hundred and twenty
pounds.” Many humble men in England have risen to wealth by such small
beginnings; but many more continue to expend the groat a-day
unnecessarily, and never cease to be poor.
---------------------
A certain pope, who had been raised from an obscure situation to the
apostolic chair, was immediately waited upon by a deputation sent from a
small district, in which he had formerly officiated as _cure_: it seems
that he had promised the inhabitants that he would do something for
them, if it should ever be in his power; and some of them now appeared
before him, to remind him of his promise, and also to request that he
would fulfil it, by granting them _two harvests in every year_! He
acceded to their _modest_ request, on condition that they should go home
immediately, and so adjust the Almanac of _their_ own particular
district, as to make every year of _their_ Register consist of
twenty-four calendar months.
---------------------
Sir George Staunton visited a man in India who had committed a murder,
and, in order not only to save his life, but what was of much more
consequence, his _caste_, he submitted to the penalty imposed; this was,
that he should sleep for seven years on a bedstead, without any
mattress, the whole surface of which was studded with points of iron,
resembling nails, but not so sharp as to penetrate the flesh. Sir George
saw him in the fifth year of his probation, and his skin was then like
the hide of a rhinoceros, but more callous; at that time, however, he
could sleep comfortably on his “_bed of thorns_,” and remarked, that at
the expiration of the term of his sentence, he should most probably
continue that system from choice, which he had been obliged to adopt
from necessity.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LONDON:--CHARLES KNIGHT, PALL-MALL EAST.
_Shopkeepers and Hawkers may be supplied Wholesale by the following
Booksellers:_--
_London_, GROOMBRIDGE, Panyer Alley, Paternoster-Row.
_Birmingham_, DRAKE.
_Leeds_, BAINES and Co.
_Liverpool_, WILLMER and SMITH.
_Manchester_, ROBINSON.
_Dublin_, WAKEMAN.
_Edinburgh_, OLIVER and BOYD.
_Glasgow_, ATKINSON and Co.
Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES, Duke Street, Lambeth.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Notes
This file uses _underscores_ to indicate italic text. New original cover
art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain. Itemized
changes from the original text:
• p. 11: Added missing closing quotation mark to title “On the Truth of
the Christian Religion.”
• p. 12: replaced single with double closing quotation mark after
phrase “pleasurable activity of body and mind.”
• p. 13: Added missing letter “l” in phrase “intending to adopt the
profession of the law.”
• p. 13: Added missing period after phrase “an undisturbed
contemplation of the wonders in these rooms.”
• p. 16: Added missing commas and final letter “t” in passage beginning
“the same sort of advantage which the rich derive from their money.”
• p. 16: Removed apparent hyphen from address “Panyer Alley” to match
other issues.Project Gutenberg
The penny magazine of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, issue 2, April 7, 1832
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