nected, is of hide, and the end is fastened, like a girdle, round his waist. The other extremity is then let down the precipice, to a considerable depth, by the adventurer himself, standing at the edge: when, giving the middle of the rope to a single man, he descends, always holding by one part of the rope, as he lets himself down by the other, and supported from falling only by the man above, who has no part of the rope fastened to him, but holds it merely in his hands, and sometimes supports his comrade by one hand alone, looking at the same time over the precipice, without any stay for his feet, and conversing with the other, as he descends to a depth of nearly four hundred feet. A bird-catcher, on finding himself amongst the Fulmars' nests, took four, and with two in each hand, contrived, nevertheless, to hold the rope as he ascended; and, striking his foot against the rock, threw himself out from the face of the precipice, and returning with a bound, would again fly out, capering and shouting, and playing all sorts of tricks. Frightful as such a display must be to those unaccustomed to it, accidents are extremely rare; and the St. Kildians seem to think the possibility of a fatal termination to these exploits almost out of the question. It is, indeed, astonishing to what a degree habit and practice, with steady nerves, may remove danger. From the island of the South Stack above mentioned, boys may be seen frequently scrambling by themselves, or held on by an urchin or two of their own age, letting themselves down the picturesque precipice opposite the island, by a piece of rope so slender, and apparently rotten, that the wonder is why it does not snap at the first strain. Yet, without a particle of fear, heedless of consequences, they will swing themselves to a ledge barely wide enough to admit the foot of a goat, and thence pick their way with or without the rope, to pillage the nest of a Gull, which, if aware of its own powers, might flap them headlong to the bottom. Here too, as in St. Kilda, accidents are said to be of rare occurrence, though, of course, they do occasionally happen; but escapes, sufficiently appalling to make the blood run cold to hear of, are common enough. * The first we shall mention happened about two miles from the South Stack, on the rocky coast of Rhoscolin. A lady, living near the spot, sent a boy in search of samphire, with a trusty servant to hold the rope at the top. While the boy was dangling midway between sky and water, the servant, who was unused to his situation, whether owing to a sudden dizziness from looking down on the boy's motions, or misgivings as to his own powers of holding him up, felt a cold, sickly shivering, creep over him, accompanied with a certainty that he was about to faint; the inevitable consequence of which, he had sense enough left to know, would be the certain death of the boy, and, in all probability, of himself, as in the act of fainting, it was most likely he would fall forward, and follow the rope and boy down the precipice. In this dilemma, he uttered a loud despairing scream, which was fortunately heard by a woman working in an adjoining field, who, running up, was just in time to catch the rope, as the fainting man fell senseless at her feet. We shall add two more, equally hazardous, and one fatal. Many bird-catchers go on these expeditions without any companion to hold the rope or assist them. It was on such a solitary excursion, that a man, having fastened his rope to a stake on the top, let himself down far below; and, in his ardour for collecting birds and eggs, followed the course of a ledge, beneath a mass of overhanging rock: unfortunately, he had omitted to take the usual precaution of tying the rope round his body, but held it carelessly in his hand; when, in a luckless moment, as he was busily engaged in pillaging a nest, it slipped from his grasp, and, after swinging backwards and forwards three or four times, without coming within reach, at last became stationary over the ledge of the projecting rock, leaving the bird-catcher apparently without a chance of escape,-for to ascend the precipice without a rope was impossible, and none were near to hear his cries, or afford him help. What was to be done? Death stared him in the face. After a few minutes' pause, he made up his mind. By a desperate leap he might regain the rope, but if he failed, and, at the distance at which it hung, the chances were against him, his fate was certain, amidst the pointed crags ready to receive him, over which the waves were dashing far, far, below. Collecting, therefore, all his strength, with outstretched arms, he sprang from the rock, and lived to tell the tale,—for the rope was caught! The next occurred at St. Kilda; where, amongst other modes of catching the sea-fowl, that of setting gins or nooses is adopted. They are fixed in various places frequented by the birds. In one of these, set upon a ledge a hundred and twenty feet above the sea, a bird-catcher entangled his foot, and not being at the moment aware of it, was, on moving onwards, tripped up, and precipitated over the rock, where he hung suspended. He, too, as in the preceding case, had no companion; and, to add to his misfortune, darkness was at hand, leaving little prospect of his being discovered before morning. In vain he exerted himself to bend upwards, so as to reach the noose or grapple the rock. After a few fruitless efforts, his strength was exhausted, and in this dreadful situation, expecting, moreover, that the noose might give way every instant, did he pass a long night. At early dawn, by good fortune, his shouts were heard by a neighbour, who rescued him from his perilous sus pension. The last we shall relate, terminated in a more awful manner. A father and two sons were out together, and, having firmly attached their rope at the summit of a 'precipice, descended, on their usual occupation. Having collected as many birds and eggs as they could carry, they were all three ascending by the rope, 66 the eldest of the sons first,-his brother, a fathom or two below him; and the father following last. They had made considerable progress, when the elder son looking upwards, perceived the strands of the rope grinding against a sharp edge of rock, and gradually giving way. He immediately reported the alarming fact."Will it hold together till we can gain the summit?" asked the father. 'It will not hold another minute," was the reply: "our triple weight is loosening it rapidly!"." Will it hold one?" said the father. "It is as much as it can do," replied the son, even that is but doubtful." "There is then a chance, at least, of one of us being saved; draw your knife, and cut away below!" was the cool and intrepid order of the parent ;- "Exert yourself,-you may yet escape, and live to comfort your mother!" There was no time for discussion or further hesitation. The son looked up once more, but the edge of rock was cutting its way, and the rope had nearly severed. The knife was drawn,-the rope was divided,—and his father and brother were launched into eternity! EAST INDIA STATIONS, No. IX. DUM DUM. DUM DUM the cantonment selected for the headquarters of the Bengal artillery, is not so favoured a spot in point of natural scenery, as Barrackpore. The lines occupy an extensive plain, unmarked by any feature worthy of peculiar notice, the little beauty it possesses being wholly the work of art. Handsome houses are scattered irregularly, with pleasure-grounds around them, which are generally planted with care and taste. The mess-room and its accompaniments form a very superb building, affording suites of apartments upon a far more magnificent scale than those belonging to an European barrack. The splendour of Woolwich fades before the grandeur of Dum Dum. Dum Dum possesses a good station-library, which is amply furnished with new publications as they come out from England. There are few places in India where young officers have the advantage of so many opportunities of improving their minds, and of fitting themselves for their profession; its vicinity to Calcutta enables them to procure books and instruction upon scientific subjects, difficult of attainment in more remote cantonments. The scenery about Dum Dum possesses little attraction. There are, however, some mansions in the neighbourhood, belonging to natives, which are objects of great interest and curiosity to Europeans. One of these, inhabited by a rajah, is distinguished for its menagerie, the only one of the kind now existing in Bengal, that at Barrackpore Park having been dismantled. The collection has been greatly enriched by donations of animals which formerly inhabited the cages in the Park. The specimens of the wild tribes of Bengal exhibited in this zoological garden are superb. A garden-house, about four miles from Dum Dum, on the road to Calcutta, the occasional residence of Dwarknauth Tagore, a rich and highly-intelligent native gentleman, possesses many attractions to Europeans, who gladly avail themselves of the hospitalities of the courteous owner. Dwarknauth Tagore converses fluently in English with his guests, whom he receives entirely after the European fashion, permitting, though himself a Hindoo, fowls and butchers'-meat, with the exception of beef, to appear at his table, at which he occupies a seat, taking wine, indeed, with the company, but abstaining from the more solid food which is placed before him. The house is a beautiful and commodious structure, furnished in the best taste, and strictly in accordance with our ideas of Asiatic luxury, though differing widely from the real state of things in native houses; sofas, stools, and ottomans abound, some of the rooms are hung with fine engravings, and others are decorated with the best specimens of original paintings which Calcutta can afford; several excellent portraits from the pencil of Mr. George Beechey, and some choice productions from other European artists who have bent their steps to India. The tables are covered with books of prints, and portfolios of the most splendid descriptions; in short, it is a most delightful retreat, the gardens and grounds being laid out in a style correspondent with the interior. In one respect, at the period of Bishop Heber's short sojourn in India, Dum Dum had the advantage, and that an advantage of no ordinary character, over Barrackpore. It was provided with a Church. The good bishop thus describes his visit to the place to consecrate this building : November 4.-I went to consecrate a new church at Dum Dum, having previously obtained the sanction of governSince Bishop Heber's account was written. ment for the performance of the ceremony, both here and at St. James's in Calcutta, as also a written assurance from the governor in council, that the buildings should thenceforward be appropriated to the worship of God, after the forms and laws of the English church. This I thought a sufficient title, and it was certainly all that could be obtained in this country. Accordingly I determined not to lose the opportunity of giving the sanction of a most impressive form of dedication to these two churches, as likely to do good to all who shared in the service. The road to Dum Dum is less interesting than that to Barrackpore; like it, it is a military village. It consists of several long, low ranges of building, all on the groundfloor, ornamented with a verandah, the lodging of the troops, and some small, but elegant and convenient houses occupied by the officers, adjoining an open space like the "Meidan," or large plain, of Calcutta, which is appropriated to the practice of artillery. The commandant, General Hardwicke, with whom we spent the day, resides in a large house, built on an artificial mound, of considerable height above the neighbouring country, and surrounded by very pretty walks and shrubberies. The house has a venerable appearance, and its lower story, as well as the mound on which it stands, is said to be of some antiquity, at least for Bengal, where so many powerful agents of destruction are always at work, that no architecture can be durable; and though ruins and buildings of apparently remote date are extremely common, it would, perhaps, be difficult to find a single edifice 150 years old. This building is of brick, with small windows, and enormous buttresses. The upper story, which is of the style of architecture usual in Calcutta, was added by Lord Clive, who also laid out the gardens and made this his country house. We here met a large party, and afterwards proceeded to the church, which is a very pretty building, divided into aisles by two rows of Doric pillars, and capable of containing a numerous congregation. It was now filled by a large and very attentive assemblage, composed of the European regiments, the officers and their families, and some visiters from Calcutta. The consecration of the cemetery followed, wisely here, as in all British India, placed at some distance from the church and village. D. I. E. [From the Asiatic Journal, and BISHOP HEBER'S Journal.] THE keeping of the waters within bounds, so that they cannot overflow the earth, is often mentioned in Scripture as an immediate effect of God's overruling power and providence. We know that there are certain natural causes which produce these effects on the sea and the land. But this ought not to prevent us from regarding the all-powerful hand of the Creator, who hath created, and who preserves His creatures in their proper and natural stations; we ought to admire these surprising effects of the first cause, which is His almighty will. To this point the language of Scripture continually directs us, by attributing everything to God, by referring everything to Him, by considering Him as the prime mover of all the events, and even of the effects which we are accustomed to refer to nature or to chance; terms confused and ambiguous, of which religion knows nothing. Ir length of days be thy portion, make it not thy expectation; reckon not upon long life, but live always beyond thy account. He that so often surviveth his expectation, lives many lives, and will hardly complain of the shortness of his days. Time past is gone like a shadow: make times to come present; conceive that near which may be far off; approximate thy last times by present apprehensions of but little to come. them; live like a neighbour unto death, and think there is And since there is something in us which must still live on, join both lives together; unite them in thy thoughts and actions, and live in one but for the other. He who thus ordereth the purposes of this life, will never be far from the next; and is in some manner already in it, by a happy conformity and close apprehension of it. SIR THOMAS BROWN. THE make of every kind of animal is different from that of every other kind, and yet there is not the least turn in the muscles, or twist in the fibres of any one, which does not render them more proper for that particular animal's way of life, than any other cast or texture of them would have been.-ADDISON. EGYPT O EGYPT! Relic of the mighty past! Hold converse with the "City of the Dead." And basely purchased at a thousand lives. The countless slaves of pleasure and of gain. Now tells the story of thy former fame! M. H. TRY.-Mr. Robert Raikes, whose benevolent desire to promote the best interests of his poorer neighbours, first led to the formation of Sunday-Schools in their present or modern form, was almost discouraged, by the various obstacles he had to contend with, from attempting to give instruction to the miserably neglected children who filled the streets of Gloucester on the Lord's Day particularly; but whilst meditating on the subject, the word "TRY" was so forcibly impressed on his mind, that he determined to begin and do something, however little it might be; and, many years after, when his plan had succeeded far beyond his highest hopes, he observed, that he never passed the spot where the word "Try" came into his mind, without lifting up his hands and heart to heaven in gratitude to God, for having put the thought into his heart. How often do we sigh for opportunities of doing good, whilst we neglect the openings of Providence in little things, which would frequently lead to the accomplishment of most important usefulness! Dr. Johnson used to say, "He who waits to do a great deal of good at once will never do any." Good is done by degrees. However small in proportion the benefit which follows individual attempts to do good, a great deal may thus be accomplished by perseverance, even in the midst of discouragements and disappointments.-CRABB. CENSURE, says an ingenious author, is the tax a man pays to the public for being eminent. It is a folly for an eminent man to think of escaping it, and a weakness to be affected with it. All the illustrious persons of antiquity, and, indeed, of every age in the world, have passed through this fiery persecution. There is no defence against reproach but obscurity; it is a kind of concomitant to greatness, as satires and invectives were an essential part of a Roman triumph.- ADDISON. SELF-DENIAL is an excellent guard of virtue, and it is safer and wiser to abate somewhat of our lawful enjoyments, than to gratify our desires to the utmost extent of what is permitted, lest the bent of nature towards pleasure hurry us further.-TOWNSON. THE YOUNG CHEMIST. II. It has been stated in the first paper of this series, that water will evaporate more or less whenever it is exposed to the air. But what becomes of the vapour? We see it for a very short time, as, for instance, when it first escapes out of the spout of a tea-kettle; but we see it no more. Why not? Because it is quickly diffused in the atmosphere so widely as to become invisible. To show that steam or vapour is real water, let us place an empty decanter over the spout of a boiling kettle, and as the steam issues, let it ascend into the decanter. Observe, now, the decanter is perfectly empty, and dry both inside and outside. I will hold it over the spout of the kettle but a very few moments; you see the steam goes into it. There, see how the water has collected in drops on the inside of the decanter, near the top; and, see! the drops are running down on the inside. "Now, how came this water there? Could it get there in any other way than as steam? Again, water not only becomes changed by heat into steam, but when received into the atmosphere, if that is not very cold, it becomes invisible. You have already observed, that although you see the current of steam which issues from the kettle when it first comes out, yet it soon disappears; you must not suppose that it falls down, and settles on the ground in the form of water, as it did on the sides of the decanter. To be sure, something of this nature happens when we have rain and dew; but we have not either of these except for a small part of the time, whereas, evaporation is going on, some way or other, every moment. About dew and rain, I mean to tell you more, hereafter. I said evaporation was going on every moment; and so it is. Did you ever see the time when your hands, if moistened with water, would not soon dry? But if a thing dries, it is generally because the water which moistened it turns into vapour. The atmosphere which surrounds us, always has more or less water in it; still it never, or hardly ever, has so much that it will not receive more; and the earth is hardly ever so dry, but that it will give out water by evaporation, though not so much as is given out by the oceans and rivers. This, as you may Bishop Watson made a curious experiment. He took a large drinking-glass, and inverted it on the ground for a short time, and by collecting the vapour which settled on the inside of the glass, he found that an acre of ground dispersed into the air, in the space of twelve hours of a warm Summer's day, above 1600 gallons of water. easily find by reckoning, is more than twenty-five hogsheads. The quantity of water which, at this rate, would ascend from a square mile in the same time, is 16,000 hogsheads. Think, then, what an immense quantity of water must be constantly evaporating from the surface of the various oceans and seas, bays, lakes, and rivers, which the earth contains. When I was young, I used to wonder how the sea could hold so much water, without becoming the La Plata, and the Mississippi, and I knew that more than full. I had heard of the mighty Amazon, mighty as these rivers were, the waters which they emptied into the great deep formed but a small part of what it received. I had not then thought much about evaporation. But when we think of that, and make a few such estimates as I have been making above, and as every school-boy can make for himself, we need no longer wonder. But what becomes of these ascending oceans > I 169 say Oceans; for I can think of no better name by which to call such a mighty mass of vapour. Where does so much water go to? It must be emptied somewhere, or else the air, too, would get quite full. The truth is, the air does get full; and then by some law of the great Creator, it empties itself in the form of rain. We know that water does constantly evaporate that vapour makes clouds, and that snow, and rain, and hail, descend from clouds to the earth. Perhaps this will be sufficient to say on this point for the present. THE REPOSE, OR SLEEP OF PLANTS. THE alternate state of activity and rest, which appears to be necessary to maintain the body in health, and the mind in vigour, is not confined merely to sentient beings, but pervades the whole economy of nature, whether animate or inanimate. The term sleep (a state of rest), as applied to the vegetable kingdom, is used to express a peculiar state of many plants during the night, evinced by a change in the position, generally a drooping or folding The instances together of their leaves or leaflets. of this state of rest are constantly before our eyes. The Lupin drops listlessly the slender fingers of its leaves at dusk, as if to repose from its daily labour. Fig. 1. At rest. THE LEAF OF THE LUPIN Fig. 2. Expanded. The Four-o'Clock (Convolvulus minor,) closes its blue Fig. 4. The famous Linnæus, speaking of this condition of plants, traces the analogous properties possessed by the subjects which compose the animal kindom, when under the influence of sleep or inactivity. The monkey rests on its side, the camel with its head between the fore-legs, and many birds cover their heads with the wing; so, he remarks, the leaves of plants assume different positions during the night. The object, in general, appears to be the protection of some more delicate part of their structure, from the effects of the night-air, (see figs. 5 and 6.) Some bend downwards over their blossom; the tamarind closes its leaves over the fruit, the acacia does the same, while the intention in other plants is the guarding the under-side of their leaves from injury. It is not to be supposed, that anything approaching to the exhaustion of muscular power, is the cause of these phenomena; the effect is most probably to be attributed to cold air and the absence of light, To these retarding the circulation of the sap. The most singular instance of this state of plants, and that which first attracted the notice of the great Swedish naturalist, occurred in a species of waterlily, Lotus ornithopodioides. The plant, being rare, was much prized by its owner, and two blossoms appearing on it, the gardener was particularly cautioned to take care that no accident occurred, until Business premore notice could be taken of it. vented its being thought of until the evening, but when it was produced, no blossom was visible. next day the flowers were again seen, but in the evening were not to be found; the third day the same thing again occurred, but after a very minute search each blossom was found hidden under three leaves, as if covered with a pent-house, protected from the air, and quite concealed from the most prying eye. "From this," says Linnæus, "we may see that the structure of leaves is not fortuitous, but destined by an omniscient Creator, to answer some particular end." The THE productions of the vegetable kingdom are among the first objects that forcibly attract the attention of young children, becoming to them the source of gratifications which are among the purest of which our nature is capable, and of which even the indistinct recollection imparts often a fleeting pleasure to the most cheerless moments of afterlife. Who does not look back with feelings, which he would in vain attempt to describe, to the delightful rambles which his native fields and meadows afforded to his earliest years? Who does not remember, or at least fancy that he remembers, the eager activity with which he was used to strip nature's carpet of its embroidery, nor ceased to cull the scattered blossoms till his infant hands were incapable of retaining the accumulated heap? Who, on even seeing the first violet of returning spring, much more on inhaling its sweetness, or in catching the breeze that has passed over the blossom of the bean or of the woodbine, does not again enjoy the very delights of his early childhood? It may be said that the pleasure of such recollections is for the most part of a moral and intellectual nature; but the pleasure of the original enjoyment appears to be principally of a physical character, and is, no doubt, intended to produce at the moment a highly beneficial, though merely physical effect; for while the eye of the child is attracted by the unexpected forms and colours of the plants and flowers presented to his view, and his mind is instigated to gratify the eager desire of possessing them, he necessarily subjects his limbs to that degree of exercise and fatigue which contributes to the general health of his body. Nor let such pleasures be undervalued in their consequence; they give that moderate stimulus to the whole system, which even the early age of infancy requires; and by shutting out the listlessness that would arise from inactivity, they become eventually the source of moral and intellectual improvement.-KIDD. UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE COMMITTEE OF GENERAL LITERATURE AND EDUCATION APPOINTED BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE. NORMANDY offers peculiar attractions to the lovers of rich landscape and beautiful cathedrals; and the hope of much enjoyment from these sources was the occasion of the little tour now described in the Saturday Magazine. The travellers were only two; a few days were all that could be spared, and these were to be spent in visiting the Islands of Guernsey and Jersey, thence proceeding to the opposite coast of France, advancing by short journeys to Rouen, and returning to England by way of Havre-deGrace. So rapid a movement, the whole of which occupied no more than sixteen days, could only entitle us to speak as partial observers; and as we had never before crossed the Channel, many of our marvels may appear common-place to the travelled reader. We must not say much about the Channel Islands; but we have resolved to rob Normandy of one little paragraph, for the purpose of remarking, that we were delighted in Jersey with calm St. Aubin's Bay, sea-girt Elizabeth's Castle, the picturesque crag which at low water is the landing-place at St. Helier's, the sweet little harbour of Rozel, the venerable Mont Orgueil Castle, sequestered Grève de Lecque, bold Plemont Point, and rocky St. Brelade's Bay. The little that we saw of Guernsey*, also, and the environs of its fine town, St. Peter's Port, made us long for a fuller acquaintance with that fertile island. But Normandy is our subject; and we must turn over the pages of our journal, till we come to our passage from St. Helier's to St. Malo, on Monday, the 10th of August, 1835. At half-past nine in the morning of that day, we emFor an account of this island see Saturday Magazine, Vol. IV., p. 234. VOL. VIII. barked on board the steamer, George Canning. The tide being against us, we were about six hours and a half in performing a distance of 28 miles. As we entered the harbour of ST. MALO, several French fishing-boats passed us, in which we amused ourselves by watching the sailors chattering, grimacing, and munching onions. No sooner had we come to our anchorage than we were boarded by custom-house officers and policemen, each dressed in uniform. The town appeared to be well fortified by lofty and substantial walls, and as we approached the landing-place in a boat, we perceived that soldiers (who afterwards proved to be the 33rd regiment,) were quartered there. The scene which first presented itself, when we had passed through the gates, reminded us completely of the drawings of Prout, (for whom, by the way, we entertain the highest respect,) consisting of lofty houses, long windows, frequent colonnades, gay colours, strange cos tumes, signs hanging over the doors inscribed with letters of a peculiar form, and rude and heavy vehicles for the transportation of passengers and goods, standing in the midst of the thoroughfare. Our Hotel de France was in the narrow Rue de Juifs, and a strange place it was; a dismal prison-like house, very high, very dark, forming a small quadrangle, on one side of which, on the groundfloor, was the public room; opposite to that the kitchen, and on one side a little parlour for mine host and hostess, where they watched and attended to the comers; on the other (if we mistake not,) the pantry and other offices. Soon after our arrival, we sat down to dinner at the table d'hôte in the dirty, low, and dismal apartment used for that purpose. After our repast we set out to extricate 246 |